WARNING!

Rough language, violence, and disturbing scenes.

WARNING!

The Descent of Danny Fenton

Thursday, 9 PM

"I thought I told you to stay out!"

Samantha cringed, her downcast purple eyes aimed at the hardwood panels on the floor. "I was—" she began, choking, "I was checking to see if you wanted dinner yet."

"Jesus Christ," Danny Fenton rolled his angelic blue eyes. "No! I don't!"

His wife only shook timidly. Her eyes met his for only a brief moment before she looked away.

"Can't you see?" Fenton asked. "Can't you see that every time you interrupt my work—…. It takes time for me to go back—to fix what you've done! Why can't you just stay the hell out!"

Mrs. Fenton swallowed all the fear in her throat—a huge, golf ball-sized lump of emotion that bruised her esophagus as it went down. Her voice was thin even as she gave her husband a frown. "I'll be in the dining room, then."

She turned on her heels and left her husband to his patenting, breathing purposefully and slowly, quaking with each step.

It wasn't that she disliked her husband; no. She loved him. She loved him with all her racing heart. He had worked and worked and worked all his life—all for her. He had saved up his money and got her the house of her dreams. But then, when the economy turned, Danny was fired; they went under. The house was mortgaged, and Danny could no longer pay the bills. They had to sell.

But it wasn't the end for them.

Samantha smiled as she recalled the warmth of the one person her husband had been sure would never help.

On a cold, dark night—one of the last they would spend in their Victorian estate on the coast of South Carolina—the phone had chimed as she packed the last of their possessions in a thick cardboard box. She had picked it up and held it to her ear, folding a sweater of her husband's.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mrs. Manson," a drawling voice had replied.

She had paused, dropping the sweater to stand on her feet. "Vlad Masters…?"

Samantha searched through the loaded pantry to find the dry pasta. Vlad Masters had been so kind to them. He had offered them his Colorado vacation house—a house five times larger than the Victorian house in South Carolina. It was so very beautiful. The best part was that, in the winter, it was ski-in, ski-out. They could ski all day and then come home and have dinner. It was in a very remote and isolated part of the mountain, so it was rare that anyone ever bothered them.

Samantha sighed as she dumped the pasta into a pot on the stove. Sometimes, it did get a little lonely. Her husband was always involved in his work. He had decided to take up the family business and patent his parents' unpatented inventions as well as attempt to invent some of his own. He wasn't very good at inventing ghost weapons, and the patenting was all specific paperwork, so it took him a great deal of concentration and time to work. Sometimes he would work in his study for an entire day, and Samantha would be left all alone to clean the house, cook, and occasionally ski.

Whenever she interrupted him, he got angry. Samantha had learned for the most part to steer clear of him when he was at work. Some of it was natural anger, she supposed. If she was hard at work, she wouldn't want to be interrupted, either. But most of his anger, she knew, came from his ghost half. He rarely allowed himself to exercise, and she knew that having to take anything of his ex-archenemy's sorely hurt his pride.

She sat alone at the huge dining room table eating her pasta and listening to the winter wind howl at the window screens. Samantha stared absently out of the shaking window as she brought her fork to her mouth, though it was night and she couldn't see past the wooden second floor porch support.

She was almost finished when she heard her husband enter the room. She looked up.

"Well?" He took a seat across from her. "Where is it?"

She held up her index finger. "One sec; your dinner's still in the pot."

She stood up and left the dining room for the kitchen. After filling a gold-lined plate from the redwood cupboard with a generous amount of pasta, she brought it to the dining room and set it down on the table in front of her husband. She sat in her chair and watched him eat.

"Do you like it?" she asked.

His blue eyes met hers. "It's cold."

"Well, you were working," she deadpanned.

"I would have been done earlier," he said, "if I hadn't been interrupted."

Samantha ground her teeth together. "I was only trying to be nice."

"Just shut the hell up, Sam."

Samantha sucked in a breath of air, but otherwise didn't respond.

