Title: Ignore the Smoke
Pairing: Vlad/Danny
Summary: Danny reflects on his unfortunate relationship with Vlad.
Warning: Slash. Abuse.
Rating: K+

Something that hit me late one night, several months ago, that I felt like writing. The whole "abuse" thing may be an eye rolling cliché, but whatever.

I decided to try something new and use the rarely seen second person perspective, as well.

I hope you enjoy.

"Daniel." And you'd almost made it all morning without seeing him. Not really a big achievement. It is a rather large castle, after all. He calls your name again, and you stop on your way out the door, turning a little to see just what it is he wants. "Don't forget this," he says, holding up your backpack. "I know you're running late, but you shouldn't forget something so–" He stops. And you know why, don't you? You turned to look at him head-on, and now he can see your face. He can see your full face. The guy seems a bit shocked, maybe even ashamed. He should be though. "…Important."

You take the bag and, for some reason, smile at him. However, Vlad doesn't even look up at you to see it, so you don't bother saying thanks. Instead, you slam the door. You slam it, and you wish it wasn't so heavy. Maybe then you could have thrown it harder, had it make a louder sound. But those are the breaks when you live with a guy who probably spent a normal person's entire yearly salary on a stupid, giant door. You don't even care if that's an exaggeration.

Running down the steps, you see your car, already there waiting on you. One of your favorite 'forgive me' gifts from Vlad, isn't it? It's a pretty nice ride though. Honestly, how many kids your age actually get the car of their dreams? And with a black and white paint job– a green stripe on the side– no less. He probably thought the colors were so witty and cute. So what if you do too, right?

You jump in, throwing your bag in the passenger seat, and the first thing you do is bang your fists on the steering wheel again and again and again. Each impact sends painful little tremors through your fingers, and you probably shouldn't have your hands balled up so tight. You don't care though, do you? When was the last time you cared about yourself? You certainly don't now, after all.

You should probably stop though. Stop before you break the car. Big deal though, huh? Vlad will just fix it. His money can fix anything.

You stop anyway. Maybe it's because you realize that you can't get to school in a broken car, or maybe you're just paranoid that he's watching you from a window. God forbid he's up there, watching you have a breakdown.

Whatever the reason, you let your hands drop before immediately adjusting the mirror and looking at your face. Again. Like you haven't looked at it a hundred times already. Like what you see is something new. Like… if you look just this one last time, it'll be gone. It's not that easy though, is it?

Is it?!

Purple and blue. Not too bad, not too dark. Actually, it's probably already healed some since last night. Of course, soon it'll be that repulsive yellow, won't it? Such an unattractive, nasty color. Ugly. Too bad it's on the left. Too bad you just had to pick a seat on the right side of the room in all of your classes, didn't you? Yeah, it's going to showcase that shiner of yours real nice.

It's almost as if your very fingers are tired as they touch around your eye. Doesn't hurt much, does it? Not really. It's just so ugly to look at.

So ugly.

You finally find a parking space, but by now you're not even in a hurry anymore. (How did you even get to campus? Surely you didn't drive all the way here in your delicate condition.) Your English class is already halfway over. Tick tock. So little time left, why even bother walking all the way there? Such a small class anyway. Best to just not even bother going in. Especially not this late, right? All of those eyes fixed on you, not seeing anything but that giant splotch of dark colors on your face. A telltale sign that something happened to you. And that's all you are to them.

Everyone interprets it differently, don't they? Girls think you're so dangerous. Guys think you're some sort of violent hero. And teachers… well, that just depends on the class, doesn't it? If you actually managed to get a good grade with them— or it's a small enough class— they might care. But if you don't, they think you're just some no-good punk, don't they? Whatever. Let them all assume anything they want. You certainly don't want to talk about it. Lie, change the subject, or simply ignore them. You'll do anything but tell them the truth. And why is that, one must wonder.

