Chapter Seven: Welcome Home

"'Made with love' means I licked the spoon and kept using it." - Unknown

We fly back to Amity Park after our lunch-breakfast. According to Blairman, Dad called while Vlad and I were asleep and asked when I'd be home. Blairman had told him it would be some time in the afternoon. Whether or not Dad knew a ghost had answered the phone is up in the air.

Since "sometime in the afternoon" is a broad range, I bring Vlad to the Guys in White's temporary laboratory just outside of town. (What's that? No, I'm not stalling. Why do you ask?) The laboratory spawned from a tiny cube someone threw on the ground. It was some major sci-fi shit, and my inner geek was loving it.

The leader of the group - I don't know if this is his codename, but everyone calls him "Admin" - meets us in front of the small white laboratory. He is a tall, bulky white man with a shaved head and no sense of humor. Or, maybe that's just with me. His impossibly white shoes are parted, his arms are crossed, and he gazes at us behind his sunglasses as if he wants to squash us like bugs.

In short, this is going exactly the way I thought it would.

"You're both crazy if you think we're going to let some random civilian work with us," Admin states.

I, in ghost-form, point my thumb toward a human Vlad. "He's not some random civilian. He's a dedicated ectobiologist who-"

"He could be the president for all I care. Working with you and the Fentons is enough of a headache."

The comment burns for several reasons, but Vlad places a hand on my shoulder before I can say something stupid. "I assure you, my good man," he says to the leader, "I am nothing like the bumbling Jack Fenton or this juvenile teenager."

"Hey!" I snap, shrugging off his hand.

"If you could give us a moment."

Vlad leads me a safe distance away as Admin oozes suspicion.

"Let me handle him, Daniel," Vlad says quietly. "I know a thing or two about getting people to do what I want. Without overshadowing them," he adds at the look I give him.

"Do you now?" I retort.

A smug grin forms on Vlad's mouth. "You know what they say: money talks. And, I have a lot of words to offer."

Bribery, huh? Whatever works, I suppose. "Just remember how serious this work is. And that, while I won't deny that something's changed between us, you're still walking on thin ice." I jab my finger at his chest. "You set one toe out of line, and your core will be the least of your worries."

Vlad raises his right hand. "I hear you loud and clear, Daniel. Believe me when I say that I have no intention of letting," he shudders, "you-know-what happen again."

Which is precisely why I'm trusting him.

"Though," Vlad continues, "perhaps this would be a good time to tell me why you can't spend July 23rd in the Ghost Zone. If I am to assist you, I need to know these things."

I suppose he's right. "It's Clockwork. He basically said that I would attack the town no matter what."

Vlad hums in grave understanding. He knows that if Clockwork says that something is going to happen, it will. "Did he tell you why?"

I shake my head. It was Reaper who passed on the message, and they wouldn't have left that out if they knew. They may have kept the angel-thing from me, but they aren't half as bad as Clockwork when it comes to withholding information.

"I see," Vlad says simply.

"I'm going to do whatever I can to be far away from here on that day," I promise. "But, I'm not taking any chances."

Vlad smiles slightly. "Spoken like a true angel."

I roll my eyes to cover how unaccustomed I am to that word. I flick my fingers in the direction of the laboratory. "Just go do your rich snob thing. And, I'll go do my…thing."

"Meaning that you're off to speak with your mother?" he asks in that subtly condescending way of his. "Perhaps I'll tag along. After all, what sort of guardian would I be if I left you to your own devices with such a delicate matter?"

(I don't want to do this alone.) "I think I can talk to my own mother, Vladimir."

Vlad shrugs. "If you insist."

He saunters back to where Admin is waiting, and I take to the skies and pretend I'm not terrified.

Because I shouldn't be terrified. Dad and Jazz told me that Mom is as upset about what happened as I am. She'll greet me with hugs and kisses and apologies, and everything will be fine.

…Please let me be right.

My Ghost Sense goes off when I get close to my house. A welcome distraction. I mean, stalling tactic. I mean-

A sing-song voice calls out, "Oh, Phantom! Phantom, darling!"

I pause in my flight path and let Hutch Blairman catch up to me. Before he can get a word in, I say, "Vlad sent you to check on me, didn't he?"

Blairman scoffs and bends forward slightly with his hands on his hips. "Vlad is my bestie, not my boss. I march to the beat of my own drum." He punctuates this by flipping one end of his feather boa over his shoulder.

"Then what do you want?"

