Chapter Text
The chapel has got to be, objectively, the creepiest part of the Phouse. No Dan particularly likes it, but this Dan, terrified teenage law student Dan, hates it perhaps most of all. At least it's empty today. He slips inside.
The huge wooden door thuds shut behind him. He winces. It's too late for subtlety now so he calls out. “Father?”
“Baby Dan!” The voice that replies is not the priest's. Nor is it quite his own.
Sister Daniel is leaning dramatically in the threshold at the back of the chapel. Dan scowls. “Don't call me that. I need to talk to the priest.”
“Here to confess your sins?” She laughs, eyes sharpening.
The younger Dan's gaze drops to the floor. Looking at her too long is like staring at a bright light. “Just tell me where he is.”
She turns and walks down the hall, beckoning for him to follow.
The office is better than the chapel. Less old and creepy, more goth and spooky. Father Philip turns away from the window as the pair enters. “Daniel,” he says pleasantly by way of greeting, seemingly to them both. “Is everything alright?”
“No,” Dan says. “I can't find my Phil.”
“I see.” The priest moves to his desk. “Have a seat.”
Dan does so, hesitantly. “We were supposed to Skype and he never got on. I've been looking everywhere. Nobody else has seen him, either.”
“I see. When's the last time you spoke to him IRL ?” He quirks his fingers in delicate air quotes.
“Yesterday.”
Philip frowns at that but says nothing.
“He's been filming. He's busy,” Dan says defensively. “I thought he was just holed up in the attic working but I checked and he's not in there.” He swallows. “I don't think he's in the house.”
The priest frowns. “I doubt he would have gone anywhere else. It's not safe to wander off on your own.”
“I've looked everywhere. He's gone.”
Philip steeples his hands in front of his face, staring through Dan thoughtfully. “I’ll look into this. Don't worry too much, he can't have gotten far.”
“We need to go after him.”
“You just go back to what you were doing before and try to stay calm. I'll handle this.” He gives Dan a practiced reassuring smile. “Wherever your Phil is, I'm sure he'll be alright. God will protect him.”
“Thanks,” Dan says, though nothing about this conversation has calmed him. He nods his thanks to Sister Daniel and scurries out of the chapel.
He doesn't stop looking. Each time he thinks he’s exhausted every inch of the Phouse, he finds an entirely new corner of it. It must be hours of running in circles through the dizzying, impossible architecture before he turns a corner and bumps directly into his own 33-year-old counterpart and his blond companion.
“Whoa, hey, slow down,” the older Dan says.
“Sorry,” Dan stammers.
“We were just looking for you, actually.”
“Any news on your Phil?” Phil asks.
“No.”
“Father Philip said to get everyone in the living room for a meeting.”
That's ominous. Dan does his best not to panic as he follows the older pair downstairs.
Father Philip, Sister Daniel and the curator are stood in the middle of the room when they arrive. The punks and pastels are clustered together on the couch. The catboys are sprawled on the carpet, Dan asleep, Phil tracking a flicker of light as it darts across the ceiling. It takes the younger Dan a moment to notice Lestifer in the corner, subtly angling his phone at the ceiling and watching the catboys through the corner of his eye.
“Stop that,” Old Phil says. “You're not supposed to let cats play with light and lasers and stuff. They can't understand it and it riles them up.”
The demon opens his mouth to respond, but the priest clears his throat to call the room to order.
“This isn't everyone but it's probably everyone we're going to get. Let's begin. We'll try to make this brief. It seems that one of our Phils is missing.”
Dan's chest hollows. Old Phil puts a hand on his shoulder to steady him. A ripple of worried murmurs spreads through the punk/pastel clique.
“There's no need to panic just yet. This world is a safe place for us. Wherever Emo Phil is, I'm sure he's alright,” Philip says, echoing his platitudes from earlier.
“That said,” the curator cuts in, pushing up his glasses and straightening his scarf, “this is an unprecedented mystery, which is why I called this meeting. I'd like us all to be on exactly the same page. If you've noticed anything strange recently, anything at all, please say so now.”
The group shares glances but no one speaks. Finally, Punk Dan stage-whispers to Pastel Phil, “This meeting could have been an email.”
At the same time, the reflection from Lestifer's phone darts wildly across the ceiling. Catboy Phil tumbles to his feet and, for no apparent reason, baps his Dan upside the head three times in quick succession. Dan jolts awake, hissing. Phil skitters out of the room with Dan hot on his heels.
Sister Daniel starts to go after them but Father Philip puts a hand on her arm. “Let them go. Guys, please take this seriously.”
The Olds have started to bicker quietly. Old Phil nudges Old Dan with increasing force, then gives up and says, “My Dan noticed something weird.”
The Dan in question glares as all eyes turn toward him. “I didn't. It was a dream.”
“It was weird, though. You were shouting in your sleep. You woke up all sweaty and confused.”
“It was just a nightmare,” Dan replies. The curator marks something down in his notebook.
“That’s good, Daniel,” Father Philip says. “Any bit of information we can get is important, no matter how small.”
“We can't just wait for more information.” Young Dan is surprised by how shaky his voice comes out. He clears his throat. “We need to go looking for him.”
Father Philip and Sister Daniel fix him with identical, inscrutable looks that make his skin itch.
“I know you’re concerned,” the priest says. “But we can't risk losing anyone else. We should stay together as much as possible. Keep a close eye on each other, everyone. Stay vigilant and, most importantly, stay in the Phouse. ”
He turns and leaves without another word, Sister Daniel at his side. The curator follows. Lestifer hops down from the counter to chase after the nun.
With that, the meeting is adjourned. The punks and pastels stand and file out, each giving Dan a pat on the shoulder or a sympathetic smile as they leave. Soon only he and the Olds are left in the room. They stare at him with pitying looks.
“Are you alright?” Old Phil asks.
Baby Dan begins to cry.
“Oh, honey,” Old Dan says. The softness in his voice makes Baby Dan want to sink into the floor.
Old Phil steps forward and wraps him in a hug. This Phil is so different than his own that it almost makes him feel worse. He presses as close as he can anyways, like he could crawl inside the older man’s skin if he tried hard enough.
“It’s really late,” Phil whispers. “You should sleep. We'll keep looking in the morning.”
Dan releases him and nods, still sniffling. He follows them up the stairs, says goodnight and goes inside his cavelike little dorm room. He flops down on the tiny bed and tries to steady his breathing.
When he hears the others start to snore through the thin walls, he stands and peers out into the hallway. It’s dark and still; it seems everyone else is asleep. Dan creeps down the stairs, puts his shoes on and slips out into the night.