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Phil is tired.
Dan sees it in everything he does-the way his hands cling to his pillow during naps. The way his eyelids droop anytime they're not in eyesight of someone with a camera or someone who paid to see them. The way his feet drag slightly as they cross parking lots, convenience stores, hotel lobbies in this strange, unfamiliar country.
He's nervous about Phil. But he knows Phil can't help it. Even if he tried, Phil couldn't really stop himself.
-
He first felt it, really felt it, the first time they hugged.
Dan had barely slept the night before in a swirl of excitement and nervousness, and after a long, anxiety-ridden train ride, he had nearly leapt into Phil's arms, expecting nothing more than a hug from a new friend.
He wasn't expecting the tidal wave of peace to rush over him. All his nerves, all his stress, even his sleepiness drained out of him so quickly it was a little scary.
When Phil pulled away, he looked a little tired himself, but when he smiled down at Dan and squeezed his shoulders, and Dan felt an uncanny warmth in him like never before, he was too pleased to mention it.
“I'm so happy to be here. I just feel so-happy.” Dan had said finally, and Phil had given a breathless laugh.
“That’s the greatest thing I've ever heard.”
-
The last two nights, Phil has barely been able to get to the bed in the tour bus before falling asleep. He blames it on his motion sickness to the crew, but Martyn and Dan exchanged worried looks as they half-walk, half-carry him on each night.
“It's too much for him.” Martyn says, gritting his teeth. “Happened to Mum once after we went to our Aunt's funeral. She gave too much and then fainted in the car ride back home. Dad nearly drove off the road in a panic.”
Dan nods slowly, looking down at the other man's hands. They look similar to Phil's-same slender fingers, close freckle patterns, almost identical birthmark on the right index finger. If you put the two pairs of hands next to each other, Dan's not sure he could tell which was which.
But that's only on the outside. There's something about Phil's hands that skipped Martyn and nestled itself deep within Phil, something inexplicable, intangible, almost unbelievable.
-
Dan really puts the pieces together a year in.
Every time he touches Phil, it's like all is right with the world. The warmth and love and support from a simple hug, the rush of care from a simple high five-it makes Dan feel whole.
But that's just because Phil's nice, and kind, and funny.
It must just lead him to think that when he gets little cuts and scrapes around the flat, that they heal faster.
Or, how sometimes when the “strange people” that fill his videos flock to Phil, he makes sure to give them a handshake that always leaves them calmer and much more pleasant.
He thought that up until he was in hospital with the infection and woke up in the middle of the night with stabbing pain in his stomach.
“Morphine…” Dan groaned, and Phil shook his head.
“Doctors say you can't have any more.”
“Please, Phil, it hurts…” he whined, and Phil grit his teeth.
“You can't tell anyone about this.”
“What-”
But then Phil's hands are on his chest, and he pushes down, hard. Hard enough to hurt.
It doesn't.
Instead, sweet relief floods Dan's body-like cold water on a hot day. Starting from the chest and radiating outwards, Dan doesn't feel pain, doesn't feel anything besides his body lightly buzzing with good, love, wonderful.
He stares at Phil, wide-eyed, as he pulls off and slumps down into the hospital chair next to him, suddenly worn-out.
“Go back to sleep.” He mumbled, sighing softly and rubbing his forehead. In his newly found relief, though, he couldn’t-just sat watching as Phil nodded off, curled up tightly into himself.
Almost protectively.
-
Martyn’s throat-clearing pulls him out of his thoughts.
“He can’t keep going like this. Here’s what I’m thinking-you guys can catch a plane to the next city and get some rest in a hotel. Cornelia and I can come along too and kind of make a day out of it. You know he won’t rest unless we force him.” He chuckled weakly, pushing his hair back.
Dan nods solemnly, and the two glance over at Phil, who’s snoring softly on the couch as he curls his long body up into the fetal position. “He’s stubborn, isn’t he?”
