The first thing Danny was aware of was how incredibly comfortable he felt. He was swaddled in soft warmth, body floating as though he were bobbing effortlessly on a breeze. It was the rare sensation of sleeping in on a summer morning, something he hadn't gotten to do in so long… He smiled and tried to roll over, to burrow further into this feeling.
His body did not move.
The smile became a frown. He tried again to turn over, and his limbs continued to float in warm bliss, completely disconnected from him. Now that he was really focusing on them, Danny realized he could not actually feel his arms or legs. Past his torso, it was like the rest of his body did not exist.
Fear flickered in his chest. He told himself not to panic. Sam had told him all about sleep paralysis during that phase when she had been training herself to lucid dream; sometimes the mind woke up before the body, and that was completely normal, no need to freak out.
On the other hand, Danny had dozens of enemies who wanted to exterminate, experiment on, or tear him apart in creative ways. Waking up and not being able to move was not comforting. There were a million reasons besides sleep paralysis as to why this might be happening to him, and most of them were not good.
Danny put all of his concentration into his face, specifically his leaden eyelids. They responded - not very readily, but at least they, if nothing else, were on board with the whole 'waking up' idea and slowly dragged themselves open. He blinked sluggishly a few times, simultaneously retraining his eyelids in the motion and trying to hook his memories around the ceiling he was staring at. It was a soft periwinkle blue in color, speckled with that popcorn effect that was a typical feature of many bedroom ceilings - but not Danny's, which had sloping wooden beams. Rocking his head minisculely to the right and left, Danny felt ninety-nine percent certain his head was on a pillow, which meant he was laying in someone's bed. Just not his own. Neither was it Sam's or Tucker's. He'd returned to consciousness in both of their rooms enough times to recognize them immediately.
So whose room was this?
Why had he been unconscious in the first place?
And why couldn't he move?
He continued blinking, since that seemed the extent of things he could do right now. He gradually became aware of his mouth, how dry it felt. After a few seconds of struggling, his tongue and throat cooperated in a swallow, and he felt some salivation happening under his tongue. That was all well and good. Now he could do two things - blink and swallow, which, if a person was counting, was fewer things than even a newborn infant could do. By, like, a lot.
It was at times like these he had to actively remind himself that he was a superhero, because he sure didn't feel like it.
Since he could swallow, he figured that he might be able to use his vocal cords, too. He moved his attention a few centimeters below his swallowing capacity…
… and produced a desiccated, raspy squeak.
Okay, that wasn't promising. Exasperated, Danny closed his eyes, the muscles there clenching into the barest grimace.
"Phantom?" said a familiar voice.
Danny's eyes shot back open, and instead of the periwinkle ceiling, he was now staring up into the dark blue eyes of none other than Dash Baxter, self-proclaimed "king" of Casper High, star quarterback for the Ravens, and the bully who had made Danny Fenton's life a living hell in the five years between sixth and tenth grades.
Dash was also Danny Phantom's number one fan.
Yeah, that irony was never lost on Danny, either.
To be fair to the asshole - though why Danny should when Dash had never been fair to him - Dash had matured in the last year or so, graduating from physical violence and verbal abuse to simply pretending Danny didn't exist. That didn't mean he had graduated from Danny's list of human enemies. If Danny Fenton could claim a nemesis like Danny Phantom did, it would be Dash Baxter.
Making this the last place Danny would want to wake up after a decidedly crippling battle. He was completely at Dash's mercy. At least he hadn't transformed back to Fenton. Somehow. However that worked out, he was not going to worry about the why behind it. He wasn't exactly smart, but not even he was stupid enough to question the one scrap of luck the universe had tossed him...
But fuck.
Danny stared up at Dash, trying to school his limited range of expressions into something that wasn't panic and waiting for Dash to start his overly exuberant fangirl spiel. Geez, he was going to be a captive audience to that. Was this hell?
The football player stared down at him, his usually slicked-back hair messy and tangled like he hadn't brushed it, eyes wide, jaw hanging open slightly. Then, Dash's expression crumpled, and his eyes filled with tears.
What the…?
Dash vanished from Danny's line of sight, but Danny could hear him gasping for breath. Was Dash… crying? What?
"I'm sorry," said Dash, voice thick. He sniffed loudly. "I'm not… I didn't mean to… I'm just so fucking relieved. I thought you were dead."
Danny vaguely felt a weight against his chest. "Thank God," said Dash, his voice muffled. From the angle those words reached Danny's ears, it didn't take much to figure out that Dash had pressed his face into Danny's chest and was literally crying on top of him. He felt the pressure on his chest shuddering in time with Dash's shaky breaths.
At that moment, being almost entirely paralyzed was the best thing in the world. Danny had no idea how he would have responded to this otherwise and was glad to have the responsibility taken from him.
After a minute or so, Dash seemed to calm down. The weight lifted from Danny's chest, and he heard the quarterback sniffling again. His face reappeared, skin pale and splotchy, eyes bloodshot and wet, his lips standing out bright red, quivering. "Are you okay?" asked Dash, voice rough. "How are you feeling?"
