Snapping open those weary eyes, he met the ceiling and the mutters between his ears, blinking back lazy tears as they drifted down his cheeks.

Just a dream, or at the very least, he uttered with heavy words, a memory. It made his heart heavy, weighing like a mound of lead in his chest, the thoughts, the feelings, too familiar, too real to pass off. He was there again, emotions so tangible that it gripped him and made his stomach twist and turn in protest, and for the first moments that he lied there on that musty, filthy floor, drenched in sweat, he feared that he would vomit. It swam in his throat, pulsing up around his esophagus so intently that he could taste the bitter, acidic substance on his tongue.

The one thing that kept him from succumbing to that urge was his mantra, rocking back and forth just to comfort himself, whispering to himself, body trembling uncontrollably as he struggled to level his voice.

"I'm okay, it was just a dream…it was just…a dream. I-it's okay…okay" Cradling himself, Dash felt his heart steady, easing to a soft patter, easing the shallow breaths that racked his body for the better part of his waking moments. It wasn't easy, coming down from an attack, the teen knowing that sensation of panic all too well, though something scared him more, gazing tentatively to the paneled door that remained ajar just outside of his reach, and to his relief, letting loose an unsteady breath, his parents' collective snores, loud, unrelenting, rattled his in ears.

"I have to be more careful…I could have woken them up, and I really don't want to find out how pissed Dad would be if I did that. I have to be more careful…" Shuddering at the thought of it, Dash cast a glance to the clock about the kitchenette, watching those lazy hands, as if sifting through molasses, tick slowly, and only after a minute did it strike him.

'07:14…school's gonna be starting soon. How did I sleep in so late?', the teen wondered listlessly, regarding the agonizing speed of the clock, remarking with irritation as he stood at the feeling of his limbs slinking to his sides as if his muscles were made of stone, not even noticing his hand comb up his arm to crib the shoulder, absent-mindedly caressing it with the same tenderness one would have if it were injured. Easing from his spot on the floor, stepping over the stringy, stained blanket and mottled pillow, he felt his body go forward unfettered, knowing just which panel to step on, figuring out just how much pressure was needed to make it creak.

It knew better than he, his body, what it needed to do; it knew what would happen if he made too much noise. It was practiced, rehearsed, and with a slight of his hand, stealing away a tattered jacket from the arm of the dining room chair, and his denim pants, worn and holey, from the seat of the trailer's kitchen bench, Dash remarked the comforting familiarity of the items but dallied no longer than he had, chancing one more look towards the clock and door; nothing yet.

Good.

Slowly, his hands worked along with the table, careful of the odds and ends that may clang or bang against one another, quivering, sweaty palms easing each item he required for the day into the ratty bag within his grasp; he really wasn't in the mood to hear yet another lecture from Mr. Talluca about coming to school prepared.

'Though…', his thoughts reminded darkly,'…it isn't as if it really matters if I bring my stuff anyway. It isn't like I can do the work…' Pausing for a moment, the adolescent eyed the contents of the bag, squinting with thought as he considered it. He could leave it here, the bag, his things, knowing full well that it would make no difference at all, but the risk it would entail, the possibility that his teachers would notice their absence, would probably not end in his favor. It was bad enough that he had to deal with not having the work he needed, but on top of that, not having his things to boot. It wouldn't the first time that his teachers would take notice of his lack of effort; he'd stopped trying a long time ago.

"Whatever, it can't hurt. I can at least look like I care. Not sure I wanna get in trouble…again." Zipping his pouch, Dash sat in on the ground, and, avoiding the strewn bottles, trash, and needles that littered the floor, opening the refrigerator at the command of his stomach that chortled and gurgled persistently, the pain of hunger something he'd become accustomed to.

'Take it, take it~'

'What's the point? Why is he taking it?'

As if he could be surprised, seeing the clear shelves, and the lukewarm brush of air across his face; save for a few items, either old or mostly eaten, there was little to be seen. In his sight was a single piece of bread, wrapped carelessly in a section of plastic wrap, half-eaten, but in his eyes? It was free for the picking.

Taking it into his hand, it was stashed into his bag for later, afraid that the sound of his unwrapping the plastic, the sound it would make, chanced the risk of making too much noise; his stomach would just have to wait, it would wait. With a soft as a gesture he could manage, he closed the sealed door, sighing with relief as the suction only whined a little, though its irreverent creak was a source of annoyance and anxiety on his part, eying the speculative door with unease.

Softly smiling to himself, he would have cheered if the circumstances weren't so dire, and with a single look to the clock, its lazy hands just striking at 07:27, the teen quickly gathered his things and began making his way to the door, hand outstretched in concentration before he heard it; the crunching of broken glass beneath the sole of his shoe.

Loud.

Grating.

Crunching.

It took everything in him not to hyperventilate at the sound of it, and the disgruntled groan that seemed to shake the very foundation of the trailer, rattling Dash so profoundly to the bone that he stood stock still, frozen, rooted, where he stood. Daring to lift his foot revealed it; a single syringe lying in two with each second he peeled back his shoe, drippings of contents inside staining the dirty sole.

