Chapter Four

"-what Chris said."

Dan's still warm and comfortable. He feels like he's nestled up in his bed-no, Phil's bed, cuddled up to Phil's chest under Phil's heavy blankets. It's the best feeling in the world. He can even hear Phil talking, his voice cheerful. "I would too, jeez. So he's in the cafeteria?"

"Yeah." PJ's voice, quiet and amused. "He might be there for a while."

"I'd bet. He has to clean them all by himself?"

"Yup. I'm thinking we could go grab another dinner, just to spite him." Dan can hear the smiles in their tones. "We could tell him Dan's awake."

Phil laughs softly. Dan can picture his tongue jabbing out between his teeth, his eyes crinkling up at the edges. "Now that's cruel."

But I am awake, Dan thinks. He wants to open his eyes, to move, but he feels heavy and strange. He doubts he'll be awake long. Actually, maybe he's not really awake. Maybe this is a dream? Where is he? Why're Phil and PJ here? What happened? He tries to remember, but his mind is foggy and refuses the job. It strains towards sleep, and his body agrees with it.

When he wakes up again it's quiet. It unnerves him. Where is he? He opens his eyes, stares into the dark, feels his heartbeat speed up. This isn't his cell. Have they moved him? Why? What're they going to do to him? He twists his head, tries to see past dim shadows. Moves his hand, groping for some kind of orientation. He feels something under him, softer than concrete-which, admittedly, isn't saying a lot. Something else, scratchy, is laid over him. He pushes it off, sits. His body is slow, sluggish. It feels like he's on a bed. Is he on a bed? He widens his eyes. Adjust, dammit.

He reaches off to his side, cautiously, feels metal. Rails? Jail bars? Is he still in a cage? He leans forward more, trying to follow the line of the metal. It runs horizontally, which seems odd for a cage. But what does he know? And then he pauses, because his legs don't hurt because Phil gave him morphine because Phil-wait, wait, wait. That was a dream. It has to be a dream. Why isn't he dead? He should be dead. Was Phil really there? Is he really out of the prison?

No way. Get your head on straight, Mr. Howell, he thinks. There's no point in getting his hopes up. He has to be rational. The dream about Phil was probably because of the fever-he had a fever, he knows that. Everything was so weird. Maybe the entire evacuation of the prison was a dream, too. Maybe the jailkeeper just went too far and he's in the prison infirmary. That seems plausible, right? Despite himself, there's a sudden weight against his ribs. It was a good dream. A wonderful dream. The worst kind of dream. The kind that, more than anything else, makes him want to curl up in a little ball and sob his worthless heart out. He slumps back against the bed. That's what it is, right? An infirmary cot?

But why would they give him painkillers? Stop, he thinks. Just stop.

The third time he wakes up it's light. He shifts gingerly, stretches out, enjoys the bliss of numbness while it lasts. "Dan?"

Bliss gone. He knows that voice. He opens his eyes. He knows that face. Light eyes, curly hair. "PJ?" he asks, blinking owlishly. He's so fucking confused. Is he awake? Isn't he still in prison? In the infirmary? Or not? Where the hell is he really?

"Dan," PJ says again, beaming. "It's about time."

Dan takes a deep breath. Tries to clear his head. Maybe it's the drugs? Maybe they gave him hallucinogenic painkillers? Is that a thing? "Where am I?" he asks.

"Home sweet home," PJ says, bringing his hands together in front of him. He's still grinning. It should be creepy by this point, but Dan's finding he rather appreciates it.

"Really?" Dan says. He should've expected PJ's answer. If he's hallucinating, PJ, who's a hallucination, wouldn't know any better than to be where he was hallucinated to be. Right?

PJ nods earnestly. "Really really."

"How?"

"You didn't think we'd let you just stay in prison, did you? Come on, man. We broke you out. It was almost a week ago."

"A week?"

"Yeah, Mr. Mimic," PJ says. Something shifts behind Dan and his heart jumps into his throat. He pushes himself into a sitting position, snaps his head around. "Good morning," PJ says chipperly. "Look who's awake."

Phil's hair is ruffled, sticking up, his eyes bleary and wide. "Bear."

There's a sense of removed surreality about the whole thing. He still isn't sure he's not dreaming. Actually, he's pretty sure he is. But then he'd have to be alive. He's alive? He's alive. Thank God, he's alive. He expects to feel some sort of joy from that realization, but there's only a tame sense of understanding and the cynical thought that maybe he shouldn't be so eager to be alive."Phil," Dan says to the brilliant hallucination. "Hi."

"Hey." Phil swings his legs over the side of the cot he's on, stands beside Dan's. "How are you?"

Dan shakes his head. "Weird."

"Do you hurt?" Phil's eyes are soft, concerned. Dan can't look at them for long.

"No. Tired." He closes his eyes. "Confused."

"S'alright," Phil says. Careful fingers push the hair off of Dan's forehead. "They've got you on some pretty strong stuff."

"Feels like it."

"Yeah, you've gotta hook us up," PJ says, leaning his arms and against the cot rails and resting his chin on them. His eyes are relaxed and curious.

"I'll get right on that," Dan says. The words are natural, the sarcasm habitual. It's strange. Disorienting. He hasn't spoken like that in months.

"Lay down," Phil says. Dan does. "If the doctor sees you up she'll skin us."

"Should I go get her?" PJ asks.

"Yeah, would you?" Phil says. Dan watches PJ step out of the room with a sense of foreboding. Not a strong one-he's not feeling anything strong-but one that he nevertheless attempts to show Phil. Attempts. His mind is blocked before it reaches Phil's. Dan reaches for his own neck, feels smooth, free skin, and offers Phil a confused glance. Phil's mouth twists into a guilty grimace when he sees Dan's eyes. "Sorry," he offers, fumbling around his own shirt collar. "I have a guard. What is it?"

"Why do you have that?" He tries to keep his voice neutral. It's not hard. That's starting to bother him. Shouldn't he be feeling something? Like enormous relief or fear or anger or something?

There's a click as Phil unsnaps the guard. Dan stares at it. Shouldn't he feel fear? Horror? Disgust? Phil sets it under his chair, takes Dan's hand, kisses his finger and his palm. There are bandages around Dan's wrists, splints on several of his fingers, an IV in the crook of his elbow. I trust you, Phil says.

"Why'd you have it on?"

You woke up and freaked out. Remember?

"No."

Yeah, well. And then you freaked me and Chris and the nurse out, so the doctor said if we were going to visit you we had to wear guards, at least until you woke up. And you're still on sedatives. I mean, just to keep you calm. You know. Better than restraints. Phil wrinkles his nose. Sorry. Love you.

Dan nods and presses his mind against Phil's, trying to convey his understanding and his own love. God, it's great to do that. His mind's been cooped up too long. He's been away from Phil too long. It's been too long. Any length of time is too long.

I want to cuddle you.

"I wouldn't object," Dan says.

Phil sighs and sticks his lower lip out. Yeah, but your legs.

"Fuck that," Dan says, scooting himself over and patting the narrow sliver of cot beside him. "Lay down." He wants to know if maybe this hallucination will feel real-warm and soft and safe like Phil is.

Bear-

"I can't feel them anyways."

Phil shifts his weight and Dan can see him debating, thinks maybe he might cave, presses his longing against Phil's mind, sees his eyes surrender-and then the doctor walks in.

Dan tenses. Damn her. He wanted fucking cuddles.