The End
Chapter 1
“Listen. I’ve met a lot of great asteroids. Really fantastic asteroids. And they’ve all told me themselves — they said that I was a great president. All of them said that — all one hundred thousand asteroids. I was there.”
The camera switches to Tiffany Snow, sitting at the anchor desk.
“This is what President Drumpf had to say yesterday regarding NASA’s claims that an unforeseen asteroid is approximately 21 days from hitting the Earth, creating an extinction-level event on par with what took out the dinosaurs,” Snow states with a cheerful smile. “Polls suggest that approximately 48.2% of the population believe NASA’s claims to be a hoax; 29.5% believe it’s the end of the world; and 22.3% is undecided. Lance, can you tell us a bit about Amity Park’s response to NASA’s claims?”
The camera switches to a street view outside of Amity Park’s capitol building. People crowd the streets, many of them yelling and holding signs. Some signs read “THE END IS NIGH”. Others say “ASTEROID SHMASTEROID”. A few say “DEFUND NASA”. One sign says “[citation needed]”.
“Certainly, Tiffany,” Lance Thunder replies, nearly shouting over the crowd. “As you can see here, tensions are high in Amity Park. Citizens gather to make their voices heard amidst NASA’s claims of doom and gloom. Hey, Bob, what do you think of NASA’s statement?”
Thunder turns to a middle aged man beside him wearing a bright red cap. The man bends to put his face by the microphone Thunder is brandishing.
“It’s fake news, is what it is! I mean, come on! How does a freaking asteroid come out of nowhere? It’s a China conspiracy, I tell you!”
Bob nods, and Thunder takes back the microphone. “Well, you heard it here, folks. Amity Park’s citizens think NASA’s claims are a ho—“
“THE END IS NIGH!”
A woman wearing a sign with the same message butts in, snatching the microphone from Thunder.
“The Disasteroid cometh for us all! Soon it will be Judgement Day and all of you Non Believers will be found Wanting!”
Thunder squawks. “Hey! That is APN property! Give that back!”
The camera turns to focus on Thunder and the woman as they fight over the microphone, their squabbling barely audible over the feedback. Then the feed cuts back to Tiffany Snow.
“Wow Lance, looks like no one can break Amity Park’s spirit,” Snow says with a grin. “In other news, Congress has voted to defund NASA—”
The TV clicks off.
Danny carefully puts down the remote before he allows himself to shake. His fists clench, and he hides them under folded arms, lest they be seen bursting into ectoplasmic flame. His face feels taut, teeth clenched, eyes abnormally dry. Toxic green edges his vision, and he clamps his eyes shut, lest they be seen glowing green with his anger.
And oh, he is angry.
NASA is a world leader in space aviation and exploration, and Congress is defunding them. And for what? Because they told the truth? Because there’s a humongous asteroid about to hit the Earth? They should be funneling emergency money towards NASA, not taking money away! The world needs NASA, now more than ever! Danny has seen the images NASA shared — the images the media doesn’t dare share, lest the wrath of one President Drumpf befall them. He doesn’t know how everyone missed it — it’s huge and it’s glowing green and no stars glow green like that — but now that everyone knows about it, there should be some sort of plan to stop it, right? Wrong! The president says it’s fake news, and Congress follows suit, and the biggest space programs in the world can’t agree on what to do about it when half the world doesn’t even think it’s real and oh god we’re gonna die like actually 100% die and it’s not ghosts it’s not Pariah Dark it’s a big fucking SPACE ROCK that’s going to do us in for good and there’ll be no more habitable Earth and no more Ghost Zone and we’re all going to DIE—
A hand touches Danny’s knee, and he gasps, eyes flying open, cringing away from the contact.
