Epilogue: Danny. The End….?

"If the soul is left in darkness, sins will be committed. The guilty one is not he who commits the sin, but the one who causes the darkness."
-Les Miserables

~*~

The world was a complicated enough place when you were staggering through your adolescence. Becoming a half-ghost hadn't made things any easier.

Thankfully, the busy nature of his insane life had helped him develop an easy enough system that kept things healthily in check whenever he'd felt stressed (More so then usual) or overwhelmed (See above.). Even when Lancer had coldly handed Danny a test with a spikey, angry red D on its front, even when his parents had accused him of not being completely honest with them-(certainly not wrong, but hurtful)-he had to grudgingly hold onto the ideal that what he was doing was worthwhile.

People, for the most part, with the exception of the occasional nutjob, were good. People were people, and deserved to be saved. The act of saving was good.

He did the act daily. Therefore: Goodoing Good Things=Saving people was good=The act of saving people regularly probably designated you to be a good person + He did his best to save as many as he possibly could = Half dead or not, he could be a good person, disputing his parents' claims that the only good ghost was a dead one. As in, a perfectly destroyed one, or one safely strapped to an examining table. He'd also be able to avoid the fate of miserable Dan Phantom, who'd become cruelty incarnate out of the wrath Danny's ghost half had felt when he'd been discarded, and Plasmius' twenty year spree of...well, he didn't know, being a fruitloop and a colossal nutjob, he supposed.

But that future never came to be, and Danny had already known beforehand that he was supposed to use his abilities to be Amity Park's self-appointed deputy.

Though he'd never let Jazz know it, he sometimes perused through her large scrapbook of articles praising the ghost boy's noble acts, with words that sometimes made his ears burn red. While he didn't know if words like 'valiant' and 'chivalrous' suited him (whatever THEY meant) they were nice to hear, even if a large majority of ghost hunters in his beloved home town eagerly continued their hunt of their greatest defense with uncouth glee, and attempted to tear him out of the sky like a rare species of bird before clipping its wings and stuffing it into the darkness of a sack or cold lab.

But life had gone on.

Before it had ended.

Una mattina mi son svegliato
O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao
Una mattina mi son svegliato
Eo ho trovato l'invasor

One morning I woke up
O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao
One morning I woke up
And I found the invader

~*~

In the relatively quiet days he'd enjoyed before the world's holocaust, he'd stumbled in and out of ghost battles, struggled to complete his homework, (Thank God Sam had allowed him to copy her work occasionally out of grudging pity) and had spent warm afternoons laughing with his friends at their usual booth in the Nasty Burger, catching up at the usual point at the usual street-rain or shine.

What had they talked about, then? It's a little harder to remember, now. These memories don't really belong to him so much any longer, it seems, though he clutches at them just as hard as he clings to the monster who'd dragged him to its bed.

There are a bits and pieces still left: A few bruises he'd had to hide, a tricky test he'd just managed to get a B on, a particularly vicious battle with Vlad, who seemed dangerously cordial considering he'd flipped his lid after his desperate cloning scheme had ended in bitter failure just weeks ago.

Vlad. The bane of his existence. Still a deranged, snobbish, selfish, lying, condescending, horrible, horrible fruitloop. Cheesehead. Insane dude bent on wrecking Danny's life and winning his mother over as his new wife. Tucker didn't make things much better by pointing out that the phrase rhymed.

Such a pity! Vlad was a hybrid, and Danny would have been more than thrilled to accept his proposal of becoming his student when they first met…if only it didn't mean sending his Dad to certain doom and ruining his happy family life.

Aside from his friends, Danny's family was the most precious thing he had. While he could understand WHY someone would want to steal it away from him, it by no means quelled his satisfaction and relief whenever the billionaire's schemes crumbled to waste, or his resentment whenever the elder halfa would piledrive him directly into a building, leaving him carpeted with wounds that were increasingly difficult to keep under wraps. His parents were growing increasingly suspicious, and his weak excuses of tripping or tumbling down the stairs were growing thin in contrast to the violet bruises he had blossoming on his pale skin.

