I thought this would be the story that gave me trouble, but the next two chapters are already complete. XD To be fair, one of them is incredibly short.

Chapter Two: The Reunion We Haven't Been Waiting For

"You can never trust anyone once you've had to trap them in a cage." - Matthew J. Kirby

I should get out of the house and stay away. But, Vlad has gone after my family to get to me before. I wouldn't put it past him to do it again, especially with the way he's been acting. I need to keep everyone safe while I figure out what to do about all this.

So, I sneak down to the lab to turn on the Ghost Shield. At least, that's the plan.

The plan that gets a wrench thrown in it when I see Mom and Dad at the observation desk, examining some jarred substance that, for my own sake, I will not attempt to identify.

No problem. The button is right against the wall a few steps away. I just have to tiptoe over and-

"Danny?" Crud. Mom saw me. She gazes worriedly at me through her red-tinted goggles. "Why are you activating the Ghost Shield? Did you see something on your walk?"

"Is some rotten ghost after you?" Dad snarls. He raises his gloved fists. "I'll tear it apart with my bare hands!"

My hand is hovering over the big red button. I throw both hands behind my back. "Oh, uh, nothing's after me. I-I just saw some ghosts duking it out, and they seemed a little too close for comfort, so I'm acting accordingly. Gotta make sure the family's safe! Can't be too careful."

Why, why, why was I cursed with nervous babbling?

Mom and Dad have abandoned their project. They charge in my direction, and Mom slams her fist against the Ghost Shield activation button. There's a brief hum, signaling that the shield is up. I can't help sigh of relief. The shield won't stop Vlad's human-form, but if he turns up as a ghost, those without a Ghost Sense will be alerted instantly.

"Alright, son," Dad says, bending slightly and placing a hand on my shoulder. "I need you to point to the exact places where that ghost touched you."

I take a step back and raise my hands in front of me. "I-it's not like that. No one touched me. Everything's fine."

Mom turns to me with narrowed eyes. "Danny, you didn't get this nervous about ghosts when you were still afraid of them. Tell us what happened so we can help you."

I could use all the help I can get right now. I may be better in a fight, but while I like to think that I'm catching up to Vlad, he's still stronger than me. And that's without his core hurting him.

That being said, I don't want Mom and Dad involved. I don't think Vlad would hurt Mom, but in his current state, who knows? As for Dad, oof, Dad's dead meat either way.

My Ghost Sense makes my decision for me. The blue tint to my breath is faint enough that I hope they don't notice it even this close. Not a moment later, there's a ping resonating through the room, letting us know that a ghost has slammed into the shield.

"I think you're about to find out," I say.

Mom and Dad hurry to grab weapons, and I run upstairs and pray to whatever deity is listening that it's not Vlad.

Jazz nearly trips while racing down from the second floor. "What's going on?" she asks, meeting me in the living room. "Is it…" She mouths the word "Vlad" so our parents won't hear.

I look out the window and am relieved to see that it's not.

Though, my relief is short-lived.

"Hutch Blairman?" I gasp. "What's he doing here?"

"You mean that's not the ghost who attacked you?" I jump at the sound of Mom's voice behind me.

I was so distracted that I hadn't heard my parents come into the living room. Mom has the Fenton Bazooka leaning against her, and Dad carries an activated Fenton Saber (also known as the consequence of letting Dad watch Star Wars with me).

Jazz looks startled, most likely because our parents have some inclination of what's going on, but doesn't comment.

"First of all," I say, "I never said I was attacked by a ghost." I turn back to the window. "And second, I haven't seen Blairman since he made that movie about m- about Danny Phantom."

Several months ago, Hutch Blairman - formerly the famous human movie director, Butch Hart - had shown up while I was defending my school from a ghost attack. He spent the entire fight secretly filming me from the bushes, which of course was the first in a series of red flags. He convinced me to help him make a documentary about myself, claiming that he wanted to use it as a means of showing the world that ghosts and humans aren't that different where it counts. To make a long story short, it was all a ruse and Blairman used the footage - with some footage dating back to long before I met the guy; yikes - to make a slander film about me. However, when people saw the film and discovered how low my self-esteem is, how many insecurities I have, how I care more about everyone else than I ever could about myself, their respect for me only grew. Blairman's plan could not have backfired more, and I doubt he's forgotten about how I beat him up and publicly humiliated him. And, not in that order.