Danny blinked a few times, swallowed to wet his throat. He tried to say, Been better. He got as far as shaping the 'b' on his lips. His voice made a small sound like:
"Buh."
Dash's eyes widened. "Shit. You still can't move." He shifted so that Danny could only see the tousled top of his head, bobbing in and out of his sight. He felt some of the warmth pulled away from him, but very little else of whatever Dash was doing.
Dash's face reappeared, frowning with worry. "I can still see the poison." Then the warmth was returned. Blankets?
More importantly…
Poison? Danny wanted to say. In reality, he only got out another squeak. He settled for furrowing his eyebrows into what he hoped looked like confusion. He wished it was Tucker or Sam; they knew how disoriented he could feel after being knocked out in a fight. They always started his debrief with how long he had been out, what his wounds were, and the status of the other guy. They really spoiled him, actually.
Dash's eyes darted around his face. "Do you remember what happened?"
Danny stared at him. He twitched one brow up as skeptically as he could.
The blond winced. "Err, right. You can't talk… uh, can you, like, blink once for 'yes' and twice for 'no'?"
Danny blinked firmly once.
"Great. Great." Dash ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up in all directions. That would explain its disheveled state. Danny glanced down and saw that Dash was wearing a plain gray T-shirt. There was sweat dampening the collar. "So, uh, do you remember what happened?"
Two pointed blinks. No.
Dash grimaced. "Shit," he murmured. Louder, he went on: "I'm not really sure either, to be honest. I got the notification on my Ghost Spotters app that you were fighting a giant spider at the library. By the time I got there, the battle was over, and you were walking down the sidewalk, and you fainted, and you had these marks all over you like spider bites, I guess? And your skin looked like this-"
Dash held up a hand in front of Danny's face, supporting it at the wrist with his opposite hand like he didn't have the strength to hold it up otherwise. It was covered in lightning-like branches of sickly green energy that made Danny's core shrink in disgust and horror.
The football player must have seen some of this sentiment manifesting in his expression. "It looks worse than it is," he quickly explained, taking the hand away. "I can't feel it or move it, but it doesn't hurt. And I just have it on my hand and on my shoulder. It was all over you, man. And kinda still is. I mean, it's going away - I managed to get a lot of the venom out of you, and the marks have faded a lot since last night, so I think your body is trying to heal itself, or something?"
Dash's face flushed red; he averted his eyes and scratched the side of his neck. "I don't really understand how any of this works."
Danny realized then that Dash was blushing. Sure, Danny had seen Dash's face turn beet red on numerous occasions before, usually when he was extremely pissed off and about to wail on him. But this, this - this unsure expression that spoke to how embarrassed Dash was for being clueless about ghost stuff. Dash was being vulnerable, and modest, and was this even the same person who had once hung him from the flagpole by his underwear?
Danny closed his eyes, momentarily blocking out Dash Baxter to focus on something that made sense - for example, ghosts. He thought back to the battle against the Godzilla spider, which had been straightforward, if exhausting. Then he had gone inside the library…
He remembered the webbing, the eggs on the ceiling, how they had broken open and the spider spawn inside swarmed him. After that, everything was a little hazy.
If Dash was to be believed, he had defeated them and made it back outside of the library. Apparently they had bitten him all over, and now he was paralyzed - but healing.
He had a thousand questions he wanted to ask Dash, but couldn't. Where was the Fenton Thermos? How long had he been here? Did anyone else know he was here? Why had Dash gotten poisoned?
"Phantom?"
Danny opened his eyes again. Dash was frowning at him; he looked extremely worried. Danny twitched his eyebrows in a question.
"Do you think you'll be okay?"
Danny blinked once for 'yes'. He wasn't worried about that. Dash said the venom was receding, and Danny had managed to regain consciousness and some movement. His healing powers were impressive. Even now, he could feel his core burning in his chest, working to repair the damage done.
No, Danny's immediate worry was maintaining his ghost form while this healing happened. If he were to revert back to Fenton, now, he wouldn't be able to explain himself or to stop Dash from running away to tell the whole world.
Glancing around, Danny noticed Dash's desk in his periphery, to his right. He was able to prompt his muscles enough so that his head lolled sideways on the pillows. Now he was staring into the red, blinking numbers of Dash's digital alarm clock: 10:24 AM. He had been unconscious for at least seven hours, and that was considering this was even the same day as when he'd been knocked out.
Danny tried to turn his head back the way it was before, but his muscles were not strong enough to fight gravity. Sighing, he gave up and closed his eyes.
Warm, callused fingers slid across his face where it met the pillow. His eyes snapped open as Dash very gently turned his face upwards again.
The quarterback, hand still cradling the right side of Danny's face, chuckled softly and grinned. "Your face turns green when you blush?"
Danny hadn't realized he was blushing, but this time he felt the icy sensation of ectoplasm pooling in his face, his neck, even his ears, making Dash's palm feel hot in contrast. He stared at Dash, mortified, and then squeezed his eyes shut, groaning weakly.