Maybe you're afraid. Wuss. No, it's embarrassment, isn't it? Understandable. Or maybe you just don't want them looking at you any differently. That's it. Of course it is.

Tell a girl you're gay and being beat up at night by your 'significant other' and they'll throw you a pity party. "Poor baby." And then they'll try and tell you that you need to report it, or some other nonsense. After that, you're their new best friend because when it comes down to it, you're just a weak, defenseless girl like the rest of them. And yet you'd still probably prefer that as opposed to telling one of the guy friends you've made. No, go ahead. Tell one of them you're gay and see how that works out. They'll alienate you completely, if you're lucky. No more playing football in the quad between classes. No more guy talk before class. Heck, no more eye contact. No guy wants a gay friend. You might hit on them, for crying out loud! And let's not forget if you're not lucky. They might even beat you up themselves. So you can just forget help with your love life from them.

You can't tell anybody.

No one. Nobody can know. Can't tell your parents. It took you half a year of nonstop begging to convince them to let you live with Vlad, didn't it? You still don't know why they gave in. They just see this as some sick, warped relationship. And are they wrong? Beloved, innocent son shacking up with good friend from college more than twice his age? You have to assure them almost weekly that things are… fine, and with good reason. Imagine if they knew the truth, knew even a shred of it. That's why you can't say anything. Telling would just make them think they were in some way right about him. Let them rub it in your face later.

Sam and Tucker? Sometimes it really hits you and you find yourself depressed that Sam's parents threw her in that Ivy League university and Tucker ended up at some technical school that you can never remember the name of— even when he's just said it. You're all alone without them. All alone. But if they were here, seeing you everyday, they'd figure it out. Give them an hour, maybe two, and they'd get it. You can't hide anything from them. And you're a terrible liar. It's amazing they can't tell just from a phone call. Good thing they can't though. The two of them are just like your parents, maybe worse because they know all the evil Vlad's done. All the people he has hurt or used— you mostly. It hasn't even been a year since you made it very clear to them that he wasn't brainwashing you to be there. They still don't trust him though. Give them a reason like this and… well, they'd probably beat your parents getting over here.

Jazz? Sure you can trust her with some stuff, but the last thing you want is some stupid counseling session. She'd go on and on about what you should do, baby you like some helpless woman, before you'd eventually have to make her just stop talking. You're even pretty sure that 'looking out for your best interest' she'd call Mom and Dad anyway. So much for doctor-patient confidentiality, or the unwritten sibling code, whichever.

Forget them. Forget them all and forget class. For now, why don't you just recline back in your seat and relax in your car? Forget the world. Just take a nice nap. After all, you didn't get much sleep last night, did you? Vlad didn't come to bed. He never does after… You don't know where he goes on those nights, but it leaves you all alone. All alone. It's only been a year and a half with him. It's not like he's that much fun to sleep next to. Why can't you just go to sleep without him there?! But no, you're the kind of guy who wants him there, regardless of what just happened. Regardless of what he might have just done to you. Pathetic.

Funny, isn't it? That you remember that first time so… vividly. Stupid then, stupid now, but you remember every single one just like that first time. Just as shocked now as you were then, right? Oh please. Who are you kidding? You're getting used to it. He hit you last night and you just took it like some lowly dog. No, you're worse than a dog. No bark, no bite, nothing dangerous about you at all. At least that first time you had the guts to act outraged.

"It's no big deal," you yelled, more than a little annoyed that he'd blown something so simple— so very, very simple— out of proportion and wouldn't let it drop already. Of course, backing down isn't the Vlad Masters's way. "So I have a 'D' in Calculus. I'll make it up."

"This isn't like high school, Danny. You can't neglect your studies, having fun and going to parties. College isn't free, and I don't want to foot the bill so that you can fool around." Didn't Vlad's implications just get under your skin? Make you furious?! It wasn't your fault that your grade had dropped that low, after all. You have to save the world. You know, fight the terrorizing ghosts, get the people to safety, rescue those distressing damsels. He should realize just how tightly you're stretched.

