And here we have some extremely depressing Dan and Phil fan-fiction. Warning: Self-harm and just general depressingness. Reviews are much appreciated
Life in Monochrome
...
Everything's hot and muddied and Dan just wants it to end. He wants to tear his heart from his chest, just to stop the awful beating he can hear. To pause the warmth and the rising panic and then rewind to before he existed.
Dan knows he means something; that he has an important place in some people's lives but at the same time he doesn't know anything. People would miss him but would they feel like he does? His body is alight with panic at the thought of the people he loves disappearing from his life but he can't imagine anyone feeling anything near as painful at the thought of him being gone.
Maybe Phil would feel this agony, the sweet tearing open of emotions until they bleed blue with sorrow and black with grief. Red with blood if the pain is bad enough. But Phil feels everything in yellows and oranges, lively cheerful colours that make Dan's eyes hurt.
Phil wouldn't miss him like Dan would miss Phil. A big part of Dan wants to tear apart the bright canvas of Phil's life, splatter it with navy and grey until Phil can't even muster a smile. But the dominant part of Dan, the side with the pretty pastels and shy smiles, wants to be gone. Dan knows that he drips paint stripper onto bright orange till it's near white and faded; that Phil's smile dims when he walks into a room.
Dan doesn't need to try and destroy Phil. He can do that without effort.
But when Dan feels the cold heat of fear wrap its hands around his heart its Phil who calms him. When Dan battles the monster that is his brain Phil is by his side, armed with nothing but grins and a box of Maltesers. When Dan screams into his pillow, painting his grey with shades of crimson, it's Phil who decorates him with sharpie and pastel yellows and oranges.
If Dan destroys Phil, Phil fixes Dan.
Dan isn't sure he can be fixed anymore. Everything is red and white and grey, his heart thudding in his chest as the dark swirls across his skin, carving painful patterns onto tender flesh. Dan's pastel is dripping from his canvas as he steps out into the dead of night, thunderstorm raging.
The rain beats at him, tearing all colour away until he's just white, a pureness that's skin deep alone. Looking up at the darkness he screams, tearing at his ravaged flesh with his fingernails, bringing colour to the monochrome before it's too late. The sky booms out a laugh, lighting tearing across the black, illuminating the broken figure that collapses to the ground, sobbing.
"Come back inside," Phil whispers.
Dan looks up and Phil isn't dripping away, he's radiant in the black, glowing and sparkling until Dan wants to be sick. "You can't fix me," he says steadily, feeling the world fade away until it's just Dan, Phil and their colours.
Phil sits down next to him, wrapping an arm around his shaking form. "There's nothing to fix. You aren't broken," Phil whispers, the words silver and special in the chaos of the storm.
"I am," Dan argues because Phil must be blind if he can't see the cracks in Dan's skin, the way his skin stretches across his ribs and the purple under his eyes.
Phil laughs and it's not beautiful or bright but a pastel blue that makes Dan want to hug him close. So he does. "If you're broken then I am too."
And they sit there in the darkness; bleeding and shattered until dawn comes, lighting their faces with pastel.
Maybe, Dan thinks, Phil would miss him like Dan would miss Phil.
...