Thrumming his fingers against his desk, his cheek resting in his other hand, Buster considered his best friend's words. Looking at him through the computer screen, "I don't know Arthur, it's just really hard to believe," he groaned.

Arthur adjusted his glasses as he leaned back in his chair, "you did say yourself that you thought he was strange the first time you met him," he reminded him.

"Yeah, but funny strange not scary strange," Buster countered, frustrated with this whole situation.

Sighing, Arthur raised his legs up on the chair, resting his chin on his knees, "So what changed?" he prompted, patiently talking Buster through his muddled thoughts.

Waving his arms around wildly, irritated, "didn't you hear me? He snapped a gun in half! Like it was nothing! How is that even possible?" he exclaimed, memory of that night flashing before his eyes. Buster had been sure they were going to die when Danny started to provoke the gunman. He was overcome with shock when the gun was suddenly in his friend's hands, held up against the guy's head. For one excruciatingly long terrifying moment, Buster thought he would shoot. He was poised as if he had done it before, like he was comfortable holding a gun to someone's head.

"I honestly don't know," Arthur admitted, snapping him back to reality from the traumatic memory. Buster closed his eyes, took in a deep breath to calm his nerves.

"He's a good person Arthur. I'm sure of it," he weakly defended, more to himself than to Arthur, "but the look on his face when he held the gun to the guy's head…" He was talking himself in circles, he realized. Maybe Wes was just getting to his head, Danny wasn't dangerous.

"Buster you have to consider the fact that you haven't known him that long. People aren't always what they seem," Arthur stated, wisely. Buster knew he was right. He wished he wasn't.

"Yeah….but he did it to protect us," he protested, wishing he could just accept that simple fact and ignore the other signs.

"That's true," Arthur hummed, biting his lip. He wasn't convinced.

Pressing his fingers against his throbbing temples, "But, how did he know how to use a gun?" he wondered aloud.

"Beats me," Arthur shrugged, still in his crouched position. Silently studying Busters conflicting emotions flash across his face.

"Where do you think he goes when he runs off all the time?" Buster asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Buster, I don't know him. I can't help you there," His best friend said apologetically.

He bit his lip, remembering each apology text Danny sent him over the months. He was always so sincere. "…Sometimes he comes back with bruises. He keeps a first aid kit in his locker. He tries to hide them, but I notice," he admitted, whispering the end.

Letting his legs down, Arthur straightened up, his expression turning grim. "I hate to say it…"

"I know," Buster whispered.

"It makes sense Buster," he reasoned, sympathetically.

Buster nodded, he understood what Arthur meant. "I…it should make sense…but it somehow doesn't."

There was a long silence as Arthur let him digest. "Why don't you talk to your cousin about it," he suggested, "didn't you say he was the one who warned you in the beginning?"

Buster leaned back, rubbed his left eye. "Yeah, but they've never really been friends," he replied tiredly.

"Well then, you can get a new perspective," Arthur proposed. It was a smart idea, he didn't really know much about why the rumors started in the first place. If he was trying to get to the bottom of this, knowing the facts was important. Even if they came from unreliable sources.

Smiling slightly at his caring and supportive friend, he nodded. "You're right, thanks Arthur."

With a flick of the wrist, "anytime," he smiled back.

Taking a moment to collect himself, he ran his fingers through his hair. Forcing the thoughts out of his head for the time being he grinned, "So, anything interesting happen at Muffy's party this year?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, "don't even get me started."

Tiptoeing his way down the stairs, Buster headed towards the basement. He knew his cousin would be down there at this time, he always worked out in the makeshift weight-room. He could hear the scrape of metal on metal as he got closer. The heavy smell of sweat hung in the air. Peering through the open door frame, he hesitantly called out, "Dash?"

Positioned under the bench press, Dash glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "Yeah"

"Are you busy?" Buster asked, taking a step forward into the room.

Without looking at him, Dash continued lifting. "Not really," he grunted, "why?"

"I wanted to talk to you," Buster replied as he made his way over to the boy, taking a seat on the stationary bicycle across from him.

"Shoot," Dash prompted coolly.

Buster watched his ministrations with great interest. Up and down, up and down. Scrape, screech, scrape, screech. His throat felt dry. He swallowed audibly and took in a deep breath. "Remember when you told me that Danny wasn't a good person? Why do you think that?" He questioned.

The scraping halted for a second, Dash spared him a small look. "I told you, he's on drugs." Scrape, screech, scrape, screech.