Thankfully, Dash removed his hand. His voice was mirthful when he said, "You don't have to be embarrassed. It's natural you're gonna get hurt when you go around saving everybody all the time. But I guess nobody's seen you recovering before, huh?"
Danny was not going to confirm or deny any of that statement.
"You're safe here, Phantom. I'm not gonna tell anybody you were here, and I'm not gonna take pictures or anything like that. You can just get some rest and leave whenever you feel better."
Danny cracked open his eyes and peeked up at Dash, who was staring down at him earnestly. Saying that he was confused would be a gross understatement. Everything in his experience told him that he could not trust Dash, who besides being a bully was a huge braggart, entirely wrapped up in his own image and popularity. Why would the jock not use this opportunity to reinforce his position on the social food chain? Claiming he nursed the resident ghost-fighting superhero back to health? This was the stuff of local legends.
But this Dash standing in front of him was being kind, and gentle, and had even risked getting hurt when he saved Danny…
And that's exactly what he had done, Danny realized. If Dash hadn't found him unconscious on the sidewalk and taken him home, there was no telling on whose lab table he would have ended up. His parents, the Guys in White, Vlad - they all wanted a literal piece of him.
Dash had saved his life.
Danny studied his face. Dash looked haggard, like he hadn't slept a minute since finding Phantom. There was no excitement in his expression, just an unfamiliar, exhausted mixture of concern and relief.
Bizarrely, Danny believed him. He believed that, as long as he was here, Dash was going to do everything in his power to keep him safe.
So... this is my number one fan, huh?
Dash leaned out of Danny's sight again. He heard a chair creak and the jock let out a sigh. "That was a long night." An awkward moment of silence. "So, um, you wanna watch a movie or something while you're waiting? Do you like movies?"
Danny tried to shrug and got nothing. Irritated, quickly growing tired of this paralysis, he blinked hard for 'yes'.
A squeak, footsteps. Danny could just see Dash in the edge of his vision, moving around the room. He reappeared a minute or two later, holding a DVD box in front of Danny. The picture was stereotypically dark and creepy, an image of Nightmerica lurking in the background behind the bedframe of an unsuspecting sleeper. "It's old school, but have you seen the first 'Nightmare on Sycamore Street'?"
Blink. Yes.
Dash visibly deflated. "Well, crap." He turned, presumably to put up the disk, but Danny stopped him with a small sound of protest. Dash looked at him, and Danny raised his eyebrows once, emphatically, at the box. "Oh, wait, you want to watch it?"
BLINK. Hell yes.
Now Dash was beaming. "Sweet!"
Dash disappeared again. There was some clattering, and shortly he could hear the eerie background music of the DVD menu.
When Dash came back to the bedside, he smiled apologetically at Danny. "I'm going to have to sit you up. Sorry."
Danny felt the jock's arm slide underneath his shoulders. Then his torso was moving, his head lolling backwards on his limp neck, his arms hanging numbly like dead weights. The next second, his head rolled forward, and his forehead landed propped against Dash's warm collarbone. Danny's eyes widened, and he swallowed.
He could feel Dash reaching around him, doing something. Dash then shifted Danny's weight so that Danny's chin was resting on Dash's shoulder, his chest pressed against Dash's, and lifted him to move him backwards in the bed.
When Dash finally released him, Danny was sitting propped against the headboard, back and neck cushioned by pillows. Dash glanced him over. "You're blushing again," he pointed out.
Danny scowled, which only made Dash laugh.
The football player sat down in his computer chair next to the bed, leaning the back of the chair against the desk. He stretched his legs out in front of him and adjusted his right arm in his lap. "I swear I'm not laughing at you for being sick," he explained. "It's just… I've never seen you blush before. You usually look so confident, it's strange to see you look embarrassed."
Danny's face burned with cold. He was sure he must have been lit up like a neon green glow stick. Yes, he knew his ghost form blushed green - Sam had teased him about it before, mercilessly. Luckily his Fenton side was the one more prone to embarrassing himself, so it didn't happen very often. But now he was being nursed back to health by Dash Baxter, of all people, and he had never felt so weak, and the guy was laughing at him -
"It's kind of adorable."
Danny's eyes widened and locked onto Dash, but the jock had turned away from him. He was hanging his head, rubbing the back of his very red neck.
All of this was very weird, and Danny did not know how to feel about it.
"Erm." Dash cleared his throat. "I'm just going to start the movie." He pointed his remote to the TV, which was standing on his dresser on the opposite wall from his bed. The "play" button highlighted, and the menu screen dissolved into the opening credits.
Danny very purposefully focused on the movie. He'd watched it many times over the years. Between Nightmerica, Femalien, and Terminatrix, Nightmerica's movies had always been his favorite. He argued that they were the scariest because the idea that an evil ghost could invade people's dreams to hurt them seemed more realistic than any of the other movies' premises.
Point proven by Nocturn.
Yes, Danny had been totally smug during his friends' next movie night following that battle.