It was splendid that he'd had such wonderful friends as Sam and Tucker to commiserate with; they bemoaned their friend's troubles after a particularly painful skirmish left Danny limping back to them, or after the teen had only just managed by the skin of his teeth to rescue his father from a certain death trap.

He held onto the hope that one day, one day, he could live a normal life; maybe pursue his dreams at NASA. And maybe, just maybe, share an emerald ring and a shy secret that lay dormant in his heart with someone very special.

Sam. While girls like Paulina once stirred pleasant flutters inside him, he'd come to realize by now that whom they were interested in certainly wasn't him, but Phantom. Paulina had already proved on a number of occasions that she certainly wasn't above getting her hands filthy just to get to Amity Park's protector. She hardly cared about the mysterious, white-haired boy's personality so much as she did about his powers, and the novelty of hanging from his arm like an well-fed and trained hawk. No; Sam was lovely inside and out. Valerie too, had a flame inside of her that left Danny dazzled, but he hardly had the time or the sense to sort out his feelings. He hoped someday he would just…know.

And, as fate has a sickeningly cruel sense of humor, he at last believed he did, before a different heart had snagged his, with a chain link of love or by threat, he didn't really know.

After awhile, he'd stopped caring anyway, so bygones.

~*~

~*~

He'd been steeling himself to confess after the duo's wild ride alone with Wulf in the wilderness. But maybe just not yet: Exhausting though it was, he was much, much better at ghost fighting than he used to be. With his ridiculous and bizarre standards, life had settled into normality.

In those final days, if he had known, would he have done anything different?

'Yes,' argued the light before it had started to die from his eyes. 'Of course you would have. You would have tried to save the world yourself, dingbat, instead of allowing the world to be remade in a way far worse than instant annihilation for all. You would be free as a bird, with the girl you truly care about, whose face you practically forgot altogether before you saw her that night.'

The response isn't normally very kind, especially considering it has Vlad's voice.

And the voice from his 'better nature' usually stops talking and starts moaning when Vlad starts...IT up once again.

O partigiano porta mi via
O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao
O partigiano porta mi via
Che mi sento di morir

Oh partisan, carry me away,
O goodbye beauty, goodbye beauty, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye beauty
Oh partisan, carry me away,
For I feel I'm dying

When the carnal pleasure where breath ceases and ends stops, the voice conveinently comes back to him, jeering at him:

You've doomed yourself, Danny Fenton, and now, the two of you are going to be lost forever. Not one person is going to mourn HIS loss other than YOU, ironically enough, like some sad, pathetic pigeon!

But the gray that had recently started flickering into his eyes-that occasionally lead into corridors that were much, much darker than the gray, where creatures with big red eyes and scary teeth leered at you; the ones that you might have seen as a child, the ones that you don't have to ask an adult to know whether or not they wish to eat you-

Quieted the angry catcalls and screams of disappointment with simple excuses, before the monsters carefully picked up Danny, and carried him away where the Light would not reach and torment him.

~*~*~

In his new golden cell, he pondered in the faint minutes he had to himself before succumbing to deep sleep, unable to cope, think, or feel anymore. Vlad was a genius in that respect, though it certainly didn't stop the shadows from lining his eyes, or the twisted, mutilated hands in his dreams from reaching out hungrily to him.

And all that while, before he'd wake up, sweating, unconsciously reaching for his captor's warm body in the darkness, he'd ask himself this:

Is this okay?

He knew he had to keep his wits, and wait for his rescue, as he knew any failed attempt would end up with someone's brains hitting the wall. Again. Because Vlad was incapable of love, regardless of how he held Danny or made his resolve waver into doubt.

He just needed comfort. He craved it.

