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the sister
Danny swore to her that he'd always come home...no matter what.
She wishes she could feel something, anything, besides the all-consuming guilt and anger in her heart.
Her little brother is gone. Dead. Forever. She has forced herself to admit this; she knows denying it will only make it worse later on. But she's not sure how much longer she can keep pretending like this…
Her parents, living in blissful ignorance, are still hunting the dragon before it "endangers any lives." Well, too late, she wants to say. She wants to yell at them, scream, but she knows she can't.
They all worked so hard to keep Phantom a secret, after all. She and Tucker and Sam and…and Danny…
She stifles a sob, hiding her face behind a psychology book she isn't really reading. Her parents are trying—she knows they are. They've noticed her change in attitude since the fire, have seen the constant red rings around her eyes and the exhaustion and the way she's acting like her life has ground to a halt.
(It has, of course. But they can't know that…not now…not when they are still actively searching for Danny Phantom and that dragon and—)
She knows they're trying. Even her father—oblivious, fun-loving Jack Fenton—has noticed. He's asked her several times, an uncharacteristic crease to his brow, if she's okay, if she's worried about Danny, if she's upset about the fire, if she's worried about Tucker and Phantom and whether the dragon will come back…
But she's not worried about any of those things. Vlad—dastardly, manipulative Vlad Masters—is keeping an eye out for the dragon, has half the Ghost Zone searching for it…and will throw himself into the line of fire if need be. He's nearly as shaken up about Danny as she is…yet he needs to hold a whole town together in its darkest hour.
Her parents may not believe that Danny—Phantom—is dead, but most of the city is taking Dash's word for it. Jazz knows the boy is a terrible actor, and the pain and terror on his face when he was talking to them all, giving them Danny's last words…
"He said you're the best si—best—ever. And not to hate yourself over this…" Dash had searched her gaze, hoping she understood. He couldn't say sister—her parents were there—and Danny didn't want them to find out this way…not now…
Danny's last words to the town—"I'm so sorry…"—have put the media into an uproar. They show the clean-up effort daily on the news, pondering whether their savior really is gone for good...
(She can't ever watch the broadcast, even though her parents do so religiously. Danny's body is still in there…somewhere…)
And it's her fault, no matter what anyone says.
She had been sick before Danny, had caught that strain of the flu and passed it to her little brother. "Don't worry, Jazz, my immune system's awesome! You can give me a hug, I won't catch anything…" And she had been so upset, so miserable with the illness, that she had agreed without much prompting.
Two days later, Danny was running a high fever and could barely get out of bed without falling over. And even though Jazz was still recovering, still had bouts of dizziness and chills, she had gone to school. She had a calculus test that day, and she couldn't miss it; she had driven herself to school, promising to call if she started feeling worse…
(Of course, school hadn't even been in session for five minutes before the building was ablaze.)
The aftermath is a blur to her, now. She remembers Danny pulling Tucker to safety, remembers him going back in to get Dash…remembers him never coming out…
She wants to be angry at Tucker and Sam, the paramedics, those standing closer—they didn't stop him when it was clear he wasn't well. But they didn't know, not really; even Tucker and Sam had not known exactly how sick their friend was. Jazz has only herself to blame…because if she had stayed home that day, stayed home when she was still far too sick to be in school, Danny would still be alive.
(She knows, in some distant corner of her mind, that Danny would have gone anyway. He would have phased out of her grasp, given her a cocky smile in response to her terrified pleas, and taken off through the window.)
She knows this, knows there was nothing she could have done…but the possibility still haunts her.
.
.
Lately, she has taken to locking herself in her bedroom for long periods, hugging Bearbert tight and sobbing into her pillow. School will not be held until the debris is cleared, trailers are hired, a temporary system is set up...
She has maybe another week before she has to go back...and she can't decide which alternative is worse. Staying at home with parents who don't care that Danny Phantom is gone—or returning to the place it all happened, surrounded by people who don't really know anything.
(The truth will have to come out eventually, she knows. Danny won't be going to school, serving detention, nearly flying into class, late, again...)
But she doesn't think she can handle that revelation right now. People will start to wonder, will start to realize, once he has been absent for too long...but not now.
Please, God, not now.
.
.
Her head is filled with Danny's eyes and Danny's smile and the way Danny rubs his neck when he's nervous and...
