Chapter Text
Dan is sitting with his laptop balanced on his knees in the uncomfortable waiting room chair, staring blankly at the interface of the editing software. It keeps going out of focus, interrupted by the mental image of the worst thing he's ever seen in his life.
Blood. Unnaturally bright, red blood. Dripping out of Phil's trouser legs, ruining his shoes. Blood smears, where Dan has dragged him across the floor. Soaking through the jeans in seconds. Pooling underneath him. Dan has never seen that much of it. There's never this much blood in movies.
He has seen Phil in scary situations before. He remembers waking to the sound of Phil's voice from the upstairs bathroom and finding him on the floor, too dizzy to get up. He remembers waiting for the MRI scan results, trying not to expect the worst. He remembers holding Phil and breathing with him, counting down the minutes for the ambulance to arrive, hoping against hope that it was indeed just a panic attack.
None of it has ever felt like this. As he caught Phil’s falling body and lowered it to the ground, the severity of the situation revealing itself in bright red on the floor of the A&E reception, he was sure Phil was going to die.
The laptop screen goes black from the inactivity and pulls Dan back into the present. He blinks rapidly and quickly moves his fingers across the mouse pad. He once again becomes aware of the tiny, windowless room he's in, of the sounds of nurses rushing by behind the closed solid door. There is an old woman sitting an armlength away in one of the other four chairs.
This is the strangest situation he's ever been in.
On the inside, he is terrified. The possibility of losing Phil is too horrible to even contemplate. Part of him wants to cry and run to Phil and yell at the doctors to help him, do anything dramatic that reflects the weight of the situation. And yet he doesn't act on it. It's not what people do.
Even as Phil collapsed, aside from the surprised gasp of the reception lady, everyone was doing their best to act normal. As the reception hall turned into what looked like a crime scene, most people in the waiting area averted their eyes, feigning calm and polite indifference. Dan was still staring at Phil, processing this sudden change in urgency, as a man came up with a wheelchair. Dan was so glad someone else had decided what best to do with Phil that he just went along with pulling him into the chair.
As the nurses came and dragged Phil back onto the floor, he just stood next to the whole scene, willing Phil to wake up again from ten feet away. When he did, moments later on the stretcher, as they hooked him up to all sorts of different machines, the first thing Phil said was directed at the nurses, a weak “Shit, ’m sorry.” Because even Phil was behaving normal.
When they asked Dan who he was, he just said, “His friend”. And when they told him to wait in the relatives' room, he didn't protest. He even carried along Phil’s bloody shoes, wondering if he should toss them in the bin or keep them, as if that was of any importance right now. They are currently resting against his chair, turning brown as they dry.
What do you do in the relatives' room when your partner of 15 years is potentially dying down the hall? If this was a movie, he'd cry and just stare at the wall for hours. But even the elderly woman next to him has a crossword puzzle. If this was a fanfiction, he thinks, he'd probably talk to her, make a new friend for life. Instead he tries to not clear his throat too loudly.
He has considered contacting people but struggled to decide who to tell about this. Work partners need to know if anything gets delayed or cancelled, but Dan doesn’t know what to tell them yet. So he has only texted Phil’s mum, sparing her the details for now because he didn’t know how to say what happened without freaking her out. Flicking through Instagram has felt wrong so he has decided to use the laptop he had brought – they had really thought it wasn’t that serious, they had thought they’d be sitting in the waiting room for hours – and work on the tour trailer.
So now he sits, staring at the screen, cutting and deleting the takes they cannot use. It helps, having something to do, but it is also weird to work on something you are not sure is ever going to be used – will they even go on tour, or will they have to cancel everything? How long will it take for Phil to recover? Dan tries not to think it, he really does, but his brain keeps providing him with the image of all the blood and there is a chance, a tiny voice whispers, that he will have to make a very different announcement to the fans.
Dan exhales intently, counting to eight before he takes another breath as he ignores his stomach turning. No, it’s fine. They are here now. Phil is being monitored, he is taken care of. Dan just has to trust that whatever happens outside this tiny room is exactly what Phil needs. The best thing Dan can do right now is edit the trailer, because they are probably going to spend a lot of time in the hospital the next few days while Phil gets better, and won’t have as much time for editing as they have planned. The show must go on, precisely because Phil will be okay.
