Misfit (Phan AU)

Chapter Thirty-Five

A/N: it's been so long i just forgot how i write a/n, it's that bad. Anyway, there aren't really any warnings for this chapter except Dan is so upset that he totally neglects self-care and doesn't really look after himself properly.

*Dan's POV*

I shook slightly, gritting my teeth in concentration as I willed myself to put off crying just long enough to scrub clean the dish in my hands. I'd started through the pile on the counter well over an hour ago now, but the progress I'd made was debatable at best. Admittedly, I'd probably nicked my hands on sharp objects beneath the soapy water more times than I'd finished washing a dish. No matter how I tried to fool myself, my mind wasn't on the task at hand.

I suppose that's why it was so easy to drop everything and jump into the next distraction the moment it was offered to me. In the instant I heard the knock at the door and the desperate rush to keep myself from thinking of the worst, I ended up with a shattered plate on the floor.

I groaned, looking down at the mess and deciding to haphazardly jump over it rather than take the time to clean. I'd been cleaning all day, by now it was pretty obvious that I wouldn't accomplish anything substantial with the state I was in. Knowing my luck I'd probably end up with a shard of glass in my battered hands to match all the scratches.

I wiped my drenched hands off on the nearest towel, pausing only to open the oven and peer inside to check on the food's progress. Then I was off like my legs couldn't possibly carry me fast enough, darting across the kitchen and nearly tripping over the doormat as I wrenched the door open.

"How is he?" I blurted, my breath coming out in embarrasing pants from the few seconds of exercise prior. It was only after getting the heavy question off my chest that I felt I could breathe properly again, taking the time to register what I was staring at.

Chris and Pj looked exhausted, their eyes tired and the clothes they wore absolutely ragged. A deep panic settled through my stomach, the momentary relief I'd gotten from asking the question instantly disappearing. Oh God, looking at the way they are, do I really want to know how he is? What if they don't have good news? What if they're here to break it to me that he's gone and I just gave them permission to tell me right off the bat? I don't want to know. I couldn't handle knowing that.

I opened my mouth to add something else, perhaps to desperately plead with them not to say anything unless it was what I wanted to hear. Except, then I realized that their silence would say all I needed to know, so there really wasn't any way out of this one.

My hands trembled against my side, though I didn't take notice of it until Pj stepped forward and grabbed hold of one to still the movements. He gave it what I imagined was meant to be a comforting squeeze, but the touch did little to calm my nerves.

"He's fine." He whispered, voice so determinedly calm and gentle it completely contrasted the sudden and overwhelming wave of relief that washed over me. My knees nearly buckled as emotion flooded through me, drowning my every sense in the sensation.

Chris stepped into the apartment, coughing awkwardly as he closed the door behind himself. I wasn't sure what the display meant until afterward, when I heard the voices outside the door and realized he'd been shielding us from potential human interaction. I made a mental note to thank him for that, as I pried my hand from Pj's and reached up to swipe my sleeve across my cheeks. The last thing I needed was my neighbors seeing me mid-breakdown, they already thought I was strange enough as it was.

I turned sharply on my heel, walking into the kitchen and grabbing the broom as an afterthought. I used it to brush the shards of glass into the dustpan, using the chore as an excuse to avoid conversation until I'd calmed down a little bit. By the time I'd finished and stood once again, Chris and Pj had taken their usual seats at the table.