A distraction would be a blessing right now. Unfortunately, I finished doing my homework, cleaning my room, reorganizing my bookcase (first by topic, then by author) and brainstorming Christmas gifts a half-hour ago. There's nothing more to do but pace and watch the minutes crawl by. It's a school night, I shouldn't be up this late; but neither should Danny, and there's no way I'll sleep until I know he's safe in bed.
He'd call me a worrywart. I can picture him leaning against my door, his arms folded across his chest as he smirks. "You're not going to do anything by worrying, so quit it. I can take care of myself," he'd say. He thinks he's invincible. Most teenagers are oblivious to their mortality, and having superpowers does nothing to help that perception. He's looked after himself so far, but one day he might be pushed past his limits. What if that day is now?
I look around my room once more. My eyes fall on Bearbert, slumped over on the dresser. with a careful hold I pick him up and bring him over to bed. "What do you think I should do?" I whisper. There's no one I can talk to about my concern for Danny; Sam and Tucker are the only ones who know, and they would take his side and tell me to stop being overbearing. Even if Bearbert can't respond, speaking to him often helps me sort through my thoughts.
What would a great genius such as Bearbert say? That I should take care of the problem, rather than hoping it will resolve on its own. I should have aided Danny. "I know that," I sigh, "But Danny won't let me help him." After all, he brushed me off when I offered to come with him, saying I should cover for him. It was just an excuse to keep me out of the way.
Bearbert's button eyes look wise beyond their years. You want him to treat you as an equal.
"Or at least a friend." He rarely refuses Sam and Tucker's help, after all. But I'll never be a friend to him, I'll always be the older sister first and foremost in his mind. I just wish he wouldn't see me as a nuisance so much. If only he'd think of me as an equal.
Right. You'll be his equal when you can fly, walk through walls, turn invisible, and shoot ectoplasm.
Scowling, I poke Bearbert. "There's no need to be sarcastic," I tell him. "I know, there's no way I could be his equal in ability--not unless I was a half-ghost too."
If only there was a way...
"And just where would I find a working portal?" I roll my eyes at my own thoughts. From what Danny's told me, both Vlad and he gained their powers by being shocked with the energy from a portal to the Ghost Zone turning on. I'm not sure if it's because of the amount of ectoplasmic energy, or the nature of a portal activating itself--forcing two dimensions to mesh together--but I do know that since there aren't any inactive but functional portals, there aren't going to be any new halfas. Why am I even thinking of such a ridiculous thing?
Except Bearbert's smile seems to be growing, saying, I know where one is.
I stare at the stuffed animal, dumbfounded, because I know where it is too, yet it's never even come to my mind before. A sudden rush of excitement shoots through me, making my head spin as I rise from the bed. Bearbert falls onto his side, and I lean over to right him before speeding into the hallway.
Automatically I stride over to Danny's room and throw open the door. Seventh time's the charm, right? Except it's not; the lumps under his blanket are just the pillows I put underneath to fool mom and dad. Scanning the sky through his window, I can't see any sign of him, or any ghost for that matter.
I head downstairs to the lab. The only sound in the house is my footsteps, and I tread carefully. It'd be awful if I woke up Mom. Dad's easy enough to distract, but Mom would want to know exactly what I was doing, and I don't know what I could tell her--"Oh, I'm thinking about discharging a large amount of ectoplasmic energy into my body?"
That thought makes me pause at the lab's entrance. I hadn't considered it in those exact terms. If I act on my whim...who knew what could happen? Danny's accident was extremely painful for him; one possible explanation for his ghostly powers was that the portal had half-killed him. If I try to turn myself into a half-ghost, it might be fatal.
Chewing my lip, I walk down the stairs. Curiosity, that's all it is; the possibility of trying is too much to ignore. Some close scrutiny will undoubtedly reveal a flaw in my idea, and then I'll go to sleep, satisfied.