He thinks back to this morning, when Phil has expressed feeling weird and Dan didn’t listen. “Motion sickness, again? How do you even live, princess?” Even when Phil came back a while later, looking white as a sheet, and contemplated going to the hospital, Dan still had not grasped the urgency of the situation. He’d been a bit annoyed, even, that he had to stop playing Elden Ring after looking forward to it all week. Phil told him it wasn’t too bad, he was just a little worried. But he looked too sick to go on his own, and this was not the time to get revenge for when Phil had let him go on his own to the eye clinic merely a few weeks prior. Still, he should have just called an ambulance. Or told the cab driver to turn around and get them to the correct entrance of the hospital. This could have easily been the minutes that decided whether Phil was going to live or die. What if they had not made it to the reception and Phil had collapsed in the streets? Would the blood have looked different on the pavement?
Exhale, 5-6-7-8. But he has made it to the hospital. And now he is being treated. Inhale 1-2-3-4, hold for four. They have given him a drug to stop the bleeding, and they are taking care of him.
Dan is doing his best to trust that everything is fine and returns to editing. Every couple of minutes, he is interrupted by his anxious thoughts, but he keeps forcing himself to work with the video clips in which Phil looks normal, healthy, fine. How long has he been here? He had not checked the clock when he came in, but it must have been well over two hours. How long will it take for the hospital staff to update him? The time stretches on and he wonders if they even remember that they brought him in here.
He picks apart every line of conversation he can remember having with the nurses, wondering if he missed something about how long this would take. Something in his stomach drops when he remembers that he's told them he is Phil’s friend. Would they treat him differently if he told them he was his life partner?
Part of him can’t believe he lied. Would this not be the scenario to throw all caution into the wind and just tell the truth? In fanfiction, Dan thinks bitterly, he would not even have hesitated. The fans would be disappointed to know he’s such a coward. His partner is bleeding out on the floor, and he is too set in his ways to even tell the hospital staff the truth. If Phil dies, Dan knows this will haunt him forever.
Then again, if Phil doesn’t die – and he won’t, Dan reminds himself – this will just have been the normal thing to do. Dan has lived this reality for so long, it didn’t even occur to him in the moment to say anything else. Surely, it does not matter to the nurses what relationship he is in with Phil – they wouldn’t update him every five minutes just because their relationship is romantic. They might even be homophobic and treat them worse. Still, the doubt lingers, along with the feeling that this is not right – a feeling Dan does not get very often anymore, after all this time.
But surely, if they don’t come to get him, that means that things are fine. And why wouldn’t they be? What complications could possibly occur? Before Dan makes a conscious decision, his fingers have saved the file he is working on and opened the browser. What’s the medication that they gave Phil again? He types in what he believes to remember. It takes him a few minutes of googling to get matching search results.
Dan does not understand much of the information he finds, as it is mostly on forums for students and medical professionals, but what he does grasp are the side effects. Ten minutes into reading he feels so much panic that no breathing exercise can save him. He closes the browser and tries regardless, but his thoughts keep spiraling.
If Phil was having a stroke right now, would they tell him? Not right away, surely. They would treat Phil first. How, though? Phil cannot have blood thinning medication when he is bleeding like this. What if all the doctors are occupied, and all rooms are taken, what if they can’t perform emergency surgery? Phil could be actively dying right now. Could be dead right now. Dan knows he would not be able to tell, it’s not like soul connections exist. How long would it take them to tell him? With the shortage of workers in the NHS, notifying the relatives – especially “just friends” – cannot be very high up on their list of priorities.
Dan tries to calm down for another five minutes, but he cannot take it. He can’t stay in the waiting room, acting normal, not knowing if Phil is even still alive.
He closes the laptop and puts it into Phil’s glittery blue backpack, then he takes the bloody shoes and nods awkwardly at the woman looking up from her crossword. Take that, phannies, he thinks as he leaves the room. I’m not a coward. I’m going to look for Phil, even if it means social interaction with strangers.
He dodges the nurses as best as he can, trying everything to not be in the way. He curses the hospital for being so huge, with the relatives’ room being on the opposite side of where he left Phil. Maybe he was in shock when they sent him away, because he struggles to remember anything about the surroundings. It’s all just hallways and windows and beds and doctors. When he finally finds a hallway that looks familiar, he breathes with relief. The doors to the rooms are all open, so he just walks in. Before he can utter his boyfriend’s name, he is confronted with the view of six police uniforms blocking the view from the bed. His mouth opens in surprise. He takes in the handcuffs attached to the bed and only realizes what he has walked into when he recognizes that the hand in handcuffs does not belong to Phil. “Oh- sorry-,“ is all he can say as he turns and bolts out of the room.
