Archive of Our Own

The ghost boy never spoke. Dash wasn’t sure how he never noticed it before. 

Nine wild months filled with haunts and horrors the likes of which Dash had never dreamed before. At the heart of it all was always the ghost boy, throwing himself into the fray without a second thought.

Without a single word.

Dash’s mind lingered on that strange silence now as he walked down the street past the Nasty Burger. He could see the ghost boy up on the tall neon sign, his own glow almost as bright in the evening gloom. Dark clouds had rolled in over the last couple of hours, and there was a pressure in the air that promised rain.

The ghost boy, Phantom someone had called him recently, had his eyes trained on the sky. Even from a distance, Dash could clearly see those twin pinpricks of toxic green. 

It wasn’t uncommon to see him up on the sign, sometimes with a milkshake or burger in hand. Dash’s eyes always trailed to it when he walked home now, just on the off chance that the boy might be there. 

Raising a hand, Dash waved to him, watching as those lamp-like eyes snapped from the heavens to meet his own. It sent a shiver down Dash’s spine, no less startling than the very first time they met. Ghosts were funny like that; no matter how often their chill settled across Dash’s skin, something instinctual refused to acclimate to their cold.

After a pause, Phantom returned the gesture, waving one white-gloved hand in a silent greeting. As silent as ever— as silent as the grave.

Dash didn’t bother trying to converse. He knew it wouldn’t work. No amount of friendliness had ever coaxed Phantom into a conversation with him, and Dash had always felt a bit of a sting at that. Always wondered why…

Until tonight, when Dash let his mind wander, tracing back through every encounter he’d had with the ghost boy. Every fight. Every time he seen him sat atop the Nasty Burger sign, quietly watching the clouds roll by.

No matter how much Dash picked through his memories, he couldn’t conjure a single memory of hearing Phantom’s voice.

Lightning forked across the sky, drawing Dash’s attention as a low rumble of thunder sounded. A drop of rain hit him on the nose not a second later and Dash let out a long sigh. Maybe if he hurried, he’d make it home before the worst of the rain.

Picking up his pace, Dash spared one last glance up at the Nasty Burger sign.

Phantom had already gone.

~*~

Now that Dash noticed it, the ghost boy’s silence stood out far too much. The thought wouldn’t leave him, lingering at the back of his mind as he went through the motions of school. 

Reinvigorated by the loud shouts of the Box Ghost making his presence known.

The new science equipment had gone flying, all of the neatly-stacked boxes of beakers tossed through the air with ease as the Box Ghost cackled happily. Phantom arrived in less than a minute, his brows furrowed together and his teeth gritted in annoyance. 

“Beware!” the Box Ghost shouted, hurling several boxes directly at the ghost boy the moment he slipped through the wall.

Phantom dodged the boxes easily, answering the Box Ghost’s taunt with nothing more than a roll of his eyes before throwing himself bodily at the other ghost.

It was over just as soon as it started, with one last, “Beware!” escaping the Box Ghost as he was pulled into the vacuum of the thermos and out of sight.

In the silence that followed, Phantom floated for a moment at the head of the classroom. His glowing eyes skirted over the glass across the floor and he cringed, giving their teacher a sheepish look and a wave before he disappeared into thin air.

As silent as ever.

Dash was nearly as quiet, trudging to the cafeteria thirty minutes later with his hands shoved into the pockets of his letterman jacket and Kwan, Paulina, and Star walking at his side. Kwan was chattering away about the Box Ghost's attack, regaling them with how close one of the beakers had come to hitting him in the head. Normally Dash would join in. Ghost fights were the highlight of most school days— even ones involving the Box Ghost— and it wasn’t like him to leave his friend hanging.

He just didn’t feel much like talking today.

Just as Phantom’s silence didn’t escape Dash, neither did his escape Paulina.

“Are you feeling okay, Dash?” she asked him the moment they sat down at their usual table close to the doors. “You’ve been acting weird all morning.”

Just like that, all of their eyes were on him. Dash blinked at them owlishly, his mouth gaping open like a fish on a dry riverbank as he tried to find a suitable reply.

“I–I’ve just been thinking,” he managed lamely. 

Paulina tipped her head, raising one skeptical brow. “Dangerous,” she said, smirking. “What about?”

