Disclaimer: Danny Phantom, the world set within it, and the characters in it are not owned by me - that privilege belongs not only to Butch Hartman and Nickelodeon, but also just as importantly to the vast team of co-writers, co-directors, animators and all other staff who laboured over its creation and development. Without their efforts this fanfiction would not exist, and neither would a good portion of what struck me in the first place in one of the most childhood-defining cartoons in my life.

"Daniel Fenton!"

My head shot up, but by this point I had lost the energy to be intimidated by Lancer, who now marched up to my desk and smacked a wooden ruler at the edge of it.

"Next time this happens it's detention, you understand young man?"

I nodded wordlessly, unfazed by his looming sternness. At this point I was beyond giving a shit; I refused to let my stare ahead divert even as he lingered at my side, staring lasers into me.

As soon as he restarted his lecture again and his attention was diverted away again, I glanced down at my phone and continued to scroll through the tag. Video after video I could see of me, chasing after ghosts, of several video recordings now coming forth of me actually beating most of these ghosts to a pulp. The golden one, was of course, a CCTV recording leaked of the mayor being possessed by another ghost, and how it was framed against me. I didn't have to log into the admin panel to know that the website that Tucker had built was massively gaining in popularity.

But there was obviously something missing here.

You would think that such footage - as viral as it is - would clear my name. It seemed like that open offer for video evidence of my heroic acts had worked out well, even if I'd been slightly nervous even talking about it during the interview. But of course, there was that question stuck out in my head the moment Luke had asked it - what was actually falsifying the rumour that I was cooperating with these other ghosts? It was now the leading argument by my detractors - chief of all my parents - who could never dispose of the notion that I was just as bad as the rest of them, if not worse. A traitor abandoning his humanity to assimilate other ghosts by letting them be martyrs to me. There was little sense in this cause, and yet…

Even from across the classroom I knew that Dash and Kwan were gossiping about me, about how I was brainwashing the city to think I was on their side. It made my head pound like it was being jackhammered, as a question constantly flickered about within my psyche - was this all really worth it? What was the point of saving these people who not only didn't even appreciate the life that I had basically given them, but even more so, those who were so willing to get rid of me? Was this how a sacrificial hero was moulded? Perhaps this was just the fate that I was tied to - not one that was never-ending, but one that led to me crushed by the boulder of fate that I had been dutifully upholding.

But I didn't sign up for this. Who would? And who would insinuate being dealt this hand was anything in the vicinity of fair?

For the rest of the lesson it had been difficult to mask my emotions of frustration - it seemed like every step I took forward, I took another ten steps backward. Sam had tried to console me today, as well, saying that the traffic increase is still nevertheless a comparatively positive experience. But it seemed like I had polarized people if anything more than ever.

The rest of the day passed around me as I trudged like a zombie from English to P.E.; my attention only locked at doom-scrolling through the videos and posts and news articles about me. I read and re-read through the transcript of the interview again, and again, trying to figure out what went wrong. Sam had texted me that she had been proud of me, Paulina had told me I had done a great job, and yet I could not shake the feeling that somewhere, somehow along the line, I had royally screwed up.

Every comment I read made me less and less faithful to the notion that they would ever change their minds. Why were they so willing to subject themselves to such an echo chamber? Did it really benefit them to think that I was somehow boosting my own popularity and colluding with other ghosts to do so? Just thinking about it made me feel like a vessel was going to burst in my brain.

"Danny," Sam interrupted my train of thought, as we espied each other leaving our respective changing rooms. "You have to put that phone away."

I obliged, reluctantly. "I just wonder if there's really any way to make these folks understand. Don't you think this is just… ridiculous?"

"Of course I do," she replied, frowning. "Danny, put it to you this way. Anyone who has a brain and has at least seen the footage, knows that clearly, he's completely innocent. Anyone who doesn't and still thinks you're guilty, isn't worth having on our side anyways."

"But it's not about worth, is it?" I hissed at her. "These people are the government and the police, and have ghost hunting equipment. They decide to put a target on m- *sigh* his head, that's it, he's done. What the hell are we supposed to do then?"

She placed a hand on my shoulder sympathetically. "Danny, honestly. I think you've done everything in your power to do this. Honestly, I had my doubts - you know, I still have my doubts - about you and Paulina of all goddamn people getting this whole interview thing in the first place, but, you know, the posts on the site are a good sign for us. You have to stay positive, Danny, that's all I'm saying."

I resisted the urge to groan aloud. We sat on the floor next to Tucker, awaiting the rest of the students to emerge. Today should be a relatively pleasant day for a swim, ignoring the scent of chlorine that pervaded the floors - perhaps, I told myself, that could clear my head for today.

Immediately, I could see Paulina walk up to us and take a seat beside us as well, and it was like a tension had formed at the surface of the atmosphere around us, and I began to breathe more manually. "Good morning, Danny, Manson, Foley."

