dan tugged at the scratchy material that was flush against his neck. he was surprised the school had a bib tall enough for him, but the jacket was extremely itchy. maybe it was from the sweat, but he swore it was that way every game.
"DE-DE-DE-DEFENSE!" a flute player, who dan guessed was his friend brett, began calling. dan immediately joined into the cheer, putting his whole body into it. it was the second quarter, the score 3-11, their team down.
nudging the only other person in his section, trying to get them to cheer, looking at his director. dan knew they'd be heading to the field soon, which was the highlight of the game.
a couple minutes, and a few cheers later, the band was heading down to begin to line-up for the show. dan picked up his marching baritone, following Jasmine, the other baritone in marching band.
taking his spot behind the sousaphone, and next to the tall (and extremely cute) bari sax, dan was ready for the show.
of course, the show went phenomenally. dan was heading back to the stands, waiting for his director to call for bathrooms and having a conversation with bari sax player.
"low brass, bathrooms." dan nodded after his director called, rested his instrument on the stands so it wouldn't fall, and headed towards the bathroom.
on the way there, he was pushed into the line at concessions. "sor-" when he looked up to apologize, he was met with the prettiest eyes he's ever seen. "don't worry about it."
apparently, this kid also had the prettiest smile. dan continued on, heading towards the bathroom. he did his business, and came out to see the boy with the pretty eyes standing with his friends. 'LESTER' was the name spread across his back, on his jv jersey. '23' was his number.
dan smiled, thinking of "lester" his whole way back to the stands.
i️ know it isn’t shadowhunters, but i️ will be working on something for simon after tonight’s episode of supernatural. part two maybe?
Full summary ; Dan Howell is dead. Well, sort of. He’s a guardian angel, forced to protect only one human, and that human is Cat. But when he accompanies Cat to school, he can’t help but be intrigued by the broken boy with the black hair who sits by the window in class and disappears at lunch times. Dan realises this boy needs more protection than Cat will ever need, so he takes on human form to save him. But soon he finds himself falling in love, which is something he definitely can’t do. Dan Howell is an angel, and he’s falling for Phil.
TWs ; bullying, violence, mentions of self-harm, mentions of death/suicide, depression, panic attacks, physical and verbal abuse, homophobia, foul language and supernatural themes.
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"They all say that nothing ever changes, through the new lines that are on their faces—"
dan ; 65 years later
The clouds are grey and weary as they roll across a darkening sky. Rain slips from their folds like tears, splattering on the windscreen, and the highway ahead is barely visible. Lightning arcs across the sky, flashing reminders of the bushes and fields on either side of the road. Even in his old age, Dan still finds solace in a thunderstorm. He doesn't flinch at all.
Two hands clutch the worn steering wheel. They are sprinkled with brown spots, coarse and weathered by an 80-year life, but warm nonetheless. Dan can remember the time when the cold had been squeezed from his fingertips by the hands of another. They'd been warm ever since.
A quick glance at the leather watch latched around his wrist reveals the time. 11.48 pm. He's late. He's so very late. His daughter is going to absolutely kill him when he gets there well past midnight. He can almost hear her worried voice now: "You were supposed to be here by nine! Why didn't you leave earlier? It's hard to see the road at night and anything could've happened to you."
Dan doesn't blame her, honestly. In fact, he would probably agree with her. But he's still the Dan he was 40 years ago – albeit mature with a deeper understanding of the world, he will always leave things until the last minute. Or hours past the last minute, as it is. Surely it's not his fault if his evening nap stretched on for longer than he intended, though? And it's hard for a man who, even now, devotes endless time and effort to his career which technically should've ended a decade ago. A lot of things seem to fill up Dan's hours, which is why he is edging over the speed limit along a poorly lit road in the middle of the night, as buckets of rain pound upon the asphalt and the dented roof of his car. I'll be fine, he tells himself over and over. Evie's place is only 15 minutes away.
For a moment Dan cracks a melancholy smile. He really misses his daughter, and her entire family. His family. But now he gets to see them again – Evie, her husband, his granddaughter and the rest of the clan. Tomorrow he can hug them, talk with them and simply be with them again. Unfortunately his son, Caleb, wasn't able to make it but everyone had agreed to skype him during the reunion. Then he feels a painful tug of sadness on his heart when he remembers that one other person won't be there either.
He's tried hard to avoid thinking of Phil, he really has. People used to tell him to dwell on the happy memories rather than the sad ones, but even that only drags him into a familiar pit of misery. He resolved not to think of Phil at all after the dark-haired man passed away. Work and family provided easy distractions from his thoughts, but it was impossible to escape them completely. For three years, Phil had left Dan alone in their cosy home in a rural village near London. By now he is expected to have moved on, but Dan tells no one of the dark nights he would spend lonely in his bed, furiously wiping away tears and begging for someone to drag him out of his head. The only person he'd prefer to do that is Phil. But Phil is gone. The only relief has come from knowing his husband now rests peacefully in heaven. But even that weighs upon his heart, for he knows that not even in the afterlife will he see Phil again.
At some point, dense huddles of trees have begun slipping past the car window, seeming to appear from nowhere as Dan drives on. His mind is found elsewhere – in the past.
When they were younger, still with so much to see and learn, Dan and Phil had scraped together enough money from their respective minimum-wage jobs and moved out of town. They left all of it behind – their school, their homes, the florist and the library and the hideaway in the forest – but of course kept in touch with friends and family. Mrs Lester and Daisy were always a call away from their new home, while Stephen was eventually jailed for a year and had a restraining order filed against him afterwards.
Their old 'squad' had inevitably separated to pursue their own careers, but would catch up for coffee when they could. Dan swelled with pride when Louise published her first novel, and was ready to burst into tears listening to Troye's first ever EP. PJ went on to create masterpiece films on YouTube which guided him into the film industry. After a few years of confusion about his calling, Tyler became an LGBT+ rights activist. 'Beauty Vlogger' grew to be the professional term for Zoe. And Cat plunged into law and criminology, unexpectedly.
The third to build a career out of YouTube was Phil. He never planned to gain a large following or even go anywhere at all with his channel, AmazingPhil, which at first only existed to make money on the side. Dan watched on with enthusiasm as his boyfriend gained thousands and thousands of subscribers with simple chatty vlogs; he developed an intense fanbase, released merchandise, collaborated with other big names and was even featured occasionally in articles or teen magazines. It simultaneously felt overwhelming and exhilarating – and even slightly scary when Phil introduced Dan as his boyfriend, enticing the shippers to emerge from the shadowy depths of Tumblr in the hundreds.
Dan can still remember the moment Phil hit one million subscribers – something from a life that seems so far away he can barely see it on the horizon. It had been a quiet night for the two of them, some pointless TV show background noise for the apartment they moved into nearly a year after the incident with Stephen. While Phil was off editing his next video, Dan had been humming away to a song by Kanye West as he cooked up a delicious meal of spaghetti for the two of them. Because yes, even as a fully-functioning 20-something-year-old adult, Dan was hopeless at cooking anything extravagant.
A subscriber count was up on his phone; surprisingly, Dan was more invested in AmazingPhil's stats than AmazingPhil himself. He shocked the house with a high-pitched squeal when 999,999 became 1,000,000, prompting his boyfriend to come bumbling into the room a few seconds afterward.
"What? What's wrong?" Phil had blurted, pushing his glasses onto the bridge of his nose.
Dan simply shoved the phone in his direction, a brilliant grin on his cheeks. A brighter one grew on Phil's face moments later.
Two blinks and Dan is dragged back into the present. It's midnight. It's nearing pitch darkness on the road ahead. And the era of AmazingPhil is long dead and gone. Dan frowns sadly to himself – he never followed in Phil's footsteps, deciding a career in YouTube wasn't for him. Instead, fast-forwarding a few years of university study in counselling and psychology, Dan began working for a non-profit organisation focused on raising awareness for bullying and mental health, and supporting those who were unwell. It was a rewarding occupation which allowed him to campaign against bullying and social stigma, work with children and young people and – ultimately – make positive impacts in the lives of so many. High school experiences had burdened his mind years after his education, so Dan couldn't sit by and do nothing while others inevitably faced similar struggles to himself. And making a difference in the lives of children, teenagers, adults – even whole families – had allowed him to finally escape his past and fling it into a deep corner of his mind.
Then suddenly he was nearing 30, and Phil dragged him halfway across the globe to Japan where he proposed under a canopy of cherry blossoms. It was picture-perfect and filled with the sounds of tears and kisses and the repetition of three simple words. Dan and Phil couldn't have been happier.
Next came a 4-bedroom house with a wide backyard and corgi named Milo who loved to pee everywhere. From lugging moving boxes into the lounge with over-exaggerated complaints about their heaviness, to cuddling with Milo by the fireplace 2 years later, Dan and Phil – just as in love as they had been when they were teenagers – couldn't have found anywhere they'd rather be other than beside each other. And, sooner than expected, beside their two adopted children, Evelyn and Caleb.
Cue 10 years or so of absolute chaos. Or, mostly chaos. Evie and Caleb were biological siblings, and they bounced off each other like two positive charges – and they produced a lot of negative ones. Tantrums, fights, pranks and more tantrums were battles Dan and Phil barely came out of alive, but if someone had asked them whether it was worth it, they'd say yes in a heartbeat. Nothing on earth could compare to raising a family together (other than their wedding day, of course). Eventually their kids grew and matured, with a few obstacles such as puberty hindering them. Dan and Phil had a terrific job bonding with Caleb during his angst-filled teenage years, and strained through Evie's random phase which lasted longer than it should have. But when both of them graduated and moved out of home, the two husbands realised they would gladly do it all over again.
Now there's dampness on Dan's cheeks. He wills himself to keep his eyes on the road and out of his head, smearing away his tears with one wrinkled hand. It's okay. He's okay. He'll be seeing his family soon. Now is not the time to burst into loud sobs over his memories – he's done enough of that already.
The rain grows heavier, pounding against the glass of the windscreen like an army of soldiers. All Dan can see is water, and a split second of road when the wipers shove the droplets from his view. He can feel his heartbeat without having to touch his chest, almost matching the speed of the rain. But he'll be okay, he reminds himself again.
Knuckles turn white as they clutch the steering wheel. Sweat pools in his socks. Vital organs like the stomach are starting to get left behind. And all he can see, all he can hear is rain, rain, rain.
Phil. He needs Phil. Phil always knows what do in these situations. He'd hold Dan's hand if it was available and rub calming circles on his palm. He'd talk him through the panic, telling him to put his foot on the break and take deep breaths. He'd reassure him that he was okay, he was safe and nothing was going to happen to him. "I'll always be right beside you," Phil used to promise.
Dan knew he never meant to break it.
A side road winds away from the main highway, but of course Dan can't see it. Nor can he see the second car driving miles over the speed limit, never stopping to give way to Dan.
Suddenly there is an ear-splitting screech of rubber tyres against slippery tarmac. Metal crumples, glass shatters and Dan's vision spins out of focus. The car collapses around him. He doesn't have time to scream. The vehicle turns and plunges into a ditch hidden in the trees to his left, flipping onto its roof with a resounding crunch of aluminium.
The world stands still. Dan's eyes crack open and he stares at the blur of black and green around him. Then excruciating pain surges through his body, searing his arms and legs and bursting flames in his torso. Shards of glass litter his skin, most buried deep within it, and blood paints his body and the mixture of metal and dirt beneath him. He lets out a low groan, burying his burning head into his hands, the skin torn to pieces.
He's never felt anything like this since the moment his wings were torn from his back, decades ago.
Something cold is pressing down into his left leg. Dan can't move it, no matter how hard he tries. He's trapped. But surprisingly, he doesn't panic. Only one prayer to God is present in his mind.
Please take care of my family.
Then Dan lets his eyes fall shut and he mumbles, "I don't know if I'm ready."
And out of the blue there is a familiar voice in his ears, and for a moment Dan thinks he's hallucinating when he hears the reply, "You are ready, Dan. You know you are."
Dan's eyelids shoot open and he stares up into a face he'd almost forgotten. The Keeper looks exactly the same as when he last saw him – deathly pale, emotionless expression, a dark coat swirling at his feet. But something is different. His eyes are different. They look back at Dan with a strange sadness he had never seen before.
"You...Why are you...? I thought – but you – how?" Dan croaks, incredulous. "I thought I'd never s-see you again."
The Keeper glances down at his feet before dropping to a crouch. He peers at Dan through the wreckage of the car. "I came to tell you one last thing. You think you're not ready to die a second time. But you are more than ready."
"Am I...am I going to hell?" Dan whispers, voice cracking on the last syllable. He blinks away tears he didn't realise were blurring his vision until now.
"Dan...I've watched you live your second life in the greatest way you could. I saw you build a career, marry Phil, start a family...I couldn't have been more proud of you, and gladder that you found the happiness you needed." The Keeper hesitated, sucking in a small breath, before meeting Dan's eyes. "But it was a test. A test you knew nothing about. For everyone who breaks the bond between angel and human, they're given another chance without knowledge of it. They're free to live life as they please, and if they do enough good, if they can prove their worth...well, that just might be their last ticket to heaven. And you, Dan, proved more than I ever suspected."
After the Keeper's words, it is so silent Dan is sure they can both hear his own heartbeat. For a moment he forgets the pain coursing through his crushed and ruined body, only focusing on what the Keeper had said. Did he mean...?
"All that work you did with that mental health organisation...creating awareness for bullying, working with young people – all of it. You turned yourself around. Dan, you passed the test. You're going to heaven."
Dan can do nothing but close his eyes and rest his head in his arms. He allows complete and utter relief to wash over him, almost overtaking his pain. He's going to heaven. He'll be okay. He'll be with Phil. That realisation overwhelms him, and now he just longs for his heart to stop beating, no matter how morbid it sounds. His skin is on fire and he can't move and his body is deteriorating and he just wants it to end. Because being with Phil sounds infinitely better than this.
"Is Phil there?" he suddenly asks hoarsely, lifting his head and taking the Keeper by surprise.
"I don't know, but I'm pretty sure there's no way that guy could go to hell," he replies, a hint of sadness in his tone. A beat of silence passes. "Look, Dan...I'm about to get quite sappy here, I warn you. But when you first came to Purgatory, even though you were quite frustrating, I saw myself in you. The cynicism and the coldness and–"
"Oh wow, thank you so much."
"But," the Keeper continued, raising his eyebrows, "it made me fond of you. You were sort of different in that...I'd never cared for any soul as much I had for you before. It surprised me because you showed me what it was to be human. You helped feel genuine emotion, something I've rarely ever felt, and I thank you for that. I almost miss watching out for you when you were a guardian, because I lo – I mean, I, uh, liked seeing what...you would do next, y-you know?"
A frown crawls its way onto Dan's face. "Yeah, I guess..." he mumbles. Something is suddenly a little off about the Keeper's behaviour, but he can't put his finger on it. He decides to ignore it for now. "But thank you for telling me that, it means quite a lot."
The Keeper stares at him with a small smile, then opens his mouth to say something, seems to think better of it, and averts his eyes to the ground. And there's...there's colour on his cheeks. An ever-so-pale blush on his ghostly white complexion. Something, Dan is sure, has never happened before. "That's quite alright," the Keeper murmurs.
Suddenly it all connects in Dan's mind, the last puzzle piece fitting into place. It makes absolute sense...the hugs, the words of comfort, the subtle yet very obvious sorrow whenever Phil was mentioned. The blushing–
"Anyway, Dan," the Keeper unknowingly interrupts his thoughts. "Your time is just about to come to an end, I'm sad to say."
Dan simply nods, easily accepting it. He doesn't want to wait for it any longer. He can see Phil in his mind, perhaps even waiting for him to arrive at his last destination. But for now he can see the Keeper in front of him, sat in the mud and remaining there for him throughout his last moments. With one last bout of strength, he reaches out his old, mangled arm and grapples for the Keeper's hand, who takes it without hesitation. Dan squeezes gently, and as his eyelids float shut he murmurs with sincerity, "I'm happy I met you."
The last thing he hears before his heart stops is, "I'm happy I met you, too."
*
His body is enclosed in warmth, draped around him like a woollen blanket. Something soft and thin glances over his cheeks; it's fresh grass, caressing his skin. A feather-like breeze tugs at his curls, coaxing them into the air. And Dan feels...alive.
His eyes are closed but his lungs are open, filled with sweet-smelling air as he breathes softly through his nose. It's placid. There is no noise. Dan feels as if he is lying on a bed of clouds, cotton candy and freshly dried sheets. He could fall asleep here. But he's only just woken up.
Belatedly, Dan moves. He flexes his fingers and shifts his head and wriggles his legs. Gentle grass and damp soil press into his skin, reminding him of summer months and the sun in his eyes. The sun. He comes to the realisation that the sleepy warmth he feels comes from sunlight. A contented sigh leaves his lips – it's been so long since he felt heat like this. Then, like a bear waking from hibernation, Dan cracks his eyes open and is met with the colour yellow. The straw of the towering prairie grass, bending in the breeze. The saffron of the sky, paled by the intensity of the sun. The gold of his hands, gentle and new and unblemished. Young.
No longer is his skin littered with ageing spots or wrinkles. There are no traces of wounds from the crash, seconds or minutes or hours before. Dan sucks in a calming breath and reaches to touch his face. His cheeks are soft, smooth and spongy, and his lips are no longer cracked and shrivelled. Every part of him feels renewed. Repaired. Like he is young again.
Suddenly Dan finds the strength within him to sit up, shocking him with how easy it comes. He pulls his legs underneath him and pushes up with his arms, leaning back onto his feet. For a moment, his eyes roam the area in which he's been left, and the frown on his face flips into a small smile. He knows where he is. Of course, it's refreshingly different from the last time he was here. But the meadow still stretches out by the acres, enclosed by a woodland he never saw beyond.
