Chapter Text
Dash didn’t have many childhood memories of his mother. He didn’t remember her face or any other traits besides her long blond hair, but still, he'd had small glimpses of her.
She wasn’t very present in his life, the rare times he'd heard her, her voice was tired and rough as if she hadn’t slept in days. Oddly, she slept a lot, often in inappropriate places. She was forgetful and tended to forget to feed him, but sometimes she offered him some of the strange mixtures she drank daily. He always refused.
His strongest memory was when he helped her throw up in the toilet, holding back her hair. After that she had gently ruffled his hair and finished her drink before lying under the table and sleeping, bottle in hand.
When she died Dash didn’t cry.
Mr. Baxter was different. He was an intelligent man, ambitious and successful. Thanks to him Dash was able to have a comfortable life.
Mr. Baxter had great convictions and high expectations for Dash’s future. He didn’t show many emotions, and most of the time he was cold and strict, but he was a great father and his role model in life. Dash remembered clearly the Saturdays they spent playing football with their dog, Pookie, at the park. Sometimes after a great sweat his father would buy him vanilla ice cream.
Dash loved his father.
His life turned upside down after his eight birthday. When Danny Fenton moved to Amity Park, Dash knew that the boy wasn’t like the other kids.
To begin with, his parents were ‘ghost hunters’ and were a really weird couple. They were never seen without their flashy jumpsuits, and were very talkative about paranormal manifestations. But most importantly, they tended to shoot first and ask questions after.
Quickly they became the freaks of the town, much to the discontent of Danny who was obviously bothered by it, perhaps he had hoped to start fresh in a new city.
His skin was flawless and pale. His hair was soft yet slightly messy, and displayed a deep raven color. And his large eyes were the prettiest sky blue Dash had ever seen.
Danny was very small and frail, and Dash was sure that a single of his weakest hits would have been enough to knock him out. He was shy and a bit nerdy, yet he was gracious and delicate, and he made him feel ‘funny’. Dash didn’t know what to call this strange feeling. He already felt like this toward cute girls, but boys ? Boys can’t be cute. Boys can’t feel ‘funny’ toward other boys.
Despite that, Dash lost track of time more than once watching the other child, a strange warmth blossoming inside his chest.
And that was when his father started to notice.
On his fifteenth birthday, holding the metalic door, he grabbed Fenturd by the collar of his white shirt and pushed him into his locker. The raven haired boy whined.
And Dash hated him for that, because he knew it was just for show. Dash knew Fenturd wasn’t scared of him anymore.
On days like this, when drowning in the deep blue, Dash remembered the childish time he played truth or dare with the other A-listers. Star had asked Paulina which boy had the best eyes in school, at first the latina hesitated between Wes and Fenturd but set her mind on the latest, even if, to quote her words, “he was just a nerd”. Dash silently agreed.
Fenturd wasn’t afraid of him anymore. He always looked him straight in the eyes, and some days, sometimes, Dash saw something else in the intense blue stare.
Dash envied his courage, by taking punch after punch, and hated him just the same, by being weak and never biting back.
It was all his fault…
Dash slammed the locker.
His school days would be his best.
He was tall, he was strong, he was popular. Guys wanted to be him and girls wanted to date him. Everything would be perfect.
Nevertheless, he had to work hard for it. Dash was well aware of his low intelligence, so he needed to study steadily if he wanted to go to a great college, to make his father proud of him. And if he can’t because of his low grades he will have to put even more efforts into sports to obtain a scholarship. He had unfortunately nothing to offer besides his football skills.
He couldn’t let people see him like an outcast, he couldn’t be different or a loser, he needed to be successful. When you’re different, people flee from you, people are afraid of you, afraid of being infected by a strange virus. When you’re different, when you’re you, friendships break.
He didn’t want to lose Paulina or Star, and he couldn’t lose his best friend Kwan. So he carefully hid all his novels and plushes deep inside his closet.
His school days would be his best.
Phantom was the protector of Amity Park.
Phantom wasn’t human, Phantom was a ghost. Phantom was strong, enough to lift up two buses without breaking a sweat. He was well-built yet agile, and Dash enjoyed watching him flying in the sky, following his silhouette until he disappeared above the clouds.
His skin was tan and slightly glowing with a welcoming light. His hair displayed an immaculate snow white color and was always messy from flights and fights, but surely very soft. And his large eyes were acid green, toxic and intoxicating. Dash wouldn’t mind drowning in them, losing his last breath in them.
Phantom looked like, yet was nothing like Fenturd. Phantom was confident, bold and brave, something Dash isn’t. And Phantom fought back, with fervor and passion, and sometimes with the rage of a wild animal protecting his pack.
Everybody at Casper High liked Phantom, everybody respected Phantom, Dash the first. One day after a passionate conversation about how the ghost saved them once again, Kwan jokingly asked if he “was gay for Phantom”. And Dash freaked out.
Deep down, he knew that Phantom made him feel “funny”, but he always thought it was because of admiration and respect.
He had crushed on several pretty girls (like Paulina) in his life. Never on boys ? Not since…
Girls turned him on. Boys don't ?... Boys can’t love other boys. Boys can’t lust after other boys. That’s just sick and wrong. Unnatural. He couldn’t be a fag, right ?
Dash pulled down his shirt a little.