E se io muoio da partigiano
O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao
E se io muoio da partigiano
Tu mi devi seppellir

And if I die as a partisan
O goodbye beauty, goodbye beauty, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye beauty
And if I die as a partisan
You have to bury me

He'd known this the first time-the worst memory of his life. It still haunted him, though he wasn't sure why. Terror was probably going to become a six times a week thing.

Such a terrible, humiliating night! Even though it simply happened again and again and again and again and again, that first night was the lowest he'd EVER sunken in his lifetime, and the memory made him loathe himself.

His family had not burst in through the walls in the nick of time as he prayed they would, nor did his friends charge in with loaded spectral guns with their sights set on Danny's captor and assailant.

Despite years of effort to save lives, and keep people from danger, no rescuer nor brave knight had come to rescue HIM.

As if waking up in an enormous, unfamiliar place were not traumatizing enough; the surreal moment of realizing he was alone with an unfeeling murderer, being carried up that flight of stairs, the maddening, confusing feelings of apprehension and dread...

...and of course, the rape itself hadn't been that peachy, either. He'd scarcely done so much as TOUCHED himself before-and it was terrifying, because Vlad was a man and he was a guy, and he'd never entertained thoughts of being attracted to guys, because he wasn't anything other than hetero-ah, ah, he hadn't any CLUE what that just was, but ahhhh, aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!

He'd wished it had hurt more, though his pride had definitely taken a few fatal swipes. But the fiery pleasure at the HANDS OF A SADISTIC MURDERER AND A FORTY YEAR OLD GUY left him mortified, but also pleading for more. He'd already affirmed that he'd never, ever allow himself to sink so far again, but it still stung.

Danny had been fervently wishing for death when Vlad had cheerfully gotten up the next morning, ruffled his hair and kissed him affectionately on the cheek as though Danny were his loving spouse. He'd wished every type of disease on every part of Vlad's body-several for which belonged to body parts that didn't exist. Vlad had only laughed when he'd told him so.

O bella, ciao! bella, ciao! bella, ciao, ciao, ciao!
Oh Goodbye beautiful, Goodbye beautiful, Goodbye beautiful! Bye! Bye!

~*~

The days were both tremendously long and inhumanly short. Danny spent a great deal of time staring blankly at the walls above him, wishing that there were cracks in it to count.

What had he done?
What had he done?

There were no distractions from his boredom, anxiety, and guilt-though Vlad had come around noon with a tray. Danny hadn't wanted to eat anything, (And let Vlad know it, of course,) though it had been over a day since he'd last eaten-and the man had made some choice threats, so Danny had been left suckling Vlad's fingertips-the tyrant had been pretty keen to keep his hands in Danny's mouth at all times. Retch.

Shortly after that, Vlad had lead him to the bath, and thus had proceeded the humiliating and entirely too-pleasurable second assualt in the warm, bubbly bath water, though his body still ached from last night's conquest.

~*~

After Vlad had cheerfully slaughtered Kwan at the shambles with a friendly little blackmail considering the quality of Danny's work, the teen had had to strenuously labor harder than he'd ever, ever had to in his 'schoolwork'-with concentration he wouldn't and couldn't have given even before he'd gotten ghost powers. Ghostwriter gave long and often boring lectures that left his concentration occasionally lapsing away, but if a ruler smacking him across the face wasn't enough to win back his attentions, the memory of Kwan's lifeless eyes staring blankly at nothing WAS.

It literally was the end of the world if he didn't pass his next stupid essay on Socrates, or that dumb sheet of math problems he desperately needed help from Vlad to complete. For someone. Somewhere. Vlad had picked a random teenager off the streets who'd just so happened to be Danny's schoolmate; and Dash's best friend had been all but hurtled to the gallows. Whose blood would be splattering the wall next? Some little kid's? A father's? His father's? Tucker's? Valerie's? Mom's? Sam's?

He didn't know.

And he most certainly didn't want to find out.

