Chapter Thirteen: It Makes No Difference Now

Sam hated the idea of leaving Danny after he had been so upset. The second she began walking away, guilt hit her like a ton of bricks. But he had insisted, and she knew that he'd blame himself if they left now. Truthfully, she was shaken up by the encounter with Vlad too. She didn't know if she was quite convinced yet that the man had recognized Danny, but it had definitely been a weird interaction. She wanted more than anything to just tell Danny he was being paranoid, but Sam wasn't so sure if that was true or not.

She pushed through the bodies, ignoring the smiles and attempts at conversation from people who recognized her. She could see whispers, know that she was "that girl"- the one who had lost everyone she had ever known as a child, who had tragically returned to the scene of the crime and lost her marbles, wandering around in a daze for two weeks. This narrative had a happy ending though, thank God. Sam found her way home and was able to heal from her ordeal, reflecting and writing about the whole experience, as well as uncovering some previously unknown details about the explosion. It was a good story.

Sam would give anything for that story to be true, for it to have been as cathartic and simple as that. She had always hated the way people stared at her, with a mix of pity and intrigue. Desperate to know the details, but afraid to ask. This crowd was less apprehensive, full of reporters and out-of-touch rich folk who were fascinated by the whole sordid thing. They wanted to hear all about what it was like to have walked through the ashes of Amity, to ask what exactly traumatized her so badly to send her into a fugue state. Some people honest-to-God tugged on her arm as she squeezed through the crowd, eyes sweeping over the ballroom. Where had Vlad gone? It was like the man had vanished into thin air while she had been outside.

"Samantha!" a posh voice rang out. Sam jumped, knowing that voice anywhere. She whirled around to see her mother bobbing towards her. Someone shoved into Pamela then, cutting her off to try and talk to Sam.

"Miss Manson, can I get a quote? For the Chicago Tribune?" The pushy reporter asked, waving a tape recorder over his head. He approached her, leaving a fuming Pamela behind him.

"No." Sam said, a little ruder than she meant to. But really, the man had just nearly trampled over her mother. She dodged his tape recorder, ducking around him and meeting her mother half-way. The older woman looked visibly disgusted by how packed-in the crowd was, rattled by how many people seemed to recognize them.

"That's the mother, Pamela Manson." Sam heard someone whisper behind them. Sam may have publicly attached her name to the Amity Park Disaster, but her parents had never managed to escape their own association with it. Her dad's clients often asked about the experience, much to his irritation.

"Let's go somewhere more private." Sam said in a clipped tone. With how often her and her mother's conversations ended in screaming, she did not want to talk anywhere near cameras or microphones.

"I thought this was supposed to be a classy event." Her mother sniped, turning up her nose. Sam rolled her eyes, using her years of Pamela experience to translate that into a declaration of agreement. She led the way, finding a quiet hall tucked in the back of the ballroom. It was secluded, dark and empty. Sam assumed the few doors in the hall led to storage rooms.

"You came." Sam said, glancing around for prying eyes or ears. She looked at her mom, taking in her appearance. Despite her frazzled state, the woman looked pristine as always. Her green dress was lovely and perfectly draped, her red hair coiffed and pinned flawlessly. Pamela wouldn't dare looking wrong-footed in public.

"Well, what choice did we have? You've made your demands." Pamela sniffed. Sam's ears perked at that.

"Dad is here too?" She asked. She hadn't seen him in the crowd, but she had been busy looking for Vlad. Sam felt her stomach turn nervously at the thought of her father on the prowl while Danny sat around unaware. She really hoped they wouldn't run into one another without her there to mediate.

"Yes, he went to get me a drink." Pamela answered, waving a hand dismissively. "And then I saw you in the crowd, and I tried to get your attention. Really, Samantha, you shouldn't be talking to such sleazy journalists." Sam took a deep breath, reminding herself that she really didn't want to lose her cool here.

"Did you not see me tell him no?" She asked, feeling a vein throb in her forehead. Her blood pressure always skyrocketed when talking to her mom. Pamela frowned, putting a hand on her hip.

"Well what did you expect, publishing a tell-all?" She shot back. "You practically begged for the attention."

"Not all of us prefer to sweep everything unpleasant under the rug." Sam said through gritted teeth. "Some of us can't just pretend everything is fine." Begging for attention…as if her paper didn't help raise funds for a good cause! Sam hadn't even talked to any media at all, unless you counted the reporter she just said no to.