So it was easy now to let his mind wander into the familiar scenes and dialogue and to forget about the pile of shit he'd landed himself in this time. After a few minutes, his blush was gone, and as long as he didn't try to scratch his nose, Danny could easily pretend he wasn't paralyzed, that he was just a normal teen watching a movie as he took a sick day from school.
It was somewhere around the third slasher sequence when Danny heard snores coming from his right. He glanced over and saw that Dash had fallen asleep in his chair, chin dropped onto his chest and mouth hanging open. A thread of drool was dripping onto his shirt.
Wow. Dash must have been tired, to fall asleep in the middle of watching a movie with his hero, Danny Phantom. It confirmed Danny's suspicions that the other teen had stayed awake the whole night watching over him.
That was… strangely noble of him.
Huh. Noble. Dash.
Again - weird.
Danny's eyes dropped to his lap, where they froze. He was not wearing his suit. No jumpsuit, no gloves, nothing. Instead, Dash had dressed him in - what looked to be - cozy and adorable teddy bear pajamas.
Danny laughed once, a puff of air through his nose, and grinned wryly. Apparently Dash still had a thing for teddy bears and had no qualms about Phantom finding out. But that also meant… ectoplasm flooded his face again, for the third time since he had woken up here.
Dash had undressed him.
Just when he was coming to accept his totally helpless state at the mercy of Dash Baxter, he had to find out he'd been violated by the school bully, too. He was horrified. Danny wasn't sure if it was better or worse that he had been unconscious when this happened. He knew he wouldn't have wanted to be awake for it, but something about another guy stripping him naked while he was out cold sounded all sorts of wrong.
Stop it, Fenton. The Yetis in the Far Frozen did the same thing when you nearly froze to death.
Yeah, and you were just as embarrassed, his mind replied. At least they left you your underwear.
Danny gulped. Had Dash?
He squeezed his eyes shut. He was not going to think about it. Dash had already proven he cared about Phantom, even if he didn't care an ounce about Fenton. There was no reason to think Dash would have done anything more than what was necessary to try to save his life. Anything wrong. Besides, Dash was a guy, he was a guy, heck, they'd already seen each other naked in the locker room at school -
That train of thought wasn't helping. Determinedly, Danny focused on the movie.
About an hour and a half later, the credits were rolling. Dash was still snoozing in his chair. Danny decided to see how his body was responding.
He bent his head forward to look at his legs, and the fact that he could move his head was thrilling. Danny focused on his legs, first, since those would be necessary for walking out of here. Something small - his toes. They twitched under the blankets, they curled and uncurled. He could feel them.
Danny tried moving his legs, and his right leg would bend a little at the knee, although his left leg felt too weak to do much of anything. Moving to his arms and hands, Danny discovered that he could curl his fingers into a weak fist and lift both arms slightly; similar to his legs, his left arm was more responsive than his right.
Progress. Now to see if his voice was back. He was tired of using eyelid morse code to get his message across. He had questions, and he needed answers.
"Dash," he whispered. He cleared his throat and tried again.
"Dash," he whispered.
Hey. At least it was something.
The jock jerked awake, limbs flailing, nearly toppling his chair in the process. "Wha- what is it? What's going on?" Looking around himself with wide eyes, he saw Danny, then the credits of the film, and his cheeks tinged pink. "I fell asleep, didn't I?"
"You slept through the whole movie," Danny rasped. He grinned at Dash's shocked expression.
"You can talk!"
"Yeah."
"Can you move?"
Danny lifted his left hand slightly and waved it. "Ta-da."
Dash's stomach chose that moment to growl. Loudly. He covered it with his good hand and chuckled weakly.
"Did you eat breakfast?" Danny asked.
Dash shook his head. "Nah. I had to, um, protect you. You know?"
"Aww," Danny drawled. "I'm touched. But it's lunchtime. Why don't you eat something? Not like I'm going anywhere." He waggled his fingers to illustrate his range of motion.
Dash's stomach growled again. "You sure?"
"Go for it," said Danny.
The jock stood and made to leave the room, but he looked back at Danny over his shoulder, looking unsure of himself. "You… Um. Can you… do you want something? To eat?"
Danny thought about it. His human half would be just as hungry as Dash at this point, hungrier by the time he finally got out of here. But Phantom's digestive system could not process anything besides ectoplasm. Technically, he could eat, but the undigested food would just sit there inside of him until he transformed back, and having the food suddenly appear in his human stomach was not exactly pleasant. Fenton would be exhausted, dehydrated, and ravenous, but that just meant Danny would have to put an emergency granola bar and emergency water bottle in his hands before he changed. Preferably while sitting on his bed at home.
Crap. What was he going to tell his parents?
He realized Dash was staring at him, waiting. "Um. No. Thanks."
Dash shrugged. "Yeah, no problem. I'll be right back. Are you okay by yourself?"
"Unless a ghost shows up," Danny joked.
Dash paled; his eyes darted around the room.
"It was a joke, Dash. Your bedroom is not exactly a hotspot for ghost activity." He glanced down at himself. "Well, besides me."
Looking skeptical, Dash nevertheless assured Danny that he would be right back.
