When Vlad came back into the room carrying what looked to be a glass of milk, Danny felt a wave of uneasiness wash over him, just as he had the night before when slipping the sleeping pills into his mouth and swallowing. It was not as if he could completely trust Vlad, even if he longed to. It simply wasn't that easy. This was Vlad, his career-long enemy, the person who'd tried to kill his father and he and steal his mother from them, harming everyone else in the process. It was only natural that he thought there must be something other than sleeping pills in that milk; he could not help it. He kept imagining Vlad had had mixed it with some chemical or drug that would kill him, or better yet, alter his thinking so as to make him become loyal to him. He had no way of knowing if that milk was really safe and clean to drink—he could only trust. But really, how could he? Vlad might be acting more kindly, but there was no way to tell if his intentions were as kind. He could be setting him up, just as he had his whole family the night of the college reunion, just as he had when he'd lured his mother and he to his home in the Rockies, just as he had the day he'd shown up in Amity just as the Ghost King was attacking, and every other countless time. He was trying to lull him into a false sense of security, and when Danny least expected it, finally felt that and was willing to accept the far-from-realistic idea that Vlad had really changed, he would simply betray him and execute whatever sick plans he had for him in mind. Danny could almost see it happening now. He could see himself drinking that glass of milk, could see Vlad standing there patiently until he finished it all and there was not a drop left, could see himself handing back the empty glass, could see Vlad's face change, his lips form a twisted grin, could see him laughing maniacally, could see himself collapsing to the floor, dead, or suffering from whatever the pill's purpose. But—and normally, he would have believed such a thing to be ridiculous, if someone had said it to him—he had a strong feeling that that would not happen. Feelings—something he didn't trust in, not anymore, not after they had been what had killed his family, his own impulsiveness. But this feeling was different; it was safe, warm, familiar. He felt he could trust it, for once, and everything would be alright.

No, Vlad didn't poison the milk, he thought. I'll drink it, and I won't give him a hard time about it either.

Vlad brought it over to him, smiled as he handed him the glass, and ruffled his hair lightly. Daddy did not cringe away. In fact, he smiled back. However, it was not without surprise. The surprise, of course, was not of the gesture itself, because he had, more or less, gotten used to such gestures from Vlad, but rather the fact that he had enjoyed the gesture, having his hair ruffled. For the first time since the deaths of his family, he felt a sense of being truly cared for, even loved. No, it was the first time in a long time, even while his parents and sister still lived. The feeling then had been the same as it was when they died; it was a feeling of intense neglect, a loneliness that seemed to suffocate him, heated pain. Because, while they may have loved him, they had never expressed it to him in any way. Perhaps it was because he was a loser, because he failed school, because he was a shrimp who couldn't play sports for his life, because he couldn't get a girl, and maybe they thought this too. Maybe that was why, because he wasn't like his sister. Because he wasn't smart, studious, because he didn't have a foreseeable future. Maybe that was why he had felt so neglected, because while they swooned over her amazing grades and impressive awards, he sat alone, his throat closing as the loneliness wrapped around his neck and strangled him. And maybe that was selfish of him, but he had never been able to help feeling that his parents favored his sister and cared for her more than him. By this point, it seemed only natural that he should think every little compliment and praise his parents gave Jazz and didn't give him was simply their way of stressing how much more they cared for her over him. And each compliment was like a heavy blow to his stomach, stealing his breath, and he felt without air. He had gone so long without praise, without attention, pigeonholed as his sister was showered with compliments. But now, he finally had someone who was giving him what his parents never had and what he had longed for so strongly—attention. So how could he not like it? How could he not long to be held as Vlad had him back by that tree?

Danny lifted the glass of milk to his lips and began to drink as he had promised himself. The milk was warm and calming, and it slipped down his throat easily. After it was gone, he set the empty glass down on the couch's side table and leaned back onto the couch tiredly. Vlad patted his hair again, very gently, and Danny could not help but widen his smile. He had never realized how much he liked having his hair touched, because before Vlad, no one had ever touched it. But his parents had never been particularly cuddly, and neither was he—or so he thought—and he had not thought it was fair to expect that they be. But, the truth was, he did want to be touched. He did want to be comforted. And he felt so saddened, so isolated, in knowing that Vlad, of all people, was the one who would be doing just that instead of them.