Danny continued pushing the pasta around his plate. "So, have you called yet?"

His wife blinked at the sudden change of atmosphere. "I was going to do it after dinner," she said.

"He's on Chicago time," Danny reminded her, looking at his watch. "It's getting late."

Samantha smiled. He usually never brought up her Thursday night calls. "Do you want to speak with him?"

"No."

She sighed and began clearing. After wiping down the wood of the table, she said, "You're sure?"

Danny stood up and, pushing his chair in, looked at his wife meaningfully. "Yes." He exited the dining room. "See you."

10 PM

Samantha stumbled into the foyer, where her favorite chair in the entire house sat on four paw-shaped legs. She curled up against the gold fabric and pulled the ancient phone on the end table into her lap.

Ever since Vlad had given them the house, out of respect she called the man every Thursday night to check up on him. Danny was, at first, opposed to this, but after a while, he gave up trying to convince his wife that Vlad didn't need checking up on. Eventually, Samantha had found that she looked forward to their chats. Mr. Masters was wealthy, like her parents had been, but unlike Mr. and Mrs. Manson, he was extremely intelligent and sometimes surprisingly funny. She had gotten used to talking to him, and he had gotten used to talking to her. It was a unique friendship.

Turning the dial several times, she waited for the phone to ring.

Nearly a thousand miles away, sitting on a reclining chair in his home in Madison, Wisconsin, Vlad Masters picked up the phone. "Hello, Samantha."

"Hello, Mr. Masters," she said with a smile. "How are you?"

"I'm doing very well, thank you," he answered. "And you?"

"Um…." Samantha looked over her shoulder to make sure the room was completely empty. "I'm…okay—"

"What has he done now?"

Samantha sighed. "He hasn't really done anything," she explained. "It's just—I get lonely sometimes, and I'm—…."

"Yes?" She could almost picture the older man frowning. "Go on."

"I think," Samantha breathed. "I think I want to leave."

There was a slight pause. "You want to leave your husband?"

"No!" she said, almost offended by the thought. "I love him more than anything!"

"But you want to leave Colorado," Vlad deduced.

"I want to be able to make friends with neighbors and have people over for dinner," she explained. "I just feel so isolated."

"Well, that can be arranged quite easily. I haven't yet gotten around to selling my home in Amity Park," he explained. "You'll be able to see old friends who haven't left town."

"Who still lives there?"

"Well, for one, Valerie Gray," Vlad said with a chuckle. "Still protecting the town."

Samantha rolled her eyes. "That's just what we need."

Vlad laughed. "Danny seems to me like the type of person who needs a good, healthy dose of challenge in his life."

Samantha laughed with him. "Very true, Masters."

"I'll start having people clean the house up for you tomorrow," the older man said. "You can move in whenever you like."

"Vlad," Samantha sighed, twirling the phone cord around her finger. "You have no idea what this means to me."

"Anything for you, my dear," he replied. "You're the only one who calls to make sure I'm still alive."

Samantha grinned into the receiver. "Someone's got to look after you."

It was, indeed, a very unlikely relationship, Samantha decided as she hung up the phone, but it kept her sane.

She trailed into her bedroom to find her husband already asleep on his side of the bed. She changed into her nightgown and, after turning off the lights, climbed into bed beside him.

"Sam?" he queried tiredly in the dark. Sam could feel him roll closer to her.

She didn't answer.

"How'd it go?"

"The call?" she asked. "Vlad's doing okay."

There was a moment of silence. "Just okay?"

"Since when have you been this interested?"

"I…." Samantha listened to the inflection of his voice, but besides a slight crack, his tone was casual. "I don't know. I'm just curious."

Again, Samantha didn't know what to say, so she allowed his voice to trail off without answer.

"Sam?"

Samantha was almost annoyed, now. "What?"

"I love you." She heard him sniffle slightly. "You know that, right? I love you?"