Through the green haze in his vision he sees bright orange and immediately shuts his eyes again. They can’t see, can’t see him freak out, can’t see his powers freak out with him—
The hand touches his knee again, and he freezes at the touch, body tense, teeth clenched, eyes shut tight. Another hand touches his arm and he takes in a breath, shuddering as the hand slowly moves to his shoulder, and then to his back, rubbing large, soothing circles. Danny tries to time his breathing to the circles, like Jazz had taught him to, and slowly the blood rushing in his ears (when had that happened?) quiets to a dull roar.
“There we go Danny, see, just breathe. You’re okay. You’re at home, and Mom and Dad are out, and you don’t have to hide.”
Danny uncurls slightly at the sound of his sister’s voice. He opens his eyes a crack — just enough to see past the green haze — and really looks this time. The orange isn’t the same shade as his dad’s jumpsuit — it’s a lighter, more natural color, and it surrounds a face with concerned, green eyes. Jazz. Jazz is here, and she has her hand on his knee, and she’s rubbing circles into his back, and he’s kind of sort of getting the hang of breathing with the rhythm of those circles. He leans into her, and she bundles him into a hug, still rubbing circles into his back.
The front door opens, and Danny and Jazz both freeze. Jazz said Mom and Dad are out, but what if they’re back? They can’t see him like this, they’ll find out!
Danny has half a mind to just turn invisible when their voices hit his ears.
“Man, dude, did you see what Congress did to NASA? That’s so unfair!”
“It’s totally unfair! They’re just telling the truth! This whole administration is the absolute worst!”
Tucker. Sam. Danny relaxes slightly at their voices, but he doesn’t turn around — doesn’t want them to see him like this, either.
But it’s too late.
“Woah, dude, you okay?”
“Danny!”
He hears them rush over to him — feels their worry and the warmth of their bodies as they get close — and tenses up again. He should be better than this, stronger than this! He shouldn’t be freaking out about some dumb news report.
Not just a dumb news report, his brain helpfully supplies. We’re all going to die. And there’s nothing you can do about it.
All of a sudden, Jazz’s embrace feels too tight. To constraining. Trapping him where he is.
He slips intangible and flees from Jazz, flees from his friends — flees upwards, up through the ceiling and through the roof and through the Ops Center, flees until there’s no more house to flee from. He lands hard on the roof of the Ops Center, scraping his knees but it doesn’t matter, hands scorching the metal but who cares, it’s just the end of the world—
He pulls his knees to his chest and buries his head in them, his face screwing as he tries to get a hold of himself, tries to rein himself in, it’s just the end of the world, just the end of Mom and Dad and Jazz and Sam and Tucker and school and movies and parks and people and everything and everyone he’d ever tried to protect—
“Bite this.”
Danny feels something cool touch his lips, and he bites down — then coughs and spits as bitter rind and sour citrus burst in his mouth.
He looks up to see Tucker triumphantly brandishing a whole lemon with a chunk bitten out of it. Sam and Jazz stand to either side of him, varying levels of worry and amusement fighting for dominance in their faces. Danny spits again, and stares at the bits of rind and lemon pulp that vacate his mouth.
“What the hell?”
“Told you it’d work!” Tucker crows.
“A lemon?” Danny splutters.
“It’s an... unorthodox grounding technique,” Jazz responds, “and it normally isn’t administered like that—“
“Point is, it works,” Sam interjects. “How’re you feeling?”
Danny stares at the three of them for a moment. Then he sighs and chuckles darkly. “The worlds going to end because too many people don’t believe NASA about an asteroid hurtling towards Earth, and Tucker made me bite into a lemon. How am I supposed to feel?”
He sighs again, long, hard, and shuddering, and he lets himself fall backwards onto the warm metal of the Ops Center roof. Jazz lies down across from him, and Sam and Tucker lie to either side of him, all their heads nearly touching. The sky above them is bright blue, clear of clouds. Birds flit across Danny’s vision, twittering as they chase each other before flying off to who knows where. Does it even matter? They’ll all be dead in a few weeks.
“I don’t want to die again.”
