~ PART III ~

Mr. Lancer had only been to the Manson's once, for a dinner party that'd involved far more politics than he was comfortable with.

He'd been introduced to anyone nearby as 'their daughter's teacher', then promptly left in a corner to entertain himself. Fortunately there had been food to keep him company; a buffet of rare crab legs and funky looking cheeses.

Still, not Lancer's idea of a good time.

Daniel was slumped over in his seat. Mr. Lancer had tried to arrange the boy so he wasn't taut against the seat belt, but his unconscious form kept flopping whenever they made a tight turn.

It was concerning, but Lancer was a little too focused on re-enacting a high-stakes, action movie car chase-scene to care.

The Manson's driveway hadn't felt so long before, solitary cedars whipping by as Lancer pressed down on the pedal.

Jerking to a stop, he peeled his fingers from the steering wheel and immediately exited the vehicle, hurrying over to Daniel's side.

Unbuckling him felt oddly reminiscent of helping a child from their booster seat, the boy's limp limbs making each movement far more complicated than they needed to be.

Grunting, he pulled Daniel out, expecting to struggle with his weight, but the boy was light. Almost too light; supernaturally so. Perhaps it was the ghostly side of things?

Before he could take another step, the Manson's door was flying open on its hinges and two of his three most troublesome students were spilling out.

"Oh, Danny," Tucker Foley pressed a hand to his mouth at the sight of his limp best friend, his feet stumbling, but Miss Manson was a hurricane.

She flurried across the gravel and grass towards Mr. Lancer, her face set with grim determination. "Give him to me. Give him to me right now or, so help me, I'll gut you like a—"

"Sam!" Tucker pushed forward, gently throwing his arm up in front of the frantic girl. "Cool it, he's got him. Lancers got him, Danny's…" The boy's throat bobbed, "Danny's going to be fine."

Miss Manson hesitated, her violet eyes meeting Lancers. "If you so much as—"

"I have no intention of hurting young Fenton," Lancer pressed, pulling himself up to his full height.

A while ago, Lancer towering over them would've been intimidating. But now, Foley was nearly the same height as him. And Miss Manson had sprouted, too, all gangly tall and soft-limbed.

His problem children had grown up when his back was turned.

Lancer wasn't sure how he felt about that.

A whole spectrum of emotions—ones Lancer couldn't even begin to decipher—flickered across the girl's face before she stepped aside, hands twitching forward like she still wanted to wrestle Daniel from his arms.

With his path unobstructed, Lancer hurried quick as his laden arms would allow him towards the house, his hearth clenching when he looked down to see his charge's paling face.

Was it always so…white? It hadn't been that white earlier, had it?

"Watch your step," Samantha cautioned as they approached the stairs. "Tucker, get the door."

The ornate Manson door swung open and Lancer was scrambling inside, not bothering to take in the lavish details of his surroundings. He could do that later, when his student wasn't potentially bleeding out in his arms.

Samantha pushed forward into the house. "Put him down here."

'Here' was an incredibly soft looking couch, its shape gracefully curved around the contours of the dim sitting room. The carpet was plush against Lancer's feet as he set the boy down.

Daniel grimaced, his eyelids flickering as his fingers twisted the collar of Lancer's shirt. He muttered something indecipherable before his jaw went slack and he slumped against the couch.

Samantha's hands flew to her friend's neck, pressing against Daniel's pulse point. She counted under her breath, "His heart's still beating. Slow, but it's always slow."

"Good," Tucker murmured. He'd lost his beanie along the way somewhere, his hair a frazzled mess.

Lancer compared it to his own fraying mental state and found the two disconcertingly similar.

"Where's the first aid kit?" Samantha barked at him. "We need to finish what Danny started before he bleeds anymore."

"It's—it's still in my car. I didn't have enough space to carry it with—"

She didn't even finish listening to his explanation. "Tucker, first aid kit. I'll cut the suit off. Mr. Lancer, there's scissors in the kitchen. You can't miss them."

Lancer shot up off the ground where he'd been crouching, his knees creaking at the sudden motion. Oh, how old he felt in that moment.

