Chapter Two: What's Ours is Mine

"Never let your best friends get lonely...keep disturbing them." - Unknown

Phantom

My ice powers give me the ability to freeze the blood in a person's veins. For obvious reasons - not limited to the fact that I nearly killed a person with it - this ability terrified me when I discovered it by accident. Through training, I was able to learn how to use it in a non-lethal way.

That being said, everyone has been unconscious long enough to worry me. An unrelated ability allows me to know the exact moment a person dies, and I haven't seen any souls leaving their bodies. This doesn't stop me from pacing the room and checking everyone's pulses.

Aside from a few personalizations, my lair is normally an exact replica of my house on Earth. A ghost's lair changes to fit the ghost's needs or desires, so my lair is a little different right now.

The entrance leads into a small empty hallway, which is where I am currently pacing the floor, walls, and ceiling while I twitch and grunt from my ever worsening core spasms. There are four doors, each connecting to a bedroom personalized for each occupant.

Jazz's room is essentially her bedroom but larger and containing a small library of books I hope she likes. If not, 'tis easy enough to replace them.

Mom's is her and Dad's bedroom with a miniature version of their lab. I even swiped the personal projects she had half-finished/barely started from the lab back home.

Sam's is all dark colors and animal plushies because, and I quote, "Just because I'm goth doesn't mean everything I do is goth." There is also a nice video game setup.

Tucker's also has video games, but he also gets plenty of tech stuff and memorabilia from shows and movies he likes.

And, of course, each room has an adjacent bathroom and a kitchen stocked with the foods each person likes. If anyone has any other requests, I will see to them immediately. I want everyone to be comfortable during their stay here.

They might be here a while.

I have just come down from the wall when Tucker's door opens and he steps out of his room, blinking groggily. As I grabbed him from his bed on Earth, like everyone else, he is still in his rumpled pajamas. I stamp down the urge to throw my arms around him and kiss him in sheer relief. That would frighten him, and I cannot risk any damage to his heart.

"Danny?" He takes a better look at me. Yes, I remembered his glasses and Mom's contacts. "Super Danny? Where are we?"

Jazz comes out next, and her blurry eyes focus on us. "Danny? Tucker? What's going on?"

"I will explain once we are all here," I say.

"We?" Jazz asks.

Not a moment too soon, Sam steps into the room. When she raises her arms in a stretch, I hear a loud pop that alarms me, but she shows no signs of injury. "Where are we?"

"That's what I said," Tucker says.

Last but not least, Mom appears, and I can finally relax. "Kids?" she says. "Does anyone know where we are?"

That's my cue. "I brought you all here. My apologies for freezing your blood, but-"

"You froze our blood?" Sam asks, looking as betrayed as everyone else. Which is fair.

I press my thumb and forefinger together. "Just a smidge. Only enough to knock you out. I knew none of you would come willingly, so I had to do something."

"You kidnapped us?" Tucker exclaims.

Mom points an angry finger at me. "Young man, how many times have your father and I told you not to kidnap people?"

"Um," I drawl, "never?"

Mom sputters before crossing her arms indignantly. "Well, we shouldn't have to!"

Jazz chimes in. "I think we're just wondering where we are and why we're here."

I spread out my arms. "You are in my lair. In the Ghost Zone."

Everyone looks around, and Tucker says, "This isn't your lair."

I hold up my index finger. "Ah, but it is! As you know, a ghost's lair adapts to what the owner wants or needs. What I needed was a place that you all could be safe and comfortable in. I redecorated in a hurry, so if there's anything I missed, let me know so I can add it on."

Four pairs of eyes stare uncomprehendingly at me. "That's…thoughtful," Mom says carefully. "But…why?"

I put my hands on my hips. "Because Fenton - through no fault of his own, I might add - is unfit to look after you all." At their open-mouthed shock, I hold up a hand. "But, fear not. You are safe and sound so long as you remain in my lair. People can only come in if I allow them to. And, I've ensured that the door will lock from the outside so that none of you can leave."

Tucker throws his hands in the air and looks around aimlessly. "This motherfucker actually kidnapped us!"

I raise my hands placatingly. "It's for your own safety. Your human bodies are too fragile to withstand the outside world."

"So, you brought us to the Ghost Zone?" Sam drawls. "Where almost all of your enemies live?"

"As I've stated," I remind her, "no one can enter unless I allow it. None of my foes will set foot in here while you are my guests."

"Guests?" Tucker exclaims. "You kidnapped us! You're Super Danny! You're supposed to be the heroic Danny. Not the psychotic one!"