The words slip from his mouth, and he feels his breath hitch, watches as his vision goes blurry. His hands begin to clench into fists — but then Sam and Tucker take his hands, massaging the tension from his fingers and palms, and Jazz runs her hand through his hair like she used to do when they were kids and he’d had a nightmare, and something in him breaks.
A sob wrenches itself from his throat, and he curls in on himself. His sister and friends move to hold him close, and he can’t help but lean into their touch. They hold him as his eyes glow green, as his hands fist into the metal of the roof, as his sobs take on a ghostly tinge, nearly wailing his grief and his anger and his fear into the sky. He shudders as he cries, and feels as they shudder with him — feels as Sam and Tucker push their faces into his shirt, and as Jazz buries her face in his hair — feels as his shirt and his head where their faces lie become damp.
Crying. They’re crying.
And it’s his fault.
A wave of guilt washes over him, and he wants to pull away again, wants to force himself to stop crying, to be strong for them. But their grips on him tighten, and they speak to him, words warped by their own tears. “Just let it out,” Tucker mutters into his back. “It’s okay to cry,” Sam whispers into his shoulder. “You don’t have to hide,” Jazz repeats into his hair.
But beneath their words, beneath their tight hold on him and the way they push their faces against him is a hidden plea: “Stay,” they say.
Please stay.
So Danny stays.
Danny stays, and they cry together, and the sun shines down upon them from the clear blue sky.
*~*~*
Danny doesn’t know how long it’s been. Only that he’s no longer crying, and that his friends and sister are no longer crying. They’ve melted into a cuddle pile of four, with Danny at the center, and the sun beats down on them from a different angle than before. Danny has wound up with his head in Jazz’s lap, and she’s playing with his hair. Sam and Tucker are on top of him, still holding his hands. Their weight is comforting.
Danny is exhausted. He just wants to fall asleep and deal with everything later. Crying in front of your friends and sister will do that, his brain helpfully supplies. So will the end of the world.
He sighs heavily and moves to sit up. Sam and Tucker get off him, still holding his hands, and Jazz helps him up, moving from playing with his hair to rubbing circles on his back. He smiles faintly at all of them.
“Thanks, guys,” he whispers hoarsely. He really does have the best friends and best sister in the world.
Too bad they’re all going to die in three weeks.
He frowns and sighs again, too tired to cry.
“It’s heavy stuff, huh,” Jazz says gently. Danny looks back at her, an eyebrow raised. She continues. “The thought of everything ending like that — it’s really hard to think about. Hell, I’m having trouble processing it.” She smiles gently at him. “It’s okay to be scared and angry, and it’s okay to be scared and angry in front of us. You don’t have to hide.”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” Danny mutters. “No more running away.”
“Good,” Sam remarks. “Now, what are we going to do about everything?”
“What do you mean?” Danny asks.
“You know. The asteroid?” Sam raises an eyebrow.
“Oh yeah. That.” Danny frowns down at the roof of the Ops Center. The metal is warped and singed where his hands had dug into it. “What are we supposed to do about that?” He looks back up at Sam. Her eyes bear into his, and her grip on his hand tightens.
“Look, I know this is hard for you. It’s hard for me, too. But we can’t just sit here and do nothing.”
Danny frowns at her. He opens his mouth to respond, but Tucker gets there first.
“Look, I know we need to have this conversation, I really do. But can we have it inside? The metal’s starting to get really hot.” Tucker stands up, rubbing his free hand on his jeans from touching the roof.
Danny sighs and stands up, stretching the kinks from his back. Sam and Jazz stand up with him.
“On it,” Danny says. “Everyone hold tight.”
He feels Sam’s and Tucker’s grips tighten on his hands, and he feels Jazz grab his shoulder. With a poke at his core, he tugs them all intangible, slipping through the roof to the refreshingly cool interior of the Ops Center. He lets go of intangibility and lets gravity embrace them slowly, gently depositing them all on the floor of the Ops Center. Then he lets go of his friends’ hands and steps forwards, turning so he’s facing the three of them.
