A/N: Just a change of pace from my normal stuff. I might be watching too much Netflix lately.
Disclaimer: Obviously not mine, but still fun to play with.
Years of throwing punches and shoving the smaller boy into walls, desks, and lockers, and only now, watching Danny Fenton sitting at his usual table under the largest tree in the school yard, sans his loser friends for the moment, did Dash realize that maybe, just maybe, there was a bit more to his bullying the other than he'd thought.
He didn't deal well with change, everyone knew that. This realization was change, BIG change. So Dash stood, lips already curled with the same dislike he always showed Fenton, dislike that he could twist with anger to cover the change he felt was coming. A gentle hand on his arm drew his attention from his target and he looked down at Jasmine Fenton, her pale eyes soft with concern. Dash let the older girl pull him down, only a little reluctant. She was a nerd, but he respected her, for her spirit and caring nature, the older sister he'd never had, but on rare occasions wished he did.
He should be more angry at her, being the catalyst for the realization he was sure would haunt him, her and that psychology crap she was always plugging. Dash had known he'd regret it when she finally turned her sights to him, and he wasn't wrong. He should have nipped it in the bud, rather than playing along with her questions. But there was apparently a part of him that could no longer be contained. He shook his head, then shoved trembling fingers through his blond hair. He cast another look at Danny from across the yard. He was looking down, his face intent as he studied what looked like their English text book, his lunch at his left hand, half eaten and seemingly forgotten. The boy looked up when his friends showed up, the Goth calling his name so that he smiled and waved in response. Dash recognized the feeling that settled in his chest then, and fought the flush that rose on his cheeks, jerking his gaze away from the small brunet. His eyes landed on Kwan, sitting across from him and watching him closely. "What?" he snapped, and felt better for having released even that small bit of annoyance.
Kwan shrugged, unconcerned with Dash's sharp tone. They'd been friends long enough that the blond's mood swings hardly phased him anymore, and Dash knew it, used it whenever he couldn't find the right nerd to take it out on. "Thought you knew, man," Kwan said, and took another few bites of his sandwich, his gaze still thoughtful. "You always were a little hung up on him, and you never let anyone else near him." He shrugged again, as if it had all been obvious from the start.
And maybe it had. Dash cast an anxious look around the schoolyard, wondering how many others had figured it out if Kwan, Kwan of all people, knew. That nerd? Maybe that one there? Dash caught the creepy Goth chick watching him and slammed his hands on the table as he pushed himself up, heat rising to his face as he scowled at her. "This is bull," he hissed, to Kwan and Jasmine, to himself, and he stalked away. Nerds trembled at his approach but he ignored them, sending a particularly fierce glare at Fenton as he passed the boy's table, but not bothering to stop.
He needed to hit something, to make a lot of noise and trash a room. All of it at once would be best, so he headed for the gym, tossing his jacket to the lowest bench on the bleachers and grabbing a basketball from the rack, rolled out for the next class. The slam of the ball against the backboard was satisfying, the squeal of his sneakers on the floor easing his anger with familiarity. He lost a ball to the stands, and another hit one of the fenced lights, leaving it swinging dangerously. He ignored it, grabbing another ball as he jogged past the stand. Sweat gathered on his forehead, and seeped through his shirt at his back and underarms. His breath came in fast bursts, the muscles in his legs strained as he sprinted, dodged, dribbled, and jumped, playing as intense a game against his imagined opponents as he ever had any given Friday night.
He heard the door open, and turned with a cry of frustration and annoyance at the interruption, letting his arm swing out and releasing the ball in his hand so that it flew across the room, hitting the wall near the door with shuddering force. Then he straightened, glowering at the boy standing shock still at the door, hand still on the handle. Danny stared at him, wide-eyed and mouth agape.
For the space of a few pounding heartbeats, the two simply stood there. Then Dash launched himself forward, and Fenton's eyes grew wider, his mouth snapping shut as he shuffled back half a step, but too late. Dash fisted a hand at the collar of Fenton's shirt, pulling him fully into the gym and shoving him against the wall, only the length of his arm between them. He heard the door shut with a click, and knew Fenton's feet were toeing the floor, a nerd's sad attempt to gain purchase. The smaller boy's hands grasped at his wrist, short gasps slipping from between his lips as he struggled.
Dash took it all in, that feeling in his chest pushing against his usual anger and disgust to make itself known once more. Still, he protested. Things were simple, things were perfect! Fenton stilled against the wall, confusion crossing his face, clouding his blue gaze. "W-what?" he stuttered, straining against Dash's grip on his shirt.
Had he said that aloud? Dash supposed he had, but he never had been good at keeping his emotions in check. "Thing's don't have to change," he finally spat, shaking Fenton a little. "They don't." Fenton's face was turning red, his mouth working wordlessly, and Dash realized the other boy was having trouble breathing. He lowered his arm enough for Fenton to get his feet on the floor, and after long minutes the flush faded from his face.