She feels lifeless as she moves through the house in a constant trance. Her parents spend as much time with her as they can—they can't understand but they're trying—but they have to work in the lab, have to make a containment unit for that goddamned dragon before it hurts—kills, kills, kills—anyone else.
(They've asked if she wants to sit down there with them, just for company, but she can't. That's where this started, where everything started. If they had never built the Ghost Portal, Danny never would have gone in and Danny would still be alive.)
She can't even look at the door to the lab whenever she ventures into the kitchen for a bite to eat. Toast—Danny hates toast—leftover Nasty Burger—Danny loves that place. Everything she does, everything she sees and hears and touches and lives, reminds her of her precious little brother.
It's off-putting; it's terrifying; and in the dark recesses of her mind, she wonders if this is what it's like to go insane.
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Two days after they visit Tucker in the hospital, there's a call from the city. Her parents are busy downstairs, so she picks up the phone with trembling fingers, swallows thickly, and manages a "hello?"
"Maddie Fenton?" The man sounds rushed, and before she can correct him, he continues—"I'm Jason Line, head of the cleanup effort down at the school—you need to get down here—I think we've found Phantom."
It takes a moment for these words to sink in, but when they do, Jazz is violently sick all over the kitchen floor. "Mrs. Fenton!Are you all right?" The man on the other end sounds worried, his voice rising in volume as she collapses to the ground.
Almost instantly, she hears two pairs of footsteps rush into the kitchen. Her mother goes immediately for her, ignoring the pool of vomit as she kneels down to hold Jazz steady, her wide, terrified eyes begging to know what is wrong.
She doesn't think she can say anything without being sick again, so she simply holds the phone out, straining the cord even more. Her mother takes it with one hand, still clutching Jazz with the other, and holds a conversation with Jason Line that Jazz's addled brain can't understand.
She vaguely realizes that her father is on one side, his large, strong hands holding her by the shoulder and rubbing her back, but nothing makes sense right now. They've found Danny. They've found Danny. They've found Danny.
Danny's dead.
One small part of her had begged and hoped and prayed—however irrationally—that Dash was wrong. Danny was able to phase out at the last moment; he was—somewhere—healing—safe—
But that is shattered now, spread out on the floor of her mind like so many shards of glass.
Her mother hangs up the phone; her mouth is set in a thin, worried line. "Jack, they think they've found Phantom, down at the school. Will you stay home with Jazz while I go pick him up?"
He nods immediately, pulling Jazz into a hug. "We can have some fudge after we get you cleaned up! That'll make you feel better..."
She does her best to smile, because it's clear he's trying to cheer her up. But then her mother begins heading for the door... "Wait, Mom, where're you going?" She realizes she should know this, heard her say it not thirty seconds ago...but she's not the brilliant girl she once was.
(Danny always called her too smart for her own good.)
She turns, smiling gently down at Jazz. "I have to go over to the school, sweetie. If that's really Phantom, we'll want to bring him back here..."
"Bring him back to do what?" She's pushing to her feet, staring in horror at her mother. The world is spinning, and her head is far too heavy for her body...but that doesn't matter right now. They won't give him a break even when he's—he's—"He's dead! Just—just—let him—please..."
She would be on the floor again if it weren't for her father's strong hands. "He's—he's a ghost, Jazzerincess," he says, his voice worried and unsure. "He shouldn't be able to die. This is a weird case—can you imagine what this could do to all our research?"
"He's—he's just a kid," she whispers, nearly begs, collapsing farther back into his arms. "Please..."
She feels rather than sees her parents exchange a glance, full of worry and confusion and doubt. "We'll talk about it, okay? But Mister Line is expecting me, I should—"
"Then I'm going with you." This is the one thing she has been sure of in the past week. She's Danny's older sister; she's sworn to protect him; even if she couldn't when—when it really mattered—she knows she has to do this much for him now.
Her moods have been erratic since the fire, and her parents know it; they share a wary glance before her father eventually nods. But as they make their way slowly to the RV, she hears her parents murmuring worriedly ahead of her.
God, if they figure it out now...
.
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Her mother drives to Casper High, taking a slow, steady pace that does nothing to help Jazz's roiling insides. She knows that she won't be able to handle the sight of Danny's broken, charred corpse...but she also knows this is the only way to keep him safe.
She wonders how much food is left in her stomach, and then wonders if the workers will mind her being sick all over their construction site.
(She finds that she doesn't really care.)
