Summary: "Dan, I'm going to die tomorrow, and if you stay, you will, too. I don't want to lose you." Tears are pricking at the corners of Phil's eyes but Dan ignores them, infuriated. "No, Phil. We go together or we don't go down at all."
Word count: 2000
Note: If you like reading with music playing, listen to 'A Love Like War' by All Time Low.
Trembling fingers close around a shot glass full of some sort of liquor - Dan doesn't remember what exactly he's drinking, but it does the trick. Next to him, Phil downs his own shot with a fierce determination. They're drinking for one reason, and one reason only: to get drunk. To get drunk and forget about everything they've seen today and what they'll have to see tomorrow.
"Tomorrow's the big day," Dan says suddenly, breaking the silence. Phil makes a noncommittal noise as he swallows. Then he turns to make eye contact with the younger male. Dan turns away in the same moment, pretending to concentrate on the sports game broadcasted on the television above their heads. This bar has twelve televisions (Dan counted) and they're all showing the same game of American football. It's ridiculous. They're in London, for God's sake.
"Dan. Dan, look at me." Dan does. "I just want you to know, that whatever happens tomorrow to me, the way I feel about you doesn't change." Phil is already flushed bright red from the heat of the bar and the alcohol, but Dan can imagine he'd blush further if it was possible.
"I know."
"You do? Okay, that's good." Phil takes a deep breath. "Actually, I have a request to make of you."
Dan's surprised, but he doesn't show it. "Oh? And what would that be?" Phil doesn't answer, just takes Dan's hand in his. It's familiar, and it feels like home. Something neither have had for a very long time. For that brief second, Dan feels like everything is alright, that tomorrow one or both of them won't be - no, Dan doesn't want to go there.
Phil withdraws his hand and Dan looks him in the eyes. It makes him freeze, but only for a second. "So, what did you want?" he prompts bluntly. They've both played the waiting game for far too long, and he's sick of it.
Phil chuckles, "Antsy, aren't we?" before leans in and captures Dan's pink lips in a kiss. It tastes like alcohol and desperation, not at all like before, but Dan takes it greedily. It's all they'll get right now. He's lucky he gets this kiss at all. When they break away, both are panting heavily. Sweat is breaking out on Dan's neck, though he supposes it's from the bar, not from the kiss and most certainly not from fear.
They both take another shot before the kissing resumes, and Dan's on fire. It's a battle, this kiss, a battle for escape from this terrible situation they've been thrown into. Dan would give anything to go back to normal, and he's sure Phil would, too. He can't tell if that warms or frightens him. He's too numb to feel anymore.
This is war.
Eventually, Dan breaks this one off, too. "What did you want to ask me, Phil?" Phil doesn't want to respond and leans back in, but Dan stops him. "I'm tired of waiting, Phil. Just ask."
Phil takes another shot (which number is that? Dan's lost count.) and sighs. "I want you to go to America."
Dan freezes in disbelief. "You're not serious." There's a silence. "You're serious." Phil shrugs. "Phil, I am not running away. I'm not leaving you."
"Dan, I'm going to die tomorrow, and if you stay, you will, too. I don't want to lose you." Tears are pricking at the corners of Phil's eyes but Dan ignores them, infuriated.
"And me running away is going to prevent that? No, Phil. We go together or we don't go down at all."
Phil smiles, but there's nothing happy about what Dan just said.
The next morning they're woken by a pounding on the door to their hotel room. "Imperial Police! Open up the door! Dan Howell, Phil Lester, you are wanted by the King of England for treason. Come quietly, and you may be let off with a lighter sentence." Dan and Phil glance at each other, fear evident in each other's eyes, before they scramble to shove their few possessions into their backpacks. Dan breaks the curtain rod off of the wall and smashes the window with it before jumping out. Phil follows suit.
As the door is broken down, Dan and Phil hit the asphalt of the parking lot on their feet. Pain shoots up Dan's legs, but he fights it down. They run, running along the main road because that's the fastest way to put distance between them and the Imperial Police, even if it means they'll be seen.
They are. As they tear off down the street people whisper, 'Is that them? The ones guilty of treason?' 'I think it is!' Phil ignores them but Dan is angry. Are these people really just going to sit down and take whatever the King does to them? He's starving them, lying to them, stealing their children from them just to send them to die in foreign lands, and they're okay with that?
As they run, Phil presses something into Dan's hand. He glances at it. It's a piece of paper, crumpled up and covered in writing. He'll read it later, once they're safe.
Eventually, the crowds thin, and the road comes to an end at the harbor. Dan and Phil scale a tree and hide. There, they gasp for air. They were running for easily twenty miles without any food in their system and a killer hangover. Once he's caught his breath, Dan unfolds the scrap of paper. 'Captain Kirk Jagger, S. S. Vigilante, I am calling in my favor. This is the love of my life, Daniel. I want you to take him to America. If he makes it to the shore, then we are even. This is a dying man's last request. - Phil Lester,' he reads, growing more and more angry. "Phil, didn't I tell you that there's no way I'm running away without you?"