'Stupid, stupid! Get in trouble...'

'Made noise~'

'No…no, no, no, no, no, no-' There was movement, footsteps, slow and clumsy, Dash in all of his hysteria didn't even notice the creak of the bed or the call of his name, but he knew those sounds all too well, the daunting, thunderous claps of the feet to the old wooden floor. Unable to move, unable to think, all he could do was stare, unblinking as he appeared, and he looked just as he thought he would.

Angry.

"Fuck you think yer goin', boy? I don't remember tellin' you that you could leave whenever you damn well felt like it, did I? Speak up!" At a loss for words, he could only stand there, stumbling over each sound in his feeble attempt to explain himself; the words just wouldn't come. How could they when it felt as though his throat would collapse into itself.

That wasn't enough, though. Dash could feel it, the wearing on the older man's patience the longer he stood, a bottle of vodka already in hand despite having just woken up…or was he already awake? Ruminating over the possibility with horror, he could scantly call his response an answer at all, just barely above a whisper that even the keenest hounds would have to strain to hear.

"S-sorry, I just…it's time for-" A loud bang, coming from his father, made his body jolt in fear, trembling as that look of ire bore into him, eating him, devouring him; it forced his eyes downward, cast away, head pulsing with disquiet, the stress wearing so hard on his mind that his very vision seemed to haze, and once he'd felt those tears prickling his eyes, he made no move to wipe them, knowing his father would feast on him.

His vulnerability.

"What have I told 'chu about that goddamn mumbling? Speak up, I done asked you a question. You wake me outta my sleep to play some fuckin' charades; out with it!" The frog in his throat danced; he had to answer him.

"School!" The youth couldn't believe how loud it was, his voice, but his moment of reprise was cut short the slightest of tenses in the body of the former; his muscles rippling with agitation at his volume. His tone was too loud; he'd have to take it down a notch.

Craning his neck to give the older man his full attention, the tightness of his vocal cords didn't relent though each word tumbled free of his lips, unable to stop.

"S-school is today, Sir. It's time to go, see?" Chancing a shaky calloused hand, his index finger deployed, Dash gestured feebly to the aged clock that ticked and tocked unabatedly. Its digits spiraling about the center, though faded with time, were enough for him to see the hands, and solemnly, deflated, read it to himself.

'I'm late…again.' There was an odd moment of silence, then another, then one more; all the while his heart, greatly accustomed to the stress, danced wildly in his chest, not to mention his stomach who'd, through all of this, fluttered with invigorated unease; he couldn't help the queasiness that him want to gag.

Please just let me go.

The sloshing of the contents of the bottle were the only thing he heard for a time, each second, every minute, lapsing indefinitely, and with just the click of his teeth, he'd called his thoughts back, traveling the short distance to his son, smirking at the site of his pressed against the door, eyes wide.

Afraid.

In his mind, though the haze of alcohol and sleep, Allen considered it, what the boy had said, remarking the calendar just to his left with solace. As if thinking on, brow furrowing, unfurrowing, with what Dash could only assume was deep thought. Looking back at the boy and with a swig of his clouded bottle, their eyes met, pitch black to wavering, unsure blue. It reminded him of something, something unpleasant, the memory of searching those limitless depths in his dreams. It was drawing him in, and he hated it, the way his body almost appeared to turn into itself, and despite his towering height, Dash felt small, weak, exposed.

Just like that lonely child in his dream.

And he couldn't stand it.

Bringing him back from his thoughts was the clang of glass upon the ground, dribbling its contents upon the musty floor as he took his forearm along him mouth, wiping clean the speckles of liquor from his chin though it did nothing to rid his maw of that all-too-familiar stench of alcohol, tobacco and, Dash noticed within moments of their close proximity, his repulsive morning breath; it took everything that the teen had not to wrinkle his nose in disgust.

"M-may…may I go…sir? I don't want to b-be late for my first class." That was a lie; he was already late, so rushing to school wouldn't really do him any good, not that him being there really made that much of a difference. Though, averting his eyes and casting them to the floor, there were a few things that made his time there worthwhile, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. Clicking his tongue, Allen stepped back, hand snaking into his shirt, the grating sound of his nails to his skin like sandpaper in his ears, yet with the newfound space he was given, Dash felt the breath that he'd been holding him tremble past his chapped lips, parting the silence with a shaky hand that wilted with time. Try as he might, he couldn't stabilize his breathing, the fear still gripping him, the apprehension weighing so heavily on his mind that he hadn't even heard what his father had said.

He hated this so much.

"…hear me, boy? I said you can go. Get on. Don't you keep makin' all that noise in the morning no more, got it?" All the boy could manage was a stiff nod as his hand traveled to the knob, cracking the door open just a lick before the older man's voice stopped him, and in was something smug, coy; the smile was practically manifesting on his face despite him not being able to see his father.

"You didn't forget now, did 'chu? What 'chu need to do today? Be back here right after y'all let out. We'll be waiting for you, and don't 'chu be late again." He was silent, but he understood what he had to do. What his job was.