"Yes, well now your father and I can't dine out without someone we know asking how you're doing after your little ordeal." Pamela complained, forging ahead. "Do you know how embarrassing it is to be asked about your daughter's mental breakdown all the time?"

"The fugue state is YOUR story!" Sam cried, voice raising dangerously close to a yell. She saw red, her temper rearing its ugly head. Why couldn't she have run into her dad at least? She and Pamela were like oil and water. They never saw eye-to-eye. She could sometimes get her dad to see reason.

"And I didn't claim to have any kind of mental breakdown in my paper, or anywhere else publicly for that matter. So when these vultures here ask me about that, I know that I can thank you and dad for that bit of gossip!" She finished, chest heaving. She was not going to take the fall for that, she had always hated and protested against the stupid lie since the very beginning.

"Well what am I supposed to say when our friends ask what happened?!" Pamela asked, eyes bugging. Sam fought the urge to scream, this was quickly turning into the same argument they had over the phone.

"You don't have to say anything to them!" Sam exclaimed. Her fists clenched at her side, knuckles white. "You could ask me how I am, how I feel after everything I went through. You could actually listen when I try to talk to you about my life." Pamela scoffed.

"After you made it perfectly clear for years that you wanted nothing to do with us?" She asked, her voice betraying genuine hurt. Sam felt a stab of guilt, but she swallowed it down. She was not the only one to blame for their years-long rift.

"You are the parent, I am the kid. Your kid." She reminded her. "It shouldn't be on me to reach out, to try and mend things."

"No." Pamela agreed, eyes glinting dangerously. "You'd prefer to make ultimatums instead." Her tone was positively venomous. Sam felt her heart ache in that moment, wondering if she had made any progress at all with her parents. Had she lied to herself? Was the situation truly as hopeless as she had concluded years before, after her grandmother's death?

"You came." Sam repeated, deciding to confront this head on. She wasn't going to waste time trying to defend her choices. "So what now?" Pamela took a deep breath, collecting herself. She brushed a curl behind her ear, not allowing her appearance to reflect their argument.

"You are my daughter. I obviously love you." Sam scoffed.

"It's not always obvious." She said, unable to keep the petty comment from slipping out. Her mother scowled, but to her credit she did not take the bait. A few years ago, that comment alone would have prompted a screaming match.

"Your father and I both love you, despite whatever you may think." She repeated. "We would never choose any option other than you. We were always going to come."

"Why do I sense a 'but' in there somewhere?" Sam asked, not letting herself get fooled by her mom's sentimental words. Pamela always softened the blow, always led with declarations of love and understanding before hurtling the harshest condemnations.

"We will never approve of that boy." Pamela said, eyes steely. "And I won't pretend to, not even for you. Hate us if you want, but that is how it is always going to be. We will not talk to him, we will not support you talking to him either." Sam stared at her mother for a long moment, numb.

"You came all this way to say that?" Sam muttered finally. "Your big moment is saying that you haven't changed your mind about anything?"

"My big moment, Samantha, is telling you that you need to let go of this fantasy you have of saving that boy. He's already dead, he's gone." Pamela said, voice trembling. It was the first time that either of her parents had ever acknowledged what Danny was, the first time they had said it out loud with no innuendo or ambiguity. And it was the wrong conclusion, the worst thing Sam could have heard them say. Danny was full of life, his eyes sparkled with it, his smile radiated it. Even when she only knew him as Phantom, it was undeniable, plain as day. If they would only give him a chance, they would see it too.

"He's alive." Sam refuted, shaking her head. "He survived in absolute hell by himself for eight years, fighting for his life. Even surrounded by death, he kept seeking it out. He saved mine."

Pamela drew back in fear, her face twisting into a picture of absolute misery as she realized the unspoken truth behind her words.

"You're in love with him." It wasn't a question.

"Yes." Sam confirmed, raising her chin. She wouldn't deny it, not when she was proud of Danny, proud of the person he was. Her mom reached out, clasping Sam's hands in her own.

"Sammy." She said, eyes imploring. "You have to let this go. It's sick, it's not right. You're obsessed, morbidly so. You were a kid, honey." A tear escaped Pamela's eye, rolling down her cheek and smudging her perfect makeup. "Your life doesn't have to be defined by this one thing. You can move on."

