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It’s snowing. In fact, snowing is probably a large understatement; it’s more of less the beginnings of a blizzard now, and as Phil looks outside the cabin window he realises that it’s one of those snow storms that starts, and won’t stop for some time.
The once beautiful green landscape that he’d watch from this very window is now blanketed in white. The entire world outside is a mostly cold white, and if Phil were to squint his eyes, even real tight, he’d still have a problem trying to make anything out.
He almost jumps out of his skin when he feels a hand land hard on his shoulder. He spins around with a gasp and is of course greeted with Dan’s face, clearly looking proud of himself for such an easy scare.
Phil should know better of course. He grips his shirt just above the heart where it’s returning back from its racing rate, and scowls at him as best he can.
“Dick,” he mutters under his breath just as Dan giggles. “Don’t do that again,” he says, turning back around to face the window again. He’s not sure why, he just likes to watch the world seemingly disappear under the snow like this.
Dan hums, his arms slide around the back of Phil’s waist and he feels his chin dig into his shoulder where his head rests.
“Sorry baby,” Dan says, and Phil doesn’t have to look at Dan to know the look he’s giving him; the pouty baby eyed look that Phil gets a little weak at the knees for.
He smiles despite himself.
“You’re so mean, you know that?” Phil says as he slips out of Dan’s hold to turn to him. He wraps his arms around Dan’s neck and looks right at him.
“I’m mean when I’m bored,” Dan says, his fingers come up to play with the buttons of his collar.
“I take you to a beautiful winter resort and you tell me you’re bored?” Phil says, voice pitching up a little as he quirks his brows at him.
Of course, he’s not really upset or hurt, he’s merely poking fun and Dan knows that too.
“Okay, maybe bored isn’t the right word,” Dan says with a shrug, looking at Phil again. “It’s just that yes , we’re stuck in this cabin for the whole day probably, and whilst it’s a little cold outside and warm in here, you’re insisting on watching the window instead of you know…”
Phil does know. He really really does know. He likes to pretend he doesn’t though, just to see how far he can wind Dan up.
“Instead of what?” He frowns, feigning his best innocent look that is known to gain a reaction out of Dan, and it does when he lets out a whine and a moan and then a laugh.
“Shut up,” Dan shakes his head at him. “Shut up or I’m kicking you out outside into the snow.”
Phil licks his lips as he grins. “Does that mean I get to make snow angels?” He says in a quiet voice.
Dan’s arms snake around the back of his neck, his arms rest there as he pulls him in closer.
“We can do that,” Dan whispers, leaning in for a kiss. It’s slow and warm despite the chills it sends running through Phil’s body.
“Or you do do my stuff,” Dan adds on once they’ve pulled away. “Do what I wanna do instead.”
Phil laughs, loud enough to take a step back. “Do your stuff ?” He asks, and Dan rolls his eyes.
“You know what I mean. I’m trying to be sexy,” he pouts.
Phil reaches over and prods at his full bottom lip where it juts out.
Dan swats his hand away with a scowl. “Come on,” he grabs his hand and begins to pull him along. “You’re gonna warm me up and you’re gonna enjoy it.”
Phil snorts as he happily follows, being led straight to the bedroom with a march.
He supposes it is a perfectly good way to warm up.
And twenty minutes later when Phil is laying on his back, chest heaving and a thin layer of sweat covering his naked body, he agrees that it was indeed a fantastic way to keep warm.
Dan seems to agree as he rolls onto his side and props himself up on one elbow and looks down at where Phil is starfished on the bed, body still tingling from the feeling of love and sex and want.
“How about we go snuggle by the fire?” Dan suggests. His finger trace through the sparse chest hair on his body and he shivers with it.
“You want snuggles?” Phil asks, stretching his legs out down to the toes.
Dan hums, running his hand through his curls. They sit unruly on top of his head, a complete mess. Phil loves it.
“You shower,” Phil tells him sitting up over Dan. “I’ll get the fire ready, yeah?”
Dan smiles, his dimple deep in his cheek and Phil has the urge to lean over and kiss it. So he does. Dan laughs breathily and sleepily.
