This Can't Keep Happening

by junecat

It took someone else stepping in for Phil to finally end it. (Phan, abuse, naughty words) (This is the final part of the Happens series. The first four parts are on my profile, starting with It Happened)

Title: This Shouldn't Be Happening

Summary: It took someone else stepping in for Phil to finally end it.

Word Count: 4,603

Disclaimer: I wish to own these people but I sadly do not.

Author's Note: Last part, guys! *sobs* (And I mean it this time, this is the end!) The OC in this is also in A Cry You Can Hear at Night, which is in progress so you should go read that.

.~.

Phil rolled over in bed and felt his head hit Dan's chest. He let out a low groan as he cuddled into his boyfriend's body. His black hair fanned out over his eye, but he was too comfortable to bother with fixing it.

Dan sensed to motion and was roused out of sleep. He tilted his head so he could see Phil. "Good morning," he said groggily, tenderly moving Phil's hair from his face.

"Mornin'." Phil tried to shift out of the sheets but stopped when the action caused Dan's fingers to brush against a yellowing bruise on his forehead. Hissing quietly in pain, Phil dropped back down to a lying down position.

Dan cringed. "Sorry," he whispered, moving his hand slowly down Phil's face to cup his boyfriend's jaw. He opened his mouth but snapped it shut. After a silent beat, he said, "Breakfast?"

Phil smiled at him and decided to ignore the soreness that was flaring up where the bruise was. "Mm, sounds good," he replied, smiling slightly. He touched Dan's hand that was on his face. "What're you gonna make for me?"

"Who said I'm cooking?" Dan teased, but he was already getting up and pulling on pants. He grinned down at Phil, who hadn't moved from his spot comfortably curled up in blankets. "Is eggs okay?"

Phil nodded. He started to climb out of bed, but Dan put his hand on Phil's chest and pushed him light down back down. "Oh, no you don't," he said, "I'll bring you breakfast in bed."

"Thank you," Phil said, settled back into the warm, tangled blankets. He watched as Dan left the room and waited until his boyfriend was gone before letting out a sigh. He knew that he should appreciate Dan's recent kindness, but he also knew that this was just Dan's way of trying to make up for their most recent fight.

It had been a pretty bad one. It wasn't one of those Dan-yelling-because-Phil-messed-ups; it was a full shouting-at-each-other-until-they-were-red-faced fights in which they were both pretty pissed off and it didn't end until Dan reached the end of his temper and got violent, and then Phil backed down and they both went their separate ways for the night.

A few days had passed since, and Phil's bruises were fading, so Dan had gotten himself back together and was doing his usual routine of trying to make up for it.

Phil stared up at the ceiling, rubbing the bluish handprint on his bicep, wondering how many times this cycle had repeated itself. He hated the fighting and the violence, but he loved how sweet and loving Dan was when they weren't in the middle of an argument. It had been a few months since Phil came back, and he was starting to wonder if the good times were worth the bad ones.

Dan came skipping into the room, holding a plate over his head theatrically. He plopped onto the bed beside Phil and set the plate between them. He had two forks in his hand. "Are you ready for some fucking awesome omelets?" he asked.

"Of course!" Phil took one of the forks from Dan and looked down at the plate. The omelets did look pretty good, so he reached to take a bite from one.

They ate pretty quickly, and Dan was soon off to take a shower.

Phil dragged himself out of bed and started walking into the kitchen to clean up the mess that Dan had undoubtedly left when making breakfast. He grabbed the egg shells from the sink—Dan always threw them in the sink. He was about to toss them into the trash can when the doorbell rang.

Rushing over to the door, Phil dropped the shells on the counter instead and rushed to the front hall. When he opened the door, he saw his neighbor, Mary, standing outside. She smiled at him.

"Good morning," Phil greeted. He blushed, realizing he hadn't actually put a shirt on yet. "What's up?"

She noticeably focused on his face. "I know this is cliché, but could I borrow some sugar? I was making pancakes for Brit but I'm out."

