The scars he wears
Silverwing013
Summary:
Dash's favorite punching bag is finally back at school. Time to get Fenton back into rotation. Back to normal. Except...it isn't.
For murphy_kitt.
Prompt:
People know Danny Fenton is half ghost but don't know he's Phantom.
Dash didn't care. He was fair like that. Didn't discriminate.
"Hey, Fenton! Still a loser I see!"
Fenton's head snapped around, quickly locating Dash. His two loser friends bristled beside him. One on each side like a protective barrier.
Dash eyeballed Fenton over, a quick sweep, then swaggered up.
"Don't think you're special for missing school. We got a lot of catching up to do. Got that?"
Reaching up, Dash jabbed Fenton's chest with a finger. Enough to make his point. He wasn't a monster. His punching bags needed to be in good shape before he put them to use.
"Eh?"
"Eh?" Dash echoed.
He stared. Fenton stared. Manson and Foley stared.
Mouths opened and hung.
"Eh?!"
Panicking, Dash yanked his hand back and backpedaled, knocking down multiple students before hitting and sliding down the wall. Arm flying back up with his finger. Both at safe distance.
"What was that Fenton?!"
The other students were all looking now. A few getting up to see what the issue was. Dash's reaction to Fenton's return was the opposite of inconspicuous.
"Uh, whoops? I don't really have full use of my body still. Sorry?"
"What are you apolozing to him for? Sorry he couldn't pick on you again? You're apologizing for that?"
At Manson yelling at him, gripping hold of his sleeve tightly, Fenton automatically apologized again.
"Stop that. Are you okay?" Manson's fingers stayed tight on the sleeve she had, but her other hand lifted and wavered in touching Fenton to check.
"Yeah dude." Foley's eyes were still wide and it made Dash feel better about it. "His whole finger went into your chest."
"Well, I didn't mean to." Fenton bit at his lip, briefly glancing and dismissing the crowd to look at Dash. "Er, are you okay Dash?"
"What was that?!"
Sighing, Fenton took Manson's hand and pressed it flat on his chest. Affirmed at the solidness and given permission, Manson began checking and prodding his entire front. Foley gave a squeak as Fenton did the same with his hand.
Solid. Real.
Dash rubbed his eyes. Did he imagine that? Rubbed his ears. Did he hear wrong?
He knew he had felt that. Tingling and sinking sensation. It'd been like he had jammed his finger into a bunch of static electricity gathered up on a plastic slide. But no shock. He could still feel it vibrating through his finger.
Fenton's eyes closed and he breathed out. "Good. I'm good now."
Why did that sound like Fenton was trying to reassure himself more than reassuring his friends?
Fenton opened his eyes and forced a smile. "So. Glad you sound the same Dash."
"Wha-"
Fenton patted Foley's hand over his chest, then carefully tugged Manson's searching hand away from him. The action drew Dash's attention. To Fenton's hand.
Like trees with branches, marks spread across his skin. From hand and disappearing up into his long sleeves. Long sleeves were a bit too warm right now. Pants could be dismissed, but it wasn't like an easy to take off and breezy jacket. That was a long sleeved shirt on the baggy and big side. Meant to hide any show or peek of skin possible.
Dash stared.
Oh man. Here he thought Fenton was back. If Fenton was back, then Fenton must be okay. Fenton had looked okay.
No one was gone for so long without a reason. A very good and serious health reason. But what had been overheard as the health reason given was crazy. What was new with that crazy ghost obsessed family?
But Dash knew what he felt and those scars looked bad.
"You're fucking weird Fenton."
And he got up and walked away, shaken.
By the time P.E. rolled around, Dash had shaking off being shaken. Enough that he had a plan to tackle it. Tetslaff was of the belief that if a student was there, then a student was there. She might not treat the weaker kids well since they sucked, but she was insistent that every student participate.
Which meant Fenton had to do the same. And Dash was going to get an eyeful. For checking reasons! He wasn't a weirdo and staring for pervy reasons!
Pulling out a light long sleeve and sweat pants, Fenton edged along the lockers toward the bathroom stalls.
"Oh, no no no, Fenton." Dash snagged Fenton by the back of his big long sleeved shirt. His jaw clenched at seeing a sprawling darkness in the gap created. All the way up his arm and to his back? He gave the boy a slight shake.
"You're back, which means you do everything like everyone else. Didn't you hear me earlier? No special treatment."
Fenton's mouth moved, silently, panic and avoidance written all over his face.
"Oh come on, Dash. No one wants to see me after my, uh, accident."
"Nope. Nice try, Fenton. Wanna do this every time we have gym?"
"Why do you care?" Fenton's eyes went squinty and his eyebrows lifted in challenge. "You get off on seeing me?"
Dale snorted, sniggering meanly.
"No! I need to see how badly my favorite person to wail on looks!"