Only if Danny's back home, I think, frowning. No, whether my idea is feasible or not, there won't be any sleep tonight unless--until--I know Danny's safe. Because Danny is safe, it's just a matter of not knowing. He has to be okay. He can't be hurt.
The Fenton Bazooka rests on the wall. I never listened to Dad's explanations of the ghost weapons until I found out Danny's secret and realized the bizarre inventions could harm my little brother. Then I paid close attention and started asking Dad to tell me more (which always thrilled him). If I remember correctly, Dad said the bazooka, when fired, created a miniature portal to the Ghost Zone and sucked the ghost into it.
It's a good thing the lab is sound-proof, because I'm about to test that out. Mom's used it before, but it's possible that it might have broken since then--in the last two years, our weapons have been through a lot of wear and tear.
I take the weapon down, shouldering it with a grunt of surprise. Just how did Mom manage to run around with this thing? It's so heavy. I widen my stance so that my feet are shoulder length apart, aim the bazooka so the portal wouldn't open near any equipment, and fire.
Even though I've prepared myself for the recoil, the bazooka pushes hard into my shoulder, rocking me. Luckily I regain my footing just as the portal spreads open, giving me a glimpse of the Ghost Zone in its swirling green depths.
The vortex disappears after a few seconds, but then, a few seconds is all it took for both Danny and Vlad. It's still feasible that the energy from one of the Bazooka's portals could make me half-ghost.
It's also possible that the surge of ectoplasm could injure me. I try to keep this in mind, but it doesn't do much to stem the rush of excitement. I can't trust myself to make a rational decision in this state, so I force myself to put the weapon down and pace the lab.
In order for this to work, I'd have to somehow rig the gun to shoot me, opening a portal inside my body. Sounds icky, but doable. The question, therefore, is dare I do it?
The best case scenario would be that I become a halfa. I'd be able to help my brother, and maybe even be able to understand him better. We could be so much closer. And there are dozens of other benefits, more selfish ones. I'd be able to fly, turn intangible. Go into the ghost zone and study how they behave. Understand how being half-ghost affects the psyche.
Worst case scenario: I die. But it doesn't seem like much of a possibility--none of my parents' inventions have ever killed anyone, and considering Dad's aim, that's saying something. My brother puts his life in danger every day; if this will help him, it's worth the risk. I walk back to the bazooka and get to work.
Rigging the weapon doesn't take much time. Some Fenton Rope and Fenton Tape, along with a makeshift pulley, does the trick. It would've gone quicker if I hadn't taken two breaks to check on Danny's room--still nothing. On the slight off-chance he's gone to one of his friends, I call both Sam and Tucker. No answer. Of course not; they're sleeping, probably thinking that Danny is too.
Back to the lab. The weapon sits, humming softly with charged ectoplasm, ready for a shot. The set-up is simple: stand in front of the Fenton Bazooka, pull the rope, and the trigger will be pulled.
I take my position a mere two feet away. The shot will enter my abdomen. Intangible intestines--now there's a new form of bulemia. I shake my head, clearing away the rather gross, random thought.
I'm hesitating now. My fingers toy with the rope, excitement giving way to fear. Curiosity killed the cat, an old saying, worn but full of wisdom. But I'll never find out what could've happened if I don't try, and more than anything else, I want to know. If I learn more, I can help Danny better. Knowledge is power; another proverb that rings with truth, and one which has shaped my life.
My hand clenches with a sharp, sudden tug. The trigger is pulled and the bazooka fires. There's a flash of green, a stab of pain, and then I fall into darkness.
Fin.
Author's Note: I first got the idea for this one-shot when I started wondering if a shot from the Fenton Bazooka really could turn someone into a halfa. Though it could happen accidentally, the idea of one of the characters wanting to become a halfa and trying it appealed to me. The possible characters for this scenario being Sam, Tucker and Jazz, Jazz simply seemed like the most likely to give the idea serious thought (not to mention the most likely to have access to the weapon without anyone else being there!). So I wrote it from her pov, even though she seems a little harder to write to me. I did like writing the part with Bearbert though.