"Of course!" Phil motioned for her to come inside and quickly hustled into the kitchen. As he pulled the container of sugar from the cabinet, he said, "How is Brit? I haven't seen her running around lately."

Brit was Mary's daughter, and Phil thought she was probably eight or nine years old, but he wasn't sure. She could usually be seen throwing a ball around or racing her friends up and down the stairwell.

"She's started school again, so she's not very happy," Mary answered, laughing. She glanced down at the counter and saw the egg shells. She continued to chuckle as she picked them up and threw them away.

Phil blushed. "I was about to clean them up," he defended himself.

"Sure, sure," she said disbelievingly. She glanced around. "So how are you?"

Phil shrugged and handed her the container of sugar. "I'm good," he said, feeling kind of like he was lying.

"Your video making thingy is going well?" she asked, taking the sugar carefully. She looked up at him with that motherly look that Phil was used to getting from her. He nodded, and she asked, "And Dan? How's Dan?"

Phil wasn't sure why he stiffened at the question. Maybe it was because he was so used to having to lie whenever Dan was the subject of conversation (usually when talking to Andrew, who had tried to call multiple times lately). Now he just felt like he should never say much when talking about Dan.

He was about to answer, but Dan appeared in the doorway, hair wet and clothes thrown on quickly. He grinned. "Hey, Mary, you haven't been around much lately."

Mary smiled at him and rushed over to give him a hug. "How are you, dearie?"

Dan grinned down at her as they pulled away from the hug. "I'm great." He glanced over her shoulder at Phil. "Now that Phil's back, I don't think I could be any happier."

Phil wasn't sure how to take that. Of course he should be happy that Dan was so glad to have him back, but he also thought that they were trying to forget about the whole time he was gone. Neither of them had talked about it much, and Phil had decided it was best not to bring it up because he didn't want to make Dan mad.

"Oh stop it," Phil said, giving him a jokingly over-flattered look, and winked.

Chuckling, Dan walked over and wrapped his arm around Phil's waist. "You should come round more often, Mary," he said.

Mary shrugged. "I suppose." Then she seemed to think for a moment. "How about you guys come have dinner with me and Brit tonight? We can catch up. It's been so long."

Dan agreed for them.

.~.

Phil was jumped on the moment he stepped into Mary's apartment. It took him a second to realize that he had a nine-year-old blonde girl clinging to his chest like a monkey and shouting, "Mr. Lester! I missed you!"

He carefully uncurled her from his shoulders (there was still a pretty painful bruise on one of them) and said, "I missed you too, Brit! How's school?"

She immediately traded her smile for a big pout. "School is boring," she complained. She glanced over at her mother, who was talking to Dan, and said loudly, "I wish I didn't have to go."

"Oh shush, you," Mary said offhandedly.

She led them into the dining room, where dinner was already set up, and they all took their seats. They ate slowly, talking and laughing between bites, and the time flew by quickly. Soon, Mary was sending Brit off to bed for the night.

"Wine, anyone?" she offered once her daughter had disappeared down the hallway.

"I'll have a glass," Dan said.

Mary stood, but Phil stopped her. "I'll get it," he said. "Where's the bottle?"

She told him where the bottle and the glasses were so he hustled into the kitchen. He found three glasses and set them down on the counter before reaching to the top of the fridge to grab the wine bottle. He pulled it down easily enough, but he stumbled as he stepped away and the bottle flew from his hands.

He shouted, "Shit!" just as it landed on the tile floor and shattered. The red wine flowed out and created a dark puddle, and glasses pieces scattered around the room.

A few moments later, Mary appeared in the doorway. "Oh!"

"Sorry," Phil said hurriedly. "Sorry."

"It's fine, dear," Mary said. She grabbed a towel from the counter and started walking over. "Here. Let me just clean it up."

Then Dan walked in. He took one look and sighed. "Oh for goodness sakes, Phil," he groaned.

"It was an accident," Phil snapped. "Lay off, will ya? I apologized."

Dan raised his eyebrows in surprise. Phil rarely lost his temper, and if he did, he was pretty good at hiding it and not letting it piss of Dan.