Dash felt his cheeks warm and he ducked his head, looking fixedly across the room to the wall. There was a bulletin board there where posters for school functions and it was suddenly very interesting to look at. He knew, even before answering, what his friends would think. Maybe if he just approached the topic from the side…

“Well, I was just thinking about the ghosts and—”

Oh, Paulina was already smirking, leaning forward on her elbows and pillowing her chin in her hands. 

“About any ghost in particular?” she asked, fluttering her eyelids teasingly. 

Dash glowered in annoyance, feeling his cheeks positively burn. “Not like that. I was just—”

“So you were thinking about Phantom, though?” Paulina pressed, her smile turning positively wolfish. Beside her, Star had cottoned on, looking up from her phone with a knowing grin.

Dash really regretted admitting he found Phantom aesthetically pleasing during their last party. 

(He was pretty sure they knew before then, but that was besides the point.)

“Okay maybe— but not like that,” Dash insisted, clapping his hand on the table for emphasis, making his food tray rattle.

“Fine, I’ll bite— what completely straight thoughts have you been having about Phantom?” Star asked, her grin widening when Paulina let out a snorting laugh, leaning into her.

Dash groaned, throwing his head back in exasperation. “I was just wondering why he never talks,” he said, pointing to his own mouth.

Paulina’s brow rose even higher, clearly unimpressed with his answer. “What? He’s a ghost, he’s got other things to do,” she said dejectedly.

Star nodded. “Yeah, especially considering how much time he spends fighting. I don’t think he has the time to just sit and talk.”

Rolling his eyes, Dash stabbed at the mashed potatoes on his tray with misplaced annoyance. “No, I mean— I’ve never heard Phantom talk. Not just to us, but like— at all. Ever.”

Paulina opened her mouth, clearly about to disagree, but froze. She tipped her head in thought, her brows bunching together.

“Huh…” she said, her gaze far off.

“Are you sure?” Kwan asked, uncertain. “I mean, you heard that boxy ghost earlier— they’re always shouting something during fights.”

Star made a thoughtful humming sound. “I mean, maybe he just doesn’t like to talk? You’ve seen him make that awful wailing sound, it’s not like he can’t. ”

Paulina nodded in agreement. “Yeah, he’s probably just shy. It’s not like he’s Fenton.”

She rolled her eyes on the name, tipping her head pointedly to the right.

Dash followed the gesture, his eyes skirting past two tables to the one on the opposite side of the cafeteria. It was in the corner, close to the garbage cans, and only three kids sat there: Sam Manson, Tucker Foley, and Danny Fenton.

The three friends kept to themselves. They always had throughout middle school, just three strange kids that didn’t quite fit in anywhere else, but… Well, things had been a bit different since the start of freshman year.

No one was really sure what happened to Fenton, other than that it involved some sort of accident in that deathtrap of a house of his, but the kid came back from summer break different. He wore baggier clothes, hiding a scar that forked up his neck with chokers and high collars. He always had his left hand in a brace, and would often hide scar-striped fingers in the sleeve of his sweatshirt. He acted meeker than before, keeping his head down and his shoulders hunched.

The biggest change, however, was that Fenton no longer spoke.

Some thought it had more to do with trauma, but Dash had gotten a good look at that scar on the second day of school when he grabbed Fenton by the collar of his sweatshirt, demanding he say something.

He still hadn’t quite forgotten the terrified deer in the headlights stare Danny fixed him with, or how the boy had scrambled to try and cover his throat.

Dash remembered the scar just as clearly: white, fern-like lines that shot up the left side of his throat, branching across it like strangling vines. 

He’d let go in surprise more than anything, and ever since then Dash hadn’t tried to grab Fenton like that again. It didn’t feel good, picking on a kid with an injury gouged into his throat— fighting someone who couldn’t even throw back a retort.

Hell, Fenton’s snark had been the one thing that kept Dash coming back to tease him in the first place. Without it, well… Maybe he’d changed a bit too.

As he glanced across the cafeteria now, Dash could see Fenton hunched over the table, lazily moving his hands in what he recognized as sign language, and pausing when Tucker answered with similar gestures. Fenton could still hear, as far as anyone could tell, but both Foley and Manson had started signing more and more. 

