Sorry for being away for so long. There's an explanation at the bottom for those who want to know.

******This is my rough draft****** so it's basically unedited. I just wanted to get something out there before I talked myself out of it. I'll probably try to edit it later, but you've been waiting long enough.

. . . . . . .

Dash threw himself through Lancer's classroom door.

A loud clatter and "Dante's Inferno!"

But Dash's eyes landed on the hunched figure of Fenton reaching down to pick up the pencil he had dropped. "Fenton!"

Fenton flinched at his name and the pencil slipped from his fingers, skittering across the floor. He cringed away from Dash's approaching figure.

"Mr. Baxter!" a firm voice interrupted. Dash froze. Mr. Lancer stood next to a toppled chair, hand to his chest. Taking a steadying breath, Lancer crossed his arms. "Care to explain why you nearly gave me a heart attack?"

No. No, it couldn't be. If Lancer was here too, that meant Fenton really did have detention. Maybe this was some big rouse. Fenton and Lancer could be here for any number of reasons. It didn't just have to be detention.

"Mr. Baxter, I'm waiting."

Dash started a moment and shook himself. Focus. He had to step carefully. Lancer was the one teacher that his football-get-out-of-jail-free card didn't work on. "I was … uh… looking for Fenton."

Dash could have slapped himself.

"I can see that. Care to explain why? And in such a manner?" Lancer eyed him.

"The… I…" Dash floundered for a moment, then straightened. Turning to face the suspicious teacher, exuding an air of confidence. "The history project." If there was one thing Dash could do besides football, it was think on his feet. Being able to make snap decisions on a dime is what makes him star quarterback… and an excellent liar. "We have that group history project to do, and if I don't drag his sorry butt to the library, it's never gonna happen." Might as well throw Manson's words right back at the dweebs while he was at it.

"But-" Fenton cut in before a quick glare shut him up. Screw this up and you're dead, Fenton.

Fenton's eyes met his shoes. That was all the response Dash needed to know he was back in control.

Dash met Lancer's critical gaze. "We need to work on it while I don't have practice." Come on, buy it. Buy it. Please just buy it. "Sir," he added. Lancer always had been the hardest teacher to convince with his excuses. Thank football that they had the same history class, so he was covered on that flank.

"That's all well and good, but it still doesn't explain your entrance," Lancer looked him up and down, "or your attire."

Dash put a hand to his head and laughed lightly. "Yeah, sorry about that Mr. Lancer. Tripped while out running a few laps." A sheepish grin. "And I'm really sorry for starting you. It was an accident. Fenton- I mean Danny-was supposed to meet me after school and never showed. I was looking for him everywhere, and when I heard he was in here for detention the whole time without telling me- Well, I guess my temper just got the better of me." Dash looked up contrite.

"Alright, I suppose that makes sense." Dash's heart sunk and soared at Lancer's acquiescence. He had accepted Dash's excuses, but he also hadn't denied why and how long Fenton had been here. Fenton really had been there, not in the woods. Dash had to work hard to keep his face smooth. Think about that later. Focus on Lancer.

Lancer gave him one more hard look before checking for affirmation from Fenton.

"H-He's right. He was there when I got the detention, so I didn't think I had to. I should've reminded him anyway. I forgot." Satisfaction swelled in Dash. He felt like a conductor, baton waving through the air, every musician bending to his command. Fenton followed along and played his part at a flick of Dash's wrist.

Fenton turned to him, eyes still glued to the floor. "I'm sorry Dash."

Lancer nodded and checked his watch. "It's almost 4:00. I suppose I could let you out fifteen minutes early," he held up a finger, "provided, this time is to be spent working on your history project with Mr. Baxter. Am I understood?" They both nodded. With a light grunt, Lancer righted his chair to resume grading a stack of papers at his desk.

Fenton shuffled his notebooks back into his bag and stood without lifting his eyes. Muttering a quiet thank you, he followed Dash out of the room, stooping to pick up his pencil on the way.

As soon as they were out of earshot of the door Dash spun on Fen-toenail. "Now listen, we are now doing that dumb history project together, got it?"

"But why?" He cried all traces of meekness gone.

"Because I said so."

"Come on Dash," Fenton pleaded "What did I do? You're the reason I was in detention in the first place, and now this? You've got to at least tell me why I suddenly need to be your partner. This isn't fair!"

"Yeah, well, life's not fair. Deal with it. You'll be doing the work, so don't screw this up. I will be getting a good grade on this or else." Dash growled and cracked his knuckles Fentina's face to hit home the message.

Fenton shied away from the popping joints and cowered under Dash's bulk. "Fine! Fine. I promise I'll do a good job."

