AHH okay. You guys are going to hate me for these next two chapters.

YAY.

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; don't own the Used; don't own Rise Against.
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!

No flaming plz.

-Danny's POV-

I could literally feel my eyes as they glowed scarlet. Taking a deep breath that sounded more like a gasp, I tried to return my eyes back to their green state, but of course they wouldn't go. A snarl escaped my lips, anger like a drug. I rounded on Vlad.

"You're the reason I've been doubting myself," I snarled, I growled, I hissed. Vlad's face was impassive; dark, but no other emotion on it. He was in his ghost form as well, looking at me with a cool, calculating look.

"And why must you play scapegoat, Daniel?"

My hands balled into fists. My gloves stretched across my skin, chaffing against it, making me want to rip them off and stain my skin with Vlad's vile blood.

"Because you're the one who adopted me!" I roared at him, knowing my eyes were alight with fiery red fury. "You're the one who showed me my goddamn molecules! I was fine when I was with…when I was with…," I said, but blanched in the process of trying to say her name.

Vlad, however, did the honors for me. "Say her name. Samantha Manson. Sam Manson. Sammy."

I know my face grew in pallor, even more than it had before hand. He said her name with such utter loathing.

"How can you hate her so much if you don't even know her?" I whispered. Vlad merely shrugged, a ghost of a smile, and lashed out at me.

Pure, unhindered anger. Controlling, consuming. No part of me belonged to my actual brain anymore; it was just this anger.

My world became a slow motion film. No noise, no sounds. Just red, dripping from the corners, like blood. I blinked, gritted my teeth together, found Vlad's chest, and smacked my fist—hard—into it.

He staggered back. Then, with a smirk, a kick to my own chest. I took it bravely, not even flinching as it crushed (or so it seemed to me) my chest. I moved out of the way of it; he was aiming it at my face, but my body was in slow motion as well.

A twirl, smacking the back of my hand into his face. I felt flesh give way to my knuckle, tear open the skin. I didn't even skip a beat. As Vlad winced in pain and shocked from his ripped open cheek, I doubled back, smashing my palm into his nose and thrusting upwards.

Blood sprayed, like some sort of malicious waterfall. I licked my lips, the taste of it lingering in my mouth. A sadistic, horrible grin, and then I lifted my knee up to Vlad's groin. He remained rock solid for about a second; then he collapsed.

Silence greeted my attack, but I didn't mind. He, on the floor, gripped his face and his crotch. I wanted to laugh; I wanted to sneer, step on his chest and clobber him; I wanted to kill him. I wanted to taste his fear, his life, his blood. I wanted to grip his arms, crush his bones, make him hurt half the hurt I was feeling.

Confusion twisted in my gut like a sharp edged knife. Sam or green? Memories from the past, or thoughts of the future? Soft hands pressing against my body or fists pummeling into flesh? Continue this frantic game of charades, this dance with the devil that lead me to shimmy down the path of good; or look ahead, accept the devil's hand in my life, and see things with clarity for the first time and become…evil?

"Mmmm…Danny," my brain delivered her voice to me, causing me to cringe, to gasp in pain. Vlad slowly stood up, eyes blazing, but somehow still in control.

Vlad came to smash his clenched hand into my face; I held up a hand, warded it off, and did a pirouette that delivered me to the side of him. Simply but surely, I tucked my leg around his own legs, causing him to flounder.

While he tried to regain his balance, I grabbed his head. He thrashed against me, raising his hand to blast an ectoplasmic ray, when—

—thousands of Vlad's appeared around me. Thousands upon thousands, staring at me, raising their fists and shaking them furiously at me.

"You will not get away with this," they boomed.

They broke through my sound barrier; but they couldn't break through my slow motion state. My head spun around, slowly, to assess the situation.

That was when my world pretty much stopped moving all around.