Sam snatched her hands away, deeply disturbed by this display of vulnerability. Her mother didn't cry, she didn't plead. She screamed and criticized and threatened. It was wrong to see her like this. She felt herself slipping into defensive mode, wrong-footed by it.

"How can you say that?" Sam said, taking a step back. "You're completely heartless. You never even like Amity. You never approved of Danny, even when he was just a kid." Of course her mother would tell her to just move on, she had never even cared. All she did for years was beg her dad to move out of Amity. All she had ever done was judge Sam's friends and her choices.

Pamela sighed, collecting herself once more.

"Your father and I lost people there too. We had friends and neighbors as well, Samantha. We're not as cruel or uncaring as you accuse us of being." Sam shook her head, spiralling. Her mother's words didn't make sense, they couldn't be true. Her parents had always hated Danny and his family, always looked down on the town. They had been urging her to just forget for years, they couldn't begin to comprehend the depth of her sorrow. She felt like she was fourteen again, crying and screaming at them that they didn't understand.

"You don't even miss her." Sam cried out, finally losing any semblance of control over her emotions. They raged inside her like a storm, years of pent up frustration and grief unleashing. "You wouldn't let me say goodbye to my own grandmother. You didn't want to let me mourn her! Why would you ever understand this?" She was aware that she had turned this argument into a different one, an even more sore subject. But she couldn't help it, because it had always gone back to this, didn't it?

"Samantha…" Her mom breathed. For once, it seemed the woman didn't have an excuse. She actually looked ashamed, wringing her hands nervously.

"You want to keep me from everyone I love!" Sam accused, feeling herself revert back to those most volatile years, screaming the ugliest things she could think of at her parents, throwing stuff across the room. "Well, Danny is still here. He's not Grandma Ida, you can't take him from me!" She declared, turning her back on her mother. She didn't want to talk to her anymore, leaving to go find Danny.

"Samantha!" Her mother called after her, struggling to chase her down in her heels. They clacked obnoxiously loud against the marble floors, echoing through the deserted hall. "We're not done talking!"

"Yes, we are!" Sam hurtled over her shoulder, giving her mom a glare. She bumped into a body then, stumbling and nearly falling. She looked up to see her father. He looked awful, hair askew and face white and pinched. Her mother caught up behind her, the three of them just feet away from being swallowed up by the party once more. Something nagged at Sam and she glanced down at Jeremy's empty hands. No drink.

"You were a diversion." Sam said, closing her eyes. Her mother said nothing. Of course, she should have known that they weren't just here to talk. Her mother had distracted her just long enough for her father to find and confront Danny alone.

"Sam-" Her dad began.

"What did you say to him?" She asked angrily, cutting him off.

"I told him to leave you alone, that he wasn't good for you." Jeremy said calmly, like it was a reasonable thing to say. "I told him that he shouldn't be in your life at all, because he's not human." Sam felt her heart sink, heavy as lead. Her whole body went cold.

"What was I supposed to say?" Jeremy asked, frustrated. His hands went up, gesticulating wildly as he tried to defend himself. "His eyes- they glowed! And he jumped off the balcony before vanishing! It was unnatural, it's-"

"I hate both of you!" Sam bit out. Hot, angry tears filled her eyes. Her head hurt, thoughts racing as she tried to sort through all her feelings of humiliation and betrayal. "I'm done with this, I don't want to talk to either of you ever again."

Sam hiked up her dress, holding the hem up so it wouldn't catch on the floor. She walked away briskly, ignoring her parents' calls. She whirled around, frantically searching for Danny. He should have been easy to see, his head should have stuck out above most of the others in the crowd. She felt ill, nauseous as the room seemed to spin. The voices were too loud, the bodies too hot and stifling. She ignored people saying her name, shoving through without a care for who she pushed or whose shoes she stepped on.

Her dad said Danny vanished, Sam already knew he must have left the party. Danny liked to fly when he was upset, he could be literally anywhere. Sam raced up the staircase as fast as she could, paying no mind to the stares she was getting. She knew she was probably making a scene leaving the gala so visibly upset, but she couldn't care less right now. Not like it mattered anyway, people would just say 'poor thing' to themselves and assume she was worked up about the demolition.