Hell, Dash was pretty sure he saw Mr. Lancer sign something yesterday when Danny came into class late, stopping at the front to hand him a note.

“Dash— Earth to Dash.”

Blinking, his focus sliding back to Paulina when she snapped her fingers in front of his face, Dash realized that he’d zoned out. 

“What?” he asked dumbly, trying and failing to remember where the conversation had been.

Paulina slowly shook her head, clicking her tongue disapprovingly. “Lunch is almost over and you’ve spent half of it staring into space. You sure you’re feeling okay?” 

Dash looked down at his tray; his food was already cold, and it looked as though he’d been mindlessly pushing it across his plate with his fork, mixing the runny mashed potatoes with the chicken. 

“It’s nothing,” he said quickly, scraping up some potatoes and shoving the fork into his mouth so he wouldn’t have to speak. 

Paulina hummed, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, while Kwan just shrugged beside him.

They were back to talking about television a moment later, the awkward lull in conversation all but forgotten.

Dash’s eyes kept wandering across the cafeteria to the three kids quietly moving their hands, spelling out words he couldn’t understand.

~*~

It wasn’t nothing. No matter how much Dash tried to push back his thoughts and focus— on school, on practice, on just talking with his friends— his mind wouldn’t shut up long enough for him to enjoy much of anything.

A loud contrast to Phantom’s steadfast silence.

A week had passed since Dash first noticed, and he still couldn’t unsee it. Still couldn’t understand it, anymore than he understood much about ghosts. 

He’d seen Phantom almost every day that week, either at school or while walking home from practice. Every time, no matter how loud his opponent was or how quiet the night, Phantom never once spoke.

It’s not like he’s Fenton. Those words repeated in Dash’s mind over and over, his eyes wandering to stare at the strange trio of friends, watching them sign back and forth. Watching how Danny would laugh, producing little more than a breathy sound. 

They caught him staring more than once, all sharp edges and glares, and Dash would look away just as quickly.

He didn’t understand a word they were saying, but the motions echoed in his mind’s eye.

Phantom might not be Fenton, but Dash couldn’t help but wonder if Phantom was like Fenton. For all the chilling scratch of the wail he produced, Dash had no way of knowing if Phantom could actually speak— if his silence was something more than voluntary. The wail wasn't words, after all, anymore than Danny's breathy laugh was.

When Dash went home that night, after waving to Phantom in his usual greeting and receiving one in kind, he sat down at his computer and started looking up sign language.

Dash would be the first to admit that language didn’t come easily to him. He had a tentative-at-best grasp on English itself, and if his grades in Spanish were anything to go by, he already wasn’t faring well in learning a second. Just looking at the wall of pictures and infographics picturing the letter signs was enough to have Dash’s head spinning, nevermind the more complicated gestures used for actual words and phrases. 

It only got more confusing when he learned that there were many different types of sign language out there, nothing fully universal.

It gave him pause. Dash considered closing out of the tab, thinking he’d be better off spending his evening calling Kwan and seeing if he wanted to play some games. It was raining again, so it would be a perfect night for it.

Only… Dash couldn’t stop thinking that it might be nice to be able to do more than wave at the ghost boy.

Dash didn’t even know if Phantom knew sign language, let alone if he’d want to speak it with him. Didn’t even know if he was making the right choice in settling on American Sign Language. Phantom might stay in Amity Park, but there was no telling where he came from originally. For all Dash knew, the ghost boy could have come from another state— another country— another time altogether.

Not that he’d ever know, if he couldn’t get anything other than a friendly wave out of the guy.

With a long, exhausted sigh, Dash clicked on a link to a video showing someone teaching the alphabet. He settled down in his chair, prepared to try his best to commit it to memory.

~*~

It took two weeks, but Dash had managed to learn the ASL alphabet and a few simple signs. Mostly pleasantries— a thank you, a goodbye, how to ask how someone was doing. 

Where the bathroom was— not that he saw that one coming in handy anytime soon.

Dash didn’t have an awful lot of time to learn, between school, homework, and practice, but now that he was committed to trying, he found himself running over the gestures whenever he had a free moment to himself. 

That is, when no one was looking. 

Dash wouldn’t exactly say he was embarrassed trying to learn a second— third, if you counted his abysmal Spanish— language, but he really didn’t want to explain why. The last thing Dash needed right now was being teased over his crush on Phantom— or worse, having his friends assume he was learning sign for Fenton or something like that.