"You're off to reconcile with your mother, correct? I'm here to offer my moral support. It's the least I can do after the way I behaved when we first met." I'm touched until he adds, "More importantly, I've got a serious case of writer's block for a family drama I'm working on, and I could use some inspiration."

Typical Blairman. "I appreciate the offer - sort of - but I'll be fine." I hope.

Blairman takes it in stride. "Suit yourself." He taps his chin and gives me a once over. "You know, you would fit the role of the main character in the story. Or, if main character isn't your thing, you could play the protagonist's brother. You're a little older than I'd like for that part, but I can tweak the script to-"

"Uh, let me think about it and get back to you." With a big fat no.

He points a finger gun at me. "Do that. In fact, how about I show you the script once it's done and let you pick your role? Whichever one you'd like."

Only if the role involves being invisible and not speaking. I raise two thumbs. "Sounds like a plan."

Blairman claps his hands together. "Excellent! I'll get to work as soon as I find a cure for this dreadful writer's block."

Suddenly, he leans in and plants a quick kiss on each of my cheeks. It's awkward at best, but it's better than the time he smashed his lips into mine in a fit of excitement. "I prefer a handshake, if it's all the same."

Blairman laughs and pats my cheek. "Stay beautiful, friend." Still not his friend. "I shall return once my latest masterpiece is ready for your review."

Once he's far enough away, I say, "Take all the time you need."

I fly into an alley and return to human-form before walking the rest of the way home. Maybe I walk a little slower than usual. Maybe I take a few detours.

Maybe I'm only brave when fighting ghosts.

Eventually, I acknowledge that I really do need to face this. My legs shake and I have to swallow a few times as I walk up to my house.

Where I might be welcomed by everyone in it.

Or, by two people.

Or, by one person.

I'm standing at the door now, trying to decide if I should walk in or knock or ring the doorbell. The doorbell idea wins out. Has the sound always made me cringe?

It seems to take forever, but the door opens.

Mom is kind enough to not wear her jumpsuit and instead stands before me in black leggings and a t-shirt striped with two shades of purple. Her short auburn hair is neat enough, but I can tell she's been running her hands through it. There are bags under her eyes; she probably hasn't gotten any sleep since she realized I'd snuck out. She gnaws on her lip and her eyes well up as she looks me up and down.

"Hi, Mom," I barely get the words out. "Can I come in?" Tears fill my own eyes, and I have to lower my gaze. "If only to-to get my things?"

Mom throws her arms around me and blubbers out apology after apology. I want to tell her that it's okay, that I shouldn't have left, that I hate seeing her cry.

Only one of those things is true.

So, I don't speak. I crush her against me and cry with her.

Once we calm down and are both red in the face and gross, Mom ushers me inside. The door is barely closed when my sister nearly bowls me over in a hug.

"Is anything broken?" Jazz practically shouts when she pulls away. She raises three fingers in front of her. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

I lightly knock her hand out of the air. "Jazz, I'm fine. Wait, shouldn't you be at school? What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean, what am I doing here?" Jazz asks. She puts her hands on her hips. "Danny, after what happened to you last night, do you honestly think I could focus on schoolwork?"

My chest seizes. She's making sacrifices for me again. "But-but, Jazz, you already missed so much school when you were in the hospital!"

"That was months ago, Danny."

"That doesn't matter. You still can't-"

Dad comes up beside me and places his large hand on my scrawny shoulder. "She loves you, son. And, so do we." He bends down to kiss my forehead. "We're all very happy you were willing to come home," he says with the most tender expression I've ever seen from him. "Say, is Vladdy with you? I wanna thank him for letting you stay with him."

"Oh, uh, he offered to come with me, but I said I wanted to do this myself, so he just dropped me off." It's not technically a lie. He did drop me off in town, and everything else is accurate.

"Ah," Dad says. "I'll have to give him a call then."

There's a brief uncomfortable silence, then Jazz gets an odd look on her face and says too cheerfully, "Hey, Dad! Why don't you and I…head down to the lab, and you can show me what you and Mom have been working on?"

"Now?" Dad asks. "Why would…"

Jazz nods toward me. I turn on a whim and see that Mom is looking down and tapping her fingers together.

I can see the lightbulb over Dad's head. "Uh, sure, Jazzerina. Let's go do that."

The two of them shuffle away with Dad sending me a thumbs-up over his shoulder.

Mom and I stand in the living room, neither of us making eye contact or knowing how to proceed.

"Um…" I stammer. I struggle not to flinch when Mom sends me a hopeful look, and I gesture to the couch. "Could we...sit?"

