Aftermath-Alternate Ending.

Danny's encounter with Walker ends in a...darker ending. *Wipes eyes.* These next two chapters...well...*Shakes head.*

Thank heavens Pearl didn't end things this way.

)(

Quote:

"And so, they were buried in the old churchyard.

Among the weeds and burrs.

Out of William's grave, a red rose burst,

And a green briar roped from out of hers.

The two grew, and grew,

Till they could grow no higher.

The rose and briar wound up looping one another-

The rose ran 'round the briar."

"If the young hybrid died, so did he."

The words had not met their full implication until the dawn bringing the end of a terrible, terrible night had at last broke over the enormous castle Vlad called home. No light shone through the handcrafted bay windows, however-and there was no cheerful banter from the servants bustling about, either.

Just hushed silence, and uncertain whispers as rain pattered down the aged cobblestone outside, dully tapping out a quiet refrain as soaked pennants fluttered faintly in the early spring's zephyr. Not even Patricia and Martha enjoyed their usual morning argument on which home or commercial cleaners were best suited to remove stains from damask tablecloths.

No. Vlad's employees simply bustled about their business, much as they always had done, though it was a great deal more strained, today. Carl washed the windows of his master's VPO Luxury Rolls-Royce Prime three more times then necessary. George was so focused upon fixing a rather difficult recipe for the two hybrids, that he accidentally let the porridge he'd been making on the side go up in flames.

Only Dazzler seemed unperturbed in the employee lounge that morning, but no one paid much attention to him, though Derek shot the ghost lolling about on the sofa with his feet on the coffee table a disapproving frown whenever he happened to past the unpleasant that early hour.

Dazzler was smiling….which was not a common sight to Vlad's employees, nor a pleasurable one. His pale face was curled into a disarming, knowing smirk, and he radiated a more sinister aura then usual. A secret glittered in cold, gold eyes, and a truly evil contentment seemed swept over him, like a man who has enjoyed an enormously good joke by consoling a child, and then kicking it over a bridge.

But they ignored him, much as they always did. They tended to keep their berth a good distance away from the smooth-talking specter who primarily worked on the outer grounds. Even Bernie and Jasper, the two most social and friendly of the lot, had nothing to say to him. (In Jasper's case, that was somewhat literal.)

However, none of that seemed matter very much today. Everyone was still in shock; still quiet. Yesterday's events had been so unnerving, they simply didn't seem plausible. And no one dared to break the silence to ask about what they were all wondering; what they all remembered seeing lying lifeless on that four-poster…

The screams for help that had echoed from the younger hybrid's room were so alarming, anyone within range of the shouting (Which was quite a fair few of them) had dropped everything, and bolted up the fourth floor corridor to find Master Masters bent over….

….

….well, no one liked to think about it, much. It was unreal. Disturbing. The human-ghost halfa was bleeding everywhere. And a great deal, too. No one had had the specifics of what had happened, but no one really wanted to know at this point. All anyone knew was that both hybrids had been away when the….whatever-it-was happened-the events that had left their employer with a nasty cut on his arm, and the child the man seemed so worried over….

Well, he'd be better soon enough, Derek had figured, as he went to prepare his master a cup of tea, just in case the man wanted any.

But standing over the hot kettle, the butler still felt unnerved. He knew there was no real reason to be-after all, the boy was strong…and angry…enough to shake the entire house in its foundation, and Lord knew you could hear those two hybrids angrily yelling at one another just as often as you count on Patricia and Martha to squabble.

So why exactly was Vlad so terrified? Certainly ghost-human hybrids were not the norm, but the two simply didn't see eye-to-eye, and as a result, there was little peace in their abode anymore. Derek often wished the man would simply surrender his pride, and let the boy return to being a menace to all ghostkind in wherever the boy had come from. George and Niane seemed to pity Phantom for whatever reason, but the butler was still uneasy around the teen, for good reason.

Still, as the butler poured tea into a cup, and, on second thought, into another one, he hoped the boy would recover soon enough, so that some semblance of normalcy…whatever normalcy was around this place, anymore….could return.

Something in this castle felt…wrong. Derek could feel it inside of his gut this morning, and it definitely made him uneasy as he busily prepared the small tea-tray.

Something was waning. Withering. Slipping away. What had once been powerful, was now fading, and fading quickly. Derek couldn't comprehend what on-

The Grandfather clock in the Main Hall began to chime five, disrupting Derek's thoughts.

But what alarmed him most was the screaming from upstairs accompanying it.

The tray slid from his fingertips, and crashed onto the floor in a heap of dented silver and porcelain.

Everyone froze, and then, as the screams turned into strangled….choking gasps, everyone hurriedly fled the room, now desperate.

Everyone, that is, except a young girl, whose face was hidden in a handkerchief, and Dazzler, whose smile only broadened as the last chimes of the nearby cuckoo clock slowly died away into ominous refrain.

Vlad had slept fitfully in and out of waking dreams that night. Every two minutes, some new disturbance would wake him, and he'd find some reason to hurry off to Danny's room to check on the boy.

But just as he'd wearily settled back into bed again, something faintly alive inside of him, a feeble wisp of light he hadn't ever known he'd had-

Had gone out at last.
It had been painful. Excrutiatingly so. Why, he did not know, and didn't care. Something had hallowed out his insides, and the man had felt violently sick as he buried his face in his hand, feeling bewildered.