So Danny waited. What else could he do?
Dash hurriedly put together a plate downstairs - a ham and cheese sandwich, chips, sliced apples. He knew there was no reason to be nervous. Nothing had happened to Phantom through the dark hours of early morning, when ghosts were most active. The likelihood of him being attacked at noon in the suburbs of Amity Park was slim.
Not that Dash could do much to help him if he were attacked, besides grabbing the ghost boy and running. Maybe if he reached his car in time, he could drive them away as fast as possible.
He sighed. He was exhausted. His impromptu nap during the movie had given him little more than a stiff neck. Part of his fatigue was probably from hunger, so he hoped that eating would give him a burst of energy. The last thing he wanted to do was fall asleep in front of Danny Phantom. Again.
This was his first time leaving Phantom alone since he returned home last night. Downstairs, spreading mayonnaise on bread in his bright, familiar kitchen, Dash could almost trick himself into believing the whole episode had been a dream. If not for the very real ecto-paralysis in his right arm, there would be no proof that last night had happened.
But it had. And Phantom was going to be okay.
Dash smiled softly, remembering the way the ghost boy's cheeks had glowed green every time he blushed. Hair mussed, wearing pajamas, it made Phantom look young and somehow more genuine, a sharp contrast to his usual heroic bravado.
Phantom clearly hated feeling puny and helpless as much as Dash did, probably even more so, because Phantom was the most powerful ghost Dash had ever seen. To suddenly be unable to move or even speak must have been humiliating for him. Dash had tried to assure him that it was perfectly normal to be hurt after a battle like that, and that he was safe here. He hoped Phantom believed him.
He hadn't meant to call him adorable. Even if he was.
Dash's smile brightened at something else: Phantom had remembered his name.
He finished putting his lunch together and grabbed a soda out of the fridge. Balancing everything carefully on a TV tray, Dash took the food upstairs and back to his bedroom.
The ghost boy was just where Dash left him. He was looking down into his lap, slowly clenching and unclenching his fists. He raised his head at the sound of Dash's footsteps and perked his eyebrows.
"That was fast," he commented. His voice was soft, barely more than a whisper. The amount of effort he was putting into his words, however, he may as well have been shouting.
Dash shrugged. He put the tray down on his computer desk and sat down in the chair again. After sitting there all morning, he was starting to appreciate how uncomfortable it was. He took a bite of his sandwich and tried to ignore his stiff back and neck.
He also wasn't sure what to say to his hero. Never had he expected to be sitting alone in a room with Phantom. Everything he might have told him - how much he admired the guy, how he went to every one of his fights he could, how Phantom was basically his role model - it sounded so cheesy and childish in his head. He was sure Phantom wouldn't want to hear that stuff.
But what else was there to talk about?
Dash busied himself with eating. He felt awkward and shy, two emotions he wasn't used to feeling. He knew he was frowning, but only because he was embarrassed and frustrated with himself.
Phantom waited on him to finish his sandwich and take a drink before he spoke. "Dash?"
Dash jerked, nearly spilling his soda on his lap. He slammed the can down on the desk and spun his chair around to face the ghost boy. "Yeah? What's up?"
"I have a few questions about what happened."
"Yeah, of course," said Dash, nodding. "Ask away."
Phantom took a deep breath and sighed, closing his eyes. He looked exhausted. It was hard to tell in the daytime, but Dash was sure his aura was not nearly as bright as it should have been. Phantom opened his eyes again, dull green, and spoke.
"How long was I out?"
"Just since this morning," said Dash.
Phantom seemed relieved. "Good. I was afraid…" Whatever he was afraid of, he didn't say. "What about the Fenton Thermos?"
"Oh, um, it's in the bathroom," said Dash, pointing to the bathroom door. "Want me to go get it?"
"No, that's fine. Thanks for keeping up with it."
"No problem. I mean, you wouldn't want your enemies getting free after you've already caught them, right? Um… what do you do with the ghosts you capture, anyway?"
Phantom smiled wryly. "I sneak into Fentonworks and use their Ghost Portal to send them back to the Ghost Zone."
"The what?"
The ghost boy blinked, surprised, and Dash was instantly embarrassed. "The Ghost Zone. It's… well, it's where ghosts come from. It's basically an alternate dimension."
"Wait, I thought ghosts were the spirits of dead people? You're telling me they're from an alternate dimension?"
"Well, sometimes ghosts can manifest from dead people, when ectoplasm gathers around a soul or a strong emotion at the time of a person's death. So, while that's not especially common... you're not wrong." Phantom shrugged. "But, yeah, calling these guys 'ghosts' is a little misleading. But it's a heck of a lot easier to say than 'ectoplasmic entities from another dimension'."
"Like… aliens?" Dash did a double-take of the boy sitting in his bed. "Are you an alien?"
Phantom stared at him. Then suddenly he burst out laughing. The sound was soft, his vocal chords still partially paralyzed, but his face was flushed green, his eyes squeezed shut, his sides heaving.
