"Danny, you're sick!"

"Whad else isth new?" Danny spoke with his teeth wrapped around a thermometer. He was half tempted to headbutt his sister if she tucked him into his bed any tighter. He wiggled in his quilt cocoon before rearing his head back for a sneeze, "I'md dead, remember? This isn't exactly uncharted territory for me."

Jazz fluffed his pillow, watching the red line on the meat thermometer continue to spin wildly, "Could a corpse get the flu?"

The younger sibling shrugged tiredly, "Do I look like a doctor?"

She meant it more as a joke. She knew he wasn't dead-dead. Though often, he bared resemblance to something close to it. Softly smiling in exasperation, Jazz brushed his bangs from his eyes, "You look like a burrito."

He sneezed on her hand, drenching it in spittle.

Wiping her hand on her hand-me-down jeans, Jasmine cringed, "a very, very ill burrito."

"S-saw—" Danny sniffled, "sorry."

"No, it's alright." She assured him, "This is only my essay-writing hand, no biggie. I'll just… burn my skin off?"

"Mom keeps the kerosene under the sink." He offered, a reciprocated smirk dawning his pallid face.

The elder Fenton snorted, "You look rough." She took the meat thermometer now that it was settled, "If you were a pork chop, you'd be raw."

Turning around the dial so he could see, Danny squinted at the results before entering into another coughing fit. He had been coughing up white and green balls of phlegm. Well, they hoped it was phlegm.

"Thanks." He attempted to sit up, once again struggling against the numerous blankets wrapped around his body. His stomach repaid him by gurgling ominously.

"How are the crackers sitting?" Cautiously Jazz kicked his waste-paper basket closer to his bed. Poor basket— wicker— had a good life. Last time Danny hurled, which was earlier that day, he ended up melting a section of the rug. They knew if they put the hamper over it their parents wouldn't notice. It isn't like their parents didn't care, but their careers or lack their of always seemed to take presedence. Right now they were at some convention across the state. Danny preferred them there. Danny didn't like anyone acknowledging his weaknesses.

"Fine'd. It's fine'd— fine'd." He took a breath before repeating, "I'm fine. I'll live… Well not live, but— whatever." He fought his arms out of the comforter to grab one of many water bottles lining his nightstand. His movements were sluggish and greatly weakened, his depth perception seemed to be suffering the most. Danny ended up punching his lamp. The second try was a bit more successful. Shaking his head, he figured he could reset his eyes—

Jazz inched the cough syrup away from him, "Try to take it slow with that stuff. I know you want to get better as soon as possible, but it's really strong."

The ghost boy swatted her away, "Yeah, yeah, yeah."

"I think I should stay home tomorrow to make sure you're okay."

"Jazz, c'mon, I'm not a baby. I can take care of myself. I can sit here and sleep just as well as Dad in the recliner."

"I didn't say you were a baby." She put her hands on her hips with some vague authority allotted to her by virtue of being born first. Jasmine stuck her bottom lip out, "but you're sick, and I'm going to take care of you."

"And mission accomplished, worry-wart, you've helped me plenty. I'll be okay, don't worry about me. It's just a—" cough, hack, cough cough, and sneeze. Danny rested his case, "It's just a cold."

"Uh-huh. I'm staying home tomorrow."

Danny threw an empty box of tissues at the door as Jasmine swiftly exited his room, ducking behind the door.

As soon as she was gone, he figured he would enter a sweet medically induced stasis. Danny may have sounded like a garbage disposal with a fork stuck in it but at least he had the day off to sleep. He snatched the cough medicine off his bedside table, minding the lamp this time. The red fluid inside seemed to be crusting to the bottom. Did this stuff expire? There wasn't that much left. Danny figured he didn't even need the dosage cup that came with the bottle. Bottoms up! The cherry flavor did very little to mask the concoction's real purpose. The bitterness of the medicine stayed in his mouth, long after gagging it down. He could feel the liquid's warmth enter into his throat and sink. It felt like it coated his heart and anchored it down to his stomach. The warmth sat at the bottom of his gut and nearly knocked him out— ugh. Slowly he blinked, and he swallowed dryly. Danny wiped his swollen eyes. His head throbbed with pain, his nerves alerting him to what he already knew. He was sick. In his immense wisdom, the ghost boy fumbled with an extra-strength aspirin from its foil prison. Down the hatch. He had faith that Sam and Tucker were holding down the fort just fine without him. This was like that movie he watched a while ago with the kid faking being sick so he could blow off school— except it was actually happening, and Danny couldn't be anymore happier about it.

Danny drew the covers over his head, listening to the hiss of the humidifier fade away from his consciousness.

The light rain outside was barely audible. It was a sheer refreshing fall drizzle, with minimal wind—Grey milky light for a perfect overcast day. A lot of people thought it was surprising that Dash loved the rain. Baxter didn't love what it did to his hair, but he adored the idea that the sun got to take a break. He wished he got the same treatment. He left Lancer's room with a collection of papers and worksheets. He enjoyed talking with his English teacher, he wasn't afraid to use big words with him. Baxter had quite the gift for charming the adults around him, though he struggled to get a word in edgewise with his peers. Speaking of, here they are now—

As Dash exited out of the school through one of the back exits near the bus stop, he spotted his friends surrounding the bike racks.

The door opening caught the attention of Paulina Sanchez, "Oh, there you are, Dashie!"