Purgatory had never been separate from heaven, and perhaps hell for that matter. Dan finds it comforting.
So then he sighs, gets to his feet, brushes the grass from a fresh pair of jeans and a t-shirt and admires the thin physique of his body. So many years had gone by since he looked like this. His arms are well-built, his torso sturdy and for once he feels he can trust his feet – which are bare and pushing coolly into the grass – to keep him upright.
That is when the sound of footsteps crushing into the long straw reaches his ears, snapping him from his thoughts. Dan holds his breath, nerves spluttering to life as he keeps his back facing the newcomer. He's almost afraid to turn around, but then he swallows the butterflies in his throat and twists on his feet.
Dan looks up to meet a pair of cerulean eyes, glimmering in the light and crinkled at the edges from an elated grin.
Phil looks just like he did when he was 17 years old, although his jaw is slightly sharper and his shoulders are broader. His fringe, as dark as ever, falls perfectly to the left of his face. His cheekbones are knife-sharp and smattered with freckles. And his skin displays a warm glow, cheeks rosy and face smooth. But it's the smile that startles Dan the most.
Sunlight bursting from his very being, Phil's peachy pink lips are pulled into a smile that might as well reach his eyes, his teeth are showing and he isn't covering his mouth like he used to do. Dan can't tear his eyes away. Here, after 3 years of being apart, here is his significant other. His soulmate. And they're both young again and Dan is falling in love all over again, and he can only hope Phil is doing the same. But a part of him knows he is.
Then Phil breaks the silence between them, exclaiming between a laugh and sob, "You're really here!"
Complete and total joy blossoms in Dan's chest and spreads throughout the rest of him. He's in heaven. He's with Phil. And everything is going to be absolutely okay. He moves forward through the grass, lips curling up to imitate Phil's grin, and his heart is hammering against his chest to the beat of the butterflies in his stomach and Phil is moving closer and –
They're together again. They crash into each other, arms winding around chests and fingers clutching shirts and eyes squeezing shut. Dan pushes his face into Phil's neck, clinging to him as he lets out a few unwarranted sobs and breathes in the comforting scent of cinnamon (even in heaven). Phil lets out a trembling but relieved sigh and buries his nose in Dan's hair, peppering the curls with kisses as he clutches him tightly to his chest. They hold each for an eternity.
"I'm here," Dan murmurs eventually, never, ever wanting to let go.
"You're here," Phil repeats in reply.
Dan laughs then, the sound thick and a little choked up, but it's okay. He couldn't have been happier. He takes the slightest step back to look into Phil's eyes, lifts a hand to caress his cheek, thumb brushing over his lower lip. "I'm sorry you had to wait so long," he whispers.
"Don't say sorry. Time doesn't really exist here, anyway, so I barely had to wait," Phil assures him. He hooks his arms around Dan's waist. "Now, can I kiss you?"
"Be my guest."
Then their lips meet, and it doesn't feel any different except for the sweetness Dan can taste as he kisses the dark-haired boy, tugging gently on his bottom lip with his teeth. Phil tastes bright and sugary, and Dan immediately misses the feeling when they pull apart. The butterflies continue to bang against his ribcage.
"I almost forgot how good of a kisser you are," Phil giggles, staring at him with the fondest look in his eyes.
Dan rolls his eyes playfully, ignoring the sudden warmth in his chest. "You forgot me? You forgot me? I thought you loved me!"
"You know very well that I hate you, darling."
"That sounds like something a Tumblr user would say."
"Well, there's no Tumblr here! I've checked."
"That's a disappointment."
"No it's not. You have me to entertain you."
Dan quirks an eyebrow at that. "Was that...an invitation to do something I probably don't want to know about?"
"Maybe," Phil shrugs, smirking a little. Then he lowers one hand and intertwines their fingers. "But first, we should probably leave the meadow. There's so much I want you to see outside the trees."
Dan's eyes widen, heart leaping at the thought of going beyond the woodland. Phil tugs him round to face the border of the grassland and throws him a small grin. Dan easily returns it. And then they walk, hand in hand, towards the trees that enclose the fields of gold, and as long as Phil is right beside him, Dan feels nothing but eager to find out what awaits them next.
-
a/n ; i think i’ll just say that i’m proud of this one. extremely proud. a year and a bit and 134,806 words later, falling for you is finally finished. to anyone who has and who will read this, thank you so so much. any kind of support means the world to me <3
Full summary ; Dan Howell is dead. Well, sort of. He’s a guardian angel, forced to protect only one human, and that human is Cat. But when he accompanies Cat to school, he can’t help but be intrigued by the broken boy with the black hair who sits by the window in class and disappears at lunch times. Dan realises this boy needs more protection than Cat will ever need, so he takes on human form to save him. But soon he finds himself falling in love, which is something he definitely can’t do. Dan Howell is an angel, and he’s falling for Phil.
TWs ; bullying, violence, mentions of self-harm, mentions of death/suicide, depression, panic attacks, physical and verbal abuse, homophobia, foul language and supernatural themes.
previous chapter
wattpad version
masterpost
"Cause we've no time for getting old. Mortal bodies; timeless souls. Cross your fingers, here we go—"
dan ;
"So...when you were an angel, did you have to wear those – you know – white robes?"
A resounding laugh instantly followed the question, filling the kitchen with a feeling bright enough to match the early morning light tumbling through the window. Dan and Phil, both sporting bed hair and loose pyjamas, sat beside each other on a pair of bar stools with two bowls of Crunchy Nut to match. The house was still and placid save for their banter and occasionally a car grumbling down the street outside; nothing could penetrate the easy contentment between them.
"What?" Phil laughed, throwing his hands up in defense once he saw the expression on Dan's face. "It's a genuine question. I don't know what angels are like."
Dan's mirth subsided to a giggle and he pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. "Okay, for the last time, I was a guardian angel, not an angel. Which means I wore the clothes I died in and whatever showed up in my wardrobe in the apartment. But I've never seen real angels, so maybe they do wear robes. Who knows?"
"Hang on...your clothes just showed up in your wardrobe?" Phil sent him an incredulous look, a spoonful of those honeyed flakes hovering halfway between the bowl and his mouth. "You didn't have to buy them or anything?"
"For a month, yeah," Dan replied, smiling as he realized such how amazing that would sound to anyone else.
"You had bloody everything didn't you? And all for free," Phil said, shaking his head and shoving the spoon into his mouth. "And who was it that gave you all of it? The, uh..."
"The Keeper," Dan supplied. For a moment he paused and wondered whether the guy or creature or whatever he was, was observing them right now. Probably not. As he said before, he would have other matters to attend to.
Meanwhile, Phil had rambled off on his own tangent, mumbling mostly to himself. "...still don't understand it. Because you said that Purgatory place exists between heaven and hell, but where is it exactly? In another dimension? And how has the Keeper guy always been there? I wonder what he looks like–"
"Phil." Dan knocked his ankle softly against his boyfriend's to get his attention. Phil stopped his flow of words and looked up. "Try not to think about it too hard. You'll never have to go there, anyway."
The dark-haired boy scoffed playfully and rolled his eyes. "You don't know that. Maybe one day I'll steal a kid's favourite toy or something."
"That is pretty condemnable."
The more they continued to talk, the less there seemed to be any divide between them. It was a relief for Dan, really, to joke with Phil, smile fondly at him and flirt knowing he had nothing to hide. He could simply exist as Phil's boyfriend now with a mostly clear conscience. The only thing still on his mind was everything he'd done in his past – things Phil had seemed to steer clear of when he asked questions. Dan was thankful for it.
In fact, Phil seemed to steer clear of most topics. Half the time he sat at the bench in silence with a puzzled look engraved into his face, which was more amusing than concerning. Dan chuckled every time and tried to snap him from his stupor, knowing full well Phil was trying to comprehend it all on his own.
By 10am, their cereal bowls had long since been empty and yet they still continued to talk. Eventually Phil stood to wash them out and leave them in the sink, while Dan folded his arms on the bench and rested forward in them. He liked this. The peace, the comfortability, spending time with Phil. Sharing a silence which wasn't the least bit awkward. As he watched Phil quickly stack a few things in the dishwasher, Dan allowed himself to imagine a future with him. Maybe they could live together like this one day, in their own house, sharing rooms and meals and beds. He certainly wasn't against it, but he wondered whether it was what Phil wanted as well.
"...Dan? You listening?"
Phil's voice broke him from his wandering mind; Dan blinked himself back into reality and glanced up. "Uh...yes, sorry."
Phil chuckled warmly. "I just wanted to take another look at your back, see how it's healing up."
"Oh yeah. Hang on." Dan grabbed his collar and shrugged off his shirt, surprised at how little the movement hurt his back. In fact, now that he thought of it, he realized it hadn't bothered him at all since he woke up. For now he cast the thought aside and sat patiently as Phil started unravelling the bandage. "By the way, does your mum know I'm here?" he asked.
"Yeah, I texted her last night," Phil replied, swinging his arm round Dan's head. "She said she would be home right about now, actually. And you're fine being here of course, as long as Stephen isn't around – oh my god."
"What? What's wrong?" Dan spun in his chair, immediately concerned, but Phil only kept his eyes on his back. He followed his gaze. "Phil?"
For at least a minute the pale-skinned boy stared long and hard at Dan's back, before he eventually muttered in disbelief, "They're gone." He hesitated before elaborating, "Your gashes are almost completely healed. I don't get it. They look like scars now."
"Wait, lemme see. Take a photo of them."
Phil whipped his phone out of his back pocket and snapped a photo, instantly passing the device to Dan who frowned at it. What he saw was his previously ravaged back, the tears now nothing but raised lumps of skin. Astonishingly, they'd scarred over in a night, when he expected that to occur in at least a month. If doctors knew about this, they would probably call it a miracle, especially if they saw the state of his back. Dan let out a baffled breath, shutting the phone off and handing it back to Phil. "I guess the afterlife wanted me to blend back into society pretty quickly," he suggested weakly.
"Makes sense, I guess. You couldn't have a human walking around with wing holes in his back for too long." Phil wound the gauze around his hand to bunch it up, leaving it on the bench before taking a seat. Dan pulled his shirt back on. "It's a bonus though, right?" Phil asked.
Dan laughed softly. "Well, yeah. I just didn't realise I'd deserved any bonuses."
With a light roll of his eyes, Phil opened his mouth to protest but stopped short as they both heard the front door swing open. Dan's heart tripped when he remembered Stephen was yet to return from wherever he'd been, but the sound of Mrs Lester's voice calmed him. Phil visibly relaxed as well.
"Boys? You home?"
"Yeah, Mum, we're here!"
Footsteps could be heard padding through the hall before Phil's mum rounded the corner, fear present in the creases on her forehead and the frown on her lips. She had bags of shadow weighing down her eyes and her face was bare, but her hair seemed freshly washed as it hung back in a ponytail. Clean clothes clung to her small frame, a plastic bag in one hand. She was brighter than Dan had ever seen her before, but her expression carried a dark look. Something was wrong. "Stephen's on his way," she said gravely as soon as she saw the boys. "He called me earlier. He'll be here in only 5 minutes, so you have to leave now, Dan. He was drunk as a sailor when I spoke to him; god knows what he'll assume if he sees you."
Dan's eyes darted over to look at Phil, who mirrored his sudden worried expression. Heartrate increasing, Dan knew he had to get out of there, as much as he hated to leave Phil and his mother alone with that unspeakable man.
"Quickly change into some clothes upstairs," Phil said in a hushed tone. "You can get out through the back door."
"But I can't just–"
"Phil's right, Dan," Mrs Lester interrupted. "Stephen won't see you that way. You need to go, now."
One leg bobbing up and down rapidly, Dan made a decision, slipped off the stool and hurried over to the staircase, Phil in his wake. It only took him several moments to throw on his jeans from last night and one of Phil's jumpers, as his own was still ruined. He slipped his phone safely into a back pocket, and Phil hastily changed into some clothes as well, telling him they'd hold onto his jumper for now. Dan nodded, biting into his bottom lip before pulling Phil into a firm hug. He wrapped his arms around his waist and buried his face into Phil's shoulder, feeling the boy return the embrace just as tightly. For too short a moment he relished in the warmth of Phil's closeness and prayed to God to keep him safe.
"I love you. Call me when you can," Dan murmured as he pulled away.
Phil nodded, meeting his eyes and interlacing their fingers. He squeezed once. "I'll be okay. I love you too."
"BOYS! Stephen just got out of his car. You need to go, Dan!" Mrs Lester yelled frantically up the stairs, tearing through the temporary comfort of Phil's bedroom.
Nerves darting through his veins like electric pulses, Dan grabbed Phil's cheeks and pressed a brief kiss to his lips, allowing his boyfriend to return it for a second. Then they both took off towards the stairs, skipping two at a time until they met Mrs Lester at the bottom.
"Back door's this way–" she started to whisper, reaching for Dan's arm. But the whole house seemed to freeze in place when the front door squealed open and slammed shut.
Stephen's voice was unmissable, low and cracked and slurring, trained in Dan's direction like a shotgun. "Who are you?" he snarled.
Barely breathing, Dan lifted his eyes and met Stephen's. They were hard and cold, like knives boring into his skin, splitting him open, examining his insides. Dan found his words trapped in his throat, forced down by sheer terror. This was the first the man had ever seen him, and that alone was frightening.
No one said a word, much less boyfriend. Stephen walked forward, dragging his boots along the floorboards and growing closer and closer to Dan. But surprisingly, he turned and came to a halt less than a metre away from Phil's face, letting out a trembling breath that reeked of old alcohol. Phil fought the urge to cough.
"Who is he?" Stephen asked Phil, voice lowered to a growl.
Mrs Lester stepped forward. "Stephen, just stop for a mo–"
"I'm not talking to you, woman," the drunkard snapped violently, before looking back at his son. "Tell me, Phil, who is this boy who I've come home to find is being smuggled out of the house?"
Phil's Adam's apple quivered along his throat. "He's...he's just a friend from school," he squeaked, and then gestured between the two. "Dan, m-meet my stepdad, Stephen. Stephen, meet D-Dan."
Stephen sighed heavily through his nose and turned to face Dan, who felt his stomach fall away in the worst way possible. Two steps and the man was staring daggers at Dan, their eyes almost at the same height. "Is this true, Dan? Has my useless faggot son finally found someone to talk to?" he questioned, the beginnings of a menacing smirk present on his face. "Or is it out of pity? I doubt that fag has anyone who really cares about him."
"Don't talk about him like that," Dan spat, flames flickering to life in his stomach at the words Stephen used. He could feel Phil's desperate gaze telling him to quit it, but he told himself that if Stephen used one more slur he wouldn't hesitate to use violence.
"I'm surprised. You do care about him. But by how much, exactly? Surely a faggot doesn't deserve any care, unless you're just like him," Stephen said smugly.
Dan drew a shaky breath, red creeping into his vision. "I care enough to want to protect him from you," he snapped, before drawing back his fist and letting it fly into Stephen's jaw.
And everything was thrown into chaos. Shouting erupted through the hall as Stephen collapsed onto his back with a painful thud, curses and insults flying from his mouth in rapid fire. He struggled to gain purchase on the ground as Dan appeared above him, one hand on his chest to pin him down. Adrenalin surged through Dan and blood pumped loudly in his ears as he grew deaf to the cries from Phil and his mother, yelling at the two of them, begging them to stop. All he could see was the suffering this man had caused Phil as his fists landed on Stephen's cheeks, nose, jaw and temple. There were desperate hands pulling at his shirt and shoulders, but he barely noticed. "Don't. You. Dare. Fucking. Touch. My. Boyfriend. Again!" he thundered, landing a punch after every word.
Suddenly there was a heavy shove against his right side and Dan sprawled on the ground, away from Stephen. He squeezed his eyes shut and dragged in frantic breaths, hair dishevelled and hands trembling. His heart was pounding away against his chest like a drum, and he slowly lifted his hands to his face, cracking open his eyes. Blood had splattered over his fingers and crawled into the crevices of his nails. And it didn't belong to him.
Then there was a familiar voice in his ear, asking something of him. "...Dan? Dan, can you hear me? You need to breathe, love. Are you alright?"
Dan blinked once, and he was thrust back into the present, staring up into a comforting pair of blue eyes. Phil was crouched beside him, hands on his arms and face, checking if he was hurt. In that moment, the reality of the situation slammed into Dan like a tonne of bricks. He had just beaten his boyfriend's stepdad – up until whatever point, he didn't know. He released something between a gasp and a sob and leaned into Phil, his whole body beginning to shake. "I'm s-sorry, I didn't...I just...I'm sorry, I – I...sorry–"
"No, no, shhh, it's okay. Don't say sorry. You're alright," Phil whispered, combing back his hair and staring into his eyes. "Just breathe. In and out, that's right."
Dan focused on Phil's gaze, filling his lungs and exhaling slowly. He could feel his heartrate normalizing. He was going to be okay.
"You did good, Dan. That bitch had it coming to him anyway," Phil chuckled softly, planting a kiss on his forehead.
Shaky laughter bubbled from his stomach and Dan buried his face into Phil's shoulder, sniffling. He caught a whiff of the boy's calming scent, and it helped him to relax. "I just couldn't keep letting him treat you like shit," he said.
Phil gave him a small squeeze and left another kiss in his hair, and that said enough.
Meanwhile, Mrs Lester had helped an absolutely wrecked and wobbly Stephen to his feet. His nose was streaming blood, which had already stained his shirt, and his face was starting to bloom with the sickening colours of black, blue and green. Bulging eyelids, torn lips and red made his face almost unrecognisable, and even more grotesque than he had already been. Mrs Lester began dabbing at the blood with tissues she acquired from thin air, holding Stephen steady as he visibly fumed, eyes trained on the two boys cuddling on the floor.