Oh, and he's also chummy with Plasmius. So, there's that.

The only good thing about Blairman's triumphant return is that, as far as I know, he doesn't know that Danny Phantom is half-human. Which means that he shouldn't be too much of a problem as long as I stay in human-form.

"Let me see what this is about," I say.

Jazz stops our parents from offering me a weapon, and I walk out the door.

Hutch Blairman stands at a couple inches taller than me (for reference, I'm about 5'6") and has light blue skin, pointed ears, short dark blue hair, and human-like eyes with neon yellow irises. His dark clothes - black trench coat, bucket hair, and dress shoes and gray pants and fingerless gloves - are off-set by a feather boa that's so god damn pink that it should be outlawed.

Blairman had been experimentally tapping on the shield, but his face lights up at my approach. He gasps and holds his folded hands at the side of his head. "Cereal Boy! I forgot you were a member of the Fenton family."

I smack my forehead. I forgot about his stupid nickname for me. "For the last time, I was never in a cereal commercial. The kid just happens to look like me. You know my name. Will you please start using it?"

Blairman is nonplussed. "I like calling you Cereal Boy. It suits you."

There's a lot I could say to that, but I'm not in the mood. "What are you doing here, Blairman? You know my folks are ghost hunters, right?" I already know that he's aware of this. He made an unsuccessful attempt to interview them while he was pretending to make my documentary.

"Ugh. Don't remind me," Blairman says with an eye roll. "I'd love to catch up, Cereal Boy. We should do lunch!"

"We should not." Mostly because "doing lunch" would probably entail him trying to force me to star in one of his movies. The day we met while I was in human-form, he squeezed my cheeks as hard as he could and told me I had a nice face. I told him I was camera-shy and booked it out of there.

Blairman ignores me; he hasn't changed a bit. "But, it will have to wait. I must speak with your parents. Ah, there they are." He steps forward and bumps into the shield. "Oh, right. Ghost Shield."

I turn around and see Jazz watching through the window. Mom and Dad have come outside and are standing on the front lawn a short distance away. It looks like they've sat their weapons down now that they can see that the threat is unable to get to us.

Dad points in my and Blairman's direction. "Hey," Dad calls happily, "it's that movie director, Butch Hart!"

Mom narrows her eyes at him. "It was. Now he's a ghost named Hutch Blairman."

Dad pays her no mind. "Still a famous person on our property!"

"Hello, Fentons," Blairman greets like they're old friends. "If you would be so kind as to turn off your Ghost Shield so we can talk properly, I would be ever so grateful."

Mom barks out a laugh. "What could you possibly want to talk about?"

"Maybe he wants us to be in a movie!" Dad pipes.

"Ghost," Mom reminds him.

"Yes, but-"

Jazz appears on Dad's other side. "Ghost you have our full permission to annihilate."

Dad slouches in defeat. "Fine."

"Please," Blairman says. "I need your help. It's about-" He bumps into the shield again. "I gotta stop doing that."

My fixation is gone and I just got done fulfilling my Obsession. My core is and will continue to be fine for a good while. That's why I cross my arms and inform Blairman that, "Whatever help you need, I guarantee that none of us are going to provide it for you."

Blairman scoffs. "For the Ancients' sakes, this can't be about that whole," he twirls his hand, "'trying to ruin Phantom's reputation' thing." When I only raise an eyebrow at him, he tosses his hands at his sides. "You people like him that much?" Jazz starts to speak, but Blairman cuts her off with a horrified gasp. He throws his hand over his core. "Have I been blackballed? I can't get blackballed again. I still haven't recovered from that religious scandal!" Being in human-form makes it easy for me to reach through the shield and slap this man in the face. He blinks at me. "Thank you for that."

Jazz walks up beside me. "Our parents are kind enough to wait for our signal before attacking you, so I suggest you get the point."

