I'll heal the hole in your heart chapter 13

Summary about chapter 13: (They're 18 years old) Dan gets home from the hospital after his heart attack.

A/N: Well it has been ages hello. Are people still following this? I really do hope so bc I've gone through a lot to get this posted.

Words: 2.803

Dan »

It felt strange now.

Whilst I'd spent the last five weeks being shuffled between cold white hospital beds, lying in my own bed again was what I'd most been looking forward to. But now that it was finally happening, it felt more like a nightmare. My room was eerily quiet; there were no doctors or nurses rushing in and out, and aside from the oxygen flowing into me through the cannula in my nose, no tubes or wires attached to me. Nothing was monitoring me anymore. And I was terrified.

It wasn't like I had pictured at all. Being home from the hospital was throwing me into a state of near panic, when it used to be the exact opposite. The very air around me seemed thinner somehow.

It's funny what a heart attack can do to you. It was like suddenly being smashed in the face with reality. Before, I was only aware of my own heart when I overworked it, but now I counted every single beat. And when I was alone with my thoughts, I'd worry that the number of beats wouldn't match all the things I wanted to do yet with my life. The more I thought about my situation, the more nervous I became.

I looked to my left, only to find Phil fast asleep beside me. He looked so comfortable and peaceful that just the thought of waking him up caused a knot to tighten in my stomach. He needed the sleep more than I did after all the time he'd spent awake with me in the hospital, keeping me company with lazy conversation and cuddling me into his side for hours and hours. We never talked about anything much really, but still the time had passed, and he'd made me feel comfortable in a place I hated.

But the more I looked at him in the dark, the more I felt the panic rush through my body until my breathing had sped up enough that I started shaking.

"You okay?" a tired-sounding voice asked from beside me.

But instead of words, I only managed to give him a few whimpers in return. Before I registered what was happening, Phil had jumped up, turned on the light, and pulled off my covers.

He immediately began asking the same questions: "Where does it hurt? Should I get you some painkillers? Do I need to call an ambulance?"

But I shook my head slowly from side to side against the pillow. "I'm just s-scared."

"So… nothing hurts?" Phil sounded both confused and slightly nervous, as if I were lying. He was kneeling on the bed next to me, his eyes scanning me over carefully.

"No," I breathed out between small sobs. "I just c-can't b-breathe." There didn't seem to be enough air for me in the room. At least it felt like that.

Without saying anything, Phil gently lifted me up to a sitting position, making it possible for him to slide in and sit behind me. My back pressed up against his stomach and my head rested on his chest as he held me close. I'd missed this. It was something we couldn't really do while I was still in hospital—at least not anymore. When we were younger, Phil would sit with me in the small, white beds. It had always made me feel safer, and it still did, but right now my breathing was still too quick for me to talk and I was too scared to stop shaking.

"Just relax. Nothing is going to happen to you." Phil already knew what I was thinking. I didn't have to explain my thoughts to him anymore; he would say them for me when I couldn't. "You need to slow down, Dan."

I only nodded in response. Panicking would just make my breathing worse. But I couldn't help it. The nightmares kept coming back.

Slowly, Phil turned my head to the side so he could see me. His eyebrows were drawn together in concern as he looked me over carefully. He made sure the plastic cannula was positioned correctly in my nose so I could get as much oxygen as possible.

"Just take it easy."

My eyes began to water up at his gentle touch. I didn't mean to cry, it was just too overwhelming and I had too many thoughts swirling through my mind to hold back any longer.

"You're okay. Nothing is going to happen to you," he assured me in a calm voice. His gaze locked with mine, even though it was difficult to focus on him.

"I c-can't breathe," I managed to say through strenuous breaths. "I c-can't…" My body was tense with panic and fear.

"You can." He kept his voice low, but I could hear he was nervous.

I just shook my head. There wasn't enough air, and I began to feel dizzy and light-headed.

Though my eyes were shut tightly, I could feel him staring at me. "You sure it doesn't hurt?" he asked again. "Should I call the hospital? You have to tell me, Dan." His voice was a little higher this time, to make sure I understood. But still, nothing was hurting—I was just so scared.

"No-Nothing hurts," I promised. He pressed two fingers to the side of my neck and let out a deep breath of concern. "It's just…" I tried, but barely any sound came out.