"Yes, sir. I didn't f-forget. I'll be there." Dash couldn't bear to look at it, to see that hunger that was probably so deeply ingrained in that warty, reddened face that it was practically the only expression that he had towards his son.

It made him feel disgusting.

'Aren't you?'

Softly, he shut the door, making his way down the stairs of the trailer before traversing the short path through the woods. Absently, the cool breeze made him shiver, pulling the sparse, stringy jacket onto his shoulders; how could he forget the bitter cold that nipped at his exposed ankles, or the biting sensation of the old jacket that grazed his arms? Amber leaves scuttled out of his way, parting the path along the sidewalk as the wind weaved and danced between his legs; it made it feel somewhat nice to see others fair the same attacks, bringing up their hoods and zipping their coats each time the brisk cold would graze pass them.

Lucky.

These days were often unassuming, he noticed, dipping along a beaten path that took back into the woods, worn in from the soles of many shoes, each print leaving such a profound mark in the dirt that it seemed as though it had always been there, but the boy knew better. It was in his youth that he'd spotted this thicket, a collection of plants far too thin to be a coincidence; it was with a part of his hand that he'd opened up this way, and it was with the constant pound of his shoe that he'd made this path. Day after day, rounding around bends and dips until he'd heard him; a small tent lied in a clearing, tattered, and torn as it was it did the job. A voice he remembered so fondly made the air in his lungs return and the glitter in his eye twinkle, that harmonious grumble, silly as it may sound, more than he could have ever asked for

Stepping carefully around the cloth and many toys scattered about the shelter, Dash kneeled down, peering inside to the tiniest ball of fluff, their tiny lungs causing the smallest of movements, telling the teen that she'd only been sleeping. In as quiet as a voice he could muster and a gentle and light as his hand could manage, a careful nudge at his side was his calling card, rousing the small animal from its rest; Dash couldn't help the doting smile that pulled at his weary features as he watched her stretch, bellowing a great yawn though her voice wasn't too frightening.

"Hey, Roxie. Had a good rest, did 'ja?" At the first word, she was all over him, slobbering and barking with such tangible excitement it made his heart soar, enjoying the faux tackle of the pup, though to be fair, her small size didn't reveal the hidden strength within her haunches, each fond lick more and more fierce as the time wore on.

"I missed you, too! Okay, okay; I can't stay, but I promise I'll be back later. Hold on!" Putting just enough space between himself and the pup as to not hurt her, he swung the backpack onto the floor of the tent, his hand fished through the contents until he'd found it, that same plastic bag encasing his bread. Opening it and tearing off a small chunk of the bread, stowing that piece back inside of his pouch. Upon turning back to her, she was watching him, her soulful eyes almost appearing to know, to understand, what he was about to say.

For the slightest of moments, he frowned.

"Here, eat this. I…I know it isn't much but…this was all I could find for now." Not a second passed before she attacked the small morsel, though it was as if she had restrained herself, if just a bit, careful of the dark lines that dotted the beginning of his arms.

He knew that she was still hungry, she had to be and it hurt to know that she would have to wait longer for something that he should be able to give her, but there was nothing that he could do, at least, not yet, not now. Sighing, his hands rummaged through the contents of his bag until he spotted it again, the bread. Pulling free the smallest of morsels from that crinkled bag, Dash watched with a soft smile as she cocked her head to her left, eying with what he could only surmise was concern. Using his free hand, the boy rubbed her head, chuckling when she placed her head in his gentle calloused palm.

"It'll be fine, I promise. Maybe I could fish some loose change from beneath the vending machines or something; I'll figure something out. You need it more than I do, but You've gotta hurry, or I'll be late… again. Eat up, Roxie." Giving one last nod to his companion, she relented, scooping up sweet morsel before climbing back onto his lap, licking, and wagging as before. However, the sound of voices just beyond the woods alerted him, moment somehow sullied by the remembrance of what he ought to be doing, the droning fear of what would happen had he failed to turn up to first period and what his father would do the one thing that forced him to his feet. As if disappointed, the pup nipped at his ankles, playfully so, as if egging him on, and Dash was tempted, sighing at the sight of a soggy, worn-out chew toy at his feet.

"I know, Rox, but I really have to go. Maybe another time we could play; you like that? You like that girl?" Swooping down to hold her in his arms, the boy couldn't help planting kisses upon her, the pup doing the same.

He would be back.

He promised he would be back.

Taking that same toy at his feet, waving tentatively, he threw it back into the tent, and hurried to seal it as she went after it, grabbing his bag and pulling it free just at the last moment; who knows how long it would have taken him to get her back into the tattered shelter again. Taking a few leaves and twigs, Dash hid the object as best as he could, scoffing at just how stupid it looked.

'What if someone comes?'

'Someone could kill her.'

'It would be your fault. All your fault.