Blairman adjusts his hat, which had gone askew when I slapped him. "Yes, yes, of course." He clears his throat. "It's about Vlad Plasmius." Part of me thinks I should have expected that; what isn't about Plasmius lately? When no one responds, Blairman clarifies. "I believe you know him as the Wisconsin Ghost."

Mom and Dad join the rest of us. Dad asks, "Does this have something to do with why he attacked Casper High today?"

Blairman nods, unusually somber. "I'm afraid so. The man isn't in his right mind and hasn't been for some time."

"I've noticed," I say. Then I remember that Mom and Dad are here and quickly add, "I-it's not normal for him to be so reckless."

"Yeah," Jazz agrees. "He's not usually like that unless Danny Phantom throws the first punch."

Why do I feel like she's trying to tell me something?

"Exactly," Blairman confirms. "But, it's more than that-"

Mom holds up one hand. "Hold that thought. Danny, be a dear and deactivate the Ghost Shield." We look at her like she's grown a second head. "This might be a bad idea, but if we're going to have story time with a ghost who is presumably well-acquainted with the Wi- with Vlad Plasmius, we shouldn't be out in the open. Especially if Plasmius is acting out of character."

"You're right, Mads," Dad agrees. "Here's a lesson for you kids. When a ghost's behavior changes out of the blue, it never means anything good."

What do you know? My parents got something right about ghosts.

"We'll keep an eye on Blairman," Jazz assures.

That's all the encouragement I need. I run back inside and down to the lab while the gears in my head spin like crazy. In any other situation, I would think that Plasmius had recruited his fellow egomaniac for his latest scheme. But if Vlad was faking his sorry state, he deserves an Academy Award. I don't know how close Vlad and Blairman are, but it must mean something if Blairman is not only worried but desperate enough to seek help from ghost hunters. I wonder if he knows Vlad's secret identity. If he does, coming to my family would make a little more sense.

Guilt gnaws at me. I'm the guardian of this town; they call me a hero. I'm supposed to help the people in it, not push them away like I've been doing with Vlad. The first two times I can justify because Vlad was putting bystanders in danger. But less than an hour ago, I was the only one within ten feet of him, and I gave in to my inherent mistrust. A hero wouldn't have done that. A hero would have seen the problem and tossed their feelings aside in favor of doing the right thing.

Once I'm in the lab, a pathetic whimper halts my spiral. The whimper is coming from the direction of the observation desk. The jarred substance my parents had been looking at moves inside its container.

Revealing two frightened eyes.

All thoughts of one ghost in need are replaced with another. I don't know why my Ghost Sense didn't catch this. Is the container - a mason jar that's obviously been modified to contain ghosts - blocking me?

I sprint to the desk and twist the lid off the jar. A lime-green mass bursts out of its containment unit and hovers a few feet from me. The un-human-like shape tells me that she is a demon, a ghost born and bred in the Zone. Actually, she doesn't seem to have a shape at all. She looks like a splat of ectoplasm that's roughly my size and has a yellow-ish outline. Her eyes are wholly red except for tiny round pupils, and they lock on me with a new horror.

She holds her "hands" out in front of her defensively, and her high voice shakes. "Please. No more. Please."

My insides shrivel up. I don't know what she's been through, but I am going to have a serious talk with (Jazz's) my parents later. "It's okay," I assure. I switch to my ghost-form. "I'm on your side."

The demon relaxes instantly.

"You wanna tell me what happened?" I ask.

When she answers, I realize that her voice wasn't shaking. All ghosts speak with the slightest echo, but it's usually impossible to hear unless you're listening for it. This ghost sounds like she's using two voices at once. "I was pushing a human child on the swing. But, I pushed too hard and he fell off." At my expression, the demon says, "He was okay. He wasn't in the air yet. He just lost his grip. He got some scrapes, but it wasn't bad."

"And, my- those hunters thought you did it on purpose," I conclude.

Now I'm certain her voice is shaking. "It was an accident!"

"I believe you," I say. And, I believe that my parents…meant well…

I ignore the knot in my stomach and walk over to the Ghost Portal's control panel. I press a button, and the panel covering the Portal slides open, revealing the swirling green vortex underneath.

