Breaking Dawn
A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque
I do not own Danny Phantom.
"Here the hammer-stroke will fall hardest…"-Gandalf the White, "Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King" (2003)
Chapter 22: Beginning of the End
Prologue
Washington, D.C.
Andrew Skryme's entire body shook with rage as he gently, with trembling fingers, placed his office phone back onto the receiver. His eyes were wide as a disturbing light glittered in their depths, and he took a deep, shuddering breath before sending the device crashing to the ground, his face contorting with fury as spittle rolled down his lips. His rat-like features grew positively rabid as Skryme began to lose his mind, and he put his entire foot through the monitor of his desktop computer with a cacophonous krash as he scurried around the room with frenetic energy.
It wasn't supposed to work out this way! The Society was supposed to do Skryme's work for him! They were supposed to run Danny Fenton and his nauseating little friends clear out of the country, to make the ghost boy pay for ruining Skryme's career! Brody was supposed to have died by now, for Christ's sake, but now, with one devastating strike, the ghost boy and his pathetic allies had very nearly destroyed Skryme's entire network in the course of a single night!
The more Skryme thought about it, the angrier he got. Every beat of his blackened heart began to move toward a single, terrible goal as he methodically ransacked his entire office in a seething, red-tinged rage, and the expensive knickknacks that lined the shelves of Skryme's book case shattered like Christmas decorations as they broke into a million little pieces upon the hardwood floor. The now-ruined desktop monitor was hurled clean through the window and into the adjacent yard as Skryme's hate began to consume him from the inside out, and as his eyes began to grow ringed with crimson, Skryme slammed the door behind him and headed out into the parking lot. His job was as good as lost, anyway, but he didn't care; all that mattered now was having the last laugh at the Fenton kid.
And the ex-Major just happened to have just the thing to accomplish that terrible goal. It was a particular item he'd acquired sometime back that he'd been saving for a proverbial rainy day.
Skryme's expensive Mercedes beeped as the newly-turned psychotic opened the trunk, and the long, rectangular case that he retrieved from its depths seemed to give off an air of overpowering menace. With practiced speed, Skryme flipped it open, holding the hidden Kalishnikov sniper rifle lovingly in his arms while he slotted a round in the chamber.
"Well, if you want something done right…"
K-CHACK.
"…Do it yourself!"
Now…
The Fenton Residence, 7:30 p.m.
Danny Fenton was actually whistling cheerfully as he stepped out of the shower that morning. He had good cause to feel rather pleased with himself, seeing as how he and Brody had crushed the Society of Light only the previous evening. Danny's heart welled with fierce satisfaction as he remembered how his bigoted teacher, Claudia Barousse, had been shoved unceremoniously into the back of a police cruiser, and how her confederates had been rounded up like fleeing animals as they tried vainly to escape.
The great weight that the Society had placed on Danny's shoulders had finally been lifted, and now Danny was looking forward to simply getting on with his life.
A smile bigger than a peeled banana crossed his face as he tugged his shirt over his shoulders, and as Danny thundered rapidly down the stairs to the kitchen, he felt his stomach growl with the vigorous insistence that only teenage males are known to have.
Danny paused on the way out the door, snatching a package of frosted Pop-Tarts before pulling his backpack on. The familiar weight of his books was almost comforting as he bit into the sweet pastry, and Danny shoved the door open wide-
-Only to find, to his horror, that the hounds of the media had been camping out on the sidewalk next to his house.
Spots danced in front of the young man's eyes, and he instinctively put a hand up to shield them as the questions flew thick and fast.
"Mr. Fenton! Mr. Fenton! What are your thoughts on the raid last night?"
"Do you plan on pressing charges?"
"Are you going to return to school now that the Society is in custody?"
Danny sighed. I really don't have time for this, he thought. But maybe they'll go away for a bit if I talk to them for a few seconds. "Quiet down," he said calmly, raising a hand.
And they did. Instantly.
"No, I'm not planning on pressing charges," Danny shrugged. "I just want to move on. My thoughts on the raid are my own, and yes, I do plan on returning to school, which I'm going to be late for if I don't get a move on."
Two telltale rings of light flashed over Danny's body as he switched into his ghost form amidst cries of astonishment, and with a swish of rushing air he soared over the heads of the surprised reporters. The wind forced Danny's head back as he hightailed it to class, and for the first time in days, he felt happiness rather than dread as he saw Casper High's familiar structure enter his line of sight.
With all the swiftness and skill of a swooping falcon, Danny touched down brazenly into the middle of the courtyard. He waved cheerily at any who might have happened to turn his way, and some part of Danny noticed that the general atmosphere of the student body had definitely changed.
It was as though many of Danny's peers felt…ashamed, for lack of a better word. They no longer went out of their way to avoid him like a carrier of the plague, but neither did they go out of their way to talk to him. The difference was that many appeared unable or unwilling to face Danny after the Society's veil of hate and bigotry had been lifted from their eyes, and the ghost boy noticed that many a boy and girl stole a furtive, almost apologetic look in his direction, as if to say, "Hey, it wasn't me talking behind your back."
