Chapter Text
Chapter 1
It was a Tuesday and the sky was overcast. Light rain drizzled down on the almost deserted street as two grouchy figures exited a desolate train station in a village just east of London.
Well, 'exited' might be an understatement for one of them. It wasn't really his fault - he had just been optimistic and overestimated his ability to navigate the turnstile whilst lugging some camera equipment. The laws of nature and the onset of Murphy's law proved him wrong, as both he and his tripod skidded headlong across the floor.
The second figure crossed the turnstile safely and huffed derisively.
"How did you manage to do that!"
Phil was sprawled on the pavement, inspecting his scuffed palms with a groan.
"I'm doing great, thanks Dan." Phil answered sarcastically.
"9.6 for the dive by the way. Would've been higher if you stuck the landing."
"I'll be sure to practice that."
Dan grabbed the tripod - or rather the tri-part, as it had broken on the concrete.
"Phil! Look what you did! That thing cost me an arm and a leg!"
"Oh no!" Phil moaned. "I'm really sorry!"
"You'd better fix this, or you're paying for a new one." Dan said angrily, waving the tripod under Phil's nose threateningly.
"I will, don't worry about it." Phil swore and scrambled up.
These kinds of accidents were not a rare occurrence and usually didn't faze the boys anymore. But Dan was sleep deprived, stressed and generally not in a good mood. And Phil was already at the start of what would be a really bad day.
"No, I'm sick of this! You're always so clumsy! You'd better be more careful with my stuff, Phil!"
Phil wiped his hands on his jeans and winced because he'd forgotten he'd scraped his palms.
"No need to bite my head off." He bit back. He took the tripod from Dan and stalked off in the direction of their filming location without a glance back.
Dan just rolled his eyes and followed after him.
###
Regret set in not too long after. If Dan was honest, it wasn't really Phil's fault. If he was about to fall like that, he would have stretched out his hands as well, to take the brunt of the impact. So what if some tripod got dropped in the process?
To be completely fair, Dan would have to say his overreaction had very little to do with the equipment at all. He had been so tired for so long, some days he hardly knew which way was up. That was the price to pay for being a semi-famous YouTuber. There were videos to make, tours to plan, projects to work on... and then came days like these. Days when they'd have to travel to ungodly locations and do a long day of shooting with long, unproductive waits between takes. And they had had to get up at an ungodly hour... they had to be present at 9 AM, who were these savages?
That wasn't the only reason Dan was in a bad mood. He was having increasing difficulty with a very particular problem. He'd had feelings for Phil since he met him - although he only got his head out of his ass about four years ago when Louise point blank told him what was going on with him. Before he'd worked up the courage to say something, Phil had merrily informed him he was going on a date with some skank whose name he had forgotten. What's-her-face had lasted three months and Phil hadn't seemed very upset when it ended, but one thing was clear: Phil had asked her on a date, not Dan.
For years Dan resolved to just be content with having Phil as a friend, so when the awkwardness of 2012 had passed, they'd gotten closer as friends. Dan never pushed for more and Phil never had seemed to want to. It was great the way it was. Phil never needed to know Dan had any feelings at all. They worked.
That had changed when a close friend had gotten married recently. The green eyed beast living in Dan's stomach had reared its head and growled its discontent. Why shouldn't Dan deserve to be happy? That envy had gnawed at him ever since and it had gotten worse day by day. Because by now, he'd realized that there couldn't be anyone for him but Phil.
But Phil wasn't into Dan, there was lots of work to be done and not enough time to do it. So Dan was in a really bad mood. As King of Healthy Coping Mechanisms, Dan had taken his frustration out on Phil today. Bravo.
Dan sighed and resolved to apologize to Phil. He increased his pace to a slow jog, intent on catching up to Phil when he turned the corner.
###
"Wow!" Phil exclaimed when he rounded the corner.
Dan almost ploughed into him, but managed to get to a skidding halt.
"Holy shit!" He gasped when he saw what had made Phil stop in his tracks.
Across the street, a house was burning. A handful of people were standing outside, clearly panicking. The rest of the street was deserted.
"My girls! My babies! They're inside, you have to help!" A woman sobbed, shaking a pale faced man by the shoulders. Next to her, an old woman and a little boy were similarly distraught and didn't seem capable of helping.
"I will, I will! I just need my phone, then the fire brigade can-" The man said weakly. He was clearly not going to be much help.
"Dan, call 999. Now." Phil said brusquely and then turned to the woman.
"Where are they?"
"My youngest is in her crib on the first floor, the bedroom on this side. The oldest is in the attic." The woman said tremulously, clutching her son close to her.
"Phil, you're not going to-" Dan started as he realized what Phil was about to do.
"Make the call, Dan." Phil said in a tone that brooked no argument and before Dan could say anything else, Phil had gone.
As Dan fumbled for his phone, he felt genuine fear rising in his throat. The house was on fire, real, burning fire. And Phil just went in there.