(Green beams of ecto-energy strapping them to the rapidly heating vat of Nasty Sauce.)

Don't let them see how much your core rages in your chest. You are Danny Phantom. You are an expert at pushing through the pain.

Don't let them know you are fixated. They will worry. Worry is bad for their delicate human hearts.

Sadly, Sam has always been the most observant in our friend group. "Tell us the truth, Danny. Is there even any 'business' to take care of? What aren't you and the other Danny telling us?"

"Spit it out, mister," Mom demands when I don't say anything. "What's this 'business' you had to take care of, and what did you mean about your human-half being 'unfit to look after us?'"

Fire blazes under my skin. I cross my arms and force a severe look and stance even though I want to scream in agony. "The short version is that I cannot let you all die. Not until I can ensure that, when that day comes, you will join me in the afterlife."

Silence is their response until Tucker barks out, "What?"

The cat is out of the bag. I may as well explain myself. "The business Fenton told you about is searching for a way to ensure that you become ghosts after death. While I do that, Fenton is meant to be your guardian. Alas, it seems he ended up with all of our anxiety when we split." And/or our fixation is affecting him differently. "I have determined that his situation is bad enough that he is unable to uphold his duties as your protector. So," I spread my hands and bow, "I took matters into my own capable hands. You're welcome."

"Again," Tucker says, "what?"

I could explain further, but the longer I stay here, the closer they all are to growing old and dying without their souls performing (the way I want) as they should. "I understand that this is all very sudden. You just have to trust me."

"That's what your human-half said," Sam points out. "A week later, you freeze our blood and kidnap us!"

"Oh, 'kidnap' is a vicious verb," I comment. "I simply transferred you somewhere safe. Against your will. Which…makes it kidnapping. But, my intentions are perfectly pure. Until I can guarantee your future ghostliness, you will remain here where no harm can come to you."

Mom steps forward, equal parts angry and pleading. "Danny, this is insane! Why would you-"

"Is it Dad?" Jazz asks kindly. "Is this because of what happened to Dad?"

A new silence follows, this one sympathetic, understanding, maybe a little pitying.

They don't know that Dad is part of a bigger picture. They were there for the incident, but Clockwork wiped their memories of the worst parts.

They don't remember the smell of burned sauce and grease and flesh. They don't remember the sight of smoke and chunks of meat from cow and chicken and human. They don't remember the way my mind shut down as my eyes witnessed the worst moment of my life in slow motion.

They couldn't remember even without Clockwork's involvement.

Because they were already dead.

"Too weak to escape…and you're too late to save them!"

There's a teardrop on my face. I wipe it away, but it's made of ectoplasm so they saw it. Jazz reaches for me. I walk backwards until my hand is on the doorknob. My insides feel like knives and (explosions).

I am Danny Phantom. I can handle anything. From the dark memories to the raw agony coursing through me.

(It hurts.)

Back straight. Chin up. Strength. Confidence. Reassurance. (Pain.) "For everyone's sake, you will stay here until I can find a way to ensure you become ghosts when you die. I'm going to continue my search for answers, but I will return as soon as possible to check on all of you. I love you," I add before floating outside.

Just before I close the door, I hear Tucker say, "He's fixated, isn't he?"

Gallivanting ghouls, these guys are smart.

I shouldn't listen, but I can't help but keep the door barely cracked.

"Definitely." Sam's voice. "I'll bet anything that the 'business' he was talking about was him trying to deal with his fixation."

This spasm is the worst one yet. It's just my luck that it would happen now. I quickly wad up the end of my cape and bite down as hard as I can. I hope they can't hear my whimpers through the crack in the door.

I picture Mom tapping her chin in thought. "The question is, what exactly is he fixated on?"

"It obviously has something to do with Dad's death." There's a pause, and I'm certain my sister is grimacing at her own words. It's only been a few weeks; we still have trouble talking about Dad's death, even if he is still with us.

I squeeze my eyes shut and bite down harder, clutching my cape with both hands, but it doesn't help. Pain of all kinds sends countless tears cascading down my cheeks.

Sam speaks next. "He said 'for everyone's sake.' What do you think he meant by- Wait a minute."

No. Don't figure it out. Please don't.

Please don't be afraid of me.

"Danny started acting weird after his dad died, right?" Sam goes on, understanding darkening her words. "Now think about who's here."

(It was my fault.)

Tucker says, "It's me, you, Jazz, and Mrs. Fenton. So? Wait… Oh…"

("All you wanted was to make the hurt go away.")

"Oh, no," Jazz adds.