"But that doesn't make you a bad person," Buster pressed, "half of your friends were under the influence of something or another at the party." Drugs was not a good enough explanation. Majority of high schoolers are 'on drugs' at some point. It simply did not fit the puzzle, Danny was much more complicated than that.

Dash grunted, slightly irritated by the argument. "He's just not a good person anymore okay?"

Wrinkling his forehead, Buster regarded his cousin. He didn't really have much of an argument, but he seemed so sure. "Anymore?" he probed, "when did he change?"

Sighing loudly, Dash was quiet for a few seconds as if turning his memories around in his head. "Sometime in freshman year, I didn't notice it at first," he finally answered.

"Notice what?" Buster pressed on, irritated by the vagueness.

Scrape, screech, scrape, screech… Dash didn't reply. Continuing his workout as if he hadn't heard Buster. Then the screeching stopped, Dash sat up on the bench and wiped his forehead. He stared at him before speaking. "The cuts and bruises. The swollen knuckles. The increase in muscle. The snarky back talk. The boost of confidence…" he listed, trailing off. An odd look in his eyes.

"What was he like before?" Buster inquired curiously.

Surprisingly, Dash smiled. It was small and nostalgic. "Shy, quiet. Small and very clumsy," he informed him. "I guess he was always snarky though," he added as an afterthought, his eyes gleaming with amusement. Buster smiled at the description, it was remarkably easy to picture his friend that way. Suddenly, the expression was dropped. Dash frowned. A strange sadness formed upon his features, as if mourning a great loss. Buster bit his lip, mulling over the millions of questions in his head.

"Do you think he's dangerous?" he finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Dash ran his fingers through his sweaty hair and got up of the bench. Grabbing a towel, he dried off and hung it around his neck. Leaning against the wall, he crossed his arms. "I think he could be," he revealed. Buster was surprised by the confession, and utterly confused.

"Then why do you still pick on him?" he interrogated incredulously.

Dash instantly opened his mouth in defense, but shut it just a quickly. He looked down at his feet, scratching his head, "I…force of habit."

Unable to withhold the information any longer, "he knows how to shoot a gun," Buster blurted. Eyes quickly darted towards him, wide. Eyebrows raised, mouth agape, Dash pushed himself off the wall. Buster found the courage to look him in the eye and winced at the shocked expression.

"Buster, what is this about? Is he okay?" Dash inquired desperately, fear and worry laced in his unsteady voice.

Buster started at the burst of emotion and quickly nodded, "Yeah, he's not hurt." They watched each other intently, the intense worry melted from Dash's eyes at his words. Overcome with a sudden realization, Buster tilted his head in astonishment. Dash actually cared about Danny. A lot.

"Are you okay?" Dash asked, eyeing him critically.

Buster looked away, "I'm not sure," he disclosed honestly. He wasn't really any closer to figuring Danny out. He hated to admit it, but he did not know what to think of the boy anymore. Was Danny really a bad person?

As if reading his mind, Dash came over and swung his large arm around Buster's shoulders. Ruffling his blonde hair, "Buster, Fentina will never make sense to you. Believe me."

Arm back, legs bent and back crouched, Danny swung the heavy ball forward with pristine precision. A cheer erupted around him as he pumped his fist up in the air. Another strike. His game had garnered quite a large crowd.

Smugly, Danny strolled back to the seats, high-fiving Tucker on the way. It felt good to win. Attempting to keep up the cool act, Danny turned to give a small salute to his 'fans' only to trip over his own feet. He quickly caught himself before he could land flat on his face and sat down, cheeks red.

Sam snickered, "nice one," she said sarcastically. Danny stuck his tongue out at her and crossed his arms, leaning back in embarrassment.

His blue eyes wandered over to the boy situated across from him. Buster was being oddly distant, he had hardly looked at him much less talked to him since they got there. "Hey Buster?" he called out.

The boy glanced up at him, "Yeah?"

Danny surveyed him for a second, he seemed fine. He didn't look sick or tired. "You having fun?" he asked. The boy merely nodded before turning back to Sam. Danny scrunched up his face as he watched him turn away, had he done something wrong? He was baffled, what could he have done?

"Danny, this is probably your best game yet!" Tucker exclaimed as he returned, grinning widely.

Danny looked up at him and mirrored his expression, "thanks man."

Sitting down, Tucker threw his arms around the back of the seats and lowered his voice. "You sure you're not…you know," he asked discreetly, gesturing gaudily.

Smirking, Danny raised his eyebrow questioningly, "What? Using ghost powers?"