Dash had asked Jazz to help him study and she accepted. Each week, he liked to study at her house, even if Fenturd was not far. But often he wondered why she helped him. He may not be the brightest but he wasn’t a fool either. She loved her brother unconditionally and knew Dash bullied him, still she never asked Dash to stop, moreover she wasn’t very fond of him either, yet she helped him.
Dash pushed away his thoughts, he would ask her someday, but for now he might study.
Looking at her hair, Dash took a deep breath and exhaled, a dumb smile on his face. Jazz was intelligent, yet funny during occasional breaks, and her laugh was warm and comforting. She was strong and courageous, unlike everybody else she wasn’t scared to speak her mind.
She was kind enough to help him and patient enough to teach somebody like him.
Suddenly, Dash realized with fondness his feelings for the other girl. It had been a long time since he had felt this way for somebody.
He signed, reassured.
Dash grabbed Fenturd by his shirt and pushed him hard against the wall of an empty corridor. He'd failed his last exam, afternoons and nights of studying wasted in a single day, and the little twink passed.
He was so angry, but not angry at Fenturd, he was angry and ashamed at himself. He failed. He will never go to a great college, he will never make his father proud. He was a loser.
He was a loser.
Dash only had time to blink once. It happened so quickly he didn’t see anything coming.
Fenturd had swiveled his right shoulder backward, harshly pushing away dash's unwanted arms with his own left upper-arm, making Dash fall over. Then, being free and next to Dash’s right side, palm opened, he grabbed Dash’s face and swung him back with great force. The jock’s back fell hard on the floor with a loud noise, his breath cut short.
Without giving him any time to process or regain consciousness, Fenton raised his foot...
BAM !!
…
…
…
...and planted it on the ground, a few inches from the blond’s head, the sharp blow next to his ear making him shiver.
Fenton eyed him, towering over the other teenager on the ground. Then looking Dash straight in the eyes, he leaned slowly on his left knee, unblinking. The intense cold stare felt like fire on Dash’s skin, burning his flesh through his red jacket. He wasn’t completely sure... Had there been a glow in those blue eyes ?
“Listen Dash, it's been almost 10 years and I’m tired of this game. This tiresome game where I pretend to be weak and don’t fight back... because that’s the right thing to do.” Fenton murmured slowly and steadily, emphasizing each of his words, “Now, I won’t play anymore. Get... lost…”
Then, without looking back, he stood up and left.
Dash stayed on the floor for a while, alone, his palms covering his face and shutting in a silent scream.
He hates him. He really HATES HIM. HE REALLY... hates… being weak...
One month had passed since the incident and Dash didn't try to pick on Fenton since or take any pointless revenge, choosing to ignore the other teenager.
Slowly climbing the stairs of Casper High, he breathed stiffly and exhaled. His steps were heavy yet assured. He was tired. He was lost. He'd had... enough...
Finally reaching the rooftop, he sighed. Far away he saw students leaving school, he saw the empty football field, he saw the sunset. The sun was burning red and the blue sky was now a flaming orange, the green fields were covered with warm light and colors. It was beautiful and comfy.
Dash made a weak smile. He won't even be the first at Casper High, a student already did it fifty years ago, in front of all the other students (rumors said he was bullied and did it for revenge). Even with that he won't be the first...
More sympathetic for his folks, he waited patiently for all the teenagers to go home. Then he removed his jacket and threw it carelessly to the floor. After all he wouldn't need it anymore. Then he climbed the low stone wall and stood still on the edge, letting the wind gently blow through his hair and feeling the warm breeze caressing his face. Soon it would be over.
He relaxed his shoulders.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Dash tensed and looked behind him. At other times, on other days he would have been thrilled to see his hero, but not today. Not today.
Phantom was above the exit door, laying in the air, his arms behind his head and his legs crossed, as if Dash had rudely interrupted his nap.
“Oh, you know... breathing some fresh air.”
Phantom furrowed his brows, not buying it. He tsked.
“What happened to your arms ?”
Dash quickly grabbed his jacket off the floor and covered his shoulders with it in a vain attempt to cover them, like a child trying to hide a bad grade behind his back. He answered weakly, eyes still on the floor not wanting to cross Phantom's acid gaze.
“Football.”
The reply was quick, dry and cold.
“Don’t lie to me. Over the years, my body has been covered with enough wounds to let me know that it's not some minor sport injury.”
Dash tensed. The tone made him shiver. Those toxic green eyes paralyzing him on the spot, like a rabbit cornered by a snake.
Trying to slow his heartbeat, he breathed slowly, only to find himself suffocating. A single drop of cold sweat rolled down to his chin and he closed his eyes. He clenched his teeth, waiting for the hit.
Surprisingly, Phantom’s voice calmed down.
The ghost asked cautiously, “Do you need help ?”
Dash briefly met his green gaze before avoiding it once more.
He shook his head and mindlessly echoed the question, “I don’t... need help.”
Then he headed toward the door, without looking at the eyes who were still staring at his arms, burning his skin through his red jacket. A step back into the school, he heard Phantom above him.
“Don’t do anything stupid Dash. You know, being a ghost isn’t fun.”
Dash closed the door hard and fled. He saw in Phantom’s green eyes the same thing he saw in Fenton’s blue ones that day.
He saw pity.