Work Text:
From One Day To Another
—
Around 2 a.m., Jazz stumbled into the kitchen for a glass of water.
It was a bit of a trek, this late at night, but she preferred the kitchen's amenities. The water from the bathroom tap was always a bit too metallic for her tastes, with no supply of ice nearby. It was worth the trip. Or at least, that was what she told herself, to give herself a valid excuse to stretch her legs and wander.
Since it was so late, she wasn't expecting anyone else to be up. So the blinking green eyes at the kitchen table startled her twice as much as they should've.
"D—!" Jazz squeaked, and sputtered. "Danny! Jeez, don't startle me like that!"
Danny, crouched like a gremlin in his usual chair over a bowl of mac 'n cheese, laughed mercilessly at her. Jazz scowled.
"What." She demanded.
"Sorry," he apologized, still chuckling. "The noise you made. Oh my god."
"Shut up," Jazz groaned at her little brother, snatching up and tossing the nearby roll of paper towels at him, the nearest soft thing within reach. As she expected, Danny's outline flickered and he let the towels phase right through his torso. He grinned at her, impish and smug, teeth glinting in the low light.
Well. At least he seemed to be in good spirits, no pun intended. This wasn't the first time they'd bumped into each other past midnight. Despite the darkness, Jazz could easily make out the dark bags set beneath his eyes.
Ghost attacks had been a little rough, lately.
“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Jazz asked, at last.
Danny tapped his bowl of mac ‘n cheese with his spoon. “Pot,” he motioned to her, and then to himself. “Kettle.”
Sighing, Jazz raised her eyebrow. “I have a 4.3 gpa,” she argued. “And you have a test in the morning.”
“And I have a midnight snack, so who’s really winning here?” Danny shot back. Jazz buried her face in her hands and groaned.
“Please go to bed,” Jazz begged.
Danny took another spoonful bite of mac ‘n cheese.
"I will pay you to go to bed," Jazz tried.
He blinked. "Like, with money?"
"No, with compliments," Jazz rolled her eyes. "Yes, with money."
"Well now I want the compliments," Danny said.
"You are a strong, smart, handsome half ghost," Jazz said, "…Who needs to go to bed."
"I feel both patronized and insulted," Danny countered. "Transaction null and void."
He could be so stubborn sometimes.
Jazz strode over to the cabinets, fetching her favorite glass for water, and cracked the ice tray to free up some cubes.
"So is there a reason you're making future-you miserable?"
Danny snorted, spoon digging into his food. "That guy's an asshole, he deserves it."
"Danny," Jazz chided.
"What!" Danny balked. "He is!"
"Danny you know what I mean," Jazz said.
Her brother sighed. He took another bite, chewing slow.
"There's just not much point to it, y'know?" Danny admitted at last. "Four hours of sleep, or five — I'll be tired either way. At least this way, I'm not tired and hungry."
Jazz leaned against the counter, cupping her water but not sipping at it. She studied her brother.
"If there's something I can do to help…" she began.
"I'm fine, Jazz." He shut her down, gently but quickly. "You can go back to sleep."
She didn't say anything, for a time.
"Is this how it's going to be when I leave for college?" she asked at last, startling him. "Just you, in the kitchen in the middle of the night, not taking care of yourself?"
Danny lowered his bowl.
"Jazz…"
"I worry, Danny." Jazz said. "You know I do."
"And I'm telling you, you don't have to," Danny said. "Things are rough right now, but I'll get through it. And if I need help, I'll ask for it."
"That's the thing, Danny. I don't think you will." Jazz pushed off the counter, approaching the table. The wide, unpolished field of oak sat between them. "You need help right now and you're not asking for it."
"I don't need help eating my midnight snack," Danny argued, weakly.
"You're only eating your midnight snack," Jazz argued, "Because presumably you missed dinner."
Danny didn't deny it.
"And you missed dinner because you were either fighting a ghost, running from our parents, or doing homework you should've done this afternoon, and didn't because you were fighting a ghost then."
Danny didn't deny this either.
"And instead of asking your big sister to cook you a meal, or pick you up something from the Nasty Burger, you decided not to bother her because, Things are just hard right now, I'll get through it." She raised her eyebrows. "Right?"
"I didn't want to bother you," Danny said at last. "I took care of it."
"I know. And I just want to take care of you." Jazz sighed. Then it slipped out; "Maybe I shouldn't go to college."
"Whoa, hey, no," Danny sat up in alarm. He pushed his bowl away. "What? Jazz, where is this coming from? That was a really big leap in logic."