"Morning," Sam breathed. I raised an eyebrow at her; had her impression of her lightened this much?

Tucker gleefully scooched over to Paulina. "Thank you so much for helping to arrange the interview, Paulina," he gushed. "Luke was a pretty good choice, and it seemed to work, if solely judging from the traffic stats."

"It was all Danny," Paulina declined. "Oh- uh, Danny Phantom, of course. Only really he could convince others about himself."

"So what's next, anyway?" Sam wondered aloud, as the coach began to give his preamble, where they would be splitting us into proficiency levels. "It really doesn't feel like anything can be done to the people who just don't believe him, you know?"

"We help the people on our side of course," Paulina declared with a finality. "Give them a platform to keep fighting for us."

"Yeah but isn't that what we're already doing?" I asked impatiently. "What about all those people that have bought into the conspiracy theory- oh." We caught sight of the teacher's glare at us, and lowered our volumes. "Into the conspiracy theories? How do we change their minds?"

"That is like trying to move heaven and earth, I'd presume," Paulina sighed. "Best to just keep rallying the people who are already behind us."

"But those people aren't just a small fraction of the population you know," I countered softly. "And you know… I don't really know what to think about inciting a war about him. It just… it just feels so weird."

"It is what it is, Danny," Paulina shrugged. "They can choose what to believe in, but that doesn't mean we should be stopping our own endeavours either."

"I kind of agree," Sam muttered, to our surprise. "I'm struggling to think of what else to do. If these people have had their minds made up in the first place, it's really not going to do us much good trying to turn the sky purple."

Around us the rest of the students had begun to stand up and change into their swimsuits. Paulina took her cue to stand up and, to my dismay, she made her way to the changing room on her own.

"Ugh, could you stop staring," Sam reprimanded me, and I felt another pang of guilt springing within me. Of course it felt bad to have to conceal my relationship with Paulina to my friends, but was there really another choice? What would they say? Especially Sam, who knew more than I did what Paulina would think of if the air gap had been eliminated, and which side of me she would reconcile with.

As the coach walked past, Tucker and I began to strip to our trunks; on the other hand, all Sam had to do was clutch at her stomach and he sauntered past without a second look. "I'm just glad Paulina has been here to help us with this shit," I vented.

"Yeah but is this really solving the problem?" Sam queried suspiciously. "I have to think this is all still straight from that incident weeks ago. Poor kid is still in a coma and because of her we're up in arms about you. It's so stupid."

Just on cue, a whistle blew and the coach signalled the rest of us over; of which we obliged.

For the rest of the session (where Tucker and I had deliberately under-performed to get into one of the lower proficiency classes) it was difficult to free my thoughts from this debacle - was this really how it was going to go down? With clashing crusades in my name and with an arrest under my name? If that was so, how the hell was I supposed to even carry out my heroic duties? What was even the point?

Every time it was my turn to plunge into the pool, I tried to let the water cleanse my mind, concentrate on moving through the water and entering a more meditative state of mind. But my mind would not stop drifting back to all the shit that I had been dragged into - Miranda, my parents, the people on our site and the ones still thinking that the other ghosts were co-conspirators with me… to say that it was overwhelming was definitely underselling it.

Immediately after the class ended Tucker and I began to discuss our options by the poolside - the easiest way would be to change the hearts of the main harbingers of my demise, that is, we needed to convince my parents somehow, as well as Miranda's parents, that my only goal lay in trying to protect the city and them… but how? Even if we were to do something unethical as to unleash another ghost on them, not only would that likely not work, would that not be playing exactly into their narrative? A small part of me wondered if showing them that this ghost was nothing but a kid trying to do his best would evoke sympathy from them - but the rest of me rejected it ardently. My parents were ghost hunters first, husband and wife second… parents somewhere down the totem pole - weren't they just going to kill their own son if they realized he was a straight up mur-

"I've had enough, Fenton," I heard a familiar voice call out, and I groaned internally. I didn't have to turn around to see Dash march over in our direction, having finished his own session in the highest proficiency section, with Paulina tailing behind him.

"Dash, stop it," Paulina chided with a clearly vexed mien. "What part of me doing this on my own accord do you not understand?"

"When are you going to realize your place?" Dash roared, ignoring her. "We've all had enough of this circus, Fenton. This is the last time I'm telling you this, or I swear to god your life here will be hell on earth, and I will be your personal devil."

At the corner of my eye I could see people staring now, and I winced. "Do you really want to make a ruckus in front of everyone again?" I quietly jabbed. "After what happened last time?"

"Cut the bullshit, you really think I am the one suffering for you sticking up for a murderer? Helping that creep Danny Phantom and trying to make him look good? You really must be that big a loser to look up to such a guy, huh."

"You know, Dash," Paulina interrupted, her hands on her hips. "If you actually paid attention to me as your so-called 'girlfriend', you'd probably know that I've been on Danny's side since the beginning."