The look wavers but ultimately remains. "Y-yeah. Let's sit."

She plops down on one end of the couch and pats the spot beside her. She frowns and turns aways when I sit on the opposite end instead. The silence persists and makes me want to scream.

"So…" Mom drawls. "How did it go with Plasmius?"

"We, uh, came to an understanding." I don't elaborate, and she doesn't ask me to.

There's another pause, then Mom sighs heavily. "Danny, I can't tell you how awful I feel. I really, truly did not mean what I said to you."

"Then, why did you say it?" I ask as coldly as possible.

She flinches at my tone. Is it wrong that I get some minor satisfaction from that? She anxiously swipes a hand through her hair. "Look at it from my perspective. My only son snuck out in the middle of night and brought a dangerous ghost with him to seek out an even more dangerous ghost."

"Blairman is more…kooky than dangerous."

Mom's smile lasts less than a second. "Nevertheless, you still went off on your own without protection." No comment. "And when I saw Plasmius drag you away, all rational thought left my head!" She touches her fingers to her forehead and radiates exhaustion. "Then you still insisted on helping Plasmius, and…and I said the first thing I could think of that might get you to come home."

"That was the first thing you thought of?" My voice quivers. I don't know if I'm sad or furious. "Mom, you said that if I went with Blairman then I shouldn't come home! Do you realize that the first thing you thought of was also the cruelest thing you could have said?"

Mom drops her hand and half-groans half-sighs. "I didn't realize that until after I said it."

My rampant emotions settle on anger. "But, you still thought of it. My own mother said that my options were to help a man in need and never come home or to go home and let that man suffer. Dangerous ghost or not, do you have any idea how fucked up that is?"

In any other situation, she would scold me for that language. Right now, all she does is stare down at her folded hands in her lap. Somehow, that pisses me off more.

I shoot to my feet, my fists balled at my sides. "No matter how scared I was, no matter how angry or desperate I felt, I would never, ever say such a horrible thing to my child!"

My infant son appears in my mind. All chubby gray limbs and vibrant red eyes and bright fanged smiles. I picture what Bub might look like as a teenager. Both of his birth parents are taller than me, so he probably will be as well some day. Going off of his current playful and curious personality, I could see him as a free spirit who "beats to his own drum," as Blairman put it. Maybe Bub will let his hair grow down his back and wear clothes that are a size too big. I think art might be his Obsession, so he'll probably always have a sketchbook handy in case inspiration strikes. He'll probably drive me crazy when artist's block hits. And, I'm sure he'll still have his plush mouse named Mouse; he'll probably be sentimental about it.

I imagine us having an argument. Something serious or something stupid. It will happen. Arguing with your parents is part of growing up.

I hear myself scream at Bub to not come home. Then I picture his face and know for a fact that I will never do that to him.

The mental image is enough to drain the fight out of me. "I would never treat my son that way. You know," I add quickly, sitting down beside Mom, "if I had a son."

Mom manages a soft smile. "You'll be a wonderful father some day. As for me," that smile fades, "I know I'm not the perfect parent, Danny, but I like to think that I'm usually better than that. The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you." Her voice wavers. "I'd give anything to take back what I said."

"I know," I say, knowing in my heart that it's true. "But, you can't take it back." Now my voice is breaking. "Mom, I can't begin to describe how much you hurt me."

"That's why I'm surprised you came back." Mom's smile is sad and forced. "I honestly didn't think you would."

I don't know precisely when my heart completely shattered, but I'm starting to feel it. I lace my fingers through hers on her lap. "I'll always come back. I love you so much. You and Dad and Jazz. It would hurt too much to stay away forever."

Mom's smile is the tiniest bit more real as she squeezes my hand. She doesn't know that there will come a day when I have no choice but to stay away forever. I'm half-ghost. Someday I'll be full-ghost. The humans I hold so dear will be gone. They might not be ghosts because I'm not that lucky.

But, I am that selfish because I don't want to say goodbye if it means I never get to see them again.

I have to push those thoughts away or I'll end up with breakdown number…too many.

I blow out a breath and lean back on the couch and stare at the ceiling. "That's my biggest problem, isn't it? No matter how hurt I get, I always go back for more."

Vlad's warning to me creeps into my mind. "Your emotions will be your undoing, my boy."

A bitter laugh pops out of me. "It's no wonder I," hate myself, I almost say, "uh, get into these situations," I amend. I cross my arms. "Vlad warned me about caring too much."