So Danny wrote an essay on whether or not Romeo and Juliet were genuinely in love with one another, (He'd said no, and that if Romeo and Juliet took place around now-before a lunatic took over-they probably would have ran away from home, gotten a Vegas wedding, and wound up in a trailer park someplace. Romeo would be in prison after getting into a public brawl, and Juliet would be whoring it up with Friar Laurence, or something.) and had a long and dull test on grammar that left him exhausted when he'd handed it back in. Ghostwriter had not really commented on his papers as of late, but if Vlad had left him a little free time, he would have been continually haunted. Had 23# REALLY been B? It was like he was some frantic nitpicker trying to get into Ivy League-the type of person he, Tuck, and Sam had laughed at, once upon a time.

Mi seppellire lassù in montagna
O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao
Mi seppellire lassù in montagna
Sotto l'ombra di un bel fiore

But bury me up in the mountain.
O goodbye beauty, goodbye beauty, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye beauty,
But bury me up in the mountain
Under the shadow of a beautiful flower

But it didn't matter, regardless. He'd fought for the world's freedom from Pariah Dark, though it had nearly killed him. For two years, he'd ran himself into the ground trying to rescue people while trying to obtain some measure of control over his alive, dead, and ever-unpredictable and shaky spectral body. He hadn't opted to use his powers to steal ridiculous amounts of cash, harm others, or overshadow people to do horrible things in his name. Practically any other child would be drooling at his potential, and with it, turned half the country into a frenzied, overturned beehive state of chaos in a matter of days.
He'd captured criminals who stole handbags from old ladies and held up convenience stores. He'd rescued cats from trees. Heck, he even made a point to not litter.
And he'd been left listening to the Ghostwriter's jeers ringing in his mind right before Vlad seized him by the wrist, pushed him into the ground, and slammed the living daylights out of him.

~*~

He was Danny Fenton. The appropriate label? Good. He tried to do the right thing for the right reasons, until he wasn't needed anymore, and could serenely pursue his dreams…even if Amity seemed to fall apart at the seams the moment he'd turned his back.

Good people worked harder then he did at his position, though he always felt so indignant when Vlad and Ghostwriter would coolly tell him when he did better then his best that it 'would do.'

But he was still good, right? Vlad was a horrible person, but at least he wasn't all bad as to deny him a hug, even if he never retur-

One still determined, desperate side of him cried out:

What are you thinking? What Vlad has done is beyond evil; he's essentially playing God and wiping out millions of innocent people. He's a murderer! Murderer! Kidnapper! Rapist! For God's sake, don't forget what he's done to you; what he STILL does to you-

But then, a cold, somewhat amused voice broke into his mind:

'Really? Don't forget? Do you WANT to remember that night, the way you twisted under his hands, the way you moaned for more like a whore, practically threw yourself at him?' It threatened, sneering. 'And considering the way you normally react when the man the same age as your parents reaches for you...

Yep-he was glad he was busy.

~*~

There was no closure, no Sam to call out to when nightmares loomed in his vision, and he stood in a sea of beseeching corpses, with blood on their welcoming, outstretched hands-upon his own. Desperate, inane, and certainly mad laughter rang in his ears that he was terrified beyond relief might be coming from his own mouth. No-there was only the warm body inches away to clutch at like a drowning man at straws or a little koala. Danny had never truly been so alone in his life.

Soon enough, the gray became easier to accept. It just grew darker; more condensed over time. Fighting whatever means to an end that Vlad had meant darkness; acceptance meant darkness.
He despaired. And he also laughed, for the first time in weeks.

~*~

The night his faith had truly been shaken, he'd lay curled up in his nemesis' arms like a frightened cat, insides hollow, the tendrils surrounding his heart aching. While Vlad's long, pale fingertips absentmindedly and soothingly brushed down his back, they left gooseflesh in their wake.
Here was a man who'd claimed all he'd ever wanted was to be loved, and yet he cheerfully sent the world ablaze, ignoring the cries of the walking dead writhing in ectoplasmic flames, while Danny cowered in a comforting shadow.