Phil pats his naked thigh, hearing the satisfying slap of skin on skin before he swings his legs over the bed and stands.
“Towels are in the bathroom,” Phil tells him as he walks across the room to grab at his clothes that had managed to make a mess on the floor.
Dan hums again, laying on his back and giving his body a final stretch. “You’re so modest, letting me shower first. You could always join me you know?” He cocks an eyebrow at where he’s still laying on the bed.
Phil huffs a laugh as he wobbles to get each leg into his pants whilst standing up. His joggers are next then, a hoodie over his bare chest.
“You smell, go shower before we snuggle. I think we need firewood anyway.”
Dan grunts. “No fun,” he mutters as he gets up and out of bed finally.
Phil slaps his nude ass as he walks away out of the room and Dan gives a hearty giggle and shriek before flipping him off and running out.
Phil finds two odd socks, deems them good enough as he slips them on and then shoves his feet into the boots he brought just for the trip.
He grabs his coat and heads to the other room where it’s confirmed that they are out of firewood.
There’s a hut just outside that houses all the pre-chopped logs, thank god , since he’s sure the pair of them trying to cut logs into halves would have been an utter disaster as well as somewhat hilarious.
He calls out to Dan that’s he’s heading out, he gets a grunt in response as the shower starts up and he closes the door listening to running water.
As soon as he steps outside he’s hit with the biting cold. The wind nips at his skin, the blizzard showing no mercy to his poor frail body as he wraps his arms around himself in an attempt to keep warm as he makes the journey down the once visible path from the cottage to the shed.
The landscape as far as Phil can see, is all trees and mountains. It’s so secluded here, he gets the uncontrollable urge to scream at the top of his lungs since he’s sure nobody would hear him.
He pauses at the shed, and a smile overtakes him. He tips his head back, snow catching in his eyelashes and he feels the bubble up inside him.
Balling his hands into fists by his sides, he lets out a roaring scream. It’s hoarse and loud and it echoes off the trees. He hears it ring out around the mountains until the wind carries it for a few more seconds before it disappears into the air; it feels good. A good weird and a good strange. He laughs to himself as he get the the shed and opens it to find the logs waiting for him.
He hauls as many logs as he can in his arms, a fair few which is all he’ll need, and he kicks the shed door shut. The wind slams it hard and it makes Phil jump, almost dropping the logs.
As he struggles with the wood in his arms, wadling slightly to make it back to the door, he wonders if he looks as sexy as he’d envisioned; lumberjack dad type hauling wood for a fire.
Probably not as he almost trips over his own feet getting the front door open before kicking it behind him with his heel.
Phil manages to bring it to the front living room before his weak arms give in, and he drops the wood onto the rug beside the fireplace and lets out a huff.
He gathers it and shoves it into the fireplace, ready to be lit.
He can still hear the shower running just a few rooms away.
He grabs the firestarters off the mantelpiece, and grabs a couple of sheets of newspaper in the basket provided for them. He sets up the screen before lighting the match and throwing it in. The flames dance and flicker and catch onto the logs, but it soon dies out.
He frowns, watching the fire only grow smaller and the heat it emits becomes weaker.
He remembers the owners telling him something about damp logs having a harder time at catching. He prods one with his finger carefully, only to find it gone a little soft and soggy from the snow. He sighs. He’ll have to go back out for more wood; something more dry and solid.
He stands up and rubs his hands together. The newspaper makes a few small sparks but he turns around and promises himself that he is going to get this fire working before Dan is out of the shower.
He heads towards the door and stops. The door is ajar, and a little trail of snow has trailed inside.
He sighs, knowing Dan is probably going to tell him off for keeping the door open, even though he’s sure that he’d shut it behind him despite the struggle.
He opens the door, kicking the melting snow out as best as he can when he feels his heart freeze over as fast as the ice outside.
In the snow in his footprints, leading up to the shed and back again, wobbled and all over the place. Coming from behind the shed in a second pair of printed feet.