"Now that's what I like to hear." Dash's mind flashed back to the Fenton in the forest and compared it to the banana peel in front of him. There is no way that Fenton had pinned him, no way. That was just a weird hallucination or something. Strange how comforting that thought suddenly was. There was nothing more to Fent-tiny, just a frail dweeb with weird friends and crazy parents. Somehow a hallucination was less concerning than Fenton growing a spine.

Reassured that the world was just as it should be-him top dog with the rest of the school at his beck and call-the twisting knot of uncertainty in his chest finally uncoiled. He didn't know what happened to him, but one thing was for sure: this wet blanket wasn't about to beat him in a fight anytime soon or ever.

Just then, the clomp of steel toed boots rounded the corner. "There you are." They both turned to see Manson striding toward them. She took one glance at Dash, sniffed, and ignored him completely. "I thought I heard your voice. Why are you out so early?"

"He's going to be my-"

"I wasn't talking to you." Manson interrupted Dash before returning her attention to Fenton for a reply.

So much for the social hierarchy being right with the world again. Though muscling Manson back into her place had always been a pain. "Well I'm talking to you bat face."

"Why thank you." She responded too sweetly. "I worked on my eyeliner all morning for this look. I'm glad it paid off." She batted her eyes so over the top it looked like she was about to have a seizure. "You like it?"

That's it! Girl or not- Dash clenched his fist and tensed his shoulder-

Fenton was suddenly there, right in the middle. "I'm really sorry Sam, but I'm going to be doing my history project with Dash now. I know you waited for me to work on it. I'm sorry. I promise to make it up to you. I'll try that tofu-recyclo-protein-smoothie thing you wanted me to. Okay?"

That seemed to stop her short. "Really you will? I thought you said it looked like puke." Then the rest of what he said caught up with her, "wait, wait, wait, wait, wait," waving both hands in front of her as if she could physically stop the words, "wait. Back up. You're doing what?"

Dash thought it was about time to step in again, throwing an arm around Fentons shoulders. "You heard right. He's going to be my partner now. So, you can be on your way." He grinned and made a shooing motion.

Manson could've breathed fire and Dash wouldn't have questioned it. As she opened her mouth, Fenton found his voice. "Sam, please? If you let this drop, I'll try that smoothie. Please, I promise. Don't make this worse for me."

After a tense moment, Manson snapped, "Fine. but you won't just be trying it. You'll be drinking the whole thing."

Fenton blanched and looked like he would barf right then and there. The mere thought of drinking whatever concoction Manson had in mind was too horrible. Seeing the kind of stuff she normally ate at lunch, Dash almost felt bad for Fenton. But in the end, he couldn't help but laugh at Fenton's expense. This will be better than making Fenton eat my gym shorts!

Using the arm still draped around Fenton, Dash shook him genially. "Oh he will. He promises to drink the whole thing." Fenton groaned.

Oh, this was too good. Dash didn't even have to do anything. He couldn't have planned something this spectacular!

"Okay. I'll drop it, but who's going to be my partner now? And what about your partner, huh Dash?"

Oh, yeah. Forgot about that. "Guess Kwan will have to partner up with you. Don't worry, I'll apologize to him later." Dash felt a twinge of guilt. He really would have to apologize to Kwan. Manson would be a nightmare to deal with.

She crossed her arms and growled, boot tapping fiercely in anger. "Fine. But that means your drinking two." She jabbed a finger at Fenton before storming off.

Pure horror froze on Fen-toad's face, and Dash reveled in it, grinning. "This is going to be sooo much fun."

Dash pulled Fenton out the school together and down a few blocks, just in case Lancer's keen eyes were on them from some unknown corner. But as soon as they were in the clear, Dash shoved Fenton off. "Get started on the project. I'll be checking in tomorrow."

Without waiting for a response, Dash turned and strode in the direction of his house, still pleased with what had transpired. He didn't like having to rely on the a kid whose grades were almost as bad as his for the project, but ya win some you lose some. Giving Fentonia a little extra motivation wouldn't hurt. Plus, the look on his face at what Manson's going to make him do made it completely worth it. He almost laughed aloud. He would pay to see that! No, he wouldn't have to. He just had to order Fenton to let him watch.

His grin lowered a fraction. But that meant dealing with goth freak. Techie wouldn't be a problem, but Manson was a piece of work. Nah, it'd still be worth it.

He put both hands behind his head and looked up at the small puffy clouds sliding across the sky. Despite the dry chill in the air, it was a nice day.

