Warnings : Self Harm, Character Death.
Word Count : 2151! (literally took me over a week omfg can u nought)
Phil was sitting alone on his bed, staring down into the darkness at his hands. It was one of those nights. One of those nights where he was all by himself. Just him and his thoughts, and a comforting blankness that came with the night. The only thing to break up the dark was the glowing blue numbers on his alarm clock by his bedside, proving the late hour. It was 2:34 am, a time where London began to wind down, coming closer and closer to being silent. There was the occasional loud slam, or the sound of a car alarm going off, but for the most part the city was calm and quiet.
For a moment, Phil wondered why he didn't join everyone else. Drift off into dreamland. He hated daytime after all. He loved the night. The calmness of it, compared to the hectic chaos of the day. But he knew that wouldn't be happening. He couldn't sleep when he was lonely. He'd toss and turn and moan and fluff, but it wouldn't matter. And that's how he knew. He wasn't just alone, he was lonely.
The flat was empty besides him and the quick beating of his heart against his ribs. His flatmate and 'best friend' Dan had left before he'd gotten up to help his girlfriend move in to her new apartment, and had apparently decided to stay over. He hadn't told Phil that though. No texts, no phone calls, no interaction. But that wasn't just Dan, either. It was everyone. It was an ongoing trend - a "lets-not-talk-to-Phil" day that seemed to happen much too often for Phils liking. But now..
Tonight he needed someone. He needed it not to be so empty. Emptiness was scary. All alone with no one to save him if his overworking mind could overwhelm him. He had no way to escape the real world by sleep now. And darkness, loneliness, and emptiness only invite his innermost thoughts out to play. Those thoughts that hadn't come around in ages. But such a hurried mind was like a park for them. To crawl out and frolick and destroy.Even as he thought about them, they began to creep out and Phil felt his breath catch.
He knew that very soon he wouldn't be able to stop himself. He squeezed his eyes shut, pulling his knees to his chest, covering his ears. But nothing you can do will fight them off enough. Covering your ears doesn't keep them out. Those voices. Calling him worthless, attention seeking, a nuisance, better off dead..
"Shut up," he found himself saying aloud. "Shut up, shut up." But the voices carried on, telling him how no one could possibly care for such a fuck up like him. Not even Dan. Not PJ, not Chris, not his fans. What fans though? They were only there for Dan. To see him every once in a while. They didn't care for him. Not even a little. There was only one way to quiet this.
"You fucking win, okay?" he whispered into his room, getting up out of his folded legs position, and struggling to his feet. He made his way into the bathroom, snapping on lights as he went. And then he made it, easily sliding open his drawer and taking out a plain black box, nothing worth looking in. But inside he found his precious things. Razor blades. Those silver babies, calling out to him whenever the voices got unbearable. He rolled up the sleeve of his jumper, tracing a finger down the center of his arm. That would come, but not now. He could still see a scar from the last time he tried. The stitches scars, too. But for now..
One slice across his arm. Across the pale skin. Twoo, three. Red lines criss crossing like a painting. A horrible painting. Blood began to drip, running down the skin as cuts got deeper and swipes got faster. Soon tears were running down his face, but no emotion whatsoever could be seen. He was numb. The sticky, salty patches left on his cheeks were just a reminder of how weak he was.
For a minute he hesitated, then reached into the pocket of the jeans he'd never bothered to change out of, pulling out his iPhone. He typed in Dans name on his phone, and thought about what he'd say.
I've cut again, he typed. Pretty deep now. I think I'm going to go all the way this time. I'm not sure if I'll be able to hang on long enough for the ambulance this time. But that's okay. I'm not worth it anyway c:
He let out a shaking sigh as he hit send and reached for his blade again, eyes locked on his phone for a response. None. He shook his head and pressed the blade to the top of his wrist, where his hand met it. Then, biting back the tears, he pulled it down, pushing in, trying to slide through it as quickly and painlessly as he could. But it hurt so much. So much more than last time. He cut all the way to his elbow, collapsing on the ground as his veins seared with pain. Blood dripped off both of his slender arms onto the tile floor of the bathroom, puddling a little. He let himself lay there for what felt like hours. Pain like hot knives stabbing him went through him every time he moved, and he bit his lip, trying not to scream.
But then he heard a sound. The sound of a door slamming. But not a car door. Phil managed to roll over onto his side, eyeing the hallway. Dan was home.
"Phil!" he heard his name being called, though it sounded far away and slow, like he were underwater. His head began to spin as he heard it again. "Phi - oh my god." Dan was stopped dead in the doorway of the bathroom, looking down at his best friend smeared with blood, a blade beside him lying in a small pool.
Without missing a beat, Dan dropped to his knees next to him, tears running down his face. He'd barely processed the situation, but he had enough to know what was going on. He whipped his phone out of his pocket, hurriedly dialing 999 as Phil looked up at him, lips forming soundless words. "You're gonna make it, Phil.. Trust me.." Dan murmured, trying to comfort Phil, reaching out for Phils hand. Their fingers locked, and Dan felt his tears sliding off his chin onto the light fabric of Phils top.
"999, what's your emergency?"