Older than time, older than he'd ever felt in his life.

The kitchen was exactly where Samantha had pointed to, a sprawling room full of shellacked shelves and spacious pantries. The scissors lay unobtrusively on the counter, stark against its marble surface.

Snatching them, he immediately returned to Daniel's side.

Samantha was pressed up against the couch, her body curved at an odd angle. One of her hands was grasping Daniel's like a lifeline while the other pressed against the wound on his abdomen, sluggish green-red blood dripping over her pale fingers.

It reminded Lancer of Christmas, albeit a very macabre one.

"He's not bleeding as fast." She murmured when Lancer passed the scissors to her. "That usually means his healing factor's kicked in. But we're not out of the woods yet."

The next hour was likely the most stressful time of Lancer's life, and he'd once taught a kindergarten classroom. He knew stress.

Daniel kept passing in-and-out of consciousness, his eyes blinking open only to slam closed again.

He muttered Samantha's name a few times, which had the poor girl flushing furiously as she stitched him back together again.

Ah, to be young and in love.

(Lancer had never been in love, or particularly young, but he liked to imagine it every now and then).

Tucker sat by Samantha's side, leaping up to fetch supplies when she barked demands at him. Surprisingly, he didn't snipe back, seeming to understand that his friend wasn't trying to be bossy.

She was merely stressed, and it manifested in rather unpleasant ways.

"Stop breathing so loud," She'd snapped at Lancer when the man had tried to glance over her shoulder. "Or I'll carve your heart out with a teaspoon."

He'd stayed on the opposite side of the room after that, trying to keep his breathing to a shallow rasp.

Speaking of shallow rasps, young Daniel's was beginning to sound a little better. His chest no longer stuttered when it rose, and some of the missing colour had returned to his face.

"There," Sam sat back on her heels, keeping her bloody, glove covered hand off the furniture. "That's the last of it."

"He gonna be alright?" Tucker whispered to her, hands fluttering towards their unconscious companion. "He's been out awhile."

She smoothed their ghostly friend's sticky hair out of his eyes with her clean palm, fingers lingering on Danny's sweat-soaked forehead. "Knowing him, he'll be back out kicking ghostly butt by next week."

Tucker snorted. "Sooner than that, no doubt."

"Bet?"

"Bet."

They shook hands over their friend's unconscious body, and Lancer decided that teenagers were absolutely terrifying.

"Ahem," He cleared his throat before the two had a chance to continue their banter. "Is it safe to assume young Daniel is out of the woods?"

Tucker startled, like he'd forgotten Mr. Lancer was even there, but Sam just turned towards him tiredly.

"He should be fine if his healing factor's kicked in. A little sleep, some more ecto-energy, and he'll be ready for class come Monday."

How strange, that this was supposed to be one of Lancer's peaceful, homey weekends.

How strange that Lancer didn't care that he'd lost it.

Some things were more important than weekends, and his students were definitely one of them.

"I believe I shall address the elephant in the room, pardon the colloquialism, and discuss the issue we are all no doubt thinking of," He sucked a breath through his teeth, the air whistling softly. "And that is, what I should do with Daniel's secret?"

He'd never considered suturing needles to be particularly threatening, but the way Samantha was pointing this one at him was causing Lancer to reconsider.

"You keep it," she said with utmost seriousness, needle creeping in his direction. "You keep it because Danny has saved your life and your precious classroom more times than I care to count. Because he has bled for your safety, and if you don't honour that sacrifice I'll eat your kneeca—"

"Woah, Sam! Woah." Tuck's hands flew up from where they'd been tending to their fallen friend, batting the needle out of her hand. "He knows, but there's no need to kill him over it."

Those violet eyes narrowed at Lancer, and he couldn't help but swallow thickly. "I have to agree with Mr. Foley on this one. I have no inclination of revealing Daniel's secret. This happened outside of school hours, meaning it is strictly a non-school kind of problem. Also meaning," His eyes glimmered as he spoke, "my legal responsibility to inform your parents of this potential danger technically no longer applies."