"P-progress," he stammered, still a little breathless. Dash narrowed his eyes at the boy. Fenton pulled his chin up, his fingers tightening on Dash's wrist. "Without change, there can be no progress."
Fenton didn't know what he was saying, Dash could tell by the confusion that still lingered on the boy's face. Chances were he was just saying whatever he thought would gat Dash to let him go. But the words still struck home. Change was progress, he supposed that much was true. And when he thought about it, five or ten years from now, did he really want to be in the same place, stuck in the glory of his high school days, too busy looking back that he never moved forward? He looked at Fenton, still against the wall, taking as deep breaths as Dash's grip would allow, eyes closed as if trying to keep calm. It was like standing at the edge of the diving board, looking down into the pool and unable to see the bottom. Just how far was that drop? And how far beneath the water would he go? Would he swim or just drown?
Did he want to find out?
Fenton's eyes opened, the confusion and fear gone, waiting. Dash relaxed his grip, only barely, as he stepped forward, resting his forearm on the wall near the smaller boy's head. Only inches separated them, and Dash felt a smile curve his lips as the confusion came back. "Dash?" Fenton asked, his voice just a whisper, so close that Dash felt the air of that small sound brush against his face. He felt oddly calm, the anger and annoyance and denial that his frenzied exercise hadn't been able to diminish falling away so it was only him. Dash and Danny.
"Do you want it to stay the same, Danny?" he asked, leaning closer, their faces only a breath apart. Fenton's eyes were wide again, perhaps surprised by Dash's use of his first name, or scared of the lack of distance between them. "Do you want to stay where you are?"
Fenton turned slightly away, his eyes scanning what he could see of the gym doubtfully, the he looked back to Dash. "Here?" he replied, his hands loosening on Dash's wrist.
Dash laughed then, a low chuckle at Fenton's cluelessness. "Stay where we are, or together move forward," he murmured, not sure where he'd heard the phrase but knowing anyway that it was meant for him, and for Danny Fenton, in this moment.
Fenton's head tilted to the side, brows furrowed. "Together?" he murmured, and Dash nodded, at last coming to a decision. Closing the distance between, he let his lips meet Danny's lightly, only the barest of touches. Danny froze beneath him, his hand slipping completely from Dash's wrist to hover uncertainly in the space between them, and then he finally let it rest softly on Dash's shoulder, his palm warm through the thin cotton of the taller boy's shirt.
The other hadn't hit him, or pushed him away, or tried to turn away that kiss. Dash wasn't optimistic enough to take it as a good sign, but hope bloomed nonetheless, and he let go of Danny's shirt, letting his hand slide, open palmed, until he was cupping the other boy's cheek with a gentleness that belied his earlier violence. Beneath his lips, he felt Danny's mouth open, letting out the smallest gasp, and he pressed the advantage, and his luck, deepening the kiss as his eyes drifted closed. Danny's fingers tightened on his shoulder, his other hand drifting down and finally resting on Dash's arm.
The harsh clanging of the bell that signaled the end to their lunch period echoed loudly through the silent gym, its harsh tones, startling Fenton, and the boy jumped beneath his hands, tearing his mouth away and looking at Dash with a mix of wonder and fear and confusion. Dash was reluctant to end this, fearful that the peace he felt, and the affection for this boy he thought he disliked, might disappear. So he held still, watching Fenton's face and eyes. "Dash," he said, his voice low, " you-"
The bell's second ring cut off whatever Fenton might have said and pushed Dash back to reality. With a small sigh, he let his hands dropped from Fenton, stepping a few paces back and shoving his fists into his pockets. When Fenton made no move to leave, only watching him with those pale eyes, Dash jerked his head to the door. "You'll be late," he told the other boy.
As if the words lifted a spell, Fenton nodded and jolted away, grabbing his dropped bag in a flurry of movement and rushing to the door. His hand on the handle, Danny looked back to Dash. "I," he started, red flooding his cheeks as he blushed, then met Dash's gaze in an almost determined manner. "I didn't-" He looked at the door with wide eyes as the sound of dozens of voices and twice as many felt came closer, then flicked back to the blond still standing silently. "I didn't hate it," he finished and flung the door open as he bolted from the gym.
Dash felt his brows raise, and a smile formed as he watched the door close behind the smaller boy. He picked up the forgotten basketball, slightly flat from the too hard hit against the wall, and carried it to the rack on the sidelines. Almost absently he set it down, and grabbed another, turning it in his hands as he fought back his own fear. There was really no going back, and he took deep breaths as he told himself that, ignoring the final bell as he passed to center court. He closed his eyes and imagined Danny's face, that soft flush, and too bright eyes, those warm lips on his. Dash opened his eyes, looking down briefly at the ball in his hands before throwing, watching with satisfaction as, for the first time that day, the ball sunk into the basket. Dash left the ball at the end of the court, walking for his jacket and throwing it on as he headed to the door, pleased to find the peace Danny's presence had given him hadn't left.
Together forward. It was really the best way to handle change.