#phanniemay14

[ghostfiish]

phanniemay day 02: fave episode

i have a lot of feelings about mystery meat so i doodled some stuff for it and wrote a lil thing about it.

i honestly had a lot of trouble picking a single favorite episode, and almost as much trouble deciding on what factors to use to determine a favorite.... i almost picked TUE or Reality Trip because they both have so much about them that they just do so right and this grand movie quality to them that i really love. but thats probably partially because theyre double-length so of course they had more room to fit in more complex, well, everything, so they felt more like movies and less like episodes. so when i thought of all the single episodes that were left, in the end it had to be the very first episode: Mystery Meat.

it has a special place in my heart and sometimes when im not feeling too great ill watch the pilot and grin at everyone's nasally voices as the voice actors begin to settle into their roles. theres so much i love about this episode. the villain is endearing and (quite literally) hammy, the plot is well written, the characters are charming and funny and so human (if sometimes predictably and appropriately cartoonish) right off the bat. it grabbed me right from the get-go when i first saw it 10 years ago and still does to this day. it is one of my very favorite first episodes of anything ever (and i LOVE first episodes), and i think it has that special something that encapsulates the feel of the entire series as a whole. theres a lot more i could say in-depth about it but ill just leave you all with this for now

[emotigonecreative]

Phanniemay day 24- Music

:aggressively air-guitars:

[chokingonfeelings]

The Pendant

Oh god this is old. Found it looking through my drafts and...well. THERE YOU GO.

Phanniemay day 5: Under-Appreciated.

Danny and Tucker's eyes looked like they were trying to boggle out of their sockets. "Are you...Are you sure, Dora?" asked Sam, fingering the pendant almost nervously, her tone strangely subdued. The three of them knew the meaning of the gesture, after all. And they knew it was no joke or, as it had been years ago, an accident. "Yes, lady Sam. The pendant has chosen, or it would have disappeared along with my brother," Dora's face turned grim for a moment, the memories of everything that had led to Aragorn being finally executed a heavy weight between the three of them. 

Ghost executions were rare on these days, after all, and never pleasant. 

A part of the executed ghost being left behind was even rarer. Sam looked at the pendant again, and gulped. They hadn't tested if it still worked, even if Dora had assured them that the curse was still present, and they'd been a little wary at first. The years sure had made them warier about ghost objects mysteriously appearing for their own profit. They still cringed when the possessed earrings were mentioned. "You are the first person to be able to hold it without the pendant burning your hand in rejection," the princess added, noticing Sam's glances at the cursed object. "It is rare for a powerful object that was with us since before our deaths to change loyalties and not disappear with our demise. If it decided you were its new master, it means it has considered you worthy enough. Please accept it, lady Sam" Sam slowly nodded, pushing worries aside and summoning a smile more in line with her character. If Dora said so, then there was nothing to fear.

"Thank you, Dora. It's an honor." "Does that mean we can call you Morgana now?" Tucker asked, and Danny lifted an eyebrow, askance. "Because, you know, she can turn into a dragon now along with doing some witch-y stuff" he explained to Danny, who only looked more confused. "Where did you read that Morgana could turn into a dragon?" asked Sam, frowning. "That film we saw when we were younger? You know, with Merlin, Arthur and Morgana? Morgana looked like a hag and there was something about Arthur turning into a bird too..." "I think you mean Madame Mim, Tuck," Danny replied, smiling amused. Trust Tucker to indirectly call Sam a hag. 

Tucker opened his mouth, thought and finally shrugged.

"I still vote we call her Morgana" "I'm afraid lady Morgana wouldn't be overly fond about that," Dora interrupted with a smile, and her eyes turned back to Sam, appraising her thoughtfully. "Though maybe she would like you..." Sam smiled, ignoring the side comment Tucker made at that, and put on the green pendant. "Well, let's try this one out then," she said, and smiled savagely.

[dpkingofclubs]

King of Clubs—7: Dani & Desiree (P1)

Summary:

Ghost hunting is the part of his life he didn’t choose. No free will there.

It gets tiring as the years go by; lies and excuses pile up, as do failing grades and missed classes. There’s the guilt: knowing your two best friends won’t get to be teenagers, knowing your family trusts and loves you even though you lie. Your sister has to lie too and it’s especially unfair because she knows about the psychology behind lies (and even though you don’t understand a lick of it, you know it can’t be any good). And there’s a feeling, nagging at you, settled in the pit of your stomach, that says: you know this isn’t you, but this is who you’ll always be.

Those are the cards dealt for him, and this game is starting to take its toll—until an unplanned move gives him one more, and suddenly the tables are turned. In his favor? Who knows. He certainly doesn’t.

Rating: T for some language, it’s not a big deal.

FF.net link

Story Table of Contents

***

Prompts used in this chapter:

2014.8—Desiree

2013.14—Dani Phantom

***

He half-listens to the leader of the Observants, who’s trying to give him instructions and warnings that sound more like threats (though they’re obviously not, because that would be a problem). He’s distracted by the feeling of energy streaming through his body in uneven intervals; it’s not getting to his head anymore, which suits him just fine, but the tips of his fingers crackle with energy and he feels wide awake—too awake for it to be past midnight, in fact, and maybe that’s most startling part of it all.

His family and friends were reluctant to leave him there, but knew the argument was futile from the start. They left maybe fifteen minutes ago and now it’s just him for the next five hours, listening to the Observant drone on, trying not to twitch…

Until a familiar voice behind him cuts in: “Danny!”

Relieved, he contains his grin and tells the Observant to “hold that thought” for just a minute—though in his head he’s hoping it’ll be at least ten—and turns to greet Dani. Or, at least, so he intends to, but she flies straight into him and knocks the breath out of his lungs. He manages to keep his balance, but she doesn’t let go.

“I missed you,” Dani murmurs. She pulls back, looks around his deserted island. “So, looks like you’ve been busy.” She turns back to him, hands on her hips. “And talk about impersonal! Honestly, that invite of yours? Knocked me out of my seat when I first read it.”

“You’re the one that comes and goes without leaving an address,” he teases, though it’s half-hearted because it’s something that really does bother him. Dani likes to travel, he gets that, but she’s so young. She has barely three years of life experience on her shoulders, no matter what age she looks like, and though he never mentions it because he doesn’t know how she’ll react, he worries.

Dani takes his comment in stride, the way she always does. “I guess it’s addresses, actually. I have loads to tell you about. Did you get the pictures? Mexico is amazing! And Brazil—gosh, I’ll have to drag you there some time. Sam and Tucker, too—Tucker! Ooh he’s going to love the food. And the sights…” She grins, nudges him in the side. “I bet Sam would be impressed.”