The steady slap of his sneakers against the sidewalk, was the only sound in the still air. Gradually, the tint of red around that circled his vision and Foley's words brought his mind back to what happened in the forest. Or rather, what didn't happen. Contacts didn't cause hallucinations did they? Was that all it was? A hallucination? If felt so real. Dash inspected the wrist that Fenton-the fake Fenton?-had pinned him with. He stretched and twisted it this way and that, but could not find any soreness or signs of it. Did it all happen in his head?

A creepy voice only he could hear, a glowing ball of death that only he could see, and most impossible of all was a Fenton that could fight.

Dash stopped on the sidewalk. Was he crazy?

Shaking his head he resumed walking. No. No. He wasn't crazy. At least he didn't feel like he was. He'd even been able to pull one over on Lancer. That was hard even at the best of times.

He'd heard of ghosts that could only be seen by a select people. Could that be it? That would cover the glowing ball and voice, even the ice and disembodied hands, but that didn't explain the fake Fenton. That couldn't have been a ghost. He was way too solid when he held Dash down, that's why ghost hadn't really crossed his mind. But that couldn't have been the real Fenton either! The confidence, the snark, the skill, none of that could have come from the real Fenton in a million years. Even if there was something to the 'possessed by a ghost' thing that fake Fenton had been on about, wouldn't that require Fenton's actual body? Which had Lancer verified was in detention at the time. So that was out.

Dash tangle his fingers in his hair, tugging on the locks and groaning as he stepped up to his front door.

But then what was it?! This is why the deep thinking was left to the nerds.

Dash reached up for his backpack then cursed himself. He'd completely forgotten it at school, along with his keys. At least he still had his phone. He reached into the left sconce by the door and pulled out the spare.

As soon as the deadbolt thunked into place, a thundering of nails clicking on hardwood and a couple high pitched barks pulled him out his spiralling thoughts and he opened the door just in time to see Pooky slide around a corner nearly slamming into the opposite wall, with a tail blurred to invisibility. Dash kneeled down, ready.

Pooky Launched himself into Dash's waiting arms. The dark air around Dash head slid off him like a coat. "Hey boy. You happy to see me?" A warm pink tongue assaulted Dash's face. It was impossible to be in a bad mood now. Pooky yipped one more time, his tail drumming against Dash's chest.

"Okay! Okay boy! That's enough. Let me breathe!" Dash reached behind him and shut the door, so no one would hear his baby voice. "It's good to see you too. So who's been a good boy? Yes you are! You are! Yes yes yes! Now lets go upstairs." With another pat, dash set him down and headed up to his room, Pooky's claw clicking marily at his heels.

Dash lifted Pooky onto the bed and grabbed a fresh set of clothes, heading for the bathroom. First stop: the mirror. He had to get these blasted contacts out. Dash grimmased when he saw his reflection. Manon hadn't been kidding. He looked like he had mud wrestled with a tree. He dumped the stack of clothes on the floor and grabbed the lense case from where he left it on the counter that morning.

Fifteen minutes painful surgery later, he was finally free. Why did he think contacts would be a good idea? Dash rubbed his sore eyes. It felt like they were still there. He splashed his face with a little cold water and looked at his natural blue eyes, now a little pink from the torture. Dash tossed his filthy clothes in the hamper and jumped in the shower.

Dash sat at his desk and sighed, remembering he left his backpack at Casper. Not that it mattered much. He never could do the homework even when he tried. He couldn't afford any more zeros. His grades were barely enough to keep him in football as it was.

"Okay Dash, game plan." He pulled out some paper and listed his periods in order. Now what was due in each class? First, English with Lancer, there's only the reading. He could just look that up on Zapnotes. He continued down the line, seeing what he could scrape together before said classes until he reached Math. Dang, there wouldn't be enough time to even fake some work, and Kwan had to turn in his homework first period, so copying from him was out. Dash tipped his chair back thinking. He hadn't gotten anything from Mikey for a while. But outright stealing was risky, too. Dash looked at his own messy scrawl, nothing like Mikey's neat letters. Okay, steal during break and then copy as much as possible during History.

Dash stretched when he finished, jumping onto the bed next to Pooky, who got up and started snuggling into Dash's neck. Dash pulled him onto his chest to gain better access to Pooky's ears and chin. Now that that was out of the way, the puzzle of fake Fenton was back.

Ghosts could explain everything but Fenton. And even that was a big maybe. Foley hadn't even reacted to that other stuff. Fenton was way too solid, too real to be a ghost. But it couldn't have been real because Fenton was softer than cooked pasta. Fenton being able to dodge like a ninja and strong enough to pin him. Ha! Impossible.

...but wasn't that what Dash thought he saw? The hairs on his arms pricked up. His gut rolled, at the possibility. Unsettled, Dash shook his head.