As it was, he’d already spent more time staring at Fenton recently than he’d like.

Dash still didn’t know enough sign to follow the conversations Danny and his friends had, but his heart still skipped a beat whenever he made out something in those rapid hand gestures. He caught a swear once, and fingerspelling for Lancer’s name. As far as he could tell they were just talking about the school day, though there was one odd, swirling gesture they kept repeating over and over. It looked like two letters F pulled apart in a sort of upwards spiral.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it meant, or how to look up the meaning. Dash doubted there was any way he could satisfactorily describe the sign online. 

Not that he was curious enough to ask the three of them directly. He felt awkward enough observing them from a distance.

Awkward enough just considering approaching Phantom with what little ASL he knew.

Not that Dash was ever one to back down from a challenge.

~*~

April was really living up to its reputation with how often it rained the next week. Dash was only glad that they fixed the showers in the gym, otherwise he’d be walking home each night from practice soaked to the skin in mud. He remembered his umbrella on most days, at least.

Dash couldn’t help but notice on the worst days, when thunder rumbled in the distance and the wind picked up, he’d never see Phantom up on the Nasty Burger sign. The ghost didn’t seem adverse to a little rain, but anything more than a light drizzle and he’d disappear. 

There were three whole days when Dash didn’t see him. Three days he worked up his nerve to sign something more than a friendly wave, only to walk past that sign and find only the neon glow, without the bite of Phantom’s verdant eyes. 

Thursday proved just as stormy, and when the weather forecast promised more rain for Friday Dash didn’t bother to get his hopes up that Phantom would show. He’d seen him a few times at school, fighting everything from the ghost with the flaming mohawk to what he could have tentatively called a ‘deer’ (if it had a few less limbs), but Dash was just as determined to keep his new hobby secret as he was to try and communicate with Phantom.

So he waited, nervously watching the stormy sky through the windows as the school day dragged on, the clock ticking by so slowly that at times Dash wondered if it had stopped altogether. 

When he went out onto the field for practice, watching those last few drops of rain fall as the storm lessened, Dash felt some measure of hope spring in his chest.

~*~

Some of Dash’s excitement dimmed by the time he left the school grounds, waving goodbye to Kwan and Brad at the first light. Both of them lived in the opposite direction, nearly on the other side of Amity, so they could never walk home together. That always used to annoy Dash but, well, it was working in his favor now.

It was still a little light out, the sky bright with scattered light through the clouds, but the worst of the rain had gone. A drizzle came and went, not enough for Dash to pull out his umbrella, but enough to stir the puddles along the street.

Practice hadn’t been good— not that it had been all week. Between the mud all over the field and Dash’s own preoccupied thoughts, he’d fumbled the ball one too many times. It was enough to have the coach frustrated— to have Dash frustrated. He could tell that even Kwan was a bit suspicious, and more than once Dash had to lie and say he thought he was coming down with a cold.

He could’ve done without Kwan throwing every cold remedy his grandmother had at him, but well, Dash would take Granny Choi’s tonics over having to explain to his friend that he was willingly learning a third language during his free time.

Still, Dash was prepared for disappointment. Prepared for this week to end with frustration, so much so that when he approached the Nasty Burger he didn’t even look up at the sign right away. Part of Dash felt certain that Phantom wouldn’t be there.

He kept walking, his head down and his hands clutching the straps of his backpack a little too tightly. He watched a few droplets disturb the puddles, warping the red glow of the Nasty Burger’s sign— with a hint of green mixed into the shine.

Dash looked up quickly, hardly daring to hope until his eyes actually landed on Phantom’s own. The boy sat in his usual place, legs dangling over the sign and a Nasty Shake in his right hand. He was looking up at the cloudy sky, a strange, somber expression across his face. The moment Dash stopped walking, his foot splashing loudly in one of the puddles as he ground to a halt, Phantom’s lamp-like eyes landed on him.

For a long moment, all Dash could do was stare unblinkingly up at the ghost boy, as though worried if he shut his eyes for a microsecond that he would disappear.

Granted, given Phantom’s nature, that fear was not wholly unfounded.