They both blinked at him, like he'd suddenly sprouted bunny ears or grown another head.

He was half-tempted to check, they looked so incredulous.

Tucker let out a soft whistle between his teeth, eyeing Lancer up and down like he was seeing him for the first time. "You're not so bad."

"Yeah," Samantha seemed slightly less inclined to kill him. That was good, right? Lancer smiled. "You're kinda cool, Ed."

Aaaand so much for that.

He sighed, resisting the familiar urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. A pressure headache was building between his eyes again. "I will let it slide just this once, but please refrain from referring to me as 'Ed' in the future."

She winked, shooting those little 'finger guns' at him, "Will do, Edward."

Lancer glanced at the door, wondering how quickly he could make an escape.

"She's kidding," Tucker murmured. Lancer pretended not to see when he elbowed Samantha in the ribs, shooting her a dark glare. "We won't mention your tragic first name, scout's honour. Granted that you keep our secret, of course."

Was he being…blackmailed? Is that what was happening here?

He stared at them, waiting for the punchline, but they met his wide-eyed gape with smug grins.

"That's right," Samantha said, looking entirely too pleased about this. "We keep the whole 'Edward Esteban Lancer' thing to ourselves, and you keep hush hush about Danny's secret. It's insurance."

Extortion is what it was. Blackmail.

He shook his head, trying not to smile.

Honestly, it wouldn't be the end of the world if the school found out his first name. Most of their parents already knew it, as did the majority of the staff.

It wasn't embarrassing, just discombobulating to hear from the mouths of his students.

But, if they felt better having this little 'insurance' over him, he'd go along with it.

Pursing his lips, he did his best to glare at them like he was under duress. "Fine. I suppose that is satisfactory."

Samantha stuck out her hand, eyes gleeful, and Lancer only hesitated for a moment before shaking it. That is, until the girl smiled a shark-toothed smile at him. "We should make a blood pact."

Lancer nearly ripped his hand out of the girl's grip before Tucker butted in with a soft "Sam. No more blood pacts. You promised."

She huffed. "Fine."

Only then did Lancer withdraw his hand, subtly wiping the nervous sweat from his palm onto the knee of his pantleg. "And he really will be alright?"

Samantha glanced down at their prone friend; his face having returned to its usual level of—not tanned skin, but his usual pasty white. "Should be. Look," then she pulled back the bandage only to reveal—

A sutured gash, but one that looked like it'd occurred weeks ago. The skin was still red and somewhat raised, but had already begun to seal itself together.

"Wow," Lancer couldn't help but breathe out, leaning closer to get a better look at it. "That is incredible. Does he always heal like that?"

Tucker's brow furrowed. "Only if he's been keeping up on his ecto-drinks and getting enough sleep."

"So, no, rarely does he ever heal like that." Samantha glared down at Daniel's peaceful face, the look completely offset by the way she was rubbing her thumb gently over the back of his hand. "Danny would starve if we didn't remind him to eat."

"Literally. He once went four days without food." Tucker shuddered. "Pretty sure his ghostly-juices were the only thing keeping him alive. We keep a box of protein bars in his locker now because of that."

Lancer silently wondered if he should start doing a mandatory classroom snack break. He'd previously noticed several other students didn't eat during lunch, though he hadn't counted young Daniel as one of them.

Maybe he could start buying those bulk containers of apple sauce and bringing them to class? Dole it out to students who might be hungry. Make sure they were—

"Lancer?" Samantha's voice interrupted his snowballing thoughts. "We, uh, really. Well, we really…" She trailed off, looking constipated.

Tucker sighed. "We want to thank you for agreeing to keep Danny's secret. We really, really appreciate it, and I know Danny will appreciate it too when he wakes up."

Lancer hadn't been this touched since the other staff members had nominated him for that 'maybe the best teacher on our board?' award.

"It's no problem. If only I'd known he was…" What? Putting his life on the line for them?

Known the falling asleep during class was a sign of ghostly night-fighting? Known the frayed nerves wasn't just teen angst, but a sign of early-adolescent trauma?

