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hannahmanderr · 1 year ago

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DannyMay Day 17 - Temper

lol I've got so much to catch up on

Words: 1,730

Summary: Jazz has never had the ghost-fighting skills that the rest of her family has. So what's she to do when a ghost attacks and she's left defenseless? (FFN)

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temper (n.): (1) a particular state of mind or feelings; (2) habit of mind, especially with respect to irritability or patience, outbursts of anger, or the like; disposition

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Jazz grunted as she braced herself against the force of the gale being created by the newest ghost attacking her house. Around her, the curtains whipped violently, threatening to rip off of the rod, and books and papers whirled around the room, forcing her to duck occasionally. The ghost in front of her - who reminded her of a misty version of the Pilsbury doughboy - knelt in midair, sobbing loudly into its hands.

As the winds buffeted against her, she mentally cursed. Mom and Dad were out on a call. Danny was with Sam and Tucker in the Ghost Zone, checking in on Sidney Poindexter after he’d had some sort of run-in with a particularly nasty pack of ghost wolves. Her Peeler and thermos were upstairs, under her bed, and every other possible weapon or means of defense - including the house’s security system - was out of reach. In other words, she was alone and unarmed. Two things she did not want to deal with when encountering an unfamiliar ghost.

“I-it’s gone…” the ghost blubbered. “Lost it… c-can’t…”

A particularly strong gust crashed into Jazz, causing her to stagger backwards. An armchair was knocked over and pushed towards her. Barely able to open her eyes because of the winds, she didn’t see it coming, and it swept her legs out from under her. She landed on the carpet with a thud and a bolt of pain up her arm. The ghost, upon seeing this, only sobbed harder.

“What - did you lose?” she tried to shout over the noise, but she could barely hear her own voice.

By some miracle, though, the ghost noticed and looked at her with watery purple eyes. “G-gone…” it said between sobs. “I-I hurt… hurt it…”

Jazz hoped she was actually frowning. It was too difficult to tell. “Hurt what?” she managed to gasp out.

“Th-the tower! I-it’s gone!”

Her mind raced. She had no clue what tower the ghost was talking about, but it was obvious it held some importance to it. What would Danny do with this information? Well that was a silly question. A ghost like this might have put up a little bit of a fight but wouldn’t stand much of a chance against him. He’d have already captured it by now.

What about her parents? Not that they’d have the information in the first place. They wouldn’t have stopped to ask questions in the first place. Dad would probably be trying (and failing) to get a shot in. Mom would probably be doing the same (with more success), but she’d also be working out a plan to capture it for future study or something.

Sam and Tucker? She wasn’t as sure with them. Tucker might try and log in to the security system and trigger the defense system. Sam, for as much as she preached non-violence, would not be hesitating to throw herself into the fight, probably following Danny’s lead.

None of these were options for her. She didn’t have the skill sets of her friends and family. She should know this by now; experience had shown time and time again that she was not exactly cut out for field work. Sure, she’d learned to aim a thermos, and she could fire a bazooka in a pinch, but this was never her forte. She much preferred to stay behind the scenes and provide team support.

Think, Jazz! Another gust of wind blew over her, still lying on the floor, and she had to roll out of the way of the coffee table approaching her. You don’t have their skills, but you have your own! What can you do?

Her main asset was her brain. That was a given. She knew she had a knack for analyzing things and digging to get at the root of the issue. That’s why she loved psychology so much - she loved to pick at people’s brains and figure out why they did the things they did, not just what they did. She could attack a problem better if she knew the underlying reasons for the problem in the first place.

Okay. So. Analyze this situation. To her, it seemed extraordinarily obvious: the ghost was upset because this tower it referred to was ‘gone’ in whatever sense that meant. It could be easily concluded that this tower held a lot of importance to this ghost. Losing something important could lead to extreme emotional duress, especially for people with anxieties or similar disorders.

Except ghosts weren’t necessarily bound to the same rules of psychology as humans. Danny was a prime example of that. But surely, being the souls of the deceased, at least some of the same rules passed over too.

Right?

Throwing all her weight to the side, she managed to roll onto her stomach and prop herself up on her arms. “Can you tell me about it?” she asked, doing her best to ignore the sting of the wind on her face.

The ghost’s eyes faded into the fog of its body and faded back in. They still leaked purple into its form. “T-tell you… about th-the tower?” it whimpered. Its voice was also difficult to hear over the roar.

