Breaking Dawn
A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque
I do not own Danny Phantom.
"Once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny."-Master Yoda, "Star Wars: Episode VI: Return of the Jedi" (1980)
Chapter 14: Crossing the Line, Part 1
Three hours ago…
Three blocks from the Manson household…
Sam's face was as cheery as a Christmas wreath as her heavy combat boots clomped loudly on the cracked, weed-infested sidewalk upon which she trod. Her eyes sparkled with the kind of zeal and zest for life that only a youth in love could have, and an extra skip in her step further denoted her almost unnaturally cheery demeanor. Her shadow grew long under the street lamps that illuminated the city block in their dim yellow glow, and as the Goth turned a corner, the last vestiges of the vibrant sunset dissipated from the clouds overhead. Night was falling fast, but this fact was lost upon Danny's girlfriend as she went merrily along her way.
Over an hour after she'd shyly kissed Danny goodbye outside the entrance to the Amity Park Mall, her nerves were still tingling with that curious, pleasant fire she'd come to enjoy. Her skin felt alive where he'd held her, where his lips had been, and for the millionth time in a row Sam mentally chided herself for taking so damn long to kick-start her relationship with Danny. Only he could make her feel this way, only he could make Sam's normally firm and resolute resolve crumble like a used Kleenex, and it was to him, and to him alone, that her strong heart belonged.
Danny was her whole world, and she was his. How could Sam have possibly been blind and stupid enough to deny her feelings for him? Even now, Sam knew, in spite of all the trials he had thus far endured, Danny's sense of duty and resolve held fast. He held his own life meaningless compared to those of his friends and family, and Sam knew that, if worse came to worse, Danny would fight a thousand men a thousand times to protect her.
And for all these things, her love for him blossomed like the most rare and beautiful of flowers. Love, that intangible thing that had inspired artisans and men of letters for uncounted centuries turned the blood to fire in Sam's veins. This wondrous, extraordinary, special thing that transcended the boundaries of life and death itself, was what filled her thoughts of him. Love, innocent, precious, and as pure as the most flawless gemstone, had bound the two of them together as it had bound man and woman for time immemorial. The intimate connection that Danny and Sam now shared was so bright that it outshone the sun on a midsummer's noon, and she now knew, with every fiber of her being, that Danny was the only one in the world for her.
Sam's mind grew far away in a girlish manner that was most uncharacteristic of her. Flashes of the afternoon that the couple had shared in the corridors of the Amity mall deluged Sam's brain, and as she slipped under the gate of the rich neighborhood where her house was located, an almost foolish grin suffused her face.
Love, it seemed, clouded the senses like some massive aphrodisiac.
Consequently, Sam was caught totally unawares as several men, clad in black burglar's masks and carrying a variety of crude implements, materialized out of the darkness and fell upon her like rabid wolves. The thick sole of a boot drove the breath from Sam's body as it slammed into her back, and the last conscious thing she saw was a brutish-looking thug grinning over her, a metal wrench in his hand.
"Give this message to that freakjob you go 'round screwin'," he sneered. "Them Society folks ain't the only ones willin' t'do what it takes to keep our families safe from ghost-freaks like him!"
Then the makeshift weapon descended, and Sam Manson knew no more.
Now…
In the painstakingly sterilized and utterly silent atmosphere of the Amity Park General Hospital's waiting room, Danny Fenton sat with a face of stone and white-knuckled fists. Time seemed to slow to a snail's pace as his broken heart thundered in a chest heavy with grief, and unshed tears blurred his vision as a monstrous wave of sorrow and misery threatened to drown him in his own anguish.
At last, his worst fears had been brutally realized in the most barbaric and savage way imaginable. Sam, his precious Sam, had borne the brunt of the bigotry that Skryme had heaped upon the young hero, and now Danny's girlfriend had very nearly paid the ultimate price for her fidelity.
Danny did not even need to glance at Sam's mother and father to know that they held him personally responsible for their daughter's predicament. Their quiet, burning and baleful gaze spoke more clearly than any word that could have been uttered aloud. It would be a wonder if they even let him near Sam when this was over.