He hated being called Dashie. She knows that. The quarterback gave a small wave to his friends. Dash mentally prepared an excuse to give them. They couldn't know that he was going over to see the Fentons. It's not the Fentons were bad people by any means, they always treated him well when he went over for tutoring. Mr Fenton was a great baker. Mrs Fenton… well, she had room for improvement! They weren't mad scientists or quacks; just eccentric. The problem was no one really believed that. The Fentons were tinfoil hat def-con level weird, and everyone around them seemed to get hit with the weird too. They were sort of like the inside-joke of Amity Park. The thing you gawk at while leaving the grocery store and get back in your car.

Truthfully, Dash didn't have a bad word to say about them. Well, maybe just one. Dickhead. All families had bad apples, and the bad apple in the Fenton's case was their youngest, Danny Fenton.

Dash and he had exchanged words. A lot. To put it mildly. They shared some classes together and Danny always went out of his way to give Dash a hard time. Not to say it wasn't mutual, because it absolutely was. Dash would take Danny's tuff and chuck it as far as he could with his million-dollar arm. And when he didn't feel like breaking Danny's stuff, he would herd him out of the way by the scruff of his neck. Not like it was hard either, Danny basically weighed nothing. That was the thing that bugged Dash the most, despite being five-foot-nothing and at the clear physical disadvantage in a fight, it didn't stop Danny from reading Dash like a book.

See, it was funny because Danny was failing English. Baxter had been saving that witticism like a fire-extinguisher encased in glass. If Dash was honest with himself, that was really the only thing he actually knew about Danny. The guy was so hard to make fun of because it seemed like nothing Dash ever did to him really mattered. It didn't matter to Danny the way that it mattered to Dash.

Kwan Byun, Dash's excitable right-hand man, and offensive linebacker gave a concerned smile, "Where're you off to?"

Dash hopped on one foot, making sure his jeans were cuffed and shoes were tied as he moved to his bike. He explained through a lie, "I'm gonna go grab a bite to eat before practice starts."

"Okay, but you are going to be at practice today, right?" Kwan crossed his arms, trying to be stern, "I don't want to have to keep covering you for Testlaff."

Under her umbrella, Paulina yawned, "Oh, let him be late, Star loves to ogle him while he does punishment laps."

Dash rolled his eyes, "I don't know why you get her hopes up like that."

"I like to stir the pot. She seems to like you for your—" Sanchez vaguely gestured to Dash's presence, "whatever it is that you do."

"Flattering," He deadpanned.

Kwan snapped his fingers, trying to gain their attention back, "Hey— Hey, he's not going to be late. Right? You're not going to flake out, right, Dash Middle Name Baxter?"

Ooo, now he was in trouble. Dash held his hands up in mock surrender, "Yeah, man, you got it, I promise I won't be late."

"What is your middle name anyway, Dashie?" Paulina leaned against a metal fixture that appeared to be an abstract sculpture.

Stooping down and Dash undid the combination lock for his bicycle, "You're not gonna get it out of me that easily."

"I bet it's something embarrassing." She playfully hit Kwan's bicep.

"Don't look at me." Kwan wasn't exactly the brains of the outfit, none of the athletes really were. Maybe Star or Paulina. Val was pretty on the ball when it came to leadership before she dropped them like a wasps nest. Kwan pointed at his friend's blond head, "Dash doesn't even let me call him by his first name."

Dash snapped his head up to the linebacker, "DUDE!"

Her hand hit her cheek and Paulina gasped, "Dashie! Keeping secrets!"

"Wh-what'd I say?" Kwan scratched his head confused as to why they were wigging out. Like, even the whitest white parents wouldn't name their kid 'Dash'. Kwan thought that was kind of obvious.

With one swift motion Dash pulled off his bike lock and secured it to his backpack, "Kwan, if you tell her I will never forgive you."

"If you think I can't find out, you underestimate my abilities Dashie." Paulina narrowed her eyes with lethality, "Or whatever your real name is."

He needed to get out of here before it got real ugly. Dash scoffed, he gave a nod to Kwan, "Later."

"Later," Byun sighed. His friends really wanted to give him grey hair as soon as possible.

Dash pushed off from the sidewalk and bunny hopped over the curb. He sped away towards the main road. When he had enough momentum, the quarterback dove into his pocket to grab his music player. Can't live without a soundtrack.

"With all the power you're releasing—

It isn't safe to walk the city streets alone.

Anticipation is running through me!

Let's find the key and turn this engine on.

I can feel you breathe...

I can feel your heart beat faster.

Take me home tonight!

I don't want to let you go 'til you see the light…"

His thoughts drifted back to Star. She was a nice girl and everything but she just wasn't his type. Realistically, she should be. Dash always thought intelligence was attractive. And despite her being a calculus wizard, nothing told him that she was 'the one'. As corny as that was. Dash had been called an 'old soul' because he still believed in chivalry and true love was possible. It was possible if you had a great soundtrack and ninety-to-one-hundred-and-eighty minutes to kill. Dash didn't think he could make her happy. Shit, he could barely make himself happy! He had to believe there was something wrong with him. None of the girls he knew seemed like 'the one'. Maybe he was just impatient.

Dash liked to think Jazz Fenton was the mythical one. He thought he felt something, but it promptly evaporated. There was still a sense of respect and lasting affection, but nothing worth pursuing. Maybe he was broken! It wouldn't be surprising, he couldn't seem to do anything else right. It's not like Jazz would ever feel the same way either. She was so mature and had a vision beyond the rolling hills of Amity Park. She was college-bound. She was gonna be somebody. Baxter wouldn't want to be in the way.