Dan could feel his livid gaze, and dreaded what might happen. But then Phil shifted above him, standing completely, and Dan grew fearful. "Phil, wait–" he started once he saw the boy set his eyes on his stepdad. But Phil took no notice.
"I was right all along," Stephen spat as Phil approached him, red spittle flying from his lips. "My son is a disgusting fag, made of sin."
Phil took a deep breath. "I don't care what you call me," he replied lowly, baring down upon the man. "But you don't deserve to call yourself a father. Nor a husband. You have terrorized this family for years, and if you don't leave after this, I swear to god you will regret it. But you listen now. I love boys, and I'm proud of that. You can call me names, look at me and think of me in any way you like but it will not change my identity. I decide who I am, not you or anyone else. And Dan is not only my friend, but my boyfriend, and you cannot change that either. From now on, you will stay away from us. All of us. Or I will make sure you're sent to prison for everything you've done."
By now Dan had gotten to his feet, and slipped his hand into Phil's. He cast Phil a comforting smile when the boy glanced over his shoulder.
"Do you understand me?" Phil then continued, returning his gaze to Stephen.
The pathetic man before them breathed heavily, glaring at the both of them through slits for eyes. And without warning he lunged forward, arms outstretched, fingers claw-like, and lips pulled back into a terrifying snarl. He reached out for Phil, hands aimed at his neck, but Dan was already there. He swiftly pulled his boyfriend away, throwing one arm across his torso to protect him as Mrs Lester clutched Stephen's shirt and hauled him back.
"Run," the woman cried, her husband already slipping from her grasp. "Both of you, run away. Get out of here, NOW!"
They didn't need to hear it twice. Dan and Phil clutched hands and sprinted towards the front door, yanking it open just as Stephen escaped Mrs Lester's hold. Together they ran blindly from the house and into the morning, hearts hammering and blood pumping in sync with one another. Together, they stretched the distance between them and Stephen's rage. Together, they escaped.
*
The wind was biting that day, crawling between layers of clothing and gnashing its teeth. It shook the trees, buffeted coats and turned pale cheeks pink. People hurried past with grim faces, struggling against the gusts of winter with their hands tucked into pockets or armpits to preserve warmth. But Dan didn't need to do that. He had Phil.
They sat in the shelter of a bus stop, huddled into each other with fingers intertwined. Warmth was shared between them, replenished with kisses pressed to hands and cheeks every so often. Dan had his head buried into the crook of Phil's neck, and Phil's arm sat snuggly around Dan's waist, and they were safe.
By now, they'd lost Stephen to the streets of their poky little town, finally sure that they would never see him again. Even so, both of them were ready to contact police if he showed up. Mrs Lester eventually called, saying she had alerted the police and was going to take her and Daisy to a friend's house for a while, until things settled. They were safe as well. With that thought in mind, Dan's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and he allowed himself a minute of rest. Which slowly turned into two minutes, and then three, until he had dozed off on Phil's shoulder – with a little help from Phil himself rubbing soothing circles onto his waist. He awoke ten minutes later to tender whisperings from the dark-haired boy.
"Dan, wake up. The bus is here now, we need to go," Phil murmured, fondly brushing back Dan's fringe.
Dan grunted and shifted upwards, dazedly rubbing his eyes. He looked ahead to see said vehicle thrumming noisily in front them, a bored-looking driver sitting inside. Soon enough the boys were clambering up the steps, Phil paying the bus driver with the money he had on him and mumbling an address – Dodie's address. They'd agreed to crash at the florist's place for the time being until things settled down, and Phil had called her so she knew what to expect.
A few seats at the back were empty when they boarded, and Dan flopped down into the patterned cushioning with Phil following suit. The hiss of the door was all that could be heard as the bus shifted and rolled off down the street, and Dan let out a breath of relief. They were safe.
"You okay?" a voice beside him asked.
Dan turned and smiled softly at Phil, scooting closer until their arms were pressed together. Staring into those always-captivating blue eyes, he thought of everything. Months ago, when tears streamed down his cheeks as he drove blindly through the rain. Feeling lost and terrified in Purgatory as the Keeper explained his destiny. Being thrust into an entirely new life, going to school again and finding himself within a toxic friendship. Meeting better people, falling in love with Phil and feeling happier than he'd ever been in years. He thought of the lies he'd told and truths he'd manipulated. He thought of the horrible fight he'd had with Phil, simply because he'd wanted to protect him. And finally, he thought of breaking the bond between angel and human just to be with him.
Dan had learnt a lot during his rollercoaster of a journey, that's easy to say. He'd struggled through a hell of a lot of guilt, stress and conflict to get where he was now. But it was worth it. It was all worth it, because now he stared into the eyes of a fascinating boy he'd grown to know and love with all he was made of. And nothing was stopping him from loving that boy for as long as he lived, for the second time.
So he replied sincerely, "Yeah, I'm more than okay," and interlaced their fingers.
Phil's face lit up with a gentle grin at those words, and Dan closed the distance between them. Their lips met softly, slowly, as if they were sharing their first kiss. And it was, in a way. The first kiss of many that signified the beginning of their future. And whatever that future may be, good or bad, they knew they'd face it together.
Then their lips separated for a moment, and Phil searched Dan's face before murmuring, "I hate you, you know?"
Dan giggled softly and looked up into Phil's twinkling eyes. "I hate you too."
Full summary ; Dan Howell is dead. Well, sort of. He’s a guardian angel, forced to protect only one human, and that human is Cat. But when he accompanies Cat to school, he can’t help but be intrigued by the broken boy with the black hair who sits by the window in class and disappears at lunch times. Dan realises this boy needs more protection than Cat will ever need, so he takes on human form to save him. But soon he finds himself falling in love, which is something he definitely can’t do. Dan Howell is an angel, and he’s falling for Phil.
TWs ; bullying, violence, mentions of self-harm, mentions of death/suicide, depression, panic attacks, physical and verbal abuse, homophobia, foul language and supernatural themes.
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“June Haverly, you're not to blame, no not to blame. And June Haverly, don't be ashamed, for all the pain—”
dan ;
“Nearly five months ago, I died in a car accident.”
Those ten words hung in the air like a bird hovering on the wind. Dan’s heart thudded loudly against his rib cage. He held his breath, knowing if he tried to inhale his breath would catch and he’d fall to pieces. Phil sat up abruptly, yanking his arms away from Dan’s waist as if he had the plague.
“What are you talking about?” Phil whispered in shock.
They were sat beside each other in dining chairs, but there were miles between them. Dan was desperate to take a step forward and shorten the distance, but he was afraid Phil would only take a step back. Just like he’d done in the alleyway hours ago. He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed in through his nose. He had to select his words carefully, calmly – he didn’t want Phil diving out of the window in terror.
Dan opened his eyes and met Phil’s. “I’m talking about the headline you saw,” he said slowly. “In the newspaper. Saying that I’d died?”
Phil looked away, eyes fluttering over the room, the table, his hands…Dan could tell he didn’t want to believe it. “But…that couldn’t possibly be y-you? There would be other Dan Howells–”
“This one is me,” Dan interrupted, teeth grazing over his lower lip.
“But you’re here!” Phil cried, turning to look at him, aghast. “Right in front of me. You’re breathing, and…you’re alive.” Suddenly his eyes darkened, shadows falling across the blue. “Wait. This isn’t…some kind of prank, right? Cause I swear to god, Dan, this isn’t fucking funny.”
“No, no, it’s not a prank. Trust me, Phil. I wouldn’t joke or lie about this.” Dan took Phil’s hands and held tightly, trying not to react when the boy attempted to pull away. “Listen. Right now, I am very much alive and…not dead. But…”
“But what?” Phil muttered.
Overcome by the sudden urge to throw up, Dan swallowed heavily and let go of Phil’s hands. He curled them in his lap. He sucked in another breath. He steeled himself for what was soon to come. “Phil…” Dan began, and then lifted his eyes. “Okay. I’m going to explain everything, and it’s gonna be so hard to take in. But you have to believe me because I’m going to tell you the truth – all of it. And…try not to ask questions until the end?” That last sentence sounded like a question itself.
Phil hesitated, uncertain. “Alright…” he replied eventually.
Nerves twanged through Dan’s arms, legs, everywhere. He felt wired, ready to explode. This was it. Finally, Phil would understand. Phil would know. Dan studied the wall to the left of Phil, wondering where he would start. From the beginning, he decided quickly.
“So…around five months ago, my parents kicked me out of the house,” he said, forcing the words from his mouth and squeezing his eyes shut to avoid Phil’s reaction. “Because…because I’d bullied a kid so much he – he committed suicide. I’d killed him. He was younger than me, and I was…unforgiveable. So then I hopped in my car and I think I was crying and I wasn’t really focused on the road, and then…a car hit me. In the side. I ended up in a ditch and…and that was it. I died there.
“After that, I experienced a version of the afterlife, I guess. Because I’d technically killed that boy, I ended up in a place called Purgatory where I was given a choice – go to hell for what I’d done, or earn my way to heaven by becoming a guardian angel.” Dan’s heart pounded as he noticed Phil’s eyes widening, clearly remembering his wings. The boy had also grown paler than he usually was, and unnaturally quiet. Dan felt himself regretting his explanation.
“Obviously I chose the guardian angel side because who wants to go to hell? I was assigned one human to look after until I was deemed ready to go to heaven, and that human was Cat.” He paused, trying to gauge Phil’s reaction, but his stunned expression hadn’t changed in the slightest. Dan sighed and continued. “I guarded Cat for a while, my mission being that I had to get her away from Finn and that lot. I was invisible the whole time. But then…I found you.”
Dan paused. Phil averted his gaze.
“Phil, I – I saw what those guys were doing to you, and I just couldn’t stand by and watch because, frankly, you seemed like you needed my protection more. And so I started watching out for you, and even took on human form most of the time. I was given an apartment and enrolled in the school and did everything just to get to know you and potentially save you from everything that gave you hell.” It only gave you hell, though. The thought slipped into his mind on its own accord, and Dan shook it out. “But, the thing is, I was only allowed to be one person’s guardian angel. There was a bond between me and Cat, and I could break it by switching my protection to someone else…”
Dan grew quiet, memories of the fight in the alley and the feeling of his wings tearing through his back flooding his mind. He stared into his lap, gulping against the slowly-forming lump in his throat. “In the alleyway, when I somehow pushed everyone away through the air and – and you saw my wings come through my back…”
“You broke the bond,” Phil whispered.
At the sound of his voice, Dan’s head shot up and he found Phil staring at the floor. He hesitated. Was Phil…somehow understanding all this? Why wasn’t he running away? Calling Dan a freak? Refusing to believe any words that left his mouth?
“Y-yeah,” Dan responded breathlessly, helplessly. “That meant I failed my mission or whatever. As punishment, I was forced to become human again and live the rest of my life before dying naturally and going straight to hell. And here I am.”
A raw stillness overwhelmed the entire house. Dan dared not to move or even breathe, waiting for Phil’s inevitable reaction to it all. He couldn’t imagine what he’d do if he was in that boy’s position. Run, maybe. He didn’t want to think about it.
Suddenly Phil dragged in a breath and let it out shakily as he glanced around the room. Dan could almost hear his mind whirring, the cogs and gears grinding together, the puzzle pieces slotting awkwardly into place. And then Dan began to wonder, where would they go from here? Would Phil still want to be with him? He doubted it heavily, not after putting him through so much trauma…just like the boy he bullied…
But no. This was different. He hadn’t bullied Phil. And yet, it was him who had driven Phil to want to overdose. Right?
“How did you get the apartment?” Phil blurted suddenly, fingers in fists on his knees. He stared determinately at them, before looking up into Dan’s eyes. “I’m assuming you were left with nothing, so how’d you set up a life for yourself?”
Dan took note of the anger bubbling behind Phil’s words. It set him on edge. Phil wasn’t ready to believe yet. Why else would he be asking this? Dan responded calmly, “I had help from the…person who controlled Purgatory. He set up an apartment for me and did everything.”
Phil shook his head in disbelief. “I slept in your bed in that apartment and I had no idea…” he murmured. “And you…you’ve been an angel this entire time? At least, before you broke the link or whatever?”
Dan nodded solemnly. “The bond. Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
“You’re sorry you didn’t–? Dan…” The dark-haired boy bit his lip. “Goddammit, it doesn’t even matter. I – I fucking dated you not ever thinking you might be something other than human.” He shoved the chair backwards and stood up, looming over Dan. “You’ve lied to me this whole time. Why did you – why did you even notice me in the first place? You’re going to hell now, so why didn’t you just stay with Cat? I didn’t even…d-deserve your fucking protection. I don’t…” Phil sniffled, hurriedly blinking away the moisture in his eyes and cutting his words short when they cracked.
Immediately Dan stood and moved forward, wanting to pull Phil into his arms, always hating when his voice choked up. But Phil slapped his outstretched hand away and stepped backwards. Everything about his body language made it obvious he was scared.
“I don’t believe you, Dan,” he spluttered. “None of that is possible. You’re – you’re just fucking with me. Angels don’t exist. They don’t exist, they can’t exist, I don’t believe you…”
“Phil.” Dan’s stern voice shut the dark-haired boy up. “It is possible. People wonder what comes after death. Well, it’s this. If you’re good, you go to heaven. If you’ve done something horrible, you go to Purgatory, and from there you choose what happens next. I know what it’s like, Phil. I was the one who experienced it.”
Phil stared at him then, shoulders drooping a little. There was a silence, where they stood facing each other, unsure whether to move or speak. Dan waited for Phil’s reaction. Phil took a few slow breaths and glanced down. “So – so you really died,” he murmured, lips barely moving.
“Yeah,” Dan nodded. “I, um, was sort of…crushed to death by my car.”
Phil’s eyes widened in horror. “Dan…” he breathed, seemingly forgetting everything for a moment as he closed the space between them. He searched Dan’s grave face before wrapping his arms around him and burying his face in his neck.
Sadness clung to Dan’s heart as he returned the hug, sighing softly into Phil’s hair and holding him close. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m okay. I’m alive now.”
“That’s so strange to hear,” Phil replied, his voice low and subdued by Dan’s skin.
Dan allowed the corner of his lips to perk up a little. “I know, I know it’s weird. But it’s alright. It was a while ago, now.”
“You still…you still died, though,” Phil said hopelessly. “And I never knew…and you had wings…and you were dead this whole time–”
“Phil, Phil, stop. It’s okay.” Dan pulled away and rested his hands on Phil’s arms, thumbs brushing over the skin. Brown eyes poured into blue. “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “I – I lied to you and got you into such a big mess and you never deserved any of it. And I’m so, so fucking sorry. I should never have spoken to you in the first place.”
Phil’s face fell. “So…so you regret being with me?” he asked, hurt written all over his features. “Wait, d-did you even…love me?”
“Oh my god, yes, of course I did. I still do,” Dan rushed to tell him. “That’s why I waited so long to explain everything, because I love you and I was terrified of l-losing you. And I don’t regret being with you, I regret being me. Everything was fucked for me the moment I saw you for the first time, but it wasn’t your fault – it was mine. Maybe…maybe if I’d been alive this whole time, we’d be fine.”
Silence drifted over them again. Phil glanced down, eyebrows furrowing as he lost himself in thought. Dan had just decided to move away when Phil looked up into his eyes and said, “We’re still fine.”
Dan hesitated. “Are we?”
“…Dan, I trust you,” Phil said after chewing his lip for a moment. “I mean, it’d be hard not to, seeing you with actual wings and everything. And I still love you too, I always have. So yes, I think we’re fine.”
The weight of the world tumbled off Dan’s shoulders as he let out a heavy sigh in relief, and the back of his nose prickled. But if he started crying, it wouldn’t be out of misery. Instead, he released a choked laugh and held Phil’s cheeks in his hands. “Can I kiss you?” he blurted past a little lump in his throat, sniffling.
A wide smile broke out across Phil’s face and he laughed softly back. “Why do you even need my permission for that?”
And with those words, Dan dived forward and connected their lips for the first time in what felt like months. His stomach flipped as Phil’s hands slipped around his waist and he pushed forward, both their lips fighting for dominance. Then Dan’s fingers trailed round to hold the nape of Phil’s neck and he let himself melt into the kiss, surrounding himself in the warmth and scent of cinnamon that he’d missed for so long.
When Phil dragged his lips away, something within Dan deflated and he rested his forehead on his best friend’s for a moment, breathing heavily.
“…Dan?” Phil murmured after a minute of them simply absorbing each other’s presence. His fingers drew patterns over the small of Dan’s back.
“Mm?” Dan’s eyes cracked open.
“I’m sorry to spoil the moment, but…there’s just one more thing. That night at the party. I just want to say I’m sorry for getting angry at you. You were confused and–”
“Phil, oh my god, please stop,” Dan insisted, cutting him off with a hand over Phil’s mouth, realising what he was talking about. “I’m the one who needs to say sorry. I acted like the biggest fucking asshole that night, and attacking you was the worst I could’ve done. I should’ve been there for you, made sure Finn hadn’t hurt you. I’m so sorry for the way I treated you, i-it was the last thing you deserved. I’m s-sorry.”
There was a sting behind Dan’s eyes as he remembered the acerbic words he’d hurled at Phil at the party without a second thought, forcing the blame onto the boy who had never been at fault. What kind of boyfriend was he, to beat down his lover straight after he’d been sexually assaulted? Dan had mulled over that night for more than a week, but only now did the guilt finally set in, flooding his mind and dripping from his heart. Never before had he wanted more to turn back time than in this moment, and make everything right again.
Dan cast his eyes to the ground as tears began to flood his vision. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he uttered in the softest tone.
Two fingers rested under his chin and lifted his head as one stray tear slipped out. Dan met Phil’s eyes as the dark-haired boy collected it with his thumb. “I know,” he whispered.