"Oh, Danny." Mom leans back with me. "I don't ever want you to stop caring." She taps her finger to my chest. "That heart of yours is the best thing about you."

"You think so?"

"I do. Sure, it gets you into trouble, but not many people are as naturally kind as you are. You're a lot like your father that way."

Memories play like a horror film. Abusing my powers. Yelling at Jazz for screwing up ghost fights and making her run out of the room in tears. Destroying a Christmas book and bragging about it to the author's face, which caused a whole new set of problems. All the times I took advantage of Sam and Tucker. My initial dismissal of Vlad's fixation.

I turn away. "I'm not as kind as you think. You don't know how big a jerk I can be."

"No one is perfect, hun. We all make mistakes."

My lips pull upward when a nicer memory hits. "Reminds me of something my-my friend," as in, the Ancient I call my grim, "once told me. That even the most gentle souls in the world are not without wickedness."

Mom nods and hums in agreement.

The tension in air has lessened, but the silence that follows is still heavy enough to make an Olympic swimmer sink.

Mom leaps off the diving board. "Can I ask you something? Something that's been on my mind since you snuck out with Blairman?"

"Shoot."

Mom opens her mouth then closes it with a deep frown. Her hand is a fist suspended in the air until she finally speaks. "This might sound insensitive, but… Well, if Plasmius, a ghost, truly was suffering that badly, why go to the trouble of learning why when you could have- I mean wouldn't it have been easier to-" She gesticulates in various ways and becomes increasingly uncomfortable with every word. Soon she gives up, pinches the bridge of her nose, and mutters, "Come on, Maddie, think before you speak."

While I am not happy with what she's implying, I'm not mad either, strangely enough. "You want to know why I didn't try to destroy him outright."

Mom flinches and blushes. "I don't- Well- It's- You're the one who brought it up. The idea that destroying a ghost saves the soul from being stuck like that and allows it to properly pass on."

Oh, god. That. The bare bones of the story is that some members of the Guys in White - who shall remain nameless and are forbidden from coming within fifty feet of my son, mine, not theirs - told me that's what they think happens when a ghost is destroyed. I made the mistake of bringing it up with Mom and Dad, and the events of that day left me too broken to argue when they misunderstood what I was trying to say.

I swallow an inhuman growl and slap my hands to my knees, digging my nails into the denim. "That wasn't my theory. Someone else brought it up, and I wanted to know if you and Dad felt that way." I press my nails in hard enough that I'd draw blood if I wasn't wearing jeans. "I know you guys are trying to help humanity. I-I thought that you thought that-that you were helping the ghosts too." I want to add how saddened and disappointed I was to learn that the thought had never crossed their minds, but my voice conveys that well enough.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Mom asks gently.

I toss my hands in the air and let them fall limp in my lap. "Why bother? You guys were so gung-ho about it that nothing I said would have changed anything. You wouldn't have listened."

Mom makes a face like I slapped her and places her hand over mine, "I'll start listening. We both will."

I close my eyes to keep the fresh tears from falling. "Promise?"

"I promise. Your father will too."

I don't need Dad's promise. He already listens. When our parents saw how deeply Jazz and I care about ghostkind, neither of them liked it, but Dad was willing to look the other way. He got Mom to do the same, but her acceptance isn't quite there yet.

But, it's on the right track. That's good enough for me.

"One more thing," Mom says. Her eyes are damp yet oddly playful. "You're grounded for sneaking out."

For some reason, that makes me bust up laughing, sending those tears down my cheeks. Once I've dissolved to quiet giggles, I brush my sleeve over my face. "I can live with that."

I wrap her in my arms, and the feeling of her returning the hug is warm and familiar and feels so damn good after all that I've been through. The smell of floral soap and cheap shampoo quells that persistent ache in my chest.

I'm in my house, and everyone wants me here with them.

Before I can fall apart again - I'm really sick of doing that - I pull away and say, "Well, now that that's been dealt with, what's say we go tell Jazz and Dad that we didn't kill each other?"

Mom laughs and kisses my cheek.

"Are you sure we can trust him?" Sam asks.

My arms are folded over my chest. "I think so."

After school let out for the day, I texted Sam and Tucker that I wanted to tell them about the Vlad situation in person. I told Jazz what went down with Vlad and Reaper, left a duplicate at my house, went ghost, and shot into the sky (partially to get away from my sister, who peppered me with questions I don't have answers to). On my way to our agreed meeting spot, I ran into Eileen, who was on her way to my house to check on me. She said that she found it suspicious that Dad called me in sick the day after Plasmius attacked the school. I told her I was about to fill my friends in, so she tagged along.