Noticing that Dan looked a bit angry, Phil immediately said, "I'm sorry."

Dan rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

.~.

Dan slammed the door when they got home. He was still fuming about the way Phil had snapped at him, but he seemed to be holding it in well. He was starting to stomp off to his room.

Phil wasn't sure why, but he was angry that Dan felt like he could be mad at him. He put up with so much shit from Dan; couldn't Dan just let him be a little bit sassy every once in a while without freaking out? God—Dan was such a drama queen.

"Are you seriously mad?" Phil asked, following Dan down the hallway.

Dan spun around and glared at Phil. "Yes, I'm mad! You can't just"—he gesticulated with his hands wildly—"you can't just talk to me like that in front of her!"

Phil rolled his eyes. "Why not?" he asked.

"Do you want her to question how we get along and they'll start to wonder…" Dan sighed and rubbed his forehead. He looked exhausted. "I just don't want her wondering about things she shouldn't, okay?"

"Well maybe it wouldn't be a problem if you didn't hit me!" Phil shouted. He didn't know why he said it, but it had just flown from his mouth before he could stop it. He knew the moment the words were in the air that he was in deep shit.

The first smack happened so quickly that Phil gasped when Dan's hand hit him. He stumbled back and hit the wall. Then Dan was in his face, holding the front of Phil's blue t-shirt. The next blow was to his stomach and he would've crumpled over if Dan's grip wasn't holding him up.

"I'm trying not to, okay?" Dan growled in his ear. "Maybe if you didn't piss me off all the time, I wouldn't have to."

"I'm sorry," Phil gulped out.

"No, you're not. I know you too well to believe that." Dan let go, but he swung his hand at an angle so Phil stumbled to the ground from the force.

He hit the carpet with so much power that he had to let out an "oomph". He took a few deep breaths before he said, "Yes, I am."

Dan kicked his stomach, causing Phil to skitter across the ground. "Stop lying to me!" The shout was surprisingly loud and it made Phil flinch.

Seeing that Dan had his foot raised for another kick, Phil hurriedly screamed, "Yes, I am! I am sorry!"

Dan looked down at him for a moment and it seemed to hit him that he was doing it again. "Never mind," he muttered. "I'm going to bed."

Phil stayed where he was on the ground, too exhausted and run down to bother moving. Why should he even bother anyway? He'd just end up in this position again anyway, beaten down and weak, just like always.

God—he hated how one person could do this to him. How could one man have so much control over his life that Phil let him push him around and shoved him down and keep him under a fist?

As he started to scramble up to his feet, he realized that he already knew the answer to that question. He let Dan have all the power because, underneath the anger and the fighting, Phil still loved Dan, and Dan still loved Phil. It a crazy, screwed up kind of love, but it was still there.

Phil walked into the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror. His hair was messy, his shirt was rumpled, and there was a new bruise forming on his right cheek bone—and he'd been planning on filming a video tomorrow, but that plan was out the window now.

Unless… he could always buy some cover-up—just for this once of course. No, definitely not. He'd just wait to film until it was gone.

Sighing, Phil took out his contacts and slid his glasses on before walking out of the bathroom. He started walking toward Dan's room out of habit but decided it would be best if they slept separately that night. He sadly walked off to his own room.

.~.

The doorbell rang way too early the next morning. Phil rolled over in bed and listened for footsteps, hoping that Dan was getting the door so he wouldn't have to—but he couldn't hear any movement, so Phil flung himself out of bed and stumbled toward the front door.

When he opened it, he saw Mary standing a few feet back, holding their container of sugar. She looked like she was about to smile at him, but it quickly changed to a grimace. Her eyebrows rumpled and her lips pressed tightly together. "Oh dear," she said quietly.

Confused, Phil looked around. "What? What's wrong?"

She opened her mouth but snapped it shut. "Nothing, honey," she lied, forcing a soft smile. "I brought you back your sugar."