She froze, turning over in the bed to look at him. She could almost see his blue eyes glowing beside her and a muscular arm snaked out towards her waist.

Looking into his eyes, she replied, "I love you too, Danny."

Sunday, 8:30 PM

Samantha was again eating dinner alone. This night, it was canned soup with old baguette. She was reading a book she had found in Vlad's bookshelf entitled "Relationships for Rich Creepy Dimwits." It wasn't really her type of thing, but she had found it rather funny when she saw an old bookmark sticking out of the middle and assumed that once upon a time, many years ago, Vlad had read it. The soft pitter patter of feet on carpet alerted her of her husband's approach.

"Honey?" she called.

Danny appeared around the corner. "What's tonight?"

"Chicken noodle," she replied, returning her attention to her book.

Danny sat down at his usual seat across from Samantha and sniffed his bowl of soup. He scrunched his nose. "Canned?"

Samantha only nodded absently as she read on.

"What's that?"

Samantha looked up to see her husband's brows furrowed together. "Hmm? What's what?"

"What's that?" He pointed at her book with his spoon. "What are you reading?"

"Oh." She flipped the book halfway closed so she could read the cover. "Just something I found."

"Why are you reading at the table?" came the unexpected response.

"I…," she started. "I was alone—"

"I work hard all day and my wife doesn't give me any attention at all!" he said.

"I didn't know you wanted my attention," she snidely remarked. "You were the one who told me to leave you alone!"

"What is it you're reading, anyway? One of Vlad's books?"

Samantha threw her hands into the air. "It doesn't matter!"

"Give me that." Danny snatched the book away from her and read the cover. "Oh, God," he moaned. "What the hell are you doing with this?"

"I just found it lying in the shelf, that's all!" Samantha was growing furious with Danny's confusing emotions.

Danny's eyes flicked from the book to his wife. "Do you know how sick this is?"

"Sick?" Samantha said. "Sick like how? It's just a normal book!"

"A normal book Vlad was reading when my mom was alive—when he lured us to this house!"

"Calm down, Danny—I didn't know," Samantha whispered, lowering her eyes.

She raised them furiously when her husband mocked her shaking voice.

"Oh!" he cried in a falsetto voice. "You didn't know! Of course you didn't know!"

Samantha raised her hands into the air. "It's just a damn book, Danny!"

Danny's eyes flashed a malignant green and he slammed a glowing fist into the book. His hand left a burning hole in the hard back cover. Samantha jumped out of her chair, holding it in front of her in a defensive motion. Her purple eyes were wide with shock.

The corners of Danny's mouth turned downward and suddenly, her husband inhaled a long, shaky breath. "Oh, God," he whispered, his eyes returning to their natural color. "Sorry."

Samantha could only stare.

He closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, I—I don't know what happened."

"You're tired," she said, still whispering.

Her husband only shook his head. "This place—it's driving me crazy."

"Listen—" she began. "We can move. Vlad told me he's giving us his other house."

"Other house?" he echoed.

"The one in Amity Park. We'll be near friends and family," Samantha explained. "We won't be so isolated."

"I don't want to—"

"Of course you do, Danny—I do!" Samantha smiled encouragingly, though she still had a tight grip on the back of her chair. "Last I heard, Tucker's still there."

"Tucker…." Danny's face betrayed his nostalgia.

"And Valerie…."

He gave her a sardonic glare. "Right. Because that's exactly what I need."

Samantha laughed. "That's exactly what I said."

Danny slumped in his seat. "Moving here was such a mistake." Meeting her eyes, he continued, "Give me a week to tie up loose ends with the patenting."

Samantha couldn't keep the grin off of her face. "Really?"

"Yes." The frown returned to his face. "But don't bother me."

This chapter was originally posted in You're-Not-So-Big's fic "A Vent For ADD." I split it in half because I know it will be hard for me to post a chapter as long as she did. I saw it and was like, "Snipe!" I love horror! And playing around with Danny's sanity... :) It just sounds like a great idea.