Author's note: I wish I could apologize to Danny on behalf of all of the horrible things that happen to him in fanfics.

The End of Danny

.:·:.:·:.:·:.:·:.:·:.:·:

He whispered, "Where are you?"

He was begging for help from God.

If God somehow is real and had chosen to answer Danny's prayer in that moment, then He surely does work in mysterious ways. What could be more mysterious than forcing a mother to kill her own son?

…

As the summer turned into fall, I went out to visit Danny far more frequently. Jack stopped questioning it. In fact, he and I really weren't talking much at all anymore. But I didn't really notice. All I could think about was Danny.

When I visited him, I always brought tons of food with me, all of his favorites. I fixed up ready-made meals to last a whole week. I bought frozen meals for him to just pop into the microwave. I knew that he wouldn't eat unless I made it easy for him.

I also made him go on walks with me outside. The foliage was not ideal as it blocked out the sunlight I wanted him to get, but at least he was breathing in fresh air.

The weekend before Halloween, I bought him bags of candy. I knew that junk food was not very good for treating depression, but at that point, I was just desperate to make sure he was eating something.

He managed a weak smile at the sight. "Wow, I didn't realize it was the end of October already."

"You should see the cute costumes Jazz bought for Davis and Declan."

Danny shook his head. "No, I shouldn't."

On a physical level, my efforts to keep the fridge and pantry stocked for him seemed to be working. He filled out his clothes, regained some of his color. His muscle mass was still gradually dwindling, but he was otherwise looking better.

But was he feeling better?

As far as I could tell, not at all.

Vlad came one weekend. Danny was on the couch in the living room in yet another attempt to fall asleep even though he had just woken from a nap. Vlad studied him for some time before joining me outside on the porch.

"Maddie? How are you doing?" Vlad pulled up a chair beside me, positioned it so that he was facing me.

"I'm doing okay," I told him.

"Are you really?" Vlad reached out and took my hand in his. I let him. The warm contact felt good, especially since I hadn't been getting anything from Jack.

"Yeah," I assured him. "How are you?"

Vlad held onto my hand and looked down briefly as he thought about his answer. "I am worried about our little badger," he finally said.

Little badger. Our little badger. Such an affectionate nickname, as if Vlad regarded Danny as his own son. As if the three of us somehow formed a family unit.

Vlad had no part of him. Danny was mine.

But his concern for Danny seemed genuine, so I opted to let it go.

"So am I," I said with a moan. "What can I do for him, Vlad? How can I help him?"

Vlad's expression became more serious. He patted my hand. "Whatever you do, you mustn't exhaust yourself. Ultimately, it's all up to him. You have little control."

I had little control. I knew that. I couldn't make him rejoin the world. If I tried or even told anyone where he was, he could easily disappear and never be found again.

But acknowledging my lack of control didn't make this any easier for me to accept.

"I'm his mother," I said, sitting up straighter. "I can't just let him go on like this."

Vlad patted my hand again. "You're right. You can't."

I curiously waited for him to elaborate.

"You have little control, but the control you do have is powerful." Vlad moved in a little closer to me, his eyes intently focused on mine. "You can stop him if things go too far. You always have that."

Stop him? What did he even mean? I stared at him with knitted eyebrows.

"Ah, I just mean…" Vlad stroked my hand. "Like you said, you're his mother. If he's going to listen to anyone, it'll be you."

I realize now in my prison cell what implication Vlad was trying to make. I now understand that it was Vlad's intention all along to push me to end Danny. Because he and Clockwork were convinced that this was somehow the "best" path for everyone.

But that day, I simply took my hand away in confusion. "I've been trying to talk to him, but I'm just not getting through to him." I sighed. "What do you think about therapy?"

It was Vlad's turn to be confused. "Therapy?"

"Well, yeah. I can't get Danny to leave, but I'm sure I could pay someone to come out here. What do you think? Do you think talking to a professional might help him?"

"Maddie, I feel I need to caution you," said Vlad urgently. "Therapy is based on human psychology. It's meant for human minds."

My eyes lidded warily. "Danny is human."

"He's half human."

I glared at him. I knew this was true and even found great pride in my son's ghostly identity, but the way Vlad said this sounded demeaning. "What are you trying to say? That therapy somehow isn't going to do anything for him because he's half ghost?"

"I can't say it won't do anything, but I fear it won't be as effective as you're hoping."

"I'll do some research. Maybe I can find a psychiatrist who'd be willing to come out, someone who can prescribe medication for him."

