I don't know what class Paulina skipped to lay in my arms but I can't make myself care. I don't know what I would have done if she hadn't found me in the hallway before lunch was over. My gut is telling me it's a mistake to get tangled up with her again but my fucking god, I want it. More than I want all the shit in my life to work out, I want her. Someone. Just so I'm not alone anymore. It's probably selfish as hell but I want someone there on the nights I can't fight my demons anymore. Someone to talk to in the middle of the night when it's all too much and I'm terrified of everything that's still yet to come.

Somehow, I make it through Algebra II and I'm cruelly reminded that Danny won't be around to tutor me anymore. I'm just stuck on my own to figure out all this bullshit. I can probably get Kwan's help when it stops making sense but fuck it, Danny was great.

The guys are already in their seats in Lancer's class but there's an empty chair next to where Danny normally sits. I don't know if he'll get pissed that I'm still gonna try to hang around him but I take the seat anyway, ignoring the looks my teammates throw my way.

Lancer's not in the room yet and there's still a couple minutes before the class is supposed to start. Which leaves my teammates to take turns throwing paper balls toward the trash can. I sink down in my chair and try not to fall asleep. I think I'm drifting but when I hear movement, my eyes open again.

Danny sinks down in the chair next to me and turns his gaze out the window, the sky darkening with storm clouds. He props an elbow on the desk and lets out a soft exhale. I try to come up with something to say but I can't string together a sentence.

Lancer steps into the classroom before I can think of anything. He closes the door and crosses over to his desk, setting his coffee mug down on the wooden surface. "Good afternoon, class," he says with a smile, his gaze flicking around the classroom before he settles in his chair. "I trust you've all had a good weekend."

None of us respond, though my teammates do laugh quietly to themselves. I can't hear what they're saying but I'm sure they aren't talking about our teacher. Lancer opens his laptop as Danny turns away from the window, his gaze falling onto his desk.

"Does anyone remember what I had you all do on Friday?" Lancer asks, clasping his hands on his desk as he surveys the classroom. I guess we're all wearing similar expressions of 'don't ask us to talk' because he doesn't.

Lancer exhales softly as he leans back in his chair. "I had you all write down a few things about your senior year and what you wanted to do by the end of it. What you were interested in doing with your lives after you left Casper High." He glances toward his computer screen before addressing us all. "I have to admit, I was surprised by some of your answers."

He leaves his chair and comes around the front of his desk, leaning against the edge of it. Lancer folds his arms over his chest and stares around the classroom. I can't help but feel like he's looking right at me when he speaks. "You know… you can do anything you want to. Limiting yourself to what's expected or what you think you should do is a mistake. I encourage all of you to really think about why you chose what you chose. And if you'd like to submit another answer, you may do so at the end of class today."

Lancer returns to his desk again after another minute of surveying us all and by then, he's switched back into English mode. He's rambling on about some book we were supposed to read over the summer and I more than likely skipped it. Danny's not paying attention either, he's doodling in the margins of his notebook, so I figure I won't bother him too much.

As quietly as I can, I tear off the corner of my paper and scribble 'hi' on it before tossing the slip of paper on Danny's desk when Lancer's back is turned. Danny glances at me but unfolds the paper anyway, exhaling softly.

I don't know why but it makes me happy when he sends it back with a few words of his own scrawled out. 'We're supposed to be paying attention.' I trace the lines with my index finger before I write anything back. 'When do I ever pay attention?' It's Lancer. How much can I really learn from him talking about another classic novel?

Danny reads over my words as I chew on the side of my thumb, watching his expression. Lancer's still at the board, marking down a few quotes from the book we're supposed to read in class today but I'm not paying attention. Cause Danny starts writing something back and my eyes trace each movement of his pen.

'Maybe if you paid attention, you'd be doing better in algebra.' Ouch. Straight to the point. I wonder if he's trying to get me to stop talking to him. I hurriedly scribble back, 'nah algebra's evil' and fling it onto his desk just as Lancer turns around. He really does have hawk-eyes and his attention is instantly drawn to Danny's desk.

Danny curls his hand around the note as he swipes up his pencil, moving to continue doodling in his notebook. Lancer probably wants to call on us but there's nothing on either of our desks to prove that we were passing notes. So Lancer just gives us both a lengthy stare before addressing the rest of the class.

"William Shakespeare is hailed as one of the greatest authors to ever set pen to paper. His plays are known and taught in almost every classroom across the nation," Lancer starts, leaning back against his desk with an exhale. "Who here has read any of Shakespeare's works?"