Jazz nodded. “I want to hear about it,” she hollered, wanting to make sure the ghost heard her. “I’ve never heard of it before.”

The ghost hiccuped (how that was possible for a being without a diaphragm, she didn’t know). “B-but it’s gone…” it repeated. “I broke it…”

If Jazz had ears, they would’ve perked up. Of course! The ghost had said something similar before, hadn’t it? Granted, it had phrased it as “hurt it,” but the meaning had to be the same.

It all made sense! If this tower held such a special place in the ghost’s heart - er, core - and it had inadvertently destroyed it, then no wonder it was having such a difficult time. She wondered if the ghost even realized it was setting off the tornado-strength winds. It seemed horribly distracted by its distress.

So, distract? That could work temporarily, but not necessarily long term, and then they’d both be stuck in this same boat. Try and rationalize with it? Also a possibility, but it did not seem to be keen on listening to reason at the moment.

It needed something else to focus on, but it needed to be constructive. It needed to be something that could serve as a more permanent fix. A coping mechanism, but maybe one that could be used in future situations as well. Perhaps something that utilized its wind abilities, since they seemed to be so closely tied to the ghost.

The idea hit her as strong as the winds.

“Did something happen for you to break it?” she asked. She couldn’t tell if she was breathless because she was excited or because the gale stole her breath away.

It hiccuped again. “I-I didn’t want to,” it said. “I pointed… a-and it broke! I-I hurt it!”

Jazz nodded again. “It’s okay!” she shouted. “Sometimes we make mistakes. I make them too, and I break things I like too!” She absently wondered if this ghost was newer and not yet in control of its powers. The notion that it didn’t realize it was causing the wind was gaining validity.

“Y-you break?” the ghost asked. Was that an actual dip in the wind speed, or was she just imagining it?

Focus on the patient at hand. A psychologist can’t have her attention divided. “Yes! I break things sometimes!” She put her hand over her chest, but she made sure to position it where Danny had shown her a ghost’s core was (at least she hoped she was remembering right). Meet the patient where it’s at. “And it makes me break in here too!”

That caught the ghost’s attention. This time, the dip in the winds was noticeable. She took advantage of the opportunity to push herself up further.

“I-it broke…” the ghost whimpered. “A-and I broke…”

“I know,” Jazz said gently, still taking care to make sure her voice carried. “It’s okay. It’s okay for things to break. And it’s okay if we break, too.”

The ghost’s eyes faded in and out of its body again (possibly its method of blinking?), and the winds died down a little more. “But breaking… it’s bad!”

“No, breaking isn’t bad on its own. But we can’t just leave things broken, right?”

It shook its amorphous head. “N-no…” it said. “That’s bad…”

The books and papers slowly drifted down to the ground, and the curtains slowed to a flutter. “Not bad, just… incomplete,” Jazz reassured, offering a kind smile as she staggered to her feet. In the back of her head, she lamented about how tangled her long hair probably was after the whole ordeal. “It’s okay. We can make it right, but first, I need you to help me. Then I’ll be able to help you fix things, okay? We’ll fix you.” That last sentence wasn’t a phrase she was normally okay with using - all of her books told her that telling patients they needed “fixed” only made things worse - but this ghost seemed to have a limited vocabulary to some degree.

“Fix the tower?”

She hesitated. “How about we start with something smaller first?” she asked, trying to reach a compromise. She still didn’t know what this tower even was; she had no clue if it could even be fixed in the first place. She didn’t want to make a promise she couldn’t keep.

The ghost’s eyes shone from the reflection of its ectoplasmic tears and the slightest glimmer of hope. “We’ll go fix it?”

“Absolutely. And I’ll be with you the whole time.” She chanced taking a few cautious steps towards the ghost. Her hands were folded behind her back; she was pretty sure she remembered Danny mentioning something about the motion being a universal sign of submission and peaceful intention for ghosts, especially since many of the more offensive powers needed use of the hands to work. “Do you want to see?”

It eyed her warily. She could practically see the gears turning in its head as it processed what she said.

Finally, as the last of the winds died down, it extended a foggy hand towards her. “Take me?” it asked as if it were a small child and she was its mother.

Smiling, she took the ghost’s hand.

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temper (v.): (1) to moderate or mitigate; (2) to soften or tone down

#danny phantom #dannymay #dannymay2023 #dannymay 2023 #danny phantom jazz #jazz fenton #danny phantom fanfic #hannah writes

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