"Medication, like antidepressants? Or something else? Those are all meant for humans, too. They've never been tested on ghosts. Ghosts don't have the same chemical make-up."

"All right, yes, Danny has some ghostly physicalities, but his mind is human," I assured him. "His head and heart are human."

"Then why is he still here, Maddie?"

I leaned back with a frown.

"If he had a truly human mind, he would've left here by now. He would've gone back to school, reconnected with his friends." Vlad shrugged. "In fact, if his mind were truly human, I'd daresay that he would've never run off at all. He would've toughed it out like a normal human being."

"He's fine. He's normal. He's just going through a hard time, and he needs a little more help than I can give him."

"It's been almost ten months, Maddie. A 'normal' person would've at least shown some improvement by now." Vlad's voice rose as he gestured to inside the house. "But he's actually worse than he was when he first isolated himself out here!"

I shushed him. "Keep your voice down. I don't want him to hear us talking about him."

"I just don't want you to be disappointed," said Vlad in a softer voice. "Take it from someone who knows what it's like to not have a fully human mind." He lowered his eyes. "We truly just aren't like other people."

He seemed genuinely aggrieved by this. It actually touched my heart with sympathy for him.

"Vlad, I really hope you haven't been saying things like this to Danny," I said to him in a pleading manner. "I really don't want him thinking there's no hope for him to get better."

"There isn't anything wrong with him knowing that," said Vlad. "In fact, I think it'd be easier for him to control if he could fully accept this…inhuman part of him. And I just think you should be aware as well that this isn't something you can just fix. If you focus too much on trying to get him help or pushing him back into the real world, you might just make him feel like there's something wrong with him, like he's broken." Vlad paused. "And you don't want him to feel that way, do you?"

I mentally scoffed. Had he even seen Danny lately? Clearly, Danny was broken, and I couldn't just sit around hoping that he'd improve with time.

I found a qualified therapist who could come out to Danny. Danny was at first reluctant, but I reminded him that he had promised to let me try to help him.

He had no faith in himself to recover from this. I had to maintain all faith and hope for him.

…

"I met with Danny several times from the beginning of November in twenty-twelve up until April of twenty-thirteen," said the therapist from the witness stand. He never looked at me.

"Who was it that first contacted you?" asked my attorney.

"Maddie Fenton."

"And for what reason did she contact you?"

"She was looking for a professional to talk to her son, Danny. She said he was suffering with depression. She said she needed someone to come directly to him since he was unable to even leave the house he was staying in."

"Did it sound to you that she genuinely cared about him? That she didn't want him to feel depressed anymore?"

"Objection. Leading," interrupted the prosecutor.

The therapist was supposed to help my case. He was supposed to show the jury that I was actually trying to help Danny, that I wasn't trying to keep him locked away in a perpetual state of misery.

But then it was the prosecutor's turn to ask questions.

"Did Danny make any progress during his therapy sessions with you?"

"It would depend on what you consider progress," said the therapist.

"Let me try again. You began treating Danny for depression in November of twenty-twelve, correct?"

"Yes."

"When you spoke to him for the last time in April of twenty-thirteen, was he still depressed?"

"Yes."

"If he was still depressed, and that was the whole reason for the therapy, then why did you stop going to see him?"

"His mother—Maddie—informed me over the phone that he no longer wished to speak to me."

"Maddie told you this?"

"Yes."

"Did Danny tell you this?"

"No, he did not."

"So you only have Maddie's word that that was what Danny wanted?"

"Yes."

"Was Maddie aware that Danny was still depressed even after you last spoke to him?"

"We talked about it over the phone, yes. But she said that although she recognized Danny was still depressed, he simply didn't want to continue anymore."

My defense objected. The judge overruled.

"So Maddie clearly told you that she knew Danny was still depressed, correct?" said the prosecutor.

"Yes," replied the therapist.

"And she claimed that Danny simply didn't want to continue, but you never heard that from him directly. Is that true?"

"Yes."

Repetition. This trial has been full of it. The points must be tediously clarified to the jury.

"And even though she knew he was depressed, she still called you up to stop the therapy."

"Yes."

"Even though that was the whole reason she had asked for your help in the first place?"

"Yes."

I could only sit and listen and fume. I had already confessed to ending his life. I was more than willing to accept punishment for that. But I hated this angle they were trying to put on it, that they were trying to make it look as if I was the one who was keeping him so sad and lonely, that I was so obsessed with him that I wanted to keep him imprisoned for my own sick pleasure.

No, he did that to himself. Any pleasure I got out of it was inconsequential.