"Jazz, sweetie?" Her mother's voice is cautious as she glances at her in the rear-view mirror. Jazz does her best to focus on the reflection of her mother's worried eyes as she continues—"Are—were you and Phantom friends? Is that why you're so upset about all this?"
The desperate desire to understand, to make it better, shines clearly in her eyes, but Jazz cannot answer. She turns her head to look out at the scenery as they pass the park.
It begins to rain.
.
(Danny never liked the rain.)
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It isn't hard to find Danny once they arrive. All of the workers have stopped to congregate around one of the tents, milling about in confusion and apprehension as they're soaked through. They part like the Red Sea when the three of them approach; soon, Jazz and her parents are standing inside, facing a man who must be Jason Line.
"It's...it's kind of hard to tell," he says, and yes, that's the same voice she spoke briefly with over the phone. She looks him up and down—matching him to the mental image of the man that she's already formed—anything to keep her mind off the boy surely lying just behind him. "But—Principal Ishiyama said all the students and faculty are accounted for—he'd be the only one in the building—"
Late twenties. Short, dark hair, bright green eyes. (Fenton and Phantom, like they've morphed together into this one man. Someone, somewhere, is mocking her.)
"He's the one causing the smell?" Her mother sounds vaguely surprised, and Jazz curses her, curses her for saying that, because she's been doing her best to pretend she can't smell what can only be—
(Danny's burning burning burning, crushed and burning to death in the school he's always hated, saving the boy he's never liked, all because Jazz couldn't stop him.)
Jason Line nods, and then his eyebrows crease together momentarily. (Left is slightly thicker than the right, did it get burnt off somehow or did it just grow in that way?) "I'm no expert on ghosts, Mrs. Fenton, but I thought I've heard you guys say they're just blobs of ectoplasm. But Phantom—well—he's got bones."
She sees both of her parents jerk in surprise, feels any semblance of a mental block shatter. Of course Danny has bones—even in ghost form, nearly everything about him is startlingly human—but how would this man know that?
She's moving before she even realizes what she's doing, pushing Jason Line aside to see what has become of her brother. For a moment, she can only stare; her mind refuses to accept what she is seeing. But then she is sick all over again, turning to the side to avoid hurting Danny (dead dead dead, already gone, he can't hurt anymore but God how she does), and if her father hadn't moved as fast as he did then she'd be on the sodden ground.
But the image is burned into her mind—it's Danny, she knows it because it has to be him, but there's no recognizing him. His beautiful hair, his trademark outfit, his cocky grin, they're all gone. Charred flesh—Danny Danny Danny—is all that remains, bits of bone sticking out of his lower half where he was crushed, his feet flattened and his pelvis shattered and one hand ruined beyond recognition—
She's sick again, emptying the last of her lunch onto her father's jumpsuit.
"Jack, take her outside," she hears her mother say, and though her voice is laced with worry Jazz will have none of it. She struggles to stand on her own, walk to her mother, desperately avoid looking at what is left of her brother.
(Burned crushed dead could have saved him dead got him sick dead what kind of sister are you dead it's your fault your baby brother is dead dead DEAD)
"Jazz, honey, I promise I won't do anything with him," her mother says, and her voice is infuriatingly calm as she continues, "You shouldn't be here, if Phantom was your friend, this must be—"
She's ready to crack then and there. The way her mother is looking at Danny—her son—is not sympathetic; it's not mournful; it's as if she's been given a particularly difficult puzzle to figure out. Why is it not obvious, that this is Danny Fenton lying before them? There is not one scrap of material remaining to suggest he was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, but they've grown up with Danny—they've known him for almost fifteen years—shouldn't—?
"It—it does look like he's got Phantom's build, at least," her father says, for he followed her closer but stayed silent until now. "Same height, too..."
They're treating him like a science experiment. Like some goddamn specimen down in the lab. She storms away, her vision suddenly clear, her equilibrium reestablished. And despite her still-tumultuous stomach, she pulls out her phone and dials the number she thought she'd never need again.
Ring.
Ring.
...
"Vlad Masters speaking."
.
.
He makes it there in less than two minutes—later, Jazz realizes he must have flown to get across town so quickly. He looks as dignified as always, though his eyes flash in pain as he walks forward, toward her mother and father and Jason Line and Danny.