Phil searched the caramel of Dan’s eyes for a moment before connecting their lips again. It was softer this time; Dan wanted to melt into a puddle from the way Phil held his face. His touches were delicate and bloomed warmth across his cheeks. Dan splayed his fingers over Phil’s chest to hold himself steady. And suddenly, heart hammering away against his ribcage, he believed – no, he knew – they were going to be okay.
They were fine. And this time, it wasn’t a lie.
*
There was a crack between the curtains. A sliver of moonlight, fuzzy round the edges, tip-toed through the window and onto the carpet. Dan had lost track of the time he’d spent staring at it. Occasionally he pondered getting out of bed and drawing the curtains completely shut, but Phil’s duvet was far too cosy and the slice of light offered some comfort in the otherwise pitch-black bedroom.
Dan’s chest rose and fell cautiously, his breathing hushed. The night was too placid to disturb, even with the slightest noise or movement. He could barely hear Phil either; the boy had rolled over with his back facing Dan, quieting his breath. And for once, Dan’s mind had fallen still.
A night like this would usually let thoughts and fears fester in his brain. The quiet would be replaced with white noise in his ears, the spacious dark would make room for figments of his imagination. But not now, not tonight. Dan blew out a soft sigh, feeling the air buffet his fringe a little. He gathered the duvet further up his chest and tried to figure out just why he felt nothing but still and serene. Then he lifted a hand to rub his eyes and caught sight of his wrist. His bare wrist.
The tattoo of the black heart had disappeared.
Dan closed his eyes, a gentle smile creeping onto his lips. He was breathing. He was alive.
“I’m alive,” he whispered to the shadows. They were suddenly comforting, for whatever reason. Maybe it was because he was Dan, and Dan thought about things like that.
The smile didn’t leave his lips as he rolled over under the sheets, turning to face Phil. In fact, his smile only grew wider. All he could see was the boy’s shoulder blades peeking out from the blue and green checkers, but he didn’t mind. He loved those shoulder blades. He also loved those creases in the back of Phil’s neck, and the little black fuzz of hair lying just above. He loved Phil in general. And he couldn’t believe how willing Phil had been to accept his story.
Most would probably assume he was lying, or maybe they’d call the police or simply run off. But not Phil. No, Phil had stayed and listened and…trusted. Trusted his story, trusted Dan. Phil probably blamed himself for everything, knowing him. The realisation made a frown tug at Dan’s lips instead, because of course it wasn’t Phil’s fault and it never had been. Dan stared at the boy’s back, wanting to shuffle closer and hold him against his chest, press kisses to his neck and tell him over and over that he’d never done anything wrong.
For once Dan decided not to weigh up the pros and cons and just acted on his thoughts, doing everything but the latter. He curled his arms around Phil’s waist and buried his face into his hair, planting one or two kisses there, hoping he wouldn’t wake up.
But then Phil leant into his touch and said, voice slurred from sleep, “Dan? You ‘wake?”
Dammit, Dan thought. So much for keeping him asleep. He found Phil’s fingers under the sheets and squeezed them gently. “Mm, yeah,” he whispered.
Several heartbeats passed before Phil grunted a little and rolled over in Dan’s arms, head flopping onto the pillow as he blinked blearily up into Dan’s eyes. Dan stared back, butterflies stirring in his stomach just from the look Phil gave him.
“How long have you been awake?” Phil murmured. He reached to brush a few wispy curls out of Dan’s eyes.
“I…never got to sleep,” Dan replied, trying not to show on his face just how much that simple touch affected him.
A pout appeared on Phil’s face. “Everything okay?”
Dan thought for a moment before he smiled and left a lingering kiss on Phil’s forehead. “Yeah, it is,” he said sincerely. “Sorry for waking you up.”
Phil stared at him a little, and then said, “I don’t mind. It only means I get to cuddle with you…” His words trailed off into an inaudible mumble as he curled into Dan’s chest, closing his eyes.
“You’re a nerd,” Dan sighed, fondness clearly present in his voice as he pulled the boy closer. He started drawing feather-light patterns on Phil’s back as he stared at the wardrobe opposite. Or at least, the blurry shape of it. But his mind wasn’t focused on it – rather, the rise and fall of Phil’s chest against his own, and the mellow thud of his heart. It seemed months since they’d laid like this.
Just when Dan thought Phil had fallen asleep again, he heard the dark-haired boy pipe up from his pyjama shirt.
“Dan…can I ask you something?”
“Yeah?” Dan pulled away a little as Phil shuffled back, until he could see the boy’s blue eyes, churning like the sea.
Phil sighed through his nose, tracing his finger quietly around the sheets beneath him, and murmured, “Why did you choose me?”
“What?”
“I mean, when you were an – an angel. Why did you choose to protect me when it was only going to send you to hell?”
He met Dan’s eyes then, and Dan was slightly taken aback by the gravity of the question. Taking time to think, he averted his eyes to the ceiling and licked his dry lips. And suddenly he knew how to answer.
“Do you…remember, a few months ago now, when you’d just been beaten up and you were in the boy’s bathroom at school, crying?” Dan asked in a small voice, nervous to bring this up but looking back at Phil nonetheless.
Phil only stared back, speechless, as he nodded hesitantly.
“Okay, and do you remember feeling a little…spark on your shoulder, at one point? Like someone had just touched you, but no one was there?”
Phil seemed frozen on the spot. Silence dragged on between them. And then he breathed, “…That was you?”
“Yeah,” Dan nodded. Relief surged through him like a tidal wave. “That was me. I was in the bathroom, invisible, when you came in, and…and you were bleeding and crying and you had bruises and…it was the first time I’d ever seen you. You reminded me of the – the boy I used to, you know, bully. But it was different ‘cause for once I saw it from the victim’s perspective and I saw how much someone had hurt you and I saw how much it affected you emotionally. I mean, you were just a lovely guy who probably hadn’t done anything wrong, and yet you were being punished for it…”
Dan paused for a moment, sucking in a small breath and thinking of how he could continue. By now Phil was listening quietly and drawing his fingers up and down his bare arm. It was calming.
“I guess you unknowingly showed me how wrong it was to treat someone the way you’d been treated. You were there, sobbing into a sink, and I just couldn’t bring myself to leave. I wanted to help you so, so much. That was why I reached out to you – I forgot who I was for a minute and touched your shoulder and we both felt that spark. Still not really sure what it means,” – Dan chuckled weakly – “but after that, I unconsciously made the decision to protect you instead. Because you deserved needed it so much more…And you were also pretty attractive.”
“Great, you just destroyed the mood,” Phil muttered with a roll of his eyes. He retracted his hand from Dan’s arm but scooted closer again. “Although, thank you for telling me that. It was just kind of hard for me to believe that you would risk – that you have risked hell to be there for me.”
Something crumbled from Dan’s heart and he brushed his fingers soothingly through Phil’s hair. “Listen, we don’t even need to worry about that. It’s decades away, probably. And if I’m honest, I don’t give a shit about going to hell. This life I’m living now will be worth it, and hell’s just gonna be a massive party that’s literally on fire.”
“Ugh, get out of my house,” Phil mumbled, but the arms looping around Dan’s chest said otherwise. Then he murmured into the soft fabric of Dan’s pyjama shirt, “I love you.”
“Love you too.” Dan didn’t hesitate on the words, leaving a few kisses on Phil’s forehead before completely cuddling into him. Because he did love Phil, to hell and back. And no amount of fear about that place would ever stop him.
Full summary ; Dan Howell is dead. Well, sort of. He’s a guardian angel, forced to protect only one human, and that human is Cat. But when he accompanies Cat to school, he can’t help but be intrigued by the broken boy with the black hair who sits by the window in class and disappears at lunch times. Dan realises this boy needs more protection than Cat will ever need, so he takes on human form to save him. But soon he finds himself falling in love, which is something he definitely can’t do. Dan Howell is an angel, and he’s falling for Phil.
TWs ; bullying, violence, mentions of self-harm, mentions of death/suicide, depression, panic attacks, physical and verbal abuse, homophobia, foul language and supernatural themes.
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"And I don't want to let this go, I don't want to lose control, I just want to see the stars with you—"
dan ;
True to Phil's words, five minutes did pass before the black-haired boy arrived – but the rate at which the seconds dragged on made it seem like 5 hours. Dan focused on taking calming breaths as he waited, resting his head on his arms and shutting his eyes. He needed to relax. Regulate his breathing and heartbeat. But it wasn't fucking working. Every deep breath he took stammered and broke, every time he blinked away his tears new ones would jump in, stinging his eyes. Dan bit down hard on his bottom lip and looked up. The park had been overrun with shadows in the time he was gone, so dark it seemed they were flooding his own vision, creating an illusion of total blackness. It was terrifying.
Dan could feel it building in his chest as it usually did. The panic, the terror, crawling through his body like an uncontrollable disease. It yanked his intestines into tight knots, crushed and compressed his lungs until there was no air left to breathe, closed over his throat till it felt as if hands were wrapping around it and squeezing. His vision clouded over, distorting the world around him but not like before. Don't cry, he told himself desperately. If you do, you'll fucking suffocate. He reached up to wipe at his eyes, but the movement in his shoulder sent spasms jolting under his skin and he grimaced.
Even though the pain in his back had faded to a dull ache, he still felt a vicious jab every time he moved. By now the blood had glued his jumper to his wounds, and the wool caught on the torn skin every now and then. He had to remove it. But he couldn't. He couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't fucking breathe.
But he tried to. Dan spat out a strangled sob and braced his hands gently against the bark. Breathe, he told himself. Just breathe. In and out. I swear to god, just breathe. The brown-haired boy shut his eyes and sucked air through his nose, willing his heart to slow down and the panic to unravel itself from around his gut. Slowly, painfully, he began to gain control of his terror, forcing it away with deep, lingering breaths and holding steady against the ground. Grounding himself.
Finally, he slumped into the bark with a wince, sucking in his lips as he attempted to suppress another sob. But then he had nothing else to distract him from his thoughts, and they swamped his mind.
He was going to hell. That one sentence tumbled about in his brain, unable to be contained. You're going to hell you're going to hell you're going to hell.
Sure, it might be a while before that, but Dan almost panicked again simply knowing it was inevitable.
He kept remembering the forlorn look in the Keeper's dark eyes. Did Dan really mean that much to him? Would he ever see him again? Dan doubted both heavily. The Keeper was stoic and emotionless, and once again, Dan was going to hell when he died. His business with the mysterious man had come to an end, he was sure of it.
And Phil...Dan was stuck back on Earth until death, but would he ever make things right with his best friend? He wanted to, god he wanted to so bad. But Phil had fought him, been abandoned by him, seen him with wings protruding unnaturally from his back. Dan wouldn't blame him if the dark-haired boy wanted nothing more to do with him – even feared him.
and almost broke down then and there, burying his face into his arms. For now, it seemed Phil wasn't too terrified of him.
"Dan? Dan, oh my god."
Dan glanced up and caught sight of the ghostly hue of Phil's cheeks, the horror shimmering behind his eyes as he entered the gloomy park. He absorbed Dan's pitiful form slumped in the dirt, scanning over his face and arms and then faltering a bit when he noticed the state of Dan's back.
Dan wanted to cry. "P-Phil," he croaked, the single word stumbling in his throat.
Phil's footsteps slowed as he reached the low barrier encircling the play equipment, and Dan noticed how hesitant he was to move closer. It hurt, just a little. Phil didn't meet his eyes when he blurted, "You...you're bleeding."
Dan sniffed and nodded, raising his eyebrows as he looked up at Phil. Even something as small as that sent agony shooting from his wounds. "I think I've noticed. I'm also in a lot of p-pain," he muttered bitterly.
"What happened?" Phil asked quietly. He sounded like the answer to that question was the last thing he wanted to know. Dan wondered if begging him to come here had been the right idea.
He simply shrugged, the pain clearly showing on his face. Then he blurted an empty laugh, wiped his nose and mumbled, "I got what was coming for me."
Phil remained still and speechless, unsure how to respond. "Dan, I don't..."
"F-Forget it. I don't expect you to understand, Phil," Dan interrupted, sounding choked up as he looked away.
"Wait," Phil breathed suddenly, almost deaf to Dan's words. "Your w-wings...they... suddenly turning his vision hazy again as Phil stared into his own tired brown eyes.
Dan looked down, eyelids fluttering shut. He cursed the moisture that trickled onto his cheeks, unable to hold back the waves of sorrow and hopelessness crashing against the dam he'd built to keep them in. He couldn't continue. He couldn't keep hiding. Here he was, lying on the ground in the dead of night, his wings just having been wrenched from his very skin. And all he wanted was to tell Phil everything.
All he wanted was for Phil to hold him again.
"I'm sorry," he choked out, afraid to look up in case the black-haired boy looked at him with disgust, moved away, left him.
But instead Phil sighed shakily and stepped forward, gently lowering to the ground and resting two fingers against Dan's jaw. He tilted his head upwards, and Dan reluctantly opened his eyes, chin wobbling as he saw the sadness pulling on Phil's face. Phil swallowed, wordlessly wiping the tears from Dan's cheeks with his thumbs before placing their foreheads together. "It's okay," he whispered.
Dan had been falling for a long time now. But just as the words left Phil's lips, he hit the ground. A wet sob tore from his throat and the dam broke, tears spilling from his eyes as Phil gathered him into his arms, surrounding him with warmth and thereness and love. Dan took no notice as pain erupted fiercely from his injuries. He He sobbed into Phil's chest, squeezing the material into his fists as if that jumper could somehow ground him to reality.
Phil held him tight and secure, burying his nose into Dan's hair and simply letting the brown-haired boy cry. He was still bewildered and slightly scared, but Dan needed him, and so Phil was there. And that was all he had to be. He made sure to avoid the gashes he'd finally recognised under Dan's shirt as he gently drew his fingers up and down his back, hoping to god he wasn't hurting him in any way.
Dan could taste salt on his lips and a lump had been shoved down his throat and he could barely see as his eyelids grew puffy, but he didn't care. He didn't care for the stuttering in his breath when he gasped for air. He didn't care that he sounded ugly and unpleasant with snot running from his nose. Phil hadn't left him. Phil was here, hugging him and making him feel safe and that was all that mattered. He was here. And Dan had to tell him, he had to explain, Phil had to know who – what he had been. "Ph-Phil, I'm s-so-sorry," he blubbered, now almost curled in the boy's lap. "I – I'm – I need to...because – you – I'm sorry, I–"
"No, no, Dan, stop. It's okay," Phil interrupted softly, silencing him with a firm kiss to his hair. "Everything's okay. Don't speak. Tell me later. It's alright."
"It's not, Phil...I love you," Dan sobbed. "I love you s-so much. And I have to...t-tell you...everything."
"No, you don't. You don't. I don't care, I still – I still love you too, Dan. I never stopped loving you." Phil brushed his fingers through Dan's hair and gently pulled away only to take Dan's face his hands.
Dan bit his bottom lip, staring at his best friend through hazy tears and feeling a mixture of relief and despair and guilt tugging at his stomach. His fingers lifted to curl around Phil's arms, and he wasn't sure whether to kiss him or keep crying or just blurt all that was trapped in his mind.
Gazing at Dan with a mountain of care and affection, Phil moved closer until their noses were inches apart and sniffled a bit. "Dan, I...I don't know what's going on with you right now, but you still mean everything to me and I think we should get you home before we try and figure all this out, okay?" he told him.
"But–" Dan started quietly.
"Shh. You need rest, and a few bandages. Your back is a bloody mess, no pun intended."
For a moment they both chuckled softly, a bit of warmth flickering to life in Dan's heart. Phil was right, a part of him knew. The pain in his back continued to sear him the more he moved, and he didn't want to die of blood-loss now. He wasn't ready to go to hell just yet.
Dan's sniffle seemed to bounce off the trees and rusted play equipment as he blearily rubbed his eyes, wiping away the tear streaks. Phil's hands fell away, but Dan only had time to be disappointed for one second before the dark-haired boy knitted their fingers together, Dan's cold and Phil's warm. It seemed years since Dan had held his hand; he relished in the familiar feeling that sent scattered pinpricks up his arm. But it saddened him as well, only slightly. How had he let the tension between them fester for so long that he was happy simply to hold Phil's hand?
"Hey." Dan glanced up at the softness in Phil's tone. "It's gonna be alright. I think it's time we head back to my place and fix you up, how does that sound?" Phil asked.
Dan let out a small sigh, before perking up when a thought occurred to him. "What about–?"
"Stephen's gone out," Phil cut in. "He even called Mum – he won't be back until sometime tomorrow."
"Okay," Dan whispered, and then nodded. "Yeah, okay, that's good."
Phil remained silent for a moment before breathing out, leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to Dan's hairline. "Come on. I'll help you stand. We're just going to take small steps to the car, okay?"
"Okay," Dan said again, steeling himself for the pain he was about to feel.
Sure enough, he felt it when Phil steadied his arm under his shoulders and gradually lifted Dan to his feet. Dan couldn't help but flop a little against the boy as he clung to his waist, squeezing his eyes shut to try and ward off the flames surging through his back. ear like the beat of a butterfly's wings, in sync with the fluttering of his heart. Simple whispers of, "You're doing wonderful, Dan," or, "Nearly there," or, "Everything's gonna be alright," were enough to send his emotions into a frenzy.
Phil still cared. After everything, he still cared.
They reached the car. Dan slumped forward and rested his arms on the roof of the old white Toyota, lungs heaving and eyes closing for a moment. He felt Phil's hand on his shoulder, rubbing soothing circles over the material there.
"Dan," Phil mumbled, "we need to get you in the car."
"I know, I know." As soon as Dan straightened a little, Phil's hands were there to guide him. It took a little manoeuvring, but eventually he was hunched in the passenger seat, leaning forward to stop his gashes from brushing up against the cracked leather. The driver's door thudded shut. Phil shoved his keys into the ignition, fumbling a bit. Dan closed his eyes again, mind whirring like the engine of the car.
