Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom. All characters go to their respectful owners. I only own this story.

Author's Note: This is the second version of Chapter 4: Resolution.

Trigger Warning: This chapter contains graphic depiction of violent fantasies, self-inflicted injuries, and suicidal thoughts.

The End

After almost a month, it finally ends.

Danny doesn't realize he's running until he hears the door shut. It takes him a few seconds to comprehend that he is in his room. How he made it up two flights of stairs without falling, he has no idea. But he's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth; he's away from his parents. That's all that matters.

His head is empty for a few seconds as he catches his breath, and a cold, numb feeling cocoons him. But then the situation hits him, and he falls back against his door and slides down until he's sitting with his knees to his chest.

Of course. Of course.

He's such an idiot. How had he not seen it before? That was why his parents hadn't been looking him in the eye for a month. They couldn't hold a civil conversation with their son because they didn't see him as their son, just another experiment, something to carve into and harvest for research.

It is their fault that you're half-ghost, an unhelpful voice murmurs in the back of his head.

"Danny!"

"Danny, please let us explain!"

But he ignores his parents' pleas. They want to talk now? After he walked in on that? Ha, like that was going to happen. He has no desire to look at his parents at all at the moment.

Danny sits with his back still touching the door and doesn't bother to respond.

His parents don't take the hint for almost ten minutes. And the silence of the house after they stop calling out to him is almost worse than the grating sound of their voices. It reminds him of the void that has been expanding for weeks, only now it is finally beginning to consume. It will devour everything in its path until there is nothing left, and Danny is either left alone or dead.

Danny pulls his knees closer to his chest and tries to not vomit. He wants nothing else but to run away and never come back. But he's tired of running from his problems; he needs to stand up and face them.

Because that worked so well last time, the voice says.

"Shut up," Danny mutters into his legs.

A knock on the door startles him. "Danny?"

Danny lifts his head from his knees and turns his head a bit to look back at the door. "Jazz?"

She knocks again. "Can I come in?"

Danny clenches his fists at the pitying tone in her voice, nails leaving painful half-cresents in his palms. He turns his head away to stare across the room. He doesn't want anyone feeling sorry for him. He wants people to own up to their mistakes and apologize for everything they have ever done wrong, to suffer just as much as he has for the past month. But he knows his parents don't see their actions as a mistake; they just feel sorry that he caught them. He was never supposed to find out about their pseudo-experiments on him.

And here he'd thought that his parents had accepted him. Danny scoffs into his jeans. But hindsight is twenty-twenty, isn't it? Now that he thinks back on it, he realizes that his parents haven't touched him since he's saved the world. Maddie had only touched him to help with his bandages.

She just wanted to steal samples. She didn't really care about helping him at all.

Danny shakes his head, but the thought has grown thick roots and can't be dislodged.

His silence seems to be answer enough, and he hears his sister sigh. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" she asks instead.

Our parents don't think of me as their son anymore and want to dissect me to satisfy their insatiable curiosity about ghosts. They want to tear open my chest and rip out my beating heart to see that it isn't a fluke. It turns out that they were only helping me replace my bandages after I got hurt saving them so that they could have some material to test because they don't want to admit that they see their own son as a science experiment.

How is he supposed to say that?

"Is everything all right in there, Danny?"

Danny scoffs. But that scoff turns into a chuckle. And soon he's throwing his head back to laugh. He laughs and he laughs and he laughs. Because everything is just fine. Everything's perfect.

Somehow, he ends up sitting at the dinner table with a plate and food before him, though he doesn't exactly remember ever agreeing to come down.

Or hearing that supper was ready, for that matter.

The void is currently gnawing at the table legs, and Danny watches absentmindedly as the entire kitchen is slowly devoured.

Jazz is looking back and forth between him and their parents, but no one else looks up from their plate of uneaten food. She opens her mouth to say something, but it dies in her throat, and, with a lost look on her face, she looks down, as well. Danny almost feels sorry for her. He would, if the emptiness wasn't lapping and curling around his legs and sucking out every emotion he could possibly experience. At the moment, he just feels weightless and numb.

Their parents don't say anything either.

Danny wants to stab them with his fork just so they'll say something to him again. Anything. Even if it's just their admittance that they hate him. It's not really a secret now, anyway.

