Darling Detective

Jazz promptly pulls her mouth back into a hiss, and spits out a quiet, vitriolic: “Yes.”

Wes Weston: a fourteen year old, ginger-haired boy in Jazz’s 8th grade class that’s been stalking her twelve year old baby brother since the beginning of the academic year. Maybe even before that.

Where Jazz is standing, she has a clear view of Danny and his friends huddled in a little alcove. Danny’s hiding a bruise on his cheek that he couldn’t get to heal fast enough this morning, when an impromptu ghost attack occurred during breakfast.

Jazz had distracted their parents to give him the time to run off, and when she ran into him at the school gate a few minutes ago, she stuffed a few snacks into his hands that she snagged from the pantry. He didn’t get to eat.

He’s leaning into Tucker’s side, some of his curls squishing against his friend’s shoulder, and he’s laughing at something Sam said.

The sight makes Jazz fond beyond words. Danny deserves his pockets of joy, he does so much for the city and never gets acknowledged for it.

What doesn’t make her fond, however, is being able to see the back of Weston’s head, peering around the corner — because Lemures is built strangely and asymmetrically, and Jazz is at a diagonal that allows her a great deal of sight across the quad — and watching her little brother.

There are other students around, coagulating in groups with their friends, but they’re hardly paying him much mind.

There are no teachers. They’re all inside, watching the kids in the gym, waiting to be dismissed for first period.

Jazz digs her nails into her palms and folds her arms into her chest, forcing some sort of pressure on herself so she doesn’t go up behind Weston and drag him to the ground by his stupid hair.

(It’d be the only fight Jazz Fenton would get in, and she has plenty of get-out-of-jail free cards to get away with it. It’d be only a slap on the wrist for her, and utter social death for Wes Weston.)

(All she would have to do is tell the truth anyways: Weston has been stalking her little brother. She has plenty of friends to confirm it for her — they’ve seen it too, both by her asking to snoop on her behalf, and witnessing it themselves independently — and even more willing to lie for her.)

(But if she did that, word would get out. “Danny Fenton has a stalker” would blaze through the grades like a bushfire.)

(It’d reach Danny’s ears, and it’d reach his bullies’ ears too. He’d be horrified and ashamed that something like that was found out, and they’d have material to attack him with.)

It’s a very near thing.

From the corner of her eye, Spike side-eyes her. “Do you want me to get him for you?” He asks, a displeased lilt in his voice.

Jazz’s eyes narrow; she tries to blow up Weston’s head with her gaze alone. “No.” ‘Not yet’ she almost says, because she’s terribly tempted.

Spike’s not as popular as she is, and he’s been in fights before. He can’t get it on his disciplinary record, and she’d need to gag-order him not to tell the teachers why he did it. It’d be a lose-lose all around, and only temporary relief.

She needs to figure out what to do, and fast. She’s been trying to take it slow ever since she found out about Weston’s stalking habit, gathering evidence and witness statements, plotting with her best friends on what to do.

But she’s not sure how much more of it Danny can take.

He’s trying to hide it, but it’s fraying on his mental state. She can tell.

(Jazz is not blind, and there’s a reason she picked up psychology after he died in their HOUSE had his accident. It was to help figure out what was wrong.)

(Like all the times before, it was coming in about as handy as Cassandra’s curse.)

And he has so much to deal with already.

(Jazz peeked into his room once. It was 3am and she woke up sweating from the heater. She’d gone to mess with the thermostat in the hallway, and saw Danny’s glow from beneath his door.)

(She’d laid down flat on the floor to peer underneath, too nervous to actually knock and offer her assistance.)

(They’ve been getting close again ever since Danny told her about dying his powers. But there’s still a glass wall there that Jazz can’t climb yet.)

(She misses the way their relationship used to be, the grief gnaws in the pit of her chest like a gaping wound some nights.)

(But she’d peered under the door one night anyways, and saw him bleeding out across the carpet. Green, viscous, with Danny staring blankly at the ceiling like a corpse.)

(The same way she found him in Mom’s arms the day of his accident. This time, he wasn’t breathing.)

He looks so tired these days when he thinks nobody’s looking. Jazz is always looking out for her baby brother.

So she has to do something soon, before Weston breaks off more of whatever’s left of him.

(Vlad’s doing enough of that already. She’s never forgiven herself for encouraging their family to stay in that house and allowing Masters to get his hands on Danny.)

(She should’ve stayed close. Shouldn’t have left him alone. She wants to snap Vlad’s neck some days.)

(Jazz doesn’t know when she became so violent. Probably around the same time her brother died.)

Her thoughts trail off as she sees Weston shift, tilting to the side — for a fleeting, glorious moment, she thinks he’s going to leave — and reaching into the pocket of his jacket.

He pulls out his phone — Jazz’s stomach twists — and taps his thumb across it briefly. Turning back towards Danny, she catches, even from a distance, the familiar buttons of the camera app.

(She’s had her SUSPICIONS—)

Her blood runs cold.