The four of us are in Sam's bedroom, which has purple walls and gray carpeting, posters for various horror-based media, and a handful of stuffed animals like bats and black cats. The perfect room for my gothic friend. Sam sits on the edge of her four-poster bed. Tucker is in the swivel chair at Sam's desk. Eileen - in her natural state of an inhumanly thin spirit with off-white skin, long black hair, wholy red eyes, and a tattered gray dress long enough to hide her lack of legs - floats by the door. I, now in human-form, am half-sitting half-leaning on the window sill.

"Like I said," I continue, "Vlad's fixated on my reckoning not turning out like his."

"Yeah," Tucker says, "but it's Vlad."

I don't blame my friends for being skeptical. "No argument there. But, I told you guys about his Obsession and what he said about me. He could have been lying, I know, but I believe that he's at least sincere enough that we can trust him with this."

"Danny has good instincts when it comes to these things," Eileen says with a shrug.

"We're not denying that, Ms. Mae," Sam says. "Ms. Mae" is the name my imprinted mother uses during school hours. Since Sam and Tucker are her students, they have a habit of calling her that outside of class as well. "But, you don't have as much experience with Vlad as we do."

Sam's tone carries the slightest edge that makes my mama look away in shame. After I learned about my impending reckoning, my mental state took a turn for the worse. Eileen went to Vlad Masters for help, unaware that he also happened to be Vlad Plasmius. Looking back, I wonder if learning how hard I hit the wall had been the trigger for Vlad's fixation.

"You're not wrong that this could be a mistake," I admit. "But, you weren't there. None of you were." I didn't tell them how horrible Vlad looked when I found him under that streetlight. Some secrets are meant to be kept. "I don't know what's going to stop me from getting away in time. What I do know is that we need all the help we can get if this town is going to stay standing after my reckoning."

Sam and Eileen frown in reluctant agreement, but my heart lurches at the look of defeat on Tucker's face. For all of his technical expertise, that expertise lies firmly in coding and hacking. He can rig machinery that's already made (example: outfitting his PDA with a mini ecto-gun), but he's not an inventor. When my reckoning first became known to us, he tried multiple times to rewire my parents' equipment to hold up better against me. It took almost getting caught after the kitchen exploded - we told my parents it was the oven Dad had made another attempt at fixing - for Tucker to realize that he had no idea what he was doing. The poor guy was in a funk for days after that.

"There's something else, though," I continue. "It's the main reason Vlad is helping. I overheard him and Blairman talking about me, and I asked Reaper to clarify what I heard. Turns out I'm some special type of ghost called an angel."

Sam and Tucker gaze at me in confusion. Meanwhile, Eileen doubles over in laughter, which seems to be her knee-jerk reaction to particularly shocking news.

"Dude," Tucker says as he and Sam watch Eileen with genuine concern, "I don't know what you're talking about, but I think you broke your ghost mom's brain."

Eileen waves her arm a few times and giggles out a few apologies before straightening and shaking her head. "I met and became the mother of a halfa. I became co-parents with an Ancient. Now my son is an angel. Danny Phantom, I cannot wait to see what insane bullshit happens to me next."

That's…good?

"Hello?" Sam says. She gestures between herself and Tucker. "Humans in the dark over here."

Eileen and I explain what an angel is, I mention Reaper's own angel status and their certainty that I'll have wings after my reckoning, and my friends gaze upon me with a newfound amazement.

"And, it gets better," I snark. "Apparently, I am the first halfa to ever be an angel. Yay, me, am I right?"

"You really seem to attract the crazy stuff," Tucker comments.

"What does this mean for your reckoning?" Sam asks.

"I don't know," I say. "The weaponry works fine against me now, but if angels are as powerful as I'm told, it might not work when we need it the most. That's why Vlad's getting involved. His knowledge combined with the Guys in White's should be enough. I hope," I add quietly.

Tucker leans back in his seat and places his hands behind his head. "This is too much doom and gloom for me. Let's change the subject." His tone carries the words, Stop reminding me that I'm useless. I'm getting alarmingly used to my heart hurting. Tucker covers his thoughts with a coy smirk. "How long are you grounded for sneaking out with a ghost? I'm guessing…six months?"

Sam isn't oblivious of Tucker's self-pity, but she's willing to play along. "Minimum of three."