He shrugs off a blush, tosses an arm over her shoulders so that she won’t see it. “Good to have you back.” He’s kind of hesitant to ask—it’s not like he wants to encourage her: “So where’s next?”

The look on her face catches him off-guard. “Well, actually, I was hoping to sit tight for a few weeks.” She fumbles with a strand of her hair. “Your invite came at a good time, you know, I’d been looking for a new place to visit for a few days and… anyway, I guessed that this”—she gestures not-so-subtly at his crown—“meant Vlad would mind his own business. I figured I could… maybe, stay with you?”

She’s not looking at him and for a scary moment he’s wondering if he’s got it all wrong and all this time she’s been thinking that she has to travel because she’s got nowhere to go. But that doesn’t sound quite right, and the thought is fleeting because his enthusiasm breaks in: “Seriously? You’re staying?”

Dani nods. “Just for a little while, though—don’t worry about it.”

“Are you kidding?” Seriously, is she? “Dani, you can stay whenever you want, however long you want. You know that, right?” At first she doesn’t answer, so he presses on: “Right?”

She looks up with that grin of hers—“Right.”

She’s brushing it off, and that only means one thing: a conversation is in order.

It’ll have to wait, though, because the Observant at his side looks impatient, and Dani looks kind of worn out. He wonders how long she had to fly to get here. “Here’s an idea,” he tells her, turning to face the lot of empty space before them.

He hasn’t tried this yet, but Anne once explained how it works. Choose stuff you’re familiar with, she said. He’s not the most perceptive guy out there, so only one place comes to mind. You’ll get it—it’s not supposed to be tricky. Just picture it in your head.

He does, and there’s a funny tug in his fingers, a tension of sorts he normally feels in his gut whenever he’s firing ectoplasm. The ring feels a little warm on his finger, and when he looks down he notices it—the teasing tendrils of smoke rising and drifting away, from his hand to…

His house.

It worked. He can’t believe it worked—stuff doesn’t regularly work out for him on the first try, but there it is: an exact replica of his house standing right in front of him, smack-dab in the middle of the island.

He turns to Dani, who looks impressed. “Jazz’s room is all yours,” he tells her. “Here, or back in Amity—she won’t mind, you stayed there last time.”

Dani looks genuinely touched, and now he’s convinced that they need to talk about this. What did she expect? That he’d turn her away or something?

Maybe it’s a girl thing.

“Thanks,” she says. She gestures to the Observant still loitering behind them. “I guess I’ll leave you to it, see if you’ve got the makings of an architect. See you around!”

She flies off, phases into his house. For once he actually knows where she’s going, and the thought is comforting enough to generate the patience needed to listen to the Observant, who is back to his speech, saying something about manners.

Patience or not, he thinks, it’s going to be a long five hours.

***

Tucker has always been willing to lend a helping hand with research, even though it’s not quite his forte. Jazz usually has a variety of ideas to test, and this theory on how ghosts aren’t necessarily dead is just the latest one. He’s always willing to help.

He has been, in fact, helping for several weeks now. Even before she brought it up to Danny, he’d been in on it. More than research, his job usually involves listening to her ramble and taking notes, pointing out inconsistencies, easy there, let’s backtrack a minute… and coffee. It’s a dietary staple for the two of them, and thank goodness for Mrs. Fenton’s coffee packets because he doesn’t really trust any of the Fentons’ kitchen appliances.

This occasion isn’t quite that different from other cases—there are notebooks and pens, coffee cups, Jazz’s hair is a mess from pulling and tugging and chewing (but he won’t let her know he notices that last one) in thought. Except it is out of the norm, a little, given that Jazz is going nuts, and she doesn’t usually go nuts by this phase.

“I just don’t understand!” she says. “Undead king, he said. If you put that tidbit into context, knowing one ghost said that about another—well, about a half-ghost, whatever—it doesn’t make any sense unless there’s recognition to the fact that ghosts are actually dead people. But the research says otherwise—I can’t have been wrong all this time!”

“You aren’t,” he cuts in. This conversation has taken up all morning, it’s almost noon, and he’s getting a little tired of repeating the same argument over and over  again. “We have evidence and nearly two months’ worth of notes.”

She either doesn’t pay any attention, or simply reconfigures her train of thought to fit what he just said into the dilemma, because she keeps going: “So why does he say my little brother is an undead king, as if he’s supposed to be dead or implying that a king should be… and why would he say long live? Is that just part of the cultural definition for the phrase, meant for luck, or is there some hidden message in there connected to the concept of being undead?”

Damn Ghostwriter, Tucker thinks.

“He’s a literary guy,” he says, trying to bring Jazz out of it. “He probably said that in some figurative or metaphorical sense.”

“But what if he didn’t? That single phrase has the potential to complete disprove my theory!”

He gestures to the coffee table, their research mess of paper and notebooks and paper and coffee. “You have notebooks of research versus six words from a literary guy. These writer types can’t be trusted with every little thing, Jazz.”

She thinks that over, and suddenly looks determined. For a moment he thinks he has won this one—she’s going to admit it, he’s right, she’s worrying over nothing, she shouldn’t doubt herself… “There’s only one way to find out, then.”

She jumps over the living room coffee table—actually jumps—and heads down to the lab. Eyes wide, he follows. “What are you… are you serious?”

“Very,” Jazz says from her seat in the Specter Speeder. “Are you coming or what?”

He groans, writes a quick note to the Fentons, and hops in. “Do you even know where Ghostwriter’s lair is?”

“I’m willing to bet you know.”

“Of course you are,” he mumbles. “I’m driving, then.”

She lets him drive, and is quiet the whole ride. Thinking. Always thinking.

It’s no secret he really likes Jazz—he’s had a crush on her since he first started coming to play at Danny’s when they were little—but that had faded with the years until… well, he’s not quite sure. Being part of Danny’s team meant spending lots of time with her, and the secrecy of it all made things so much more personal and… intimate. Close as they were, he never saw her as a sister, no matter how annoyingly overprotective she could get.

Of course there are rules in the guy code about liking your best friend’s sister, but after everything he’s been through, he figures the guy code ought to cut him some slack.

He finds the silence in the Speeder perfectly comfortable, something that only ever happens with Jazz. He likes to say he can hear her think, but the truth is he just likes to know she’s up to something, her energy is fully devoted to this one particular idea, she’s willing to step into the Ghost Zone (not her favorite place in the world, she once confided) for research, excited enough to jump over a coffee table and race down the stairs even though that’s not the image of composure she tends to strive for… more than anything, he likes the feeling of being part of it, hearing her share her thoughts, knowing she wants to hear his opinion, too.