Danny was too fragile to have been spoken to like that, too convinced already of those things himself. The last thing he needed was her father repeating all the things Danny already feared were true. Sam knew they were so obviously wrong, so clearly untrue, but Danny would be deeply hurt by them. She felt stupid and gullible for even insisting her parents should come, feeling as though this was all her fault. How many times would she try to give them the benefit of doubt just to be betrayed once more by them? It was pathetic, really. She would never make this mistake again.

God, and all of this had happened after Danny was already worked up about the weird confrontation with Vlad. Sam reached the top of the staircase and hurried even faster, half-running in her heels. She wiped a hand across her face, angrily wiping away her tears. She hated crying when she was mad or frustrated. It made her feel weak. The staff stationed at the doors saw her and wordlessly held the door open for her. The same woman who had greeted her earlier that night gave her a silent look of pity as she tore out of the building.

Sam hoped desperately that Danny had gone back to the hotel, that he wouldn't run like he had at the Lancers. She flagged a taxi down in record speed, slipping into the passenger seat and barking the address at the driver. If he was surprised by her obvious distress, he said nothing, blissfully just driving in silence. Cabbies probably saw stranger things all the time, she thought as the gala disappeared behind her in the rearview mirror.

As soon as he pulled into the front of the hotel, Sam pushed several huge bills into his hand and jumped out of the car. She entered the lobby, quickly scanning it for Danny. No sign of him, as she had expected. If he were here, he'd probably be in their room. She walked to the elevators, impatiently tapping the button several times. The numbers on the display ticked down as the elevator descended torturously slow. The elevator finally reached the lobby floor and she hurried inside, pressing the button for their floor. She tapped her foot, nerves frayed by the wait.

The elevator dinged and Sam hopped out, scurrying down the hall to their room. She fumbled around for her key card in her clutch, swearing under her breath as she struggled to get it to scan right. The lock flashed green and she pushed the door open, entering.

"Danny?" She called, afraid of hearing silence in return. If he wasn't here, she wasn't going to be able to find him.

"In here." He answered from the bedroom. She let out a huge breath, tension leaving her body immediately. She kicked off her heels, relieved to be free of them. Sam entered the bedroom to find Danny sitting on the bed. His elbows rested on his knees, hands threaded together under his chin. He looked lost in thought, eyebrows furrowed together.

"You're here." Sam said quietly. His eyes flicked up to her, apologetic.

"I'm sorry, I just…I needed to leave." He said. Sam shook her head, sitting next to him on the mattress.

"No, I meant that you're here in the room. You didn't disappear." She clarified. Danny sighed.

"I figured it would be shitty if I vanished on you like that again. Besides, it's a nice room." He smiled wryly, eyes betraying his exhaustion. "Wouldn't want to waste it." They sat in uncomfortable silence for several beats.

"I'm so sorry." Sam said, unsure of what else she could say. She was wracked with guilt about the entire night, unable to articulate exactly how much she wished she could erase the last couple of hours.

"It's not your fault." He said tiredly. Sam laughed bitterly, swallowing her tears down.

"Isn't it?" She asked. She had made him go to the gala, she had talked to Vlad, she left him alone to fend for himself, and she had forced her parents to show up by threatening to never talk to them again if they didn't. Well, they had come through after all and now she knew she never wanted anything to do with them again.

"It really isn't." Danny said, looking at her. He was awfully calm.

"I hate them." Sam said, afraid to ask Danny what exactly had gone down between him and her dad. "I'll never forgive them." Danny grabbed her hand in his, resting it on top of his thigh.

"You don't mean that." He insisted softly. Sam shook her head.

"I do." She insisted stubbornly.

"You don't." He repeated. Sam looked up at the ceiling, trying to control her anger. She wasn't mad at Danny, she wouldn't take it out on him, especially since he was the one who had been hurt.

"How do you know that?" She asked instead, incapable of imagining forgiveness after tonight.

"Because mine invented something that killed me and destroyed our entire town. They tried to cut me open, and I still don't hate them." Danny said simply. "It would be a lot easier if I did, wouldn't it?" Sam felt her face burn with shame, the comparison immediately making her problems seem so small and insignificant.

"I'm sorry." She said again. Danny pulled her into a hug, rubbing her back. Why was he comforting her right now? This was wrong, it should be the other way around.

"It's not a competition." He said, understanding why she was apologizing. "And I would bet anything that right now it feels like hating them would make it easier for you too, right?"