He continued to speed his way through the bike lane, arching his body over his bike handles. Dash couldn't outpace a car but he certainly tried. The vehicles always sped through the construction zone anyway, they caused the road to rumble but the athlete persisted. As did the rain, having evolved from a drizzle to your standard downpour. Dash found the turn-off and made his right, going down the avenue until he found the Fentonworks building on its usual corner. Complete with silver observation center on top. The quarterback disembarked and wheeled his bike onto their lawn. He stashed it in the shadow of their walk-up staircase.

"ACHOO!"

A gathering of birds startled from the telephone wires parallel to Fentonworks. What followed sounded like a chain of wet coughs and someone spitting. Punctuated by an articulated— Ptchew!

Jesus Christ. Dash thought, the hair on the back of his neck was bristling. He had read on Wes' blog that ghost sickness was something of an oddity, but it did little to relieve anyone's inner hypochondriac. Giving the door a tentative knock, Dash heard some rustling coming from inside.

The door creaked open before Dash could get through his next set of knocks, a hand yanked him by the jacket into the house.

"Uh— Sorry!" He nearly got his foot caught in the entryway rug, "I came as soon as I got your message. I stopped by every single one of his classes to—"

Before Dash could get through his statement, Jasmine hurriedly praised him, "Thank god you're here! I will not let Danny flunk out because of a little cold! I think I've exhausted all of the traditional methods. He's just not getting any better!"

She sounded shrill and worried. Dash had never heard her so upset before. He always thought Jasmine was a beacon of calm and poise. It was then he realized she was more talking at him rather than to him. Jazz was in the middle of putting on her mary-janes, tapping the toe to the floor. Grabbing her purse from the coat rack the strap had been tangled within its arms and came clattering to the ground.

With trained reflexes, the quarterback grabbed it before it hit the floor. He put a hand gently on her shoulder, "Jasmine! Take a breath. You're spiraling." Dash asserted, "I'm sure the twerp is fine."

He wasn't sure if this helped, but she did slow down. Jazz breathed, "I'm going to punch you now, please note that this isn't personal but its a part of my new stress-relieving technique—"

"Wait, huh?"

Her small fist made direct contact with his sternum, knocking the wind out of him. Weakly Dash clutched his chest, "You... have a good left."

She sighed, "Thank you." Jasmine straightened him out, "I need to step out for a second to the grocery store to get more soup and vitamin C. Could you please get him started on his homework, and just kind of watch him? I know he's too old for a babysitter but it would just make me feel better if he wasn't alone."

Dash pulled up his sleeve and checked his watch. He had ten minutes before practice. And he was only partially lying about getting something to eat. And he really didn't want to be around Danny if he could help it. Baxter announced, "You can count on me."

Tension left Jazz's face and her posture became compromised with relief, "Thank you, so, so, so much Dash. Have you changed your policy on hugs?"

"It won't kill me," He teased.

Hastily she wrapped her arms around his torso and maneuvered the jock towards the stairs. Jazz flung open the door again and called back over her shoulder, "I'll be back soon!"

For some reason, Dash didn't believe her. He was about ready to kick his own ass when he agreed to do something he had no desire to do, but seeing Jazz so frazzled and all over the place… he's a softie. Damn his big heart. He glanced up the stairs with apprehension. Then he ascended.

Finding Danny's door was easy enough, it was everything that followed that made the quarterback's palms sweat. He cleared his throat, "Yo, Fentonowski!"

Silence. Well, aside from taps of rain hitting the windows downstairs, and whatever was churning in the basement lab.

"Yo!" Dash repeated.

Nothing.

This was his last chance to get away, but he made a commitment. A commitment to a really nice girl, who could probably kick his ass judging how hard she could throw a punch.

He pushed the door open gently. Praying that Danny wasn't doing anything too weird. Please just be sleeping, please just be sleeping— please just be—

Dash kept his eyes on the border where the bedroom carpet met the wood of the hallway. Blue. Danny's room was very blue. Dash had to hypothize that was Danny's favorite color. The walls were covered in a dark blue with black posters describing different heavenly bodies. Normal teenage boys had another kind of heavenly bodies adorning their walls. Dash had seen many other of his peers' rooms, but Wes and Kwan had a mess of sports illustrated bikini models on their walls. Dash didn't quite get why. Danny's posters were thankfully a lot more tame and educational. His parents seemed like the type to watch documentaries for fun and regulate how much TV watching their kids did. Totally cliche but Danny had a photoshopped picture of Albert Einstien sticking his tongue out. And it looked like he was using Thomas Edision's portrait as a dartboard. Impeccable aim, Dash noted.

Recognizing that he had never actually seen Danny's room before he couldn't help but feel like he was committing a violation of some kind. Like he was in an enemy foxhole. There was an inherent wrongness. Mostly having to do with the fact that he didn't have permission.

Jazz must have turned up the thermostat— it felt like an oven in here. The heat in the room hit him in a single dense wave. He set down his bag to take off his sweatshirt underneath his letterman.

Through the mess of fabric, he called out, "Alright, rise and shine, sleeping beauty. Your sister called me to—"

The quarterback adjusted his shirt and ran a hand through his hair. He opened his eyes—

And Danny was floating off of his mattress.