"I need an ambulance, now, please.."
"What seems to be the problem?"
"My best friend.. he's bleeding to death I need help, please," Dans voice cracked and Phils fingers squeezed him tighter.
"Whats your location sir? Emergency vehicles have been dispatched."
Dan shakily told the woman their address then hung up after being assured an ambulance would be there in less than 10.
"Phil, please tell me, why would you do this?" He. let his free hand wander up to Phils face, gently stroking his cheek.
"Because.." Phils voice was soft, weak. "Nobody cares about me. No one would care if I died."
"I care about you."
"Not as much as your girlfriend," Phil chuckled, though it obviously physically hurt.
"Youre right. Because I care about you so much more than her. We're best friends. We're supposed to stick together no matter what."
"Stop..." the sound of an ambulance siren cut Phil off, and Dan immediately got up off the ground to unlock the door for the paramedics.
"He's in there, please help him.."
"We'll do our best, son."
A group of men appeared around Phil, lifting him into a stretcher though he was growing faint. He knew he wouldn't make it this time. He moved through the house, being carried outside, then loaded into the back of the vehicle. He saw Dan get into his car, tears streaking his face... and then the doors closed and he fell into a deep lulling sleep.
...
Dan hated the smell of hospitals. It smelled like injury and death. But Phil wouldn't die, he'd pull through, he kept telling himself. Phil pulled through it once, he'd pull through it again.
He sat, head in his hands in the waiting room, anxiously waiting. Finally the door opened, and a nurse came over to him. "Dan Howell?"
"Yes... Any news on Phil?"
"Mr. Howell, I'm afraid," Dan immediately felt tears brimming in his eyes. "Your friend Phil has maybe an hour left, but we cant do anything now. He's lost too much blood."
The tears instantly left. He felt nothing but shock. "Can I see him? Please. One last time." The nurse nodded her head solemnly, a pained look on her face.
"Follow me." He did, hot on her trail. She led him into a room where Phil was hooked up to many fancy looking machines, all just proof that Phil was going to die. Nothing more, nothing less.
"Dan," Phil smiled weakly from his bed, trying to sit up. Dan couldn't help but smile, hearing Phil say his name.
"Phil.. oh my God."
"I'm not going to make it. They've told me. I knew I wouldn't. I knew I'd die." Dan shook his head, approaching Phil, who looked so feeble and pale in the bed. He reached forward and carefully wrapped his arms around Phils body.
"That's a lie, my little lion. You're going to do it. You're going to live."
"I'm not though, Dan. I'm finally not going to. Life cant get any worse now." Phil grinned, and Dan felt like punching him.
"Don't say that! You're going to! I swear.."
They sat in silence, Phil squeezing Dans hand. "Hey Dan? Remember that time we had a snowstorm, so I made two snowballs and put them in the freezer, and you never noticed them? And remember how I hit you with them in the summer?"
Dan laughed. "Yeah, I do. And remember the time you hit that lamp putting up the Christmas tree?"
"Or the time you and I took over an arcade and enslaved the human race?"
"I don't think that happened quite how you remember it." Dan smirked. "But what about the time we were making pancakes together and you stole all the golden syrup? Or the time we ate all that mysterious, magical Japanese candy?"
"And the first AmazingDan. And the time we went to Vegas... break it to my subscribers sweetly, please?"
"You're not going to die."
Phil shook his head and gestured toward the machine monitoring his heartbeat. It had begun to beep. Slowly. "No. This cant be happening."
"I'm sorry..."
"No! No, Phil! Come on. Come on you have to live... You can't just die on me like this, Phil please, I..." his voice caught as he saw a serene smile cross Phils lips. Then the machine stopped beeping. All emotion left Dan. He simply let his hand out of Phils, and slid his fingertips down over Phils eyes so it looked like he was sleeping.
"I'm sorry Mr. Howell." The nurse said quietly, taking him by the arm.
"Wait, no. No! Wait, please! You have to help him! He's my friend, please, you cant just - please let him open his eyes! Make him open them! Please, I'll do anything! Anything at all, I just need a little more time... I need to tell him that I love him more than anything in the world. I need to tell him how much he means to me! Please, let me go!" Dan fell to his knees for the second time that morning. The nurse let him go and he stumbled to his feet, practically running back to Phils bed. "You cant be dead," he said sobbing, pressing their foreheads together. "Please, you're still in there somewhere. I love you! You mean the world to me. Nothing, no one compares to you. Please come back to me. Don't leave me alone, I cant do this on my own, please.. Phil! You mean so much to me..." Tears spattered on Phils cheeks from Dan, and Dans body wracked with sobs. "Fucking.." he pulled back and buried his head in Phils shoulder, wrapping his arms tight around Phils neck. He knew Phil couldn't hug him back, but he refused to believe it, and waited for Phil to hold him back. "I love you." His lips found Phils forehead, pressing against the cold, lifeless body. "So long and goodnight."
The nurse took his arm again, and for the last time Dan looked at Phil, covered in tears and sweat and suddenly nothing was okay. But he let himself be led out of the room anyway.
And maybe, just maybe, the fatal car accident later that morning wasn't such an accident after all.