It’s different from his friendship with Danny and Sam, especially given their strange routine. There’s always something particular between those two, has been since they were kids even if they don’t want to acknowledge it. In their dynamic as ghost hunters, he knows that his role is much closer to the sidelines than Sam, and though that stopped bothering him a long time ago, working with Jazz is rewarding the way working with his friends isn’t. He feels part of something, front and center.

This is how the ride to Ghostwriter’s goes, then: in silence, two people immersed in completely different streams of thought. When they finally arrive, Jazz is out the door in a snap, leaving Tucker to catch up after having properly parked the Speeder.

Upon entrance, he finds Jazz already talking, explaining her theory, the arguments, the evidence… and then she reaches the insignificant detail that has had her going mad (and in turn, driving him mad) for three days straight.

When she’s done, Ghostwriter looks impressed and doesn’t bother to hide it one bit. “Very thorough. You’re correct, of course, any ghost could have told you so. Not all of us are dead. You should trust yourself more, young lady. You have enough evidence—why should one writer’s words make a difference? Still, your efforts are commendable.”

Jazz blushes, and of course this makes Tucker see red because didn’t he just tell her that? Repeatedly, over the space of an entire morning?

Ghostwriter continues: “Why did I say that? Well, your brother needed some help, poor kid. Good speech, I suppose, though very obviously improvised and in need of revision.” Cue dramatic sigh: “Oh, well. What’s done is done.

“Long live the undead king. One of my better ideas yet, I think. I find something poetic in the relation between the two parts of this phrase—and undead person has, hypothetically, a long time to live. The definition of long in this context is, naturally, subjective, but that’s a detail.

“I see two sides to this. First, I understand that your brother’s ghost half is tied to his human half. Once the latter is gone, I think the former will go as well. Your brother is an undead king because that’s the only sort of king he’ll ever be—once he dies, he won’t be king anymore because he won’t be a ghost anymore. Of course, this is just an inference and I can’t really be sure about these details. Clockwork is being awfully cryptic about it—something about a cat.”

“Schrodinger’s cat?” Tucker suggests.

“Yes, that,”  Ghostwriter says, offhandedly. “The second side to this, my personal favorite, is how your brother is not a ghost by nature. Had it not been for his accident, the only way he would’ve ever become a king is through death. Death from or related to a potent obsession, too, otherwise he wouldn’t have become a ghost. That’s the detail I tried to mention, to make light of his condition because he is the unlikely, undead king. Because you are absolutely right, young lady—that kid is not dead at all.”

Jazz looks absolutely fascinated, and she’s taking notes on his PDA—hey, where and when did she get hold of that?—and he’s still seeing red because this literary dude just earned a spot on his hit list. He’d better watch out the next time he butts into Amity.

“I don’t think Danny would appreciate the part about you making light of his situation,” Tucker says.

“No, but I suppose that’s the beauty of it. It’s a cold truth, isn’t it? The reader’s opinion means little to me when I know I am communicating something of value.” He chuckles, turns back to Jazz. “At any rate, I sincerely doubt everyone read into it quite as much as you and I. The real value in the phrase is how catchy it is, so very inspiring to a crowd. Motivated as they were, given that unpleasant Vlad character’s visit, they only needed a nudge, which I provided.” He grins to himself, makes a flourish with one hand and tips his head. “Happy to help.”

Happy to help, Tucker mocks in his head. He knew it: these literary people aren’t to be trusted at all, even if they’re oh so very happy to help.

*

A/N: Well, I guess you know the drill. Still not sure why this keeps happening. Here's a link to Part Two.

[dpkingofclubs]

King of Clubs—6: Mom (P1)

Summary:

Ghost hunting is the part of his life he didn’t choose. No free will there.

It gets tiring as the years go by; lies and excuses pile up, as do failing grades and missed classes. There’s the guilt: knowing your two best friends won’t get to be teenagers, knowing your family trusts and loves you even though you lie. Your sister has to lie too and it’s especially unfair because she knows about the psychology behind lies (and even though you don’t understand a lick of it, you know it can’t be any good). And there’s a feeling, nagging at you, settled in the pit of your stomach, that says: you know this isn’t you, but this is who you’ll always be.

Those are the cards dealt for him, and this game is starting to take its toll—until an unplanned move gives him one more, and suddenly the tables are turned. In his favor? Who knows. He certainly doesn’t.

Rating: T for some language, it’s not a big deal.

FF.net link

Story Table of Contents

***

Prompts used in this chapter:

2013.12—Maddie Fenton

***

Cujo, like any other dog, has found an interest in shoes. Unlike any other dog, he doesn’t leave saliva traces on them—it’s ectoplasm.

Annoying as that may be, Danny prefers his own shoes dripping green, rather than his parents’, because that’d be really inconvenient right now. He and Jazz just explained everything else that had gone unexplained to his parents. Well, almost everything. The focus of today’s conversation was just the stuff going on recently. When he mentioned the week’s attacks, though, he strayed far from the topic of Vlad.

That can wait. It’s not like he’s not going to tell them… he’s just waiting for the right time. Bad enough your son is a liar—now your best friend is a fruitloop? No, thank-you.

 They handle things better this time around, a little more responsive and a little less scrutinizing. At least Dad does; he even asks some questions, however half-hearted they sound: “Who is this Clockwork, anyway?” “Are these Historian people going to follow me around?”

He tires of the questions quickly, though, so he reminds Danny that, if he needs it, his dad is always willing to help, to talk. Then there’s a pause and eventually Dad says, tired: “I think I’ll just go digest this one—and my breakfast; thanks, Maddie—in the lab.”

Danny figures he’s about to go pull another ecto-gun apart, and he’s tempted to stop him, but then what would he say?  He doesn’t really want a repeat of last night’s conversation, but he doesn’t want his dad to bottle things up and hide them from him either.

Then he realizes how stupid that sounds, because he did that same thing for three years and now his parents get to cope with that knowledge. So he just watches Dad descend the stairs to the basement and turns to face his mom and Jazz.

Mom is staring down at her coffee cup, and the sight is familiar—she was seated in the exact same position when he got in from the Ghost Zone the other night. Just like that, with a coffee cup in her hands, untouched and no longer steaming.

His mom never uses the machine to make coffee—years of strange experiences have taught her to avoid most appliances. But… his eyes quickly flicker green, and he studies the trashcan’s contents. Packets of coffee mix.

Jazz asks him a silent question with her eyes, and he nods, so she leaves her plate in the sink, picks Cujo up, and heads up to her room. Now it’s just the two of them, but Mom is still staring down at her coffee cup.

“Mom?”

She looks startled. “Sorry, sweetie.” She looks around, notices everyone has left. Notices his empty plate and her full cup. He wonders: has she been listening at all? “Are you still hungry?”