"Thanks," Phil said. He tried to lift his arm to take it from her, but his arm felt sore and he drew it back; he must've fallen on it last night. Hoping she hadn't noticed, he forced himself to use his pained limb and took the sugar from her.

Then he realized why she was looking at him weird: he still had a bruise on his face. He'd totally forgotten and the pain in his arm was the first thing to remind. He had to force himself not to tenderly touch the blotch on his face.

"Erm… I'm sorry about the wine last night. It really was an accident."

She waved her hand. "It's okay. I barely drink it anyway," she assured him. She seemed unsure of something for a second. "Well, I better make sure Brit is getting ready for school." She jerkily turned away and started walking back to her apartment.

"Mary?" Phil asked uncertainly. She seemed upset, and Phil knew why, but he wanted to at least make sure it wasn't affecting her.

She spun back around. "Yeah?" she said with a shaky voice.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah… I…" She sighed and looked down at her feet. After a few seconds she glanced back up to meet his eyes. She looked sad. "I'm worried about you, Phil."

Phil tried to act confused, but he knew he wouldn't believe it if he was her. He rubbed his sweaty hands on his jeans and said, "Why?"

Mary walked back over to him and put her hand lightly on his chin. She held his gaze for a long moment before letting her hand drop back down. "You know you can always talk to me? About anything. You know that?"

"Of course." Phil looked down at her, gulping. "Everything's fine, Mary. You don't need to worry."

"Phil, you're awake already?"

Phil jumped at hearing Dan's voice. He hadn't thought that his boyfriend was awake already, so he was even more surprised when he felt arms go around his waist.

"Good morning," Phil said after he'd calmed down.

Dan set his chin on Phil's shoulder and looked over at Mary. "Hi, Mary," he said, his arms growing a little tighter around Phil. "Sorry about what happened last night."

"Oh, it's perfectly fine." Then she sighed and said, "I should go. I'll talk to you boys alter." She walked into her apartment.

Phil turned around to talk to face Dan, who was still wrapped around his waist. "Good morning," he said, forcing cheer into his voice. He tried to look loving even though he was still rattled from last night.

"Don't 'good morning; me," Dan spat. He let go of Phil and started walking back into their apartment; he was followed by Phil, who hustled quickly after him. "What the fuck was that?"

"What do you mean?" Phil asked.

"What the fuck is she 'worried' about?" He reached the kitchen doorway before spinning around, a threatening look ghosting over his face. "I swear to God if you told her anything…"

"I didn't tell her anything," Phil said, rolling his eyes. He wrapped his arms around his body and looked down to the ground. He still hurt from being kicked. "Can't you go one day without assuming I'm going around telling everyone our problems?"

Dan let out a deep breath. "Right, sorry." He started to walk past Phil to go into his bedroom.

Phil couldn't keep himself from muttering, "For fucks sakes."

"Oh shut up!" Dan immediately said and spun around. "I know that you hate when I lose my temper but can't you see that I'm trying?"

That was where Phil lost it. "No, you're not!" he screamed. He knew that he was going to get hell for this in a moment—Dan was walking closer and looking dangerous—but he needed to get it out. "You say that you're trying, but at the end of the day, you still beat the shit out of me! Then you act all sorry and apologize but it all comes back to blaming me, like it's my fault that you can't keep your fists to yourself!"

"Shut up!" Dan squeezed his eyes shut and curled up his fists.

"No! I'm tired of shutting up! I keep crawling back to you and I don't know why." Phil rubbed his face. He started to turn away but stopped and brought his attention back to Dan. "Look at you. You're fighting it right now. I know you want to. Do it: hit me."

Dan did. It was a hard, close-fisted hit that sent Phil slamming against the wall beside him. He groaned and slid down. Then suddenly there were fists all over him, pounding and hurting, and he was pretty sure he was crying, because it hurt. And—God—Dan had hit him but never this badly and ow. Ow. Ow.

"Stop, please!" Phil shouted just before a blow hit his already bruised stomach. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry!"

Then it all stopped and Dan sunk down to his knees beside Phil. "Oh my God. Phil, Phil, are you okay?"