I turn back to the demon, who eyes the vortex with longing. My core goes out to her. "I don't know where you live, but that will at least get you to the Ghost Zone."

The demon's eyes well up in relief. "Thank you."

She floats toward the Portal, but I notice with a pang that she's trailing ectoplasm.

"Wait," I say, and she stops. "You're hurt."

She looks down in surprise at the small gash on her…lower part that bears some resemblance to a leg. "I guess I was so scared, I didn't notice."

I walk up to her and tell her to hold still. I kneel down and press my fingers over the wound. A pleasant warmth starts in my core and flows down my arm and into my finger tips, forming a gentle yellow glow that seals the wound instantly. That power is called the Healing Touch, and it's exceedingly rare.

"Good as new," I proclaim and stand up.

The demon's glowing eyes are wide, and her mouth hangs open in awe. "You're an angel," she breathes.

I duck my head and grin at the praise while my face goes cold with ectoplasm. This demon must know what the Healing Touch is; I'm told that it can only be learned by someone with "true goodness inside them."

But, an angel? Only one other person has ever called me that, and it brought me to tears because the context was so sweet. In this context, it's more embarrassing than anything. Still pretty flattering, though.

"Don't tell my girlfriend you made me blush," I jest.

The demon giggles and starts toward the Portal but turns around. "Oh, I don't know your name."

Because I can't resist, I lower my voice and say as seriously as I can, "My name is Phantom. Danny Phantom."

Sadly, she doesn't get the reference. "I'm Kathleen."

Oh, well. Can't win them all. "Get home safe, Kathleen."

Kathleen thanks me one more time before entering the vortex. I close the Portal and allow myself a moment to enjoy the happy pulsing of my core.

Which reminds me of what I'm supposed to be doing. I regain my human-form, bolt for the lab's entrance, and turn off the Ghost Shield.

Mom and Dad insisted that they would hear no more from Blairman until he was in the cage. Jazz and I fought them on this - I think we're both convinced by now that the man means no harm - but Blairman went in willingly. Based on my prior experience with the director, it's very unlike him to follow someone else's orders without so much as a dirty look in that person's direction. He must be more desperate than I thought.

He stands beneath a transparent dome that's big enough to fit two of him at most. Not a lot of wiggle room in there, but at least he has it easier than Kathleen did. I hope she lives near where the Portal took her or at least knows how to get home from there. I wonder how long it will take Mom and Dad notice that their specimen has gone missing.

Not that long, as it turns out.

Mom just so happens to glance at the empty jar still sitting on the desk. "Where did our subject go?"

I was prepared for the accusation she now directs at me. There was a time when I would have cowered under the weight of that angry goggled gaze and stammered out a half-baked alibi that even I had no shot at believing. Something changed, and I don't know if it started with my party or if it's been happening for a while now. All I know is that I've stopped caring about my human parents' opinions (particularly Mom's).

So, I hold my head high and say right to my birth mother's face, "She's somewhere in the Ghost Zone. Sorry I can't be more specific than that."

Mom's not used to me talking back, so it takes her a moment to respond. "What do you mean, 'somewhere in the Ghost Zone?' Young man-"

Jazz clears her throat as loudly as possible. "Could you two discuss this later?"

"I'm with Jazz," Dad says. "My gut is telling me that whatever Blairman has to say is far more important."

Mom shoots me a glare that tells me we aren't done talking about this, but she smartly focuses on the here and now. "Alright, Blairman. Start talking."

"First and foremost," Blairman begins. He folds his hands together and points two fingers at me and winks. "I'm finding more and more reasons to like you, Cereal Boy."

I groan. Dad opens his mouth, and I swipe my hands through the air. "Nobody ask why he calls me that."

"Now, about Vlad," Blairman says. "Tell me, Fentons, how much do you know about Obsessions?"

My blood runs cold. This already confirms the theory about Vlad's core. And, possibly his fixation. I keep my expression blank and hope no one can hear my heart pounding.