Sam nodded silently against his chest.

"Yeah." She admitted. Because of course she didn't really hate them, though she desperately wanted to. Their betrayal stung so much because she wanted so very badly to fix things.

"Your dad said what he said because he thinks he's protecting you." Danny said quietly. "That's all there is to it." Sam peered at him through her bangs.

"He's wrong." She said resolutely. "Whatever he told you, whatever he accused you of- it's dead wrong." Danny stared back at her with wide eyes. She could see doubt swimming in their depths, an internal battle with himself written on his face.

"I really hope so." He said after a long pause. Sam grabbed his hand, squeezing it.

"They don't know you like I know you." She said. "If they were just willing to give you a chance, they would see." Danny looked down at her, raising his eyebrows.

"See what?" He asked. Sam felt such sorrow for him, for the fact that he was so blind to his best qualities. He had grown up alone, with no one there to encourage him or show him any support. His self-image was damaged so significantly in that time, to an extent that she wasn't sure he'd ever fully recover from. She found herself wondering again what he could have been if things had been different, if their lives hadn't been so drastically changed. He had always been a shy and insecure kid, but she liked to believe that he would have grown out of it with time.

"That you're so brave and selfless." Sam said, as if it were obvious. "That you were dealt such a shitty hand by life, and you stayed courageous and kind. Danny, you saved people! Lancer and me included." She added. He looked skeptical, a protest already forming on his lips.

"I didn't do that much." Danny said, ducking his head. "I just…tried to help where I could. A lot of times I wasn't able to." His eyes got a far away look to them, intense and distant. "It was my fault, anyway." He said quietly. And Sam knew there would never be anything she could say to change his mind about that. It was the burden that weighed heaviest on him- not his ghostliness, not the loss of his family, not the isolation. He would forever be haunted by the thought that all of that pain had been his own fault, that he was responsible for all those ruined lives.

"I wish you wouldn't blame yourself." Sam said. But she knew that the alternative was perhaps even harder. If it wasn't his fault, then it was his parents. And she knew how earth-shattering it was to acknowledge your parents' faults and mistakes like that. Sam had loved the Fentons, she had many fond memories of Jack and Maddie. But they weren't her parents, they didn't tuck her in or bandage her scraped knees or kiss her head. It ultimately wasn't that hard for her to acknowledge the pain that their work had caused. For Danny, it must be much harder to accept their role in everything that had happened to him.

"It's hard not to." Danny admitted. "When you're the only one left, who else is there to blame?" Sam didn't have an answer for that.

"Just promise me you won't take what my dad said to heart." She pleaded softly. "Anything he said was motivated only by ignorance and hate. He doesn't even know you."

Danny opened his mouth to respond, but Sam never heard what he would have said. A knock at their door interrupted their conversation, making both of them jump. Sam frowned.

"Did you order food or something?" She asked. Why would someone come to their room at this hour?

"No." Danny said, standing up. "I guess you're not expecting anyone either?"

"Nope." Sam confirmed. "It must be one of the maids." Maybe they were dropping off clean towels or something, even though it was kinda late. Danny left their bedroom, disappearing out of her line of sight as he went to go answer the door. She waited for him to come back, picking at a loose thread in the comforter on the bed. What was taking him so long?

"I think we have a problem." Danny said as he re-entered the room. Sam looked up to see him looking as white as a sheet. In his hand he held a white card with cursive scrawl on it.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, reaching for the card. Danny handed it to her, his fingers trembling. She snatched it, reading the back and feeling her stomach drop. It was signed Vlad Masters. She turned it around, quickly reading the troubling message.

Dear Miss Manson and Mister Fenton,

I would like to apologize for my rude behavior tonight. I was admittedly shocked to learn that Mr. Fenton is alive and well. I humbly request to meet with Daniel (alone) at my home tomorrow evening. I imagine that we will have much to discuss.

Best Wishes,

Vlad Masters

Sam read the card over and over, trying to process the words.

"What does this mean?" She whispered, looking up at Danny. He looked very afraid.

"I think it means that Vlad is very dangerous." He swallowed, plucking the card out of her hands and reading it again. "And I have no choice but to meet him tomorrow."

AN: Ahhh! So sorry for the wait! I've been busy with work/family/Halloween. Next chapter should come much sooner 3