And yet, though Danny's grief was great and his heart torn in twain, his soul-wrenching despair was, augmented and, with each passing moment, being eclipsed by something more great and terrible than Danny had ever felt before. No matter how bottomless his sorrow, nothing on Earth could compare to that fell and terrifying thing that began to consume Danny from the inside out.
Danny felt anger at Sam's assailants on a level that he'd never experienced before, an unstoppable and merciless fury that he could not control. The ghost boy's entire body shook with the force of his wrath, his fingers splintering and cracking the wooden arm of the chair in which he was seated, and his fury roiled and swirled within his once-gentle heart with all the cold, pitiless strength of a howling winter gale. The ectoplasm in Danny's cells burned with an unshakeable, unquenchable, all-consuming desire to make these thugs curse bitterly the day they were born! He wanted, lusted, needed to see their terrified faces contort with agony, to hear their screams and pleas for a mercy that was not forthcoming, and to feel the hot, burning spray of their blood as he tore them to pieces with nothing more than his bare hands. Danny hungered for vengeance like a ravenous vampire, and the satisfaction he longed to feel as he reveled in his revenge would be as sweet as a rare wine. Stronger than a might hurricane, more mindless and savage than a jungle beast, and more unstoppable than a steam train was Danny Fenton now, and as his longing for revenge gnawed at his heart, he slowly began to turn into a dark, twisted reflection of what he once had been.
The expression of Dr. Dourman, the Fenton family position, was grave as he exited the doors of the surgical ward that bore his name. The small group that had congregated there, Sam's parents among them, looked as thoroughly downtrodden as the countless other families and loved ones whose relatives had gone under Dourman's knife. The doctor took a moment to remove his bloodied gloves and stuff them in the pocket of his equally soiled, lead-lined apron.
Dourman seemed to age a thousand years as he wearily whipped off his glasses. "Multiple fractures of the ribs, multiple contusions and extensive bruising, the left wrist broken in two places and what I suspect may be a mildly severe concussion. Ms. Manson, it seems, has been quite savagely assaulted. I trust you have already filed a report with the police department?"
"Yes," Danny Fenton, his face drawn and as pale as a corpse, whispered in a voice so low that Dourman had to strain to hear him. "But they won't have anything to go on until Sam gives them a description."
"Will she recover?" Mrs. Manson asked tearfully, taking a moment to shoot Danny a glance of utmost loathing.
"It will take…time," Dourman admitted. "In all honesty, the situation could have been a lot worse; a few more strikes to the head and her brain could have hemorrhaged. If that had happened, the nature of Ms. Manson's condition would have been much, much more dire. But now I daresay she'll recover, given enough time and bed rest. I've moved her to the ICU for now. She won't be awake for quite some time, however, so I would suggest you all go home and at least try to get some sleep."
"Not likely," Tucker whispered under his breath as the entourage turned to leave as one. He opened his mouth to speak again, but any thoughts of verbal communication were quashed as Tucker beheld a vengeful Danny in all his terrible glory. The ghost boy seemed to ooze ill intent, his head bowed and his palms bleeding where his nails had cut into the skin. Danny's fingertips glowed with eldritch energy as his knuckles threatened to break, and Tucker realized then that his old friend was not in the mood to talk to anyone.
A bolt of fear flashed through Tucker's body. He'd never seen Danny like this before.
His pace quickened as he made his exit, leaving the hybrid alone with his dark and brooding thoughts.
They hurt Sam.
They almost killed her.
They targeted her to get to me.
They went too far. They crossed the line.
And now I'm about to cross it, too.
I don't care who's responsible or where they try to hide.
I don't care what I have to do or who gets in my way!
On Sam's life, I swear I will hunt them down…
For a moment, young Danny's eyes glowed a piercing red-
And I will KILL them.
A/N: Oh, crap. That's really all I can say. I think Danny might have been pushed too far this time.
And PLEASE REVIEW. I only got, like, four last time and I am always anxious for feedback and advice from my readers. Don't be shy, people! If you've got any ideas or suggestions, LET ME KNOW! ^^
Your humble servant,
-Quill N. Inque