Mom answers with a note of pride. "We know that a ghost's Obsession is the reason they haven't passed on. It's something they desire that's keeping them in existence and once it's fulfilled, the person will finally pass on to wherever they need to go."

Jazz and I glance at each other and play dumb.

Blairman scans Mom up and down and says, "In other words, you know absolutely nothing about Obsessions."

I don't know what's funnier: Blairman's lack of surprise or my parents' complete and utter shock. Jazz and I exchange looks again, both of us struggling not to laugh.

"You're right about one thing, though," Blairman says. "An Obsession is something a ghost needs to have or do. But, it has nothing to do with continuing their existence. Honestly, I'm not sure if anyone truly knows why some people become ghosts while others don't. There are a lot of theories but nothing concrete."

"Then what's the Obsession for?" Dad asks. He and Mom are in science-mode now. Mom even picked up a pen and notepad and has started jotting things down.

"Do you lot know about cores?" Blairman asks, tapping the spot over his. We all confirm that we do. "Fulfilling your Obsession is what keeps your core happy and healthy. For example, my Obsession is movies." He strikes what I guess is supposed to be a dapper pose: hip cocked, the back of one hand on that hip, his other hand hovering beneath his chin. "Which should come as a surprise to no one."

For the love of God. I notice something on Blairman's cage. Something that I'm in the perfect position to taunt him with. "Oh, look. A button. I wonder what it does."

I genuinely do not know what that button would do, but my threat has the intended effect. "Okay, okay! I'll stay on track!" Blairman shouts, waving his hands as my finger inches closer to the button. My family stifles laughter, and I lower my hand. Blairman rakes a glare over the four of us but moves on. "My Obsession is movies. I could make my own movies, watch someone else's, learn fun facts about them. As long as it's something movie-related, I'm good. But if I went too long without that, my core would cause me terrible pain. Too long after that," he twirls his index finger around his pointed ear, "and I would go coo-coo-crazy to get what my core so desperately needs. And, it's obvious that Vlad has gotten to the coo-coo-crazy stage."

My own core might get there if this keeps up. The fresh wave of guilt doesn't help.

"Not to change the subject," Dad says, "but, can we stick to calling him Plasmius? My best friend's name is Vlad, you see, and he hasn't been doing too hot either. I hope it's not his heart," he adds to no one in particular. "We need to watch that sort of thing at our age." I don't know why there's a can of processed cheese spread down here, but Dad picks it up now and squirts some into his mouth.

Nevermind. I know exactly why it's down here.

At the mention of Vlad Masters, something passes over Blairman's yellow eyes so quickly that it would be easy to miss. Now I'm certain he knows that Vlad Masters and Vlad Plasmius are the same person. Jazz nudges me and gives me a subtle look that tells me she came to the same conclusion.

"Uh, yeah, sure. Plasmius," Blairman says quickly.

Jazz, having been quiet up to this point, finally speaks. "From what I'm hearing, all Plasmius needs to do is fulfill his Obsession. Why come to us for that?" I like the way she worded that. It keeps up the illusion that she and I are ignorant humans who know nothing beyond what our slightly less ignorant parents have told us.

Blairman presses the tips of his fingers together. "A few reasons. One is that Plasmius's Obsession isn't toward something…tangible, for lack of a better word."

"I don't follow," I say, proud of myself for sounding neutral while I'm chomping at the bit to finally learn what Vlad's Obsession is. Then it's a hop, skip, and a jump from finding out what it has to do with me.

Blairman, like I hoped, mistakes my reaction for more ignorance. "Some ghosts are Obsessed with things you can see and touch. Like me with movies, for instance. Others are Obsessed with…" He hums, chews the inside of his cheek, searching for the right word. "Concepts, I guess you could say. Like Danny Phantom. He once told me that his Obsession is helping others. I don't know if that's true," it is, "but it's the perfect example. 'Being helpful' isn't something you can reach out and grab. Vlad's- Sorry. Plasmius's Obsession is like that."

"So, what is it?" Jazz asks, a touch of eagerness leaking into her voice. She wants to know as much as I do.

"Love," Blairman says. "Don't tell him I told you, but his Obsession is love."