But Phantom didn’t disappear this time. He remained atop the sign, staring fixedly at Dash. One of his dark brows rose in silent question as he took a slow sip from his shake.

Dash’s mouth ran dry, all of his thoughts grinding to a halt, all of the words he knew— English, ASL, and his pitiful Spanish fleeing his mind like small animals escaping a brushfire. 

Phantom’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, his head tilting to the side like a curious dog. He lowered his drink and rested it on his thigh, watching Dash carefully.

As quiet as ever.

Taking a shaky breath, Dash tried his best to steel his resolve. He let go of the straps of his backpack, willing his hands to do something other than shake.

Phantom shifted uncomfortably, his eyes narrowed to sharp, bright slits that cut through Dash as much as they did through the low evening light.

If he didn’t do something soon, Dash was sure the ghost boy would leave. 

Finally, mercifully, he managed to raise his hand into a friendly, stilted wave. It was as much sign language as anything else, and he’d used it enough in greeting before with Phantom.

Slowly, hesitantly, the ghost boy returned the gesture. His glare didn’t let up, the pressure of it weighing heavily on Dash’s shoulders.

Another deep breath. Dash let it out slowly, not even sure why he was so nervous in the first place. 

He still didn’t even know if Phantom knew sign language.

Trying couldn’t hurt.

Dash’s hands shook nervously as he pointed at Phantom before pulling his bent hand up, fingers touching the right side of his brow. Just as shakily he brought both of his hands in front of him, pointer fingers out as he spun them around, before sticking out both of his thumbs and pulling away from the gesture in a waving line outwards.

“Do you know sign language?” Dash tried to convey, hoping that he’d managed to replicate the signs close enough to understand.

Assuming Phantom could understand them.

A familiar silence greeted Dash as he lowered his hands. He watched with trepidation as Phantom’s eyes stretched wider and he leaned forward, the glow from his gaze seeming to sharpen.

Something rolled off of the sign and Dash couldn’t help but jump when Phantom’s shake crashed to the pavement, exploding across the sidewalk. He must’ve let it go.

Dash took a nervous step back, worried now that he’d done something wrong— that he’d maybe offended the ghost, or fucked up the signs enough to twist the words into an insult. He knew from the tutorials that some innocuous gestures could come dangerously close to insulting ones.

All of those fears left Dash in one fell swoop as Phantom threw both hands up, his white gloves furiously moving, falling into what was clearly sign.

His hands moved so quickly that they positively blurred, two white streaks that blended entirely too much with the neon sign below him.

Dash was so surprised by the immediate, enthusiastic response that he forgot to even try and pay attention to what Phantom was trying to communicate. Between the speed of the signs and his own limited knowledge of it, however, there was very little that Dash could actually pick up. He thought he saw fingerspelling for the word ‘Casper’, but it could have just as easily been something else. He definitely saw the gestures for ‘sign language’, the ones he’d just sloppily recreated, but without knowing what words came before or after it, the full meaning was lost on him.

Phantom seemed to notice this. Slowly, the pace of his signing came to a halt, a frown tugging at his lips. He looked at Dash curiously, eyes narrowing once more, before repeating what he had said with his hands.

“Do you know sign language?” Phantom sent back his way, putting some exaggeration into the movements with both his body language and expression, as though to throw the word ‘really’ into the mix.

Dash raised his hand in a so-so gesture and offered him a sheepish smile. “I’m, uh— learning it,” he said awkwardly, raising his voice. Then, considering what he’d just learned about Phantom, he added, “Can you hear?”

It… felt a little rude coming out of his mouth, but he didn’t want to just keep talking at Phantom if there was a chance the ghost boy couldn’t even hear what he was saying. He might know sign like Danny Fenton, but his reasons for knowing ASL could be much more different.

The frown on Phantom’s face deepened and he seemed to let out a sigh. After a long pause he nodded his head in confirmation.

Dash nodded too, feeling his heart hammer furiously against his ribs. The fact that he was having a conversation with Phantom right now wasn’t lost on Dash. A stilted, awkward, and slow one with something of a language barrier, but it was still more than Dash had dared hope for.

“Cool, uh— uh do you prefer sign, though?” Dash asked, his hands making that same, spinning gesture to designate the language.