The first glimpse he catches of her brother—Jazz thinks he might be sick as well, the way his face drains of color so quickly. But evidently he rights himself, for he catches the adults' attention. "Maddie...Jack."
"Vladdie!" Her father turns immediately, a smile growing on his face. "What're you doing here? How's Danny?"
Jazz, standing behind Vlad, cannot hide her flinch, but he is a bit more successful. "He's—he's doing well. His fever was nearly breaking as I left, so hopefully, if nothing else comes up..."
It's a very good lie; Jazz would have fallen for it had she not known, had she not seen his fists clenched tightly behind his back. "I understand you found Phantom, Mister Line?" he addresses the younger man, who nods, looking a bit apprehensive.
"I called the Fentons, figured they'd know best what to do..."
It almost comes out as a question, as if he's seeking Vlad's approval for doing so. And even though she's hated the man since Danny told her who he was, even though he's manipulative and sly and only out for his own gain...she's immensely grateful that Vlad dropped everything to come here. He holds such sway over the town, over her parents...he'll get this sorted out.
(He has to, because she doesn't think she can handle bringing Danny home.)
"No, Jasmine only called for a second opinion. Unfortunately, I cannot allow you to take Daniel—Phantom home with you. Plans for a memorial have already begun, and I plan to have him interred beneath it."
"But Vlad! The fact that there's a body to bury at all—" Jazz watches the incredulity grow across her mother's face; she can't believe he would deny her such a precious test subject. (Danny Danny Danny he's your son just let him rest now when he couldn't in life—)
"I know of another ghost with the same properties as Phantom. I can retrieve a sample of his ectoplasm for you...but I'm afraid I must insist you do not perform any tests on Phantom."
Jazz jerks in surprise, unable to stop herself. Surely, Vlad doesn't mean—the girl, Danielle, is long gone, holed up in the Ghost Zone—he really means his own—
"Well, if you insist...I guess there's nothing we can do about it, huh?" Her mother looks vaguely disappointed as she turns from Danny with one last longing look. (She should be grieving she should know it's her baby boy but of course she doesn't—)
Vlad smiles at her, though it's devoid of its usual flirtatious nature, and Jazz can see the tightness around his eyes. "I will see you all at the memorial, then." He nods to her parents and Jason Line and sends one last pain-filled look at Danny. As he turns to go, passes by Jazz, he puts a hand on her shoulder. She looks up to meet his eyes, and he whispers, "I am so sorry," before he steps out into the pouring rain.
.
(Jazz hates the rain too, now.)
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You must tell them. Soon.
A text message from Vlad, short but powerful. He's right—of course he's right—it's been a whole week. The longer she takes to tell them...
(Danny would have by now, if he were in her position. He's always been better, stronger.)
She'll never be half as good as her brother, and she knows it.
.
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The next evening, she realizes she doesn't have any pictures of Danny in her room.
She has her scrapbook, the pages she spent hours putting together, cataloging the hero her brother truly was...but she doesn't have a picture on her wall or desk or anywhere of Danny just being Danny. And that, she is sure, is the Danny she misses most.
So she ventures downstairs, hoping that at least one of her parents is taking a break from work so they can help her look. They will think it is an odd request, but with the way she's been acting lately...hopefully they won't question it.
(Later, she always says. She'll tell them later, not now, because she won't be able to handle it while her mind is still filled with Danny and the image of what happened to him in the fire.)
Luckily, they are in the kitchen, eating some faintly glowing hot dogs. (Is it dinnertime already? She hasn't noticed.) "Jasmine!" Her mother sounds both surprised and pleased to see her, and Jazz feels a sudden, swift stab of guilt. She's been ignoring her parents' feelings, wallowing in her own grief...not paying any mind to what her change in attitude or Danny's "illness" or the dragon have done to them in the meantime.
"I was wondering...do we have any family photos I could have? Of all four of us?" Her voice is relatively steady, though her vision swims as tears fill her eyes. "Just...realized I don't have one..."
"Well, sure!" Her father—her ever-magnanimous, ever-cheerful father—sounds so happy that he can fulfill her request. "We've got all those in the book on the coffee table, right, Mads?"
She nods, smiling, though her eyes are worried as she searches Jazz's face. "I can find you a frame after dinner—I'm sure we've got one lying around. But what's brought this on, sweetie?"
"Just realized I don't have one," she repeats, forcing a small smile on her face. "And everything that's been going on...just makes you realize how important family is."
