Danny didn't know when exactly they stopped hugging. Eventually, Dash calmed down enough to let go.
They were still close. Close enough to…
To…
Danny couldn't really complete the thought. He didn't want to.
He found himself still stuck on Dash's arm, staring at their feet.
"—I was… I was just trying to watch a movie— and I think I… I-I don't know, but I think I… I—" Dash shut his eyes tight. His hand went up to his shirt collar and traced around a pendant that laid there.
His eyebrows perched, causing deep lines to form on his forehead, "It was uh bad, Danny. It-it… was really … bad. It was bad. I don't think I-I've ever, like, ever been that terrified In my life, haha."
He swallowed and gasped— strained for breath and focus, parched for a second of reprieve. Thoughts unwinding and unraveling from his mouth. Gradually, Dash rested his temple against the cool concrete wall.
The living teen remarked under his breath, "... I guess it's tied with every other freakin' day of my life in this pit, huh?"
Dash was talking just to talk— without point other than to just expel—
Danny just stood there. Not digesting any of it. Not a word.
He still hasn't figured it out. He doesn't know I'm the Phantom.
For some reason… This fact did nothing to comfort Danny.
The ghost boy's hand glided down Dash's arm, and he hooked his index finger around the jock's closed, sweaty fist. Asking for permission without words.
Dash's eyes fluttered open for a moment, gazing down at the young man in front of him. He gradually opened his palm; all the fluster from a few days ago in the back of that pickup truck had been ebbed away, replaced by a stillness.
Danny replied by firmly squeezing his hand.
"I am so sorry."
This was one of the rare times that Danny Fenton actually meant it.
As Dash opened his mouth to say something—
Lancer spotted them. He had turned a corner and stumbled on the scene.
The boys shifted a little further apart, so as to not give any allusion that they had positioned themselves that close on purpose.
The teacher seemed just as surprised to see them—Lancer, in fact, looked over his shoulder and adjusted his volume, "Is this a bad time?"
Both boys glanced at each other in suspicion.
Mr Lancer didn't typically care if students were late to other classes.
And when he did care he rather sternly just pointed at the clock and said some catty comment about how all this babysitting was beneath him.
Did he forget which period it was?
Sensing their confusion, Lancer shook his head, "If there's nothing keeping you both, I suggest you get a move on."
"Uh… I need—" Dash sniffled then cleared his throat, "I need to…"
…
It was the strangest thing. The jock just trailed off… He just stopped talking. He wasn't looking at Lancer or the wall of lockers behind him. It was like the living teen just fell asleep mid-conversation.
Danny quietly placed a reassuring hand on Dash's shoulder.
Startling in place, Dash turned, then back to their teacher— "Coach wants me to… uh, The key to the weight training room— for the wrestling season."
The ghost boy looked at both Baxter and Mr Lancer— am I having a stroke or is nothing they're saying adding up?
"Unfortunately, no one will be going to the gymnasium today." Lancer adjusted his tie, "Due to the recent vandalism, the district insisted we begin advocacy week early."
"Come again?" "Huh?"
Advocacy week!
Another fantastic tradition leftover from when Sidney still went to Casper High. An entire week dedicated to helping teenagers make the right decisions through simulations, role-play, skits, and some choice words from local officials.
Yes, it's as corny and trite as you think.
There was an apparent war on drugs and teen pregnancy, and the school would conscript anyone.
Danny and Sam already thought spirit week was for suckers— but advocacy week was a different beast.
They believed the goal was to sway the kids from temptations— though it felt more like a hostage situation paired with an A-to-Z demonstration on how to huff paint.
It was a total crock and a waste of everyone's time.
Even Lancer seemed aware of how pointless it all was as he waxed on the planned activities.
"This year, with the help of the APPD dispatch, Ms Testlaff has brought back a staple of advocacy week—" As Lancer brought them to the spare classroom in the overflow wing of the school, he walked with his arms resting behind his back, making it look like his gut was leading the way.
"I believe they're still in the process of setting it up…" Lancer then pointedly said, "but two lucky students will be chosen to skip an entire day of classes. Could be a good opportunity for make-up work. It's a six-hour block with a few infrequent check-ins. I know who I'm nominating, Mr Fenton ."
Danny's eyes flicked upward, silently conveying his impatience.
Grades? Seriously? How could he care about his grades right now? He's got the school's golden child ultimately coming apart at the seams. He's got half the ghost zone out looking for Johnny Thirteen, and if he didn't produce any results—
Mr Lancer proceeded to give a half turn on his heel wondering where his other charge went. He snapped his fingers.
"Mr Baxter— Mr…" The teacher sighed before softening his facade, "Dash."
The quarterback had been lagging behind, mostly staring off into space, "S-sorry… What were we… what's up?"