...How much blood had he lost in the time between the removal of his wings and now? He must've spent heaps – that would explain the droopiness of his eyelids, the effort it took just to fill his lungs with a little air. His arms felt like limp bodies, dangling off his larger one. So what would happen to him? Would he need to go to the hospital? God, how would he explain his wounds to the doctors without getting shipped off to the government to be experimented on? Dan shuddered at the thought. He couldn't tell anyone. At least, no one but Phil.
Dan tried to clear his mind, tuning in only to the thrum of the engine and Phil's quiet breathing. Really, all he wanted was to sleep. Maybe he should. Maybe it would only be a few minutes of rest, but it would be something, right?
The gentle murmurs of noise around him faded, and suddenly he was aware of nothing.
*
"...can't carry you when you're asleep, Dan, come on. Wake up. You fell asleep literally two minutes from my house, you spork..."
Dan groaned a little, stirring in his sleep to the exasperated mutterings of Phil Lester as the guy tried to shift him gently out of the car. It took him a few moments to distinguish where he was, glancing groggily at the dashboard in front of him, Phil awkwardly leaning over him and the driveway the car was parked in. "Um...wait," Dan mumbled, whacking Phil's hands away and moving around himself. Amazingly, his wounds had cooled down slightly, so it didn't feel like his back had fallen into the pits of hell every time he shifted a muscle.
"You good?" Phil asked, stepping back a bit as Dan swung his legs over and out onto the path. "Here, lean on me again. God, you're actually quite pale. Let's get inside."
After a few struggles and a lot of Dan acting like a wobbly drunkard, they made it to the front door of Phil's house. Dan could see lights on through the curtains, and suddenly frowned. He didn't know what time it was.
At last the door was opened, and a warm glow spilled out onto the unreadable welcome mat. Dan peered inside, frowning at the stillness of the house.
"Mum's out as well, by the way," Phil said, answering his unspoken questions. "Gone to...see a friend or something. She'll be back later. And Daisy's at a sleepover I think."
Dan only frowned harder. "So, you're just left here? By yourself?" he asked worriedly.
"It's fine, Dan," Phil replied, glancing down at him. "I prefer being alone here, really."
Dan didn't believe him, sighing softly.
"Dan, I do," Phil insisted. "Let's just get you upstairs to the bathroom, okay?"
Several moments later Dan found himself seated precariously on the edge of the bath, eyes glued to the floor and heart palpitating at the thought of finally having to explain himself to Phil. His fingers quivered in his lap as the dark-haired boy swung the bathroom door shut.
"Okay Dan," Phil started, walking towards him. "I'm gonna take off your jumper so I can see those gashes, so could you turn around for me?"
Dan nodded and did as he was told, moving so his feet flattened out against the bottom of the bath. He sucked on his lower lip as Phil placed his fingers under the thin material and slowly peeled the jumper off his back; Dan's knuckles turned white and blotchy gripping the side of the bath when threads of wool came loose from the torn skin. Eventually the gashes were fully exposed and Dan didn't miss the sharp intake of breath behind him. Phil pulled his jumper all the way off and discarded it to one side.
"Shit," Phil muttered. Dan felt his fingers ghosting over his skin. "These cuts are quite deep. And the skin is so red. I'll need to clean the blood off, but...I think we should take you to the hospital just to be safe–"
"No," Dan snapped immediately, whipping his head around to glare at Phil. "I can't go there. Please, don't make me go. I...I can't..." He trailed off and lowered his head, hurriedly blinking back tears.
There was a pause, and then the bath creaked as Phil tentatively sat beside him, resting a hand on his arm. "Dan..." he said softly, waiting until the boy met his eyes before he continued. "...Why don't you want to go? What happened?"
Staring into those swirling pools of blue, Dan found he couldn't tell him. The words lingered on his tongue, but he simply would not open his mouth. Because Phil wasn't just asking how he'd received his wounds – he was asking what had happened to him, to both of them...what had happened for them to reach this point. Dan glanced away, heart thudding heavily in his chest.
Phil sighed, his eyes still boring into Dan's face even when the boy wouldn't look at him. "You know you'll have to tell me sometime," he said, voicing Dan's thoughts. The pad of his thumb swirled over Dan's skin.
"I know," Dan whispered weakly. And that was it.
Through his peripherals, he saw Phil stand and heard water gushing into the sink seconds later. Phil was right. He couldn't keep hiding this. His best friend deserved the whole truth – real and unadulterated.
"I'm just washing off the blood now," Phil told him, before pressing a warm, wet towel carefully against his skin. "This might hurt a bit."
It did, but Dan swallowed it and refused to let it show on his face as Phil scrubbed softly around his gashes. The bathroom was silent, save for the squelch of the towel every now and then. But it wasn't a comfortable silence. It was stifling and uneasy, a thundercloud drooping above them ready to break open.
Where would he even start? With his death, or all the way back to his old life? Or what if he worked his way back from now? Dan had no idea how to tell this story to Phil, but he wanted to now, at least to make things less awkward between them. He let out a gentle breath, afraid to make the slightest of noises, and cursed how hyperaware he was of Phil's fingers pressed against his bare skin as the boy ran the towel slowly down his back.
"Um, so, medical assessment," Phil uttered after a while. "The bleeding seems to have slowed, and I'm not a doctor but I don't think you'll need stitches. Just a few bandages and some ointment."
Dan frowned, incredulous, wondering how deep his wings really had been buried under his skin. "You sure I won't need them?" he asked.
"Well...I can't see any bone or muscle, and that's usually when you need stitches. Even so..."
"I'm not going to the hospital."
"Dan, it's okay. I won't take you." Phil turned away and rummaged through the cabinets below the sink, uncovering a few extra-large Band-Aids, some gauze and an antibiotic ointment.
Phil didn't warn him when he started applying the antibiotic to his gashes, and its sudden sting was malicious. Dan gritted his teeth and braced himself against the bath again, taking in slow breaths as he gradually grew used to the burn. "I'm sorry you have to do all this..." he blurted as Phil started plastering on the first Band-Aid on one of his cuts
"Don't be silly," Phil said softly. He smoothed the bandage over his torn skin. "You can't even reach your back, let alone move properly. And besides, this is a 'want to' thing, not a 'have to'."
The words brought a gentle pink hue to Dan's cheeks – still, he didn't relent. "But...but I forced you to come and drag me here and you don't even know what's going on. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean for any of this t-to happen."
Dan heard a small sigh from Phil and the tear of another Band-Aid. "I know you didn't," Phil replied simply as he set to work on the second gash. "But you're my best friend. I think best friends are always supposed to be there for each other, even when...you know...one of them is lying in a park at night with wounds in their back that look suspiciously like wing holes."
Dan could feel his gaze burning into the back of his head, and a different kind of blush settled on his cheeks. He glanced down to his lap. "Yeah...well, thank you."
A moment of silence passed before Phil sighed again, expecting some kind of explanation this time but not getting one. He started unravelling a roll of gauze. "I just hope things will be okay for you after this," he murmured.
Dan swiped his tongue over his chapped lips. "So do I."
They didn't speak again until Phil had wound his chest in the dressing, packing it tightly against his gashes and holding the end down with a stripe of tape. Ten minutes later Dan was sinking into a chair at the dining table, huddled in Phil's green hoodie and hands wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate. And Phil was sitting down right beside him.
The dining room had been stuffed with cotton balls. The silence was hot and suffocating, tension suspended above them like rain clouds ready to burst. Dan sat motionless, fully invested in the gently rippling liquid in his mug with no intent of drinking it as of that moment. His thoughts were like that too – following one after the other in a continuous circle, stretching on with no clear result. He was terrified. That was just it. Fear engulfed him like a tidal wave, drowning out his words and common sense. Phil had to know. Dan couldn't tell him. So he simply sat there, pretending to ignore Phil's impatient gaze, thumb swirling over the ceramic handle of his cup. Because there was so absolutely no way he could explain things without scaring his best friend, or worse. Even when Phil finally broke the silence, Dan still avoided the topic.
"Dan, I'm not gonna sit here all night waiting for you to tell me what the fuck is going on," Phil muttered eventually, spite laced through his words.
Dan flinched at the swear word he used, fingers tightening around the mug. The hot chocolate trembled within it, and he continued to stare, searching for a response in the wrinkles of the liquid cocoa. "Why did you have Advil on you when I found you in the alley?" he blurted after a while, turning his head to meet the startled look in Phil's eyes. He didn't want to know the answer.
Lungs heavily deflating, Phil glanced away at his own mug, falling quiet. Dan watched him carefully, desperate for yet dreading what the boy would say next. "Why the hell do you think?" Phil muttered.
"Phil–" Dan started.
"I was going to overdose, alright?" Phil snapped, causing Dan to jump as he whirled around violently in his chair. "Stephen came home and told me to kill myself, so that's just what I was gonna do. I thought – I thought, you know, my shitty hideout in the forest would be an alright place to go. But instead life decides to fuck me over and let Finn and everyone else beat me to death. That is, until you showed up, used the fucking force on them and grew wings. And now – now I just wish I'd...swallowed the fucking p-pills in the b-b-bathroom..."
Dan's heart tore open He blinked away the sting in his own eyes and shuffled his chair closer to the boy, before wrapping his arms around him and pushing Phil's face into his shoulder. Phil's fragile frame shuddered with sobs as he crumbled in Dan's arms. The hoodie was quickly soaked but Dan didn't care, knowing he just needed to hold his best friend and never let go. He dug his nose into Phil's hair and rubbed patterns on Phil's back, trying not to think of him lying lifeless on a bathroom floor. By the time Phil had calmed down enough for Dan to talk, their hot chocolates had gone cold.
"I'm sorry," Dan murmured as Phil tightened his arms around his waist. "I'm sorry for cutting you off and confusing you and being such a shitty person and – and making you feel like you had to do this. But you don't, Phil. God, don't you ever for a second think about ending it like that because you're worth so much more than you realise and I want you to grow old." With me, he thought. "And I need you. I can't even think about you...d-doing that, because you're everything to me and if you were gone, all of this would be for nothing."
Phil had remained silent throughout the small speech, but now he sniffed and raised his head, frowning at Dan. "What do you mean?" he asked nervously. "What would be for nothing?"
Staring into Phil's eyes after hearing those words, Dan thought the terror would consume him once again because finally, he knew the time had come. But all he felt was a sense of tranquility as he sighed and intertwined his fingers with Phil's before looking into his eyes. And then he opened his mouth.
Full summary ; Dan Howell is dead. Well, sort of. He’s a guardian angel, forced to protect only one human, and that human is Cat. But when he accompanies Cat to school, he can’t help but be intrigued by the broken boy with the black hair who sits by the window in class and disappears at lunch times. Dan realises this boy needs more protection than Cat will ever need, so he takes on human form to save him. But soon he finds himself falling in love, which is something he definitely can’t do. Dan Howell is an angel, and he’s falling for Phil.
TWs ; bullying, violence, mentions of self-harm, mentions of death/suicide, depression, panic attacks, physical and verbal abuse, homophobia, foul language and supernatural themes.
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"Crash and burn is all I know, I think that's why I made you go. Those three words, you were my first, I can't help thinking—"
dan ;
"You're not Dan."
After that, the alley was overrun by an unnerving stillness, coating the jagged brickwork and rooting shoes into the ground. Rain pattered softly from swelling clouds, soaking into clothes and skin. It was all that could be heard, apart from the memory of Phil's shattered words as they lingered in Dan's ears and mind. They confused him at first, before Dan understood that Phil no longer saw before him the best friend he'd come to know and love. All he saw was a monster seized from a twisted nightmare.
Terror surged behind Phil's eyes, riddled his pallid skin. He kept glancing at Dan, eyes darting over his face, arms, wings, everywhere. Watching him. Afraid that he would strike him or hurt him or do something far worse than what his bullies had ever done. Dan felt he could burst into tears at any moment, seeing Phil in such a state.
He had to say something. Dan couldn't continue to stare at him forever, or they'd get nowhere. He closed his eyes for a moment, fingers trembling against the concrete, and filled his lungs with a deep breath of air. If he was going to calm Phil down, he needed to be calm himself. Dan opened his eyes, finding Phil still pushing up on wall. "Phil, listen to me," he said gently, relieved when his voice didn't shake. Phil didn't reply, chest heaving fitfully. Dan sighed and stared into his eyes, hoping to convey trust. "I know you're frightened," he continued. "Because...yes, I – I have wings. But I'm going to explain everything, if you'll let me."
Phil shook his head furiously, feet slipping on the ground. "N-No, I...I don't know who or what you are, ju-just please don't hurt me," he pleaded, sounding choked up.
"Phil, I'm not going to hurt you," Dan said slowly, heart falling to pieces. "I will never, ever hurt you. I just need you to trust me."
Dan noticed a shift in Phil's expression, a look of uncertainty, flashing across his face if only for a second. He was getting somewhere. He hoped. He just had to try harder. Dan gently crossed his legs on the ground, trying to relax, his wings coming to encircle his torso. "Phil, look into my eyes," he urged, waiting until Phil did so hesitantly. "You know me. I'm Dan Howell. We just graduated from Faraday High together. We were together. I work at The Watering Can with you and Dodie. I was with you when you came out to your mum. We – we had a fight at...Connor's party, remember?"
"I don't..." Phil sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. "I saw a newspaper headline. It said – it said you were...dead. Something like investigations had opened again, I don't know."
Colour drained from Dan's face, and suddenly he could hear nothing but the heavy beat of his own heart. Something like this was bound to happen. Why had he been so fucking stupid? "Phil, I..." he trailed off, lost for words. "It's hard to explain. If we could just get out of here, out of the rain, I'll tell you everything."
"But...but you have w-wings." Phil's eyes rested on the dark feathers brushing against Dan's arms and jeans. "That's not possible."
"It is, Phil," Dan sighed. "But I swear to god there's an explanation. It'll be hard for you to understand, but you deserve the truth and–"
"How can I even trust you?" Phil spat suddenly, doubt and frustration crowding his face. "You could be a...a demon, or maybe I'm just dreaming right now."
Dan stared helplessly at him. "Phil, you're not–"
"No. No, just shut up. The real Dan wouldn't want anything to do with me. Not now, after cutting me off for more than a week. He'd never be here. He doesn't love me anymore." Phil shoved himself to his feet as he spoke, throwing the words at Dan like daggers. They were cruel and disbelieving, but hesitation still wavered behind his eyes.
Dan swallowed deeply. He doesn't love me anymore. What kind of person was he, to make his best friend believe such a thing? "Phil, wait. Listen to me," he insisted, joining Phil on his feet. He held out his arms, silently begging the boy to stop. "He does love you. He loves you more than you could ever imagine. He loves you so much he – he risked everything to be with you."
Phil frowned, yet still obviously affected by the words. "What do you mean?" he asked quietly.
"I..." Dan sighed, ducking his head a little. "I mean I'm a guardian angel."
"Oh, shut the hell up," Phil snapped immediately. "You can't...they don't exist."
"Then what are these massive things on my back?" Dan gestured to his wings, spreading them out a little, the gust sending dust particles flying.
Phil shook his head. "I don't know. I don't know anything," he replied sullenly.
"I can help you understand," Dan said, taking a step forward. Phil took a step back.
"No, I don't need you to help me," he retorted, once regarding Dan with fear. "Just...just don't come near me."
Dan knew Phil only said these things because he was confused, and scared – and it wasn't everyday your boyfriend of nearly five months grew wings on his back. But nevertheless they were like a punch to the gut, tears springing up in the corners of his eyes. And suddenly Phil was walking away, gradually taking steps backward in the direction of the street. Dan blinked, and hurried forward to reach him. "Phil, don't go–" he begged, wings unknowingly flaring behind him.
Flinching at the action, Phil stumbled back and held out his hands defensively. "No, get away from me. I don't want anything to do with you," he cried, the pace of his breathing starting to increase. "You're not Dan, you're not real, this whole...whole thing doesn't exist. Please just leave me alone."
"Phil, don't do this–" Dan implored, vision blurring. "I'm sorry. Don't leave."
Phil took another step back. "Dan...don't come after me again," he whispered.
The rain grew colder and heavier, globs splashing in Dan's hair as he stood powerless, watching the boy he'd fallen in love with turn his back on him. He tried to breathe, lungs hauling in air, and soon he was gasping as sobs caught in his throat and tears slipped down his cheeks. And then Phil was gone.
Dan was too afraid to look down, sure if he did he would see his heart lying in tatters in a murky puddle. But he did, eyes falling to the place where Phil had lain just before, bloody and beaten. And that's when he caught a glimpse of something blue, and when his vision focused, a cry ripped coarse and pained through his throat. A bottle of Advil had been left behind.
This was all his fault.
*
He ended up in the park as evening trundled over to shroud the sun. As expected, no one was there. The swings dangled from their frame, deserted, and the equipment was still coated with incomprehensible graffiti. It was dark as well, an eerie gloom settling over the playground as tree limbs sagged above it. The only light was supplied from the streetlamp, all the way back on the corner. But Dan found a strange calmness in the disturbing atmosphere.
His eyes roamed over the swing-set where he once spoke with the Keeper, the grassy patch where he and Phil had sat and watched the stars and...
This park held so much meaning for him.
Dan sighed softly, as if afraid to disrupt the silence. His wings whispered through the air as he brought them down against his back, the feathers lapping at his jumper. He took to the equipment this time, clambering up the bright red slide now greying in the murk and swinging his legs over the bar. The colourful barriers that lined the platform met his waist; Dan rested his hands on top and his teeth pulled at his bottom lip.
He ended up throwing the Advil pills away. Simply thinking about that blue bottle made his chest tighten, his throat close over. That bottle may have been emptied today. If Finn and his friends hadn't found Phil first, death would've been quick to pounce. And Dan, despite how much he loathed it, knew he was the one to blame.
