eerieslash: (dash x)
[personal profile] eerieslash
Title: Lost Night, Chapter 5
Author: eerieslash
Characters: Dash, Mars
Rating: G
Summary: Dash and Mars are in the Lost Hour. (I really should be doing homework right now but I just couldn't resist:))

Dash stopped suddenly at the top of the stairs, making Marshall crash into the back of his grungy black trenchcoat.

      "Where's that piece of paper you had?'

      Marshall looked at him, speechless. Was there anything this guy didn't know?

      'The one from the bookstore?" Dash added impatiently.

      "How did you -"

      "I said, enough with the questions already! Just get it, will you? Come on, we've got work to do!"

      "But I don't think -"

      "Look, you need me to get you back home, right? So it's not like you have much choice: you either do as I say, or you're lost here for good."

      Marshall sighed and handed him the paper. Dash prepared to read it aloud to himself but his face soon fell as he saw the symbol of corn.

      "What is this?"

      "We think it might be a know, to your true identity."

      "And you came all this way just to get this?"

      Marshall shrugged, "I guess we wanted to help you find out who you were."

      Dash paused and Marshall swore he saw his eyebrows curve down as if touched, but in an instant his sarcastic voice cracked, "Oh, I get it. The Junior Do-Gooder routine, right?"

      There was a jolt; Dash clutched onto the bannister and Marshall grabbed hold of Dash's coat. The floorboards strained and squeaked as their feet sunk heavier into them. The walls were changing in front of their eyes: blue wallpaper faded into wooden panels that rippled like thick liquid.

      "Uh, Dash? Please tell me you know what's going on?"

      Wooden panels disintegrated like sand. The carpet gave way to linoleum and linoleum gave way to dust.

      And Dash and Mars gave way to gravity, plummeting feet-first onto a heap of grass in the middle of a field.

      "Mondo weird,' Marshall exclaimed to himself, before jumping to his feet and assessing his new surroundings. 'Did we just fall into another dimension?" He crouched down to inspect a shard of grass in the moonlight.

      Dash looked around and picked up a broken coca cola bottle, piercing it into the ground. "I think we made it. 1918, the year America adopted daylight savings time."

      Mega-weirdness jackpot.

      "No. Way.' Marshall could barely contain himself.

      'We're in the past? The past past? Dash! You're a genius!' He was walking around now, taking all the sights in; the cool fresh air, the snow-covered tree-tops.

      The kiss - being used and humiliated by Dash (just please don't let him bring up the fact that I kissed him back) was long gone from his mind.

      'You realize what this means, right? We can find the old records of how the Harvest King festival started! We can look at old town records of chupacabra sightings! We can -"

      Dash slapped Marshall across the back of the head.

      "I must've made a mistake - we've officially landed at dweeb-fest '93. Cool it, Slick, we've gotta keep our eyes on the prize. And you're forgetting: we're still in Marksville," Dash hissed.
      "Then I nominate the 100 Wizards Bookstore as our first pit stop on the way to Eerie' Marshall said, rubbing the back of his head. 'That is, if it was there 1918. Unlimited access to their archives sounds pretty good right about now."

     "Wait a second, was it me that was in the Lost Hour before? Cus I seem to remember it was you who should be the expert on all this. You can be such an amateur sometimes,' Dash shook his head and took a deep breath before continuing, 'Like I said, things are different this time. But even if they weren't, we'd still need to be back in exactly the same place as we were when we got here, namely, that heap of grass I stuck the bottle in. If you hadn't come all the way here, we coulda been stuck in Eerie, free to look for chupacabras and werewolves, but it suits me just fine that you insisted on coming here, if this is where the answers are."

      Dash took long, heavy strides towards 1918 Marksville - all wooden and brick buildings making up a small town surrounded by a thin patch of woods - and called out for Marshall to follow.

      "So how exactly is it different this time?"

      Dash paused, looked at him and smirked before continuing into the woods. He didn't say a word until he jumped up into a tree and freed his hands to lift Marshall up.

      He looked Marshall square in the face.

      "For one, we don't have 24 hours. We go back when I say we do.' Dash dug into his coat and pulled out an old watch. 'Alls I gotta do is set my watch to the correct Indiana time, and I'm back home. Well, back at your aunt's house anyway. Now I knew that if your watch was over on this side, you'd find some way to take it and skip out on me - well, I thought that before I saw the paper you had,' he added, embarrased. 'Anyway, Simon's gonna have to bail you out again like last time.'

      Marshall gave him a look.

      'Don't worry, I left him clues - milk on the nightstand for example - and notes.There's more but you're gonna have to wait; I wanna get exploring Marshallville."

      Marshall turned to Dash quickly. "What?"

      "Marksville. Marksville."

      "One more question. Why are we sitting in a tree?"

      Dash glanced around as if he were looking for something on the ground. He smiled, more because his suspicions were correct than out of a genuine joy of what he was seeing - a pack of red foxes snaking around the trees.

      "1918's answer to garbage men."

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