He gets home late, like he does almost every night. His body still radiates heat from football practice despite the shower he took and his backpack feels heavy on his tired body. He walks through the living room to the kitchen. His father is watching TV, his mother is doing the dishes.

"Hey, Dad." His father raises a hand in acknowledgment.

As always his family has already eaten without him. He puts his bag down and opens the refrigerator taking out the foil wrapped plate that he knows will be there. His mother looks up from her scrubbing.

"Hi, sweetie. How was practice?" She's always cheerful, no matter how tired and worn her face has become.

"It was good." He says putting his cold dinner in the microwave. "How was your day?"

"Oh, you know. The same old, same old." She opens her mouth to say something else but just smiles at him and rinses out the sink. He sits down at the table with his chicken and his potatoes and the silence between them. He wishes he had something to talk to her about but nothing comes to mind. She kisses the top of his head on the way out of the room. "There's pie if you want some, Dash."

"Thanks."

He eats quickly then goes into the living room and sits next to his father. The man is rapidly flipping through channels. "You going to watch the race with me tonight?" He asks. His father is devoted to NASCAR. Dash wishes he liked it and he's watched a hundred races to please his old man. Still, the only thing he sees is two dozen cars driving around in circles.

Dash shakes his head. "I've got too much homework."

His father grunts in acknowledgment and continues flipping the channels. He pauses for a moment at a popular sitcom and waves at the screen, "How can people watch this faggoty crap? Goddamn homosexuals are on every channel now."

The boy shrugs. "I dunno, Dad." He gets up. "I've got a report I should be working on, though."

"Gotta keep those grades up, son," the man nods. "If you don't they won't let you play football, remember that."

"Yes, sir."

Dash grabs his backpack and heads up stairs to his room. He throws himself backwards on to his bed and thinks about the man downstairs. He wonders what he meant about the comment he made to the sitcom. Dash turns over and buries his face inside his pillow, wishing all his secrets would go away: the teddy bears he can't seem to part with, the fact that he hates being called Dash.

I have a real name, he thinks. It's David, after his grandfather. Not that anyone would know. He's been Dash Baxter for as long as anyone remembers.

A bigger secret floats through Dash's mind as his father's comment echoes through his head. He wonders if his father knows. A wave of nausea over takes him as he buries his faces deeper into his pillow, picturing his father's disgust and disapproval. No, he tells himself, his father doesn't know. There's no way he could know. Dash is so careful to make sure nothing slips- ever.

He pulls himself together and dutifully finishes his homework before collapsing into bed again. He falls asleep quickly, worn out from another day of pushing his body to its athletic limits and being one of the centers of attention at school. Being a golden boy is exhausting.

Eventually the blackness of sleep gives way to a dream. He's sitting next to a dark-haired boy a few inches shorter than he is, although where they are he doesn't know.

I'm sorry, he says to the boy.

Don't worry, I understand, the boy replies.

And with a sureness that only comes in dreams Dash understands that he doesn't have to be Dash anymore and that 'I understand' means so much more. He leans over to kiss him, his body screaming that it wants contact. The boy leans forwards as well and then they are both falling. They are hurtling towards the ground and Dash can hear buzzers sounding in the background, insistent and painful in his ears.

This is my punishment, he thinks.

He wakes up. He is sweaty underneath the sheets and his alarm clock is yelling shrilly into his ears.

Later that morning as he walks to class with his friends, a boy bumps into him from behind. He whips around and sees the same boy from his dream. Dash feels a thousand things swell up inside him as he glowers at the boy.

"Watch it, Fenton!" he growls.

The boy holds his hands up, trying to ward off the angry football player. "Geez, I'm sorry, Dash."

Dash opens his mouth to speak and then remembers his friends behind him, watching them. He grabs the boy by the shoulders, feeling his muscles tense up under his t-shirt. "Sorry, doesn't cut it Fentina. This isn't the first or even the second time." He pulls the boy towards him, their faces inches away as they glare at each other.

Danny doesn't reply. They stand there staring at each other, Dash holding him by the shoulders. Suddenly a chill runs through Dash. Does he know? He pushes the boy away forcefully.

"You're lucky I'm in a good mood today," he says, turning back towards his friends.

As he walks to class, a new feeling towards the boy, separate from desire or anger, begins to form. Dash envies him, he realizes. He gets to be just plain old Danny Fenton, no pressure to be anything else, no secrets to hide.

It must be nice not to have to keep secrets.

I didn't really mean to write another one shot. It just happened.

I got to thinking about Dash and his relatively two-dimensional character on the show. I started thinking about people I'd known in high school who appeared pretty much the same way in real life. Given how much I love trying to flesh out these cartoon characters, I wanted find the reasons behind Dash's behavior and figure out where he came from. I didn't mean to write a slash piece (and I don't think I did.)

By the end, I felt pretty sorry for the kid. I hope things get better for him in college.

- Daphne