They both stare at her for a moment, as if unsure of what to make of this. She only offers another smile, turning quickly into the living room as tears finally fall down her cheeks.
(Weak. How is she supposed to tell them the truth when she's reduced to tears by such small things?)
She pulls out the album gingerly as she sits down, knowing this is going to do nothing good for her psyche...but finding that she doesn't really care. Skipping the first half of the book—baby pictures, pictures of carefree times that will surely reduce her to hysterics—she quickly finds the more recent photos.
Many are of only her and Danny, or only her parents, or some other incomplete pairing. But she wants all four of them, together and happy and alive...there has to be one...
Finally. And it isn't even one of the stilted poses that photographers seem to love; it looks like a spur-of-the-moment picture—likely taken by Sam or Tucker. They're setting up for a game night, a rare evening without inventions or attacks or worries. Jazz remembers it clearly—it had been shortly after Danny got his powers, before he started actively fighting ghosts... He had suggested the evening off to celebrate the opening of the Portal, and their parents had agreed wholeheartedly.
She slides the picture out of its plastic sleeve slowly, reverently, as if it may crumble to ashes in her hands. She doesn't realize that she's crying until teardrops start appearing on her hand, and she swipes at them furiously, putting the photo on the table. She can't ruin it, not when it's so beautiful and perfect and Danny...
"That's one of my favorites, too," her mother says softly from next to her, sitting down and picking up the photo. A small, sad smile is forming on her face, and Jazz wonders for one horrible second if she's figured it out, if she's failed her brother's last wishes even in this—
But her mother only pulls Jazz into a comforting hug as she cries. "It'll be all right, you know...I called Vlad again today, and he says Danny should be able to leave the hospital in a couple of days. And...Phantom, well, wherever he is...he's not hurting anymore."
.
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As it turns out, the ceremony at Casper High is held the next day. She digs through her closet for dress clothes, fixes her hair for the first time in days, and heads downstairs, ready to drag her parents across town no matter what.
(After all, the least they can do is pay their respects. There's no denying the fact that Danny saved two lives that day, saved two lives by sacrificing his own.)
(Her eyes are already tearing up; her vision is clouding; she'll be surprised if this secret lasts through the day. But it's Danny—she knows she must go—she wants to go—even though she knows it will be unbearable.)
As she reaches the kitchen, though, she is greeted with the one sight she isn't prepared for. Her parents are seated at the table, solemn and silent. And while this isn't especially strange in and of itself, they're not wearing their jumpsuits, and that throws everything off.
Her father is wearing slacks and a dark orange dress shirt—habit, she supposes, but the shirt is not nearly as bright as his usual attire. Sitting next to him and glancing over a newspaper is her mother, wearing a conservative black dress Jazz didn't know she owned.
They're clearly uncomfortable in the outfits—her father constantly picks at the collar and cuffs of his shirt, and her mother keeps pulling at the neckline of her dress—but the fact that they're dressed up at all...
They look up as she enters the kitchen, and her mother's face breaks into a gentle smile. "The memorial starts at eleven, so we should probably leave around ten-thirty, if you still need to wash up..."
Jazz can only stare for a moment, her eyes going wide as she takes in the implications of that statement. They're going of their own volition. They've...put aside their hatred of Danny Phantom, at least long enough to see him put to rest.
This is world-changing; this is heart-stopping; she bursts into tears and runs to embrace them both. It doesn't make everything better—it will never be all better...but it's a start.
.
.
Later, she will say that she doesn't remember much of the ceremony itself. Vlad spoke, along with a few school officials...even a few students... But the statue is what captures Jazz's attention so completely. She wonders briefly what master sculptor Vlad commissioned to create such a thing in a week's time, but she knows that if anything is able to capture the heroic nature of her brother...this is it.
It's larger than life; Danny is flying, smiling...somehow looking both the mature, bold guardian he pretended to be and the young, carefree teenager he truly was. It's beautiful; it's perfect; and it's all she can do not to burst into tears when she sees it.
Eventually, she tears her gaze from the memorial to look around at the crowd. It seems like everyone in town is there, all in various stages of shock—perhaps grief as well, especially those who had been saved by Danny.
(She wonders just how many lives her little brother has touched in his fourteen years... More than many people do in decades, surely.)