How was it that a heartless villain was able to be a link to sanity?

Feeling ill, Danny had reluctantly slid his way free from Vlad's sleeping form, sliding out of the bed, grateful that Vlad hadn't chained him to the bedpost for a few days, now.

On his way to the bathroom, he didn't notice a pair of dark cobalt eyes open, and eye him dogmatically as Danny retreated, soft gait turning into a run as he realized that he was about to hurl.

~*~

Danny pressed his burning face to the cool marble surrounding the sink for a moment, taking several deep breaths as he did so, willing for the floor to stop spinning under his feet. He definitely didn't want to get sick again.
After a moment, when he'd felt he'd recollected himself enough, he dazedly drew himself up, stars still twinkling in his vision as he switched the gold taps on, and splashed cold water all over himself, shuddering.
When he at last looked up with lidded eyes at the lavish looking glass before him, his heart leapt into his throat, effectively stifling the scream of terror he'd been about to shriek.
His reflection copied him, so much like him, but certainly NOT him-not, not, not, NOT!
It was a revenant of himself-in ghost form. His ghostly jumpsuit was somewhat altered, black and white color palette more akin to Plasmius' own uniform. The creature staring at him was thinner, more pallid, with even darker rings under the mad green orbs then his own, and was absolutely beaming, overflowing with happiness.
Horrified Danny staggered a step back, his limbs shivering like jelly, his mind blank with incomprehension as the ghost, instead of copying him this time, began swimming through the mirror, eyes flashing from sea-glass green to a hot yellow, his dark fingertips becoming sharp, and his smile more broad-to a sickening extent, where it appeared he was grimacing in pain. His tail was curled, distorted, and Danny could faintly hear, out from the blood rushing in his ears, a soft laughing sound that might have been a child's.
So innocent, so naïve and sweet.
This time, Danny backed up against the door as the creature cheerfully broke through the glass, and loomed into the chamber, laughing, laughing, laughing his head off as though the world were all but a colossal joke.
Somewhere, he could faintly make out weeping and wailing. But who was that-Vlad? Himself? Mom? Sam?
As Danny's hand started fumbling for the crystal doorknob behind him, shaking with fright, the ghost loomed at him-and suddenly, disappeared. The laughing didn't leave, nor did the frantic and desperate sobbing, or the fear.
Suddenly, Danny felt sharp fingertips digging into the back of his shoulders. He shouted, and twisted, trying to fling whomever had tackled him off-but there was no one to be seen. As he crashed to the tiled ground, his head was painfully twisted so that he was again facing the colossal mirror.
There was the reflection of himself, now flanked by the giggling ghost of himself, this time accompanied by a sad-faced duplicate of Danny Fenton on the right, blue eyes dull and mournful.
His ghost form started giggling wildly again, his eye twitching sporadically as he did so. He certainly didn't look sane. Still chuckling, he threw his arms around the two Danny Fentons, one petrified, one morose-as though the three were close bosom buddies.
The weary looking Danny turned to look at the real Danny as the ghost wrapped his arms around the illusion's neck. Far from looking frightened, he just looked like a shadow, frail, paper-thin-a mere memento of ideas and ideals that had once motivated the body. He was covered in numerous gashes, and Danny Phantom's hands and front were shining with blood and ectoplasm-some of which looked like his own.
"If you don't want to lose everything," the boy murmured quietly, barely audible over the Phantom-esque version of himself, "You'll keep me. You know what the right thing to do is, Danny-you just have to be patient. Someone will come for you…."
Danny scrabbled backwards on the floor, but could not move. An arm was still flung around his shoulders, though he saw none of it.
Now looking desperate, the other Danny cried out, admonishing the scared boy:
"Eventually, I'm positive we'll be rescued!" he cried, wincing alongside Danny when the boy felt a stab of sorrow deep down. "Please….please, Danny, don't let go! People are still counting on you! Hate what he's doing to you, remember that he's raped you, kidnapped you, and you can live without affection if you just work a little harder! God, you're pathetic!"
To his surprise, in spite of himself, Danny felt a swelling of indignation and anger inside him. HE was the pathetic one? Didn't the fact that he HAD lost his innocence-and did on a daily basis-and was worked like all day like a tired horse to the ground until he all but fell unconscious into Vlad's arms every night mean that he DESERVED a hug every now and again, even if it was from Vlad?
If you do, I'll die, and you'll die, and then, once your rescue comes, will all-"
But he spoke no more; the smiling Danny Phantom struck him in the neck with an ectoplasmic bolt, and the boy fell, eyes rolling backwards before toppling out of sight.
Eyes still full of bloodlust, though perfectly serene, the mirroid phantom's smile widened so much so that it appeared ready to fall off.