No, no. If there was something more to Fenton, then he would have fought back by now. It had to be the contacts. There really wasn't any other possible explanation. A wet nose brought him back. "Sorry boy." Dash resumed petting him absently.

It was the contacts, he assured himself. He was never wearing contacts again, that's for sure.

Dash glanced at his bedside clock, 6:18. Where had the last two hours gone? Dash gently gathered Pooky in his arms and jumped off the bed. Pooky didn't protest, liking Dash's chin instead, long used to his master's antics. Dash took the stairs two at a time before jumping on the couch and flicking on the TV, hoping he hadn't missed it.

"And now to Lance Thunder with the ghost report." A lady on screen said. Dash sighed in relief, he'd made it just in time.

The image shifted to that of a tall man with styled blond hair. "Because apparently nobody cares that my actual job is the weather, let's completely forget it and get straight to the ghosts." Dash rolled his eyes. "Today there were three major incidents of note. Half the screen shifted to some shaky phone footage of what was probably Phantom fighting three green shapes, but they were all moving too fast to stay in frame for very long. "The footage was captured by a passersby at roughly five this morning while they were out for a run. According to the witness, Phantom was in confrontation with three vulture like ghosts. Luckily, Phantom managed to subdue the aggressors and remove them from the city with only a dent in the pavement as damage. Ouch that's got to hurt."

Dash watched as Phantom was thrown into the road a block or two away from the camera. And then he cheered as Phantom shot back into the sky, colliding with one of the green shapes and the telltale white beam that signaled Phantom capturing a ghost. Pooky added his cheers as the white beam blinked on screen two more times and the footage cut out.

Dash whooped and clapped for his hero, knowing he wasn't heard but still wanting to show his support, as he watched Phantom beat his opponents twice more. Finally, the news shifted back to the lady and a report on the repair progress on the city. Dash clicked it off and stretched.

Looking down at his lap, he grinned. "Okay Pooky, we've got enough time to grab some dinner before 7:00. And you know what that means. So Football: Greatest Plays of All Time or The Petals of Temptation."

Pooky jumped onto the floor tail wagging so hard his butt moved with it, barking and bouncing on his hind legs. "Alright, alright, guess I have no choice. Petals of Temptation it is. Now let's get some food huh boy?" Dash bounced to his feet. Pooky was in the kitchen before he could even take another step.

The one good thing about being home alone, he could watch what he wanted without worrying. Now what to eat?

A couple cans of sloppy joes and three shows on the Romance Chanel later, Dash snuggled into bed with Pooky curled at his neck and a purple bear in his arms, drifting.

Two cold blue eyes staring into his soul beneath a waving curtain of black, analysing, dissecting, threatening.

Dash shot out of bed with a gasp, startling Pooky.

Dash breathed in great lungfuls of air. That happened. That look on Fenton's face was too real to be a figment of his imagination. It happened, and Dash was never more sure about anything in his life.

. . . . . . .

I'm sorry it has taken me so long to get back to this story. I never forgot about it, and I tried so hard to work on it several times, but a lot has happened. For a long time, I lost the will to write anything at all. The main reason was that my dad was diagnosed with stage four cancer. Six months later he died while I held his hand. He was the kindest soul I have ever known, and when I lost him, I shut the world out. I didn't even write in my journal for over a year. I buried myself in school and menial distractions, worked two jobs, graduated community college with four associate's degrees and cried when I got home from my graduation. He was my best friend, and one of the people I strive to be like, smiling and joking to the end. I won't bore you with anymore details, but it's been hard these past couple years to get back on my feet.

Anyway, I finally transferred to graduate school and have just moved to a new city and now have my own room for the first time in my life. I haven't had a lot of spare time, but I suddenly got bit by the writing bug again, and this was the first thing I decided to work on. So, that's where I am now. Struggling through classes that are harder than diamonds, but I wanted to do something again. This next chapter is probably not that great, with errors all over the place, but I really just want to put something out regardless. Hopefully the next chapter will be easier, and better, though I will probably spend less time editing in general simply because I done have enough time as it is.

Even so, I still say bring on the flames. Even though this won't be the greatest, I'd still like to fix what I can, and see where I can improve for future chapters.

And finally, most of all, thank you. Thank you for sticking with me after all this time. I know you have been waiting, and all I can say is thank you. I read every comment I got, and still get excited every time I get an email saying someone favorited or followed my story. I never thought a silly little story that came to me at four in the morning would end up having such an impact on my life. You are the ones that helped me find my way back. Honestly, if it weren't for you, I probably would have given up on writing like this altogether; I nearly did. So thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. I love every one of you.