Fenton froze, wide eyed. And swallowed. "I, uh, don't look well under scrutiny? In general? And the lighting in here makes anyone look awful. And I already hated how I looked before, just let me use the stall!"
"No."
And letting go of the neck of the shirt, Dash grabbed the bottom of it, yanking it up and over.
The struggle came too late and Fenton let out a yelp, arms wrapping around himself and he bolted freely for the stalls. The first one slammed shut, latch sliding home. Gone and out of sight.
Dash stood in shock, throat dry and unable to speak. Slowly, he turned, looking around the locker room. Stunned faces all stared back at him.
They'd all seen that.
Real and awful looking.
The marks went up Fenton's arm and stretched over his chest and back and down. Down his other arm. Down past his pants toward his hips. Stretching and wrapping and branching across his body. Especially bold and strong on Fenton's chest. Over his heart.
"We'll, uh, we'll be heading out Fenton. I'll let Tetslaff know. She won't dock you. That. That stall is all yours. For as long as you want."
Motioning, Dash ushered all the other guys out. Then took a second to lean against the wall outside of the locker room. He was shaken. Again. Worse than before.
That family was ghost obsessed, but the evidence was obvious to one thing as true.
Fenton had died and come back to life.
"He really died."
Kwan was just as shaken. The two of them sat in their next class together. Side by side and affected by their newfound knowledge. The image ingrained in their brains.
"His family is crazy, but... That really looked as if he died. Jerry has a brother who died and came back. Was dead for a few minutes. But it didn't look anything like that. Don looks like any other regular middle aged guy."
Dash nodded. Agreeing. He'd never met Jerry's brother, but it was a response.
"Hey." The voice was sharp. Intrusive and demanding. Dash and Kwan looked. There, arms crossed, was Manson. She, per usual, looked unwise to cross. "Danny was just in gym with you two and he's missing. What did you do, Dash?"
"I didn't do anything! He was still being a dweeb changing in the stall when we left."
Manson's eyes narrowed at him, but wasn't able to do or say anything about anything because the teacher told everyone to sit down and be silent because class was starting.
It didn't take long for Mrs. Dorsett to notice they were short the long time absentee kid.
"Was Danny not feeling well in his last class and headed home early?"
A huge huffing sigh came out and groaned. "No. I'm here. Sorry. My parents listed it as a possible issue after, yeah. The accident."
Manson was the only one to sigh in relief at hearing Fenton's voice speak up. "You could have tapped me or said something." Everyone else, stared in alarm.
A notebook flipped open on Fenton's empty desk, a pen writing on it before the notebook went up in the air. Held up by nothing.
'I'm here. I promise. Just invisible.'
Blinking, Mrs. Dorsett adjusted her red frames and glanced down to her desk. "Ah, yes. I see that one here. I didn't think it was... Well, Danny. It's good to see you are not using this to skip my class. Today should be a good day to review."
Chair scrapping, Dash stood and hastened over, doing what Manson suggested. Tapping. Instead of air, his finger tapped on what was clearly a skull. Covered in hair.
"Fenton?"
"That's my head, yeah." Fenton sighed. Dash tapped the head again. And, like magic, Fenton appeared sitting at his desk. At the sight of his hand, Fenton lifted it and snorted. "Now I'm visible. After I spent the last few minutes trying to... I. Okay. Well hoping I could have a normal day back is long past."
Dash stared at Fenton.
Invisible. Go though things. Like a ghost.
No. He just had what he overheard in his head. The crazy reason Fenton's ghost obsessed family gave.
"Ghost."
Fenton flinched, hunkering down in his seat. "Er, only half? My accident, um. I was dead for a bit. Then I got better? Better-ish? Still don't have complete control of my body. Can we, can we just get back to reviewing stuff? You said I wasn't special at the start of today. I wanted that. I want that. Please?"
Dash stared. So hopeful. So wrong to have that hope. He grinned.
"Well, just remember you asked for it Fen-tater tot."
And he hip checked against Fenton before heading back to his seat.
But out of respect and the sight of visual evidence, Dash broke the rule of 'Fenton ain't special' in one regard. Anytime Fenton wanted to use the restroom. Fenton got to use it. No questions asked. No one impeding his path and use.
It's not like Fenton had to be sneaky about it. In the locker room or in general. But Fenton was a loser after all.
He likely used the distraction of when ghost fights began happening to hide from their notice. Probably terrified they'd think he was a ghost and pound him into the pavement for real. Fenton was a far cry from any real ghost or the heroic Phantom who took care of them.
Whatever. Bathroom was still all Fenton's. Dash was even nice enough to clear the loser's path for him. Because Dash was awesome like that. Promise made and kept. Even if it was stupid. And just to himself. Even Fenton deserved a little respect in some regards.
Scars were deep and personal. They meant something. They were to be respected. Those may not be battle scars to proudly tell the tale of a great football play, but they were still scars.