"No one even comes this way…but I just have to be sure. I don't know what I would do if someone stole her, or…," Quickly, he ejected the thought from his mind, refusing to even consider something like that. It wouldn't happen, it couldn't happen, and it didn't help to think like that. She would be fine out here; she had toys, blankets, water; though he would have to train her not to shit in the tent, he thought with a chuckle as he made his way past the tent, though his heart leaped at the sound of her barks behind him.

'She'll die…'

"No, just…shut-up-".Not again.

Why couldn't they just be quiet?

She would be fine; Rox would be there when he got back.

She had to be.

Taking out his small, cracked cellphone, the time made his stomach drop, and with a hoist of his backpack, Dash made strides towards his school, and only when the sign of Casper High appeared over the hill on the sidewalk did he feel relief.

He'd made it in one piece.

Now all that was left was to make it through the day.

-(Time-skip)-

"Now, can anyone tell me what the answer to number three is? This is important; it'll be on your test this Friday, and I would hate to see anyone pass up free points because they couldn't round to the correct decimal point… oh, Mr. Wu [subject to change]? What is the answer?" Adjusting his tie in jest, the older man watched as his student placed his hand back on the desk, gazing at the board before, with a pull of his lips into a confident smirk, recited his answer verbatim.

"The answer, taking to the thousandths place or three decimal places, would 0.357." Dash watched out of the corner of his eye as the explanation was offered, each word carefully chosen and spoken with such assurance that he could not help the twinge that settled in his chest.

He'd known that feeling, among others, but still, there was an air of pride, a sensation of something else, something he could name, but he minded it not.

He couldn't mind it.

As the former went quiet, most of the conversation lost on his ears, the taller of the two boys whispered over to him.

"Someone's been hittin' the books a bit hard, huh? Lookin' to kiss up to Falluca?" Michael knew that voice all too well, and even as it had been his own, there was no denying the detraction that jarred his senses, the almost unnatural cadence that rattled his vocal cords. It was him, yet at the same time, it wasn't.

This was Dash.

At the jab, Kwan smirked, straightening his pencils and books as he, as far as Dash tell, gathered his thoughts; he seemed to be doing that a lot more lately.

"Well, I mean…not really? Trying has its perks, you know? It isn't so bad when you actually participate…it's actually kind of…fun." The former couldn't deny the tangible joy in his voice, the wistful look in the other's eye as he spoke about it, and for the briefest moments, turned his attention back to the board, grabbing this tools and paper to, what Dash assumed, jot down notes.

Since when did he care so much?

Shifting in his chair and pushing back, the old legs scraping against the tiled floor with a loud cry, capturing the attention of most of the students, but his eyes only tracked Kwan's, the other passing a glance in his direction, though his expression wasn't what he'd wanted.

Not what he thought he'd want, at least.

However, he had his attention, and that's all he needed.

What he'd been looking for.

"Fun? Never thought I'd hear you call math fun…when did you pick this up?" Dash scoffed at his own tone; he was curious, not desperate. Watching Kwan pull his seat in the slightest bit as he, just like before, fumbled with his desk and items, made the other nervous, but it passed once the first word escaped.

Why was he thinking so hard about what to say?

Did he have something he wanted to tell him?

"Honestly, I've always kind of been into it. I mean, we can't talk now, but like, I just don't talk about it a lot. It isn't like it just came out of nowhere, you know."

Since when was this a thing?

"Alright! If you could all pass up your homework to the front of the class, we can begin with the actual lesson." Flipping papers, mutters, whispers; eying his own tattered pouch, the boy could immediately picture the disappointed, idle gaze of Falluca as he shook his head, Kwan's side-eyed glance, the secret words that played on the tongues of his peers.

He knew that they were talking about him.

'Look, they're talking about you.'

"No…no, I just don't say anything and they won't notice. Kwan won't notice, no one will-"

Eyes.

They were all looking at him, staring at him.

They knew.

'Kwan's looking at you, laughing at you. Look…look! He's laughing, too…'

'He thinks you're stupid. Too stupid to be around him. You can't see it?'

He had to focus, focus on his words. Kwan was talking to him, still. He wasn't laughing at him, he was his friend, he was his best friend, right? Scoffing, Dash couldn't help the scant gaze around, tracking those eyes, the beady dots that squinted and the lips that upturned in joy, in mocking around him. Paper filtered around him as he watched them; they were watching him, too.

They were going to say it for everyone to hear.

"Dash is so dumb!"

"No homework again, huh? No surprise there."

"Are you even trying?"

"You're too stupid to do it, so why bother?"

What did they know?

He did try! It was too hard, it wasn't his fault, it wasn't-

"Yo, Dash. Falluca wants you." On his shoulder was a hand, sturdy, insistent, and attached to it was something akin to…concern? Maybe confusion? Shaking his head steadily, the latter cocked that smile, that deplorable, listless smile, turning his head to the disdainful look of his teacher, though in all honesty, that stare was far better than what he'd expected, the subtle tingle of a bruise on his wrist all that he needed to consider.

"Mr. Baxter, please see me after class." And there you have it, that same tone, that voice, tired and exasperated at even the mention of his name.

Always the same.