(Their pleading eyes silently begging me for help. I was powerless, useless, worthless.)

"Am I missing something?" Mom asks.

My core flares to impossible levels. The scream that was building in me bursts out.

"Danny?" Mom calls.

I slam the door the rest of the way shut. Then I lean my forehead against the door and cry into my cape until this horrid spasm ends.

Weak. I am weak. And, I hate (myself) it.

Fenton

I can't find them. Any of them.

Mom and Jazz weren't here this morning. Sam and Tucker weren't at school. No one is answering their phone. The Foleys were terrified when I called. The Mansons actually answered my call, and that alone tells me how scared they are.

I tried to rationalize everything. Mom is driving Jazz to school, I said. Sam and Tucker are out sick, I said.

That did nothing but make me envision fiery car crashes and hospital patients clinging to life.

I made it less than halfway through the school day. I was so pale and shaky that my math teacher sent me to the nurse's office. The nurse called my dad after I had a panic attack so bad that I passed out afterwards (which is not normal for me). At least, I assume she called Dad; I was in my own bed and my shoes were off when I woke up.

Now I'm wide awake and where the hell are they?

They're gone. Mom, Jazz, Sam, Tucker. They're all gone. They could be hurt or sick or…

Or, in the Nasty Burger. The clock ticking. The temperature rising.

I can't breathe through the smoke filling my lungs. The explosion makes my ears ring and masks their screams. Do they even scream? Or, do they die too quickly for that?

Pieces of them blast through the air. Blood and sauce and gore splatters me even from this distance.

Because I failed.

I failed.

I failed.

"Danny?"

A voice. Distant. Yet, I can hear it over the sound of that cruel, hateful laugh.

I failed.

This time, the voice is accompanied by something big and orange. "You didn't fail anything."

Why am I crying? I killed them. Killers don't get to cry over their victims.

Large cold things wrap themselves around my hands. "I'm here, son. I've got you. It's okay."

I don't deserve comfort.

But…but, I find myself leaning on the orange thing anyway. It wraps around my smaller form. The orange thing is cold and gentle. I bury my wet face in its…jumpsuit? Yes, jumpsuit. Its… No, his. His fingers brush through my hair. This is a person. Not alive, but a person nonetheless. And, he is uncaring that my arms are trying to squeeze him to an end. He keeps holding me and caressing me and so, so gentle.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the smell of smoke and death fades. The terrible noises cease. My tears stop falling. I can breathe again. I can recognize that my father is holding me as we kneel on the living room floor.

"All better?" Dad asks.

I nod against his chest but keep my arms around him. Panic attacks always make me clingy in the aftermath. We stay in this position until I find the strength to pull away.

I double-take when I see who I was holding. Despite the weeks since my father's passing, it still startles me at times to see him as a ghost with pale blue skin and pupil-less red eyes. His jumpsuit changed as well for some reason, going from the color of a traffic cone to more of a burnt orange. He still looks like Dad, just a recolored version.

"Have you seen Mom and Jazz?" I ask.

Dad winces, answering my question before he speaks. "I was actually looking for them when the nurse called. I didn't wanna keep looking until I knew you were okay."

"You should have looked anyway," I whisper.

Dad brushes my bangs out of my face, reminding me that I'm due for a haircut. "And let you wake up in an empty house? Not likely."

I love this man.

I stand up, and Dad does the same. "Any trace of them?" I ask as my heart rate picks up once more.

Dad shakes his head miserably. "Not so far. But if you're up to helping me-"

"Phantom!" I exclaim. "Phantom can help too. Oh God, he needs to know about this."

I search my pockets but come up empty. I run upstairs and into my room. Dad follows and watches me grab my phone off my desk and fumble with it in my shaking hands.

"Isn't Phantom taking care of that important ghost business you mentioned?" Dad asks.

"He'll stop for this." I'm not going to tell him that this is that ghost business.

Phantom picks up on the first ring. "Salutations, my other half."

"They're gone," I gasp. "Mom and Jazz and Sam and Tucker are all missing! You were right, Phantom! You were fucking right! I can't protect anyone! I-"

"Easy, easy," Phantom soothes when I'm on the verge of another panic attack. "You have done nothing wrong, Fenton. Our loved ones are safe and sound in our lair."

Processing… "What?"

"Mom, Jazz, Sam, and Tucker are in our lair. They are unharmed and protected from all dangers. You have nothing to worry about."

