I'll Leave You With The Outtakes // Phan

Part 10

He falls again. This time it's sometime in the middle of the night and Dan is pacing and he isn't paying much attention, so when his legs twist and he loses his balance, Dan finds himself with his cheek pressed against the carpet. His hip aching from smacking against the bed, his arms too tired to push himself back to his feet.

Dan doesn't think he can feel more helpless and stupid, until he hears the frantic footsteps entering his room. Great, now there's someone to witness this spectacle. He shouldn't be this bad yet, the drugs were helping—he hadn't fallen or dropped something since the hospital visit.

"Dan!,"Phil yells breathlessly as he sees him,"Why are you—are you okay?" The tears that are starting to sting Dan's eyes aren't really tears, he's not sad. He's just so angry. Angry that he's so fucking pitiful he can't even get himself back off of the ground. Angry that he fell in the first place. Humiliation and frustration are staining Dan's cheekbones red. Phil's arm is around his shoulder, trying to help pull him up.

"I'm fine!,"he shoves Phil away as hard as he can, which at this point, Dan's muscles feel so exhausted that there isn't much force behind the push. With shaky hands he grapples for the bedpost, ignoring Phil's concerned gaze.

"No, no you're not."

With as much of his weight rested on the bed as Dan can manage, he struggles to a crouching position. His tremoring legs barely hold out until Dan can collapse backwards onto the bed. And he's sitting once more. Without Phil's help. It's not that he can't walk, it's just that when he does fall, it's really hard to get back up. The mattress sinks as Phil sits next to him. Dan's too out of breath to protest. After all, he'd been wanting to talk to Phil anyway, that's why he's still awake. Why he was pacing. Why the breaths that Dan's pushing in and out of his lungs feel so heavy.

The lines drawn in Phil's forehead are pushed together, he looks disappointed, "Why are you still awake, look you should really—."

"I can't sleep." Dan doesn't point out that the fact that Phil sitting beside him proves that he can't sleep either.

"I know it's hard, but..."

"I can't, Phil,"he interrupts,"Lay the fuck off."

"Sorry."

The sting of the apology is more than the insult this time. Why can Dan not just do this right? He keeps blurting out things he regrets, and god, Dan doesn't want Phil to be sorry for that. "No, no I didn't mean that,"he rubs his temple, wishing it could clear his muddled thoughts,"Christ, I can't sleep. And I'm never going to sleep unless I get this out of my head."

"It can wait until morning."

And normally Dan would just drop the conversation there, agreeing Phil was right, or saying something rude so that Phil would leave the room and Dan would go back to worrying over whatever he wanted to say or do. But instead he just clenches his shaking hands together and insists. The need to speak is thick in Dan's stomach, he feels like he's running out of time. If he doesn't get this out now he never will, and it will all be too late.

"No, it can't. I won't say it in the morning, you know I won't, I'll lose the guts. And I'm going to lose my voice, so I have to say this, and I have to say it now. Because I'll lose my voice and--."

"You'll still be able to talk,"Phil interrupts,"We'll get you a computer and--."

"You have to hear this from me." He curses himself for how broken his voice sounds, how tired and desperate."My voice. Not some fucking computer talking for me."

Phil's eyes are wider than before, the blue clouded over by the darkness of the room. His eyes are flicking to Dan's shivering fingers, anxiety—not ALS. And Phil has to repress the whim to reach out and take ahold of them, wrap his own hands over Dan's smaller ones. "Hear w—what?"