Author's Note
Question: Why?
Answer: Because I'm feeling exceptionally evil today, and I've always wanted to write something about Jazz. A sudden wave of inspiration hit me last Friday before my exams, and now that they're over and it still hasn't fizzled out, you're about to see the result. I reckon I'm going to be a fair bit more productive in the weeks to come... ;)

Blanket Disclaimer
I do not, by any stretch of the truth, own Danny Phantom. DP is the intellectual property of Butch Hartman, Nickelodeon and Viacom; all I did was put a story together.

Psyched Out

It was just another one of those times. Occasionally, they'd strike me unexpectedly. It's those little, tiny things that you notice over the years. They can sway you, make you apprehensive – but I still didn't think much of this. Essentially, it was exactly the same as what I'd already been feeling over the years.

But... this time, was there just this slight degree of anger to go with it? That's why this particular incident is more than noteworthy; it never happened with feelings of anger. Usually, it's just a feeling of a particular emotion that washes over you; not originating from inside but instead from the person next to you. In my case, that's Danny.

Ages have gone by since the original accident. Years. But it benefited him in ways that I don't even think he understands. It's not what he can do; it's mentally and morally what he's gained. Danny's less foolhardy now than ever, and has the level of maturity expected of someone at least twice his age. It's hard to imagine that sixteen years ago, when he was fourteen, he was just a klutzy kid who did averagely at school and liked to hang out with his friends. Life was so much different back then.

When I was packing to go to Harvard, it struck him, though. Harvard's in Massachusetts, which isn't exactly what you'd call close to Illinois. It was the first time I'd felt a wave from him, though, and it was such an incredible feeling of loss. He didn't want to see me go, I could tell, and though he tried to hide it, I think his ghost half was betraying him.

On my way to Massachusetts via rail, I had a lot of time to think. Somehow, I'd managed to get an entire cabin to myself, so it wasn't as if there were any annoying distractions. For most of the time, I watched the landscape and towns zip past, jumping from one side of the window to the other. But I never actually noticed much of it, too caught up in my own thoughts. I wasn't even sure that Danny knew what he'd done, as he'd kept his act up so well. But there was still a questionable thought; had mum or dad felt it, too? Or was it just me? They still didn't know about Danny's ghost half, despite having made a truce with Phantom; so I couldn't just walk up and ask them.

But, I had to reason, if his ghost half was betraying him, then wouldn't that mean that Phantom had a slight mind of his own? But he was always Danny...

By the time I'd gotten to Cambridge, I'd found that I'd thought everything about the subject that there was to think about. More evidence was required, and possibly a chat, but that wouldn't be possible with so many states between us.

Over the six years I spent studying psychiatry, I forgot about it. And while I came home for every extended break period, nothing funny ever really arose during that time. I'd dismissed it as a quirk and stopped it from making me worry. God knows there were enough quirks in my life anyway; my parents kept a portal to another dimension in the basement. Not much tops that for quirky. Except maybe the fact that my brother was a half human half ghost hybrid. But that was more freaky than quirky, in the end.

However, the real worries had come after I'd graduated. I was a qualified psychiatrist, and while I'd started to work at a clinic with patients, I always kept an eye on my little brother. On a regular basis, ghosts still fled from the portal and proceeded in an attempt to tear up Amity Park. Something had to be done, and he was the "lucky" person to get landed with the job. Not that mum and dad weren't good at making lots of anti-ghost devices, but often they'd take odd things out into combat that obviously weren't going to work; like the Fenton Anti-Creep Stick, which was nothing more than a baseball bat with the word Fenton on it. I kept telling them they should use a thermos, but they insisted that they should be finding new and innovative ways to take the ghosts out.

Danny was now thirty. He knew what he was doing, but he didn't have a job. Our parents didn't mind keeping him around the house, so long as he did at least some of the work that needed to be done. (like stacking the dishwasher, mopping the floor, and, terrifyingly, cleaning the basement sink) Danny came down to the house I was paying off a mortgage on in Southern Amity Park every weekend, and we'd spend about two hours talking to each other. It was a release I think he needed, every now and then.

But these 'waves of emotion', as I called them – I didn't want them to go unchecked. So that day, I asked him if he actually knew what was happening. He shook his head and tilted a brow in confusion. I was so sure that he had absolutely no idea that it was going on at all, but the wave that hit me directly after his actions was, rather than extremely confused, much more... angry, than anything else. But he said that he wasn't angry at all when I asked. He sounded completely truthful. But when he went home, I wasn't entirely convinced.

By setting out to find the source of a seemingly mild and generally docile fact of life for Danny, I had absolutely no idea what I was getting myself – and my little brother – into.