Silence sweeps across the classroom and only two people stick their hands up. Nathan Lester and Danny. My gaze flicks toward the latter and a slight flush rises to his cheeks when Lancer looks his way.

"Mr. Fenton, what have you read of Shakespeare's works?" Lancer asks and Danny drops his hand with a nervous exhale. Everyone in our class has turned to look at him now but only I can see the tremble in his fingers. I guess I'm not the only one that would rather die than be called on in class.

Danny lets out a slow breath. "Th-The Taming of the Shrew… A-As You Like It, Much Ado About Nothing, Measure for Measure, O-Othello…" He ticks his fingers off on one hand as he lists the items, letting out a low breath after the last one.

Lancer waits another few seconds before nodding, his gaze turning to Nathan. The poor kid's completely red in the face and he looks just as nervous. But he's not the one I'm concerned about. I keep my gaze on Danny and watch his hands continue to shake.

I lean closer to him, knowing that Lancer will probably look our way in a second. "Are you okay?" I whisper, watching his hand curl tighter around his pencil. He lets out another shaky breath and by then, Lancer's eyes are on us again.

He takes a step forward from his desk, his arms folding over his chest. "Mr. Fenton, are you alright?" Lancer flicks his gaze to mine, I guess wondering if I know something about him that he doesn't. The only thing I know for sure is that he's got anxiety, but I'm not telling our English teacher that. If Danny hasn't told him before, I'm sure as hell not telling him now.

"Y-Yes, sir," Danny responds, his voice shaking on the two syllables. He keeps his gaze downcast and Lancer doesn't seem convinced. He waits for a few seconds before moving back to his desk, sinking down in his chair.

"So, we've established that a lot of you haven't read any of Shakespeare's works. We'll begin with Hamlet and Macbeth." Lancer shuffles a stack of papers on his desk and my attention is drawn to Danny again.

His cheeks are flushed now and he looks like he'd rather melt into the floor than spend another second in the class. Maybe that's why his next move doesn't surprise me.

Danny pushes away from his desk, grabbing up his notebook and backpack in one movement. He slides his bag onto his back and heads for the door, making some serious tracks. Lancer calls out to him and it only takes a second after the door's opened for me to react.

I move from my own desk, grabbing my backpack and following after him.

"Mr. Baxter," Lancer calls, not sounding happy with either one of us right now. Probably a dumb mistake but I choose to ignore him, following after Danny instead. He's already sprinting down the hall, his feet barely hitting the floor before he takes his next step. From this distance, it almost looks like he's floating.

"Danny, wait up!" I call out to him, my own footsteps loud on the tile. Danny glances back for a second before he throws himself into moving faster, turning the corner before I can. It doesn't take me more than thirty seconds to catch up to him but he's not there when I do.

I glance around the hallway, looking for any doors that might have been opened or other halls he might have turned down. There's really nowhere for him to disappear to and I don't know where the hell to even look. I don't really want to return to English but it looks like I don't have another choice. I just wanted to help Danny, but I can't if he doesn't want me to.


Lancer asks me if I'm done running out for the day and I silently move back to my seat. I know he wants to ask if Danny's okay but there's no point for him to. There's nothing I can tell him.

The rest of English drags by and it's only made worse by the fact that practice is after this. I love playing the game and I don't mind practices usually. But some days, I just want to go home. Like today. If I could, I'd just go home and sulk for the next few hours.

When the bell finally rings, my classmates practically spring up out of their seats, everyone talking at once. My stuff is still in my bag and I pull it onto my shoulder before standing up.

Lancer's watching the classroom and when he glances my way, I already know what he's going to say. I could quote it along with all the teachers now. "Mr. Baxter, stay after class, please," he says, his gaze falling to his computer again. He leans forward to type something, his eyes moving as he reads.

Most of my classmates leave the room pretty quickly but Jeff and Blake are hanging back, each patting me on the shoulder as they pass by. Jeff eyes my face again with a sympathetic look but he doesn't say anything. They exit the classroom and Lancer continues to stare down at his screen.

I stand by my desk while he taps several things into his keyboard. His gaze doesn't leave his screen when he nods toward my desk. "Have a seat, Mr. Baxter."

Goddammit, I don't want to do this. I don't want to talk to him about why the hell my face is fucked up or why I'm really having to drag my ass into classes today. I'm not in any sort of pain and yet I only feel like laying facedown on my bedroom floor for the next several hours.

