YAYY chapter nineteen.

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny, Sam, Tucker, or Vlad. The three belong to Butch Hartman.
I do not own the band AFI; I do not own the band MCR; I do not own the band Linkin Park; I do not own the band Blaqk Audio.
Some ideas in this story were taken from Glamorousdeath, a member of the website from her story "Will You Cry for me?...or Will you cry with me?"
I do, however, own most of the plot to this fanfiction. IF SOMEONE STEALS IT I WILL EAT THEM.

Warning (so you guys don't eat my brain): DANNY FENTON AND SAM MANSON ARE ALTERED IN THIS FANFICTION. SAM IS TWO YEARS YOUNGER THAN DANNY; DANNY GOT HIS POWERS AT AGE TEN. If you do not want to read a fanfiction that is not "true" to the series, then please, do not read this. I'm sorry, but in order to make the fanfiction work, they had to be seperate ages. Once again...Danny and Sam are different ages; this fanfiction does not correspond whatsoever with the actual series.

This fanfiction is a work of fiction that came from the screwed up hole I call a brain. It is flufftastical, romantic, terribly tragic, and using the characters and most of their family history/backgrounds as bases. Thank you for understanding!

LOL'ED.

-Danny's POV-

My birthday came and went unnoticed. I hadn't visited Sam at all; I wondered feebly how she was doing, but didn't dare to visit her.

Ghosts taunted me from my window daily; I ignored them, turning my back, letting them wreak their havoc. They did what they wanted once they realized I wasn't gonna fight them.

I sure as hell didn't stop them.

Vlad watched me closely for quite a while, eyeing me strangely. I figured he probably expected me to blow up at any given moment.

I kinda thought I was going to, too.

-Sam's POV-

Over the year, I was positive I had gotten a grand total of about 1,000 hours of sleep. Out of 8,766 hours, I had gotten an eighth of it.

Every night I'd lie in bed, waiting for Danny, watching with sadness as his visits became less frequent. He once visited every night; slowly that dwindled to every week; every month…not at all. But still, I stayed up, hoping he'd visit. I still cried every night; it was the only way I could get an hour, a blink, a glimpse of sleep as the night turned to day. Tire myself out from tears. I had hoped the pain would have dwindled…but it was ever strong, a beast gripping my heart tightly. Holding on tight, its claws ripping shreds into the precious tissue of my heart. Holding on…gripping tighter…squeezing…until there was no way I could ever breathe properly again.

The beast was ferocious, a beast borne of tears. A beast covered in wet, salty liquid, dripping it along his destructive path as he wandered my chest cavity, the place where my heart had once lain swollen, but now lay shriveled.

I let out a desperate sigh, tracing patterns on my arm, wearing his shirt. I wish he'd come and visit. I missed his arms gripping me, the feel of his kisses warm on my lips. I missed everything about him. The comfort I felt while he gripped me, the gentle caress of his lips against my own, the feel of his strong yet surprisingly soft hands against my stomach.

A smile flitted to my face as I remembered the first time he had kissed me; had seriously kissed me, not that silly peck on the lips he had given me at the movie theater ages ago. I had expected his lips to be hard as stone, for some strange reason. But they weren't; they were soft, squishy, inviting…like a pillow. I wanted to feel them again…it had been so long…too long…

I jolted as my personal phone rang (a Christmas present). I snatched it before it could wake anyone up and shoved my head and the phone under the pillow and covers. "Tuck?" I hissed into the phone.

He yawned, the noise very vacant. He was doing well with the whole "I'm fourteen, fuck off" thing. "Hey, Sam," he said into the receiver. "I'm bored, and I knew you'd be awake."

I snorted. "Yeah, because I get like, an hour of sleep a night, and it shows all over my face?"

He laughed. "Yeah, sort of."

We talked for quite a while. He had called at midnight, and by the time he hung up, the yawn very audible in his voice, it was four AM. I hoped he was able to get some shut eye; I knew I wouldn't be able to.

Hanging the phone up, I put my arms behind my head and stared up at the ceiling.

A small part of me wondered about that strange fact of Danny. That he was part ghost. I had always known that there was more to the world than "this is what we see; this is what there is." But I had never expected myself to fall in love with one of those outside things…and if there were ghosts, what else was there?

Did Danny die? Is that why he disappeared so suddenly? Did something happen to him, or did he just hate me for no reason? I bit my lip, tears slowly coming forth from my tear ducts, and rolled over so my face was in my pillow.

I moaned darkly. "Danny, you suck, but I love you," I mumbled into it, picking myself up feebly as if I were doing a push up. I sneered down at my pillow, my lips contorting and becoming something vile and bitter.

"What ever happened to never leaving me?" I asked quietly, I asked thickly through my tears. "You told me…you'd never leave…why did you leave me?"

I sighed, letting my weight drop down on the bed, and controlled the tears for the first time in that horrible year.

"You're not worth my tears," I said vituperatively, startled almost immediately. Of course he was; he was Danny, my Danny, the one who loved me, cared for me, was the single light in my world…

The light that was slowly blinking off as time went on.