Danny had followed the gaze of his teacher, only growing more concerned.
Lancer reiterated, "We're going to the health room." Returning his hands to his resting position behind his back, he gestured with his left shoulder, "It's this way."
"Oh… y-yeah. Okay."
… There was a beat of silence that both Mr Lancer and Danny acknowledged was strange.
They both shifted their jaws.
"I must say I was quite surprised to see your name on the call sheet for the upcoming senior showcase, Mr Baxter. I figured you had other obligations given the Civil War game—"
Dash chuckled nervously, seemingly more awake now he was supposed to hold a conversation, "I always got time to help paint sets for my favorite teacher."
"You're going to be painting sets and… auditioning?" Lancer raised a brow, "Maybe I misheard Ms Robinson when she put your name down—"
Spinning plates on top of spinning plates.
Wanting to step in on his behalf to say enough was enough— Danny tried to speak up.
Dash ran a hand through his mud-caked hair, "Oh, ha, I guess… I-I forgot I'm helping Star with that, too . I didn't think she was that serious about it."
"See to it that you remember to breathe, Dash. With your schedule so crowded, it would be easy to slip your mind." Lancer remarked and turned back to lead the way. It was clear that he wanted to say more but didn't.
"Breathing… Yeah. I can do that." The living teen said quietly.
Danny crossed his arms, fighting the urge to react. Ever since he could walk through walls, being around Dash was like walking a tightrope.
He could feel the buzz of energy building beneath his skin. It radiated up his arms, starting at his fingertips and growing— spreading further. His skin was tingling. It was an energy he spent months learning how to harness and suppress— but Dash being so close, it was almost overwhelming.
This was torture.
Danny wanted to protect him… but maybe Dash would be safer without him around.
How incredibly screwed up was this?
Dash had been picking on him since forever— and now Danny wanted to— he wanted to…
"Well, gentlemen, this is where we part ways," Lancer said while rapping his knuckles against the door to the health room.
"Do try to stay out of trouble."
Danny got the feeling that was a targeted request.
The boys could see a blurry Ms Testlaff cross the floor of her classroom and to her door through the small framed window.
Doing what he does best, Lancer promptly left them on the doorstep of another adult to be dealt with.
In the vague second in which they were 'alone,' Mr Lancer being out of earshot and Ms Testlaff struggling with her door—
Danny's hair stood on end; he almost missed it, and there was a slight tremor in the air.
Barely above a whisper, swallowed by the thickness of sleep trapped in his throat, damped by the echoes bouncing off the tile and flickering fluorescents in the hallway, Dash murmured, more to himself than anyone else, "Why did you apologize, Fenton?"
The question raked along his skin, and a cold sweat broke out on his neck.
Before the ghost boy could dwell on what Dash thought he knew, the door swung open—
"Glad you stragglers could grace us with your presence." Ms Testlaff always made herself known via a derisive comment.
Once again, thinking completely out loud, Dash gestured to the aviators the gym teacher was sporting, "Coach— wh-what—what's with the glasses?"
"This isn't just embarrassing for you," She asserted, "I'm wearing these so I don't make eye contact with anyone by accident."
Dash nodded, "Uh… Huh."
"Can we just get this over with?" Danny tried to squeeze through the door to make an escape to his seat.
Before he could make a break for it, Testlaff grabbed both boys by their shirt sleeves and hauled them to the front of the sparsely decorated classroom.
"Actually, hold on, you both are the perfect real-world examples of pre and post-pubescent development!" She struggled to wrangle both boys in front of the blinding spotlight of the projector.
Offended, Danny bit and thrashed, "Excuse me?"
So there they stood, in front of all their peers, under the intense, white-hot glare of the dusty projector. Danny wondered if this was how bacteria felt in the petri dish being observed by a microscope.
Danny could squint and see the vague outline of Sam's top knot ponytail. He could also see Tucker sitting next to her chuckling—
Danny's friends looked like they were the first in line for a brand-new circus act.
Scanning the rest of the room.
Kwan was certainly not happy to be seeing the pair of them together.
Wes sat next to him, his rage was more of the vacant kind. Star waved excitedly from her seat which was sequestered by Paulina. The two cheerleaders wore contrasting expressions. Star leaps and bounds happier to see Dash, beaming with pride, while Paulina had a tense smile, wringing her hands.
Coach Testlaff, with beefy arms coiled around their shoulders in a friendly yet inescapable embrace, stated, "Now, class, if we compare Fenton And Baxter's physical traits—"
"I'd rather you didn't," Danny remarked under his breath, trying to shirk away subtly.
The gym teacher, either oblivious or uncaring, barreled ahead with her lesson plan.