"I have practice to get to," I grumble as I slide back into my chair. Lancer's typing pauses and he flicks his gaze up to mine, a soft smile crooking his mouth upward. I don't want him to smile and pretend that shit's not fucked. Why can't he just leave me alone?

"Your coach will understand, Mr. Baxter. I'll write you a pass to explain why you're late," he tells me, his gaze immediately returning to his computer. I groan and do nothing to hide the fact, exhaling heavily as I turn my stare out the window. I don't know where Danny is but I can only guess what's running through his head right now.

If it's not his parents, and that's a big if, who the fuck is doing this to him? And why him? I don't know how to help him if I have no clue where to start. And if he won't even let me in, where does that leave me? Am I supposed to just give up?

Lancer's chair squeaks as he leans back in it and I know he's looking my way now. Probably checking out my face, assessing the damage. Wondering how to approach this subject. Good news for him, I know how to navigate these conversations.

"It's not as bad as it looks," I say softly, my eyes never leaving the window. The rain is finally breaking and it looks like it's gonna be pretty bad. I don't want to drive in that and I really don't want to practice in that.

"You want to tell me where you got those bruises, Dash?" Lancer asks, surprising me by using my first name. Normally, I'm just 'Mr. Baxter' in his class. I guess a first-name basis is what he uses with the truly fucked-up kids. I'm not sure whether I'm proud to have made some kind of list in my life or disappointed that I'm most likely lumped in with the kids that ate glue in preschool.

I shrug, the movement pretty subtle with the position I'm sitting in. I don't really want to tell him what goes on behind closed doors but it's obvious from his tone of voice that he already has several guesses. And I'm willing to bet at least half of them involve my dad.

We're both quiet as he tries to voice what's in his head and I think things over. Try to come up with a way to reach Danny. If I can just prove to him that I won't drag the authorities into this or even that I'd never tell a single soul his secret, maybe he'd open up to me.

"You don't have to keep silent forever, Dash," Lancer says softly and I must sound as exasperated as I feel when I sigh. Cause when I look his way, he's raised an eyebrow. "What is it?" He speaks so softly. Like he's afraid of scaring me off. I'm not that easily spooked. But that doesn't mean I'm gonna tell him anything.

I drop my gaze to the desk, shrugging. "I know. But there's nothing to tell, sir. I got into a fight." I don't bother with the lies of who I was in a fight with or what it was cause of this time. I'm tired of this conversation. I don't want to sit here and play pretend that I could let someone in on this painful secret like everything will be okay. Real life doesn't work that way.

Lancer sighs when I move from my desk but I don't let him stop me. "I've gotta get to practice," I tell him, only glancing his way to make sure he heard me. He nods but he seems hesitant with the idea of letting me go. Whatever. I know how to deal with my shit on my own. I've had seventeen goddamn years to perfect it.


Coach asks if my calf's feeling up to practice today and I really want to tell him no. It's raining and I just want to go home and lay on my bed for the next few hours. But I'm not leaving my teammates to practice in the rain without me. If they're not gonna bitch about it, neither am I.

It's not as bad as I thought it'd be but by the end of practice, I'm soaked and not in any better of a mood. Even Blake can tell that I'm not up for any kind of stupidity cause he's pretty quiet when we're in the locker room. In fact, most of my teammates leave me alone. Keith offers a smile but that's about it. I wouldn't talk at all if this weekend hadn't happened. But it did and I actually care about Keith.

"Hey man," I say, toweling off my hair as I walk toward my locker again. A couple of the guys glance toward me but they quickly turn their attention away. I wonder if they can tell that I'm already irritated or if there's some other reason why they're all avoiding looking at me.

Keith exhales softly, a smile pulling at his mouth again. "Hey. You doing okay?" he asks, pulling a shirt on over his head. I'm supposed to be the one that asks that question.

I plop down on the bench near my locker. If this were the perfect world, I'd say, 'Nah, not really. Getting your face bashed in by your own dad will do that to you.' And then all my teammates would tell me it's not my fault and we'd hug it out or some shit. But this is real life and there's no fucking way I'm gonna dump all my shit on my teammates.

"Yeah, I'm good. I was actually… wondering the same thing about you," I say, watching Keith hesitate next to the bench before he joins me. He sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. If I were him, I don't think I would have come into school today. I'd probably want to be by my sister's side for all of eternity rather than finish high school.