"To…"

Not like he was tangled in his covers and his limbs poked out through the edges— no, he was fucking floating . Danny was in the middle of the air at least a few feet above his bed. The guy was hanging there like he was being pulled by something in his chest because his head and legs bent like they were still being affected by gravity.

See, a lesser man would have started screaming. Dash however stood there mouth agape. His legs were one strong breeze away from just collapsing under him. Just how sick was he?! Baxter's first instinct was to get Danny down, but he didn't even know where to begin to do that. The jock rushed to Fenton's side, grabbing his arm— only to rear back when he felt how cold Danny's skin was. This was straight-up, not kosher. Dash tried to muscle through the bitter coldness but it was like submerging his hand in the snow. The chill crawled up his own arm and his torso. It felt like he was burning him, that's how cold Fenton was. Sure enough, when Dash glared at his palm, the flesh of his hand was bright pink. How on earth was this possible? This felt way out of his pay grade. This felt like something Dash should call someone for, but which branch of the government was in charge of making teenagers not float?

Did Jazz know her brother could float?! Would Jasmine blame Dash for this?

Danny's resting face began to fold with distress and emotion, as he rolled on his side away from Dash. Danny was gradually rising towards the ceiling— floating even higher, and out of Dash's grasp. What the hell is with the Fenton's and their love of tall rooms?

Okay, Dash wasn't a doctor but something told him that wasn't a sign that he was getting better! Thinking fast, the quarterback scooped up all the blankets from the bed and discerned which was the heaviest. Looks like the winner was a red and blue stuffed quilt with constellations hand-stitched into the surface. Taking a wobbling step onto the mattress, Dash positioned himself under Danny's shadow. The bed frame squeaked under his weight. He held tight onto one corner of the blanket before flexing it. Effectively throwing one side of the quilt over Danny's body. With both ends of the blanket within his reach, the jock began to carefully pull Fenton back down.

Why didn't anyone in the exorcist think to do this?

As Dash tugged the blanket, whatever was keeping Danny in the air was starting to give out. Fenton began to fuss again in his sleep, mumbling under his breath and kicking. He rose again— faster this time, with more force, taking the quarterback with him.

"Oh, no you don't— I don't do heights!" Dash had some sense to hold on.

Danny then began to sink and fluctuate as his dream was subsiding. Up, and down. Dash struggled and thrashed his legs, hoping his mass would weigh them both down somehow. Abruptly, and eerily, Danny stopped moving. Suddenly Fenton was laying flat and stiff as a board. Then like deadweight he dropped. Danny dropped on top of Dash's body. It wasn't a good day for the jock's ribs. Baxter's back hit the headboard causing it to rattle— he must have hit his head too because that hurt like a son of a bitch. He touched the back of his skull where it began to curve to see if he was bleeding.

That's when it occurred to Dash that this was not an ideal spot for Danny to be.

Sure, was he glad that Danny didn't get hurt in the fall? Of course, Dash was an asshole, not a monster. Not that glad to be used as a crash cushion though. Danny was back and sort of obeying the laws of physics. And the ghost boy was in Dash's arms, his head lulled on Baxter's chest. This was… weird, right? But he didn't necessarily want to move Fenton away.

Despite complaining of the room's heat, with Danny's ice-cold body pressing on top of him, it was making his teeth chatter. Dash was shivering terribly— okay, the nice moment was over he was freakin' freezing!

As slow as he could manage it the jock shifted his own body off of the bed while gradually lowering Danny's head onto his flattened pillows. Dash's shoulder hit the floor, and he inched the rest of himself away. The quarterback was breathless. He couldn't believe that just happened. How did that happen?!

"Skulker? More like Junker, heh…" Danny flopped onto his stomach, "Zap!"

Incredible. Utterly incredible. It was like nothing even happened. Dash got to his knees and studied the ghost dork more closely. The skin around his eyes was discolored and sunken, drool was coagulating in the corner of his mouth. He certainly looked like one of the circles of hell. There was hardly any color to his skin at all, it's like he was so pale that he was translucent. He could almost see the blue veins under the ivory white. Danny had sweat glistening off of his forehead, he was having some type of fever. That much had been made clear. What wasn't clear though, was what exactly a 'Skulker' was.

Danny's eyes fluttered open, "Dash is here too! Ha!" His shaking hand emerged from under the quilt, pointed like a gun, aimed directly at the jock's heart, "Zap!"

With a sudden snap of his head, the ghost boy sneezed and weakly collapsed back into bed.

Apparently even in Fenton's dreams, Dash didn't get a break.

"Hey Dream Dash, you didn't blow up."

"Oh, sorry, my bad." Baxter apologized, automatically. He fell against the floor yelling, "AGH! You got me!"

"Shhhhhhh, s-so loud, die quieter."

Dash snickered, "Whatever you say."

"That's righdt, 'm Danny Phantom and 'm gonna…" Danny rubbed his forehead into the pillow, slurring his words. Rendering the rest of the statement as incomprehensible.

The quarterback sat back up, and hunched over his knees, remarking under his breath "Oh, okay, you're the Phantom, big guy, and I'm Mother Theresa."

"Dash."

"Yeah?"

"Daaaaaaash…"

"Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?"

"You're stupid."

"I'm gonna let that slide because you're sick." The quarterback said with amusement. Dash finally stood up, glancing at Danny's nightstand. Oh, so that's why he was literally floating, dude is high — The cough medicine bottle was empty and a tray of aspirin was out, it didn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure out what happened next. Still, it didn't explain exactly what caused Danny to rise into the air or why he was so cold. The jock then hefted all of the blankets back onto the bed, hoping that they would anchor Danny in place this time.