He feels his blood run cold, eyes following the bigger, longer footprints in the snow beside his until they disappear at the door.
A gasp catches in his throat, and before he can understand what’s happened, it’s all too late. He feels something heavy swing at the back of his head, and hears a grunt belonging to a voice that he doesn’t recognise. He’s falling to the floor before he can figure it out.
*
When Phil wakes, he has a burst of pain at the back of his skull. It throbs and burns and he gives a whimper of pain before he realises where he is and what he’s doing.
He’s in the living room, he’s laying on the floor and when he sits up, he feels his heart beat hard in his chest when everything suddenly comes rushing back to him.
He hears a sob and a choke beside him, and he whips his head around so fast he feels like his head might fly off.
Dan is sat on the floor, his legs are pulled to his chest and he’s sobbing, eyes red and sore looking. He has a large bruise on his elbow and it takes a moment for Phil to register that he’s completely stark naked, little droplets of water roll over his icy skin.
He’s shivering too, like a damn leaf.
Phil throws his coat off, scrambling over to Dan and urging to put it on to keep him from freezing to death.
Dan shakes his head, whimpering and looking at Phil with pleading eyes.
Phil’s heart sinks, and he’s about to ask him what the hell is going on when he hears a clattering in the kitchen.
Dan shakes again, and Phil is unsure if it’s from the cold or from the fear of whoever is in their holiday cottage.
Phil looks towards the direction of the kitchen, heart flying into his throat.
He looks back to Dan who’s still crying into his knees.
“Dan,” Phil whispers. “Dan, put this on, please, you’re freezing.”
Dan shudders, looking at Phil like he’s made an awful mistake, and before Phil can say anything more, heavy footsteps come from behind him.
He goes still, and so does Dan, somehow shrinking even further behind his knees and giving a scared little sob.
Phil looks up and sees the figure standing over him.
He’s hooded in all black, a cloak shrouded over his body with a material that looks like sheep’s wool.
The figure is built like a tank, broad as a mountain and as tall as a tree, probably standing at an impressive eight foot.
He grins at Phil, flashing him his teeth and Phil scoots back from him, still gripping the coat in his hands as tight as possible.
The figure looks at him for a moment, before he reaches down towards Phil. He hears Dan’s breath hitch but the figure simple plucks the coat from Phil’s hands and Phil happily lets go; he’s not willing to die over his fucking parka coat for God’s sake.
Phil may be tall and gangly and the coat is a little longer than he is, but the figure holds the coat in his hands, build like shovels and fingers large and fat like sausages, and the coat looks tiny in comparison.
The figure makes another grunting sound before he takes the coat in both hands, holding it up by the arms, and in one swift motion, he tears it in half. Little clumps of fluff fall delicately to the ground, and the person makes a seemingly pleased sound of satisfaction at their work. He drops the coat , dropping it right beside Phil’s feet, watches it for a moment before he turns around and heads out of the room again back to the kitchen. It makes an angry noise and both Dan and Phil flinch before they hear the sound of it ransacking the cupboards and fridge.
Dan curls up even tighter on himself and Phil finds himself scooting over to him, placing a hand on his bare knee. He’s cold to the touch.
Dan still says nothing and Phil feels so frightened he might want to cry too. But he doesn’t, for the sake of not falling apart, he does his best to keep it all together, and looks around the room in desperation.
Their phones are likely back in the bedroom, as well as any clothes for Dan, and right now after seeing what had happened to his coat so easily, Phil doesn’t think risking sneaking back into their room would be a smart move.
Surely he’s just as fragile as the coat once was. He doesn’t want that, obviously.
“Dan,” Phil whispers, voice low enough that he’s confident that he can't be heard.
Dan looks up at him, his face blotchy, tears and snot smeared over his face, and Phil’s heart breaks at the sight.
His hand is still on his knee, his thumb gently runs over the cold skin there.
“Are you alright?” Phil asks, and even though he understands how stupid it sounds even in his own head, he knows he needs to ask.
“It.. it didn’t hurt you, did it?” Phil asks and Dan shakes his head before he looks down at his bruised elbow. Phil reaches out to touch at it carefully.