He shakes his head, leaves his plate in the sink. He takes Dad’s chair, right next to her, pays close attention to see if she flinches. She doesn’t. “I just wanted to know if you’re alright.”

“I’m fine, just a little…” she trails off. “Are we being watched right now? By these history ghosts you talked about?”

So she did pay attention. “No, they haven’t returned from the Ghost Zone, which is kind of weird, but just fine by me.” He figured that the ghosts of history should be all about punctuality but… apparently not.

“Ah,” Mom says. “Alright then.” She takes a sip from her coffee and says nothing else.

He tries again: “Mom, you okay?”

She looks at him, thoughtful, as if he’s asking for the meaning of life. Or maybe she’s not thinking at all, though that’s kind of hard to believe because—well, it’s his mom. Finally: “Are you?”

He furrows his brow. “Sorry?”

“Are you okay?” Mom asks. “Honey, you have bags under your eyes. You’re on vacation! Why don’t you go get some sleep?” She probably doesn’t notice, but she mumbles sleep under hear breath once before taking another sip from her coffee.

“I’m fine, Mom,” he says, even though her words bothered him. Sleep. She knows about the sleep thing now, and they’re both thinking about it. He doesn’t want to think about it. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”

Maybe it’s the way he says it, a little worried, a tad hesitant, something in his voice that alerts a maternal instinct—there’s something, at any rate, that makes Mom look up from her coffee with a tired smile. “Oh, sweetie. I’m perfectly alright.” Her chair scrapes against the ground as she stands up, arms outstretched. “Come here.”

He does. He lets his Mom hug him, tries to convince himself that the stinging sensation is just something stuck in his eye while she says: “I’m just worried about you. It bothers me that I wasn’t there to help, honey. But now I’m here and I want you to know that I’m here for you. It’s just… I have lots of things to make peace with, plenty to think about.”

She pauses but hasn’t let go of him. He says: “You can ask me stuff, you know? Or Jazz—she has notes.”

Mom chuckles. “Yes, that she does. Don’t worry about me, alright? You have plenty to deal with already. Take care of yourself, make smart decisions, listen to your sister and your friends. And your heart.”

He snorts. “You’re so cheesy, Mom.” It sounds a little weak because there’s a knot in his throat.

Mom notices. She pulls away, strokes his cheek while studying his face. “You’re so grown up,” she says. “Even though you shouldn’t have to be. I’m very proud of you, Danny, please don’t misunderstand me. I’m just… worried, as any mother would be in a situation like this.”

He nods, swallows thickly. “I’ll be alright.”

“Then so will I.”

***

His conversation with Mom ended with a portal sprouting in the middle of the kitchen. History and Anne walked out and, after a few quick and awkward introductions, Mom decided to go join Dad in the basement.

Now it’s just them. “We are sorry for the delay,” History says. “We were in a meeting.”

“Clockwork is such a meanie,” Anne says. “He won’t let us watch you through a portal, even though you’re so boring when we’re around!”

Watch him through a… “What?”

 “He usually allows us to, you see,” History says. “Recording history tends to be difficult—so many things happening at once. We thought, seeing as you are just one person, we could follow you around and be done with it.”

“But that didn’t work,” Anne grumbles.

He resents that. He couldn’t exactly concentrate on doing much of anything with those two breathing down his back. He spent the entirety of yesterday afternoon alternating between talking with them (getting ghost history lessons from those two is fairly interesting) and stressing quietly, inside his own head, while flying around Amity. The only highlight was a brief conversation with Jazz, when they agreed that Mom and Dad had the right to know everything else that’s going on.

Anne probably didn’t find that conversation interesting enough to make history.

“We asked for a portal,” History explains, “but Clockwork said you would not appreciate it. That conversation detained us, sorry.”

Relieved, he makes a mental note to thank Clockwork later. “We’ll figure something out,” he says, though what he really wants is for them to back off. “I would appreciate it if you could just… keep a distance.”

History nods. “We’ll do our best to keep from intruding. Like we said yesterday, you won’t even know we’re here!”

“Please pretend you don’t know we’re here.” Anne pauses. Her voice changes to that older one: “Well, on other days. Today you can pay us all the attention you want, cutie, ‘cause we’re going on a field trip!”

It bothers him a lot to hear a little girl sound like that, and Anne notices. She laughs, back to her childish tone, and he takes that moment to process what she said. “Field trip?”

“Clockwork gave us a task for this morning, it’ll only take an hour. We’re just going to show you the location for tonight.”

Tonight. Oh shit.

He nods. Impulsively, he asks: “Is it alright if my friends tag along?”

History doesn’t look particularly fazed by the question and says it’s alright. So he calls Sam and Tucker, explains what’s going on, and twenty minutes later they’re done with the awkward introductions and waving goodbye to his parents while they start up the engine on the Specter Speeder.

He can’t believe his parents let them use the Specter Speeder.

When they enter the Ghost Zone, he realizes that it has been a long time since he last properly roamed around here. It’s stupid (he’ll be seeing it for twelve hours, every day, for the rest of his life) but it’s a perspective thing, and suddenly he really wants to get a good look. He’s looking at it through the eyes of an outsider for the last time, like a tourist. No deep personal interest or connection to the place, just curiosity.

So he looks. And everyone he passes looks back, mirroring his curiosity for an entirely different reason.

Though usually deserted, this area of the Ghost Zone is now packed with ghosts. When the Speeder passes by, History and Anne flanking it at either side, ghosts stop and stare, they whisper, they take a step back. They point at him a lot.

 “You’d think someone here wouldn’t have read the paper,” he mutters, sinking in his seat. “Only Dad ever reads it back at home, and he only reads the comics!”

Sam snorts. “Danny, how often do you think they get to read the paper here, though? Do they even have one?”

“You could start one,” Tucker suggests. “It’d add some level of organization to the place.” He gestures to the mess of doors and chunks of land floating around. “It’s clearly needed.”

Danny ponders that. He can barely keep his closet neat (his room, never)—how is he supposed to organize this place? “You think that sort of thing is possible? This place is a mess.”

“We’ve seen weirder stuff,” Sam says, Tucker nodding in agreement. “And, anyway, what do ghosts even do around here? The Ghost Zone doesn’t really work like our world—ghosts don’t have jobs or any other defining role in society. Everybody sort of does their own thing. Do you think that’s a cultural thing, or should we consider it an actual problem?”

Danny’s brain doesn’t feel up to considering it, period. He realizes how much of a shock this is going to be for him—he has to lose the attitude, pronto. He knows he has a genuine interest in helping out (hero complex or not), so that’s a plus. He just has to channel it in the right direction.

Just… not now.

“We’ll think about that later,” he says. “Looks like we’re here.”