Like a helpless child, Kwan shook his head remorsefully, flashing the former a sympathetic turn of his lips before twisting to grab his bag beside him, shoveling the collection of objects on his desk into the pristine pouch before attending to the calls of other students in the class.

Dash laid his head back in his arms, watching the clock lumber by.

-(Time-skip)-

"Dude, you've got to start doing the homework. Sophomore years really where you gotta put in the work." Nodding, Dash remained silent on the way to lunch, shoving one offensive yellow slip into his jacket pocket, pawing at it absent-mindedly.

He'd be home a little later today, and that scared him.

A lot.

More than he'd ever been willing to admit.

Seated at their normal spot, the teen watched idly as the rest of his friends: Kwan, Star, Paulina, Dale, and others, nodding quickly to him before shoving their way to the start of the line, leaving Dash to the view of the cafeteria. Through the scents, sights, and sounds of the unassuming chatter, he laid his items along the ground beside him, allowing to drop with a hapless thump before opening it and rummaging through its contents. Upon the touch of a cool, marbled notebook and the mottled texture of his pencil, he pulled them free, lying them upon the table; the next clean page, or as clean as that book could be, what he needed.

"Guess I shouldn't look as sorry as I feel right now, and I really don't want to ask Kwan to pick up the slack for another meal…" Mumbling at the complaint of his stomach, he laid his pencil upon the paper, and at that his pencil seemed to move on its own, dipping and scribbling with listless form as he waited, his eyes drifting along the sea of faces with the occasional interest at the appearance of one in particular; it would seem as though some God sought to fulfill his wish because from the corner of his eye they came, or more like him.

Daniel Fenton.

Flipping to a new page in his book, Dash watched with a flutter of his heart as the three entered the Cafeteria, though all that really seemed to strike was that smile; any thoughts of a meal melted away with the stroke of his pencil to the page, his subject right in his midst.

Eying them join others in the lines whilst just noticing how long he'd been staring, mentally berating himself for doing it again, the boy turned around, and cued into the crude recreation of the former, but found that he had closed it just in time, the breeze of the action flashing pass his face just as the others made their return. The aroma of food of questionable origin wafted along his nostrils, yet all the same that familiar hunger set in, and whilst he'd promised himself that he wouldn't ask, that he would remain unmoved, his throat burned at the urge to beg, eying the collective morsels on each tray, but all the same, his pride, his shame, kept him silent.

"Oh, right. Yo, Dash. I heard Kwan tutors on weekends. Maybe you should hit him up." This time it was Dale's voice that called forth his attention, the cheeky smirk that laid foul upon his lips forcing Dash to blush a violent pink at the thought of it.

'They all know, you know.'

'See that? He's laughing at you. They're all laughing at you.'

"Did Kwan tell everyone how bad I am? How would he know that?" His chest heaving, Dash scoffed lightly, finding his arms, and lying down onto the table, trying his best to ignore the sudden itchiness of his arms.

"Yeah, right. Like I care about some stupid homework; I've got better things to do than sit around and be an egghead. You guys doing something this weekend? I was thinking about headin'- "Why were they looking at him like that? Those eyes, those expressions; it was almost as if they felt…sorry for him. Sitting up, the boy couldn't help himself, the words tumbling free of his throat before his filter could stop them, the tense shaking of his leg barely noticeable beyond the heaving pressure of his ribs to his lungs, a glimpse of that shuddering voice just below his own.

"What's up with you guys? Something up, huh?" Slamming his fist upon the table, he'd eyed them all, unblinking as he scanned their faces, their expressions.

He wanted to know.

He had to know.

He wasn't showing anything.

It was him, Dash.

So why?

Why were they looking at him as if they were gazing at some wounded animal? Like some dog that was kicked to the curb.

Like he was below them or something.

He wasn't below them.

He wasn't right.

'Yes, you are, you stupid fucking cunt.'

'Because they do. You know that they look down on you, right?'

'They always have.'

He could hear their muttering, what they were saying behind his back where he could hear them.

They all thought the same, figured he couldn't hear them, but he knew what they were thinking, what they were saying in their minds.

"Yeah, guys. It isn't as if he's gonna pass anyway."

"Don't bother with him. He's too stupid to get it."

"Not even Kwan can help him."

"That's so sad."

He hated it.

That look made him want to puke.

One after another, their faces contorted into confusion, glancing back and forth at one another before Paulina, through putting on her makeup, spoke first, her tone, at best, scornful.

"No, Dash, what's up with you? You were the one being all, like, defensive."

"Yeah, dude. You okay?"

That next voice was Kwan's, his face no longer that mournful pale, but instead youthful, if a little put-off, his expression well-meaning, if a little bit uncomfortable. It was his fault; he was the one that made it awkward.

What else was new?

What was wrong with him? What was he thinking?

They were confused, he'd made this really weird, all because he couldn't keep it down, the fear.

What was he so afraid of?

However, he could salvage it.

He always did.

'No, you can't.'