Dash felt completely humiliated. He'd done it now. He'd made himself look like an idiot in front of his hero. He should have kept his big mouth shut. Glowering, he stared into the carpet at his feet and clenched his fists tight, itching to punch something.
Phantom shook his head, shoulders still trembling with suppressed giggles. "Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to laugh. I've just-" he snorted "-never been accused of being a space alien before. Like… I've been called a demon, and a freak of nature, and an abomination, but alien is new and, I'm sorry, it's just too good."
"But," Dash argued, flustered, "you just said you come from an alternate dimension!"
"I never said I came from an alternate dimension, just that most ghosts do. But even calling them aliens… it's probably more accurate than calling them ghosts, but all I can think of are little green men. Then again," Phantom burst out laughing, "that's all ghosts are, am I right?"
Dash respected his hero and would defend him against naysayers with his dying breath. But sometimes Phantom's effusive sense of humor was off the mark.
"You… don't come from… the Ghost Zone?" said Dash, once the ghost boy had calmed down.
"Nah," said Phantom, shaking his head. "I'm what most people think of when they think of ghosts. Ectoplasm bonded to a soul. So I'm an Earthling, too, if that's what you're getting at."
Grinning, Phantom winked at him.
And Dash snorted, and like that, his embarrassment evaporated. Oh my god, he's so corny. Dash couldn't believe he was worried about saying cheesy things in front of this guy. Phantom was cheesy enough for two people.
The significance of what Phantom was telling him slowly settled in his mind. With it, Dash sobered. "So you're dead. You died."
The ghost boy averted his eyes. One of his hands came up and started to fiddle with a button on the front of his pajama top. "Not really. I mean, I should have died. But instead I became a ghost. So, um, win-win, and all that…" Glancing back at Dash, Phantom changed the subject. "How'd you do that to your arm?"
Dash looked down at his right hand, numb in his lap. "When I was bringing you back to my house this morning, I got some of that spider venom on me. Again, it's no big deal. It will heal eventually, right?"
Phantom grimaced. "Um. Well…" His eyes flicked up to Dash's face, which was rapidly growing pale. He added, "Probably?" with a very uninspiring wince.
"Probably?" Dash echoed, feeling like he had just been socked in the gut. Implications flashed through his mind too quickly for him to process. If his arm never got better - no more football, no scholarships, no college, dead-end job, how many people would he be letting down, crippled for life -
The ghost boy's eyes widened, and he fluttered his hands in his lap. "I didn't mean it like that! I just meant it might not get better on its own. But obviously we're going to fix it."
Still feeling sick to his stomach, Dash asked, "How?"
"Once I can move around again, I'll sneak into the Fentons' lab and steal some of their anti-ecto serum. It's basically like an antibiotic for ectoplasmic contamination, really effective against things like this. So seriously, don't worry."
Dash took a deep breath and let it out, trying to push some of his panic out with it. If Phantom said it would be alright, he had to trust that it would be, didn't he?
"You, uh, sneak into Fentonworks a lot?" asked Dash, in an effort to change the subject.
Phantom chuckled, grinning wryly. "Maybe we don't always see eye-to-eye, but we're in the same business, and they build good stuff. I don't know where I'd be without my Thermos."
The conversation petered out then, and a bizarre heaviness filled the air between them. Phantom's gaze had fallen back into his lap, where he was tugging at his fingers. Dash's eyes were drawn to them, too, and he realized this was the first time he had seen Phantom's hands without their gloves. They were thin, bony; his fingers looked surprisingly delicate for how many punches the ghostly hero was always throwing.
Without looking at him, Phantom asked, "Why did you save me, Dash?"
Dash was taken aback. He didn't know what Phantom meant by that, first of all. The way he said it, he was acting as if he would have expected Dash to just leave him there - which was crazy.
He laughed once, disbelieving. "Why wouldn't I save you?"
Phantom raised his head and locked eyes with Dash, but his dull green gaze was cold and full of mistrust. "There's a thousand reasons not to. For one, you got hurt trying to help me. Two, I have dozens of enemies who would kill for a chance to get their hands on me, so being anywhere near me puts you in danger, especially when I'm out of commission like this. Three, I'm a ghost - I'm dangerous. What if I wasn't paralyzed? What if I had panicked and lashed out at you? I could have killed you. Or did you not think about any of these things?"
"Not really," Dash admitted.
Phantom scoffed. "Typical," he muttered. Louder, he said, "So why did you help me?"
"Because it was the right thing to do."
Phantom shook his head. "Since when are you concerned about doing the right thing?"
What was Phantom saying? Why were his words so scathing? And why did it feel like he was attacking Dash? "You don't believe me?"
"Not really," said the ghost. "Let me ask you this - would you have done the same for somebody else? If it wasn't me lying there on the ground in the middle of the night, but someone else, a stranger - would you have helped them, too?"
Dash gaped, working his jaw up and down as he sought words to respond to this accusation. He could feel himself growing hot with indignation, even though the last thing he wanted was to get into an argument with Danny Phantom. "I would have at least called 911!"
"Calling 911 isn't exactly the same as risking your life to help me."