“Here” is a stretch of barren land that doesn’t look any different from all the other floating islands around the Ghost Zone. It’s not particularly large, maybe the size of the Park back at home; he could probably walk from one end to the other in about five  or ten minutes.

He phases his friends out of the Speeder, next to where History and Anne stopped.

“Looks like it’ll be some party,” Tucker says. “You think all those ghosts we saw will fit here?”

“Oh, no,” History says. “They aren’t allowed on the island without Danny’s permission. Won’t be, anyway.”

He finds that extremely vague, but Anne doesn’t leave room for questions: “Ooh I can’t wait to see what you’ll do with the place.” She pauses. “If you don’t get it right I could spare some help… I’ve wanted to do this for ages!”

“Get what right?”

“The island, you dummy! It’s yours!”

As if that explains everything. Then Tucker taps him on the shoulder. “Dude, look at this.” He’s gesturing towards his PDA. There’s a map on the screen. “This is the place where Pariah’s place should be. Used to be.”

History nods. “Very good. This island did not specifically belong to Pariah Dark, however. It is linked to the crown and ring, and belongs to their owner. With them, you can shape this place into whatever you want, build anything that comes to mind.”

“It’s so fun!” Anne says. “It’s a permission thing, like access to the island. Iris once let me play around, just for a minute.” Her gaze turns downwards, she bites her lip. “She was… fun.”

It dawns of him that Anne knew Iris. Of course she did.

“Danny?” Sam says. “You feeling okay?”

No, not at all. Anne is never going to see Iris again because her ghostly obsession has to do with history, and history will always exist. Anne is going to be around forever, just her grandpa and Clockwork for company. She’s never going to see Iris again.

The feeling in his stomach isn’t exactly pity; it’s a raw form of empathy he doesn’t remember having ever felt before. For a brief moment he tries to imagine how ghosts like History, Anne or Clockwork must feel but can’t, and instead the dizziness intensifies.

Then it hits him: that could be him. If something goes wrong, if they’ve missed any details… The thought gives him perspective; he can’t believe that, just a few days ago, he’d worried that shoving ghosts into the thermos would be his fate for the next seventy or eighty years, as if it were the worst thing in the world.

He looks up at the concerned gazes around him: “I’m fine.” He really isn’t.

History clears his throat. “Your friends will also be here this evening, right?”

Danny turns to look at Sam and Tucker. It’s an unspoken sort of thing, that they’ll be here; he realizes he never actually asked.

“Yup,” Tucker says. “Don’t worry, we’ll find our way just fine—the Speeder’s GPS system should have a lock on this place.”

“Excellent,” History says. “Then I suppose that will be all. Anne and I have some things to do before tonight, so you won’t have us lurking around for the afternoon. I suppose you can make it back on your own?”

After a nod from Tucker, History and Anne nod back and leave.

“Let’s go,” Sam says, a hand on his shoulder. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

He nods but Sam doesn’t see it because, from behind him, Clockwork’s voice cuts in: “Time out.”

He feels Sam’s hand on his shoulder go stiff. “You could just say hello like everyone else,” he mumbles, prying Sam’s hand away and turning to face Clockwork. He doesn’t wait for the snarky answer: “I heard you didn’t let the Historians snoop into my life with a portal. Thanks.”

“You don’t need anything else to worry about.” He gestures around. “What do you think?”

“Could use some work,” he shrugs. He has no clue what he’s going to do with this place, but he chooses to put that off till later. “What happened to… well, everything?”

“It all disappeared when ownership of the crown and ring was transferred to you. Pariah’s sarcophagus is under custody of the Observants now, that’s not your concern.”

That last part is a relief. They’re quiet for a while, and Danny’s tempted to ask Clockwork to start time back up because Tucker’s frozen face is creeping him out. But the pensive look on his mentor’s face makes him keep quiet, figuring it’s best not to interrupt whatever is going on in his head.

“I wouldn’t allow you to do this if I didn’t think you could,” Clockwork says suddenly. “Have faith in yourself.”

That’s strangely comforting. It also makes him wonder… “You’re saying that just as there’s a future where I mess this up really badly, there’s a future where this doesn’t go that bad?”

“Of course there is. There always is.”

Cryptic as always, though this time he’s okay with not knowing the details. He likes to think it allows a bigger margin of error, the possibility to mess up and know the damage isn’t permanent. At least, that’s what he wants to think.

A moment later, Clockwork says: “Be at my lair no later than quarter to midnight. I’ll give you your instructions then.”

He doesn’t get to respond, cut off by a sharp “time in” and blinded by swirling portal in front of him. Then the portal fades, and he’s faced with his reanimated friends.

The first thing he notices is the sharp gasp coming from his left, the look on Sam’s face when she sees her hand floating randomly in mid-air. “Damn you, Clockwork,” she mutters. She turns to face him. “Well, you look better.”

“Yeah,” he says, phasing his friends into the Speeder. He tries to focus on the last part of his conversation with Clockwork, tries to convince himself that he’s telling them the truth when he says: “I’m good.”

*

A/N: Hi everyone, tumblr messed with the post again so here's a link to Part 2. Sorry!

[tartkiwifruit]

Submission for Phanniemay, day 26, A-Listers What? What do you mean it's not May anymore?

[ibelieveinahappilyeverafter]

Phanniemay Day 31

Ahahaahahaha so this is a little strange. And weird. And different. The girl in this story is me, of course, and that's my real name. No nicknames or hidden names just...me.

Phanniemay : Day 31 : Free Day : My Story

::

“Look out!”

Michelle Jean Anderson, headphones on her ears and blasting music at the loudest volume it could go, didn't hear the ghostly adult calling her name. All she noticed was the sudden shadow that blocked out the sun and had her looking up to see a piece of wall that was collapsing. She had a feeling getting hit by that might do more than just give her a nasty bruise and a headache.

Before she could scream, run, or even break down in a mess of anxiety and panic she felt something around her arms and then a shocking tingle go throughout her body. A feeling of weightlessness, like those when she was swimming, and she saw she was intangible and floating in the air, headphones slipping off to hang around her neck.

“Well...that would have been a smashing disaster,” Michelle blinked, looking down at the crumpled wall as whoever had picked her up set her down on a clear path of sidewalk gently.

“Was that- Was that a pun?” Brushing herself off, and not noticing who she was talking to, Michelle nodded.

“Yeah, reflex. When I'm in trouble or scared or freaking out, or just lost for words, I sort of make puns. Really bad ones that don't make much sense.”

“That I can understand.” Looking up at her rescuer she felt herself freeze and her eyes widen at seeing just who had saved her. “Okay, I am seeing that look and most people get that look when they're about to scream. Please don't scream, please? I promise I'm a friendly ghost.”