Phantom tipped his head side to side at that, his hands moving into a gesture before he paused, seeming to think better of it. He sat up straighter then, glancing around, as though to check for threats. Dash was about to ask him something else when Phantom suddenly leapt off of the sign, throwing himself into the sky.

The air left his lungs as the ghost boy floated downwards, hovering just a few feet away over the grass.

Dash had been close to Phantom before, but no amount of experience prepared him for this. For the cold gleam of his eyes and the chill that rolled off of him, like a late autumn breeze teasing at dying leaves. He met Dash’s eyes unflinchingly, and it was only so close to him that he noticed for the first time that there were dark, heavy bruises beneath the ghost boy’s eyes.

Before Dash could say anything— could process what he was seeing— Phantom began to spell out a word.

“Complicated,” he spelt, his face pinching into an expression that mirrored the meaning of the word.

It took Dash a moment to remember what the word was even in answer to. Once it clicked, he nodded, fumbling for a proper response.

“Uh— do… Do you need to sign, though? Um, I hope that isn’t rude. I just mean, like— can you speak? Sorry, you uh, don’t have to answer that if—”

Dash was rambling, the words tumbling off of his tongue in an endless torrent when Phantom nodded his head and his hand in a definite “Yes.”

Dash froze. “Uh, so you need to sign or—”

Again he froze when Phantom nodded the same assent, his expression darkening into something morose. 

It’s not like he’s Fenton. Those words found their way into Dash’s mind once more, lingering intimately on just how similar their situations were. One alive and one dead, yet neither of them able to vocalize a single word. 

Dash had to wonder why— had to wonder when. Was it trauma for Phantom, or, like Danny, were their scars buried beneath the high collar of his suit?

How deep would those scars run? How long would he have had them?

Did death claim more than Phantom’s life, or had he been silenced well before the grave?

Dash knew he wouldn’t ask those questions, anymore than he would ask Phantom how he died. He might not be the brightest guy around, but Dash had seen what happened to the guy who asked the biker ghost what killed him, and, well— Dash liked his arms in one piece.

With Phantom staring at him, bright eyes ringed by the deepest fatigue, Dash wasn’t even sure he’d want to ask.

Blowing out a breath, realizing he’d spent too long in his own head, Dash raised his hand to his chest, fist pressed against his collar bone, and rubbed it in a circle. “Sorry,” he apologized, once more hoping the sign came across well enough. Practicing in his mirror was a lot different than doing it in person.

Let alone in front of a ghost. A hero, who he idolized.

Phantom made a gesture pointing his thumb to his heart and mouthed something. He then waved his hand dismissively when Dash didn’t show he understood.

Dash bit his lip. He wished he knew more. Wished he could actually talk with him. Danny might have his friends to sign with, but as far as Dash could tell, he’d never once seen Phantom exchange any hand signs with another ghost— short of the middle finger.

It had to be lonely. It had to bother him. The sheer surprise that had washed over Phantom, and the way he’d rushed to get closer just to communicate more easily, spoke of someone who longed for connection. 

To be understood, in some way.

Dash had never had any trouble humanizing Phantom and seeing him as a kid, but in that moment it truly clicked in his head for the first time. 

Despite the glow, despite the way he floated above the ground in a way nothing living could ever hope to manage… Phantom was just a kid. He was scrawny, from the small set of his shoulders to the thin, twig-like wrists that his gloves hung around. 

Were his skin a shade less green and his feet more firmly planted on the ground, Dash might’ve even mistook him for another student in his year.

How would Dash feel if he were in his shoes? In those oversized clunky boots, as white as his gloves and no less glowing. 

How badly would he want to find someone— anyone— willing to just talk to him?

Phantom moved back a pace, his legs forming into a wispy tail as he put some distance between them. He looked ready to flee again, that wary expression back in place, and Dash realized then that he’d fallen into another awkward stretch of silence.

One too many for Phantom, it would seem. The ghost boy had turned away slightly, his eyes lingering on Dash but his body language promising a retreat.

It steeled the last of Dash’s resolve.

“I want to learn more,” he blurted out suddenly, forgoing what little sign he knew to ball his hands into determined fists. 

Phantom froze, his shoulders going tense as his head swiveled, those lamp-like eyes positively boring through to Dash’s soul.

He moved his arms out in a gesture with turned-over hands; Dash didn’t exactly know it, but he could only interpret it as a, “What?”