"I know you can feel me. Nightfall's coming soon. Won't that be nice? Everything will all make sense then, Danny. I promise."
And, without another word, the ghost offered him a bloody heart, humming merrily while Danny screamed.

E le genti che passeranno
O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao
E le genti che passeranno
Mi diranno: "Che bel fior!"

And the people who will pass by
O goodbye beauty, goodbye beauty, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye beauty,
And the people who will pass by
Will say to me: "what a beautiful flower!"

~*~

He wasn't sure when Vlad had burst in, or when the hand had clapped over his mouth to make him stop yelling. He remembered being sick, and Vlad's hands around his stomach.

"N-No," Danny murmured fearfully, again vomiting into the toilet, humiliated. With any luck, Vlad would be disgusted enough to simply leave him alone.
Or maybe that was precisely what he didn't want.
Had all he'd ever been good for was protection against invading ghosts? Was that why no one had come to rescue him? Did anyone even like him, for that matter, or want him?
His desperate stream of thoughts was abruptly cut off when Vlad's cool hands moved to the back of Danny's neck, stroking the sweaty skin as Danny was sick again and again and again.
"Daniel. Shh, Shhhhhhhh," the man murmured, still stroking the small of the trembling teen's back.
"Just let it all out-you'll be fine, you'll be fine."
Danny choked on a sob, nearly gagged, but managed to keep it down this time, and started gulping for air again, his throat burning, his eyes stinging, and his stomach in knots.
No. His family and friends did love him. They would be back for him.
Some day.
Some way.
Definitely.
Mayb-no, no, he couldn't allow himself to think like that. Vlad's ridiculous theories about looking after one's self were all well and good, but did that reasoning allow you to crush the lives and freedom of millions of people? If 'looking after yourself' was so innocent, then why all the death?
No. It was evil. Maniacally, unfairly, potently evil, hiding behind a dumb masquerade to justify it all, the way evilness always did.

A hand cupped his cheek, and Danny's face burned as Vlad held him for awhile, confirmed that he was not about to be sick again, and moved him gently away to the sink, wondering faintly why the young halfa seemed so intent on not looking at the mirror. But after Danny's face was washed, his mouth rinsed, and the hybrid gulped down some water, Vlad rose, with Danny in his arms, and left the bathroom. The teen did not object as he normally did when the elder scooped him up like a doll, and settled them both underneath the colossal bedsheets.

What was better and worse was Vlad again tucking Danny's head under his chin, not seeming to care that the boy could have a potentially-catching stomach virus, and resumed caressing his midnight tufts of spiky hair in the dark, moving his lips to Danny's ear to whisper something gentle. The boy shook, faltered, colored, and went pale again all in a few heartbeats, and unconsciously moved closer to the wicked man's chest, mentally savoring the slight, tingling sensation that came with being held.

