A/N: so I may have lied about not liking angst, because there's angst in this chapter. O BOY IS THERE ANGST. Also, quite a bit of swearing, because this is a Dan who's dangerously close to breaking, and we all know how bad he gets under stress, and I think this situation qualifies?

Anyway, I'm sorry in advance, but probably not really since I'll probably do it again.

Enjoy and leave a review!

-Justin

Chapter Six: Recovery

December 15, 2014

gonna be live in 20 mins.

Nobody thought it was a good idea for me to do a live show this week, but as I was a stubborn little shit, I was doing one anyway. I'd gone home to film, and then I'd sat in the office for hours to edit, and then I'd spent the night browsing tumblr, reading the various discussions regarding my ability to handle the current shitstorm in my life. Some people honestly believed I was doing great, and I really wished those people could convince the others, the ones who were constantly filling my ask box and twitter mentions and comments with concerns for my mental health or physical well-being. Even if I was falling apart inside, nobody needed to know.

He still hadn't woken up, not for seven weeks now. Nobody could give me an actual explanation for why he was able to open his eyes and talk to me and then slip into this coma. Everyone just said it was because his brain didn't have enough oxygen, and when the brain didn't have enough oxygen, people went into comas. Nobody knew how long he'd be this way, or if he'd ever even wake up at all. And then, as if things couldn't possibly get any worse, there was almost a 100% chance of memory loss if he did wake up. So those were my choices at the moment: Lose him or lose him. Fan-fucking-tastic.

"Hey, guys," I announced when the broadcast finally began. I was sat in the corner of the hospital room, trying to hide the fact that I was two feet from Phil. Of course they picked up on the new location, and of course they knew exactly where I was, but I ignored the comments asking about it and focused on my own image through the screen, hoping I wouldn't cry or something and give the world something new to obsess over.

I kept peeking over the laptop, watching Phil's chest moving up and down steadily. He wore a ventilator now, because he couldn't breathe on his own in that state. The tube sticking out of his mouth was terrifying, and I was almost afraid to get near him while it was there, because I just knew I'd trip over something and somehow break the machine keeping him alive.

dan its okay to not be okay

The chat was moving pretty slowly tonight. Nobody seemed to have any witty things to say, and I accredited at least some of that to the fact that now there was no 'proof' to expose. However, one comment popped up suddenly, and I couldn't stop staring at it. "You guys sure are quiet tonight," I said with a laugh, hoping for spam to push that one comment out of view. A few people sent messages about how they could say the same about me, but it just wasn't going anywhere.

Halfway through, I decided to end it early. "I'm sorry, guys," I told them, "It was a stupid idea to do this now." My eyes searched the room again, falling on the duvet covering Phil from the waist down. Green and blue squares staring me into a corner.

Don't apologize, we understand

you're too stubborn howell

we all know where you really wanna be so don't be sorry

its okay to not be okay

There was that message again. I didn't give myself time to dwell on it as I said my goodbyes and ended the show with promises of filming new content soon. I knew it was a lie and they knew it was a lie, but I had to do something to keep some aspect of normalcy in my life right now, and if that meant pretending that everything was fine and dandy, then that's what I'd do.

I stared a hole into the blank screen for a while, and then I slammed the lid down and moved it to the side. My phone was going off nonstop and I was sure it was all twitter mentions asking if I was okay.

I wanted to scream, but I settled for walking over to Phil and sitting in the chair by his side. His left hand still had the oxygen monitor attached to one finger, and there were now three needles sticking out of his arms, but his right hand was free to hold, and that's what I spent a lot of time doing. "I tried to do a live show," I began, falling into the routine I'd followed for a month now. Dr. Spencer had said familiar voices help, and I'd been skeptical at first (not to mention embarrassed), but I was way past it now. I didn't give a shit who heard me, nor did I care what they heard. I'd say or do just about anything if it meant getting to see his blue eyes again.

"Someone kept saying it was okay to not be okay," I continued, looking down at our hands. His was limp and unresponsive, no matter how hard I squeezed. His fingers were more skeletal than usual, bony knuckles poking out like little spikes. I ran my thumb over them, some irrational part of my brain thinking that maybe I could smooth them down a bit. "They just kept typing it into the chat."

I wasn't okay, not in any sense of the word. It felt like half of me was gone. I tried my best to not fall into a dark hole, but it was hard to keep my sanity when I really thought about how dependent I was on him to get me through the day. He was the one who talked me through my crises, and he was the one who turned off all the lights before bed so I wouldn't have to walk through the dark hallway. I missed the horrible puns and the way he'd wake me up way too early in the morning because he was too blind to find his glasses. I wanted to feel his hands on me again. I wanted to feel his fingers brushing out my fringe even though he knew I hated it because he also knew he was the one person who could get away with it. I wanted a lot of things right now, but mostly I just wanted him to open his goddamn eyes and look at me with that expression he'd given me every single day since the first meeting almost six years ago. I could see it now in my head, eyes crinkling in the corners, lips curling up. Sometimes he'd smile so hard there'd be wrinkles on his forehead, and I loved to point them out.