“I’m fine. Fucking freezing, but fine.” Dan finally speaks, and hearing his voice is enough to calm at least some of Phil’s nerves.
Phil reaches up and wipes away one of the tears rolling down his face. “We’re going to be okay,” Phil tells him. He’s not sure if that’s true, or what is really going to happen, but he needs to say it out loud, even if neither of them believe it’s the truth.
Sometimes it’s all about speaking things into existence.
Dan gives a half smile, more tears roll down his cheeks like they won't even stop, and Phil touches his skin there. He’s so cold and shaky and Phil is about to offer his hoodie to him, even if it means he’ll be half naked too, but they jump apart when there’s a loud crashing sound in the kitchen.
Phil is quick to slide away from Dan, no matter how much he wants to stay, and he looks at Dan with a look that holds a thousand words. A look that tells him that he’ll do everything he can for them to be okay, that he’ll protect Dan with his life knowing Dan would do the same for him.
And without a single word uttered past their lips, Dan nods, a silent understanding between them both.
The heaviness of the feet come up again behind Phil and he finds his body going tense as he listens to the heavy thud, thud of each agonisingly slow step come down on the floor.
The footsteps finally stop at Dan, and when Phil looks up, craning his neck to reach the very top, he sees him looming over Dan.
Dan gulps and with that the monster grabs Dan by the arm and is yanking him up. Phil yells, but it’s effortless as Dan is pulled like a ragdoll, feet slipping beneath him as he struggles to gain any balance, and he lets out a whimper when the figure brings him to the other side of the room.
Phil feels a concoction of emotion suddenly flare up inside him, most is fierce and anger, and he finds himself standing on shaky feet, letting out a scream, just like he’d done earlier outside the wood shed.
He runs at the monster who still has a hold of Dan, who’s cowering away like a frightened puppy, and as Phil screams, voice scratchy and hoarse he brings his arms up ready to attack. He knows in his head that he’s too small, too weak and too scared to do any real kind of damage on this beast, but he runs, arms up in the air, and he hears Dan’s plead - he’s not sure who it’s aimed for, but his voice squeezes out a desperate,
“Please!”
And it’s the last thing Phil hears as an arm as heavy and as long as a tree trunk comes swinging into his middle as he’s sent flying through the air. His head is filled with white noise as he falls, and it feels like forever until he’s crashing down, head smacking against the floorboards with a crack and before he has time to register the pair of Dan’s scream, the world fades to black, and he’s sucked underneath it all.
*
When Phil wakes a second time, the world has shifted from evening to night time.
Phil gets up with a groan. The house is quiet and dark as well as cold. He spots his poor coat on the floor, torn in half still.
He sits up with a groan feeling the growing pain bloom upside his head. He gingerly touches it and pulls his fingers away to reveal the tips are a sticky red.
He grimaces, feeling a little sick before the events before he’d been knocked out come rushing to him, knocking into him like a tidal wave, and he’s standing up so fast he gets dizzy.
The room sways but he doesn’t care. The house is too quiet.
He yells Dan’s name.
“Dan!”
His voice doesn’t sound like his; there’s too much fear laced between each letter that tumbles out of his mouth in a panicked frenzy, and he starts to run.
He runs, room to room calling out a name so familiar to him, it doesn’t deserve to have the tone of fear associated with it. He wants Dan to be alright; he needs Dan to be alright.
But Dan isn’t here. Phil is left, alone and cold and he cries.
He sinks to the floor and sobs and sobs and sobs until his head hurts even more, and his hands curl into fists and he bangs them into the floor beneath him.
Tears splatter onto the floorboards beneath him, wood now smeared under the watery evidence of his failure to protect Dan, and Phil only cries harder.
He can’t let this happen. He doesn’t really know what had happened and why but he couldn’t let anything else happen.
He suddenly remembers his phone that was lying on the bed last, and on wobbly legs, he stands and makes a beeline for it.
He grabs it and with a trembling thumb, he makes three attempts to unlock it until it finally works and euphoria rises up in him as his screen comes to life, only to have it washed away as it shows he has no signal.