Recalculating… "What. The. Fuck?" I punctuate my rage by slamming my free hand on my desk. "Do you know how scared I was? I had to leave school in the middle of third period! Know why? Because I had a panic attack so bad I fainted! And then, not even five minutes after I woke up, I wigged out again! Now you're telling me that you knew they were in our lair, and you didn't think to - oh, I don't know - call me and inform me of this? What the actual hell, Phantom?"

Phantom is silent for a while, and I take the opportunity to steady my breathing. "I'm sorry," he says, more subdued than I've ever heard him. "You're right. Not calling you was a terrible oversight on my part. Especially given your mental health."

I want to snap at him about the mental health comment, but I did just have two serious panic attacks. Although, at this point, I'm convinced that my spike in anxiety was caused by my fixation affecting me differently as a human. I'm not sure if that counts as mental health.

"Whatever, man," I say. "As long as they're okay. What are they doing in our lair, anyway?"

"I brought them there," Phantom says. "And, they are going to stay there until I can guarantee their future ghostliness."

"...Come again?"

"I realized that your…complications made you an unfit protector. No offense to you, of course. It isn't your fault our split turned out the way it did."

"What are you-"

"Either way, our loved ones are under lock and key in our lair, where no one can get in and they can't get out."

"B-b-back up," I stammer, scratching my head to give my free hand something to do. "What do you mean you brought them there? You just, like, picked them up and dropped them off?"

I picture Phantom nodding with a casual smile. Because that's what his tone conveys. "I even froze their blood just enough so they couldn't resist. Don't worry. I only froze it enough to keep them unconscious. They're fine now."

I stare at my phone for a moment because I can't believe what I'm hearing.

He… He kidnapped them.

This raving lunatic kidnapped them.

"Do-do you even hear yourself?" I demand. "They can't possibly want to be there!"

"They were a bit cross with me, I will admit. But, once they are immortal, they'll see things our way."

Our way? "Dude, the Mansons and the Foleys are freaking out! Dad only stopped searching because he had to pick me up from school! He had to pick me up from school because you gave me a panic attack!"

Phantom seems to ignore that last part. "Well, now you can tell them that everyone is safe and sound. See? You're still helping."

"That is not the issue!"

"I know what I'm doing, Fenton. Trust me. This is what's best for-for…a-all of us…"

"Phantom, you stupid-"

Phantom grunts. "Sorry. Core spasm. Gotta go."

For once, he gets no sympathy. When he hangs up, I slam my cellphone on my desk. "That nutjob's gone yandere on me!"

"What's a yandere?" Dad asks.

I turn around; I forgot he was in the room. "Phantom is a yandere! He kidnapped Mom, Jazz, Sam, and Tucker and stuffed them in our lair!"

"W-what?" Dad stammers. "Why did he do that?"

Screw it. I'm gonna need all the help I can get. "Because he's fixated, okay? I'm fixated. I have been since the day you died. There was no 'ghost business.' I split myself in half because I was trying to manage my fixation." After that, words tumble out of me. "When you became a ghost, I asked Reaper if everyone else would become ghosts and…and they won't." I have to speak around the lump in my throat. "None of them will be ghosts. They'll just be gone!" Gone but Not Forgotten. "And, I can't take that! I…I can't."

I control my emotions by watching a thousand of them play over my father's face. He's only been a ghost for a few weeks, nowhere near long enough to grasp the concept of immortality.

And, I just threw it in his face.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I shouldn't have…brought that up."

Dad waves his hands in front him and clings to his composure. "No, no. It's…it's okay." He brings me over to my bed, and we sit down. He keeps his arm around me, and I lean into him. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"You know me," I say with a self-deprecating grin. "Can't stand it when people worry about me. I got so used to figuring things out on my own that…that it's hard for me to ask for help." I learned that during one of my therapy sessions with Jazz. Maybe it's high time I took her up on her offer for weekly sessions.

"We love you, Danny boy," Dad says. "That's why we worry. Would you rather we didn't love you?"

"Of course not," I say honestly. "But, love hurts, you know?"

Enough to turn a sweet, shy fifteen-year-old into a monster. Gone but Not Forgotten.

Dad kisses my head. "We'll talk more about this later. For now," he stands up, "we need to figure out how to get everyone out of your lair."

I take his offered hand and let him pull me to my feet. "Phantom's not just gonna open the door for us. Our fixation involves keeping them alive. Even if it's just you and me, he's not gonna take any chances."

"So, how do we go about doing this?" Dad wonders.

I think it over for a bit before an idea hits me. "We should talk to Vlad. He's had a couple of fixations. Maybe he could help."

Not only that, but Vlad knows about Dan, and I'm not ready to tell Dad that story.

But, I have a feeling that, by the time this is over, I won't have a choice.