A/N: Well this is different than my usual word vomit. Hopefully it's a good different. Largely inspired by a fic called 'Resurrected' (which unfortunately has been deleted and I don't know the author ): ), as well as 'Through The Lies Comes Clarity' by xoRosiePosiexo. They're great fics, I'd suggest reading them, though it's not crucial to this story. I wanted the entire fic to be finished by the time I started posting it, but it didn't happen that way. Also, just a note that I'm not ending my series, I just put it on hold for awhile so I could write this chaptered fic. I've got a few ideas I started to work with, so that may be updated very soon after this fic goes up.

Bae101- Yes, I'm still updating the series :) Glad you like it!

Hanna94- Thank you! ^.^ They'll keep coming.

To the Guest reviewer who's review was posted twice, that was my fault. I have the moderate reviews option turned on, so nothing anonymous gets posted until I approve them, and I hadn't logged into the site for a few days so I hadn't seen them. Sorry!

Your feedback means so much to me, like ya'll don't even know lol. Thank you so much! Hope you enjoy this one, too. Contains slight Dan/OC; it's in there but the story isn't based around it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Dan and Phil or their YouTube channels.

Dedicated to FrankieRae and LittleLizard13!

It was Monday. Radio show day. The hour was almost up. Flashing a grin at one of the live-feed cameras, Phil picked up his headphones and put them on.

"That was Maroon 5 with 'Sugar'!" he announced. "That's our show for today, thanks to everyone that called in with their request! But before I go, I've got a surprise for one of our listeners. I checked my twitter this morning and someone sent me a picture of a birthday cake with cat whiskers. I loved it so much, I asked our producer if I could call her and wish her a happy birthday." Behind the desk, Phil's boss gave him a thumbs-up. "And she said yes! So here we go." The background music faded out, replaced by the dial tone of a phone. There was a click as someone picked up.

"Hello?" a young woman chirped. Phil leaned closer to the microphone.

"Is this Mary?"

"Uh, yes? Who is this?"

"This is AmazingPhil from Radio 1-"

"Ohmygod!" she squealed, thankfully away from the phone. Phil grinned.

"I heard today was your birthday so I wanted to call and wish you a happy birthday!"

"Thank you! Oh my god, I can't believe it, this is the best thing ever!"

"You're welcome! I loved the picture you tweeted me, who made your cake?"
"My best friend Alice did- oh, she loves your videos! She's a fan too."

"That's so nice of her. Tell her she has amazing cake-decorating skills."

"I will, oh my gosh this is the best birthday ever. Thank you so much!"

"You're welcome." Phil was about to say goodbye and hang up, when she spoke again.

"Can I ask a quick question?"
"Sure."

"When will Dan be back?"

That was when everything changed. Every face in the room turned to him, etched with sympathy. Phil didn't miss a beat. Not here.

"I don't know, probably when he's past his existential crisis."

"Oh, okay. We really miss him."

"I know, I do too." So much. Every day. "Well Mary, happy birthday, and thank you so much for talking to us."

"Thanks! Bye!" She hung up. The audio segment introducing the next presenter played, and Phil hung up his headphones. The lights that indicated the cameras were rolling went out. Just as he did every day, Phil pocketed his phone and grabbed his coat on his way out the door. Out the corner of his eye he saw his producer start toward him.

"Phil…" Phil didn't turn around. He knew if he did he'd see that look in her eyes, that look of total pity he was so sick of seeing. She didn't finish her sentence, but he could hear what she wasn't saying loud and clear.

"See you Monday!" he called, the cheery tone forced. No one stopped him. He'd only just stepped outside the radio station when his phone vibrated, alerting him to a text.
Are you okay m8? -Chris
Yep! Never better :) -Phil
Cause we could hang out tonight if you want. Watch a movie or something. -Chris

Phil shoved his phone into his pocket. He was tired. He didn't feel like hanging out.

Somehow he made it home, despite the fact that he wasn't really paying attention to where he was going. Phil bumped the door shut behind him with his foot.

"They want to know when you'll be back on the radio," he called out, taking the stairs two at a time. "They miss you. We should do a video, you know, and tell them-" His voice broke. Silence answered him, the reality crushing him like spider under someone's shoe. Deep breath. It's okay. Phil swallowed, forcing away the tears.

Even after all this time, it still got to him, it could still hurt as bad as the day it had all ended.