“N-N, u-uh, no, no screaming, yeah. Yeah screaming. No.” The girl blinked again, trying to get her brain to actually work instead of flat-lining. “I think you just killed my brain. You are responsible for my brain dying. I have something I need to say to you and I can't even remember because you killed my brain.”

“Heh, sorry,”Danny Phantom smiled, scratching the back of his head. “If it helps you're doing pretty good, most people run off screaming at this point. Or try to shoot me. A lot of people try to shoot me.”

“Well, that's just rude,” Michelle grinned before snapping her fingers in excitement. “Got it! I remembered what I was gonna say to you!” Seeing the raised eyebrow she continued. “Thank you- Well, thank you twice. For just now, you know, saving me from becoming roadside pudding and all, and for before.”

“Before?” The ghost tilted his head, feet hovering off the ground. Michelle gave him a few moments to think, grinning the whole time. “Sorry- Really, I am, but...I don't remember you...actually, I've never even seen you before, are you new in town or something?”

“Nah, just passing through on a trip with my sister,” Michelle grinned, rocking back and forth on her feet. “Well, online friend that became sister that might as well be my real sister, it's sort of hard to explain, but, um, where was I...oh yeah! Thank you. Because, well, see...it's sort of hard to explain. And weird. Very weird.”

“Trust me, I've heard weirder than anything you can tell me,” the ghost chuckled, smiling as if he had an inside joke that only he understood. “If you want to tell me, that is.”

“Wow, you are polite. That is- You are sweet. Very sweet- Sorry. Okay. Little bit starstruck or something like that,” the girl giggled nervously, scratching the back of her head much like the other had done earlier. “Okay, so, um, you've been protecting Amity park for about ten years, right? That's when rumors of you started surfacing, at least, around the underground cult-like forums they did. Real news didn't think you were, well, real.”

“Yeah, the whole ghost thing and all,” Phantom chuckled, sitting with his legs crossed in the air and listening politely. “Can't really blame them, it's sort of hard to believe in things like that at first. But if it helps we're not ghosts so much as-”

“Ectoplasmic entities, yeah, I know,” Michelle smiled, continuing at the surprised look. “I read a lot. And the Fentons published some pretty astounding research, so did this one guy, Andrew Riter? Anyways, um, sorry, getting off track. But, uh, ten years ago I was ten. Ten years old and shy and lost and scared and confused and always hiding on the computer and...and then I found you...

“Okay, so, it was a mention of you, really. But it was captivating, I mean, the scientific possibilities if we were able to, as a race, admit the existence of things once thought fake or silly. I was hooked. I mean, it was just so...amazing. And because of those forms I met a lot of nice people and had a fun time talking to them. It was like...I was becoming less shy and afraid because I finally found something, or in this case someone, to believe in, to get me to take a chance and open up.

“Right, sorry, that sounds creepy. I'm sort of windmilling here, but um, anyways, yeah. Well then stuff got hard at home, I mean, it wasn't as bad as some people's situation, seriously, I was okay. It was, and still is, just more emotional manipulation that sort of almost kind of drove me mad and- ...Let's...” The girl paused a second, rubbing her arms before continuing. “Let's just say things might have been worse if I hadn't found you again when I did...

“See, Phantom Phans are a little crazy, you probably know about the fanfiction and tumblr stuff of you at this point, right?” At the groan she snickered, continuing. “Yeah, sorry about that. I at least try to keep my things tasteful, but, um, I was just sort of browsing old things, right? And I found this story I had marked as a favorite like, ages ago. I re-read it and it was really good, I mean short and choppy, but good.

“Well the writer hadn't updated in a year and, well, I asked if I could take the story over, you know, finish it and make it better and stuff like that. That's how I met my sister, Que. She was the author of that crazy story, it's Guardian, by the way, in case you wanna look it- Actually no. Forget I said that. Don't. Seriously. I'm sorry if you do. Really, really sorry it just, okay, yeah, um- So, yeah, because of you, and that story, I met my sister, who gave me the kick in the ass and the help I needed to get back on my feet and fight for what I believe in.

“I also am now part of the Ghostly Gears, which is me and two friends I met through that story. It's- It's a long story but those three...they're everything to me. Really. And I never would have met them, I never would have been saved, if it hadn't been for you. If you hadn't become a hero, hadn't decided to help others, then I would have been...not well. So...thank you.”

“And that is the reason I stay a hero.” At that Michelle blinked, looking confused as Phantom laughed. “Seeing people like you, who are still struggling yet saying I make a difference... I mean, really, why would I ever stop as long as I can keep helping and saving people?” At that Michelle laughed, smiling wide. “That's a nice necklace by the way.”

“Oh- This?” Pulling up the bronze-caste Danny Phantom insignia around her neck the girl laughed. “My sister made it for me a few weeks ago. I always wear it now to remind myself of where I was and where I'm going. I'm not totally out of the dark yet but...I'm getting there. Slowly and surely, with the help of the family I've met because of you. So, just because of that, I'll say it once more...

“Thank you, Danny Phantom.”

[emmagineif]

Enough Time

"You got a wish?"

Jazz didn't have the energy to remind her mother why that was a bad idea, preferring to close her eyes before they ended up rolling, take a deep breath, and concentrate as if it actually mattered. It wasn't like Deseree could read thoughts after all.

I wish Danny was here. 

She blew. 

She wasn't mad at him for missing her birthday; she realized that luring the gang of ghosts away from town was far more important than the celebration of an arbitrary date and she'd been the one to force him to go after them in the first place. It wasn't his fault and she respected that, was proud of him for that, and she wasn't about to burden him with any more guilt than he already had.

She was a bit pissed at whatever entity had decided to put such a burden on her baby brother, however.

But not at him. She was a bit upset, that was all. And worried, as always. Although she had to admit that at the moment she was more upset than worried, a fact that she had promptly tried to forget as soon as she'd noticed it. It was her birthday and she was not going to feel guilty about feelings she had no control over when she was already missing her brother.

She had had her eyes closed for too long. Maybe it was because she was hoping that the longer she held out the more likely it was to come true... Or maybe she just didn't want to open her eyes to see the missing chair where her brother should have been, to have to smile and laugh and make sure her parents didn't worry about her any more than they did already. 

At least her parents were bad at reading emotions and there wasn't anyone else she had to pretend to. She hadn't ever been particularly good at making friends.

"How long did you wait for me?" Her eyes flew open. She knew that voice. 

She didn't register the cake in front of her, the way the flames of the already half-burned candles (her parents kept reusing them each year)  was bent back, away from her, unmoving, even though she'd long since stopped blowing. She didn't register the weight of the ancient, yet technologically advanced, medallion around her neck, or even the fact that her parents were stock still, frozen in time, smiles on their faces, at the precise moment when their eldest child had blown out her candles on her 19th birthday.