Tucker narrowed his eyes at Danny mischievous expression "…yeah."

Shrugging, the smirk still on his lips, Danny turned and looked forward, "I guess you'll never know." He was just teasing, he wasn't really using his powers. Unless you count the strength, but he couldn't just turn that off.

"That's so not fair," Tucker whined, arms crossed as he sulked.

Giggling, Danny put his arm around his friend. "I didn't ask for the ghost life, the ghost life chose me," he theatrically stated.

"Har Har," Tucker mock laughed, shoving his arm off of his shoulders.

Giggling louder, Danny nudged him in the ribs, "Quit being such a sore loser."

Not responding, Tucker let his arms fall back down and leaned back. A small smile on his face, indicating he was already over the bout of resentment.

Buster returned from his turn, gave Sam a high-five and sat back down as she walked away. A shrill sound suddenly went off from his pocket, he fished out his phone and strolled off to answer it. As Danny watched him leave, he bit his lip deep in thought.

"Do you think Buster's been acting weird?" he said, turning to Tucker who was fiddling with his PDA.

"No, he seems fine to me," he responded distractedly.

Danny hummed, "have you talked to him since the party?" he asked. Tucker looked up at him, put down his device and thought.

"…not really, we've been pretty busy." he finally replied, recalling the week long mission they had been subjected to. Things had gotten nasty, they had faced powerful ghosts they hadn't even heard of. Vlad, of course, was at the center of the problem.

Unconsciously placing an arm over the mostly healed slash across his abdomen, "don't remind me," Danny groaned.

Tucker placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder as he noticed the movement. "I'm sure he's fine, don't worry so much," he said reassuringly as they watched him and Sam return simultaneously. It was Danny's turn again.

Half an hour later, they sat in a cozy booth of a small coffee shop that they hardly ever went to. The smell of fresh coffee and donuts wafted through the air. Danny took a sip of his drink only to quickly pull it away as it burnt his tongue.

"I can't believe we only have three days left of break," Sam complained, popping a piece of her vegan biscuit into her mouth.

Alarmed, "What! Aw man, it feels like it just started. We deserve more," Danny protested. He never had a proper vacation. Vlad really owed him this time.

"Yeah, after that huge ghost invasion I would think they would add a few more days," Buster stated. Danny looked up at him in mild surprise. That was the first real sentence he had spoken to him.

"Ah, but you have not been in Amity Park for long my friend, 'Ghost invasion' is sadly not an excuse anymore." Tucker informed him, an exaggerated frown on his face.

Placing his chin in his palm, Buster looked curious. "So that happens often?" he inquired.

"At least twice a year," Danny snorted in response. He blew at his boiling coffee, Buster was acting pretty normal. Maybe he had been overreacting this whole time.

Shifting his eyes to look at him, Buster asked, "Are your parents alright? I saw them on the news."

Danny smiled at the genuine concern, "Yeah, only a few scratches really. Not much can keep a Fenton down." He replied proudly, his parents had considerably improved. They had actually proved to be quite helpful.

"God, you sound like your dad," Sam grumbled as she rolled her eyes at him. They all laughed at the face Danny made in response, he couldn't help but join in. They talked comfortably for a while longer. All doubts about Buster were forgotten, he was just being paranoid. Tucker was right for once.

"Dash is nearby, said he'll come over and give me a ride home. You guys want to come?" Buster offered as their curfew approached.

"Nah, we'll walk." Tucker declined, "Besides, Dash would never agree to that."

"Neither would I," Sam mumbled as a disgusted look appeared upon her gloomy features.

Once spotting Dash's car pull up a few moments later, they headed outside together. Walking up behind him, Danny placed a hand on Buster's shoulder to say goodbye. Flinching, Buster quickly moved away from under his grip.

Danny stepped back, hand frozen in place. Was Buster afraid of him?

His stomach flipped, his throat went dry. His mind instantly raced, Wes told Buster that he was a ghost, he concluded. Buster believed him. He hated him now.

But…Buster was friends with Phantom. Why would he be afraid?

Suddenly, his mind flashed to the last time they were together. The night of the party, the walk home. Buster had been shaking but insisted he was okay. Danny had believed him. They had walked him home pretending like nothing happened.

How could he have been so stupid?

Buster waved, "Bye guys," he said, smiling uncomfortably, as he pulled open the passenger door. Danny caught a glimpse of Dash glaring at him before he peeled away.

Danny groaned, he had really screwed up this time. Buster probably thought he was some sort of murderer or gang leader by now. Great.