In hindsight, he should've seen it sooner. Dan had never been one to go out drinking every night, but suddenly he was coming home smelling of scotch at the break of dawn. While normally he'd spend his days at home on the Internet, he'd always make time for his friends and family. Then suddenly it was just Phil hanging out with Chris and PJ. And then just Phil booking a flight to America for Playlist Live. That had been the moment Phil had become worried, had finally caught on. Dan loved YouTube. And now he missed an event?
They'd talked when he'd gotten back, but that conversation hadn't gone as well as Phil had hoped. He could still hear the way Dan's voice trembled, could still see the desperate panic in his chocolate eyes.
"It's my life! If I don't want to do it, I don't have to!"
"I know, and that's okay. But why?" Phil pressed gently. Dan was pacing, fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on his jeans.
"I just didn't feel like it." he replied shortly.
"Why not? You've never had a problem with it before. What changed?" Dan froze. There was something wrong, Phil could sense it. There was something Dan was keeping from him. "You can tell me."
"Nothing," Dan spat. "There's nothing to tell." His sharp tone cut Phil deeply, but he tried to stay calm, trying not to show it. Dan needed him to be strong right now.
"I'm worried about you." Dan turned on him, brown eyes hot with fury.
"Piss off, Phil!" He shouted. "God damn it! Leave me the fuck alone!"
He remembered they were both shouting then. A fight that ended in slamming bedroom doors and, for Phil, a night of crying muffled by his pillow. The following day they'd avoided each other. And that night? Well...
He'd wanted to apologize. For pushing him, for shouting at him, for the one time he swore back at him. When he got Dan's text to meet him, Phil had thought that's what Dan had wanted, too. The moment he'd turned the corner, he should've known. It was dark, even with the light from the streetlamps and passing cars. The glare of the screen left him seeing a large dark spot after he'd checked to see who was calling him. One of the lampposts seemed to have gone out, a long shadowy figure on the ledge of the bridge.

"Dan, I-"

"Are you almost here?"

"Yeah, I just got here. Where are you?"
"Stop." Phil frowned, but obeyed, standing still near the end of the bridge.

"What's going on?" Dan's breathing hitched.
"I'm sorry Phil, god I'm so sorry." He was crying.
"What's happened? Dan? Where are you?"
"On the bridge."
"But I don't see-" That wasn't a lamppost. Oh god. "Stop. Get down."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't-" He hung up. Phil was running now, ignoring the people screaming around him. He was shouting at Dan, begging him not to do it, not to go. It hadn't made a difference.
His throat was raw by the time the police had managed to drag him away from the bridge. Everything after that moment was a blur. Where had he slept that night? Had he gone home, or had he stayed with PJ? Had he slept at all?
The only thing he remembered clearly was the funeral. Close friends and family only- none of the fans knew. Everyone had been somber and withdrawn, but Phil had been despondent, staring off into space and barely responding to anyone. He hadn't cried then, if only because he hadn't stopped until that morning.

Phil didn't remember the service; he remembered kneeling in front of a headstone. Remembered everyone laying a single rose on the lid of the dark coffin, empty because the body was never found. Remembered not wanting to go home to an empty flat. Not wanting to make a video for a month. Collaborating with friends to make up a story about how Dan just needed some time off, from YouTube and Radio 1 and everything else, so they didn't have to tell the fans the truth.

They still didn't know. At first it had been to give those who had known Dan personally some time to grieve before telling everyone else, but now it was a story everyone told and no one questioned.
Well, almost no one. There were always fans that questioned their excuses. Or who didn't know. It wasn't their fault. They didn't know Dan was dead, that Phil hated hearing his name, hated watching his videos, and that above everything else he hated pretending. He pretended on the radio and on twitter and Facebook and even his YouNow shows that Dan was just in the other room, or that he'd gone out. That Dan was coming home.
Something broke inside him, shattering like the mug he threw across the room, smashing into a wall. Shards of memories cutting like blades, and he only wished he could bleed, bleed out and die, because maybe then he could see Dan again, or at least stop this pain.

But there was nothing he could do. Maybe there never had been. Dan was dead, and Phil was left to pick up the pieces alone.

He was never touching red wine again.
True, this was a promise he'd made before, but he meant it this time. A low groan escaped him as he slowly picked himself up off the ground. Everything hurt, like he'd been slammed into a wall. Or hit by a lorry. The young man took slow steps toward the light, needing to lean against the garbage bins for support. Once in the light of a streetlamp, he looked around, trying to make out where he was.
His head was spinning. He could make out the street name, recognizing it to be in a part of London known for its crime. What the heck was he doing here? The young man went to search his pocket for his phone, but found it missing, as well as his wallet. Had he been mugged? Was that why he was here?
"Fuck my life," he mumbled.
Dan Howell slowly made his way along the street. Moving helped to clear his head, but did nothing for his aching muscles. It was a long walk home. Upon reaching the flat, he realized with a stab of annoyance that he didn't have his key, either. Thankfully the spare was still tapped to the top of the doorframe, safe there because he and Phil were so offensively tall they were the only ones who knew it was there.
Since he had no idea what time it was, Dan was careful not to make any noise, lest he wake Phil. Since all the lights were off, he assumed his flatmate was asleep, which was odd. The clock on the microwave told him it was only two in the morning. He and Phil stayed up pretty late most nights, unless they had something they needed to do early the next day. Did they? Dan didn't know.

He pushed open the door to his room, intent on sleeping for the rest of his life, but something stopped him. Dan vaguely noticed something was off, though he couldn't say exactly what. An aura of dread hung thick in the air, as if he were unwelcome in his own bedroom. He paused next to his bed, squinting his eyes in the dark. Had he left his room this messy before? His personal belongings and clothes were scattered about the room. Dan wasn't normally a very messy person, but his bedroom tended to get a bit disorganized. He couldn't remember if he'd left it in this state, though. Why was his head so fuzzy?
Writing it off as a hangover, Dan collapsed onto his bed, oblivious and dead to the world.