Without You

by lucyinthesky95

This is a darker story based around the pairing of AmazingPhil/Danisnotonfire aka Phan. Dan finds himself in hospital after tragedy rocks his life. So far it's just a bit of a teaser/introduction for what is to come. If you enjoy this, please R&R, so I know to post more. Rated M for what's to come. Mild self harm, may be triggering to some people.

1. Introduction

Hey guys, I wanted to try another Phan story, went with something a bit darker this time. This is kind of just the teaser/introduction to the story. Please let me know if you like it, and I'll post more! Enjoy! xx

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I woke up today groggy from a mixture of sleeping pills and restless, interrupted sleep. Last night was horrific, my vision blurred and shiny as though I was looking up from deep in the water. An incredible weight pressed on my chest and lungs, making it hard to breathe, and my mouth filled with the taste of blood. The voices were angry and intense, everybody I've ever met seemed to be screaming at me, their voices overlapping in a deafening roar. I knew they wanted something from me, but I have no idea what it was. I caved to the pain, sobbing and stumbling around uselessly until a nurse guided me to bed and coaxed Valium into me.

The voices wouldn't let up, though, and the sheets felt like they were strangling me, and I was feverishly hot. The first time I ripped the sheets away and started sobbing in earnest, nurses came and quietened me. In desperation I turned to real pain to drive the hallucinations away, scratching at my upper right forearm until I had created a painful but harmless rash. Eventually I fell into a restless, feverish sleep, waking again and again from the nightmares that had followed me into unconsciousness to scream and sob into a pillow. I had learnt better than to make noise, as it would bring only scolding and not comfort.

Even today, the nightmare has not stopped, only lessened slightly, and the migraine that has been brought on by the stress of last night serves to be almost as painful. Apart from this, I feel sick to my stomach and fluey. My throat is incredibly painful and produces only a croaky shadow of my voice and a regular round of dry coughs.

I am picking through a pile of greyish mush that has been described to me as porridge, but looks more like regurgitated kitty litter, when he arrives.

"Dan, can you tell me where you are?"

I sigh and begin to recite. "My name in Daniel James Howard, I am a patient in Bethlem Royal Hospital in London, I've been here for 4 months and 8 days.

"Good. And why are you here?"

"Because he's not." I gasp as my eyes fill with tears "Because Phil is dead, and it's all my fault."