"What's wrong, Danny?" Vlad asked softly, noticing the removed and distraught expression on his face as he remembered his parents and what they had not done. Danny came out of his thoughts quickly, pulled from that vile, barren place in his mind by Vlad's calming voice.

"Oh," he said slowly, moving his gaze to look at Vlad. "Nothing's wrong. I was just thinking…"

"About your family?" Vlad asked very gently, very timidly, very uncertainly.

Danny was tired of lying, especially to Vlad, who'd opened up his heart to him. So why couldn't he do the same? Why was he so afraid to tell Vlad what he obviously already knew? Why should he try to disguise his feeling when Vlad would find some way to uncover them anyway? And was it really so wrong, so unacceptable, to feel upset after your own family was killed the day before? Would Vlad really be unable to understand that? Would he belittle him for feeling so?

Danny already knew the answers to those questions, very clearly.

"Yes," he said quietly. "I'm thinking about them."

"Would you like to talk about it, Danny?"Vlad asked with that same gentleness.

Danny nodded, paused, then said, "You know, they never touched me. Not like you."

"Would you have liked them to?"

"I guess I didn't realize really how much I wanted them to until now…when you touched me like that."

"You like it when I touch you?" Vlad said in disbelief. "What happened to before, when you cringed away from me when I laid even the slightest finger on you?"

"Were you only trying to piss me off then?" Danny said, frowning.

"No!" Vlad said suddenly. "Of course not. But it seems odd, that you would have gone from hating it to loving it so quickly."

"I never hated it, Vlad. I just didn't want to admit that I did like it."

"Oh."

"Sometimes, I just can't believe that you can make me believe that you actually care for me when my parents never could. That you are the one who makes me feel loved. But they never tried to make me feel that way. They were too busy with Jazz."

"Why were they busy with Jazz?"

"Because she got such good grades such could have gone to Harvard if she'd lived a little longer. They were so proud of her that they never noticed me. So obsessed with how she did that I was invisible to them, because I've never done anything important, because I've never gotten an award or a perfect score—hell, I've never even gotten an A. Because I'm a failure, and I have no future."

"That isn't even remotely true, Danny. Not at all. Do you know what I think?" Vlad asked softly, placing his hand on Danny's shoulder.

"What?"

"That school wasn't right for you, Danny."

"No?"

"No. I know what a smart young man you truly are, and that school isn't doing a thing to help that quality shine through. Public schools are generally that way. Students learn subjects a certain way, and if they are not comfortable with that way, they have to cope with it. I'm sure you simply struggled with their method of teaching," Vlad said.

"I never understand a thing my teachers are saying," Danny said, and yawned.

"I think you'd enjoy a private school, Daniel. The learning is more specialized to fit each individual student's needs. More one-on-one time with teachers."

Danny yawned again. "…No way… I'd have to wear a stupid… outfit."

Vlad laughed softly. "Uniforms aren't as bad as they seem. That way, no one has to worry about being teased about what they wear because everyone wears the same thing."

"These jackasses at my school bought these ugly jackets… so I bought one too… so I could get into their party…," Danny said drunkenly, half-asleep. "…It was pretty damn stupid."

Vlad smiled. "If you'd been wearing uniforms, you wouldn't have had to go out and buy a special jacket to get into a party, now would you?"

"I wouldn't have had to have that stupid…garage sale…"

Smiling again, Vlad gently gripped Danny's shoulders and lowered him down onto the couch. He slid his hand behind Danny's head and lifted it as he placed a pillow beneath it. He then let Danny's head fall back onto the pillow as he stood and when to the hall closet to get a blanket for him. When he came back, Danny was just barely awake.

He went to him and covered him with the blanket as Danny mumbled, "…and it would never have come to life."

Vlad smiled bemusedly, suppressing a chuckle, and said, "That's nice, Danny. Now get some sleep. I'll be in to check on you in a few hours."

With that, he stood and left, and Danny fell asleep.

As Vlad walked down the hallway and into the kitchen, he mumbled to himself, "Goodness, I hope that boy never does any hard drugs."