I'll Leave You With The Outtakes // Phan

Part 19

Phil knows it's coming. It's been coming for a long time and frankly, he's been able to do more with Dan than he ever thought he would since the day he was diagnosed, and he should be grateful but instead he's just angry, angry because he doesn't want to lose Dan and angry because Dan can't say even say a damn thing anymore and one of these days he's going to not be able to breathe either.

That's the last straw, that Dan can't even say goodbye. He can't even wrap his arms around Phil's waist or whisper in his ear. He can't swallow. And Dan's going to die without ever getting to really say goodbye. Even though, deep down, Phil knows. That all of this. Everything that has happened since Dan was delivered his death sentence by Dr. Valdez. It's all been Dan's goodbye.

Fuck. Phil can't do this. Fuck.

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Phil's reading. It's Harry Potter actually, the only thing he could think of to read. Dan is drifting in and out periodically, long eyelashes fluttering against his skin. He's so tired. Phil ends up watching him more than anything else, one of Dan's bony hands in his larger ones, smoothing along his skin and cupping it in hopes of providing some kind of warmth. He runs his fingers over Dan's ring over and over. Feeling the three small irregularities in the metal.

Dan's breathing is so very loud. They offered to put in a ventilator. But the idea makes Phil's heart ache, as much as he wants Dan to live for every single possible moment. He knows—he knows Dan wouldn't want to draw out his life if it means this.

"Phil,"Dan mumbles, or at least that's what Phil imagines in his head, really Dan makes more of a grunt. His eyes wide and dilated.

"Yeah, bear?" Phil doesn't expect Dan to reply. Of course he doesn't.

-

Dan closes his eyes again, rubbing his lips together, he searches for the will power to somehow force his mouth into saying the words he wants it to. A little bit of luck, maybe.

Love you.

Love you.

Love you.

What he says isn't that, but it's close enough. He can tell from the look on Phil's face that he understands. He can feel Phil's fingers wrapped around his own hand, and by some miracle. Dan tries to squeeze back, and his hand twitches slightly.

Love you.

Phil kisses him then, pressing their lips together in a desperate helpless sort of way. It feels like home.

This is it, this is it, this is it, his mind chants. And he drags out another painfully difficult breath. Phil is talking. And Dan can't really hear, or listen, or understand.

He gets it, he gets exactly what Phil is saying.

Love you.

The world around Dan seems to be growing darker and darker, like he's falling into a black hole. It's a comforting thought. Black like the ring on his finger that's supposed to remind him of space. Of kissing Phil under the expanse of galaxies. He just wants to sleep.

Home,he thinks, because it's really synonymous with Phil. And Phil is synonymous with love. And yes, that's what Dan wants . Home.

-

It doesn't end the way Phil is preparing for. There is no bang, no explosion, no...there is only a soft breathy sigh. And one. Two. Three more rises and falls of Dan's chest.

Then there's nothing.

A pause.

A silence.

It's like the earth has stopped turning, and time has stopped ticking forward. Then a machine starts beeping. Somehow knowing that it's coming doesn't make it any easier, no, it makes it worse. Every word Dan has ever said to him is burning in Phil's head, his skin feels numb and on fire at the same time.

It takes forever for Phil to manage to untangle his fingers from Dan's he just can't bring himself to let go. It takes even longer for the nurses to get there.

Dan looks okay, he looks like he's sleeping and any moment now he's going to wake up and hop out of that hospital bed and kiss Phil squarely on the mouth. A nurse's hand is on Phil's shoulder, she wants him to step back. But he can't. He can't leave Dan, he just hopes he's not suffering anymore. Not in pain.

Phil manages to swipe his hand through Dan's hair, fixing it just the way he likes. No splinges. Before he lets himself be walked out of the room. The small piece of sanity that Phil is still holding onto crumbles. He sinks against the wall, sliding all the way down, shaking hard and clutching at his knees as the realization pours over him in waves.

He can feel it resonating with each inhalation. He's never going to see Dan again.

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