Keith nods slowly but there's still an air of hesitance to his movements. Like maybe he's choosing his reactions carefully in case I say something that'll break him apart. I know that feeling. Fuck, I live that feeling every day.

"How's your uh… how's she doing?" I ask, my voice soft on the question. Kwan didn't tell me much beyond how Keith was. If I were in Keith's position, I probably wouldn't want anyone to ask. But he's not me. Maybe he wants people to ask so he can get it off his chest. His gaze drops to the floor and I wonder if I misread him. Maybe he's more like me than I thought.

Keith suddenly looks up, a smile stretched across his face. I don't know if he's putting on a brave face or if he really is happy but the words spill from him with a laugh. "She's doing okay. Doctors say she fought really hard this weekend, just like she always has." His gaze falls away from mine again but the smile lingers on his face. Almost reminds me to stop being so selfish. So wrapped up in my own problems.

There's probably a million things I could say to offer some kind of support or some shit but I'm not good at that kind of thing. I'm better with some kind of advance warning. Maybe that's why I fucked up with Danny. Cause I didn't give myself time to figure out how to approach him. I'm not good with words but I try anyway. Because I know Keith's going through some heavy shit and if there's one thing we have in common, it's that life enjoys fucking us right now.

I put my hand on my teammate's shoulder. "Let me know if you need anything."

Keith gives me a smile and bobs his head in response and I know I haven't fucked up. Not this time. Even if he never calls me, even if he's the type of person that prefers to shoulder it alone, at least he knows he doesn't always have to. Cause I really will come if he needs me for anything. I suck with words but I'm not bad in a crisis. I was with Valerie nearly every day when her mom was in the hospital. I can be there for Keith too. And if he lets me help, I'll make sure not to fuck it up like I did with Danny.


I'm sitting in my car, listening to the radio drone on with some pop song, when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I don't know why but I expect it to be from dad or maybe Danny. Maybe one of them is texting me to tell me they're sorry or that I'm right and they want to talk.

From: Alex

Can you work the late shift with Anastasia tonight?

Weird. Normally, Alex would have warned me the day before if he wanted me to be working late. But whatever, it's not like I have anything better to do. Just go home and wait for dad to get back. Which sounds like so much fun.

I text back 'sure' and pull out of the school parking lot, my mind running. If Keith hadn't told us about his sister a few years back, I wouldn't know what he's going through. But he let us in on his pain. And Kwan told me about his parents splitting up and I know Dale's been through some shit, though he never got into specifics with us... I wonder what the rest of my team is going through. I don't tell them my shit and they don't tell me theirs.

Every person at Casper High has their own problems and I'm just another fucked-up person in the mix. Maybe my problems are more obvious cause of the marks dad leaves but still. I don't know what's going on with half of my teammates and friends. If I could just pull my head out of my ass and talk to them more, maybe we could open up to each other. Let each other know that we're struggling and have someone to lean on when times get tough. Yeah, and maybe we'll hold hands and sing about our fucking feelings.


The house is empty when I get home after practice and I'm really not surprised. Dad's been known to leave the house for a couple of days to blow off some steam. In the past, mom and I would check the local bars and eventually find him slumped over a stool, sleeping off the world's worst hangover. If he's not home by Thursday, I'll probably check the bars from here to Dryden.

I have an hour to kill before I need to get to work so I do the most responsible thing I'm capable of. Parking it on the couch and watching some television with my favorite companions, a bag of Doritos and a can of liquid caffeine.

The coffee table is pretty messy but I shift most of it out of the way with my heels, propping my feet up as soon as a space is cleared. I crack open my soda and turn on the television. A soap opera is playing and while that might have been enough to numb my mind on Friday when life was good, I'm home alone and sporting more bruises than any person should.

I change the channel several times until I get to a football game and only stop there cause I'm tired of looking. My mind is filled up with everything and I just want to stop thinking for a while. If I could just chill out in front of the TV for the next hour, that'd be perfect. It's me though. I can never just stop thinking.

With a groan, I tug my phone from my pocket and scroll through my text messages until I find the conversation with Danny. The last time we texted was on Wednesday when he sent me his address and for some reason, staring at it makes me uncomfortable. I quickly tap out several messages to push his address higher into our conversation.

To: Danny

You okay man?

