A/N: Hey, wow, this took way too long to upload, and I know, like, nothing about medicine, so any medical practices mentioned in this chapter and the whole story is mostly Google and guesswork. If you know any corrections I could make it'd be great to know. Thanks so much for reading :D You guys are the best.

Chapter Five

"Good morning, Mr. Howell, Mr. Lester," the doctor says, crossing the room in short, tight steps. Dan tries not to cringe at the way she calls him. It's not his place, anyway. She can call him whatever she wants. She can do anything she wants to him. Even if it's a hallucination? Yeah, probably. His mind has conjured up vicious punishments before. So he sits still and smiles half-heartedly and tries to appease her and lets Phil talk for them.

"Good morning," Phil says, turning to greet her but leaving his hand to stroke Dan's hair back.

"I must say, it's good to see your eyes open," the doctor says. Her eyes lock on his. He flickers his around. Should he look back at her, or would that seem challenging? But if he looks around too much she might think he's got brain damage or something. Hell, he probably does. And what does he even say to her?

"Thanks. Ma'am," he says. That shouldn't go wrong. It has before, but, you know, only once or twice. Better than not saying anything. And it was appropriate, right? Polite? But now he's entirely conscious of how scratchy and cracked his voice is. Great. Hopefully she won't find it irritating.

"My name's Doctor Reyes," she says. "Could you tell me if you feel any pain? We're currently giving you seven milliliters of morphine intravenously every fours hours. "

"No ma'am," he says.

"That's good. Your mouth may be dry and you may be nauseous. That's normal, but hit the call button right there beside you and tell us if you start feeling too sick. We can give you something for it. We've also got you on a hydroxyzine. You woke up yesterday in quite a state. Do you remember that?"

"No ma'am, no pain."

"The hydroxyzine is to keep you calm. We'd like to take you off of it soon, if you feel up to that. If not, that's alright. We'll just lower your dosage so your mind can start cleaning itself up. Sound good?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Do you want to stay on it for a while? It's perfectly fine. You've been through quite an ordeal."

"No ma'am."

"You want off of the hydroxyzine?"

"Yes ma'am, please."

"Alright, I'll let the nurses know." She smiles gently. She asks him if he wants Phil or PJ to leave. He shakes his head rapidly and she smiles again, then goes on to tell him each and every injury currently plaguing his body in large, technical terms. In short: both his legs, three fingers on his right hand, two fingers on his left, and three ribs are broken. He could have told her that. He thought that most of his fingers had healed, and she agreed that they had, but that they'd had to reset them. He's got bruises head to foot, but those are superficial. His flesh wounds, including the torn skin around his wrists and ankles, the rat bites, the carvings, the burns, those are all healing nicely. The infection is being treated with strong antibiotics.

And he's healing rather quickly. You know why? Because there's a damn Green III working on him. He should have known better than to give Phil the right of next-of-kin. But, okay, maybe he can't fault Phil. Especially when after the doctor tells him about the Green, Phil's giving him puppy-dog eyes. It's Charlie, anyway. Charlie seems safe enough.

After she's briefed him, Reyes shoots him up with more morphine, wishes them well, and takes her leave. He's only awake about ten minutes after that, because the morphine makes his mouth dry and his head hurt and Phil and PJ encourage him to sleep.

The next time he wakes up he's confused and his stomach rolls and he scrambles to sit, to vomit over the side of the bed railing. Wires pull against his veins and his muscle shiver and his stomach clenches and he wretches and things actually come out of his body, things that he'd be curious about how, exactly, they got into his body, if he had the mind to think about anything other than the nausea and the sour taste and his mouth and the way everything is strange around him and how his heart is thundering in his chest and fuck, he's scared and why the hell? His throat feels tight and he pulls breath through it, hearing it rattle and he can't breathe, why can't he breathe? He drops his bottom jaw, tastes dry air on his tongue, lifts his chest and grasps frantically at the bed sheets.

"Bear?" Dan flinches violently, dropping his head towards his collarbone but that closes his throat so he pulls it up again, leans it back and tries to breathe because he doesn't want to die and he's sick to death of that. "Dan?" A shudder racks his bones. Phil-Phil, he knows that voice, but it's as fearful as his and it's not slowing his heart any. "Dan, stop. Dan." Phil's panicking. His voice is higher, rawer, and when Dan glances at him he sees wide, frantic eyes and a jumping chest. Are they going to die? They're dying. Why are they dying?

Phil drops back into his plastic chair and it nearly topples and he puts his head between his knees and Dan gags on air and his stomach cramps and rolls again and he swallows convulsively and terror lodges against the back of his throat. Phil moves again, fumbling underneath his chair, and Dan hears the scrape of metal and he jerks and a whine forces itself over his tongue. Phil's holding something Dan recognizes, because he wore it for months and months and he tries to move away but his legs are in hard plaster and that's as effective as chains and then Phil clicks the guard into place around his own neck and Dan realizes he's alone in his fear.

Phil stands and the chair skitters back on the tile and his face is calm again, but his eyes-there. There's the fear. He can't look at them, but Phil leans over him, braces his hands against either side rail and speaks. His voice is collected and low and it reminds Dan of a river, really, rumbling and steady. Dan turns his face, tries to breath, listens to Phil's voice. "-alright, you're okay. You can breathe. Look. Look, Bear. Can I have your hand?"

Dan shudders but releases the bed sheet and offers his hand because it's Phil and he has to try and make Phil happy. Phil smiles and Dan can see it from the corner of his eye and it doesn't ease the choke of the terror but it does confuse it some. Phil rests Dan's hand against his chest. His hands are warm and his shirt, plaid and fuzzy, is soft against the pads of Dan's un-bandaged fingers. And Phil is breathing. Dan wants their hearts to beat together. It's cheesy and it's stupid but he remembers when they were in bed and they spread their palms against each other's hearts and tried to synchronize the thumps. They never had gotten it to work.

But they could breathe together. That part was easy. It's hard now, it's work, because his body insists that he's suffocating and it wants him to try harder, to survive. He keeps his mouth open like a tired dog, but he tries to copy Phil's deep, slow breathing. Phil's other hand comes up from the railing and cards behind his head, eases his ear against Phil's ribcage, twines through his hair. He feels Phil drop his head, feels Phil's chin bump the back of his head and he focuses on that and he counts the beats beneath his ear. One, two, three, don't speed up, we're okay, okay, one, two, three.

And he thinks it's working. His stomach is still turning and his muscles are still tight and fearful but he can breathe and Phil is murmuring pleased things. "Good, that's good. See, Bear? Not so bad. You're just fine." But then the door opens and he jumps and he breathing hitches and Phil pulls his head tighter against his chest and his head moves towards the door. "You're fine," he says. Then, lifting his voice, "Hey, I think he's had a panic attack. Or is having. I don't know. He's breathing slower now, but-"

A stranger's voice. "I'll run and get Dr. Reyes if he doesn't need urgent care."

"I think he'll be okay for a couple minutes. Yeah, thank you." The click of shoes, the click of a door. "Bear? How are you?"

Dan rubs his head against Phil's shirt and sighs heavily.

"We'll get through it. You just have to keep hoping," Phil says, his voice bright and determined. Dan nods-at the least, Phil has enough hope for the both of them to run on for a while yet.