Phil might have killed himself today. His best friend, gone in an instant. Faster than Dan, perhaps. Phil could've been lying lifeless, limbs stiff, in that alley or somewhere else, and Dan would know nothing, still perched upon his apartment's roof. Tears clouded his vision and Dan glanced down, scrunching up his face as he squeezed his eyes shut. He would not cry, he would not cry, he couldn't fucking cry.
A tear trickled out anyway, splattering over the barrier below him. Dan sniffed heavily and wiped his eyes before glancing up. His breath quaked when he sucked it in. Before it felt as though he was standing on the precipice of a cliff, watching pebbles crumble to a base too far down to see. But now he was plummeting, air flying from his lungs, reaching out to grab hold of something that didn't exist, ready to crash into hard earth at any moment. Plunging. Sinking.
Falling.
He'd destroyed everything. Trampled over the tenderness he and Phil shared, silenced their laughter, crushed I love you's in his fists, tore their fingers apart. He'd tried so hard to lift Phil up and away from the cliff, only to topple over himself. So now it wasn't just himself falling – it was both of them.
Dan sank his teeth into his lip again, letting pain blossom in the sensitive spot, desperately stifling a sob. Soon enough something wet and metallic touched his tongue and Dan brought a hand to wipe roughly at the blood on his mouth. Never before had he loathed his existence so dreadfully.
You're not Dan.
The words banged around in Dan's mind like loose marbles. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't throw them out. They were sharp and biting, reminding him again and again that he had done this. He didn't want to be reminded.
You were no better than Finn, you asshole.
"Fuck," Dan muttered, shoving his fringe out of his eyes and turning towards a mini set of blue stairs. He couldn't stay here. He was standing on children's play equipment, for God's sake. The lights from peaceful homes glowed over fences, peaked through quivering leaves, but they did little to chase the shadows from Dan's heart.
You're a monster.
Feet rattling the steps against the platform. Landing heavily in the bark. Ducking his head, burying his fists in his armpits. Dan shook his head a little, as if to dispel the dark thoughts and memories slowly creeping in unannounced. A part of him wondered where Phil was right now. At home? Still out there somewhere? What if...Dan stopped in his tracks. Dread rose in his throat like lava in an active volcano. What if Phil had found another way to...to...?
His lungs filled unsteadily and deflated. Why had he bothered to protect Phil when he wasn't there to save him from death itself? Dan sniffed and looked around, thinking hard, wondering if Phil would've still gone to the forest hideaway. God, he may have wanted to kill himself there. Helplessness and terror enclosed Dan's heart, forcing the organ to thump heavily, trying to break free.
How can you live with yourself?
Dan moved forward, sliding his phone out of his pocket and switching it on. The blinding white light of the screen pierced him, and he blinked a few times to adjust his eyes. He glanced at the clock. It was past 5pm. Dan unlocked the phone and found Phil's contact, pressing hurriedly on the call button and holding the device to his ear.
He listened to the ring. It trailed on forever. Phil didn't pick up. "Shit," Dan swore under his breath, tucking his phone away again. He'd just have to find the boy on his own.
What was he thinking, coming here instead of going after Phil? His best friend could be anywhere, done anything by now. And all Dan had done was mope around in an old park feeling sorry for himself. Dan let out a trembling breath. Things may have gotten worse in the past half an hour or so he was here.
Go to hell, you piece of shit.
Dan was suddenly overcome by an awful urge to laugh. Well, I'm going there anyway, he thought. And then, as quickly as it had come, the emotionless humour dissipated and all he wanted was to reach Phil. He swallowed and hurried forward, shoes crunching against the bark.
There was a sudden pull on his stomach. Dan stopped, frowning at the strange sensation. Then he blinked, and suddenly he wasn't staring at the bark anymore.
What happened next was something from a nightmare.
The ground twisted, swirling into blurred colours, folding and curving, making him want to vomit. Brown hues transformed into black and grey and smudges of yellow. Dan's breathing quickened, feet rooted on the spot as the floor distorted out of shape around him. He looked up, watching the playground and the trees and the houses – his whole world – rolling and coiling and curling, colours colliding, reality bending through the night. Dan stared at it all with wide eyes and a jumping heart, wind screaming in his ears, terrified, confused, frozen.
He watched the pathway before him twist into a whirlpool shape. And then he began to move. His feet kicked up from the ground and he ran, sprinting towards his only exit, willing himself to escape, get out, reach Phil. The world caved in around him. The sky collapsed above him, the trees intertwined with one another beside him, the ground trembled and cracked beneath him. He had no idea what was happening, and yet, at the same time, he knew.
He knew.
A sob tore through his throat as he ran. No. No no no no. Please god, no. Dan gasped for air, reaching a hand out towards his dissolving reality. "NO!" he cried, the sound prolonged and breaking and ripping past his lips.
His foot caught on something heavy. He couldn't stop himself from stumbling, falling, landing with a cruel thud on the hard ground. Dan squeezed his eyes shut, fingers enclosing on sprouts of dead grass. And he laid there, willing the noise and the turmoil and the spinning to stop.
And it did.
Dan could hear nothing but his own breaths, chest heaving up and down against damp soil. He still had his eyes closed. Biting wind, colder than any air he'd felt on earth, hissed over his exposed skin, growing goosebumps. He kept breathing, in and out, in and out. Then he moved, sliding his legs under him and propping himself up on his arms. His eyes glanced over the ground.
Dan's fingers were pressing into moist, black soil, from which dry grass painted a sickly yellow sprouted. Pale mist slithered through the towering stems and curled around his limbs.
Cold fingers ghosted over his shoulder.
Dan snapped his eyes shut again, cruel tears stinging his eyes. He knew. He fucking knew, and goddamn it hurt.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
"I know," the Keeper replied softly.
The meadow was blanketed in a thin layer of cold silence, only peeled back by the whispering wind and the sound of both their breaths. The mist seemed to waver and fade the longer Dan crouched there in the stiff grass. He didn't want to stand up.
"Why am I here?" he asked instead, refusing to look up. His voice sounded strangled.
A gentle sigh left the Keeper's lips. "You know the answer to that. But I'll tell you anyway," he murmured. "You broke the bond."
Dan's bottom lip quivered. He composed himself for a moment before gradually rising to his feet, wings stretching and eyes lifting as well to stare out at the fields of grass titling in the wind. The copious, sinister forest still surrounded the meadow, trapping him. He never thought he'd be back here again. Dan blinked, memories flashing across his eyelids like a moving picture from the 30s. The crash, wreckage piercing his skin, waking up in the meadow, the old chapel, running blindly from the truth, sealing his fate with a simple black-and-white decision. He drew a deep breath, and miraculously it didn't tremble. "So what's going to happen to me?" he asked softly, motionless.
"You'll be sent back to earth soon enough," the Keeper responded almost sadly, still standing behind him. "And then...when you die again..."
"I'll go to hell," Dan finished, turning around on the last syllable. He met the Keeper's pitch black eyes, eyes that used to hold nothing but cool indifference and spite. But now they were soft and a little glossed over, regarding Dan with the sort of comforting look Phil used to give him.
The Keeper's eyes fell to the ground. "That's right."
They stood in silence for a moment, Dan playing awkwardly with his thumbs as the Keeper took deep breaths. Then the coat-clad man or ghost or whatever glanced up, avoiding eye contact and blinking a few times as he threw his arms into the air. "You know, I really had a lot of faith in you, Dan," the Keeper said with a morose shrug. "I thought...I thought you'd get through this easy, but..."
"Keeper..." Dan interrupted helplessly.
But the Keeper only shook his head. "I wanted you to go to heaven, you know? You deserved it," he said. "Despite everything, you...you're a good person. And now you're going to hell for it."
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay."
"But it's not, though. I can't cheat the system. I screwed up horribly," Dan sighed. "And now I have to pay for it."
"At least you'll be able to spend more time with Phil before you go," the Keeper muttered bitterly.
Dan frowned, confused by the Keeper's tone. He decided to overlook it. "Yeah, well...I don't, actually. He won't want to see me ever again." Dan glanced down and dug his heel into the dirt, creating small scuff marks. He sniffled. "He thinks I'm a demon now. Funny when I'm...when I was the exact o-opposite."
When Dan's voice broke and tears distorted his vision, the Keeper stepped forward and pulled him into a hug. Dan was grateful for it, curling his fists against the guy's chest, almost collapsing into it, as the Keeper secured his arms tightly around him. Dan's cheeks grew wet and his hair was tousled and his nose heavy with snot; he'd now created a small dark patch on the Keeper's coat, but the Keeper didn't seem to mind.
"He still loves you, Dan," the Keeper whispered into his hair. "I hope you know that. He's so fucking in love you, and I know he'll come back. If he doesn't, then you make him. You can't lose him. Because I – you can't lose him."
Dan sucked on his lip and shook his head quietly. "But I'm scared I already have," he whimpered, remembering the Advil pills and the terror in Phil's eyes.
"You haven't," the Keeper replied softly. "He's waiting for you. He always has been."
Dan gave the Keeper one grateful squeeze and stepped back, wiping his eyes. The Keeper's arms hesitated before falling away and he gave Dan an indistinguishable look that lingered, before sighing gently.
"So what happens now?" Dan asked.
The Keeper met his eyes, and the next words that left his mouth seemed to strain against a force holding them back. "Y-You need to turn around."
Dan's eyebrows came together, before he realized what the Keeper meant. He knew, once again. His wings came to brush against his arms almost comfortingly, and Dan relished in the feeling one last time. Then he whispered, "Okay," and slowly swiveled so his back was facing the Keeper.
Just before two hands came to rest on his back, against the grooves where his wings protruded from his skin, Dan swore he heard the Keeper murmur, "I'm sorry."
Then the hands fell away. Pain tore through his back at an incredible intensity, like flames blistering his skin, turning it black. It was hot and raw and agonizing, and black dots dappled the corners of his vision. Lightning bolts of pain arched across his back, snaking ferociously into his arms and legs, forcing a harsh, cracked yell from his lips. Dan squeezed his eyes shut, and at some point he was on his knees, tears leaking from under his eyelashes. He didn't recall falling over.
Ten seconds passed. The burning sensation stretched on, unbearable against his skin, inhumane and torturous. He blurted cries of anguish every few moments, nails digging into the soil. Everything seared, fire licking over his spine all the way to his fingertips. He couldn't handle it, he wanted to fall asleep, pass out and just make everything stop. He could feel his arms trembling violently as they struggled to hold him up.
Suddenly Dan was hit by another wave of excruciating pain, agony more powerful than anything he'd ever experienced, raging through his body like an inferno. He physically felt a wrenching in his back, skin splitting and tearing, but only for a few seconds before he slumped forward and the pain vanished in moments.
When he finally awoke, the first thing he recognized was splintered bark digging into his cheek. Dan grunted softly and cracked his eyes open, wincing immediately at the piercing ache that spread through his back.
He was in the park again, sprawled on the ground like a corpse in the dark of the night. Although, somehow, he'd managed to live through that white-hot agony.
Dan shifted in the dusty bark, grimacing again as the movement jolted the wound in his back. And then he froze. His back. His wings. The tearing in his skin. Dan's fingers trembled as he lifted them behind him, placing them softly against the skin. Flames burst to life at the contact, but he endured it.
Through his thin jumper, he could feel them. A pair of long, deep gashes, shredded at the edges. His fingers came away dripping in crimson blood. A low, horrifying feeling bubbled in the pit of his stomach.
His wings were gone.
No, correction. His wings had physically been wrenched from his body, like an axe from a tree.
Dan began sucking in short, sharp breaths. Loud panic surged into his throat and filled his ears, clouded his eyes. His hands fell to the ground and he struggled against the bark, trying to gain purchase and get up but the pain in his back was too strong.
He didn't know what to do. He couldn't move. Night had fallen quickly and mercilessly. He was stuck here forever. Most of the lights from homes had shut off, leaving only dim streetlights in the distance. His lungs filled and collapsed as fast as his heartbeat thudded in his chest. He couldn't move. His wings were gone, his wings were gone...
No one was around to help him. No one would ever come to his aid. He had to lay there overnight.
Dan sniffled and swore quietly as two tears rolled down his cheeks. He crushed handfuls of bark in his fists. Then he raised his head and cried hysterically into the chilly night, "Why did you do this to me? I know you're listening, Keeper. Why did you fucking leave me here?"
He received no reply. Dan breathed heavily, head dropping to rest in his hands on the ground. And then he whimpered. He sobbed quietly into his fingers, at a complete loss of what to do. He was human now, properly human. He had a life to live before he ended up in the dreaded afterlife.
But what possibly could he do?
Suddenly the Keeper's words crept into his mind. He's waiting for you. He always has been.
Dan hesitated, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths. And then he reached for his back pocket, thankful to feel the comforting outline of his phone. He pulled it out, unlocked it, fingers shaking as he called Phil.
The ringtone chimed shrilly, stretching out once, twice, three times, four.
And then a voice. "D-Dan? I'm sorry, I can't–"
"Phil," Dan breathed desperately. "Don't go. Don't hang up. Please don't hang up. Please stay, please. You need to listen to me."
"Dan–"
He could hear the fear lacing through Phil's words, but he didn't care. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I need you. You're the first person I thought to call, I..." Dan glanced over his shoulder, eyes widening at the blood soaking through his jumper. "I'm at the park. I'm...hurt. I'm really hurt. I can't even fucking move. Please, I need you."
Phil hesitated. "Dan, I can't just...you...why are you hurt?"
"I can't explain, not now. I just need your help, please. I can barely sit up."
"Oh god. Okay. Um, you said you're at the park?"
Dan felt he could burst into tears at the worry now present in Phil's voice. "Y-Yeah. Please come."
"Alright. I will. I'm coming. I'll take the car. I'll be there in five minutes, okay?"
"Okay. Thank you. Thank you, I love you," he sighed, meaning every word. Phil was coming. Phil was coming. He'd be okay.
Phil paused. Dan listened to his best friend breathing softly through the phone speaker. And then he heard a deep breath before Phil replied shakily, "I love you too," and the line went dead.
Full summary ; Dan Howell is dead. Well, sort of. He’s a guardian angel, forced to protect only one human, and that human is Cat. But when he accompanies Cat to school, he can’t help but be intrigued by the broken boy with the black hair who sits by the window in class and disappears at lunch times. Dan realises this boy needs more protection than Cat will ever need, so he takes on human form to save him. But soon he finds himself falling in love, which is something he definitely can’t do. Dan Howell is an angel, and he’s falling for Phil.
TWs ; bullying, violence, mentions of self-harm, mentions of death/suicide, depression, panic attacks, physical and verbal abuse, homophobia, foul language and supernatural themes.
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"Distance makes the heart grow fonder, said by someone stronger than me. So what do I do now?—"
dan ;
Legs dangling precariously above a busy street and frosty gusts of wind battling his fringe, Dan quickly found the apartment rooftop was his favourite place to be. He had a breathtaking view of the townscape; cold buildings with silver light filling the windows, an arctic sky, skeletal clouds drooping over slow-moving cars and the coat-clad public. Telephone poles sliced through the air with their cables, and trees were nothing but bony brown hands elongating to the sky.
Dan's feet kicked out and thudded against the brickwork of the apartment. His hands were curled sadly in his lap, and his long-sleeve shirt clung limply to his frame. It was thin as well, so he hadn't stopped shivering since he sat up here. But he barely noticed the cold.
His phone sat beside him on the gravelly roof surface. Ever since the night of the party, Dan hadn't switched it on. The lock screen still had text notifications from PJ and Louise, sent a few days ago. And more recently were missed calls and facetimes and desperate messages from Phil, all unanswered. Dan hadn't found the heart to delete his number just yet.
Tears had marked his sunken cheeks. His stomach sat hollow and nauseous. He hadn't washed or straightened his hair in a week. Dan wasn't entirely sure what he was doing up on this rooftop. Maybe he wanted to escape his stifling, chaotic flat that still contained traces of Phil. Maybe he subconsciously wanted to jump, but hadn't realized it yet. Dan sniffled and leaned forward, blinking tiredly at the flat concrete 30 feet below. The fall would almost certainly kill him. But Dan simply couldn't bring himself to do it, considering he was technically dead already. He would only sustain agonizing injuries, or possibly land unharmed. He wasn't going to test it out to see.
Dan's mind wandered to Phil yet again. Despite how much he tried, he still hadn't mastered the art of forgetting his boyfriend. Or whatever he was now.
He'd gone too far. The moment he kissed Phil in the shadows of that park, Dan knew he had tossed himself into a trap, one which would be impossible to escape unscathed. Meeting, befriending, loving Phil had been an obvious mistake which, as predicted, had only ended in heartbreak. Dan, an angel. Phil, a human. You couldn't find a more opposed match.
Dan had broken rules and dodged consequences and hadn't bothered to stop until the fight. It was then that he realized everything he'd done, and it needed to stop. So he left. Switched off his phone. Ignored all of Phil's attempts to contact him. It was better this way.
Soon Dan would return to heaven or hell, whichever he deserved. He would abandon his life in this cold town, disappear off the face of the earth. Phil would forget about him eventually, and move on to find someone else. Someone who didn't hide angel wings, someone who wasn't dead, someone who was human, who loved without lies. But the thought of vanishing without offering any sort of explanation to Phil tugged painfully on his heart.
He owed him the clarity of their twisted story.
Suddenly Dan's phone lit up to his right, and he automatically glanced over. He'd received another message, but this one wasn't from Phil. It was from Cat.
Dan swallowed heavily, worry bursting to life in his stomach. He closed his eyes for a moment to compose himself before reaching forward and taking the phone between his fingers. A quick glance over the few words told him this wasn't another concerned text asking if he was alright. He swiped right and tapped in his passcode, watching his messages pop up on the screen.