“Always has been.” Martyn snorted and shook his head. “Even as a baby. Soon as I knew he had this, I knew it was gonna be trouble.”
-
Two nights later, after the morphine that eventually kicked in wore off and Dan had been sent home, the two sat, burrowed under the covers in Phil’s bed, and Dan finally had the nerve to ask about what had happened.
“My grandma had all kinds of stuff. Could see the future in her dreams. Could always tell when the milk had gone off in the fridge without even opening the door. And…this.” He had murmured, moving to run a finger over the small incision and nodding as Dan hummed softly in response to the slight warmth soothing the wound.
“So, you can heal people?”
“Mm, kinda. Small stuff is easy. Big stuff, I can take away the pain for a bit, but it wears me out if it's too big or something that'll take too long.” He admits.
“How hard was it to make me feel better in the hospital bed?”
Phil squirms a little at that, looking to the side.
“Doesn't matter.” He says finally. “Made you feel better, didn't it?”
-
The next meet and greet is torturous for Dan.
They hug everyone who wants to be hugged, and stay cheerful the whole time.
But he can't help but notice Phil's shaky handwriting, or how he subtly leans against the picture backdrop, or how he keeps having to pull away to let out a rattly cough.
He notices, too, when every handful of people Phil pauses. Whoever the person is doesn't notice, too excited to meet them, but Phil seems to take a mental inventory of them before putting an arm around them, or giving them a lingering high five, or even just “accidentally” brushing into them.
The person always leaves looking a little dazed, but so much happier and lighter. Dan knows that feeling too well-what it feels to be healed, even if just for a few minutes.
He knows how much it sucks from Phil to give that to them, but he knows as well as Martyn that he won't stop. And that's what scares Dan.
-
It's another bad day, in a series of bad days, bad weeks, maybe even a bad month at this point.
Before, Dan let Phil in-let him rub his shoulders and nuzzle at his cheek and massage his scalp and let the solace run through him.
But every time Phil stopped, it would come back, stronger. Until it got to the point that Phil could barely scratch the surface.
So he locked himself away.
He wasn't proud of it. He knew it hurt Phil, to be locked out from doing the littlest thing he could to try to help. But he couldn't cope with knowing that Phil was using all this energy on this stupid sadness that refused to leave him.
Slowly, with medication, and therapy, and trying to get out of his head more, he let himself back out, let Phil place a hand on his shoulder or give a small ruffle to his hair.
And when he did, when he felt that spark again, he almost wept.
He could finally heal.
-
Phil is half-asleep on the plane, his body contorted into a strange shape to try to fit on the economy seats Cornelia had bought them last night, when the older woman behind them starts groaning softly about her joints.
“Don't.” Dan says, right as Martyn looks across from his row and shakes his head.
“I can't-” Phil whispers, starting to un-pretzel himself.
Martyn gives him a stern look. “Phil, don't.” He says, leaning across the aisle. “Look at yourself. You're exhausted, you're losing weight-you can't keep this up-”
“But it'll help .”
“You can't help anyone if you're sick like this.”
Phil bites his lip before leaning over his seat, Dan grabbing at his shirt to try to pull him back, but it's too late.
“Do you need help opening the bottle, ma’am?”
The woman smiles sheepishly and hands him the bottle, and as they do, Phil makes sure their fingers brush. She looks surprised at first (they always do), but then lets out another soft groan, this time much more pleasant as Phil's trembling hands manage to pry open the bottle.
“I feel better already.” She laughs quietly. “Bless you.”
“Anytime.” Phil says, and then slumps down into his seat.
Before Dan and Martyn have a chance to say anything, he pulls his hood over his head and leans against the window, leaving Dan sat, helpless as always.
-
“I want to thank you, somehow.” Dan said quietly. “You always are so nice to me. You've helped me out when things got dark lately. And I never get to do anything back to you.”
They were huddled up together on the couch, after watching countless episodes of some baking show. Phil's hands naturally found their way to Dan's sides, and he smiles warmly.