"W-What the…."

He trailed off. Silence overtook his room. Then, a crack of pain so potent, his vision went white; he saw stars. He fell back against his pillows, a wordless shout ready to split-

-!

And, like that, something broke. Now left with a dull throbbing, Vlad shifted, face now starkly pale, and he fought back a mounting pile of nausea to keep himself from being sick then and there. Astonishment-and something else-kept him frozen

He hadn't felt convulsions THIS painful for years, and NOTHING that had-

…hurt quite so badly. Feeling dizzy, the man had sat up, bolt upright from bed, heart hammering. Not bothering to make a run for the door this time, the man phased into Plasmius with some effort, and made a beeline for the door.

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

Vlad died.

He died before he knew it, even before he'd shot into Danny's room, mind blank, red eyes wide.

Danny was pale, wan, and lifeless against the covers, still in the bandages Vlad had hurriedly bound around him last night. Trickles of tears had run down from his closed eyes, and his mouth had slightly parted, as if he had tried to say something.

Vlad could only stare at him from the doorway. What else could he do? None of this was happening; everything was a blur. His head spun sickeningly, and he swayed; almost hitting the carpeted floor before the man made a lunge for Danny's limp wrist.

Because none of this was real; none of this was happening; or could BE happening-he was having yet another nightmare, one that refused to end, because this was not happening, not happening-because Daniel Phantom or Daniel Fenton, the boy was invincible. He would not have-could not have died, because Vlad wouldn't let him just-!

His gloved hands seized Danny's, and the man immediately bent over Danny's chest cavity, forgetting to breathe. Blood pounding in his own ears, heart thudding faster and faster and faster and-
Silence. Vlad's fingers twitched in an urge to shake the boy, and force him to wake up. No pulse beat under Vlad's hands, and worse, no heartbeat greeted him.

Danny wasn't breathing, though the tear tracts were still warm.

The world spun sickeningly through Vlad's eyes, and he unconsciously felt his legs crumple from beneath him some worlds away.

And then, the screaming started.

He heard the door slam open-heard, but did not care-as he violently shook Danny over and over and over again, resisting the urge to slap the teen across the face to rouse him. There could be nothing more wonderful then the boy stirring and shouting at him-Vlad would have blessed a moment where Danny's eyes looked at him in hatred or in anger, because that no longer mattered, Vlad could not care-

"WAKE UP! WAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUP!"

His voice had cracked into near hysteria. George had hurried towards him, though collective gasps had risen at the sight of Danny's broken body-someone was trying to tug the billionaire away from Danny's corpse, but the man just wildly fired ectoblasts in random directions, until the servants had fled in terror.

Something was ripping. Vlad wished he knew what it was as he shook Danny again and again and again-and wondered vaguely why his own fingertips were shaking the way they did, and why Danny's face was suddenly becoming wet.

The world passed in and out of his vision, and suddenly, Vlad knew no more. He welcomed oblivion, and fell into darkness.

He'd fainted. Patricia had rubbed at his face with a cold, wet rag, with trembling fingertips, when his servants had tentatively returned just an hour or so later to resuciate their employer. He'd attempted to stagger up, though Bernie had uncertainly tried to motion him to stay down. With a snarl, he'd pushed his poor gardener aside, and tripped to his feet.

But Danny's body still lay motionless beside Vlad's. The child had died last night, alone. Frightened. And angry and hating and so much like….himself…that it made Vlad almost want to hollowly laugh.

Though all that really came were tears.

And so, it no longer really mattered. His plans were shattered. He'd accepted that. There was to be no more doing with anything. Because having Maddie would no longer matter.

There could be no happiness. None at all.

Vlad forced his employees away with a series of snarls. And while they hurried out quickly, there was no indignation.

Just pity.

Alone in the room, Vlad finally broke down, and crumpled, Danny's dead body still in his arms.

The cuckoo chimed again.

Anxious, annoyed, and soon frantic, voice messages from Stephanie were ignored. He hadn't been to work for days. He couldn't eat, and, for the first time, Vlad found himself drinking into a stupor at night, though it helped nothing, and left him with a splitting headache in the mornings. That gave him more excuse to seek blissful oblivion once again.

His servants were extremely worried about him, but they too, were ignored. Vlad spent a good deal of his time in his study, pacing before the windows, fearfully glancing at his phone, sometimes picking it up, and hurriedly setting it back down.

Madeline could never find out. The woman would die of a broken heart, and that would spell the last straw for Vlad. There wouldn't be anything left to live for-not that there really was much of anything to try for, anymore. Nothing to want.

The only solution? Let Madeline go on desperately hoping for the hopeless forever, and then, at her deathbed, when her little boy would not come and she would at last have to accept that he had so likely passed on, she would die then a brokenhearted woman.

Vlad buried his face in his hands before the window, where rain was still falling outside. He was glad for the rain-it was the only thing to be glad about these days. Had the weather been beautiful, Vlad would have hated the world even more, a feet he had once thought impossible.

He choked on a groan, and resumed his pacing.

How could he have known that Daniel's absence would hurt…..like THIS? He hadn't allowed himself to hurt so much before, not even at the funerals of his mother, father, and sister. Composure kept the tears from coming.

But now, there was no reason to pretend. And Vlad was a wreck. And he knew it.

He sank to the floor, and again, succumbed to grief.