Dash stalked back to the front of the room to retrieve his backpack. He pulled out Danny's assignments from class, and dropped them on Danny's chest, "Up an' at'em, let's go go go."

This appeared to be enough of a sobering experience to cause Fenton to jolt in place, "Wh-What time is it?!"

"I dunno, Phantom, like four? Four-thirty?" Dash retorted, before finding a seat in a rolling desk chair. He crossed his legs at the knee and propped his face with his knuckles.

For some reason this worried Danny, bewildered he choked out "Ph— Phantom?"

"You talk in your sleep. You were having quite the dream."

Danny blinked, processing what he heard. He untensed before quipping, "and now 'm having a nidtmare. Why are you here?"

"Your sister wanted me to drop off your homework, because—" Baxter exclaimed with a laugh, "brother, you are flunking."

"Awesome." Danny sarcastically spat. He coughed so hard he began to choke and sputter.

Immediately the jock clapped a hand on Fenton's back, hoping to aid him however slightly.

"Bowl—! Bowl!" Danny covered his mouth and began gesturing wildly to the other side of his bed. Dry heaving, his stomach was flexing as his whole body was working to keep the contents of his stomach down.

Diving back on the bed, Dash climbed around Danny. Putting a knee on the pillows and hooking his feet around the lip of the bed frame. He quickly found a huge metal mixing bowl. The quarterback took a stab in the dark and assumed this was the vomit receptacle.

False alarm. Danny's tide of nausea left him, as he kept swallowing mouthfuls of air. Groaning. Poor guy sounded absolutely miserable.

Fenton slammed his shoulder into Baxter. To make Dash go away, "Great, an A-lister in my bed, and it's a dude."

"I think this practically makes us married; I just saw your pre-puke face." Dash sneered, making sure Danny's face was pointed toward the mixing bowl.

Danny venomously growled, "yeah get used to it, you're gonna inspire this reaction a lot in people."

"Yeah! Well!" Okay, Dash didn't exactly have anything to justify speaking— but he pointed at the ghost boy, stomping his foot, "You're not a peach either, buddy. And at least I'm a puke who could pass English."

Head too cloudy with medication, Danny sighed wearily, "...Whatever."

"Whatever!" Dash exclaimed. Did he actually win one, for once? Baxter, you're on fire.

Danny sneezed again.

Except Dash immediately felt bad for yelling at a sick person. The jock pinched his tear ducts, "I'm sorry."

"No, you aren't'd."

"You're right, I'm not, but I'm gonna say it anyway and be the bigger person."

"Like that's hard for you."

Dash was, this close , to choking him.

Appearing to sort through the papers scattered over his covers. Danny squinted at the squiggles of writing outlining the questions for the paper.

Dash debated on telling Danny about his— his— levitation fit. Why he didn't immediately blurt it out was beyond his reasoning. You can't exactly walk back from, 'hey dude, I saw you floating.' In all honesty, despite the initial shock, it wasn't exactly that surprising. The Fentons surely must have had all sorts of side effects while handling ecto-plasm and toxic waste, right? It was likely a common sight otherwise Jazz would have mentioned it as being unusual.

Mostly Dash didn't want to admit how he got Danny down was by… cuddling him. No, no. Danny would have too much of a field day with that.

Dash, you can't be that immature to let the guy be in the dark about his condition because you don't want to be called gay, right?

"So, are you just gonna stand there and stare at me, or are you looking for an excuse to crawl back in bed with me, ya perv?"

Dash weighed his options again. Before electing to let Danny find out on his own. And if he did that by floating out of his window one night, so be it. The jock took a seat back in the rolling desk chair. He explained the homework in case Danny didn't feel like starting it, "You're reading a passage from Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut. Then you are summarizing the passage and identifying themes from the text." Dash then added, "I could do it in my sleep."

Flatly Danny nodded, "Uh-huh."

With that, Dash put his feet up on the desk and retrieved his headphones from his pocket. He uncoiled his music player, watching fat raindrops hit the window in between the shadows of the blinds. Maybe if he was lucky, practice got canceled. But when has he ever been lucky?

"-Get beside me, I want you to love me!

I'm surprised that you've never been told before:

That you're lovely,

And you're perfect,

And that somebody wants you!

Fascinating new thing.

The scene makin', want a temporary savior—

Fascinating new thing."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Fenton's mouth moving, but no words came out. Just music. Why couldn't it be like this all the time, then it would be easier to ignore. But he couldn't ignore him. For whatever reason Baxter just couldn't ignore him. Even when he tried he still ended up in the same place.

An empty water bottle hit the side of his head. Dash took out a headphone, "What, now?"

"I just wanted to remind you to get the hell out of my house." Danny pointed to his door, "I can't focus with you here. I'm sure there are plenty of other things that require your noble homecoming king presence. So don't feel like sticking around."

"Please." Dash rolled his eyes, "there are plenty of things I'd rather be doing. Don't get it twisted that I actually like you or anything." He muttered, "I've seen how you treat people you care about."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Danny challenged him.

