The next few weeks were hell.
Dan didn't know how many times he had to pry knives and scissors and razors and other harmful objects out of Phil's hands. He barely made it every time. Dan was too afraid to leave Phil at the apartment alone, but he didn't want to risk taking Phil outside. It was too dangerous, and he'd be completely vulnerable.
PJ and Chris started coming by often, bringing them stuff they needed, restocking the fridge. Dan had no idea how to thank them. I'll find a way as soon as Phil gets better, he thought to himself. If he gets better. He shook the thought from his mind. Of course Phil's going to get better. Phil's strong.
Phil's a lion.
"Uh, Dan, what's wrong?"
Phil was sprawled out on the sofa with Dan sitting on the floor by his feet. Dan looked over at Phil. He seemed paler. His skin had always had this certain glow to it, but now it just looked.. Dead.
Phil's arms had fresh bandages on that Dan had helped him with earlier today, but the burns were healing up and they weren't as painful anymore.
Phil had a long cut down the side of his neck.
He'd been doing something for dinner when it had started. Dan walked in just before he reached his throat or any other dangerous areas.
It was a terrible day.
Phil's usually cheerful, shining eyes were now dim and there were heavy bags under his eyes. The night terrors were a recent development.
"I can't remember m-much," Phil would whisper to Dan once he'd rushed in when he heard Phil's screams. "There was a w-woman in a b-black suit. She had blonde h-hair that was tied up and her e-eyes... They were white."
Dan would stay with Phil until he'd go back to sleep, but he never did.
"Dan. Dan, what's wrong?" Phil asked, pushing himself up into a sitting position.
"Nothing's wrong," Dan turned his head towards the TV.
"Nothing at all."