He screams again, ripping from the back of his throat where it’s sore and he looks around at what to do.
If he can’t call for help, he’ll go out and find it.
He’ll find Dan, no matter what. He promised him things would be okay, and he intends on keeping that promise.
He throws on whatever clothes he can find that are fit enough for the weather outside. His hands shake and make it harder to push the button through the coat he’s wearing, which is Dan’s coat, and a few tears blur his vision as he slips his gloves over his fingers and he lets the tears fall before wiping them away.
Phone safe in his zipper pocket he leaves with no hesitation. He heads straight for the door and yanks it open with as much strength he can muster.
The freezing cold air smacks him right in the face and he already feels cold to the bone but he goes nonetheless.
The snow is thick underneath his boots, and he has to push to get through it, coming up halfway his shins, but he wraps his arms around him like a sad kind of hug and carries on moving.
He finally passes the woodshed and he lets out a sad sob, lost to the whipping wind around him.
His heart catches in his throat when he peers at the logs, untouched and unused, when in reality they should be burning in the fireplace right now, as Phil curled up to Dan, fingers threading through his curls.
They’re not though, because their sweet little vacation to the mountains had turned into a literal nightmare.
He’s about to move on, trudge forward (where to, he’s not sure) but he stops when his eyes catch onto the axe that’s laying at the back beside some i chopped logs.
His breath catches.
He doesn’t spend any more time wondering if what he’s doing a good idea when he makes his way to the shed and plucks the axe up off the floor with a strength he didn’t know he possessed until now.
He’s marching out of the shed, a grip so tight on the axe that he’s sure his knuckles are white beneath his gloves, and he leaves the shed in the direction of the hills before he can think twice about it.
*
Phil isn’t sure where he is. He knows he’s on the side of the mountain, yes. He knows he’s in the middle of a blizzard, obviously. But he doesn’t know where Dan is, and that scares him.
He’s still trudging through thick snow, so cold his skin feels like ice, and every time he blinks, he winces, only for the pain of moving his face to hurt him even more.
There’s no footprints to follow; the blizzard has covered any kind of tracks that had been left behind, and as Phil wanders aimlessly, he begins to doubt himself.
He still had a hold of his axe, although it’s heavy on his weak arms and the further he goes on, the more tired he becomes.
He’s telling himself that he’s tired because of the emotional turmoil he’s been put through — tired because he’s wading through thick snow that he has to physically push through it. He doesn’t think about how he might be tired because that’s what happens to most people out in the cold before they freeze to death.
He keeps thinking of Dan; he can’t let him down, not now, and he feels himself begin to cry at the thought of him. Alone, cold. Possibly hurt, or worse.
He shivers just as a gust of wind hits him in the face and it stings against his wet cheeks.
He’s lost. Everything looks the same; a blanket of fuzzy white with a few tall trees.
Phil knows how much Dan hates the trees, he’d even said it when they got here, and it makes Phil keep pushing on.
But his legs give way and he collapses into the snow. It feels like his body is submerged in ice cold water and he lets out a yelp.
Ice makes its way down his back somehow and his skin retaliates as he squirms to stop the freezing water drop down his skin.
Obviously, his efforts are futile as it bites at his poor, cold and wet skin.
He drops the axe and starts to shudder with the cold overtaking him.
He didn’t want to die on this mountain, alone, and he didn’t want the same fate to be said about Dan.
He doesn’t know, he realises as he falls deeper into the snow.
He doesn’t know what became of Dan. He lays on his back, his clothes dampen as the wet cold snow seeps in.
He stares up at the sky; a sky unrecognisable in its white blurry mist.
He remembers what the sky looked like in London, what it looked like on the Isle of Man. He remembers it in different states of America, in Jamaica and Portugal and Greece and Blackpool.
He remembers those skies— he remembers how he’d tip his head back, look up and see what it looked like. Sometimes it was blue, sometimes it was orange and pink and cloudy and rainy and sometimes it was plain and unimaginative.