"I'm only here because Jazz asked me to be." Dash admitted, harshly, without breaking eye contact with the window, "She said she didn't feel comfortable leaving you alone. Don't pretend you don't know that you disappear on people and then lie about what you were doing. Jazz told me all about it, for hours at a time you would vanish, and come back covered in bruises and burns. She blamed me for it at first, like I would ever be that mental." The jock added, "You worry her. A lot. Douche-nozzle."

There was a long withstanding pause.

"I don't need a babysitter."

Snapping, Dash drove his heel into the desk forcefully, "You know she loves you, right? For whatever reason she loves you! Because you're her baby brother. And I know it's annoying but that's what happens when you care about someone. Yeah, it's annoying, I'm sorry! But do you know how many people would kill for that? To be annoyed for the rest of their lives because they know deep down someone gives a shit?"

The truth had a distinct copper and cherry flavor and it went down hard with warmth and bitterness with a faint breath of sugar.

Danny didn't say anything for a moment, digesting what he had heard. Of course, that's why Dash was here. It was stupid of him to think otherwise that dash cared enough to want to see him of his own accord. It was for Jazz. With his unpolished voice the ghost boy croaked out, "Well, I'm glad I worry her so much that you can play the white-knight, Dash, trust me, I'm so happy it's bringing me to tears."

"You're such a— ugh! We're just friends. Believe it or not, I'm capable of being nice when you aren't pissing me off all the time."

"Yeah, right'd" Danny sniffled, "There's always a catch with you. Like hell, you'd ever be nice to someone without expecting a reward."

"If I have to spell it out for you, you really are stupid, Fenton."

"She's not gonna sleep with you." Danny hissed from the safety of his blankets. He held no higher moral ground. It was clear that he didn't seem to fully recognize the weight of what he said. Danny just knew that it would be hurtful, and that's all he needed.

Dash nearly snorted at the idea, "oh my god, is that why you think I make friends?"

Yes, their friendship was an odd one for sure. Dash was troubled by the accusation Danny was putting forward, dressing as the truth. Jazz was nice to him, so he was nice to her. It wasn't as complex as people tried to make it out to be. She needed help research done, and he needed free tutoring— then shockingly , they had comradery. Maybe it started off with a romantic angle, but that didn't negate their entire friendship. It wasn't surprising that people said things. Jazz was a girl and Dash was a boy. Admittedly he was a very pretty boy. But it was purely platonic.

With a drunken ego, Danny confidently stated "Blinko. Wait, bando— b-buh… The fuck?!"

Why was that word suddenly so hard to say? This cough medicine cannot be meant for daytime use.

The jock stared in utter awe of Danny's composure and veil of mystery being shattered before him like an expensive ceramic piece. Pursing his lips, laughing felt too cruel. Dash gestured for Fenton to continue, "Take your time."

"Bi— bingo. Bingo! Bingo!" he fell into triumphant laughter as if the obstacle he surmounted wasn't

"There you go."

Holding his head in shame, Danny knew he wasn't going to hear the end of that, "Shuddup!"

There was another pregnant pause. Albeit interspersed with Dash trying to hold in his laughter. The room still spun around Danny's head, he just did that thing where he blacked out and the vicious demon in his head called hormones took the steering wheel, didn't he? Muttering a soft, "Thanks."

Dash was getting real tired of the emotional whiplash today. He asked, cocking his head, "for what?"

"For… not being as huge of a jerk as you could've been."

That's the best he was going to get he reckoned, Dash exhaled, "You're welcome."

"Could I ask you for one more favor?"

"Why not," Dash said curtly, half expecting another barb or joke at his expense.

Though with some reluctance, Danny requested, "Could you read the passage to me—? it's too blurry for me."

His voice was raw from coughing and weak from everything else.

Dash turned to finally look at his so-called worst enemy. Tiny and helpless. Not at all the bullheaded, too-smart-for-his-own-good, narcissist Dash had come to know. Danny was always a bit on the shorter side, but Dash didn't fully recognize how small Danny was. It was… cute. That was the word. That was the feeling that aptly described this rush of endorphins Dash got when Fenton looked up at him with his tired, crust-covered eyes. Cute. Once Danny actually listened to him, and stopped talking Danny was… cute. When Danny wasn't antagonizing the shit out of him, Danny was cute! This was the same seize in his throat when Danny's head was on his chest. It was that unidentifiable weirdness he couldn't immediately identify. Danny Fenton was cute.

Baxter hit the brakes. The jock's brain— the undamaged part that could still parse reality, immediately tried to dissuade it as a fluke. This had to be like the Nightingale effect, which Jazz had off-handedly mentioned to him before. The rest of his muscles and bones— every nerve of his being tried to alert him of the critical error. He tensed with the sudden realization. Dash never felt this . He never felt his heart skip a beat like that before. He wasn't— no — he couldn't be gay. Especially not for some scrawny burn-out like—

He glanced at Danny again, as Fenton was still attempting to read the papers. The ghost boy was holding his jet black hair back, exposing his whole face. Danny was mouthing the possible words to the passage.

OKAY, FINE. MAYBE— Dash was gay— but not for him . Not for Danny's insufferable personality. Fenton wasn't necessarily bad-looking. He was classically handsome. Sort of like a younger Anthony Perkins. Dash didn't hate looking at Danny. Dash hated basically Fenton's entire attitude but looking at him sort of softened the blow. Danny looked like he was plucked out of some magazine and collaged into existence. Everything about him seemed exact, like whatever genetic lottery he won— wasn't a complete accident. Even the perceived flaws in his skin, the heavy and deep under-eye circles, and the rosy pink around his joints only added to his appearance. So, sue him, Dash just had good taste. That was it. Surely, everyone experienced attraction based solely on appearance regardless of sex.