"Please, Dan," Phil pleads. "Just go."
Dan rips the paper in fourths and throws them down. "No. I'm just as guilty of treason as you are. We did this together. Together, we advocated against the King. Together, we tried to save these mindless automatons from blindly following him. And together, we will take the sentence." He squeezes Phil's hand before leaning in and kissing Phil. It's oddly reminiscent of last night, the sequence of events. Phil wants him to run away, they hold hands, they kiss. "We go together or we don't go down at all," he adds, making the parallels even more so.
Phil can't tell if he hates Dan or loves him in that second. So, instead of deciding, he kisses Dan again. Dan laughs. "All we've done these last few hours is kiss."
"That's all we have left," Phil answers, and both their hearts break. It's true. There's nothing out there for the pair of villains except for separation and loss.
They sit there for what could be hours or only minutes, kissing and reminiscing, because in a few hours they'll both be dead. There's nowhere to run, now that Dan's torn up Phil's note. Phil never had an out, but Dan did, until he refused it in favor of staying with Phil. Dan tenses as the pair hear footsteps coming closer and closer to their tree, but Phil is relaxed. He's far too exhausted to be scared anymore.
"Dan Howell, Phil Lester, come with me now." It's the Imperial Police captain again. "You can't run."
"Really?" Dan shouts back, "Didn't we already run?" He glances over at Phil, even though the captain can't see them, just hear them. "I think we did. We did, didn't we?"
Taunting the captain is the wrong thing to do, and Dan realizes that as he feels the bullet in his shoulder. His whole arm is burning and the wound looks like he's had it for weeks, festering and blistering red. He supposes the bullet was poisoned or something, right before he blacks out.
Phil grabs Dan's hand to keep him from falling out of the tree. "Easy there, sport. We go together or we don't go down at all." He puts Dan over his shoulder and climbs down the tree, holding up his hands as twenty-something rifles are aimed at the two.
This is war. And war is hell.
They are brought to the jail, and then the Imperial Police try to separate them. Phil had cooperated quietly until that point, but then he loses it. "Don't you dare take him away from me," he growls. An officer puts the back of his gloved hand to Phil's mouth and he bites it, ripping the material and tasting blood. The officer swears and lets go of Phil, who rushes to Dan's side.
The captain rolls his eyes as the officer bleeds. "Fine. Stay together. You'll die in a few hours, anyways." The police escort the two criminals into the medical ward, where Dan's bullet is removed from his shoulder and the wound bandaged. Phil's fine, other than a few minor scrapes, so they leave him alone.
A question pops into Phil's head. "Since we're about to die, why are you taking care of his wounds?"
"The bullet is coated in a special poison, not potent enough to kill, but enough to cause excruciating pain. Most black out from it, which is fine, but for your execution, we want him awake to feel the torture." The captain has a cruel smile on his face that sends shivers down Phil's spine.
After Dan's surgery they dump ice water on his face. He awakes, spluttering, to bright lights, strangers, and Phil grasping his hand for dear life. It comes back to him all at once. He is hours, maybe minutes, from dying. His shoulder still burns, but it's nothing like before. His heart, however, aches like it's being ripped out. And maybe it is. How is he to know how he'll be tortured to death? Will they simply shoot him? Behead him, dissect him, shock him? Will it be televised or private? Will he have Phil by his side?
He feels sick. His bones smart and his eyes are brimming with tears. "So," he says, looking at the wall, the police, his wound, anywhere but Phil, "About that execution thing."
"Who said anything about execution?" the captain smiles, and for a second Dan thinks he's saved, before, "You're right, of course, but no one said anything about the execution before you brought it up. The King has declared that you shall be killed by a series of bullets through your vital organs, which will be broadcasted on every television channel in England." Dan's stomach drops. "The execution will take place on top of the palace, as is customary."
He's handcuffed, as is Phil, and they're lead up staircase after staircase, until they open the door to the roof. From here Dan can see the old palace, still in ruins from the coup though infinitely more regal and beautiful than the one they're standing on top of now. The King is seated in a red velvet armchair, with a camera trained on him. There's another that follows the pair as they're escorted to their place, opposite the King. Dan glances behind 're scarcely ten meters from the edge of the roof.
Phil follows his line of sight and squeezes Dan's hand.
The King speaks, and their heads snap back around. "Dan Howell, Phil Lester, you have been accused of treason. How do you plead?"
"Guilty," they speak in unison. Dan's voice wavers, but Phil's is firm. Dan's is the voice of someone afraid of death. Phil's is the voice of someone who's resigned himself.
"By my power as King, I find you guilty, and sentence you to death. Let this be a lesson to all subversives. You will be caught. And you will be killed."
As the firing squad raise their rifles, Dan and Phil spin around and dash to the edge of the roof. They jump, and Dan takes Phil's clammy hand in his sweaty one, screaming, "We go together or we don't go down at all!" just as the bullets are fired.