Inside his bedroom, Danny slowly trudged to his bed, made his way around the pile of clothes spilling out of his closet, and sat down, his breath being released in a long sigh. He sat there for a long while, glaring down at the picture of his family and wondering where he'd gone wrong. Downstairs he heard Vlad crying and his face hardened but his heart internally sank. In truth, he had never meant to harm Vlad—never. He had only meant to harm himself, to end it all, but how could he not have foreseen that even if they hadn't thrown down as they had, it would break the man's heart? He wanted to kill himself—he really did, but at what cost? Was it really worth killing himself if he would spend his eternity knowing he had scarred the man who'd been so kind to him? Could he be at peace if he knew Vlad wasn't?
He sat there for a long time, thinking, wondering how he could have let himself get so out of control. Pulling the gun on Vlad and telling him to get into the closet so he could blow his fucking brains out? At the time, he thought he was saving Vlad pain, but how many times had he actually shot the poor guy? How close had he come to killing Vlad? How long would it have been before he'd gotten bored of asking and simply shot the man in the head if he wouldn't comply?
Danny reached up and plucked a long black hair from his head. At the end of the hair, there was a thick, wet follicle. He set the hair on his knee, reached up, and plucked another distractedly, thinking very thoroughly, knowing he'd never consciously intended to hurt Vlad but knowing he'd enjoyed it—he was smirking, after all. He thought it might have to do with that night which seemed so long ago when they'd gone to dinner, and Vlad had started strangling him, shaking him and screaming that he was horribly spoiled and selfish. They might have taken him away in a cop car, but he came back in his limo after he bailed himself out. The court date came quickly and he had an excellent attorney, and only a few hours after he left he came back, a free man.
How? Danny could only wonder how the Justice System must be flawed if a rich man could strangle a child and get away with it. And perhaps this is why he could smirk at the injured and crying man who lay on the floor before him. He thought Vlad should have had something. Maybe he wanted Vlad to go to jail, or maybe he wanted Vlad to have to pay a fine, but he knew in his heart that Vlad should not have gotten off as easily as he did, even if he did spend a great deal of time apologizing and begging for his forgiveness. It still wasn't right and Danny knew it. Maybe something inside him had just wanted to right the wrong—punish Vlad where the Judicial Branch had not.
But even so, had never meant to do so. It might have been necessary, or what was right, but Danny didn't believe in harming anyone like that…at least the Danny he knew.
His fingers stopped, mid-pluck, and his breath froze. This is it. This is where I become Dan. I thought that I wouldn't become him by killing myself, but I have, indirectly. Indirectly, trying to kill myself has made me Dan.
The hardness in his face left; his jaw loosened and his eyes drooped, and he started to cry. He lay back on the bed and cried helplessly, wanting more than anything to have someone hold him and tell him it was okay.
"Damn it!" Danny screamed, tears streaming down his cheeks. "How could I have been so fucking stupid? I ruined everything and there's no going back!
Look at yourself! Look what you've done! Look who you are!"
In the kitchen downstairs, Vlad heard his screams and moaned, his heart, as well as his body, aching. He had learned a technique which came in handy now; he had easily removed the bullets by turning himself intangible, but it was a special kind of intangible—if you had any foreign matter in your body, it would fall right out. Now four or five bullets were rolling around the kitchen floor, and he did not bother to pick them up. Instead, he was readily applying disinfectant to the deep wounds, knowing it would do no good but determined not to go to the hospital, to separate them again.
He could not bear to listen to Danny's self-effacing chants, and so he screamed up at him, even though it pained him to do so, "Be quiet!"
The screaming stopped, but through the walls he could hear sobbing.
Sobs—the house was filled with them that day.