He walks away into a random direction, intent on putting as much distance as he can between himself and the room, lest the police officers believe he has anything to do with-… whatever that patient was involved in. But now he has run out of choices. He is lost in the ICU and he has no clue where Phil is.
Poor Phil. Lying all alone in some room, being put through medical exams, waiting to be treated. It has been two hours for him, too. Phil is so anxious when it comes to his health, even under normal circumstances. He is probably freaking out right now. Being pushed from one hallway to another, with several nurses swarming around him, poking him, attaching him to the machines – it must be terrifying.
Dan steals himself for what he knows he must do. Here goes nothing. He takes in the busy hallway and makes out the nurse that seems least in a hurry. “Hi, excuse me?”
The nurse – a young woman in a dark brown ponytail – looks at him expectantly. Her expression is neither friendly nor unfriendly, simply professional.
“I’m looking for my friend Phil Lester,” Dan says. This time, he hears the omission of ‘my partner’. The nurse’s expression does not change, so he quickly adds, “He, uh- He was bleeding from his ass?”
Now there is some recognition in the nurse’s face. “Follow me,” she says with a faint smile and struts in the opposite direction that Dan was coming from. She takes one turn to the right and points down the hall. “Last room on the left.”
“Thank you,” Dan breathes. The nurse nods curtly and walks back, and Dan turns and hurries towards the room.
This time, when he walks through the door, he is greeted by a disheveled mop of platinum blonde hair, glasses peaking out of the mess, machines beeping steadily. Relief washes over Dan. Not dead.
Phil turns his head as he hears the familiar footsteps approaching, his eyes softening into a smile.
“Hey buddy,” Dan says cautiously. Stepping closer, he takes him in, assessing his state. He is still so pale, but nothing like when he was unconscious, the color of his cheeks matching the floor. The glasses on his nose are a little tilted, but the eyes behind them are open and bright. He is no longer wearing his clothes but a hospital gown, different wires connecting him to multiple beeping machines. An IV is supplying him with someone else’s blood.
“Hello, Danny Boy,” Phil replies melodically, his smile a little loopy.
Fuck. He’s alive. He’s alive, and conscious, and talking. Dan turns away to drag a chair from the wall to the bed, using the time to collect himself and swallow the lump in his throat. Phil needs him to be calm. When he gets to be alone later, he will cry like a baby, but not now.
He sits down and leans over Phil. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay,” Phil says brightly, slurring the words just a little. “I’m sorry, that was probably really scary.”
Dan swallows again, fighting the instinct to run his hand through Phil’s hair, grabbing the sheets instead. “Yeah, you bet. Don’t ever do that again, you twat.”
Phil giggles, weakly, but even so, Dan’s heart sings. He’s okay.
“Sorry,” Phil says sheepishly, and Dan gives him a soft look. He knows this is enough. They have mastered showing affection for each other, feeling connected to each other in public. They don’t rely on physical touch for that. Still, Dan feels the rare urge to hold Phil’s hand.
“It’s okay. It was just starting to feel really weird, editing the tour trailer, not knowing if you’re still alive.” He says it as a joke but still finds it difficult to keep his voice steady at the end. His chest feels heavy, but the weight lifts when he hears Phil giggle again.
“You were editing the tour trailer while I was dying? And I thought I was the sociopathic one.”
There is something so healing about acknowledging the wrongness of the situation and hear Phil laugh about it. He can’t help but grin.
“Shut up, you little shit. Somebody has to do it, and I see you have once again found an excuse to avoid your responsibilities.”
“I guess I’m lucky, then, that I have such a reliable business partner at my side.” Phil raises his hand from the bed and swats it at Dan, quite uncoordinated. Dan feels the touch on his arm long after Phil has retracted his hand.
“Hey Dan,” Phil says, smirking conspiratorially. “Dan.” He pauses, building anticipation. “Is this gonna ruin the-?” Phil can’t hold in his laughter until the end of the sentence. “Is this gonna ruin the world tour?”
Dan just stares at him, deadpan. He’s amazed that Phil can joke about this, but even more amazed by the fact that the joke was right there, and he has been so panicked, he didn’t even think of it once. He can’t help but join in laughing. “You’re lucky the police are occupied, or they might arrest you for the worst joke ever made.”
Phil just beams at him, proudly. “The old dog’s still got it.”