He called.
###
The first thing Phil noticed was the smoke. As soon as he stepped into the house, black clouds billowed around him, restricting his ability to breath. He would have to do this quick, before he himself would get trapped in this house.
Above the roar of the flames, he heard a shrill cry. That must be the oldest, he realized. He would have to go to the attic first. That's where he saw the most flames earlier, so the sooner that floor was cleared, the better.
He clutched his shirt to his mouth and bounded up the stairs two steps at a time. On the landing, he could hardly see anymore. The smoke was so thick, it was almost midnight. He groped around, looking for the stairs to the attic. Fire swam into his vision as he found the stairs.
The stairs would not be functional for long, he imagined. The fire raged above him and had also started down the stairs.
A brief memory flitted across his vision, when he was younger playing with candles. His brother showed him, just move your hand quickly over the flame and you will hardly feel it. Do it slow, and you will burn.
Quickly then.
He would've taken a deep breath to steel himself, but it was no use because of the smoke. He darted up the second flight of stairs, quick as he could. He stepped on burning steps but just kept going. On the next landing, he sprinted towards the hysterical cries of the little girl.
He couldn't see anything, couldn't breathe but by some stroke of luck, he grabbed her and pulled her close to his chest. The girl was thankfully not too heavy and she clung to him for dear life. She was crying in panic. Only when Phil wrapped his arm around her to steady her as he raced down the stairs, did he notice that her hair was on fire.
Just then, one of the steps gave way to the fire. Phil cried out in pain when he felt his foot slip through and his shin crash hard against the lower step. Pain lashed up his leg but he could not stop. He wrangled his leg free, because no matter how painful that was, the fire was spreading fast and he had to get outside.
His eyes and lungs were burning from the smoke, his legs felt like they might actually be on fire, but he could not stop. The whole house groaned and creaked around him and Phil knew it was only minutes from collapse.
He was almost surprised when he found the front door again and burst through it. The first face he saw was Dan's, completely stricken with panic. He gave the little girl to him.
"Take her. Her hair. Help h-" Phil broke off, coughing. Dan immediately used his coat to smother the flames. Phil's lungs seared with pain as he continued to cough.
Phil thought he heard sirens in the distance and he knew they were too far off to save the other girl. The baby in the crib. He would have to go in again. He knew what he needed to do. If this was the last thing he'd ever do, he'd be proud of what he'd done with his life. But he needed to do it fast.
"Dan." He said softly. When the other boy looked up, he grabbed his hand. Phil swallowed thickly. What does one say at such an occasion? He had so much he still wanted to tell Dan, what could he say when it might be the last thing he'd say? How much he loved him, how proud he was of the man he'd become, how much better his life had become when he met Dan?
"Thank you."
Dan's eyes went wide as he cottoned on. But before Dan could answer, Phil went back inside.
I just need to get out again quick, so I can tell you the rest.
###
When Phil entered the house again, he thought he shouldn't have gone in any later, because the creaks and the groans and the roar of the fire told him this house wasn't going to last much longer.
He was partly right. It was already too late.
The second flight of stairs, to the attic where he'd just been, gave way just as Phil reached the bedroom on the first landing. With a heavy sigh, the attic stairs collapsed and crashed down the stairwell. Steps, bannisters and flaming embers all rained down. He couldn't see, the smoke was too thick, but he definitely felt it when a wayward bannister knocked him off his feet. He stumbled and fell just before he could get into the bedroom.
He twisted round to get the bannister off, but at that very moment, half the attic gave way. He cried out in pain when something heavy crashed down on the right side of his chest, and he felt his ribs breaking as it crushed down. He yelled again when something sharp burrowed into his belly.
He tried to breathe, but he only inhaled smoke. The pain intensified when he pushed the heavy object off his chest, ribs and lungs screaming in protest. Then he ripped out the object in his stomach. If he still could have yelled, they would have heard him in Manchester, it hurt so badly. He needed to get out - now - or he would die here and burn. Or burn first and die then. And Phil wasn't about to burn or die if he could avoid it.
With what he could later only explain as a pure surge of adrenaline, he stumbled into the bedroom, groping around flaming bedding and debris and found the baby. It was crying hysterically, but that was better than silence. He couldn't remember his last breath of oxygen and he felt his shirt getting wetter with blood pouring out of his wounded stomach.
He was losing, he knew. His vision was blurring, a roaring, thunderous sound in his ears overpowered his thoughts. He felt his strength leaving him, as if that, too, flowed out of his wounds. The house collapsed around him and the exit was barred now. A blazing pile of debris blocked the door, the only light in the black fog surrounding him. No - not the only light - the window!
Phil did the only thing he could do. He yanked open the window, held the baby close to him, and jumped.
In a last feat of consciousness, he twisted round so the baby would land softly on him. Agony erupted from his ribs as he landed and his last thought was, I hope one of those sirens is for me.