But this sky doesn’t even look like a sky, he thinks.
It’s nothingness. It’s empty and void and Phil wonders for a moment if he actually died back in the cottage when he smacked his head, because the sky doesn’t feel real when he’s lying on his back in the snow.
Tears fall down his cheeks and he sniffs, a sharp pain radiates through his body at the notion but he doesn’t care anymore.
He closes his eyes and dreams of another vacation. A different place in the globe that Phil and Dan had touched upon.
He wishes he was someplace now; the Greek Islands with Bryony or Florida with his dad.
He lets out a weak sob and remembers how freeing it had felt to stand outside and scream at the top of his lungs.
All these mountains and all this open space and he’s never felt more trapped.
He lays there, still and shivering and feeling the sensation of death creep over him, when his lungs burn; an itch needed to he scratched and he grits his teeth with frustration and he lets out a scream.
The scream is long and loud and scratchy and when all the air in his lungs is pushed out into the open air, his body starts to burn.
It doesn’t feel as good as Phil wishes it would feel. Nothing like a nice toasty fire, but it burns quickly and fades just as fast.
He lays in the snow and closes his eyes, feeling the wet pitter-patter of snowfall over his face.
He lays there and awaits death.
But it doesn’t come. Death doesn’t show its face and sink it’s teeth into his chest. Instead, he hears a noise come somewhere in the wind.
He’s unsure at first, opening his eyes and frowning; the sky is still the same as he lays there and wonders if maybe it’s his own scream still echoing across the mountains, but he hears it again and sits up with a gasp trapped in his throat.
It sounds somewhat like Dan.
He scrambles to his feet which have gone numb now and he shakes off the snow on his shoulders as his heart pounds and he whips his head to see if he can figure out where it came from.
The noise disappears into the wind and his heart begins to sink in his chest.
“No,” he whispers in disbelief. He was so close and yet he’d lost it. He couldn’t. He couldn’t lose it again.
Then, out of nowhere, there was another strangled yell
Phil picks up his axe, snatching it up with tingling fingers and runs.
He runs as fast as he can; snow flicks up into his face and he almost trips a few times but he runs. There’s no more screams and Phil can feel his heart kicking hard against his chest.
He runs and runs and runs until he’s at the edge of the mountain and there’s no place left to run.
He stands in the cool air and catches his breath. He looks around, unsure of where to go next.
He swallows a breath. “Dan?” He tries, voice so quiet and sad sounding that it won't be heard over the wind and snow.
Of course, there’s no voice talking back to him, and just as his body slumps in a sadness of disappointment and anger, he hears a sob.
It’s choked off and so small and Phil goes still trying to hear it, even though his heart is beating so hard, all he can really hear is the rushing of blood around his head.
He swallows thickly. “Dan?” He tries again, a little louder, a little braver this time.
There’s silence, then, finally,
“Phil?”
Phil takes a step forward towards the snow covered rocks. It’s Dan’s voice talking to him. Dans voice is here, meaning Dan is here also.
And maybe he did die back in the cabin, or maybe he died in the snow and he’s just dreaming right now, but whatever version of Dan he can get to, he’ll make sure he can actually get to him.
There at the base of the mountain is an opening. A few jagged rocks that give way and Phil’s sure his stomach is rolling so many time inside him, it might as well become a professional acrobat.
Axe in hand, he ducks under the rocks and walks inside.
It’s dark and cold in here, but as soon as his eyes adjust to the light, there he sees Dan, curled up on the wet floor, eyes wide and tired looking.
“Phil?” He squeaks, almost like he’s not sure what he’s seeing is true, and Phil feels the exact same.
“Dan.” Phil says in a sigh of shaky relief, moving his body to go towards him.
He’s still naked, this time wrapped in a blanket Phil recognises from the cabin and Phil gives a sob as he wraps his arms around him.
They’re both cold, wet and shaking and when Phil pulls back to look at him and make sure it’s really him, his heart grips tight in his chest at his blue tinted lips.
“I thought you were dead,” Dan tells him in a low voice.
Phil drops his axe and grabs at his face. “I thought you were dead,” he cries.