Eventually, the feeling of floating in an endless abyss becomes too much, and Danny stands to take his plate of uneaten dinner to the counter. Jack and Maddie look up in fear when they see him rise, but as soon as he stares back, they quickly avert their gazes and continue to fixate on the food in front of them.

In his mind they're screaming as he jams his knife in their eyes.

Danny turns away with a shake of his head.

As he makes his way over to the sink, Danny can't help but notice how the shadows have grown, how they are covering more and more of the room as time goes on. Eventually, he thinks, he won't even be able to tell what's what. Everything will look like the same, dark, empty, void that he knows so well.

Turning back to make his way to the stairs and back to his room, Danny catches sight of his parents staring at him. He jerks his head away and digs his nails painfully into his palms to refrain from saying anything that will exasperate the already morbid situation.

They stare at him like he's a puzzle, like he's something to be solved.

Danny grits his teeth and walks past them, ignoring their gazes burning holes into his back and head.

The sound of his bedroom door clicking shut has a haunting finality to it.

Danny doesn't go and see Sam and Tucker the next day.

He doesn't leave the house at all.

He does, however, go downstairs to breakfast and refuse to eat it.

Jazz looks more worried by the minute, and she pulls him aside after everyone has crawled awkwardly away from the table, leaving the untouched meal sitting out. The table is almost completely consumed by the void, now. Soon, there won't be any table to eat on.

"Danny," Jazz pleads, "please tell me what happened."

Danny stares down at their feet and just shakes his head. "It's nothing, Jazz." Anything he says about the unspeakable subject will only feed the ravenous abyss that is slowly but surely taking over the household and everyone inside it.

Jazz scoffs and puts her hands on her hips. "Obviously, it's something, or you and Mom and Dad would have spoken to each other already."

Anger wells up inside him and he realizes that he's grinding his teeth. Jazz can never seem to figure out when she is and isn't needed; she just assumes her butting into everyone's problems will make them all go away. Studying psychology doesn't make you helpful, Danny wants to spit out. But he keeps his mouth shut: his parents already ostracize him; he doesn't want his sister to hate him, too.

"It doesn't concern you," he snaps instead.

The intended effect is still the same, and Jazz jerks back like she's just been slapped in the face. "I'm sorry for caring, then," she huffs. Turning away, she calls over her shoulder, "Next time you have a problem, don't bother asking for my help." And then he is alone.

Well, it looks like his plan failed. Now even his sister can't stand the sight of him.

If only he had stabbed himself in the eyes last night at dinner. It would have been a preemptive punishment, but a deserving punishment all the same.

Danny feels confined by the emptiness of the room, and a hollow feeling engulfs him. He doesn't know what to do. Sam and Tucker can't help at this point, just like Jazz can't. And there's nothing he can say to his parents that could possibly fix the utter shambles their lives have become. How can he possibly repair the shattered relationship with his family?

He eyes the dishes on the table and moves to collect them, forcing himself to not intentionally grab the knives by the blades and carve into the meat of his palm. Maybe cleaning things up a little is a good way to remedy the situation. He carries the plates over to the counter and takes out some Tupperware to store the food.

After he sets the food in the refrigerator, Danny turns back to the dishes and sets them in the sink before plugging up one side and turning on the water. He stares blankly as he watches black liquid rush from the tap and flood the basin. The shadows lurking under the countertop seem to reach up and point toward the sink.

Shutting off the faucet, Danny fills the water with dish soap, grabs the first plate, and dunks it in the opaque liquid. The water clings to his skin like molasses and weighs his hands down. But he ignores how dense his limbs feel now and pulls the plate back out before scrubbing it with the sponge sitting next to the sink. His mind is pleasantly blank.

The food residue comes off easily, but the dishes are stained black when Danny sets them out to dry. The shadows beneath them dance and slide down the cupboards under the counter to be swallowed by the void lapping at his feet.

After he finishes the plates, he moves on to the unused silverware. But instead of wasting time by cleaning each individual piece, Danny decides to just dump everything into the black liquid and pull them out individually to scrub them.