From: Cat Valdes
Hey Dan, I haven't been able to text u since the party cause I was busy but I just wanted to say thank you so much for stopping me sleeping with that guy. I was so drunk so obvs I had no idea what I was getting into, and I dunno what would've happened if you hadn't stepped in, so thanks x
Dan nibbled on his lower lip, anxiously reading over her words a second time. He remembered saving Cat from that asshole who just wanted to take advantage of her, but hadn't expected a message about it or anything.
To: Cat Valdes
hey cat :) that's okay, i was just doing what any friend would do, i guess. i couldn't stand by and let that happen
From: Cat Valdes
That really means a lot. And I also want to say thanks for getting me away from Finn and his group. They really weren't the best people, and those last few months of school were significantly better hanging with you and the other guys sooo thanks haha
But Dan found he couldn't reply. He stared at the message on his phone, fingers starting to quake beneath it. His mind became a hurricane of thoughts, he wanted to throw up, he might just fall off the roof in shock. He snapped his phone off and shoved it away into his back pocket, before sucking in large gulps of air and staring out at the town.
This couldn't be happening, this shouldn't be happening. Not yet. Not ever. He didn't want it to. He wasn't ready. Dan had started gnawing on his bottom lip now, dragging his legs under him and shuffling away from the edge. I don't want to go, he thought, head dropping into his hands. Fingers crawled through his hair, tugging at the strands. Anxiety was mounting in his stomach, crawling to his throat.
This had to be it. Cat's message was pretty much signifying the end of his time on earth. He'd somehow completed his mission. Cat was safe from all that could harm her, and she didn't need a guardian angel anymore.
A small burning sensation was felt on his wrist, as if he was holding the skin above a naked candle flame. Dan winced at the sudden pain and glanced down. And the frigid sky crumbled around him.
The tattoo above his veins – the heart with a line piercing through – had begun to fade.
Dan knew he didn't have much time. He knew Phil would be shocked to find him at his doorstep after no contact for a week. But he also knew Phil deserved an explanation, and if he left before he could give one...Dan wouldn't forgive himself, ever.
He held his breath as he dragged his finger over the line on his wrist, but exhaled in relief when he found the tattoo still worked. Wings like smoke and shadows launched from his back and Dan beat them against the wind for a moment, adjusting to the feel of them, before standing to his feet. He took a step forward, drew a small breath, and tipped forward over the rooftop's edge.
Wind streamed past his ears, throwing back his fringe, before Dan levelled out against the air and took off down the street, mind set on reaching Phil's house. He kept his arms glued to his sides as he flew, eyes watering at the speed he travelled. I'm coming, he thought. I'm sorry. Please be there.
*
The familiar street was silent when Dan lowered himself to the ground. The gust of his wings sent dead leaves scattering as he landed only ten metres away from Phil's house. Nerves he'd lost in the adrenalin of flying came rushing back almost instantly, and suddenly his mind went blank. What would he say? What could he possibly say to Phil? Sorry but I'm actually an angel and I've been dead for months and I've lied to you the whole time I've known you. Now I'm going to the afterlife. Goodbye.
Dan shook his head at his thoughts, wringing his hands. There was no time to think about this. He just had to walk in there and tell Phil all of it.
It would change everything between them.
It would be the end of them.
It would shatter both of their hearts even more.
But he had to do it. Dan stared up at the old home, wondering what Phil might be doing right in that moment. Was he still trying to message Dan? Was he up on the roof? Was he even at home? Dan knew he'd only find out if he went inside. He dragged his tongue over his dry lips, taking a few deep breaths to calm the storm of dread in his stomach. Then he lifted a finger to touch his tattoo again–
The front door opened and Dan froze, staring wide-eyed as Stephen thudded down the front steps, head lowered, beer bottle in hand. He was muttering phrases and profanities under his breath, staggering a little as he walked. The door slammed shut behind him, disturbing the eerie quiet of the street, as Phil's stepdad made his way to a rickety car out front.
Stephen wrenched the driver's door open and slumped awkwardly behind the wheel. Dan stood motionless as the engine sputtered to life and the man jerked the car out on the road, before swerving and speeding off down the street. The wheels screeched against tarmac as he went, and, after turning the corner, the area once again settled into silence.
Something must have happened for Stephen to storm out like that. Dan hurriedly transformed back into a human and dashed up the path to the front door, hoping to God nothing bad had happened to Phil. He rapped twice on the front door, heart leaping from his chest with every beat. Moments later a disheveled-looking Mrs Lester appeared at the threshold, exhaustion apparent on her face. Dan gasped quietly.
"O-Oh, Dan, hello," Mrs Lester greeted, lifting her fingers to brush through her hair. She plastered on a half-hearted smile that seemed painful to bear. "D-Did Stephen see you? God, I hope not, I have no idea what he'd do–"
"It's okay, Mrs Lester, he didn't see me at all," Dan rushed to reassure her. He wondered if he should ask if she was alright, but didn't want to intrude on anything personal. "Um...sh-should I be here right now?"
Mrs Lester quickly nodded. "Yes, of course, you don't have to leave. It's all good." She sighed heavily and leaned against the doorframe. "Are you here to see Phil?"
"Um, yeah, if that's alright?" Dan ignored the churning protests of his stomach.
"Nonsense, it's always alright. He's up in his bedroom, I'm pretty sure. Oh, he'll be so happy to see you, he's been a wreck these past few days."
Guilt rose in Dan's throat as he followed Mrs Lester into the house. This was all his fault...
"...He hasn't eaten anything, he's been trapped in his room all the time," Mrs Lester was saying. Then she stopped and turned to face Dan, gently grabbing his arm. She smiled sadly. "I really hope you guys can fix whatever's going on between you."
Dan nodded, afraid to speak for fear he'd let out a sob instead. A heavy lump had grown like bacteria in his throat, threatening to sprout tears in his eyes. "I-I'll try," he managed to get out, swearing internally when the words sounded thick and strained.
Mrs Lester smiled again and squeezed his arm. "I know. Go and see him, then."
The moment he was out of Mrs Lester's sight, thumping up the staircase, Dan wiped furiously at his eyes and sniffled. He could feel that familiar tingling behind his nose, telling him a breakdown was on its way. Phil's bedroom door was sitting ajar; Dan gulped and slowly pushed it open. "Phil?"
The room was empty. Dan halted, taking a moment to glance around. Shadows had made homes from the clothes littering the carpet, the rumpled bedsheets, the furniture covered in light coatings of dust. Blinds were shut tight over the windows, and at least ten dirty mugs cluttered Phil's desk. A knife sliced Dan's heart in two just taking it all in.
Phil's sketchbook sat on the nightstand, very close a tumble. Dan crossed the room slowly and picked it up with delicate fingers, as if the object was porcelain. He leafed past the first several depressing pieces until he reached ones he didn't recognize. Roses blooming fresh and colourful along the bottom of one page; a familiar set of intriguing chocolate eyes; ink sketches of deep galaxies, detailed birds, adorable cactuses, and...
A page had been torn from the book. Dan frowned, running his fingers over the tatters before glancing up around the room. Why would Phil tear out a page, and where would he put it? Dan's eyes fell upon a waste paper bin, and he crouched, fingers closing on a scrunched ball of paper sitting above the rest of the rubbish.
He gently pulled it open. The artwork was a simple sketch, and his mind flashed back to when he'd glanced through Phil's sketchbook in his own apartment. He remembered the drawing of a hand reaching for something to hold as it fell. This one was similar, except this time the hand clutched another, fingers wrapping around someone else's wrist as they held them up.
Dan breathed out shakily, tears stinging the corners of his eyes as he stared at the sketch. He smoothed out the piece of paper before slotting it back into the sketchbook. There was no way he'd throw it back into the bin.
Instincts told him Phil wasn't even in the house, but he scrambled through the window and climbed to the roof just to check if Phil was up there. He wasn't. The pillows sat empty in their hidden crevice. Dan chewed his lip and descended, shutting the window once he landed back in the bedroom.
So Phil wasn't here. Dan slumped on the side of the boy's bed and rubbed his eyes. Where else could he possibly be? Dan racked his brain, mind running over the places where Phil was most likely to be. Then the last puzzle piece clicked into place and Dan stood, knowing exactly where he was. The forest hideaway.
Taking two stairs at a time, Dan scrambled down to the first floor and headed for the door. But Mrs Lester appeared, asking what had happened between them, if he was alright.
"Phil isn't here," Dan said hastily. He winced at the troubled expression that immediately crossed the woman's face. "But I have an idea where he might be, so I'm gonna go find him."
Mrs Lester hesitated. "Well...okay. Alright then. Please bring him home, I had no idea he'd left, oh dear."
"Don't worry, I will. I'm sure he's safe."
But that was far from what Dan thought. He wanted to cry at the possibility of Phil in trouble, hurt or worse. And if anything was wrong, Dan was to blame. He fumbled for his phone and found Phil's contact, even happier that he hadn't deleted it yet, as he hurried outside in the chilly air. A single tap on the call button. Dan listened as the ringtone loitered in his ear once, twice, five times, more.
No one picked up. Dan swore and tried calling again. He ended up attempting to reach Phil five times, but the boy never answered. This set his worry deeper in Dan's mind. Phil always had his phone on him, and during the off times Dan had called before, he always picked up after the first or second ring.
Something was wrong.
He could see his own breath as he ran, rushing out in short, white wisps. The concrete was cruel beneath his feet, jolting painfully with every step. His tattoo continued to sear his wrist, fading by the moment. Clouds had grown heavy and ashen, lugging across the sky to shield the sun and smother streets in shadow, and lights had started peppering the windows of homes. Dan's surroundings flew by in a heartbeat as he tore down the path, heart thundering against his chest, with nothing on his mind but reaching Phil. He was painfully aware of his time, slipping away like sand to an ocean. At any moment everything around him could disappear and then –
Dan would be gone.
He would leave everyone behind, people who loved and cared about him. They would never find out what had happened until...until they, too, died. But surely by then they would've forgotten about him.
Heaving away his leaden thoughts, Dan reminded himself he needed to reach the hideout or all of this would be for nothing. He couldn't dwell on the possible outcomes. He turned a corner, sprinting into the main street and leaving the suburbia behind. The busy sidewalks forced him to slow; Dan took to weaving in between men and women, dodging them, awkwardly apologising when he nudged someone's shoulder.
He wondered how the Keeper would feel about this. He was probably shaking his head, saying, I told you so. Dan shot a glance at his tattoo, inhaling sharply when he saw the heart had lost half its black hue. It now resembled the colour of the clouds. Obviously, once it disappeared completely, so would Dan.
Phil didn't pick up when he tried calling again. Dan failed to keep the worry from his tone when he left a voicemail. "Phil, it's Dan," he panted, refusing to slow down. "I'm sorry. Are you at the forest hideout? I need to find you, please call me back."
A large part of him knew Phil would never do so, but it was worth a try. Dan stuffed his phone away and kept running. Traffic lights hadn't flashed red when Dan leapt onto the mostly empty road, darting across the bitumen to reach the opposite side. The school and the forest behind were only a few more blocks away.
His lungs started to burn. He couldn't keep this up for much longer, thanks to how unfit his body was. Dan forced himself to slow down, gulping in deep breaths of air and clutching the cramp in his side. He paused for a moment, hand coming to lean up against the wall of a newsagent. All he needed was to rest.
"I love you."
"And you think that's going to make everything better?"
Dan shut his eyes against the memory. All he needed was Phil.
Cool droplets splattered against his crumpled hair and the fabric of his jumper as he started to wander forward. "Bloody hell," he muttered, shoving his hands in his armpits and watching the rain paint the path ahead a shade darker. If only the weather had controlled itself a little longer, maybe he wouldn't be soaking wet by the time he found Phil and maybe Phil wouldn't have only flimsy sheets to shelter him in the forest.
Dan sighed and ran frustrated fingers through his fringe, cursing how curly and moist the rain would make his hair. That's when he heard the stomach-churning sound of fists on flesh, and his hand faltered. His footsteps stuttered to a halt. Dan turned his head to the left, finding himself staring down an alleyway. A blade sank into his chest and rooted in his heart.
Phil wasn't at the hideout. He was there, curled against the bitter ground, with nothing but his hands to shield him from a hail of vicious beatings.
Dan watched as a group of boys threw their fists at Phil's head, hurled their feet at his ribs and stomach. Suddenly he recognised them as Finn and his friends, and Dan's feet became unstuck from the concrete. "Hey!" he bellowed, rage fuelling him as he stormed down the dark alley, full of anger at Finn's group, anger at himself, anger at his very existence. He could hear the jeers of the group as he drew closer, all of them spitting insults at Phil and each other.
"...not convinced, Finn," Alfie growled. "Hit him harder. Prove you aren't a faggot."
Finn almost snarled like a lion, drawing back his fist and bringing it down into Phil's stomach.
"No! Stop it!" Dan cried, flinching when he heard the dark-haired boy splutter and squeeze into a tighter ball. He reached the group, fighting against their backs, grabbing shirts and pulling hard.
"This is what the faggot deserves," someone spat.
"Make sure he can't fucking stand up, Finn."
Tears sprung up unexpectedly, blurring Dan's vision as he fought to get the bullies away from his best friend. But his arms were too weak, the group too determined, Phil's cries too heartbreaking. This was all his fault, everything was his fault. If he'd never blown up at Phil in the first place this never would've happened. "Please, just sto-op," he sobbed, voice thick and cracking at the edges as he tried to drag the boys away. "Don't do this."
Someone – Joe – finally noticed his existence and turned, striking Dan hard in the chest. "Fuck," Dan swore, stumbling until his back hit the opposite wall, rough brick digging into his skin through his jumper. He met Joe's fierce gaze.
"Get out of here, fag, before you end up like him," Joe hissed, shoving a thumb in Phil's direction.
Dan's eyes fell to the pitiful form of his best friend, shoved against the brick, blood streaming from his nose and bruises painting his skin blue and purple. Every blow jolted him, weakened him. Horror flooded Dan when he realised if these guys kept at it, Phil would die on this cold, callous ground shrouded in darkness. And he snapped.
Wrath like never before consumed him, seeping into his blood and his bones, scorching any rational thoughts and emotions until all that remained was uncontrollable fury. It swelled inside him like water against floodgates. He could feel it burning behind his eyes, dripping from his fingertips, swirling in his stomach. Finn and his friends threw down their heavy fists like the rain as it thudded into the ground, and Phil wasn't moving, but all Dan saw was red when he stepped forward, arms outstretched as power rose in his stomach.
He caught sight of the tattoo on his wrist, naught but an outline fading into nothingness. He sucked in a breath. And like a shockwave, energy exploded from his hands with a deafening crack. The boys around him were knocked off their very feet, thrown back metres through the air and sprawling on their backs. The force of the invisible blast threw Dan backwards and excruciating pain seared against his spine as his wings tore through his jumper, thudding against the air. He reached for his back, a cry ripping through his throat, raw and broken. And suddenly the pain slipped away as fast as it had come, and Dan fell against the wet concrete. He coughed and dragged in desperate breaths, hands braced against the ground, heart racing. The feathers of his wings brushed against his arms, hanging limp around his shattered frame. His eyes flicked to the left and the right, taking in the flaccid forms of Phil's assaulters as they lay groaning or unconscious on the ground.
What have I done...he thought weakly, drained of strength after the...the surge of power or whatever it was. Dan wiped his eyes and struggled back onto his knees, feeling his wings flop around him. And then he met Phil's eyes.
The black-haired boy was pressed up against the brick, face ghostly pale, eyes flooded with shock and terror as his body trembled. Dan struggled to hold his gaze, the blade from before sinking deeper into his heart. Phil wasn't moving. He stared at Dan as if he were a paranormal being, a petrifying monster. And that's when Dan realised Phil could see his wings.
Helplessness overcame him like shadows onto light. "Ph-Phil," he croaked, feeling tears on his cheeks as he shuffled towards his best friend. "Phil, it's o-okay. Please don't be scared. It's me. It's Dan."
Phil scrambled backwards to get away only to meet the wall, his breathing erratic, shaky and distorted. His eyes darted over Dan's wings before meeting his eyes again. Then Phil opened his mouth, and the words that followed were strained and laced with terror. "You're not Dan."
Full summary ; Dan Howell is dead. Well, sort of. He’s a guardian angel, forced to protect only one human, and that human is Cat. But when he accompanies Cat to school, he can’t help but be intrigued by the broken boy with the black hair who sits by the window in class and disappears at lunch times. Dan realises this boy needs more protection than Cat will ever need, so he takes on human form to save him. But soon he finds himself falling in love, which is something he definitely can’t do. Dan Howell is an angel, and he’s falling for Phil.
TWs ; bullying, violence, mentions of self-harm, mentions of death/suicide, depression, panic attacks, physical and verbal abuse, homophobia, foul language and supernatural themes.
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"This separation, time and space between us for some revelation you didn't care to discuss. I'd rather be black and blue than accept that you withdrew—"
phil ;
To: dan tha man 🔥
it's been 3 days and you still haven't answered my calls [delivered - 12.11.16]
To: dan tha man 🔥
do you really expect us to stop talking? [delivered - 13.11.16]
To: dan tha man 🔥
cause i really don't want us to stop [delivered - 13.11.16]
To: dan tha man 🔥
we can't keep going like this. what if i go to uni and you still haven't decided to fucking text me back? [delivered - 14.11.16]
To: dan tha man 🔥
i'm sorry for yelling at you and bringing up bad memories, i'm so sorry. but i'm not apologising for getting assaulted if you're still salty about that cause i never WANTED it to happen [delivered - 14.11.16]
To: dan tha man 🔥
i hope you know i bloody love you (a LOT) and i don't want us to end like this [delivered - 14.11.16]
To: dan tha man 🔥
look we're both idiots but you're turning into the bigger one. please call or text me back, i love you bear [delivered - 15.11.16]
*
If a colour could describe Phil's emotions in this moment, he would choose grey. Grey like flimsy clouds on an overcast day, suspended in the sky as if by tattered threads. Grey like his mother's eyes on the days they seemed to hang from her eye sockets, emotionless and dead. Grey like his bedroom wall, which was blue in actuality, but had turned dreary and dull in the low afternoon light.