Why can't we keep talking about angels? "A week."

Everyone reacts with surprised looks in my direction. "That's what I would have given you," Eileen says, "but only because I know you're a ghost who's used to scraps. How'd you get off so easy?"

Can we please get back to the topic of angels? I rub my arms and lower my gaze. "Mom and I had a fight. I guess she feels bad."

Tucker lets out a low whistle. "Must have been a hell of a fight."

My stomach churns, and I stare down at my sneakers. I don't want to talk about this, but I know that I should. Vlad's right; ignoring the problem won't make it go away.

Lately, it feels like all I do is stack my issues on my loved ones' shoulders. But, seeing how worried these three are about how quiet I've become, I know they'd rather I do that than keep it all inside.

"Danny?" Eileen says. "What happened with your mom?"

Everyone will worry more if I don't tell them. I squeeze my fingers into my arms and bite the bullet. "Mom found me with Vlad and Blairman. She said that…if I went with them…I shouldn't bother coming home."

Now I know what they mean by "deafening silence."

There's barely restrained fury in Eileen's voice. "That. Fucking. Wench."

"Took the words right out of my mouth," Sam growls, her fury not restrained in any way. She throws her hands in the air and paces the room, too wound up to sit. "Who says that to their kid? Who? My parents are prissy and proper as hell, but no matter how much I rebelled, they never once told me not to come home!" Sam stops pacing and fixes me with a glare that makes her seem a foot taller than me instead of two inches shorter. "You're telling me that she said something that awful to you because you wanted to help a man in pain? Who cares if it was Vlad? She-"

"-doesn't know the full story, Sam," I remind her while gripping the window sill to steady myself. "You know Mom's missing a lot of details."

"That doesn't make it better!"

"We talked about it! She said that she was scared and blurted out the first thing that came to mind."

"Oh! Because that makes it so much better."

"You think I'm not upset?" I snap, straightening to full height. I press my hands over my chest. "You think I couldn't feel my heart breaking when she said that? You think there aren't still pieces rattling around in here?" My voice cracks at the end.

Sam turns away with a quiet grunt. She's not mad at me, and I'm not mad at her. We both know that.

"Why did you go back?" Eileen asks calmly. Too calmly.

My throat is thick with emotion as I toss my hands at my sides. "I love too strongly. I'm a glutton for punishment. I'm a goddamn idiot. Pick a reason."

Tucker, who had been quiet up until now, speaks with a somber tone he uses so sparingly that I almost don't recognize his voice. "Maybe it's time we tell your parents the truth."

Sam whirls on him. "Now? After what Mrs. Fenton said to her own son, you want to tell them now?"

"Before this happens again," Tucker retorts.

Sam starts to say something but cuts herself off.

"Tucker has a point," Eileen says with a desperate look directed at me. "As long as your parents don't know you're half-ghost, this could happen again. And, next time it might not end with you going home."

Goosebumps crawl over my skin, and the churning in my gut has turned into a whirlpool. What would happen if I told Mom and Dad about me? Things are different than they were when I first got my powers. My parents are more open-minded, more willing to listen. Or, well, Dad is. Mom clings stubbornly to her beliefs, but our conversation earlier tells me that she'll try harder.

But, letting your son hang out with ghosts and having your son be a ghost are two different things.

"What if I tell them," I say quietly to the floor, "and I still can't come home?"

Eileen speaks first. "You know where my lair is. And now that you can open portals on your own, you have easy access to it. Door's open. Your grim will tell you the same thing."

They already have.

Tucker's next. "Or, you could stay at my place. My folks wouldn't mind. 'Course, we'd have to come up with a reason for it. Worst case scenario, they'd keep your secret."

Now Sam. "If nothing else, you could hole up here. My parents may not like you, but this house has plenty of rooms for you to hide in. My grandma would be happy to help."

My girlfriend's parents talked about the possibility of adopting me. My girlfriend herself once told me that her parents would take me in if need be. The Box Ghost lets me stay at his Haunt when I need to get away. Vlad…is a last resort.

When did my house become so unsafe that so many people, friend and foe alike, seem like better options?

Still, if Mom and Dad are willing to try when it comes to ghosts…

Maybe I just need to give them a little time, let them see that ghosts aren't the monsters they think. I'll figure something out. I know plenty of nice ghosts to introduce them to.

It'll be okay. It will all be okay.

It has to be.

I did not think this story would be so emotional, but I love the way it turned out. Thanks for reading, and I'll see you in Part Eleven!