He's reaching down into the sink to find the last pair of forks and knives when something jabs his finger. Danny feels a jolt of satisfaction, and has to remind himself after a few seconds that he needs to look at his hand to see what's happened to it. After relishing the pain for a final moment, he does, pulling up a handful of dark water in the process. He's cut his finger on one of the utensils, and blood is slowly running down the palm of his hand, chasing after the black liquid and mixing together with it around his wrist. Morbidly, Danny thinks that it looks like he's been put in smoky handcuffs and has rubbed his wrist raw trying to escape.

Without really thinking, Danny turns the water back on and sticks his finger underneath the flow of black. It goes numb immediately, and the feeling travels to his hand and up his arm. Now his body feels dead inside and out. It's nice, really, compared to what he's been feeling all month.

The void is still petting his shoes, but the emptiness of his mind allows him to ignore it, and he pulls the stopper in the sink. Watching the inky substance swirl down the drain is perversely hypnotic.

After the basin is empty, he picks up the offending utensil that had hurt him. It's the only thing left to clean.

The desolate shadow is tugging at his pant legs and trying to pull its way up. Its touch leaves Danny feeling heavy and dark and empty, like the universe.

He stares down at the object in his hands, reflecting his face back at distorted angles, and wonders if it'd be worth it.

Sitting in his room, Danny is confronted with how lonely it is to not have anyone to talk to. The silence of everyone avoiding the fire in the room is maddening, and Danny crosses his arms and digs his nails into his skin to keep from screaming.

Would it be worth it?

The question floats around the room, swimming in the dark abyss creeping under the door and sliding along his arms.

He can feel blood on his fingers.

Danny sighs and releases the death grip on his arms, letting himself fall backward until he's lying on the bed.

His parents haven't spoken a word to him all day, and it's nearing suppertime now. Maybe they think he'll go away if they ignore him enough. Danny knows he certainly feels like running off.

But then that would mean that they would lose their science experiment. Surely they don't want that. Then again, his parents probably think he's ruined at this point, self-destructive tendencies of curiosity and whatnot. This whole thing is his fault.

He should have never gone into the basement.

The shadows have reached his bed, and Danny realizes that most of his room has been consumed by blackness. He can barely make out the dim light from the hallway cowering under his door. The question still hovers nearby, unaffected by the void engulfing everything in sight. It feels strangely fitting; and Danny would like nothing more than to sink into the veil and leave everything behind.

Would it be worth it?

Yes, he decides. It would.

When his parents are out running errands, Danny slinks into the basement.

As soon as he is down the stairs, he focuses on the examination table in the center of the room and can't seem to tear his gaze away from it. The bottles of liquid and scalpels still sit atop it, outlined in the glowing light of the portal. His parents haven't even bothered to remove his old bandages. In fact, it looks like they have cut some pieces off and begun running tests on them. Figures that not even having their son discover their secret desires would deter them from experimenting.

He pads quietly over and smiles.

He knows exactly what he's going to do.

His hand isn't shaking anymore, Danny realizes, as he reaches for one of the empty vials to open. The hopelessness that he has been feeling all month is gone, replaced instead with what he has come to know as his battle-calm. He is not afraid. He is ready. He is at peace.

Danny stares transfixed at a scalpel lying on the table and takes it into his hands. The glow from the Ghost Zone illuminates his face in eerie ways; and the distorted appearance of his exterior from the knife only intensifies the horrific look.

Danny takes a deep breath and closes his eyes before plunging the blade into his wrist. The sudden sharp pain tears an agonized cry from him and his eyes snap open. Looking down, he blinks through the tears now running down his cheeks and watches with a disjointed fascination as his life flow gushes out and creates rivulets down his forearm, the green flecks in the blood catching the light.

After a few seconds, Danny catches himself staring and hurries to pull the open vial over and hold it beneath his arm to catch the drips. Around him, time seems to come to a stuttering halt.

The container is a quarter of the way full when the dripping stops, and Danny realizes that his blood has clotted up around the cut, only healing faster because of his ectoplasm.

That frozen calm that has become like a second skin to him evaporates as rage and frustration consume him. The basement bleeds red. It's always his stupid ghost-side. If he weren't Phantom he wouldn't be in the situation. Danny picks up the scalpel again from where it had fallen when he had dropped it as the first pain tore through him and plunges it into his arm once more.

He carves pictures on his forearms and biceps, writing curses and apologies that he can't say out loud. He wants to scream, but he knows it won't do any good; nothing can fix this situation now. He might as well just sacrifice what little usable parts he has left.