'Fucking freak. Look at what you've done-'

"Psh, yeah, man. Sorry, I'm just tired, to be honest. Bitch was being a real hardass last week and we're, uh, breaking up." And just like that, they were turned away from him and were drinking this up. Looks of sympathy, amusement; just drawing them in with this was enough, so tell them he would.

'They know that you're lying.'

'Fucking liar.'

"Yeah. You remember Beth? That girl from East Wood; she told me that she wanted to get 'serious'. Like, seriously; could you imagine me stickin' with someone for real?" There was laughter, playful punches, and pitching voices, their words cutting and stabbing into her name.

Something like guilt tingled just below the surface, his mind flashing to her face, her tears.

Something in the way that they laughed at her and agreed with every word he said made him sick.

"So, did you 'get it'?" Star chimed in, pointedly looking to the blonde expectantly. Most at the table followed suit, watching him carefully.

Of course, they would want to know that, I mean, why wouldn't they.

It would take an idiot to think that they wouldn't want to know.

"Fuck yeah I did. Had the bitch screaming-"

"What? Like this? 'Dash, Dash- '," Deep in his chest was a welling, abysmal feeling; something so profoundly disgusting that it made him want to vomit. Choking back the urge to spill out the few contents of his stomach that he had and forcing onto his face that same exuberant grin, the boy mockingly sent his fist into Dale's arm, chuckling at the thought, not noticing the solemn look that Kwan shot at him across the table.

Or more like the memory.

"Oh, shut up, Dale. Leave it to you to make a situation feel all fuckin' weird. Anyway, so yeah. I got in, then I split; she was too easy." At that, the lunch bell rang, reverberating throughout the room and sending the student body to their feet in collective motion made habitual with time. Picking up his bag and heading towards the doors, his eyes searched through the sea of students until eventually, he came upon them; those baby blue eyes, burning into him for a split second. Almost as if they had been searching for his, too.

At the meeting, Danny's eyes averted to Sam, grasping her hand, and laughing with Tucker as they, too, found their way back into the hallway, filtering through the crowd until they flitted from view.

'You were staring for too long.'

'He knew that you were watching him.'

'Why are you such a creep-'

"I'm not a creep! I just needed to know where he was." Looking down at his phone, there appeared a single picture of the former, eyes gazing into his own.

-(Time-skip)-

Slowly, dreadingly slowly, as a body sinking in molasses, the hands of the clock ticked past, ticking and tocking with an idle cadence that made his very skin tingle with anxiety. Shaking leg, itching arms; Dash wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.

Making his appearance into Mr. Falluca's room was, to say the least, silent; he really wasn't sure if he could have taken a lecture right now.

Not when his nerves were already shot.

"What's the point of being nervous? I already know what's gonna happen when I get back." It didn't help that the older man was expecting company; if that moment of lucidity had offered any solace, it was woefully dashed away at the thought, leaving him to the whirling thoughts that plagued his mind.

They were always more active when he was nervous…or afraid.

Now was no different.

'You're going to get in trouble. Look at what you've done.'

'Stupid. So. Fucking. Stupid.'

"Shut…Up!" The words just slipped out, spilling from his maw with such visceral anger that his leg, shaking as it had been, was sent into the bottom of the desk, jolting him and his teacher from their stupors, though more so Falluca that, from the foggy haze of his glasses and the fluttering of the newspaper upon the tiled floor, Dash could see that he had startled him something bad.

"Mr. Baxter, I say. You have just been out of control since the very beginning of the year. What on earth are you doing?!" Dash didn't know what to say.

What to do?

Had he heard?

He didn't mean it.

He really didn't.

He was trying his best.

What should he say?

"I-I'm sorry, S-sir. I didn't mean too; I just-" Just like that, the chime of the alarm bell rang, and with a swift grab of his bag, and a prompt goodbye, Dash soared from his seat and towards the door, breezing through the halls and out of the front doors of the school.

What was that?

Dash never apologized.

He never apologized for anything or to anyone.

Chilled autumn hands nipped at his ankles, but he didn't have time to waste, not a single second, leaving off the beaten path and along the woodland trail. Not even bothering to take out his phone, the vague notions of time impressed into his mind, the boy made strides until he came to scraggly concrete and asphalt of the mobile home park he'd come to know.

Though, he wouldn't exactly say he'd come to love it, either.

Past the throttled trailers of the others on his lot, storming down the way until he made it to his own, the crumbling, water-stained paneling and shoddy grass all-too-familiar, and so too was the dark, unbridled rage that sat so settled on the features of his father and the four others in his midst, Dash found himself utterly frozen, stock-still despite the tremor that racked his body.

He couldn't move, he couldn't breathe.

Hell, not even as Allen threw his bottle his way, he made no move to dodge it, the fogged glass colliding with his left leg before rebounding into the grass, and at this, they seemed to laugh.

At this, they were amused.

"Now, when I tell you a specific time to get 'cher ass back here, that wasn't an invitation to take your sweet old time, was it, boy?" The older man hummed, swinging to his feet and closing the small distance between them, easily towering over the boy; through craggily teeth he smiled, that worn grin relishing in the trembling shake of his head before taking up a portion of Dash's shirt in his grasp, throttling him to and fro so violently that the former had to stumble to keep up.

