Band-aids

Trigger warning// suicide, self harm, abuse, drug use/abuse and mental illness//

Disclaimer: I obviously do not own Dan and Phil, not am I affiliated with them in any way.

Dan takes a last sip. It stings with heat on the way down his throat. The alcohol isn't his, Dan's only seventeen. Not that its uncommon for kids his age to drink, most of his classmates get drunk regularly. But they don't drink the same way Dan does. They all get drunk surrounded by friends, probably partying, or making out or both, But Dan gets wasted in his locked bedroom because it makes him numb. It makes everything hurt a little less.
Dan slams the door on the way out, and walks sluggishly to the bathroom. When he grabs all of the meds (his and his mothers antidepressants, along with his sleeping pills) out of the cabinet, and sweeps them into an old messenger bag, nobody stops him. He's been thinking about this in the shadowy parts of his mind for months, even if he never thought he'd do it. Dan knew nobody would be home for the weekend since his mom and brother had acquired the skill of leaving him behind. He heads outside and climbs onto his bike with purpose he hasn't felt in awhile. Dan's decided to go and visit his old school one last time. Not for any real reason. He just has to, it's a persistent need in the back of his mind, dulling away at him. Or maybe that's the headache that never seems to go away. Nonetheless, it's summer break. So Dan knows he won't be found dead by some unlucky kid, to make them think all the stings inside him broke of whatever bullshit John green wrote about.

Dan opens the door and greets the frosted night. He climbs onto his bike and reluctantly starts peddling. The cold air burns a little on his face, and his legs are a little sore. God, he's out of shape. Dan feels like he's too calm for what he's about to do, and only when he pulls into the rounded driveway do tears begin to sting his eyes. Not caring to put down the kickstand, his bike falls to the mud. Dan walks over to the swing set, more falling onto it than sitting. He's so weak. He's so fucking weak. At this point he doesn't know (or care) whether he's fragile due to lack of sleep, or lack of food or simply lack of giving a
Two shits.

Memories of sitting here with his friends in primary school invade Dan's brain. He never really had a best friend, just a rotating cast of scruffy haired, dirty handed kids. Only a couple really stand out in his mind. He can remember a blonde girl, and he can sort of recall her sitting on the swing next to him. He can also remember a little ginger boy. Dan thinks his name was Phil or Paul or something. Honestly he doesn't care, he hasn't really cared about anything in far too long.
Tears are streaming down his face now and he reaches into his pocket for the pills and his water bottle.

I can't do this anymore i can't take it anymore I can't I can't I can't

Dan gently and slowly lays himself on the ground. His whole body aches and his movements feel like they're playing out in slow motion. Dan wonders if this is what it's like to be old and frail. The wet grass begins to meld into his clothes, staining them a dull green. Dan takes his crumpled note out of his pocket. It's less of a goodbye and more of a will though, considering he didn't really have anyone he needed to say goodbye to.
It reads:
"all of my stuff can go to my mom and my brother. I'm sorry."
In messy, rushed handwriting.

Staring into the pill bottle, he doesn't allow himself time to think before he washes the first one down with a massive gulp of warm, stale water.
One, two, three four.
he wonders how many it will take to kill him?
Five, six, seven, eight.
By now there's no turning back.
Nine, ten, eleven, twelve.
His breathing is hitching in his throat now, and his tears feel like they're made of magma burning the backs of his eyes.
Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen.
He remembers his sleeping pills which he brought along for good measure and he downs a good eleven of them before his violent sobs block his mouth and stop him from taking any more. Dan figures he's taken enough to do the trick now anyway, so he lays down in the mud and lets himself cry.  A couple birds land near him and pick at some dandelions. They rip at the yellow-green petals before unearthing the entire plant and hastily flying off. He wishes they wouldn't leave before
Dans wavering consciousness becomes fixed on how everyone and everything will go on when he's gone. Everyone will move on. Not only his classmates, none of whom he was ever close with, but his mom and brother will move on given time. The birds will still fly and the bees will still buzz and the sun will still rise. Many other intoxicated nights the thought that everything will go on without him has haunted him, but tonight it's a comforting thought. He's comfortable. Then he feels his legs and arms go numb.
Oh my god I'm going to die I'm going to die and nobody is going to save me
For some reason the numbness, the setting in of the overdose makes him realize there's nothing he can do now. And that he regrets is now. He going to die and there's nothing he can do.
You did this this is what you wanted I thought you wanted death I shouldn't be scared but I am I can't I can I can't I can't die
But there's nothing left to do and he's afraid, desperately afraid.
Dan guesses it's time to face his fears.
He hopes its a bit like sleep.
His body goes limp as everything fades to black.