The image of the horribly grinning ghost flickered in Danny's eyes again, and he shut them tightly, burying his face in Vlad's breast, and biting the inside of his cheek hard so as not to make the sounds he could hear inside of him.
He might as well have been hugging a bugaboo (Or whatever the hell those monsters Ghostwriter had been talking about in that lecture in Greek mythology were called) but beggars can't be choosers, and right now, he was desperate to take what he could get.

Of course Vlad didn't love him.
Did he?
Not a chance.
Love didn't warrant hurting the people you supposedly cared for.
But in the few weeks he'd been forced to hang around Vlad, he HAD gotten stronger physically, and while Vlad was a brutal teacher, okay, maybe he had gotten a little more proficient at his school work and ghost powers, (Same principle as handing a kid a gun and throwing him in a room full of murderous cannibals) but he'd made Hitler and Stalin look like creampuffs in comparison while doing it.
He insisted that the world was a corrupt cesspool, and that while he couldn't have possibly have cared less, the remaining people alive were going to come out better having their lives ruled by fear and submission.

But why did he need to take him, too?

Was his reasoning so corrupt that the genius HAD kidnapped him out of blind affection?

Whatever. He wasn't going to think about it anymore. He just wanted some sleep. Tomorrow, the two would go back to the bathroom and shower, and Danny would look away while Vlad would eye his body, and occasionally, mount him if they'd gotten up especially early.

O partigiano porta mi via
O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao
O partigiano porta mi via
Che mi sento di morir

Oh partisan, carry me away,
O goodbye beauty, goodbye beauty, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye beauty
Oh partisan, carry me away,
For I feel I'm dying.

Che mi sento di morir.
Che mi sento di morir.
Che mi sento di morir, che mi sento di morir, che mi sento di morir.

Rushed breakfast, boring and exhausting classes, strenuous work outs, more sneering and smacks upside the head in ghostly training, papers to read over, books to read, and pass out on the sofa in Vlad's study, or being dragged to bed for some more fun nightly trauma, if the man didn't throw him on a coffee table again, and proceed to strip him of his dignity…and his clothes.

And another new question that bothered him: Did Vlad genuinely love him? It couldn't make much of a difference-he would never love the man. Ever. He couldn't let himself.

Besides, there were things worse then rape to him, now. Having his ground taken away from him-his morals, his beliefs tested-was much, much more frightening.

Mama, lei mi ha lasciato per l'invasore
Papa, lei ha anche lasciato
i fiori bianchi sono in crescita
e che mi sento morire presto.

Mama, you left me to the invader
Papa, you also left
The white flowers are growing
And I feel I must die soon.

It was going to become a fight for reality and his ideal.

~*~

I'm getting so tired. Not so much physically so, but it's only with remembering that I have an obligation to stay alive; to get out of here healthy and sane for the efforts to rebuild the world-that I haven't turned my face to the wall and tried to off myself when Vlad wasn't looking. There still had to be life to be lived; even if things would never exactly be the same again, there was still my family. Tucker. Survivors from Casper High. Sam.
But where are they?
Are they even alive?
What did I do wrong to deserve this?
Is this all my fault? That because I turned him away, the world got fried, Qwan died, and I'm alone here?
Am I a bad person?
'Normalcy' around here is good; while Vlad's annoying presence makes me feel like I'm drowning sometimes, it's far worse when I'm alone. I can banter as much as I want to, and believe myself.
Mostly.
Once the hot shower water starts pouring around us, and, from behind me, Vlad teasingly starts rubbing my shoulders-probably because I'm standing 'like a rigid, stalwart solider' or whatever the hell it is that he calls me. I feel myself freeze up, and we're both expecting that I'm going to swat at his hands. I do it halfheartedly, just for appearance's sakes, but as I turn around again, I'm so, so thankful the shower is making water trickle normally around my face.
I can faintly hear the twisted version of me laughing. But who the heck's heart was that?

È questo il fiore del partigiano
O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao
È questo il fiore del partigiano
Morto per la libertà

This is the flower of the partisan
O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao
This is the flower of the partisan
Who died for freedom