"Danny, I can barely tell when you need help already, and I'm living in the same house as you!" Jazz said. "How much worse is it going to be if I move to an Ivy League dorm off the east coast?"
"That's—this is your dream we're talking about, here," Danny argued. "You've wanted to go to school and become a psychologist since you were like three."
"Yeah, well," Jazz hesitated. "Maybe it's not realistic."
He snorted. "Me aiming to become an astronaut is unrealistic, Jazz. You—"
He faltered. His raised eyes searched hers.
"You've been thinking about this for a while, haven't you?" He asked, reading her like a book.
She couldn't deny it. Even a little.
Not when she was midnight-restless, wandering about the house.
Not when he knew her so well.
"I'm your big sister," she said at last. "I have to look after you."
His hand dropped to the table. Maybe hit it a little more forcefully than he meant to, because he broke eye contact, looking away. Still, he said, "This is ridiculous, Jazz."
"To care about my brother?"
"To throw your life away just because I lost mine!" he snapped back.
The words echoed in their suddenly quiet kitchen.
"I didn't mean it like that," Danny muttered. "I just—dammit, Jazz." He ran his fingers through his messy hair.
She let him think. He always needed a little more time to organize his thoughts when his emotions ran high.
At last, Danny said, "I'm just having a tough time right now because - it's a lot. Everything's a lot." He said. "Once I'm done with school, once I'm out of the house…"
"Will you be able to hold down a job?" Jazz pressed.
"…Maybe Sam can fund me…" he muttered, which was answer enough.
Jazz wished he would just listen to her. If she went to a local college, she could be close enough to offer help. His circle was already so small.
Instead, Jazz took a deep breath. "Okay," she said. "A compromise."
"Compromise?" Danny seemed suspicious.
Jazz said, "I'll take a gap year."
"No."
"Listen," she snapped. When he quieted, she continued, "I take a gap year. I live in an apartment in Amity Park. You move in with me for one year. Drop out of school. And get your GED."
Danny blinked at the suggestion. "Drop out of—"
"Do you want to go to school?" she interrupted.
He laughed. "No. It's just, you, of all people, suggesting it."
"School's not right for everybody,"
"—But it is right for you—" he tried to interject.
"Hush," Jazz said. "As I was saying, not everybody fits into the typical boxes, you more than most. If dropping out is what you need, then you do it."
"Parents would have a fit."
"That's why I take a gap year, and you live with me." Jazz said. "And I promise I'd make it temporary, if—You get your GED, you hold down the job, and you show me you can take care of yourself." She sent him a pointed look. "If I'm satisfied, I apply to my school of choice. I take classes remotely for a year, until you turn 18. And then I move out of Amity Park."
"Sounds like two gap years," Danny mumbled to himself.
"You can't legally live on your own until you're eighteen." She pointed out.
He drummed his fingers on the table.
"I need some time to think about it," he said. He seemed conflicted, agitated. "You'd - you'd have to promise."
"Promise?"
"Promise that you'd go to school. Get your degree. Be the best damn psychologist the world's ever seen."
"I'd do that even if I went to college here," Jazz pointed out. He pouted, and she relented; it was a compromise, after all. "I promise, Danny. I just want to make sure you can take care of yourself, that you'd be okay, before I chose to leave."
"I'd be okay."
"Cool. Put your money where your mouth is and show me."
He shook his head. "You're so stubborn," he griped.
"Pot," Jazz motioned between them. "Kettle."
He laughed.
And it was still stiff, still tense. But maybe the most genuine thing she'd heard from him in a while.
"Perhaps you can start showing me your dedication right now by going to bed…" Jazz hinted, heavily.
"Fine, fine," Danny scoffed. He shoved the last of his mac and cheese in his mouth and shoved the dirty bowl across the table for her to deposit into the dishwasher. Then he stood and stretched - and paused at the door.
"Jazz?" he asked.
"Yeah?"
He hesitated a moment longer, eyes locked on hers.
"Uh," he faltered, then said, "—So is that pay you to go to bed thing still on the table, or—"
"Oh my god," Jazz rolled her eyes. "Go!"
"Love you!" Danny chirped, with a crooked grin, and waved her goodbye.
Jazz huffed and shook her head, rolling her eyes. She took her used glass of water and his empty bowl to the dishwasher, and smiled on the inside, glad they'd both made some progress.
At 2 am, Jazz wandered back to her room, and felt her restlessness settle.