Instead of responding, Phil just started moving around behind me. Before I got the chance to ask him what he was doing, he removed the tubes from my nose and swapped it with the oxygen mask instead.

"I'm just making it a little easier for you—relax," he informed me as he adjusted the string on the back of my head to keep the mask in place. I felt like crying. Not that I wanted to—I'd cried enough already—but because I was too scared. It was that powerless kind of fear, where the only thing that feels right is crying.

Gently, Phil drew his fingers across my cheek, just as he'd done so many times before. It still made me feel loved. That feeling never lessened, no matter how many difficulties we faced together.

We sat in silence for some time—Phil with his arms holding tightly around me, while I was sat between his legs. His body felt warm against mine, and my breathing calmed down again, mostly because I didn't have the strength to keep going. This was the thing I'd missed the most. Phil had always been gentle around me, but he didn't treat me as though I was made of glass like the doctors did.

"You don't have to be scared…" he mumbled into my hair.

"But I am."

"I'll always be here to look out for you. There's no reason to be afraid—I promise."

"It wasn't your fault, Phil." It was hard getting the words out like how I wanted them. Not that they had changed much from all the other times I'd said it to him since I ended up in hospital. There was just this tone in his voice told me he needed to hear it again. And when he didn't give me a response, I repeated, "It w-wasn't."

From behind me, I could feel him let out a sigh. "I know," he whispered.

That was the answer he gave me every time, and every time he sounded the same. Like he didn't truly believe what he was saying, no matter how much I tried to convince him otherwise. It made me both angry and sad at the same time. He shouldn't be feeling like that.

We'd stopped talking, but eventually the silence was broken by Phil's quiet giggle.

"Wh-What's funny?" I asked curiously.

"I was just thinking…" I could hear the smile in his voice.

"About what?"

"Do you remember that time I was with you and your family on holiday when we were twelve, and I fell from that swing and broke my arm?" he asked in a low voice. "I just remembered that."

I choked out a small laugh as the memories came back. "Yeah. To this day, I d-don't think I've ever heard anyone scream that loud."

"Hey! It hurt."

"Sounded l-like it." A wave of exhaustion washed over me and I could barely keep my eyes open. And with the oxygen mask covering my face, it must have been difficult for Phil to understand my words by now.

"And do you remember how I cried when they needed to poke me with needles?" Phil giggled quietly.

"Hmm…" I remembered. Phil had never liked needles. Not that I did either, but after all these years I had gotten used to the hospital routine.

For as long as I could remember, he'd always told me stories like this whenever I was upset or scared. He'd talk about things we had experienced together, or about his work, or sometimes he'd make up his own stories. It was his way of getting my mind, and his too, off of serious things for a moment.

At times, the conversation would veer off, and we'd talk about life. It'd get to the point where I'd yell at him for not understanding. But he would always just agree with me—he couldn't really understand—and I was fine with that.

That was one of the reasons I loved him so much; he never really tried. Not like my parents or the doctors, who insisted on analysing everything I did. When Phil looked at me, he just saw me.

"Remember how you had to hold my hand and promise me it would be okay?" he continued, nudging me a bit to make sure I was listening.

"I remember I had a hard time n-not laughing," I mumbled through the mask. "It was just anaesthesia."

"You must've done a good job because I can't remember you laughing at me."

Phil's words were like a lullaby. My breathing had finally calmed down, but I was left so exhausted that just the thought of moving felt like running a marathon. I was still nervous, even though Phil held me tight in his arms. I was always scared, but in moments like these, it wasn't so bad.

"You can sleep if you want," he whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."

Phil »

"Phil..? Phil? Phil, wake up!"

"Huh? What's happening?! Do I need to call an ambulance?"

"Uhm, no?" But instead of it being Dan's voice answering me as I thought it would be, it was Chris's. Confused, I glanced around and found myself sitting at the table in the back office of the coffee shop.

"Sorry…" I murmured, and quickly tried to blink the sleep out of my eyes. But every second I kept them closed, I felt myself drifting off again.

"That's okay." Chris moved towards me to get a closer look. "Better question—are you okay?" His voice changed slightly, making him sound more concerned than I liked.