"Observe! Baxter, at six feet tall, is the prime example of physical health and form! Height! Muscle mass! The beginnings of a respectable stubble! His… vocal resonanc e!" Gesturing dramatically to her darling quarterback, Ms Testlaff continued, speaking about him as if he was a prize bull at auction— "Notice the… um, baritone quality of his voice. Only a deep register such as that can come from fully developed laryngeal muscles! "
Snickering rippled through the students, clearly not buying into it.
Kwan turned to the back of the room and whispered, "Put a sock in it!"
Dash squeaked, squirming uncomfortably, trying to get out of the light, sounding like a strangled cat, "Uh, are you sure about that, coach?"
"Nonsense, Baxter, it's science!" She then turned her attention to the ghost boy, her tone becoming more critical.
"Fenton, on the other hand… What a fascinating case of… pre-potential !" She declared while leaning down to meet him at his level.
"Still a work in progress— still in development, wouldn't you say? But hey, you can turn it around with the right combination of blood, sweat, tears, and protein shakes. Not that there's anything… wrong with having… uh… a-a compact stature."
Danny felt his face form a hard, flat line. Pretty sure that's not how any of that worked. Unless the human larynx is powered via the protein shakes and pixie dust.
Ms Testlaff condescendingly patted Danny's head and carried on unfettered—
She finally let them go, turning to her desk to retrieve a visual aid likely to have been used for this lecture for several decades.
Danny scoffed, "I'm quite alright with my compact stature. Thanks."
The quarterback shifted, attempting to hide behind Danny— a feat easier said than done.
When Testlaff returned to the front, she was holding something that looked like a rubber chicken— she lowered her sunglasses.
"Y'know full well I don't allow food in this classroom, Baxter." The gym teacher pointed her stubby finger sternly at the tall silver can Danny now noticed Dash carrying.
Dash blinked hard as if baffled by the statement— before sighing, "Alright."
He threw back his head and shotgunned the entire energy drink in one go.
A few scandalized 'ooo's' erupted through the room.
Then, with a shudder, he threw the can in a perfect arc in the wastebasket by the door.
Danny was caught between being still concerned and worryingly impressed.
Wearily, Dash asked—more begged— "Can we please sit down now, Coach?"
She dismissed them with a wave of her hand, "Just go, get a move on."
There was a vacant desk right in the front with two empty chairs, just right behind the noisy projector slide.
Oh, joy.
Dash bowed and made an 'after you' gesture for Danny to take the first seat.
The ghost boy repaid him with a softened glance and a slight smile.
Before they sat down, Dash had slid Paulina's phone out of his pocket and placed it on her table. Then the jock followed behind his partner and took his chair.
Sam and Tucker leaned over and passed a stack of illustrated worksheets toward them. Which Danny then spread between him and Dash.
Dash quickly got something from his bag. A pencil pouch. He placed it in the center of the table and pulled out a pencil, giving it to Danny— "Uh, here, in case y-you… you uh… lost…"
"Thanks."
"Of course."
…
It spoke so much that they couldn't with all these eyes on them.
They had looked at each other so many times, but perhaps this was the first time Danny actually saw something.
Observing the slight quiver of Dash's Adam's apple— Danny knew he was going to hell.
Danny was sure he was going to hell for many things, but this was going to seal it.
He awkwardly cleared his throat, hoping the unsavory thoughts in his head would also dissipate.
How did it take him so long to notice …?
Okay, sure— Dash was physically attractive— and water is wet.
That's just an objectively true statement.
Danny was utterly confident in this assessment. Trying to fight that fact for so long— it's a no-brainer he's been acting completely irrational.
As Testlaff demonstrated with all of the humiliating diagrams, it was clearly some biological signal that got warped.
The air whipped, causing the boys to startle and turn their attention to the front again.
With her swagger stick, the gym teacher snapped it against the whiteboard. Testlaff squinted at a cue card she had prepared: "Erections. We all have them, nothing to be ashamed about."
Collectively, all the young men in their half of the room shrank in their seats with a mass cringe.
Danny was slouched so low behind his desk; all you could see from the front of the classroom was a tuft of black hair.
Meanwhile, his class partner, Dash, had a thousand-yard stare boring through the knot ring patterns on the table.
Tucker removed his military beret and began to wail into it.
A few girls giggled nervously at the bluntness of the statement.
But oh no, no one was free from advocacy week. No one would escape the embarrassment of what was to come, "Ladies, we will also be covering menstruation today, as well as how birth control can cause hormonal changes."
Sam crossed her boots and sucked her teeth in disdain.
Dash closed his eyes and muttered, "Do you think she would try to stop us if we rushed the window?"
"A second story fall wouldn't kill us," Danny replied without thinking.
"Damn…" Dash's head lulled backward.