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Danny flies higher, the air thinning around him.
He reaches out, as if he'd be able to feel a barrier as he passes through the layers of Earth's atmosphere.
Sam and Tucker had helped him test if he needed to breathe while in ghost form. He did breathe, out of habit. But as far as they could tell, as long as he didn't think about it, not out of need.
He could handle the cold in his ghost form.
And if he could move through solid objects while intangible, surely a vacuum would be no problem.
Or at least he hoped so.
He trusted— he hoped— that if he couldn't handle leaving Earth's atmosphere that he'd realize that before he left the point of no return. Or that if he passed out he'd fall back to Earth, and would wake up before he hit the ground and take flight again.
But now that the idea had crossed his mind, he had to test it.
He had to know.
Making it to space the normal way was always a long shot, and that was before his grades took a nose dive after he died. But if he could make it to space another way? Danny didn't know how to word what that would mean to him.
He'd see how far he could get in their allotted time, and then go back, and depending on how it went, he'd try again.
He wasn't sure how high he was.
He'd left cloud cover long ago.
He zeroed in on his target, gravity more suggestion than rule as he chased the stars, the moon growing closer in his sights.
He's not sure at what point he should call the experiment a success. The moon is growing closer than he ever dreamed it would.
He puts on a last burst of speed, stopping at the last moment. His adrenaline boils up inside him, and he stares at the moons surface, almost afraid to land. He did it. He's in space.
Danny's ghost sense goes off.
He bites back a groan— really, all the way out here?— a sharp bark cueing him in to the direction. "Cujo?" Danny questions, but as the thought crosses his mind he dismisses it, the pitch of the bark off.
Danny turns towards the sound to see a small dog running towards him. Ripples spread from her paws as if she were a skipping stone on a calm lake, her curled tail up and bouncing as she runs. Her fur glows in the starlight, the dark patches around her face almost blending in to the void around her and the white base glittering like constellations. Some sort off mutt, a terrier mix, maybe? She's wearing a harness— a space harness, not a space themed harness, but one for securing the animal during space flight— and Danny is struck by the realization that he knows this dog.
"Laika?" The word leaves his mouth without thought, echoing strangely in the lack of atmosphere.
Danny had researched her. Or rather, he had researched the space race, and learned of her from that.
She skids to a stop in front of him, dropping into a play bow. Her ears perk up, the tips flopping forward and waving in the air with the force of her barks, and as clearly as if she had said 'yes', he knew he was right.
The first living thing to leave Earth's atmosphere. And the first to die there.
She barks again, darting in an excited circle around him, "geez, you sure earn your name, huh little barker?"
She barks again—and did you earn your name through annoyance? Or endearment?— and playfully dives into his legs.
Danny laughs, "alright, alright, I got the memo, Laika." He sets a hand firmly below her neck, more shaking her whole body than petting her, but she soaks up the attention regardless, her tail wagging wildly. Her curled tail, Kudryavka, he'd butcher the pronunciation of her first name, but Little Curly certainly fits her.
The nickname, Zhuchka, Little Bug, flits to mind.
She was so loved.
But that wasn't enough to save her.
He moves to massage her ears.
He knew the stats of her. How her heart rate and breathing had spiked during launch. It had taken three times longer than projected for her to calm down.
He never expected to learn the feel of her.
Earth's little Patron Saint of One Way Trips.
She was never meant to return, Humanity hadn't mastered reentry yet. But rather than the planned euthanasia seven days into her trip, she overheated, and was dead by her fourth orbit of Earth, some seven hours into Sputnik 2's 162 day journey.
An alarm goes off.
Static comes through the Fenton phone in his ear. It didn't work correctly way out here, but he knew the intended message. He'd hit the halfway point in his time. Time to head back.
"I need to go, Laika." He feels like he is saying her name a lot, but she perks up at every use, and for all he knows it's the only word he has said that she recognizes. "Do you want to come back to Earth with me?"
He doesn't expect an answer.
And surely if she wanted to and was able, she would have by now.
Right?
She tilts her head to the side, not comprehending, before flopping onto the moon beneath them and rolling belly up, in the universal dog sign asking for belly rubs.
Danny pushes aside thoughts of her acting as a Church Grim aside, she was already a sacrifice for humanity's curiosity, she didn't need the burden of being the first buried in a space to protect the souls to come after.
He obliges her, for just a moment, before pulling back.
She rolls into a sitting position, staring up at him inquisitively.
Danny hesitates, unsure of what to say-
Apologize on behalf of humanity?
Explain?
Explain what?
It wasn't worth it-
We didn't learn enough-
You were so vital-
You led the way to the stars-
You are so loved-
Laika you-
"You're a good girl, Laika."
The phrase transcends languages, her tail thumping against the moon.
Danny kisses her nose, unknowingly mirroring her trainers before they sent he into space.
"I'll be back, I promise."
She licks his face, but stays where she sits as he flies backwards, keeping her in sight.