“Sure, buddy.”
They just sit together for a while. Phil updates Dan on the things the medical staff have done since he was sent to the relatives’ room, which isn’t a lot, but Dan is desperate to know every detail. He shares his story of the lady in the waiting room and the police in return.
Phil just looks at him for a moment, content to be back together. Suddenly, he raises his hands to his mouth, giggling and groaning. “Did I really just faint at the reception?”
The mental image makes it difficult for Dan to match the humorous tone. Still, he tries. “Yep. And bled all over the floor. I’m not envious of the person who had to clean that up.”
Phil laughs, weakly, hiding his face behind his hands. His cheeks are flushed pink. Dan will never take that sight for granted ever again.
“Oh my gosh, stop it. I’m going to die from embarrassment.”
“Too soon, Phil,” he said sternly, joking, but the weight of his statement sinks in between them nevertheless. The following silence is painful.
“I’m sorry,” Phil says again. His hand moves towards Dan’s, control over his instincts loosened by the drugs, but he notices in time before they touch. Dan stares at their hands, inches apart on the edge of the hospital bed. What the fuck is wrong with us?, he thinks, but keeps his hand where it is anyway.
“I promise I won’t nearly die ever again!” Phil exclaims enthusiastically, pulling Dan out of his thoughts.
Before he can make any sarcastic remark, he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket. It’s Kath. Shit. He’s meant to text her.
He picks up. “He’s alright,” he says immediately, “I’m with him just now. Let me switch to facetime.”
He hands Phil the phone, knowing she’ll want to see him with her own eyes.
“Alright, Phil, make an effort to look well for your mum, she’s been worried sick.”
“You told her?” Phil complains, pouting at him.
“Yes, Phil! I figured if you were going to die, I should warn her!” Another truth dressed as a joke. This time, Phil does not catch it. He is smiling into the camera.
“Oh my god, mum – you won’t believe what happened. It’s so embarrassing.”
He tells her the story, Dan filling in the many blanks. Phil’s drug filled mind keeps straying from the plot more than usual, and he has been unconscious for a good part of it. They keep it light, joking around – Dan knows they will tell the story many times over, crafting it into a perfect anecdote. This is just the first rehearsal.
Just as they are finishing up, a nurse comes into the room. “Mr Lester?”
Dan promises to call back. The nurse explains that they will take Phil to do a CT scan. They want to inject dye into his veins and locate the bleeding. If Dan hadn’t known that Phil was loopy, he’d have known from his lack of nerves before the test. He is happy to just be rolled away.
“I’m glad you’re there with him, Dan. Thank you for taking care of him,” Phil’s mum says sincerely when he updates her.
“Of course,” is all he can say.
“And how are you, love? That’s quite a thing to go through with your – friend.” She knows Dan is in public. She knows she is on speaker. We’ve made them all a part of this, Dan thinks with a pang of guilt. He swallows.
“Yeah, well. Not exactly the way I imagined to spend the day.” He thinks back to his game. This morning feels like half a lifetime ago. “I’ll be okay when he gets out of here. Probably gonna take a couple of days, though.”
“Well, call me anytime, if you want to talk. And anytime there’s any news. Love you.”
Dan promises her and hangs up. Once again, he finds himself waiting. Without Phil making light of all of this, it feels really fucking heavy.
They make the best of the day. Dan does his best to entertain and distract his partner. They take silly selfies, Dan takes an Instagram story he plans to post when Phil survives all this. At some point, Phil gets tired, so Dan continues working on the tour trailer, occasionally having to follow Phil’s demands, who is watching him over his shoulder.
Eventually, as midnight approaches, Phil sends Dan home under the pretext of needing clothes in the morning. And although nothing feels more wrong than leaving Phil in the hospital, not quite knowing the next steps, he knows that staying all night without a bed is not normal. It’s just what people do - leave their loved ones behind in the hospital, in the hope that they are taken care of. He takes the shoes and the Sainsbury’s bag with Phil’s bloody clothes, and he wonders if he is going to be normal enough to not throw these away.
Dan takes an uber home. The smell of iron spreads in the car and turns his stomach, but thankfully the driver does not ask any questions. He keeps staring at his phone, just in case Phil texts him.
The house feels eerily quiet. He wants to be relieved to be back, but Phil’s absence hangs heavy in the air. He feels sick - he’s only had a protein bar since breakfast, in solidarity with Phil who had to stay on an empty stomach in preparation for a likely surgery, but he feels he might vomit up whatever is left of that vending machine snack. He leaves the plastic bag with Phil’s clothes in the utility room, shutting the door firmly. He can't deal with this right now.