His parents can have what they're too afraid to ask for, and he can finally submit to the endless chasm that has completely swallowed him. His arms are still stained black, and Danny knows it'll never come out. Now they're being stained red and green, too.

The vial is full now.

Danny picks up another and reopens the wound, digging even deeper, even though he knows he's already severed too many veins. Most of the blood isn't even making it into the container beneath his arm. The majority of it is dripping down into his lap and onto the basement floor. He's only filled one vial and a small puddle already surrounds him. The warm liquid is a sharp juxtaposition to the icy void caressing his back and the frozen ground beneath his legs.

The second vial is full now, too.

A shudder tears through him, but he doesn't stop. There are still three empty flasks sitting next to him; his job is far from finished. Danny grabs a third bottle and holds it under his arm.

It seems like he's running out of blood in his left arm, so Danny returns the scalpel to his left hand and impales his right arm with it. He makes sure to carve deep enough this time that it will be impossible for his ectoplasm-infused blood to heal fast enough. The faster this ordeal is over the better, Danny thinks, even as the void whispers that he deserves to suffer much more than he is now.

It's almost impossible to lift the fourth vial after the third one in full. His arms are so heavy: they feel as though they have been encased in lead. And Danny can't tell if it's his tears flooding his eyes and racing down his face to mix with the blood on the floor or the massive blood loss that his making the room spin so much. Danny closes his eyes. A nap sounds particularly nice at the moment. He shakes his head and forces himself to keep his eyes open. There's still an empty bottle to be filled; and the fourth one is only half-full. He'll rest later. It's not like his parents are going to allow him to finish once they return home.

The blood is barely oozing out of his arm anymore, and carving into his skin and muscle isn't doing much now. Maybe he should slice into his legs next, or perhaps go straight for the source and just stab his jugular. That would probably fill a lot of vials really quickly.

Danny feels so detached from his body after he's finished filling the fourth bottle that he almost doesn't hear the front door open or his parents coming down the stairs. But even with how far he's gone, he can still make out the shocked gasps of his parents when they catch sight of him.

Danny looks up in a dazed confusion and laughs brokenly through his tears when his eyes focus on their ruined expressions. He's extremely lightheaded now, and can't completely distinguish his parents' faces anymore. The whole room began doing backflips a long time ago, anyway. He's surprised he hasn't thrown up yet. Through the fog in his head he wonders what he must look like, sitting in a pool of his own innards and surrounded by containers that hold even more. He can feel the blood and ectoplasm soaking into his jeans: his arms are practically shredded at this point.

"Oh, my—Danny!" his mother screams, racing towards him and dropping to her knees.

You'll stain your suit, Danny thinks absentmindedly. But he can't seem to put the words in his mouth.

Jack is kneeling now, too. He's pulled out the gauze and paper towels that they keep under the examination table, and he and Maddie begin attempting to stem the blood flow. But Danny knows it's no use. He's lost too much ectoplasm-infused blood to help clot up the gaping incisions. If his arms weren't so heavy and being held and wrapped by his parents, he might try and find another vial to fill. It's the only useful thing he can do, anyway.

"Danny, Danny, Danny," his mother sobs next to him. She says his name like a mantra.

This is your fault, he wants to say. But he knows that's not really true: he's the one who told them his secret. He should have known this would happen. If he hadn't told his parents he was Danny Phantom, they would still love him.

"Danny, you'll be okay. Just stay with us," his father urges. He's still trying to get the blood flow under control.

Now you know how I feel, Danny thinks.

Looks like he found a way to make them suffer as much as he has.

Danny's eyelids are growing heavy, and the void is caressing him. He just wants to sleep. At least he was able to supply his parents with some blood to test and experiment on. Maybe now they'll forgive him.

That doesn't mean he forgives them, though. Not by a long shot. Love is a double-edged sword; and he's gone and stabbed his parents through the chest with it. It's the least he can do, since they did it to him first.

He's drifting off now. But Danny feels like he should at least say something to explain his behavior. He can't have his parents go blaming themselves for failing a test they didn't even know they were taking.

"Do you love me now?" he breathes.

Danny hears his mother sob, but the world falls away beneath him before he can answer.

After almost a month, it finally ends.