phan oneshots

hotline (angst)

summary: dan is struggling to stay happy, so he calls a hotline. little does he know that this voice, phil, is hurting just as much.

tw// mentions of suicidal thoughts

Talking.

What was the point of it? Nobody listened, and if they did they'd forget it in the next few minutes.

But for some unknown reason I found myself searching up crisis talk lines on Google, and clicking on a certain one.

My finger hovered over the green button, and I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my finger down. I shakily raised the device to my ear, letting out a breath. It rang, then a robot answered.

"Hi, welcome to Crisis Talkline where you can rant all you want without any judgement. Could we get a name please?"

I opened my mouth then shut it, then opened it again. "Daniel- wait fuck, I mean Dan."

"Okay, DanielwaitfuckImeanDan, please hold while we get you an assistant."

"No I meant Dan!" I groaned, but the line went to music. "This is stupid," I shook my head, pulling my phone away from my ear and about to hang up when I heard it.

"Hello?"

I froze. It was a boy- one with a quiet but low voice. My eyes widened and I slowly put it back to my ear.

"H-hi."

"Your name isn't actually DanielwaitfuckImeanDan, right?" The boy chuckled.

I giggled softly. "No, just Dan."

"Well, I'm just Phil," the boy spoke gently. "Any reason you're calling today?"

"I. . ." I trailed off, sitting up and running a hand through my hair. "I don't know anymore."

"Do you mind to elaborate?"

I looked down at my hands, fidgeting with my sweatpants. "I mean, I have plenty of reasons why I'm sad. There's the constant loneliness, the lack of sleeping- and when I do sleep it's just nightmares, the constant overthinking and dreading, the way I pick out the bad things out of good things."

"Well, Dan, I think that maybe if you acknowledge exactly what's bothering you, you'll learn to defeat it. I mean, it's kind of like a blank sheet of paper. You can't draw until you find a pencil, y'know?"

I sniffled. "Yeah."

"Would you like to rant some more?"

"I don't know what to talk about- God, I'm so stupid, I shouldn't have called. . ."

"Hey! Don't say that. If anything you're smart for asking for help. You were brave and acknowledged that you need somebody to talk to, and that's perfectly fine. It's alright to let yourself be sad sometimes, but not all the time," Phil responded. I felt my eyes watering. "Now, if you can honestly tell me that you're okay right now, I'll let you hang up. But if not, I'll be keeping you on this call for awhile. So tell me, Dan: are you okay?"

A tear rolled down my cheek and I sniffled, wiping at my eyes. "No."

"Dan, please don't cry," Phil breathed through the receiver. "Look, you're not okay, and that's okay. You can't keep your walls up forever, somebody is going to break them down. Talk to me Dan, I'm clueless here."

I exhaled a shaky breath, smiling sadly. "I just feel like. . . Like I'm in some sort of endless hallway. A dark one to be exact. And I'm walking, and walking, and walking. I can't see shit, and I'm continuously calling out for help, but nobody's there. I need somebody, a light to be exact, to lead me to the exit- to the end of my own personal hell, but nobody's there, because nobody wants to help me."

"I want to help you, Dan."

I bit at my nails, chuckling halfheartedly. "That's the thing; I don't know if you can."

"Let me try, then."

I flopped back onto my pillows, looking up at the white ceiling. "Maybe you can help me, but you can't help me forever. That's why I don't get close to people. Because sure, they'll help, they'll listen, they'll respond- but we're all born to die. So eventually, one in that relationship of two will stop existing in the bond, whether that's because they died, they moved away, or they just simply left the other. So maybe you can help me, Phil, but you can't stay forever."

"Then let me stay as long as I can."

"I don't want you to stay."

"The muffled sobs I'm hearing from you right now tell me otherwise."

I wiped over my face again, sniffing. "I'm just so fucking tired of being alone. Nobody seems to understand what I'm going through, I'm constantly told that I'm just being a teenager or being over-dramatic. It's like I'm talking to a fucking brick wall. I can't do it anymore. I'm tired of screaming and nobody hearing it. I'm tired of shedding tears and nobody wiping them. I'm tired of shaking and seeing it."

"Dan, I need you to listen to me for a sec, alright?" Phil began. "I know how you feel. And don't you dare cut me off, mister. I do. I've felt alone, I've felt neglected, I've felt misunderstood and stupid, I've blamed myself for little things and gotten upset over the stupidest things. Now, maybe we didn't feel that exact emotion over the exact thing or at the same intensity, but I do know how it feels at the simplest proximity."

"But-"

"No buts. You're gonna get through this, with or without me. Now, keeping me in your life is completely in your choice, but I have no problem at all making an impact in your timeline of memories. Now, if it's alright with you, I want you to tell me about the things that have recently upset you."

"Nobody's made me angry or upset, really. It's myself, and that's the problem. I make myself upset. I mean I could drop a water bottle and not even spill anything but still call myself a clumsy idiot and that I don't deserve to be alive because all I do is mess things up and ruin things and I'm a waste of space and I hate myself and I don't want to breathe anymore and I just want to disappear and-"

"Dan."

"And I feel like if I just stopped existing, nobody would notice or care because I'm a worthless fucking burden and-"

"Dan!" Phil repeated. I shut my mouth, letting the tears stream down my face. "I want you to do something for me, okay?"

"What?" I cried.

"Take a deep breath in."

"Are you kidding me? This is fucking-"

"Do it," He growled. I grunted but obliged, shutting my eyes and inhaling. "Now take a breath out, keep your eyes closed, and go to your happy place."

"Phil-"

"Please."

"Fine," I rolled my eyes. "What if I don't have a happy place?"

"Create one."

So I did. I breathed out slowly and focused, painting a picture in my mind of creativity.

I was outside, in the grass, soft breaths leaving my parted lips. The sky was covered with scattered stars, a full moon in the corner reflecting a blue silhouette over my body. However, I was not alone.

This boy, Phil, was right next to me. I looked over at him and he flashed me a lopsided smile, and I felt his hand intertwine with mine. I grinned to myself, looking back up at the sky.

"I want you to do this every time you feel anxious, okay Daniel? Any time you feel upset, just find a quiet place and make yourself happy."

"Okay."

"What's your happy place, Dan?"

I had stopped crying now, my breathing slowly going back to normal.

"With you."

"I would say that mine was the same, but you are my happy place, so it's a little different," Phil laughed gently. I smiled. "Now how do you feel, DanielwaitfuckImeanDan?"

"It's just Dan."

I heard his giggle, then a pause, then his soft voice rang out again.

"And I'm just Phil."