“Nothing can thank me more than you getting better.” He had said, shaking his head. “Trust me. This is a reward in itself.”
Dan had rolled his eyes playfully. “Please. There's something I can do, I know it.”
But Phil had just kept smiling, nuzzling closer and letting his fingertips send warm pulses of safe, light, love through him.
“All I want is for everything to be okay. Just keep letting me help, okay?”
And, well, how was Dan going to say no to that?
-
Phil wakes up when they land long enough to drag himself to a taxi, and then to the hotel, where he sleeps for another eight hours.
When he wakes up, he still looks rough, though he's not quite so pale. Dan knows he shouldn't ambush him like this, but he can't help it.
“You need to stop this.” He says, before the other man can get a word out. “Martyn and Cornelia and everyone is getting worried. Tour is already exhausting, and now you're just-I don't know, giving all this energy away-”
“I'm fine.” Phil says stiffly, sitting up with a grunt. “Just need to sleep more.”
Dan gives him a frustrated look. “Oh, yeah? How much more, through the rest of tour?”
Phil frowns. “You're right, I'm sorry.” He says after a long pause, and for a second, Dan really does believe him, until he sees his hand reaching to grab Dan's wrist-
“You're doing it again! You were going to try to make me feel better, weren't you?” He huffs out, yanking his arm away before Phil could get to him.
“I-Come on, Dan-” His argument gets cut off by a coughing fit, and Dan glares at him.
“You're tearing yourself apart for this-”
“I'm not-tearing-I’m not! ” Phil takes a moment to get his coughing under control, finally letting out a noisy breath. “This is myself! If I'm not this-this thing, this gift, this power , than what am I?!”
The room goes silent, save for the traffic going by outside, and Dan shakes his head.
“Phil. That's not…”
Phil shakes his head, standing up on wobbly legs before stomping over to the window. “That's why people like me-that's why you like me. There is no Phil without this. They can't be separated.”
“I don't think that's true. I think-if you just took it easy, people would still love to see you-”
“If you were me, would you, then?” Phil turns to look at him, finally. “If you were me, and you had all these people-some of them are just kids , Dan-coming up to you, and you could tell they were hurt, wouldn't you try to help?”
Dan grits his teeth. “That's not-”
“What if-What if it was a best mate? What if it was your boyfriend? Your brother? What if it was, and even though you try your best, everything still keeps messing up?”
Phil's breathing is coming faster now, and he coughs a few more times.
“If it were me, I would know I needed to rest so I could help people more.” Dan says finally, but he knows it sounds canned.
Right now, though, he just wants Phil to calm down.
“I might not have another chance, Dan. What if something happens right when I stop? What if I could prevent something terrible? Do you know how much that weighs on you?”
“It must be really hard. And I'm sorry I don't know what that's like, but-” He tries again, and Phil groans.
“You don't get that.” He says, pressing his forehead to the glass and looking out at the clouds in the sky. “You don't, just like I don't get all of your stuff. But I try to help. And right now, you're not helping. ”
It stings, more than Dan would like to admit. And, guiltily, his first instinct is to hug Phil, to feel his soothing touch, but he knows he can't, knows that'll hurt him worse.
“Okay.” He says, finally, putting his hands up in defeat. “Okay.”
“...Okay?” Phil asks, suspiciously, and Dan nods.
“Okay. I…I want you to rest, but I also hear you when you tell me you can't stop.”
Phil bites his lip, running a hand through his hair as he watches Dan closely.
“But I love you, and so does Martyn, and Cornelia, and so many others-and we just want to help. So. What can I do?”
The other man's face softens completely at that, and he seems to search his mind for a bit before moving to sit down on the stiff hotel bedding.
“Just…sit with me for a bit? Please?” He asks finally, voice sounding very, very small.
Dan nods, curtly, and sits on the bed across from him.
“I can do that.”