That the skipping class, the missing assignments, and obvious lies were part of a much grander picture? One Lancer could never even begin to grasp the fine lines of?

When had he stopped assuming that about every student? That they all had lives outside of his class, problems outside of the ones on his tests.

Wasn't that why he'd wanted to become a teacher in the first place?

Lancer swallowed, swiping quickly at the slight dampness in his eyes.

"Oh jeez, man," Tucker backed up, hands raised in front of him. "We didn't mean to make you cry. I, uh, take it back, we're not appreciative at all. In fact—"

Lancer laughed, the sound coming out warped and bubbly. Like there were tears lodged in his throat. "No, no. You just reminded me of something, something I promised myself a long time ago." He glanced down at Daniel again, the boy's eyes scrunched up from where his dark fringe must've been resting uncomfortably against his eyelids.

He reached out slowly, smoothing the hair back. A soft smile pulled at his lips when Daniel's face relaxed. "Something it was high time I remembered."

The room was silent for a moment, as if the walls were holding their breath.

Samantha, as per-usual, smashed the moment with a sledgehammer. "Well, this has been fun and all, but don't you have a blackboard to clean or something? Apples to polish? Pencils to sharpen?"

Tucker tried and failed to turn his laugh into a cough.

"Yes," Lancer pushed up to his feet, wincing when his knees creaked again like the bark of an old tree. "Give him my condolences when he wakes up. And…tell him thank you. From me."

For the barest hint of a second, Samantha's eyes softened. He glimpsed the quiet violet, the understanding.

Then the walls were back up, dark eyebrows drawn low over a darker gaze. "Yeah, yeah. Don't get all sappy on us now, Ed."

He frowned. "Remember your end of the deal."

"I remember." She narrowed that chilling gaze at him, "Do you?"

For what felt like the millionth time that night, Lancer swallowed thickly.

After a last goodbye to the sleeping Daniel and a few parting words from Samantha ("I don't ever want to see you in my house again, old man. Now get out of my sight till Monday."), Tucker led him to the door.

They stepped outside, the usual hustle and bustle of Amity swallowed up by the night. People slept soundly in their beds, all because of one awkward teenager.

It was mind boggling. Utterly bamboozling.

Lancer smiled.

Tucker said a quick farewell—offering their thanks one last time—before disappearing into the house again.

Samantha was probably waiting for him, her hand still wrapped carefully around Daniel's. Like she'd found a whole world between those bent fingers.

Lancer looked up at the sky, watched the stars for a moment. Watched as they moved slower than the naked human eye could ever follow. Yet they'd still be gone by dawn.

Squaring his shoulders, he made it his goal to forget what he'd seen here tonight. To put it to the back of his mind.

Tonight, he thought as he approached his haphazardly parked car. It was his worst parking job in thirty-two years. Tonight he would go home, and he would sleep.

Make himself a nice cup of rooibos, butter a slice of toast. Greet his cat, pretend he didn't notice how much she'd missed him.

And, after the weekend, he would go to school. He would teach. He'd watch Danny during his classes new mandatory snack break; he'd make sure the boy ate some applesauce.

With his mind made up, he popped his car door open and slid in, pretending not to see the bloody mess that'd been left on the passenger seat.

He'd deal with that later. Hopefully before his neighbours saw.

With Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 17 playing softly over the speakers, Lancer put his car in gear and hummed along as the stars moved on above him.

If there was a freshly cleaned backpack on Daniel's seat come Monday, no one thought to mention it. The youngest Fenton got an extension on his essay that morning; he gave Lancer the softest smile.

And, weeks later, when Lancer saw Daniel Fenton's name scribbled on the outside of Phantom's very familiar looking pencil case…well, that was none of his business.

Aaaaand that's a wrap folks!

Thanks for coming along on this crazy journey with me. Y'all are some of the most patient people I've ever met 3

If you spotted any mistakes, lemme know! I wrote this in a haze last night e_e

Thank you thank you for reading, lovely people. I might have some more angsty/comfort DP fics on the backburner if you're interested... ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Till next time,

~ASL