Chapter Three

He knows that voice. The fact that he knows that voice both overjoys and depresses him. It's Phil, his Phil, his gentle, sweet Phil, and that makes everything better. But then it's Phil, his Phil, here in this hell, in danger, and that makes his fear level rocket up. Then rationality returns and he realizes, faintly, that it's not real. He's dreaming awake, and Phil is here and that's very nice. He doesn't want to wake up. Maybe dying won't be so bad if he can just pretend Phil's here?

"Open it, can you open it?" another voice asks. He recognizes that one, too. PJ.

He hears the rattle of the cell door. "I think it's unlocked." Chris. All four of them are here. That's nice. He's got a good deathbed now. He tries to convince himself that his friends make everything, even dying, better. But he still doesn't want to die, really. Hearing their voices is making him homesick. He wants to go home to them, go home to Phil, like he told Lion to.

"God, is he breathing?" Phil asks.

"I don't-" PJ starts.

"Open the damn thing already," Phil says. His voice is stiff, sharp. Dan doesn't like it. He hears shuffling against the concrete, hears the cell door being hauled open, hears footsteps against the ground, and then people are touching him and his body jerks involuntarily. "Dan?" Phil asks. His voice has changed again. It's still sharp and worried, but it's smoother now. He wants to see Phil, and Chris, and PJ. He forces his eyes open, puts all his energy into twisting his head away from the wall. Their faces are skewed, bobbing in and out, but there they are. His family. He feels a wave of relief so strong it sends a hard shiver down his back. "Hey," he says. His voice is rough, cracked, and the word rasps against the sides of his throat.

"Oh, thank God," Phil says, dropping a kiss against his forehead. It's warm, gentle, pleasant. Dan feels his mouth curve up in an odd way-Jesus, he hasn't smiled in months. It's nice. It hurts-but then, everything does. He's disappointed when Phil moves back, feels his fingers twitch to reach but his arm refuse the order.

"Stay," he says. Just for a little while, that's all. I won't last much longer. Just want you to be here. You all make it better.

Phil is back immediately, fingers tenderly ghosting over his temples and his nose and under his eyes and beside his jaw. "Okay," he says. "Okay. Not going anywhere, promise."

"Jeez, look at you, Dan," Chris says, rocking back on his haunches. "How in the hell?"

"Hurts," Dan agrees.

"Man, how are we gonna get him out of here?" PJ asks.

"Get him the shot," Phil says. His eyes are still roaming over Dan's face and Dan is alternating between looking at them, Phil's entire face, and his other two friends. PJ disappears from his line of sight and he narrows his eyes. Is that the last he'll see of PJ before he dies? He doesn't want it to be. But then PJ is back, settling beside Dan's hip, between Chris and Phil. He's rummaging through a small black bag.

"Shot?" Dan asks. His neck hurts, turning this way, but he's torn between relaxing it and never letting Phil out of his sight ever again. Phil wins out. Like duh.

"Yeah, morphine." Phil says. "It'll hurt if we move you like this, yeah?"

"Yeah." Dan's eyes flutter shut, but he pries them back open. "Hand?" he asks. He's a sissy-boy, yeah, whatever, but he's about to die and he's a coward and he wants to hold imaginary Phil's hand, dammit. He doesn't want to be alone anymore. He wants to go home.

Phil shuffles around to sit at the top of his head, reaching over to take his hand. It's not a tight grip, not like Dan wants. It's light and gentle and Dan wonders if it actually exists. It doesn't, and he tries to tighten his own grip, but his fingers are lax and unwilling. Little bastards. "You want the shot now?" PJ asks.

No, Dan wants to say. No, not yet. I'm not ready yet. I don't want to leave yet. But he won't. There's no point. He'll leave when they tell him to. "Yeah," Phil says, reaching over with his free hand. PJ sets the syringe against his palm and Phil's fingers wrap around it, bring it closer to them. This is the time for endearing death bed goodbyes, isn't it? Well, he won't be giving any giant speeches, but he opens his mouth and says, "Love you guys." Good enough, right? That's all that matters: love. That's what they say. Anyway, he guesses he'll never have a chance to know for certain. Not that it matters.

"Love you too," Peej says, half-smiling.

"Love you back," Chris seconds.

Phil presses his lips to Dan's. It's an awkward position and an upside-down kiss and Dan savors every second of it. "Love you, Bear," Phil says, his words nudging against Dan's mouth. He leans away and Dan feels something prick his thigh-and he almost wants to laugh. To think he used to dread shots, of all things. It's like being scared of a cat bite after you've been mauled by a tiger. But he's scared of what it'll do to him. It'll be painless, and he's grateful for that, and he'll fall asleep and then-and then he won't wake up. Fear seizes him again. What is death like? Is there a heaven? A hell? He doesn't want to go to hell. He's had enough of hell.

"Phil," he says. He wants to let Phil know he's scared, wants to press his mind into Phil's, but the guard is still locked around his neck. How can words convey what he wants to say? He whimpers helplessly. "Don't wanna die." He doesn't want to go to hell. He doesn't want to go to heaven. He doesn't want to go anywhere but home with Phil.

PJ's head bows. Chris looks away. "You're not gonna die," Phil says.

He wants to talk to the real Phil. He needs real Phil. This figment of his imagination is nice, but it's hurting his heart. He wants Phil. He wants to live, he wants to go home and tell Phil he loves him. If he could just do that, if he could only do that. He lets his head rest back on the concrete, tears blurring his vision. "Sorry," he says.

Phil leans over him, peppers kisses against the side of his face. "We'll talk when you wake up. I love you."

His body feels warm, weightless. He's dizzy. He's dying. He takes a breath, feels it press in his lungs, listens to his heartbeat. He'll miss it. "Love you," he murmurs again. He wants them to be the last words on his tongue. Phil smiles. That's nice. That's a good last image to have.

Dan lets his eyes flicker shut.