He turns on the notification sounds on his phone before he hops into the shower, not putting on a video as he usually would, just in case he misses any texts from Phil. The hot stream washing away the stress of the day feels heavenly, and Dan feels so guilty about it, because Phil is still sweaty and dirty in his hospital bed. He leans his forehead against the cool tiles, letting the memories of the day overwhelm him. Graphic images flash through his mind, so fast and vivid, they make him dizzy. He realises his breathing comes quick and flat and pushes his head back under the water. Not yet. The day is not over yet. He needs to be available for Phil.
He checks his phone for notifications before he even grabs a towel. Nothing.
The pain in his stomach reminds him that he needs to eat something. Again, the guilt makes it difficult to even consider his options. Phil would eat cereal as a late night snack. So Dan makes himself cereal. He manages two spoonfuls before he feels too sick.
He settles on the sofa. The quiet is pressing in around him, making it difficult to breathe. Dan wonders if this is how Phil felt when Dan left to go on tour for two months. He suddenly feels a lot more lenient about the moldy-green towels.
An obnoxious ping pulls him out of his thoughts. Dan scrambles to unlock his phone.
[00:23] Results are active bleed in the bum. They need to do general anaesthetic investigation at 9am to hopefully sew it up or whatever
Dan reads the message twice to make sure he got it right. Only then does he allow a cautious sense of relief to settle in his body. It’s not surprising - they’ve figured as much. Still, knowing for sure is good. Knowing the next step is better. Even if they were both hoping the surgery wouldn’t have to wait until the next morning.
Dan replies with a gun emoji, because even though this isn’t bad news, everything about this day sucks. And even though they knew this was likely to happen, and even though he is relieved they were now doing more than drugging Phil up and tilting his bed back, he knows that Phil is terrified of getting surgery.
[00:24] want to call?
[00:28] No need to call
Dan is almost disappointed. Already, not watching Phil’s every breath is making him nervous.
He texts back.
[00:28] do you want some comfies and your wash bag or not allowed to wander to bathroom
It’s a weak attempt at coaxing Phil to let him come back. His exhaustion is bone deep, but he would pack a bag and go back to the hospital in a heartbeat. He’d rather have the insufferable beeping of the machines than the oppressive silence of the house.
[00:33] I think maybe bring them early tomorrow?? I’ll text you when I’m about to go in or whatever
[00:34] I’m not allowed to go anywhere
Dan replies with a sad memoji.
[00:35] yes sure
[00:35] Text me any news
[00:36] yee
Dan texts Kath and updates her on the surgery, like he’s been reminding himself to do throughout the day, when another text from Phil comes through.
[00:39] are you going to sleep?
[00:39] are you?
[00:42] trying to stay up until they let me know about the room situation
[00:42] yeah I’ll wait with you
[00:43] watching markiplier
[00:44] maybe you can play Elden Ring?
[00:45] after today? for sure
[00:49] sorry :/
[00:49] don’t be stupid
Dan follows it up with a sticker of a hog holding a heart.
[00:50] :)
Dan puts on his favourite video on rollercoasters. He hugs a pillow close to his chest, busying his fingers with brushing over the soft fabric as if it’s Phil’s hair. He has calmed down a little by the time the next text comes through.
[1:32] Istg
[1:33] Fuck you Daniel
[1:33] and your stupid face
[1:33] dafuq
[1:33] ??
[1:34] I’ll tell you about it tomorrow
[1:34] just got roasted
[1:35] But they transferred me to a ward! Got my own private room! It’s nice
A few seconds later, Phil sends a photo of the London skyline visible from the bed. Dan smiles.
[1:36] Lucky bitch
[1:39] you want to call now?
[1:41] think I’ll try to get some sleep
[1:41] you should too
[1:41] yeah
[1:41] did they say what time they come to wake you
[1:42] think they start the ward round at 6?
Dan sends a thumbs up emoji. He doesn’t need to say that he’ll be up at 6 o’clock as well.
Dan brushes his teeth and gets to bed - in his own room, because he doesn’t trust himself to smell Phil’s pillow right now. He stays up for another hour, just in case Phil needs him. Eventually, he falls into a light, stressful sleep, dreaming of texts and alarm clocks and fundraisers blocking his way.