Swallowing down a lump in his throat, taking one nervous step closer, Dash said, “More sign language,” feeling that sign slip clumsily with his hands in his haste to convey it. “I want to be able to talk to you— and understand what you’re saying.”

A long pause, broken only by the frantic beating of Dash’s own heart and heavy droplets of rain as the weather began to turn, the small drizzle growing into more of a shower as the sun began to set in earnest.

Phantom brushed his fingers against his right brow, bringing his hand down into a loose gesture with his pinky raised. It was a gesture Dash actually recognized this time, a simple, “Why?”

Pure incredulity lingered in the ghost’s pinched expression, and it was clear to Dash that he had never expected someone to try and converse with him in this way.

Considering all of the months Dash had spent completely ignorant to Phantom’s silence, however, he supposed he ought not be surprised.

“Um,” Dash began, running through what little signs he knew, before deciding to just stick to the one language he could communicate with some level of clarity. “Well, I thought it would be cool to talk to you and, well, once I realized I’ve never actually heard you talk, I thought of giving this a try.”

He shrugged, making a vague, nonsensical gesture with his hands before stopping it abruptly. Knowing his luck, he’d manage to say something stupid with it.

Phantom tipped his head to the side in thought, his brows bunched together. He brought his hands together in what Dash first thought was going to be another sign, but when he began to fiddle with his thumbs, twisting them, Dash felt certain it was nothing more than a nervous gesture.

It was strangely human. Strangely small.

Dash opened his mouth, hoping to dispel the tension in the air, when Phantom’s own mouth dropped open. He could only stare, surprised, as a wisp of blue mist rolled past Phantom’s lips, twisting up into the rain.

A breathy sound left Phantom’s mouth and he threw his head back. Dash could almost hear him groan. 

“What was that?” Dash asked, mimicking the swirl of the mist by spinning his finger in the air, reminding himself of that gesture Danny and his friends liked to do so much.

Phantom had been staring out into the rain, his mouth pulled into a fanged grimace, but his eyes snapped back to Dash, that grimace falling into a frown.

The ghost boy raised his hands, both forming the letter F before, to Dash’s immense surprise, he copied that very same, spiraling gesture.

It meant nothing to Dash. It meant nothing, but...

His mouth dry, the words stumbling on his tongue, Dash asked, “What does that sign mean?”

Phantom was already beginning to drift away again, clearly intending to leave. Something about that mist had agitated him, and he was once more glaring into the night as if he had a personal vendetta with the rain.

Dash thought for a moment that he wouldn’t get an answer, but his heart leapt in his chest when Phantom paused and twisted in the air, raising his right hand to spell something out.

G-H-O-S-T.

The word hardly had time to register in Dash’s mind when Phantom raised that same hand into a wave goodbye.

In a blink, he was gone.

~*~

The rain grew into a steady downpour as Dash walked home, his mind reeling as he ran over his conversation with Phantom. His expressions, his reactions— his answers.

The sign for 'ghost' wouldn't leave him. Dash found himself replicating it to the best of his ability as he walked home, a shaking hand teetering upwards in that spiral. 

He shouldn't have been surprised that the trio of misfits were talking about ghosts, considering where they lived, but something about that stuck prominently in Dash's mind.

Something about seeing it replicated by Phantom, his scrawny wrists echoing the same movements Danny’s had, sent a shiver down Dash’s spine.

It wasn’t just the gesture— it was everything. The ghost’s small build, the tired bags beneath his eyes…

The muteness.

Dash thought back to those first few days of the school year when Danny Fenton trudged along, coiling into himself as he adjusted to the changes wrought by his accident. As he fell into silence, safeguarded only by his two friends and sister.

Something else had happened around that time. Something cold and ghostly that swamped the town with green. That brought death to Amity, and truly gave substance to the old folktales that dogged the city’s past.

The ghosts had come.

Phantom had come.

Dash couldn’t help but pause, his mind grinding to an abrupt halt as he stopped just outside of his house. The rain washed over him, that cold shiver that worked down his spine finding purchase in his very soul.

It’s not like he’s Fenton. Those words echoed once more in Dash’s mind.

This time, he saw no truth in them.

~*~

On Monday, Dash spent a long time working up his resolve. He’d had the entire weekend to work through his thoughts and build up his nerve, but it had still not been enough. 