"Foot the bill?! My tuition is just a drop in the bucket— better yet, make that an ocean— to you. You probably don't even notice the money gone. Besides it's only a month into the semester. I have plenty of time to bring my grade up." It wouldn't kill the man to have a little faith in you, would it? Oh wait, that's right. He doesn't trust you at all. Not one bit. "And as for my roaring party life, I spend every night here with you! I haven't been to a single party the entire time I've been here. You always badger me into staying and blowing off my friends. Like I'll have some wild night, forget you, and make one big, orgasmic mistake."

"I didn't say that," he defended. And who gave him the right to be defensive? Wasn't that exactly what he thought, but didn't say? He doesn't trust you. "But if you like me as you say you do, then you should want to spend your evenings with me. I'm not forcing you into anything. You're the adamant one." He certainly had you there. He hasn't trusted your little teenage feelings ever since you first admitted them.

"Why can't you just trust me?! I'm not like my-"

"Daniel, don't mention her." Ooh, what a stern voice he had. You know, you really were an idiot for continuing.

"Who? My Mom? You think that just because she blew you off—" You should have seen it coming.

"Don't talk about her!"

"And she ignored you. And she was 'disloyal' in a relationship that didn't even exist! You think that just because she couldn't like you that I can't?!"

"Daniel!"

"Like mother—"

"Shut-up!"

"—like son."

And there it was. The next thing you knew, you were on the floor, a nice right hook to the temple sending you there. He really didn't go easy, did he? You shouldn't have gotten him all riled up. At first, it was no big deal to you. After all, he'd hit you before, right? Remember the days of Plasmius versus Phantom? Sure you do. But then you laid there for a moment and let it all sink in. This wasn't some battle of good against evil. No, it wasn't. This— the hit and everything behind it— was a different kind of pain. And even though Vlad wasn't some fully reformed, law-abiding citizen, you thought for sure that you wouldn't get hit by him again.

Yet there was a tingling in your face of unsettled nerves beneath the skin. Your eye hurt so bad you didn't want to open it. The throbbing waves of pain coming in like the tide, pulling back and then hitting you again, full force.

Then you got back up on your poor little feet. Maybe he helped you up; you can't remember that part clearly. You stood and you thought about what to do next. You could have always have hit him back, right? But you didn't go that route. Maybe he could hit you, but you can't hit him anymore, can you? So what? You looked him in the eye, watched him avert his gaze from the already swelling place on your face, and listened to him stumble all over an apology. You wanted to hit him, didn't you? Your fist was already clenched tight to do it and everything.

And maybe you can hide behind the fact that you still like him even though he hits you, but face the music. The reason you won't hit him back is because you're afraid. That has to be it. He was already worlds stronger than you before. He's good at detaching his emotions from a battle, after all; he hit you all those times before, despite saying he cared. Imagine a fight with your heart half in it. He'd send you to the hospital. Try explaining that one to your parents.

So fight the good fight, passively. The greatest blow is the one not struck, and all that. He's probably all torn up inside. Is that how he managed to hold back from hitting you again when you stayed out until early in the morning that one time? Or when you let an English paper go so you could fight a ghost? Or when he went to campus that one day to take you to lunch and found you practically 'flirting' with that girl in a closed off, secluded corner of the library?

But he didn't hold back, did he?

No, he hit you all those times. All of those times and more. But you can take it, right? You're the tough hero. Besides, it's not like those hideous little bruises last for long. No, you're completely healed within two or three days, thanks to your ghost powers. Then your face is just as pretty and flawless as it ever was. And that's when he'll come around again, like nothing ever happened. You drop it too, right? And why not? The bruise is gone. It's like he never even hit you. You both go back ignoring the dark cloud that hangs in the room.