"So much so that you'd work with these morons?" Dash queried ludicrously.

"These 'morons' have actually been working with me and have been, you know, actually useful," she fired back, pointing an accusatory finger at him, dangerously close to his face, visibly bringing him closer to a boiling point. "And yet here you are, the only thing you're concerned with is getting in my way. I'm tired, Dash. Leave us alone."

He turned to me, his face scrunched up in white-hot fury, like a watermelon wrapped in hundreds of rubber bands. "So now even she's too far gone to even think clearly for herself, huh. What a joke."

"You know, maybe she's been thinking for herself," I blurted out. "For her entire life too, but you're too thick-headed to actually consider that, are you?"

It wasn't quite visible, but at that point I knew that something had snapped within him. "You are going to regret this soooo hard, you little piece of shit."

With one jerk of his hand, he slammed me to the floor, an audible crack ripping on the ceramic tile beneath me, kicking me in the stomach as Paulina and Tucker futilely attempted to stop him, wrestling his grip from the both of them. With one jolt of his foot, he sent me flying straight into the water, like skipping a rock over a pond; the air knocked out of me to the point where my body was deprived of oxygen before I needed to breathe.

I struggled back to the surface, and around me I could see people staring, including Sam who had rushed out to the side of the pool to see if she could offer assistance, but none of them exactly were reaching out to help. I could see instead were them either taking videos or pointing and laughing, or generally gossiping amongst themselves in typical inane fashion. I turned to Dash, attempting to gauge my next reaction, but instead, he looked down on me, cross-armed, ignoring Paulina screaming at him and the coaches calmly approaching him to tone the violence down.

There was something vile in the glint in his eyes, something detestable that flipped a switch within me, broke the straw on the camel's back, and caused my blood temperature to rise to a scorching degree. I clenched my fist, knowing that no amount of restraint was going to prevent me from retaliating. I really only had one option.

I ignored Dash taunting me as I exited the pool, running into the changing room, leaving him the illusion that I was going to 'cry my eyes out' - but quickly, I dashed into an open cubicle. I could already feel the pang of regret at my sides (didn't I already learn my lesson doing something like this?) but with the deterioration of my reputation as my ghostly self, I didn't really find myself doing anything else that was viable. When you corner an animal about to slaughter it, why should it not bite back, as its only means of survival?

Entering his body had to be quick, else it wouldn't feel realistic. The sensation struck me as alien yet familiar at the same time - the weight of hulking muscles, the feeling that my intelligence and room for reasoning had dramatically shrunk, the remnant heat of rage still on my face.

"And you see?" Dash hollered to the rest of the students, catching the attention of the rest of them who had been pretending to ignore the debacle that had just transpired adjacent to them. "I don't know what I need to do to prove otherwise: you screw with me, your head into the concrete. I. Am. Untouchable." He pointed at himself before spreading his arms in the air, brushing off Paulina like a piece of tumbleweed. "You!" He pointed at one of the bystanders, another one of Sam's 'period cramp' squad, pointing her phone at him. "You wouldn't have been able to stop me from beating the ever-living shit out of that loser, would you?"

She didn't respond, her eyes still glued to the phone screen trying not to let her hands shake. Typical response.

"Exactly," he continued, his voice in a gradual crescendo in volume. "None of you idiots could even touch me, even if you tried. Know your place, and don't even think about stepping out of it, breathe it until you've been intoxicated by it."

"Dash Baxter," he could hear some of the coaches getting more riled up, more frustrated mainly because of the ruckus he was causing. "Please, keep it down, enough of this nonsense, go back to the changing rooms and be dismissed."

"Oh, I'm sorry," he retorted, a devilish grin growing on his face. "I'll go change then. In fact, perhaps I could change right now."

I wondered what proportion of students actually stopped recording once Dash casually stripped off his black speedo in front of everyone, twirling it in his hand like he owned the place. Similarly I wondered what sub-proportion of the above would go on to circulate it with their friends, and then spread it to their friends, or perhaps upload it to PornHub to go viral. If the chatter had been a slightly restless but nevertheless contained buzz at first, I'm sure it would have been on tape that it had exploded into a supernova of noise, horrified and bewildered and awe-struck by the spectacle.

It honestly broke my heart a little bit that it would take this to get people's attention, for such a gruesome act to actually get the coaches to actually take the bullies down to action, to finally evoke the disgust and anger from the rest of the students. And of course, I knew that Sam and Tucker would have the siren-ringing suspicion that it was me.

But at that moment, and likely transcending until forever, when I exited and took a glimpse at Dash's confused and horrified and completely, utterly helpless expression when he realized the naked state he was in, somehow any remnant of regret had completely vanished, and in its place grew a sprout that my first kiss with Paulina had seeded within me. One of satisfaction and bliss on finally taking matters into my own hands and reaping my own reward.

Gratification, finally.