… This train of thought was only digging Dash's grave deeper at an accelerated rate. The room fell away and Dash was left numb. This was horrible. It hardly felt self-inflicted, Dash didn't want to be here, yet he was. He certainly didn't want to be thinking about this, but he was. Not through any choice on his part. It was as natural as the waves crashing on the shore. The athlete was speedrunning an entire idyllic rom-com complete with chapel marriage with someone who rightfully hated his guts. This was hardly an ideal scenario for either of them. He was nearly bursting to refrain from saying 'I love you.'

Seeing Danny at his lowest, it caused this intense need— this desire to take care of him. To scold him for being so careless in the first place and to be there. There for what?

Upon noticing that Dash hadn't said anything for a considerable amount of time, he dryly swallowed, "... Okay."

So he said nothing. Painfully he said nothing. He was bleeding out, wordlessly. Dash didn't want to give these thoughts room to breathe, to grow. If he suffocated the fire and flooded the kindling, maybe he could convince himself that what he was feeling was nothing more than a proxy. A methadone substitute for the real thing. But it was real. Love came to us all silently. Unexpectedly. It snared a hold on our bodies until we couldn't form a cohesive thought, aside from a loud single word.
Oh .

How did I never notice before?

"All moments, past, present, and future, always have existed, always will exist." -Slaughterhouse-Five, Kurt Vonnegut.

Kwan-Solo 4:42 pm Tues: So, if ur actually getting food (which lol nice try, didn't buy that for a sec bud) Bring me back a milkshake.

Kwan-Solo 4:42 pm Tues: A milkshake + large fry/onion ring combo. Do not be stingy with the HR sauce. ttyl.

Kwan-solo 5:12 pm Tues: Okay you're officially thirty minutes late, I'm going to round up the search party because I know you would not blow off practice after promising your best friend in the world that you wouldn't. So either you're dead, missing, or lost your phone, or some other horrible fourth thing.

Kwan-solo 5:24 pm Tues: Your lack of response does not make me any less annoyed.

Jazz came home and there wasn't a team of police investigating a homicide, so tentatively she wanted to call this a success. Not in any hurry to be out in the rain again, she took a moment to decompress in her car. Running her hands through her hair— she cut the engine, letting the radio play. The passenger seat rustled with plastic bags, Jasmine took inventory of the groceries. Her life had no right to be this hectic. In an instant, she understood why her peers were so ready to leave. Jazz liked taking care of people but she had very little time to care for herself. Whether consciously or unconsciously, she passed the buck to her friend. And she was wrestling with the ability to feel guilty about it. She had one afternoon to pretend to be someone else. Removing the keys from the ignition, the song cut. She gathered her composure. Jazz loved her family, she loved her brother probably more than she loved herself, but she was running on fumes and diet coke. Jasmine was— exhausted, waiting for that love to be returned. She was losing herself in the big picture to the point where she could barely identify her own reflection looking back at her in the rearview mirror.

Jazz took her groceries and ran inside.

The door closed behind her. She was expecting to see a football player sprawled out on her couch and watching tv. Though Dash wasn't there. Which meant he was still upstairs. Jasmine removed her jacket and put her keys on the hook. She called out, "I'm home."

"We're up here!" her brother responded.

She went up the stairs after putting the bags in the kitchen. The elder Fenton made it halfway, she heard the thumps of a person falling against the floor and scrambling to their feet before Dash suddenly emerged from the room, having thrown open the door. He blocked her from progressing forward. Baxter's shoulders were trembling in a panic. The jock's eyes were practically bulging from his head, he was looking at her with a tense and knowing smile on his face, "Did you forget to mention something to me?"

Jazz blinked, "... you cut your hair?"

"Wh— wait, you noticed? Wait— No—" Dash inhaled deeply from his nose, "Jazz, I don't know if you know this— but Danny floats. He floats now."

There were one or two possibilities here. Dash just figured out that Danny was a ghost. Or— well there wasn't a good second contender. Jazz had run into similar problems like this before. Her biggest obstacle with being a part of the Phantom gang was— the lying. Jazz was notoriously bad at lying. Some came to it naturally, but Miss Socially-Awkward-Straight-A's-Teacher's-pet couldn't seem to lie her way out of a paper bag. Her solution was to agree.

Jazz overacted and nodded her head, " Sure — Sure he does."

"I'm serious!" Dash's voice cracked, and he rephrased, " I'm serious. "

She assured him, her tone dripping with sarcasm, "And I totally believe you."

The quarterback clapped a hand on her shoulder, "Jasmine, I'm not screwing around. You were right to be worried, I think that there might be something wrong with him."

She wasn't disagreeing with him. That's the important part. Instead, Jazz kept him off balance and from asking further questions. She appealed to Dash's self-importance. His well-being. Jasmine noticed things. She definitely noticed he came from a negligent household same as them, though unlike the Fentons— Dash probably didn't get a phone call check-in. Dash was still immature because he was alone. No one asked him to change, no one challenged him.

Jazz put the back of her hand on his forehead, "Are you sure you're alright? You don't look so good."

She was only playing the part— but it did feel like he was running a temperature. Dash might have caught what Danny had or there was some kind of viral bug going around Casper High. After all, it was flu season.