Instead she spun, knocking over her chair as she stood, prepared to see the face of a murderer, a monster, the echo of her little brother, come to enact his revenge--

But that wasn't what she saw. She saw a man, healthy and tall, who looked to be in his mid-thirties, wearing a black T-shirt that showed off the faint impression of lean muscle and a pair of faded blue jeans. His hair was black and messy, bangs almost falling in his eyes, and he held himself with a confidence, a quiet grace, and a sense of calmness that reminded her of wise old wizards, even if he lacked the beard.

This impression was only furthered by his eyes. They were a brilliant bright blue, deep and consuming, filled with a fondness and care and a sense of loss and faint regret that you only ever saw on excellent actors and very old men. They seemed to almost glow, pulsing with a faint light that seemed oddly familiar but she couldn't quite place... until a flash of green flitted across his iris.

And then he smiled, a big, goofy smile, and for an entire second she would have sworn he couldn't be a day over fifteen. 

"Hey, Jazz." His voice shook a bit on her name and the look of loss was back, just a faint, haunted look, and for a moment she was worried that he might cry.

"...Danny!?" His name left her mouth before the information had even even begun to be processed by her brain. 

"Yup." He chuckled awkwardly, slouching down a bit, as if he'd suddenly realized how tall he was and was trying to knock his body down to an appropriate size. His hand moved to rub the back of his neck, a habit he'd apparently never been able to break, if he'd even ever tried. 

"How... ?" It was then that Jazz recognized the weight of the Time Medallion around her neck and finally registered all of the things she'd failed to a moment before. She almost fell to the ground, but managed to catch herself before she did, righting the chair she'd knocked over and falling into it as she waited for an explanation.

He sighed, sat down in the chair meant for his seventeen-year-old self, and gave one... even if it was not particularly satisfactory. "I got a wish."

"You got... a wish..."

"Yeah, and I decided I wanted to come here." He smiled again at her, but this time he didn't do quite as good a job of hiding the grief there and she knew there was something he wasn't telling her. 

"Danny... Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine, Jazz." He said and smiled that sad smile and didn't sound very convincing.

"Is there something you need to... stop?" It was the best explanation she could come up with; something bad had clearly happened, or was going to happen, and if he did have a mission it was probably better that they got over the small talk and got to work.

"That..." He paused, letting out a humorless chuckle, not even trying to sound happy here, "... rarely ends well."

"Well than why are you here?"

"I missed your birthday." He said it as if it was the most obvious explanation in the world.

She could only stare at him, letting her mouth drop open. 

"What?" He laughed at her expression. "I can't change anything. I can just go back and, you know, talk to people." 

"And you decided to come here." 

"Hey, sixty years and this is my biggest regret. I think I did pretty good, you know?" 

"...Wait... Sixty?"

He chuckled awkwardly, scratching his neck again. "Yeah... I think the accident might have slowed down my aging process? ... Don't tell me I told you... In fact, don't tell me I was even here. You don't even want to hear the lecture I got from Clockwork before I came."

She finally laughed at that. "I'm shocked he let you come at all."

"Yeah, well, after all I've done, I think he figured he owed me... Anyways, I can't believe you waited for me for three hours before you finally cracked and ate your cake." 

"You said you'd be back in five minutes. If your still-very-much-at-least-half-alive face wasn't plastered over the news I'd be worried sick... I take it you don't make it back tonight?" She knew asking about the future was a pretty dangerous business but it was already 9 o'clock and she hoped Danny had learned enough in sixty--(SIXTY!?!)-- years to know when to keep his mouth shut about what was important.

"I actually come into your room and pass out around 11:45. Make you fix me up after missing your birthday... so... here's an early apology... or a really, really, ridiculously late one, depending on whose point of view... But don't worry. I live." His face fell on the last word and Jazz was suddenly worried again about whatever future incident had prompted this visit.

"Danny... Are you... going to die?"

"Everybody dies, Jazz." His sad smile was back.

"Yeah, but--"

"So, where do you want to go?" He clapped his hands together and stood, clearly trying to change the subject. She couldn't blame him. Even hinting about what was going to happen was probably doing horrible things to the timeline.

"What?"

"I," He held his up high, putting his hands on his hips in a gesture of exaggerated grandeur, "have mastered the art of teleportation." He held out his hand. "Any place, anywhere."

"Well... where do you want to go?"

"It's your birthday, you pick."

"You mean to tell me you've had fourty years to come up with a plan and still don't have one? You really are my brother."

"Oh, come on! I travelled back fourty years for this! Cut me some slack!"

In the end they decided to simply go for ice-cream, just talking and laughing at stupid jokes that made it obvious his humor hadn't improved at all. Danny had to phase into the store and pretty much steal some from the store still frozen in time, but he claimed that he'd been awarded free ice-cream for afterlife and left money in the register, so she figured it was alright. 

They talked for what felt like hours (although that unit of measurement hardly seemed to apply to a world frozen in time) over simple, petty stuff and he worried her the way she caught him looking with those sad, sad eyes, but she didn't want to mention it, didn't want to upset him even though she could tell that something was very, very wrong.

It was... weird talking to an older version of her younger brother, and not just because of the age difference. The way he moved was strange, one minute looking like the ancient man she'd first seen and it was easy to believe he was under a hundred... But then he would open his mouth and she would have guessed it was the version of her brother that she knew, the one currently frozen in time, fighting ghosts, who had simply overshadowed an older man's body... Except this wasn't the brother she knew, not totally... and it was more than the adult body and the old eyes and the knowledge that he was from the future. Something had changed in him, subtly, and it took her a long time to place her finger on it. 

He wasn't angry. 

Danny was always angry. Even when he was happy there was always a faint, roiling anger bubbling beneath the surface. She seen it come out when he fought ghosts, when he called upon his wail and tore city blocks to shreds... It was a trait that had saved his life on more than one occasion, a passion, a drive to keep on fighting until he won, but it was far from healthy... And, now, it seemed like he'd learned to manage it, learned to deal with it, to let it go instead of locking it inside the way he had been ever since he'd gotten his powers. And she was proud of him for that.

She held in the yawn for as long as she could, but eventually it won her over, lasting a ridiculously embarrassingly long amount of time before it finished. She hadn't even realized how tired she was.

"Here, I've got something for you." He reached into his back pocket, pulling out a small box covered in turquoise wrapping paper and a bright pink ribbon. He passed it over to her and she tried to pretend she didn't notice the way his hands were shaking.