He felt like a creep, waiting for the perfect opportunity to catch Fenton on his own, but Dash would sooner bite his own tongue than approach Danny about this with Manson’s steely gaze burning into his back.

Not that it was easy to catch the guy without the other two.

Dash spent the entire day lingering behind his own friends, hoping that Fenton might let Foley and Manson go on ahead to their next class without him, but no such opportunity presented itself. The three were practically glued at the hip, and Dash was prepared to give up, considering simply walking to FentonWorks after school and talking to him there. He didn’t exactly want to approach the Fentons and lie his way into a conversation with Danny there, but…

Thankfully it didn’t have to come to that.

It was after lunch when Dash finally had his opportunity. He was in the restroom, washing his hands, when the door suddenly slammed open. Danny barreled in, running, but quickly ground to a halt, his feet skidding on the tile as his eyes widened, landing on Dash.

He pivoted, scrambling to leave, when Dash’s mind finally started working again.

“Wait—” he said suddenly, holding out a hand.

Danny froze, his sneakers squeaking as he once more stopped, turning to give him a suspicious glare. 

His eyes flickered back to the door nervously and Dash knew that he had somewhere more important to be.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, finding it somehow more difficult to speak to Fenton without the glow, Dash opened his big mouth.

“Can you help me learn sign language?” he blurted out, the words far too loud in the enclosed space of the bathroom, echoing off of the walls.

Danny’s eyes had narrowed with suspicion, but they now stretched wide once more. The same incredulity that Phantom had worn found its place across much more lively skin.

Only the color was different. How Dash had never seen it before, he wasn’t sure.

Danny opened his mouth, closed it. Opened it again, shook his head. He glanced back at the door, then at Dash, seeming for all the world lost on how to answer.

He then raised his hand to his brow and brought it into a loose gesture with his pinky up. Another, “Why?”

Dash’s heart pounded against his ribs, a small bird trying desperately to escape its little cage. He felt for a moment that he might pass out, just trying to work his composure into something resembling bravery.

“I…” he began, still painfully aware of Danny’s unease— his need to leave— to fight— “I told you I want to be able to talk to you,” he managed, the words strained through his tight throat. 

Every muscle in Danny’s body tensed, the hard lines in his shoulders resembling Phantom’s now more than ever as he fixed Dash with a piercing glare.

A trace of green lingered in those icy blue eyes. They held a silent question— a demanding “How?”

His hands shaking, Dash brought his fingers into the sign for F and made that spiraling gesture upwards. He then fingerspelled out the word, hoping that it would be enough to make his meaning clear.

G-H-O-S-T.

Danny slowly shook his head. His eyes were definitely green now, glowing faintly in the dim light of the restroom. He took in a deep breath and let it go. 

Somewhere above there was a loud crash and Danny winced, glaring up at the ceiling. He looked about ten seconds away from pulling his hair out.

“Go,” Dash said, pointing upwards. “I–I know. Just… Go. We can talk later.”

Fenton’s nose wrinkled and Dash couldn’t say if it was more over the word ‘talk’ or the sentiment. The boy made a gesture he didn’t recognize, but then pointed meaningfully between him and Dash.

He followed it up with a very clear zip of his lips and a line across his throat.

Dash swallowed, nodding as he understood the threat. “I won’t say anything— I haven’t,” he said quickly.

Danny gave him a hard stare, but shut his eyes with frustration when another crash sounded from above. His shoulders drooped as he let out a long sigh before once more glaring at the ceiling.

Dash expected him to turn and run through the door— to find somewhere else to disappear as he normally did.

He didn’t expect for a bright light to explode around Danny’s midsection.

The light rippled outwards, sliding across his body, twin rings spreading up and down. Wherever the light passed, a familiar black suit was left in its wake, broken by bright white accents.

By the time it passed over the crown of Danny’s head, only Phantom remained where he had stood, his blazing green eyes hard with focus.

Dash still didn’t understand. Not Danny— not Phantom— and certainly not the gesture the boy gave him before rocketing upwards through the ceiling.

All Dash understood, standing in the quiet left in Phantom’s absence, was that he’d keep his own silence to the grave. 

Though, maybe that silence didn’t have to be a lonely one.