Phil's eyelids blinked softly at the bare wall, head pushed into a pillow and legs folded up near his chest. He should've felt warm – a wooly jumper encased his torso, two black socks covered his feet and the house's heater had been switched on to combat winter. But instead his bones sat frigid under his skin and he felt colder than what any icy weather could make him feel.
He'd lost the ability to cry two days ago. Either he'd simply run out of tears, or the coldness had frozen them behind his eyes. His phone was clutched tightly in one palm, dead. Phil hadn't bothered to plug in the charger when it fell flat an hour ago. What was the point? He would only use it for one reason now, but that was a lost cause. It always had been.
If he was really honest, Phil didn't blame Dan for not contacting him. The night at the party had been the knife in their relationship, and the way Phil saw it, he was the one to blame. He had his mouth all over someone else, he shouldn't have shouted at Dan on the street, he was too clingy, too annoying, he wasn't enough. Dan was right to avoid him.
Phil's eyes fluttered shut and a memory flashed behind his eyelids. The day he had first taken Dan to his hideaway in the forest – a small smile crept onto his face when he remembered the wand fight, laughing until their sides hurt. But then he recalled something Dan had said, a promise Phil had been so daft to believe.
"My sorry ass is going to stick with you until you can tell me honestly that you are okay."
Typical of Dan, he knew. But Phil wasn't okay. And Dan hadn't stuck with him. Phil drew a deep breath which came out shaky, and he turned to press his face into his pillow. You idiot, you fucking idiot, he swore at himself. Dan was never going to stay with you.
Why had he let himself believe for one second that he was worth being loved?
His messages and calls to Dan had been pointless. Phil knew by now he would never get a reply. He didn't deserve one, not after all he'd done to ruin their relationship. He deserved nothing, not even his friends and family.
For years, Phil had seen himself as a dead weight. Unnecessary, disposable, a burden that would gladly be thrown away. For years it seemed as though everyone wanted to abandon him. But now one thing had changed – he wanted to get rid of himself.
It seemed all too easy. Now that Dan was gone, what else was he living for?
Phil huffed and flopped onto his back, roughly dragging his hands over his face. He barely noticed the hole in his stomach, left empty with no proper food for two days. The bedroom was dark, the blinds drawn, coaxing shadows out of their corners. He usually loved his room to be clean and clear of any mess, but dirty clothes were strewn across the carpet, his bed was unmade and half of his belongings had probably gone missing by now. It wasn't like Phil to throw himself into such a mess, but maybe if he hadn't allowed himself to get attached he'd never be in it in the first place.
Thoughts and discussions about the future had been abandoned. Pitying messages from friends had been ignored. "Moving on" was a phrase Phil found very difficult to even think about. Because despite everything, his optimistic side managed to grasp that sliver of hope that maybe things would work out in the end.
Phil missed Dan. That was why he tried so hard to believe in a happy ending. Phil missed Dan so dreadfully it seemed impossible to do anything else. He missed the feeling of Dan's warm fingers entwined with his own or threading gently through his hair; he missed the way Dan's caramel eyes would shine when he grinned and gave that obnoxiously loud laugh of his; he missed how easy it was to make him blush, and the way he'd find any excuse for them to touch – whether it be legs squished together, a hand on his arm or resting his head upon his shoulder. Phil missed simply having Dan around, as his presence was enough to make him feel at ease. He missed having someone to confide in, someone to lean on, someone whose hugs were really all Phil needed to feel better. He missed –
A soft knock on the bedroom door tore him from his thoughts. Phil blinked and reluctantly pushed himself up on the bed, running his fingers through his fringe to neaten it. "Um...who is it?" he asked, wincing when his voice came out cracked and croaky.
"Daisy," a small voice replied. "Can I come in?"
Phil relaxed a bit and allowed his sister to enter. He watched the door slowly swing open to reveal a pair of wide blue eyes and fingers picking timidly at the hem of a top. Daisy took one look at Phil before hurrying over and clambering up into his lap. Phil frowned sadly, helping her up and hugging two arms around her small waist. "What's up, Daze?" he asked, leaning round to look at her.
The child sighed and rested her cheek against Phil's chest. "When is Dan gonna visit again?"
Phil bit down on his bottom lip, heart breaking at the sadness in her tone. It looked like she missed him as well. "Daisy..." he started helplessly. "I don't...m-maybe someday."
"What even happened to him? Did you guys break up?"
Phil hadn't really told Daisy anything about their split or break or whatever it was. He hesitated in replying, furiously blinking back tears he didn't know he still had. To have someone else even mention it made it all seem much more real. "Well, it's a little hard to explain," he said quietly.
Curling her fists around his jumper, Daisy let out a small whine and squeezed her eyes shut. "I don't want you guys to break up," she whimpered.
"Oh Daisy, no, we're not – we're not breaking up," Phil rushed to comfort her, holding her tighter. "It's okay, everything's going to be fine. Dan and I are okay. Please don't be upset." He ran his hands up and down her arms to calm her down, wishing he could swipe away her unhappiness as well.
"I want Dan to come back so – so he can play dolls with me again," she murmured, pouting. "He was really good at making funny voices."
Phil couldn't help but chuckle quietly, remembering the few times when Dan had come over and Daisy had begged for them to play with her. It wasn't as bad as it sounded. They always had a fun time creating some absurd narrative with Daisy's dolls – and Dan's silly voices always made Daisy laugh. Phil often gave him fond looks in those moments, seeing how good Dan was with kids. "His voice for Mr Hubert was the best, don't you think?" he said, thinking of Daisy's stuffed duck.
"Yeah, that was really funny," Daisy giggled. "What about–?"
Their conversation was interrupted by a second knock on the door. Phil straightened up and hastily wiped his eyes just before Mrs Lester stepped into the room. She took one look at the pair cuddling on Phil's bed, and her face fell. "There you two are," she said softly, moving closer. "How are you feeling, Phil?"
Phil shrugged. "I haven't improved," he mumbled.
"Oh, honey." His mother brushed her fingers over his fringe and cupped his cheek, staring down at him sadly while Phil refused to meet her eyes. She hesitated, opening her mouth to speak but apparently thinking better of it. Then she said, "You know, it's not good for your health to be holed up in your room all day. At least come into the lounge, have a snack?"
Phil felt his stomach clench at the words. "I-I'm not hungry."
"You're never hungry, Phil," his mum sighed, and straightened up. Phil flinched at her sudden patronizing tone. "Please get out of your bedroom. I can't stand seeing you like this. Daisy, you too, come and eat something."
Phil let his sister slide off his lap, staring down numbly at the dusty carpet. Through his peripherals, he watched his mother follow Daisy out of the room, not moving himself. He wished all these emotions would just dispel from his mind and heart, that someone would take them all away. Ironic how Dan would usually be that someone, when he'd also caused them in the first place. No, not him. It was you, he told himself bitterly.
He ended up trailing behind his mum down the hall, thudding down the staircase and coming to a halt in the kitchen doorway. His eyes scanned over the fruit bowl bearing apples, bananas and grapes of assorted colours; a bread loaf wrapped in plastic sitting on the bench; and the array of foods sitting snug in the fridge when Mrs Lester opened it. After two days of eating nothing substantial, the endless food churned his stomach like butter. Before his mother could say anything, he left, slumping into a seat at the dining table. Daisy soon joined him.
Moments later there came the sound of keys rattling against the metal handle of the front door. Phil's heart jumped in fear when the door swung open and crashed shut, and heavy footsteps bored holes in the floorboards. He knew exactly who it was.
Stephen passed the open dining room and went straight into the lounge; this time he reeked of rage rather than alcohol.
"You're home early from work," Mrs Lester called out, stepping out of the kitchen.
Phil chanced a glance over his shoulder, watching as his stepdad collapsed into an armchair and ran a hand through his thinning hair.
"Got fired," Stephen snapped in reply.
Mrs Lester stilled, as did Phil and Daisy. The mood in the house was tense, as if it could be sliced in half with a knife. Stephen let out a low sigh.
"Well...you'll have to start looking for–" Mrs Lester began slowly, but was cut short by her husband.
"You think I don't fucking know that?" Stephen barked, shoving off the chair. "You know, why don't you get a job, Annabel? I'm the only one fucking doing things around here–"
"I do have a job, Stephen," Phil's mum replied calmly.
"And that one pays terrifically, doesn't it? Maybe if you and everyone else under this roof worked a little harder we might have a better roof." Stephen rounded the chair and strode towards Mrs Lester. Phil held his breath as his stepdad backed his mother against the wall and glared daggers at her.
"St-Stephen, please, you were just fired. How about–?"
Stephen jabbed a finger into Mrs Lester's chest. "Don't fucking remind me. You listen. I'm sick of being treated like the villain here. Who's the one paying for the food and electricity that comes into the house? Who's supporting this shitty family? Who's – who's paying their fucking education!"
Phil blanched as Stephen turned and thrust his finger at him and Daisy, glowering down at them. And then suddenly the man's mood shifted as his eyes focused upon Phil, and a smirk twisted his rough features. "Well. I see the faggot has rejoined the family," he said viciously. "Are you finished being depressed, you useless idiot?"
"Don't talk to him like that, Stephen," Mrs Lester growled, but it was of no help. Stephen's words were already drilling holes in Phil's heart, swirling like storm clouds in his brain.
Phil's eyes dropped to the floor as he mulled over the words. Finished being depressed. Shut up, shut up, it doesn't work like that.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you, Phil," Stephen said in a suddenly calm tone. He crossed into the dining room and came to stop behind Phil's chair.
Phil swallowed heavily and lifted his eyes to meet his stepfather's. Immediately Stephen threw out his hand and seized Phil by the chin with calloused fingers, yanking his gaze upwards. Terror stirred in the pit of Phil's stomach.
"What's up with you anyway?" Stephen snarled. "Can't you be grateful for everything you already have? There's nothing to be sad about, you piece of shit. You've got a privileged life with food and water – appreciate it."
The urge to correct him became stuck in Phil's throat, but Mrs Lester stepped forward. "Stephen, don't do this. Please just–"
"Depression isn't that bad, faggot. Get over it," Stephen continued. "But I've heard of a cure. You know, killing yourself."
"Stephen!" Mrs Lester shouted as Phil sunk back into his seat, tears springing up unanticipated.
"Annabel, please, I'm just kidding. Calm down," Stephen cried, whirling around to face his wife.
The rest of their argument drained away as Phil focused on the table centrepiece, a vase of wilted roses. The roses Dan had gifted him for formal. The outside petals were browning and shriveled; a few littered the surface of the table, nothing but shrunken curls of burgundy by now. Phil sniffed, staring sadly at the drooping stems and withered leaves until his vision blurred. That phrase repeated over and over in his mind. Kill yourself kill yourself kill yourself.
Would he even have the courage to do so?
Stephen was right, in a way, Phil realized. Suicide wasn't necessarily a cure for depression, but it did end it. Phil had no idea what would come after death, but surely it would be better than the life he lived now?
He watched the dead roses tremble when Stephen took a heavy step. It seemed cruel to let them remain on the dining table, when they had grown limp and faded. They were decaying within the glass vase, and weren't doing anyone any good. They ought to be thrown out. Phil dragged his hands over his eyes, wiping away any moisture, before reaching forward and wrapping his fingers around the stems. Then he stood, shoving back his chair. Daisy had disappeared and the shouting spat from his parents' mouths were muffled as Phil made his way numbly towards the front door. The green waste bin was outside somewhere – the roses were better off in there, he thought. That way no one would be disgusted when they looked upon them.
Before he reached the front door, however, he slipped into the first floor bathroom and glanced down at the cupboards below the basin. His heart gained speed, skipping beats as it thumped wildly against his chest. Phil crouched and pulled open the doors, eyes scanning desperately over the forest of various soaps and medication. There had to be something...
Phil zeroed in on a small bottle of Advil, pressed against the left wall. He hesitated, chewing on his bottom lip as he stared at the blue label. Just in case, he told himself, grabbing the bottle and stuffing it into his jean pocket. Just in case.
No one noticed when he walked out, shutting the door softly on his way out. Phil passed the waste bin and dumped the roses inside, shivering as a spiteful breeze buffeted his jumper. He paused, releasing a small sigh and glancing around the empty street. He never wanted to go back inside.
"But I've heard of a cure. You know, killing yourself."
Where would he go? Somewhere no one would find him. Phil frowned before remembering his hideaway again. It was perfect. The only other person who knew about it was Dan, and Dan obviously wasn't going to visit any time soon. Phil sniffled and shoved his hands in his pockets, taking off down the path.
The street was deathly silent, save for a single car that sped past. But Phil's heart thudded so fast he swore it bounced off the buildings and echoed in his ears. Would he ever come back? Was there a need?
Maybe he would, but instead of returning himself someone might be carrying his limp, lifeless body. No, he thought suddenly. You're better than that. Don't think about it don't think about it.
But it was hard when the bottle of Advil sat in his pocket like a dismal weight.
It didn't take very long to make it into town. From there it was only another five minutes to reach the school. What day was it again? Phil went to dig out his phone, but found his back pocket empty. Shit. He'd left it at home with no charge. He had the feeling it was a Saturday anyway, meaning the school would be hopefully completely empty.
No one spared him a second glance as Phil weaved through passers-by, although he knew he looked like a train wreck. He glanced in the reflective windows of a store, and sure enough there hung the black bags, sunken cheeks and unchanging frown. Not to mention the shadowy shades of his clothes. Phil almost couldn't recognize himself.
"Depression isn't that bad, fag. Get over it."
He needed to get to his hideaway. It was one of the few places where he felt calm. Then he could rest and think and – and...Phil shook his head and kept walking, running his fingers through his fringe. Stress clawed at his insides like a rabid animal, creeping up his throat, making his fingers twitch. His lungs felt constricted – someone had wrapped rope around them and pulled hard. All Phil could think about was what Stephen had said, what Dan had said, what everyone had done to him. All he could see were the black spots dropping like paint splatters in the corners of his vision, all he could feel was the Advil in his pocket.
His stomach thundered and suddenly his knees felt weak. He wanted to pass out. He should've eaten something.
Phil rounded a corner, using the wall of a building to keep himself upright. He trailed his fingers along the brickwork, walking past the local newsagent. Two people were having a conversation under the awning; Phil hurried past them, eyes cast to the concrete. But for a moment they flitted up, catching on a name that was all too familiar. Dan Howell.
Phil's eyebrows creased as he studied the first newspaper in its pile on a rack. His eyes scanned the headline, and suddenly he wanted to throw up despite the emptiness in his stomach.
INVESTIGATIONS INTO DAN HOWELL'S DEATH REOPENED
His legs buckled. Phil grasped the newspaper rack desperately and reached for the first paper. His hands quivered, his heart was skipping beats every second, he couldn't distinguish any of the thoughts in his mind.
It didn't make sense, it didn't make sense. How could Dan be dead?
Phil read the first paragraph on the front page, eyes slowly starting to blur, merging the words together.
Dan Howell, aged 18, was found crushed to death by his car in a ditch off Durham Way several months ago. After originally being labelled as a fatal accident, police have now discovered new evidence suggesting possible suicide. At this point things are still uncertain. "All I want is closure," his mother stated recently. "I want to be able to move on from this." There is little reason yet known as to why Howell would commit suicide, however...
Phil slammed the newspaper face-down in the rack, blinking back tears. He sucked in a shaky breath. Crushed to death by his car...But – Phil had seen him a few days ago. No, he'd spoken to him, laughed with him, loved him for months. It was impossible for him to be dead. This had to be someone else, it couldn't be anything but a big coincidence. There was no way Dan had died, not when Phil had kissed him and held his hand and taken him to formal. Not when he'd seen him grin, listened to his breathing.
Phil couldn't understand. He shoved away from the rack and stumbled down the sidewalk. He couldn't breathe. The rope had tightened around his lungs. Feet carrying him somewhere he didn't know, men and women passing him by without so much as a glance, wind pushing back his hair and chilling the tears on his cheeks.
He couldn't think. He didn't want to think anymore. All he wanted silence, relief, an ending to this confusing story of his. He remembered the Advil in his pocket. Would 10 be enough? Was it painful? He didn't care. He had to reach his hideout.
But then someone came into view up ahead – no, a group of people – and Phil's world seemed to collapse.
It was Finn, surrounded by his friends. Before Phil could even register them properly the boy's eyes had landed upon him and the group was moving towards him. Menacing smiles twisted their faces and Phil couldn't move. No, not now, why now?
He tried to run, but it was too late. Alfie and Joe had vice-like grips on his arms and they were dragging him forward into a thin alleyway between two buildings. Finn and the rest of them followed. Phil struggled against their hold, trying to regain control over his broken breaths. No, no, no, they couldn't be here, this couldn't still be happening...
The two boys shoved him violently against the cold ground and pain bored into his back like daggers, making Phil cry out. He tried to push himself up with trembling hands but someone pushed him down again.
"There, we found him," a voice snapped. "Go on then, Finn. Show us you aren't a dirty faggot like this one."
Reluctantly Phil raised his head and his eyes met Finn's as the boy loomed above him, casting a shadow over him. For a split second remorse seemed to flash across Finn's eyes but suddenly it was gone. All that remained was cold, hard malevolence and Phil couldn't register a thought before a boot buried deep into his ribs and pain blossomed fresh and sharp.
And if anyone heard his cries, they didn't come to his aid.