The bow came undone easily and the wrapping paper was lightweight and easy to tear. She slid the lid from the box beneath to reveal a pendant, small, metal, and perfectly spherical connected to a chain. It was... odd. Not particularly beautiful and the chain it was connected to was the kind you saw on dog tags, not what you put on necklaces to give to girls. Still, she smiled and thanked him and assumed that fashion had changed significantly in the future, even if his clothes didn't seem to.

"It'll make sense one day." He told her, slipping the necklace over head and pulling her into a hug. He burried his face into her hair and she tried to ignore the way his breath caught in his throat and she felt a wetness clinging to her hair. "Come on," He told her, pulling back and turning away as he wiped his eyes. "I guess I should get you back so you can get some sleep before you have to wake up and patch me up." 

And with that he flew her home, sat her down at the table, removed the Time Medallion, and was gone. And at 11:47 she woke up to collapsed 17-year-old bleeding on her covers.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three years later, Jazz Fenton graduated from Yale with honors and went on to graduate school at Stanford. She was Maid of Honor at Danny and Sam's wedding and received a personal thank you from the President of the United States for her work negotiating a treaty during the 4th Great Invasion from  The Ghost Zone. By the time she got her degree, she had already started a pioneer company, specializing in increased understanding between ghosts and humans, helping humans find closure and ghosts to move on and manage their obsessions. 

At twenty-seven, she said hello to her baby nephew, Michael and voted Tucker Foley for the house of representatives. With the an avid endorsement from Danny Phantom himself, it wasn't surprising that he won. Together, they started a program, government funded, to explore the Ghost Zone, making treaties and trade agreements with the ghosts they found there, bringing peace to areas that hadn't seen it in hundreds of years. 

At twenty-nine, a month after Sam had announced she was pregnant with her second child, Jazz was out on a routine mission. It wasn't technically her job but she liked to work, and she'd gone into the Ghost Zone enough times that she was more competent than most of the rookies they sent out on reconnaissance. There wasn't supposed to be anyone out there; the friendly ghosts in the surrounding area had already scouted it out and she was just there to set up a communication relay, push their reach that much further out. 

She hadn't been expecting the nest of Ghouls. 

She really should have been; this was just far enough out that the bee-like ghosts wouldn't have been driven out by better developed inhabitants... But she hadn't seen Ghouls in years and they were usually harmless unless you got stung by at least six... She counted seven on her arm alone...

"Jazz, calm down. I'm on my way, we're coming to get you, you'll be fine."

"Danny, wait!" But he was already gone, probably already through the Fenton Portal by now and on his way... She wished he'd stayed to talk to her, it would have been nice to get to hear his voice; she still had half an hour before she lost consciousness.

And only ten minutes after that before she would be dead. 

She wasn't kidding herself. It had taken her three hours to get out here in the Speeder and even if the rescue team Danny had called for her used the Infimap, she was still an hour and a half away from anywhere natural portals formed. They wouldn't be able to get to her. Not at this time of year.

She wanted to bang her head against the wall, to rip the her papers apart, to pull the steering wheel off its post, and to scream until her voice gave out. She wanted to yank her hair out, wanted to kick the door down, wanted to drive the stupid, useless, FentonSword through the windshield, to let out all her anger and excess energy into one final tantrum. 

She settled for closing her eyes and letting herself cry. It was such a stupid way to die. After all she'd been through, all she'd done, all of the things she was involved in... This was what got her? She knew it was stupid and ridiculous but she'd thought at least her death would have meant something. She would much rather have sacrificed herself for someone, died fighting for some noble cause... not sitting, alone and cold, in the middle of nowhere waiting to die because she'd forgotten to check if the antidote was stocked in her med-kit. 

What were they going to do without her? Sure, Danny could handle ghosts, could kick ass and protect everyone... But who would he talk to when things got bad, who would make sure he saw a psychologist, who would protect him from himself? 

She was panicking, caught in the swirl of her own thoughts when he heard something beep. She jumped and looked around but nothing was flashing or giving any visual cues as to-- it beeped again, and this time her ears identified where it was coming from; the small, circular pendant she always wore around her neck. 

She pulled it out and looked at it, letting it rest on the open palm of her hand... when it opened, suddenly, just a tiny, circular, hole appearing out of the top. And the next thing she knew she was staring at her brother's face. 

Except it was far too old to be her brother. At twenty-seven he still looked like a teenager, and the man in front of her was far too old... It was a face she had only seen once, ten years before...

And it was a hologram. The kind of technology they were just beginning to phase into development. Things were beginning to make sense, clicking together...

"Hey, Jazz." He spoke, those sad, sad eyes staring into hers as if he was really right in front of her... "I guess it's all starting to make sense now... And I guess you've figured out what's going to happen... You're too young and I'm sorry--" He looked down as his voice broke, taking a deep breath and blinking through tears before looking back up at her. "I'm sorry I wasn't here for you. You were supposed to have your whole life in front of you and it isn't fair... I tried everything, I really did, but... But all I can do is catch you up on what you missed.

His face disappeared, replaced by a rectangular box, exactly like a television without the frame, just images floating in midair. It was a video, taken from a handheld camera, a voice she recognized as Sam's mother talking back to her as the camera zoomed in on a pink, crying baby, held in Sam's arms. 

"This is Jasmine Pamela Fenton-Manson. Say hello!" The baby stopped crying to blink around in confusion, before wailing again. Sam looked like she was about to pass out.

The tape cut to a toddler and his baby sister, building up blocks and knocking them over, an absurdly proud father acting just as childish. Then there were pictures and more videos, awards ceremonies, announcements about Danny saving the world, about Jazz's nonprofit going global, becoming one of the largest aid societies in the world.

As time moved on she got to watch as videos became holograms, at first slopping and blue, and gradually gaining the plethora of colors she had seen at first. She got to watch her niece and nephew grow up, graduate from high-school and then college, clips from a wedding, Tucker's swearing in to the Oval Office, a clip from a speech about the Jasmine Fenton Award... The birth of her nephew's son and his first steps... She got messages from her parents, her friends, telling her they loved her, telling her about their lives, as much as they could fit into a half hour. She watched her family grow old, got to see her parent's graves, on either side of the one she knew had to be hers... She didn't realize she was crying until her time was almost up. 

And then there was Danny's face again, the face she'd been able to see him grow into, so different from the one she'd seen this morning...

"I'm sorry, Jazz. I'm sorry that I wasn't there for you when you needed me, that I didn't stay on the line and just say all of the things I needed to, all of the things I think you should know. I love you Jazz, we all love you. And we're okay. You don't need to worry about us, we made it alright. I just wanted to say ... Goodbye."

He might have said something after that, but Jazz didn't hear it, she was too busy slipping into unconsciousness, tears streaming down her face and a small smile on her lips.