"You're such a shit," I ended up saying out loud, still holding his hand tight. I looked at his face; if you ignored the tube in his throat, he actually looked quite peaceful. My other hand shot out on its own to smooth his hair back. The dark fringe was starting to curl; it'd been a few days since I snuck a flat iron in to straighten it. They all knew I did it, but we seemed to have an unspoken agreement that meant I could do it as long as nobody actually caught me. I twisted my fingers in his hair and combed it out, mostly for my own benefit. Of course, that just made me start thinking about how long it'd been since I felt his fingers in my hair, and I started wondering if I'd ever feel it again, and the next thing I knew, I was pressing a fist in my mouth to stifle the horrible noises coming from my throat.

I didn't want to cry in front of him. If what they were saying was true, he didn't need to hear it. I'd been strong enough up to this point, but now everything was literally falling apart, and I had nothing left to hide behind. Images of him in a coffin, speaking at his funeral, talking about how big an impact he'd had in my life. Standing with people around a cemetery plot, trying not to break down as they lowered the box into the ground. Fresh flowers once a month on the gravestone.

"You listen to me, Philip Michael Lester." I was surprised to hear my own voice again, and I had to flex my fist to figure out where I'd put my hand, which turned out to be down at my side. I really was a mess right now. "I refuse to give a eulogy for you this early. That's not going to happen until we're both bald and tripping each other with our canes." I was leaning down, getting right in his face, and I couldn't help but laugh a little because if someone walked in on me right now, it'd probably be hilarious. "You don't get to walk into someone's life and insert yourself like this. You don't get to become the most important person in my little world and then go and do something like this."

I stood up without fully realizing it. I was crying now, beyond the point of caring if someone saw it. It just felt damn good to release some of the feelings I was ignoring. "You're going to wake up, I know, because there's no way you're done pestering me. You've got a lot more bad puns to make, and a whole bunch of inappropriate innuendos to share." I was standing in the doorway now, but I knew where I was going. I would find a nice place to tuck myself away for a few hours and have my little breakdown, and then I'd come back and maybe try to make a video.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I was gone for ten fucking minutes when I got the call.

"Louise?" I'd asked, because she was supposed to be at some kind of school thing with Darcy.

"Where are you?" she'd nearly screeched, and I'd had to pull the phone away from my ear with a grimace.

"Courtyard," I'd answered vaguely. I actually wasn't sure where I was, but I also didn't really care at the moment. "Where are you?"

"I'm with Phil," she'd said casually. Too casually. She must have gotten done with the school thing and decided to come see us. "He's awake," she'd said next, and the phone slipped from my hand, crashing to the ground and somehow landing in the grass. I'd bent down and fumbled with it for half a minute before getting it back to my face. "They took the tube out, and he's asking for you."

I ran.

He'd woken up, against pretty much all odds, and he was asking for me. It shouldn't have been allowed for both of those things to happen, but they had. And I'd missed it. He'd finally opened his eyes after a month and a half, and I'd managed to not be there for it. It was such a typical thing to happen to me, to us. I was crying and laughing and heaving my chest by the time I got back to the room, and I didn't stop to give myself a chance to catch my breath before bursting through the door and looking toward the bed.

There they were. Blue and green and yellow swirling around in an ocean I'd be fine with drowning in, two pools of light watching me. His face almost looked strange without the nasty tube in the way. His skin was pale (paler than usual, I mean) and his cheeks were sunken in, and those oxygen nubbins were back in his nose, but I barely registered these things as I made my way across the tiles to him. Louise stood by the window with Darcy on her hip, a nurse was asking him a question about pain. None of those people existed right now.

My knees gave out on me around the time they brushed up against the side of his bed. I was kneeling on the hard floor, mind reeling, unable to decide what to do first. My hands reached out to cup his cheeks, reveling in the warmth they now radiated. Moving on to his hands, which squeezed mine back for the first time in almost two months, and then he was raising an arm and wrapping it around me weakly, so weak I wasn't even sure what he was trying to do at first. And then I couldn't stop the tears when I realized he was trying to hug me, and I wrapped my own arms around him as gently as I could because he looked like it might break him in half, and I held him to me, silently thanking whoever might be listening.

"Dan," he rasped out, voice somehow cracking with just one word. "I… I… you." Whatever he'd just said made no sense, but I couldn't have cared less as I pulled away from him to hold his face again. He was frighteningly frail, but apparently also impatient because when I didn't lean in immediately, he lifted his head from the pillow and pressed his lips to mine with a force I hadn't thought would be possible, given his physical state. He held himself to me for a few seconds, and then he fell back, releasing my lips with a soft smack.

"I love you." They were the only words I needed to say to him right now.

"Ye-…s," was his response, and I tilted my head in confusion. His brow furrowed suddenly, like he was concentrating very hard on something, and then he opened his mouth to say, "Lo-ove." Pause. "Y-ou." I didn't understand what was going on, but it could wait. At the very least, until the doctor came back in. I smiled in response to his words- even if I couldn't make it out, I knew he was telling me he loved me- and brought our lips together once more, doing all the work this time so it could last longer.

A/N: Oh wow I am sorry.