Brotherly love (phan)

Chapter 11

In advance, I am sorry.

Monday's dream was full of sadness

Tuesday's dream held no such gladness

Wednesday's dream made Philip cry

Thursday's dream, it made him die

Friday's dream was full of death

Saturday's dream was his final breath

Sunday's dream will never end

Sunday's dream will repeat again

Monday's dream was the same as the day before

Monday's dream lasts forever more

Poor little Philip, hear him cry?

Poor little Philip, watch him die.

*

Monday's dream

**

Phil cradled him in his arms.

"It's okay, everything will be fine," Phil hushed him, rocking him back and forwards softly.

"It hurts Phil," he whispered, tears slowly rolling down his battered face as the blood also continued to leak from his chest.

"I know, but don't think about that. Think about happy things, like friends, and Sherlock and John hugging, and little things like the way people smile at the smallest of reasons, how people care for you, just don't focus on the pain," Phil told him softly, stroking his hair and cheek.

"I don't want to die," he whispered, reaching out and clutching Phil's hand as tightly as he could, and Phil could feel him getting weaker.

"You won't, I promise. The ambulance will come and the doctors will help you, just stay awake." Phil told him, trying to keep his voice calm but his sobs were muffled and cracking his voice. But he needed to stay strong, for him.

"Phil, why is everything so beautiful when you know someone is lying to make you feel better?" He asked, using one weak arm to gesture feebly around the white room randomly.

"Because," Phil said, a tear dripping off his cheek and onto his dark hair. "Because those little lies are beautiful, and they are what keep us strong," Phil told him, not being able to stop his body shaking.

"So is art, drawing and stuff. If I could, I would paint this white room with so many coloured swirls and happy memories," he told him, smiling and giggling slightly, coughing a few times after.

"Like the time we found the tower. Wasn't that amazing? And when we first met and you looked after me? And going to the park together and getting milkshakes? All of those memories are so important to me. It was just us, and although we weren't always one hundred percent happy, those memories are now, aren't they?" Phil asked smiling, and he saw him smile too.

"They were perfect. Thank you for being here for me Phil," he whispered, his eyes closing slowly and his breathing becoming more shallow.

"No, thank you for being me," Phil told him, and the last grip on Phil's hand fell away. He was gone.

"You did well Phil, with the life you had. This wasn't your fault," Phil told the body of himself, carefully stroking it's features before lying him down on the floor, straightening his arms and making him look dignified. Why must himself only look peaceful after death? Phil placed a gentle kiss to his forehead and pulled away, wiping his eyes.