"Then why the hell are you back so late, huh? What makes you think that you got the right to make these fine fellas wait for your ass to get back, huh?! Where the fuck were you?" Pulling his weight, the boy could only whisper, throat too tight to get above the smallest of sounds. He couldn't manage much more than that; the thought of speaking up too far out of his realm of self-control, tears brimning his eyes.

"I-I…I h-had-," Another shake, another throttle; Dad was getting impatient.

Very impatient.

"Dammit, just spit the shit out! I ain't got all day!" The three men behind him looked tired, peeved, speaking amongst themselves though the occasional glance in his direction almost made him want to scream.

He'd stopped asking for help long ago.

It wasn't as if they'd listened anyway.

"I h-had detention. I didn't finish my h-homework…again…so I s-stayed afterschool w-with Talluca and-" Unable to even get the words out, there was that look, that stare, so malignant and engrossing that anything that the boy was going to say beyond that fizzled out on his tongue, flinching at the harsh, unyielding boom of his father's voice.

"Why the hell didn't you finish your homework? Didn't we already talk about that? Sounds to me like we need to have another heart-to-heart if you still ain't doin' what I said." He knew what that meant, he always did, shaking his head and averting his gaze, the younger couldn't help the shudder that ran through him, nor the writhing anguish that made his stomach twist and turns inside of him. Grunting, Allen all but dragged the boy behind him, Dash struggling to keep up as he was presented, pale and all, to the four men, gazing up at them with wide but knowing eyes before averting his gaze to the ground, doing everything in his power to keep from looking at them.

He already knew what they wanted, what they looked like, how they eyed him with such a profound hunger and need that his skin weaved and crawled with discomfort.

Yet all-in-all, it was the same as it had always been.

At least in that, he had some certainty.

"Sorry about that. This little shit still ain't learn his lesson, but I can compensate 'chu a couple 'a hours if you want. Free of charge." The group seemed to think on this for the odd, tense moment before they declined, smirking haughtily at both Allen and Dash, though their gaze was directed at the teen, their collective sights traveling the length of his body before stepping forward. The first of the men, a burly, rugged man whose calloused hands grasped at the boy's face, pulling it to and fro, eying each and every blemish or mark that slew his features. Clicking his tongue, the man, Robert as he found he was named, leaned forward, hardened brown eyes burning into Dash's own before settling chapped, charred lips onto his own, and the taste of tobacco, liquor, and flooded his senses, yet the urge, the need, to vomit was pushed aside; Lord only knows what Dad would do if he threw up on a client...again

'You know why they're here.'

'Kiss him! Kiss him! Kiss!'

'You like this don't you? Disgusting.'

'Are you gonna puke? You should throw up onpurpose; let's see what happens.'

He couldn't listen to them, he wouldn't; he was already in trouble as it was. There was no reason to deepen the wound, to make the older man want to do worse than he already would.

A hand, harsh, rough, palmed the back, kneading them crudely as their bodies were crushed together, Robert pulling him closer.

Too close.

With a last squeeze, Robert let him go free, licking his lips with a favored groan as he began to stroke the print of his pants, gesturing to Allen with a glance though most of his focus was on Dash.

"No…he'll do just fine. You want the money now?" It was more of a statement than a question, but Allen happily obliged, shoving past the younger boy to make his bounty, each man fishing through their wallets to accrue their fare; it wasn't long before a stack of twenties laid bare in his father's palm and were being stuffed into his own pockets. A lone hand yanked him along, and distantly, through the haze of his muffled ears and fuzzy eyes, the sounds of the trailer door, as creaky and loud as he remembered it, swung open and he was pulled inside, the four men following, though he could only vaguely make out what his father had been saying in the midst of this.

At least now it wouldn't feel as bad.

"You've got six hours, one for each of ya plus a few more to compensate. Extra time, extra cash, and don't rough 'em up too much. That costs extra, too." Already, even as he spoke, his father, he could hear their zippers, clothes dropping to the ground; his own body, suddenly sprawled across that stony mattress, feeling the sticky, humid air cling to his skin, the rough, dirty bedding scraping along his back. Yet, all the same, he couldn't, dull blue eyes, wide and unblinking, could only look up, watching the ceiling fan, whirling and burring as winded wobbly, stare back down at him.

Distantly, there were sounds, sensations; nothing he hasn't felt before, heard before, each movement above him thrusting his body forward, yet in that same breath, it felt…unreal.

Surreal in its viscerally unkempt stings and the coppery scent in the air was just enough to fog it, his mind, amid the grunts and moans above him.

He was safe.

This was fine.

He just didn't think about it.

He would just…just…

God, he wanted to fucking puke.

Anything to settle his stomach that gurgled and murmured below him.

"That's funny," The boy thought as his eyes tracked the crooked arms of the ceiling fan, "…I don't hear them anymore."

-(Time-skip)-

'Wake up, wake up!'