"What choice did I have?" exclaimed Dash. "I couldn't exactly call 911 for you! The Fentons would have been all over you. You're my hero, man. I didn't want you to get dissected by those nutjobs!"
Phantom sighed. "Just admit it, Dash. You helped me because you're my fan. There wasn't any 'doing the right thing' about this."
Dash was fuming by this point. He clenched his fist and his jaw so tightly he could feel bones grinding. After taking a few hot breaths through his nose, he finally managed to grit out, "I helped you because you risk your life every single goddamn day to help this town, and the last thing you deserved was bleeding out in a fucking puddle. What I don't understand is why you're treating me like the bad guy here."
Phantom studied Dash's anger-taut face for several seconds. When he responded, there was no emotion in his voice, like all he was doing was stating some long-established fact.
"Because I know you, Dash. You're a bully. You've spent most of your life picking on people weaker than you, because you thought it was fun and because it made you feel tough. Honestly, you're as bad as most of the ghosts I fight on a regular basis, and the only blessing is that you don't have any powers like they do. I'm afraid that one good deed doesn't make up for that."
Dash physically recoiled, Phantom's words like a slap in the face. Hot tears pricked at his eyes. Unwilling to let Amity's hero see him like this, Dash pushed to his feet and strode out of the room. He slammed the door shut behind him, but once he was in the hallway, he fell back against it and slid to the floor, where he sat with his knees curled up against his chest.
He sat there, heaving one breath after another, trying to get his roiling emotions under control.
It just wasn't fair.
He wished Phantom hadn't remembered his name after all, because it turned out that he was one of the bad guys in his hero's eyes. Yes, Phantom knew him, and he hated him and condemned his help as nothing but selfishness in disguise.
Angrily, Dash scrubbed his left fist across his eyes.
This was the absolute worst.
Several minutes passed, in which Dash couldn't bring himself to move. He felt like shit, but he couldn't tell if he was angry, depressed, or ashamed. He wanted to be angry - being angry was easy and familiar. But every time his brain started to throw accusations back at Phantom, the barbs lost their intensity almost immediately, because it was Phantom. Phantom was literally the best guy Dash knew. It wasn't his fault for being honest.
It's not like he was wrong.
Behind him, through the door, Dash heard a crash, a thump, and a weakly muttered, "Fuck…"
In a second, Dash was on his feet and swinging the door open. "What's wrong?" he asked, before he was even in the room.
What's wrong was that Phantom was sprawled across the floor, his legs folded under him, the computer chair lying on its side underneath one of his arms. He was propping himself up on his other elbow, and even from across the room Dash could see his arm trembling with the effort.
Dash didn't hesitate. He rushed to Phantom's side, where he wrapped his left arm around the boy's chest, heaved him to his feet, and promptly sat him back on the bed.
"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded.
Phantom stared at him for a second, wide-eyed with surprise. Then his face fell into a scowl. "I was trying to find my clothes."
Dash, still feeling raw from their conversation, glared back at him. "I get that you hate me, but I meant what I said earlier. You're safe here until you heal. So how about actually doing that before you go and get yourself hurt even worse?"
They glowered at each other, and for a moment, Phantom's eyes regained their usual intensity. But then the spark faded, and the ghost boy's shoulders slumped. He hung his head. "No, you're right. I'm in no shape to go anywhere."
"I'm glad you finally figured that out," snapped Dash. He proceeded to pick Phantom up bridal style - ignoring his protests - and sat him against the headboard of the bed. Rigidly, he tucked the blankets over Phantom's legs and fluffed the pillows at his back. Then he righted the computer chair and fell into it, where he sat scowling into a corner.
"I'm trying, you know," he told Phantom. "I know I'm not a very good person, but I've been trying to do better. I haven't beat anyone up in months."
He heard Phantom sigh again. "It takes more than not beating people up to be a good person, Dash."
Dash did not immediately respond. He chewed at the inside of his cheek, knowing that he needed to choose his next words very carefully.
"What's it take, then?"
"First of all, you need to make amends," said Phantom. "Drop your pride and apologize to the people you hurt. Don't expect them to forgive you, either. It'll take more than saying 'I'm sorry' to fix the harm you caused. But it's a start.
"And when's the last time you helped someone, Dash? I'm not talking about me. When's the last time you helped someone, not because you were expecting anything in return, but because it was the right thing to do?"
Dash was silent, because honestly he didn't know.
Phantom seemed to understand. "That's what I thought."
Again there was silence between them. It lasted for so long this time that Dash thought Phantom might have fallen asleep.
But then the ghost said, "Why the change of heart, anyway?"
Dash finally raised his eyes and turned to look at Phantom, and he found the ghost looking back at him, expression neutral, masking whatever curiosity or judgment might have prompted the question.
Dash felt his face flushing, and he looked down at the side of the bed. The truth no longer sounded complimentary - it sounded childish. But this was Phantom. Dash owed him the truth.