She sees Sam and Tucker standing a ways away, separate from their parents. Tucker's arm is around Sam's shoulders as she sobs; whatever apathy she had claimed as a goth is long gone. Jazz doesn't think she can blame her.
The girl Danny had dated briefly—Valerie Gray—is also nearby, looking rather lost as she stares up at the statue like she's trying to recall some long-forgotten memory. Her wild hair is barely tamed, and she looks like she hasn't slept much more than Jazz these past two weeks. Jazz knows she hated Danny Phantom—she wasn't exactly quiet about her opinions whenever a ghost attacked—but something seems to have shifted in her stance, in her psyche... Instead of the hatred and contempt she's always maintained for Danny's ghost form, confusion and something like alarm are quickly spreading across her face.
(As Jazz turns away from Valerie, too lost in her own shattered mind to try and analyze the other girl's, she misses the way she turns at last from the statue. Valerie's terrified eyes seek out Sam and Tucker; they look lost and lonely without their third friend. And then they find Jazz and her parents. Sickening comprehension forms on her face; she stifles a sob; she flees the ceremony, running running running because she knows the truth but it's too late to apologize, too late for anything now.)
(Even if Jazz had seen this happen, she likely wouldn't care. She knows Valerie is smart, knows she's spent enough time with both Fenton and Phantom that only her hatred and prejudice blinded her to the truth.)
It's not like it matters who knows now, anyway...because after this, she's certain she will lose what sanity she has left if she doesn't tell her parents soon.
The memorial is over, now; she doesn't know how long they've all been standing on the muddy grass, but it doesn't really matter. She steps closer to the statue, trying to burn the image of it into her mind, because, truly, this is Danny...
His eyes capture her attention (they're not Danny's—not really—it's just stone but god it feels like he's looking right into her soul) and as she makes her way even closer, she realizes that this isn't just plain stone. It has a faint green shade to it, making Danny look almost ethereal as he watches over them all.
Is it some sort of ghostly rock, or is it just some rare stone found on Earth? Was the sculptor human or ghost? She finds that she doesn't care either way; she's captivated by the memorial's beauty, haunted by it... She is sure that, even after she leaves, she will feel Danny's eyes on her.
(That's what he promised to do, after all. Protect the town, watch over his citizens, keep them safe. He was dedicated to them—dedicated enough to die for them—and Jazz suddenly realizes just how proud of her brother she is.)
(She'd give anything to take away some of that courage and chivalry and kindness, though, because nothing is worth losing her baby brother like this.)
Eventually her parents pull her away, gentle and kind. Her mother is saying something about finding a frame for her photo, and that is surely important, but Jazz cannot focus on her distant words.
She knows it's impossible, knows it's another sign of her failing mind, but she feels Danny watching her all the way home.
.
.
She's desperate for company now, the moment her parents have left. Vlad called not long after the memorial was over—apparently he needs to speak with them and Valerie, because they need to discuss town security now that...Danny...
She lets out another sob, gripping Bearbert and the photo tight. Her mother had come in earlier, framed picture in hand, and asked gently if she would be all right on her own for a couple of hours. And Jazz wasn't sure she would be—still isn't sure—but it's an important meeting so she told her mother to go.
Now, though, she's drowning in the silence, and there's no telling how far she's already fallen.
She looks at the photograph one more time before setting it on her bedside table, on top of the psychology books she hasn't touched. It's truly beautiful; the smiles on their faces are genuine; their lives are simple and peaceful and happy.
She's ready to grab lunch—call Tucker and Sam to see if they're all right—do something just to give her body something to do. But then she hears it—a distinct thump coming from the room next to hers.
She knows she's the only person in the house; she's ready to write it off as the house settling, something falling outside...but then she hears it again.
And again.
Like someone is walking heavily through the room, like he's badly injured...
And then she remembers that her room is adjacent to Danny's.
She's in the hallway before she's even realized she's moved, scrambling to get to her brother's bedroom just a little faster. It's Danny, it has to be—injured and weakened but alive—
Her sweat-soaked hands grasp for purchase on the doorknob, take impossibly long to maintain a grip. But finally, finally, she flings the door open, ready to scream at Danny, angry that he made them worry and joyful that he's alive all at the same—
But the room is empty.
The words die in her throat; her mouth feels like sandpaper.
He's...not here?
"Danny?"
Her voice is hushed, desperate, because maybe he's just scared their parents will come and see him. It's just her...he doesn't need to worry...