"Yeah…" I mumbled, trying to avoid eye contact. But it didn't sound very convincing, not even to myself. My voice was hoarse, my head was pounding, and I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open, yet alone think about standing up and getting back to work.

It had been a few weeks since Dan had come home from the hospital now, but it certainly hadn't gotten easier. The nights when he couldn't sleep and I stayed up with him were long, and even when he finally did drift off, I couldn't.

Christmas was coming soon—too soon, if you asked me. I hadn't had time to think about it. It just didn't feel right this year. But then again, we needed something to look forward to. In the midst of hospitals, and medications, and the constant monitoring of Dan's health, we needed something happy. Some peace.

"You know, I could stay with him for a few days and you could go visit your parents. Just so you could get some time off," Chris offered.

The same feelings I'd had when Dan's parents had wanted to take him home now came over me again. They were feelings of loss, and failure… and not being good enough.

"You don't need to prove anything, y'know," Chris continued. "You already saved his life once."

"I'm not trying to prove anything," I spat back. But honestly, I'd asked myself that question more times than I could count. Was I putting myself through unnecessary pain? Was I just trying to prove to everyone that I could do this—that I could take care of him? But I always ended up with the same answer.

"He's my responsibility, Chris." I looked out the office door into the shop and spotted Dan there, sitting at the nearest table with his headphones on. His wheelchair, with the oxygen tank hanging on the back, stood beside him, and he was watching something on his laptop. Something funny, I guessed, because I could see his lips were curled up and his dimple was showing slightly. I felt myself smile by the sight. He was safe.

Now we were both staring at him from inside the office. "But he's not only your responsibility, Phil. I want you to remember that," Chris said as me moved his gaze from Dan to me instead.

I knew he was talking about Dan's parents, or even himself, as he'd offered to help a few times before. And sometimes, when I'd lie awake at night, I would consider it. But when I looked at Dan—sitting in his usual spot in the coffee shop, as he'd done every day since he came home from the hospital—it felt different. I didn't see him as sick. Not like how other people saw him, anyway. He was my responsibility, yes, and sometimes it was hard and the days were long and unpredictable. But then there were days like today, where I saw him smile and I heard him laugh, like nothing was ever wrong, and I'd forget everything and smile with him.

Chris gave my shoulder a quick pat before heading back to help his dad serve some costumers. I followed, but only made two cups of hot chocolate, grabbed two sandwiches, and continued on towards Dan, who was still occupied by whatever he was watching on the laptop. Once I was standing beside him, he carefully removed the headphones, making sure the cannula didn't follow.

"Something funny?" I smiled as I handed him the food and drink.

"Maybe," Dan answered me, his voice a little hoarse. I blamed the cold weather for that, even though he wrapped in multiple blankets and sweaters to keep him from getting ill.

Not taking my gaze off of him, I sat down at the other side at the table, taking small sips of hot chocolate.

"Aren't you working?" Dan closed his laptop screen and focused on me.

"Break," I replied, and took another sip of the hot substance in my cup. "So I thought we could eat together."

Dan nodded slowly, and started to pick at his sandwich.

"You okay?" I asked softly. I tried my best not to stare at him while I asked, since I knew he didn't like that.

"I'm fine. A little tired, but fine," Dan mumbled. I let my gaze rest on his face. A short moment of guilt then followed as my eyes travelled across his pale skin, past the cannula, and to his eyes. It was quickly forgotten as he gave me a lazy, but genuine smile. "And my feet are cold."

"And you're expecting me to do something about that, aren't you?"

"Yep," Dan breathed out, placing both of his feet in my lap underneath the table. He was wearing the fluffiest socks I could find, but still he got cold easily due to his poor circulation.

"Unbelievable," I complained jokingly, and started rubbing his feet between my hands.

"If you tickle me this time, I will kick you. You have been warned," Dan smirked, pointing at me with his sandwich.

"Got it." I nodded and grinned remembering how he'd almost thrown his drink at me the other day. I could see Dan remembering it too, as his eyes kept landing on the water bottle next to him while he smiled widely.

I let out a small sigh of relief. Dan was in a good mood today. And it felt wrong to say it like that because most days he was in a good mood, but this was one of the rare moments where it felt real.

Today it felt like there was a future—days to wake up to and new memories to make.

A/N: Chapter 14 will be wrote on asap!