"I feel fine." Dash protested, shirking away from her, "You're not listening to me, Danny was floating like ten feet in the air!"

"Uh-huh, and what did Danny have to say about that?" She coyly leaned against the wall.

Dash pointed his finger up— before realizing he had nothing to back it up, "H-He was asleep."

"So he was asleep and floating ten feet in the air?" She exclaimed with faux wonderment, "Now that is quite the story, and here I thought creativity was dying."

"You're patronizing me?"

" Noooooo… "

Never did the two Fenton siblings share such a strong resemblance.

Knowing that she would never believe him, Dash resigned. The quarterback allowed her to pass. He knew what he saw, he knew what he felt. The disgruntled expression on his face prompted more questions from the elder Fenton, "I thought you and my brother didn't get along?"

Baxter rolled his eyes, admitting, "We don't."

"Is that so?" She snickered while continuing up the staircase, "Well, thank you both for pretending that you do for me."

"In any other family if I told someone their brother was floating ten feet in the air, I would at least net some follow up!"

"Stranger things have happened, especially in this house," Jazz narrowed her eyes at him, with humor and skepticism.

"Just an hour ago I had to calm you down because he was running a fever— and now I'm telling you that he was hovering, and you don't care!"

"Dash, I hope you realize that it's not that easy to get me riled up," She scolded him, "and frankly I think it's sad that you're trying to make me panic."

"Why would I lie about this?!"

"I mean you did say that Ricky Marsh had herpes."

"HE DID! I PERFORMED A CIVIL SERVICE!"

The door to the bedroom creaked open, Danny emerged from his tomb— pale and covered in snot. One of his blankets draped around his shoulders. He hobbled to the hallway, "Can you guys," The younger Fenton coughed until he spat on the floor, "KEEP IT DOWN?! Some of us have a mythic headache!"

Both Dash and Jazz apologized.

Danny's head reared back before sneezing. It rattled the house— it was so loud that it caused the other teens to cover their ears. Daniel's expression was serene for a moment as if this had been building for a while. He then returned to his bed, without any further explanation.

"So, did he finish his homework?" Jazz mumbled, lowering her hands.

"Uh…" Dash scratched his nose, sheepish with his reply, "I sort of did it for him?"

At this, Jasmine sighed, "You got suckered."

"I did not!" Baxter crossed his arms, "I'm not a monster— he said his eyes were hurting—!"

"You got suckered." She giggled, "I mean I suckered you too, but you got suckered twice."

"I knew it wouldn't take an hour to get cold medicine." Dash scowled at realizing he had been taken advantage of.

Jazz patted his shoulder, "To redeem myself, I'll make you dinner—" She clarified, "If you don't have anything else to do. I don't want to take up more of your time."

The jock quickly produced his phone. Ignoring the alerts, he checked the time. Surely practice would have been half over by now. The seal on his promise to Kwan was rendered unbelievably void by now. Screw it. He was hungry and at the mere mention of food, the quarterback's stomach growled.

"So," A mischievous smile drew on Jazz's face, "I'll take that as a yes?"

"Fine," He facetiously grimaced.

The pair entered Danny's room and were hit with the stagnant heat. Jazz stepped over Dash's jacket which was haphazardly discarded on the floor. She gave him a curious glance. Immediately he stooped down and picked up his outer layers, instead throwing them on the chair he was sitting on.

Jazz took a seat on the foot of Danny's bed. He was sitting up in his bundle of blankets. The younger Fenton was hunched over. He shot her a glare, "Really? Dash? You called Dash?"

"Oh, c'mon he's not that bad." She waved dismissively.

"I'm still here, guys," Baxter uttered while stretching his joints.

Slowly Danny closed his eyes and cleared his throat, "And ya can leave at'd anytime, just'd so ya know."

"Be nice, he did your homework for you." Jazz lowered her head to get a good look at her brother's eyes, "How are you feelin'?"

"Better, I guess," Danny croaked, "Hungry."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll whip something up for the two hungry babies." Jazz shot a sly glance over at Dash before putting a hand on her chin in mock-contemplation, "How about Dad's hangover cure? That has a lot of protein."

"No horseradish please—!" Danny pleaded though he appeared to bob his head excitedly at the mention of this 'cure'. He perked up almost instantly, "Extra sauce! You know how I take it."

At the mention of the unusual ingredient, Dash became worried, "Should I ask?"

"The patented Jack Fenton Hangover Cure: canned chicken with instant ramen, two scrambled eggs— extra sharp cheddar, buffalo sauce to taste, chives, and shredded horseradish. Served in a coffee mug." Jazz recited with no falter, and a smile on her face, "It's sort of our favorite when the parents are away. Dad says it puts hair on your chest or some other weird expression."

Kwan and his parents loved horseradish. Dash didn't get the appeal. Even the name was off-putting. The rain outside didn't appear to be letting up— it pelted the window angrily. The sky was so dark. The quarterback had to wonder if that was why he was so tired, it seemed since he entered the house something was feeding off of his energy. Baxter was sweating profusely. He was either crashing because of low blood sugar or because he was genuinely exhausted— his hands were trembling bad. He took a seat, "I'll have mine the same way. I'd offer to help but I'm uh... "

Danny peered from his quilt fort, "yeah, man you look worse than me."

This caused both boys to laugh for a moment before Dash gripped his stomach. He groaned—

Jazz hurriedly kicked over Danny's wastebasket, "You sit tight. I'm gonna go get the thermometer!"