'Can't stay asleep, you'll get caught.'

'Disgusting.'

When he awoke, it was warm, and his mouth was dry, salty.

Not warm as with the embrace of a mother to her child, but the steamy song on an oven, baking him alive even as the ceiling fan, in all of its glory, danced above him, a noticeable squeal from above making it all but impossible to fall back to sleep.

Though, it wasn't as if he'd be able to stay in bed anyway.

No, not in this room.

Mom and Dad wouldn't like that.

Making the thought and move to arise from the sheets, the cold breath of pain soared along his backside, engulfing his tender body in flames as he resisted the urge to cry.

No, anything but that.

He'd already lost; no reason to soak in it.

But damn if he didn't want to, aching waves washing over his bottom half with every attempt he made to move, the very notion bringing tears to his eyes, but he refused to let them fall, putting everything he had into pushing up from the bed, shaky arms threatening to collapse from the strain.

But they didn't.

He sat up, wincing at the smell of pennies in the air, the stickiness of air making the stench so pungent that the boy, though standing up, had to cup his mouth, gagging and choking back the vile burning of bile back down his throat. Vague touches, like hands upon his body, made him want the wretch, deep, profound shudders racking his body so thoroughly that his knees began to buckle and shake, Dash having to support himself on the wall to keep his body upright.

Quietly, like a storm just on the horizon, they came, murmuring and mumbling away.

The voices, clear as day.

Dash trudged forward, hardly mind the pile of strewn garments he'd been wearing just hours ago, muddled thoughts working at a snail's pace to make sense of the dark before him, feeling about the room to find what he had been looking for. Upon his hand he felt them, the paper towels a clouded vision before him on the kitchen counter, its indifferent shape hanging in the low light. Grabbing a few and turning on the faucet to a light stream, waiting a few moments for it to be saturated before allowing it to come to a stop; a touch of dish soap on the paper and a nice scrubbing of his hand was all it took to make it fuzz and drip down his hand, soap suds coating the paper towels.

Taking it, he scrubbed away the grim and filth coating him legs, unable to quiet the sucking of air between his teeth as his hand grazed the new slew of darkly colored blotches the dotted his inner thighs, and even in the absence of light, he knew they were there for he knew the feeling all too well. In the same breath, from the murmurs came whispers, their words like knives to his skin.

'God, look at you. You're so dirty, you'll never be clean.'

'I bet you loved that, didn't you, faggot?'

'Slut.'

'Dirty Whore!'

"Please, just…not right now. Stop. P-please…" The best he could manage was a soft plea, dotted with voice cracks that rattled his vocal cords.

All he needed was a minute to collect his thoughts.

Just one minute.

The last thing he wanted or needed was them confirming what he already knew.

Yet they didn't stop. Taunting him, laughing as scrubbed harder, turning his skin bright red, agitated and bruised but that didn't matter, not when he could feel them on his skin, and it was only then, with shimmering tears trickling down his cheeks, did he stop, wiping furiously at his face.

He was fine.

He was okay.

He knew what to do, what it felt like.

So, why?

Why wouldn't they be quiet?

Why did he feel so…disgusting…so…weak?

'That's because you are weak. You aren't as strong as you think that you are.'

'You're getting everything that you deserve.'

"Just…stop…p-please…don't you think I already know t-that? Why can't you all just shut up already?!" Laughing, chuckling, they whined at him, screamed at him. He knew that they were right, but this didn't help, not one bit. Why couldn't they just leave him alone? What had he done to make them hate him so much? Limping over to his clothes and bending down to get them despite his body's protests, he donned his attire with a heavy hand, taking care to remain quiet though his very joints wanted him to cease.

He had to push forward.

He wasn't weak.

It wasn't even a big deal.

Not a big deal at all.

From the light of the window, he could see himself in the mirror.

Wincing at the state of his hair and the bruises upon his lips and shoulders, at least, the parts his shirt didn't conceal, Dash's mind began to race, the story that he would tell coming to mind in following cues, one after the other. Perhaps a dog had chased him, or some kid tried to pick a fight with him? Oh, no, what if he was taking a jog and he fell and hit his face?

Examining it the best that he could, there were tooth marks around it.

Those stories wouldn't work.

Adjusting his clothes, Michael, fixing that coy, exuberant smile upon his face, spoke in that voice, that voice that wasn't his, but Dash's, said, "Oh, this? Nah, dude. I think I just bit my lip or somethin'. No big deal." Shaking his head, the smile fell, thoughts churning until another answer came to mind, and with an almost mechanical manner, spoke again, "Oh, not much. A guy tried to pick a fight with me; this is nothing!"

"Maybe I shouldn't sound so excited. More…annoyed, I think?" Staring into his own eyes, they wavered and buckled beneath his gaze.

He could figure it out later.

He was tired.

Really tired.

Working his way back into the main room, the clock's hand moseyed by, clicking away at the same pace as before.

Settling back onto the ground where his blanket, dirty and mottled as it was, seemed to beckon him, calling out to him though he made no move to unfurl it.

It was almost time for school anyway.