“So, what are we supposed to do, huh? Half the world thinks the asteroid’s a hoax, and the other half either doesn’t have the money to do anything, or is stuck in petty arguments about what to do and who’s to blame and all that shit.” Danny crosses his arms and frowns.
“Dude, you’re the Ghost King,” Tucker’s quick to reply. “Doesn’t that mean you can, like, do anything?”
Danny facepalms. “Oh my god, Tucker, I’m not the Ghost King. I told the Observants I don’t want any part of it. And besides, even if I were, who’s going to listen to me? Klemper? The Box Ghost? I’m sure they can convince the world to get its shit together!”
“Hey!” Sam interjects. “You can’t just focus on what we can’t do. We need to focus on what we can do, as a team.”
“Oh, and what can we do, Sam? We’re way out of our depth here! The four of us can’t stop the asteroid from hitting Earth!”
“You’re right, Danny,” Jazz says. Sam and Tucker gape at her.
“But dude—”
“You can’t just—”
“Hey, let me speak!” Jazz waits until Sam and Tucker close their mouths — Tucker with a perplexed look on his face, Sam with an expectant frown.
“We are out of our depth,” Jazz states. “We don’t have the resources or political pull here on Earth or in the Ghost Zone to make a significant difference.” She pauses. “But we know someone who does.”
It takes a moment, but Sam gets it first.
“Oh, ew, we are not asking him for help!”
“Wait.” Tucker says. “Asking who for—” horror dawns on his face. “Oh, no. No no no. We can’t! Why would you even think of that?”
“Think of what?” Danny asks, a little annoyed that he doesn’t get it.
“Asking Vlad,” Sam, Tucker, and Jazz reply.
“Oh, ew!” Danny says automatically.
Jazz rolls her eyes. “It’s not like I want to talk to him either! I just think given the circumstances, we don’t have much choice.”
“There’s always a choice, Jazz,” Sam retorts. “He’ll probably try and force Danny to stay with him in exchange for his help.”
“Yeah, Jazz,” Tucker adds. “He’s a slimeball. Who knows how he’ll try to play this to his advantage.”
“But—”
‘I think Jazz is right,” Danny says.
Sam, Tucker, and Jazz stare at Danny, flabbergasted. Danny blushes.
“Well, it’s like Jazz said — I don’t want to, but I don’t think we have a choice. We need his help. And besides,” he says with a smirk, “the man is way too narcissistic. He doesn’t want to die because half the world doesn’t believe what’s right in front of their faces.”
“And we can use that to our advantage,” Jazz adds. “He knows he’ll need help with whatever scheme he’s plotting, and there isn’t enough time for him to be picky.”
“So, what? We go to him for help, and threaten to walk if he tries to pull anything?” Sam raises an eyebrow.
“Exactly.” Jazz and Danny grin at each other.
Tucker sighs and pulls out his PDA. “Alright, fine. One meeting with one seriously messed up frootloop coming right up.”
Danny stares. “Dude, what are you doing?”
Tucker looks up. “Um, scheduling a meeting with our evil mayor?”
Sam shakes her head. “He’s probably booked. We’ll have better luck if we just show up.”
Jazz nods. “He’s probably expecting us anyways.”
Tucker sighs and puts away his PDA. “Alright, fine. But can we take a moment to clean up? I don’t know about you guys, but my face is crusty.”
Danny looks at his friends and sister. Their hair is a mess, and their eyes are still rimmed red. Sam’s mascara has dried after running down her face, and Tucker’s glasses and Jazz’s headband are askew. Danny figures he doesn’t look much better.
He nods. “Alright. But after that, we have a meeting with one seriously messed up frootloop!”
Author’s Notes:
News report inspired by this tumblr post - which is also inspired by the political climate of 2020.