"I wanted to be more like you." When Phantom didn't respond, Dash explained. "I've been your fan for a long time. At first, I just thought you were really cool because you were a superhero, and you were good-looking, and funny, and you looked like you were the same age as me. But then I started to realize how much courage it must take to do the things you do, and you did them even when most of the town hated you. I've even seen you save the Fentons, and they want to rip you apart. You're probably the bravest and most selfless person I've ever met."
He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I don't know. It just made me want to do better."
Still, Phantom said nothing. After pouring his heart out, Dash found the silence unbearable. He finally looked up at the hero, to see Phantom frowning morosely at his lap.
"Phantom?"
Phantom flinched. He glanced at Dash, flashing him an apologetic smile, and then continued to frown into the blankets. "I'm, uh, flattered, I guess," he said, though he didn't sound like it. "I mean, as long as you're trying, it probably doesn't matter why..."
"What's wrong?" asked Dash. Was it something he said?
"I'm…" Phantom swallowed. "It's just… I really hate being put on a pedestal like that. I'm really not that brave. I was… I was terrified when I went into the library last night. The only reason I didn't run away was because I knew people would get hurt if I did. And selfless? That one's the worst…
"Did you know that at least half of the ghost attacks in Amity Park are just ghosts trying to either get revenge on me or defeat me in order to climb the ranks in the Ghost Zone? Did you know that the reason Casper High has so many ghost attacks is because I like to hang out there when I'm not fighting or patrolling? They come there to attack me - I'm a magnet for ghosts. If it wasn't for me, it wouldn't be half as dangerous here. Maybe the Fentons and the Red Huntress would even stand a chance at defending this place."
Phantom squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists. "I know that. I figured it out a while ago. If I weren't here, things would be better for everyone. But I can't leave… I just…" He shook his head. "I don't know if it's my ghostly obsession driving me to 'protect my territory' like the Fentons say, or what… but Amity Park is my home. I don't want to go."
He swallowed again and hung his head like he was ashamed. "So you see, I'm probably one of the most selfish people you know. I'm glad you want to be a better person, Dash. That's really great. But you can pick a better role model than me. I'm just another ghost haunting this place."
Dash had never been very eloquent, and he had rarely been called upon to comfort people. So, he did the only thing he could think of. He went over to the bed, sat down in front of Phantom, and pulled the ghost boy into a one-armed hug.
"What the- Dash?" Phantom was stiff as a board; his chin was resting on Dash's right shoulder, his arms hanging at his sides. He radiated cold, but Dash was too determined to be dissuaded by a minor discomfort like that.
"I usually get into fights with people for bad-mouthing you," Dash explained. "I'm not sure what to do when you're the one bad-mouthing yourself, but it still makes me mad."
"Um..."
Dash tightened his grip on the boy. "You'd better apologize."
"What?"
"You heard me," said Dash. "Apologize."
"Um," stammered Phantom. "I'm, uh, sorry?"
"For what?"
"For… dumping on myself. I'm sorry."
"And?"
"And… I won't do it again?"
"You'd better not."
Dash continued to hold Phantom against him, and after a few seconds, he felt the ghost relax a bit. Only then did Dash let him go. Lowering Phantom back against the headboard, he looked the boy sternly in the eye and said, "I don't take back what I said about you. Being brave isn't about not having fear. It's about being scared but doing something anyway. And yeah, so maybe half of your fights are just in self-defense, but the other half are you doing one thing only, and that's protecting the rest of us. Just because you want something for yourself doesn't change that."
He reached out and punched Phantom lightly on the shoulder, trying to lighten the mood. "So, yeah, you're going to keep being my role model, whether you like it or not. Better get used to it."
Phantom chuckled weakly. "Did you just bully away my low self-esteem?"
Dash shrugged. "Well, if I'm going to be a bully, at least I ought to use my powers for good, right?"
Phantom shook his head in disbelief. "You really are my number one fan, aren't you?"
"Yep," said Dash proudly. "That's me."
Phantom leaned his head back against the headboard and closed his eyes. "God, I'm tired." He cracked open an eye towards Dash. "I don't usually get so caught up in my feelings. I'm going to blame the deadly poison pumping through my veins."
"Man, I feel you." Dash, feeling brazen after both lecturing and hugging his hero, swung his legs up onto the bed and lay down next to Phantom, so that his head was resting adjacent to the boy's hip and his feet dangling off the end of the mattress. He closed his eyes to avoid whatever affronted expression the kid would be making at him. "I'm beat."
Phantom laughed softly; it was a pleasant sound. "You should get some sleep."
"I might just do that."
Dash did not mean to actually fall asleep, but he must have, because the next time he opened his eyes, it was dark outside, and Phantom was gone.
But he did not allow himself to be disappointed. He got the feeling he would be seeing his hero again soon.
A/N: And that's it. That's the story. It could be continued someday, but it stands on its own well enough, too.
The first half reads a bit slowly - it's what I describe as being overly close to the characters, when the author focuses on the minutiae and writes as though looking at a scene with a magnifying glass. But the second half is very satisfying to me, and I hope it was to you as well.
Thanks for reading!
T.F.C~