Danny would have been completely justified in blowing all of them off with a wave and a bitter comment, but that was not his way. Instead of righteous anger, he opted instead to smile and nod at any who passed him by, as if to let them know that all was well once more.
"You look awfully…bubbly today," the voice of Sam Manson said in his ear.
"I feel bubbly," Danny smirked, turning to face his girlfriend as Tucker walked up to join her. "You heard what happened, right?"
"If you're referring to the way you and Brody ground the Society into dust, then yes," Sam grinned. "It's all over the papers. Speaking of which, the Amity Herald issued a recall and a full front-page apology about the article they printed about you the other day; apparently they're jumping on the bandwagon now that the Society's gone."
"I'll have to read it when I get the chance," Danny laughed. "It'll be interesting to see how they try to cover their butts from a lawsuit or something."
"Barousse definitely got the worst of it," Tucker put in. "I know you're probably not gonna pursue this, Danny, but let me tell you, Brody really threw the book at her. Word is that she's already been fired and lost her teaching license."
"That's the best news I've heard all day," Danny replied cheerfully as the bell rang shrilly. "C'mon."
The two friends, following the young hero's lead, joined the mass exodus of students pouring inside the school. The courtyard emptied faster than a bottle with a hole in its base, and no sooner had Danny entered the school's interior that he found himself accosted by his old tormentor, Dash Baxter.
"That's far enough, Fenton," Dash said, his muscle mass blocking Danny's way. "I've got one thing left to say to you."
"Yeah?" Danny asked, utterly exasperated. "What's that?"
Dash looked Danny right in the eye, and for once, his tone lost its jeering edge as he opened his mouth. "I'm sorry."
Danny stared. "What?"
"I'm sorry," Dash said, seemingly sincere before his usual demeanor reasserted itself. "Don't make me say it again, okay?"
Danny grinned crookedly. It was obvious that admitting fault was hard for Dash, and he nodded seriously as he stuck out his hand. "I accept your apology," he said simply. "As far as I'm concerned, it never happened in the first place."
Dash gripped Danny's hand firmly, his smirk back in place. "Don't think I'm gonna get all chummy now, though. I still don't like you, Fen-turd."
"Well, that's good," Danny grinned back fiercely, "Because I'm not that fond of you, either."
Dash shoved his hands into his pockets and skulked off, and Danny clasped Sam's hand firmly as the three youngsters approached Lancer's classroom.
"Did Dash just…apologize?" Sam's tone was disbelieving. "I didn't think he was capable of it."
"I don't expect to hear it from him a third time," Danny's grin was sardonic as he took his seat at his desk. "But to his credit, he did seem like he meant it."
"Mr. Fenton, if you would refrain from conversing once the lesson begins, it would be much appreciated," Lancer's familiar dry tone drew the boy's attention.
"Yes, sir," Danny nodded, not willing to argue for the sake of remaining in his teacher's good graces. "Sorry."
"Today," Lancer began, a twinkle in his eye "In light of the events of these past weeks, we will suspend our lesson on Tolkien for a brief time while we delve into the fascinating world of literature from the era of the Civil Rights movement. This period in history was a time of great cultural and literary significance for the African-American community, and thus many of the works we will cover are held in extremely high regard."
Lancer looked directly at Danny whilst he spoke, and the ghost boy began to believe that his teacher had come up with this lesson plan specifically for his benefit. The poignancy of the assignment certainly wasn't lost upon him, after all, and the timing was too perfect to point to a mere coincidence.
"Now, if you will turn to Chapter Fifteen in your textbooks, we will begin reading. Mr. Fenton," Lancer added, smiling, "Why don't you begin?"
Epilogue
Amity Park, 2:45 p.m.
A very disheveled and unkempt-looking little man, reeking of body odor and sporting a layer of stubble on his unshaven cheeks, stared balefully at the high school that lay across the street from the roof of the parking garage where he now stood. His enormous buck teeth and watery, shifty eyes gave him a naturally suspicious appearance as he hurriedly unfolded a three-legged tripod from the case by his side, and no sooner had he set this up than Andrew Skyrme peered maliciously down the scope of his long-range weapon.
Any moment now, that stupid Fenton kid and his little friends would come striding out of that building, and when they did, Skryme was going to kill all of them, including Brody. Especially Brody, the ex-Major added silently. I didn't drive all night to get here for nothing! Oh, how I'm going to enjoy painting the sidewalk with his brain!
The firearm made a menacing click as Skryme pulled the safety off, and with venom in his veins, he waited…
A/N: Yes, I know this is a very short chapter, and for that I apologize. But in all honesty, the whole thing was just one big intro to what I've got planned for the next one! Trust me, chapter 23 will more than make up for it, and Quill N. Inque always keeps his word! ^^ As always, PLEASE REVIEW! If YOU have any ideas or suggestions, LET ME KNOW!
The end of this tale draws near, my friends.
Your humble servant,
-Quill N. Inque