His body feels bruised from the heavy hit of emotion that slams into him when he realises what’s happened.
They’re alive, barely, but they’re alive and they made it.
“You need to leave,” Dan says suddenly in a dark voice, and it bursts the happiness in Phil’s chest, leaving it cold once more.
“What?” He says, face falling, and Dan blinks slowly.
“You need to leave,” he repeats himself. “It’s coming back.”
A wave of anxiety washes over him, but before he can ask what he’s talking about, Dan picks up the axe with blue shaky fingers and shoves it into Phil’s arms.
“Hide,” he whispers, and pushes Phil away with the littlest amount of energy he has.
It works though, because Phil stumbles backwards where he finds a small cave within the cave of rocks and crouches there.
His eyes are trained hard on Dan. Dan gives him a final look, a small smile ghosts across his lips before he looks away.
Phil doesn’t like this. He likes it a whole lot less when suddenly, he hears the stomping of boots that has his body running cold.
He freezes where he’s crouched, hands gripping the axe so tight it hurts.
The same figure from before enters the cave and walks at an agonising pace towards Dan.
Dan starts to tremble faster, shrinking into his blanket. It’s not warm enough for him and phil watches painfully at the slow, laboured breaths he takes as he stares up at the figure.
He stops, standing there built like a tank, hooded in his black sheepskin cloak and makes a grunting sound at Dan.
Dan whimpers and looks down at the floor.
Phil shifts where he’s crouched and looks down at his axe. It’s now or never he supposes.
The figure lifts up his tree trunk like arms and pinches at the hood and pulls it down dramatically slow.
Dan glances back up and lets out a small sob and Phil decides that now is the time. Anger and love and a mixture of emotions take over his body and he stands up, arming the axe close to his body.
He takes a deep breath and keeps his eyes on the back of the monster.
He could back out, just leave and go forever and leave Dan like Dan had said. But his eyes catch onto Dan’s briefly, and he knows that leaving this cave alone just isn’t an option.
He leaves his sanctuary and raises the axe over his head and runs. He doesn’t scream this time, not until he’s close enough to swing at the axe and he does. A scream escapes him just as the figure spins around to face him, and the air is punched out of his lungs as he looks the man in the eyes.
Except, it’s no man.
The axe lands heavy into the beasts ribs, and it lets out a roar.
It’s loud and Phil’s sure it shakes the cave. He’s rattled for a moment before he regains his posture and stares it down with all the confidence he can muster.
Phil grunts, looking at the monster. It has dark red eyes, a snouted nose and a set of teeth that have bits of flesh between them
Phil yanks the axe back out of his side, blood sprays directly into his face but he doesn’t care. The beast waves around an arm and Phil ducks, it misses him narrowly before he stands back up again.
He swings the axe again but the beast rolls around just in time for Phil to miss. The weapon thunks into the ground and it causes an ache in Phil’s arms. The beast looks at him and Phil looks back at it. He takes a deep breath and heaves the axe back up off the floor, just as the beast stands, seemingly a little wobbly but standing tall nonetheless.
The beast takes a heaving breath, it’s wound is still deep and red and Phil wipes at his face with the back of his hand and feels the warm wetness there. He scowls.
The beast lets out another roar and charges towards him. Phil stands his ground and raises the axe above his head, ready to finish this once and for all.
He swings up and hard and gives a final battle scream as he lands the axe right into its chest.
It screams too, until it stops.
It makes a gurgling sound and grabs weakly at Phil’s arm.
Phil pushes the axe in deeper gritting his teeth at the feel of squishy muscle and tissue give way at his axe.
The creatures gives one last angered yell, before it crumples like wet paper to the floor.
Phil stares down at it for a moment, before he pulls the axe out and watches the squirt of blood flow from the wound. It stains the snow beneath them in a rich deep red.
Dan makes a small sound and Phil goes to him.
He wraps his shivering body into a hug and kisses his head.
“It’s alright,” Phil whispers, holding him tight. “It’s gonna be alright.”
The snow around them continues to run red.