The Phan in Our Stars

Part Three

"Phil?" Dan wrapped his arms tightly around his best friend, pulling him into his chest as he sobbed silently. "Phil, you have to tell me what's going on." Dan was genuinely worried now. Phil was always strong; always. When Dan was panicked or having a crisis or upset about anything, Phil was always the one to reassure him. But now, here he was: his formerly cool and collected friend, his rock, bawling in his arms, shaking uncontrollably. "Phil," he repeated, his voice shaking, "please."

Phil slowly sat up, clenchig his teeth, not looking Dan in the eye, trying desperately to control the sobs which threatened to take over at any moment. "I've been meaning to tell you," Phil said, staring at the wall in front of him. He took a deep breath and raised a trembling hand to his face. Slowly, he rubbed his puffy, red eyes and wiped away the tears which stained his face.

He sighed. "A few weeks before your birthday, when you went to visit your mum, that's when this started." Dan swallowed and felt his throat tighten as Phil talked, still staring intensely at the wall across from them. "It had been hurting for a couple weeks," Phil touched his leg, right below his knee, "but I thought it was from when I fell down the stairs, but it had been quite a while and it was still bothering me. So, while you were away I decided to go see a doctor. It was no big deal." His voice trailed off and he sniffed, finally looking over at Dan. Bad decision, he decided, as he felt the tears welling in his eyes once more. He quickly averted his eyes and stared down at his hands which were clenched tightly in his lap.

"After he, um, looked me over, he just wanted to run a couple of tests, nothing major. Thought maybe I'd done something to a muscle or something." Phil was blinking back tears now, "Well, a few minor tests became several major tests and after a while--" Phil stopped mid-sentance, his breathing shallow.

Dan couldn't bring himself to utter a word, but he placed his arm on Phil's leg reassuringly. Unexpectedly, Phil placed his hand on top of Dan's , wrapping his long, cold fingers around Dan's palm, making him suddenly aware of how swaety his hands were.

Phil squeezed Dan's hand subconsiously, "They decided to run a PET scan, just precautionary."

There was a long moment of silence. Dan's head was spinning. He heard what Phil was saying, but he couldn't comprehend it. Phil's leg, his PET scan, why he was so tired all the time: Dan's mind was racing trying to put the pieces together and at the same time denying all that he was hearing. He was sweating, shaking, confused. He changed his mind: he didn't want to know. God, why did he always have to know everything? He should have just let Phil go to bed; he shouldn't have asked. If he hadn't asked he wouldn't have had to know, none of this would be happening.

A single, silver tear rolled down Phil's cheek. He closed his eyes and said, "Like a Christmas tree." The tears slowly began to stream down his face, "Isn't that what Augustus Waters said?" He managed a tortured half smile, "I lit up like a Christmas tree."

Dan couldn't move. He couldn't cry. He couldn't speak. He could only sit there, trembling next to the best friend he had ever had and deny everything.

This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. Cancer wasn't real. Cancer was something that John Green and all those other young adult novelists wrote about to tug at heartstrings in an attempt to help people understand the significance of their lives and be thankful for every day they're given and teach other cheesy-as-shit lessons. Cancer happened in movies and maybe sometimes even to really sickly, old people. But, if there was one place cancer didn't happen it was inside of his best friend.

"Osteosarcoma," Phil said, quietly, "Funny isn't it? What are the odds?"

What are the odds. Not an hour ago this thing, this disease, this mess was all just something on a big screen happening in a world that didn't exist to people invented by the minds of other people and now, here it was: a real, tangible thing in his real, wonderful friend, in his real, fucked up life.

For the first time Dan fully understood. Cancer wasn't something made up by John Green and other young adult novelists to teach life lessons. Cancer was a real thing. A real, terrible thing that destroyed people's bodies and minds and lives not for such a bold purpose as to teach life lessons, but simply because that's what it had to do to survive and survival was all anything or anyone really wanted. Dan knew sure as hell that was all he wanted for his best friend.

Finally, Phil let go of Dan's hand and covered his face again, crying silently. Dan just sat there for a moment, stunned. Finally, he did the only thing he could think of: he wrapped his arms tightly around Phil, pulling him tightly into his chest. Phil wrapped his arms around Dan and hugged him back and neither of them were quite sure which was comforting which.

Dan finally found his voice, but couldn't think of a single thing to say, so he just said, "I'm not okay."

"Me neither."

"Perhaps 'not okay' will be our 'always'," Dan whispered dryly, but Phil laughed a little, quietly.

"Not okay?"

"Not okay."