Kinda worried about you

You just bolted out of Lancer's class… I mean, even I've had my fair share of meltdowns cause of his class but that was pretty extreme

I know you were like anxious or whatever it is you get

We get, I guess? Since you diagnosed me and all lmao

Okay, I probably went a little overboard with the sheer amount of texts I sent his way but whatever. I just want to make sure he's okay. At least… as okay as he can be in that home. He can hate me all he wants but I'm just trying to make sure he knows he doesn't have to shoulder this all alone. I'm definitely someone safe to talk to.

I chew on my thumbnail as I watch the three dots pop up only to disappear again in an endless loop. I can't tell if he's typing a long-ass message in response or if he keeps changing his mind on whether or not he's gonna respond.

The crowd starts cheering on the television and I glance up to see what's happened. Apparently the home team scored an amazing shot cause it's on instant replay.

I set my phone on the couch cushion next to me and cram several chips into my mouth at once, washing it down with a mouthful of soda. Danny continues to waffle on whether or not he's actually gonna respond so I click my screen off and settle against the couch again. My mind's nowhere close to the game but I keep my eyes glued to the screen anyway. There's no need to stare at my phone like a pathetic loser. I mean, that's what I am. But still.

When the game rolls to a commercial break, I move from the couch to ditch my empty bag, draining the rest of my soda as I go. There's still a while before work and I consider driving out early. Then again… if Alex isn't working late tonight, there's a chance I could miss him. And the longer he goes without getting a look at my face, the better.

Just as I cross through the living room again, my phone vibrates softly against the cushion and I crash back onto the couch, snatching up the device.

It takes me a few read-through's before I finally accept what Danny's written to me. He… really doesn't want my help. At all. I've tried almost everything to get him to talk and he still doesn't want me to get involved at all. It's the last thing he wants.

From: Danny

Dash, please stop. I've gotten really good at dealing with my own problems and I don't need anyone to lean on or talk to. Please, for the both of us, just stop. I appreciate your concern and if this were all different, I could talk to you about it. I want to. But I just can't.

I try to gauge how terrible it'd be to send another text back, arguing about how I can help him, no matter how fucked up the situation is. Cause I've seen some dark shit and I'm definitely capable of handling it. But the text he sends before I can gather up the balls to say anything stops me short. I can't send a text back now even if I could come up with the right words.

From: Danny

Please don't respond.


A/N:

Aaaaaaand scene!

Yo readers, how's it going? I had a lot of fun writing this chapter and I hope you guys had fun reading it! My beta-reader Astro is a glorious person and they always do such an amazing job on the edits when I send the chapters to them and just ahhhh. I've said it to them personally a million times but thank youuuuu for getting this story to a more polished state. You're the best! 3 (Side note: Astro sent me a text message while editing this chapter to say that Dash was being moody and he needed to chill out. Which I still think is so hilarious)

So, hi, welcome back to another week of this angst. I really do appreciate you guys coming back every week, it's nice to know that somewhere in the void, people are actually reading this.

Like Astro so eloquently put, Dash was really fucking moody in this chapter, yeah? Like, he's a bit all over the place but considering everything he's dealing with, I think it's understandable. Trust me though, it's about to get worse. A whooooole lot worse. (The poor child)

Not too much plot going on in this one as it's more internal based but like, I promise action is coming soon (ish. The next few chapters are bit slow as well. These are the chapters I was talking about ages ago when I said that they could be taken out but I still really liked them… yeah, these are that.)

The title of this fic comes from the song 'Save Yourself' by My Darkest Days. Hooooly shit, guys. I've listened to this song tons of times before but I was hearing it again last night and it hit me how much it's like Dash. The opening lines are, "I'm the devil's son/Straight out of hell/And you're an angel with a haunted heart" like... is that not Dash thinking about Danny?! It's PERFECT!

OH! By the way. If you search "Dash Baxter" on Google, THIS FUCKING FIC COMES UP. This is gonna be my legacy. I never considered that this fic might become this popular. I will forever be known for the gay angst.

So, the holidays are coming up and I'm not gonna have the same time I usually do. I most likely won't be posting a new chapter until the 3rd of January. I miiiiight sneak a cheeky update in on the 20th but I don't know how that'll all work out.

Anyway! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, if you wanna leave your thoughts in the reviews/comments, do that thing! I really like waking up to your messages or re-reading them at like 5am lmao.

Thank you so much for giving this fic as much support as you do, I appreciate every single one of you. If I could meet you guys in a café and work on this fic while talking with you all, I totally would! You're the best :) Happy Holidays – no matter what you celebrate – and I'll see you next chapter!