Everything hurt. His nose felt weird, and he tasted blood, and his face was sore, and he didn't think his limbs would work properly, but he wasn't sure because he didn't want to try to move them.

Phil was about to force himself to respond when there was a banging on the door. He immediately tried to get up, not wanting whoever was at the door to see him like this. He stumbled into the bathroom to wipe the blood from his face as Dan rushed to answer the door.

"We're responding to a domestic disturbance call," said a voice from the doorway and Phil froze.

A few moments passed before Dan weakly said, "Oh."

"May we come in?"

"Uh—yeah—yeah… uh… Yeah, come in."

Phil scrubbed all the blood away as quickly as he could and tried to convince himself that the mass of bruises wasn't too obvious. (He was lying; they were standing out on his pale skin like beacons.)

"Is there anyone else in the house?" the voice asked. Dan must have nodded, because they then said, "We need everyone present. Also, pets."

"Phil!" Dan shouted.

"Coming!" Phil responded loudly.

He splashed water on his face to make the tears less obvious and hustled into the living room. Two police officers were standing side-by-side facing Dan, who had his back to the hallway. They looked at Phil as he entered, and they both seemed to grimace.

"Anyone else?" the taller of the two, who had red hair peeking out from a hat, asked. "Any pets?"

"No," Phil answered flatly. He looked between the three people in the room. "It's just us."

The other cop then said, "We've received a call about a domestic disturbance. What are your names?"

Dan looked too shocked and unsure to answer, so Phil took over: "I'm Phil Lester, and my boyfriend over there is Dan Howell." Then it hit him exactly why the police officers were here and his knees went weak. "Really, though, there hasn't been a problem. Whoever called you…? You don't need to be here."

The redhead shrugged. "Either way, we have to document this. Would you mind stepping into the other room with me?"

Phil sighed and followed him into his bedroom. "You can sit at the desk chair, I guess," he said awkwardly. "But really… I mean… You don't need to be here."

The cop sat down and said, "I think I do. How did you get those bruises?"

Phil opened his mouth to make an excuse, but then he realized—this was his chance to end it all. Leaving Dan hadn't worked, and fighting back hadn't worked, but this… these cops could bring an end to his entire struggle.

But did he really want Dan arrested? Could Phil really do that to him without feeling guilty for the rest of his life?

Or would he rather suffer under Dan's fist until he died?

It suddenly occurred to him that he was probably taking too long to answer and he'd taken to staring at the ground. He slowly looked up at the cop and said, "What happens if I tell you?"

The redhead looked sympathetic, but he didn't offer any words other than, "If a person did it to you, they'll be arrested."

This was it. He should do it. He had to do it.

Then it came out, almost at a whisper, "It was Dan." Despite how quietly he'd said it, the three words still took all the breath from his lungs and made him feel like he was suffocating.

The cop stood. "Stay here. I'll be right back." He walked briskly out of the room and muttered words could be heard in the other room before he came back in. "Alright, I just have a few, mandatory questions."

Phil nodded. "Okay."

"Do you speak English fluently?" the cop asked, and Phil nodded. "Do you have any injuries other than the visible?"

Phil shrugged. "Just some bruises. I don't think it's anything serious."

"And has Dan ever forced you to have sex against your will?"

"No," Phil answered.

The officer asked a few other questions and Phil answered, and soon Phil was being led back into the living room. Just as he entered, Dan was being lead out by the other cop, his hand handcuffed behind his back.

Dan turned to look at Phil. His eyes had such a betrayed look that Phil could hardly take it. He seemed so broken and pathetic. When he had Phil's gaze locked in his, he weakly said, "How could you do this to me, Phil?"

Phil's chest felt empty and he looked down at the ground. "This can't keep happening, Dan," he answered, his voice becoming stronger with each word. "Someone had to stop it, and neither of us was going to do it."

"Please, Phil," Dan said. The officer leading him was still trying to get him to leave.

"This is it, Dan."

Phil watched silently as Dan left and let out a breath when he was gone.

It was actually done this time.

It was over.