"Danny, it's safe...we can get you fixed up, it'll be okay...Mom and Dad are out..."
Silence.
Not one thing moves, nothing except her heaving chest and darting eyes.
She searches desperately for some sign that he is there, invisible: an indentation in the bedsheets, the desk chair, the carpet...
Nothing.
The window is bolted shut, and the room looks like it hasn't been touched in weeks. She hasn't been in here since the fire... The sheets are thrown back haphazardly; a book is flung carelessly to the floor; the trash can is full to the brim with dirty tissues... It looks like he just left to save Casper High moments ago, as if she's somehow traveled two weeks into the past.
"Danny...please...you're here, right...?"
He has to be here, because who else could it be? It's Danny's bedroom; Danny's the one who can turn invisible; Danny can, surely, survive what no normal human can... It...has to be him...
But only the silence of her brother's abandoned bedroom answers her.
And suddenly, she realizes just what she's doing. She buried her little brother not two hours ago—buried him under that beautiful statue that will never replace the boy he truly was. Now she's—she's hallucinating—her mind is creating things that her heart so desperately needs...
(After all, Danny isn't—wasn't—a god. He was only ever a boy with too much on his shoulders, given too great a task for anyone to bear...and he had done the best he could with what he had. And, eventually, his luck had just run out.)
She collapses to the ground, tears streaming down her cheeks. She's found herself in the past, full of agonizing thoughts and unbearable memories, but she won't—can't—leave. It's so completely Danny—the model rockets and the NASA posters and the dirty laundry—
(—and the first-aid kit shoved under the bed and the ectoplasm-soaked bandages at the bottom of the trash bin and the Fenton Thermos that should be there but isn't—)
—that she can't bring herself to leave. She can't describe it, knows it doesn't make sense, but she feels close to him here. It looks like Danny; it smells like Danny; it feels like Danny; and even if his absence is tearing a gaping hole in her heart, she can't find it in her to leave. So she stays there on the floor, stays there and sobs over the things that would have, could have, should have been.
.
She does't know how long she is there, lost, sobbing in her misery, but her mother's alarmed voice pulls her out of the endless stupor. "Jasmine! Are you all right?"
It takes her a moment to leave the memories behind, but she eventually forces herself to turn. Her mother is standing a few feet away in the open doorway, eyes wide and arm outstretched as if to pull her to safety.
But Jazz can't say anything, can barely react to the world around her. She is silent. Her mother rushes into the room, glancing around at its state of disarray before focusing again on Jazz. "What's...what's wrong, sweetie?"
Her voice is unsure and anxious; it's such a departure from the capable mother Jazz knows that it barely registers in her mind. She can only shake her head slowly, hug her knees tighter to her chest, and stare blankly ahead.
(She can see the corner of an ectogun poking out from under Danny's bed. Her parents would wonder, would ask, if they still had a son to question.)
Another sob wracks her body; she just can't take it anymore. It would be spilling out of her mouth, all of it, if only she could find it in her to speak...
But she can't (too weak) so she only continues to sob, leaning into her mother as she crouches down next to her.
"Please, Jazz, you haven't been yourself these past two weeks...your father and I just...we want to help...just tell us what's wrong..."
"You can't..." she is able to choke out, not daring to meet her mother's eyes. "You—you can't..."
"You don't know that..." Her voice is calm, soothing, but there is a worried edge to it as she continues to rock back and forth. "It'll be okay...Danny's coming home tomorrow! He's healed, the doctors just want to keep him overnight...we'll have to clean up this mess so he doesn't catch anything again, but—"
"No!" The word is out of her mouth before she can stop it. She doesn't know what she's protesting—the false belief (lies lies lies) that her brother will return to her tomorrow, or that they should ruin this place, this timeless room that is one of the last remnants of her brother...
The lies are tearing her apart. No more. No more stories, no more excuses. It will be painful, she knows, unbearable even...but she just can't do this anymore.
She thinks she hears heavy footsteps behind her—Dad. She finally looks up to see her mother's eyes—worried, bordering on frightened. Her father is indeed there now, kneeling with an uncharacteristically anxious expression.
"No what? Please, Jazz, what's wrong? What are you not telling us?"
"Danny's—Danny's not—" The words catch in her throat, tear at her heart and lungs, but she knows she has to continue. They're our parents. They deserve...they deserve to know. They should have known a long time ago. "He's not coming home..."
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