Do you remember when you used to be so optimistic about your relationship with Vlad? Your eighteenth birthday. Your mom invited him, and you told yourself for days leading up to your party that if he actually showed, you would tell him. Tell him all about the little schoolgirl crush you had on him. And why not? You'd be legal. Who was there to stop you then? But he did show. He showed and you almost backed out. I bet that now you're wishing you really had, don't you? Don't you?! But no, you took him up to your room and told him everything. You told him that ever since he'd put his evil plots on hold to manage his companies and his political career, you'd started to like him. You liked the non-violent side of him, the one where you didn't see Plasmius and fists and anger. Ironic now, isn't it? What's funny is that he almost hit you then. But he stopped himself. Wonder why he can't do that anymore. Yes, he simply took the high road, avoided hitting you, and ignored you altogether. Aw, but then you just wouldn't let such a catch go so easily, would you? No, you practically harassed him until he gave you a chance. Stand up and take a bow. You won! I bet you're so happy now.

And why wouldn't you be happy? After all, some nights after the two of you have sex, he actually holds you close, pets your hair, and tells you that you're beautiful. Of course, then there are the times when he says nothing. Not to mention the nights when he's not even there because he's counting down the days until you heal again. And then things can go back to being all milk and honey. Like nothing ever happened.

But then you'll mess it up. You always mess it up. Then you'll find yourself thinking of ways to hide it. Hide that offensive mark that signals trouble at the homestead. Duck your head, tell your lies, ignore your reflection, but it's just not good enough. Everybody sees. Everybody judges.

None of them matter though. Or, at least, that was true until your parents wanted to pay a visit. It sounded innocent enough on the phone, but you knew they were really just checking up on you. Making sure their baby boy was okay and Vlad wasn't doing anything… unsavory. Surprise, surprise. They were going to walk through those doors and question the bruise Vlad had given you that morning. You still get anxious thinking about the desperation you felt then, don't you? That choking feeling when your lungs can't get enough air. After all, no matter how supernatural your body is, you could have never healed by the next morning. Is that how you found yourself on a sad little aisle of the store that you normally ignored completely until the day you needed it? Pathetic. And yet you browsed and browsed the selection so that you could cover up your little problem, like any other helpless woman. It was that or tell them you fell and hit the doorknob, right? It's really a photo finish trying to decide which one is more pitiable. You still feel ashamed for wearing that makeup, don't you? What's worse is that Vlad knew. Of course he knew. But you're glad he didn't say anything. Actually… wasn't that the week he bought you the car? Or was it that new laptop? Maybe it was the new video game console or the giant plasma screen television.

But then… why should he have to apologize? It's not like he loves you or anything. You're just an annoying pest, nipping at his heels all the time. Better yet, you're like some teenage girl who sent Vlad a note asking him to go out with you, but you didn't include the 'No' box for him to put a check in. Poor guy never had a choice in it all, not with the amount of forcefulness you used pressuring him. It just makes sense that all of that annoyance needs an outlet.

"That's not true. He just needs some time to think it over and realize."

How is he supposed to love you anyway? How demanding of you to think he could. Half of you is born from Sorrow, an agonizing reminder of what he can never have. And the other half? That's Hate and the remembrance of what took his real want away to start with. How can anyone express even the slightest bit of love to a person who embodies such strong emotions for them? Do you think it's just coincidence that he always hits you in the face? He hates to look at you.

Why don't you just leave already? While you still have an ounce of your former pride to you.

"I can't leave."

Why don't you ever hit him back?

"I could never hit him now."

Why can't you hit him?!

"Because…"

That's not an answer, Danny!

"Because… I like him."

Not good enough!

"Because I… love him."

But he doesn't love you, not by your own logic.

I love depressing writing. It simply evokes more emotion. Hope you liked it.

Don't obsess too much over whose perspective this is being told from exactly. It's pretty much just that voice everybody has in the back of their heads, telling them what they're doing is wrong, criticizing every bad mistake they make and holding it over their head.