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The first few times that Dan notices something’s wrong with Phil, he brushes it off as tour fatigue and a chronic case of introversion. They’ve been on the road in America for a long time and touring always wears them down eventually.
He finally realizes something is actually wrong when Phil goes quiet halfway through a meet and greet and then stumbles his way through the show that follows.
“You ok?” he asks as they head back to the dressing room.
“Fine,” Phil says, his tone a period and not a comma, dismissing the topic before Dan can say another word. Dan doesn’t think it’s fine, but he also knows when to drop something, and he’s too tired to argue tonight. He leaves Phil relaxed on the sofa while he takes a quick shower to scrub away the sweat and the concern.
Phil is monosyllabic on the way to the bus and barely speaks the rest of the evening. It’s the same the next day, except Phil seems even quieter. Dan makes it through the show entirely on muscle memory, focus directed at Phil instead of his performance.
Back on the bus, everyone piles into the lounge for post-show drinks as the bus fires up and carries them off to their next destination. Phil joins but stays quiet, slumped in the corner, shoulder pressed against Dan’s. He smiles and laughs at all the right places, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. Clear to Dan, at least, who notices everything when it comes to Phil.
After an hour, Phil excuses himself and heads to bed. Dan turns to watch him go, reaching out to brush his fingertips as he passes by. Phil gives him a tiny smile and nod in response before heading out of the lounge and toward the bunks.
Everyone else stays and they continue chatting and laughing. Dan sits and enjoys it, not wanting to miss out on any shared jokes or quality bants. It doesn’t feel the same with Phil gone, though, and his absence worries at Dan like a loose tooth. After another hour has passed, Dan stands and makes his excuses. He’s still a little wired from the show, not actually ready to sleep, but his sixth sense—his Phil sense—wants to check in on Phil.
He closes the door to the lounge behind him when he steps into the hallway, hoping for a tiny moment of privacy in the crowded bus. He stops at the toilet and then walks over to the bunks, pausing in front of Phil’s. The light is off and he can’t see the glow of a phone or a thirteen inch iPad from behind the curtain.
Dan assumes Phil is asleep and is about to pass by when he hears the softest whisper. “Are you going to stand there like a murderer or are you going to say hi.”
Dan grins at this and places a hand on the edge of Phil’s bunk, not yet pushing the curtain back. Phil’s fingers slide out to meet his, just touching at the very tip.
“Do most murderers say hi before they strike?” Dan asks thoughtfully.
“I don’t know,” Phil responds. “I’ve never been murdered before. Guess there’s a first time for everything.”
The curtain pulls back just the tiniest amount, so that Dan can finally peer into the dark bunk. He can only barely make out Phil’s features in the dim hall light, the shape of the doomed cap on his head, but he can hear his breathing and smell his cozy Phil smell.
“How did you know it was me?”
“I recognized your breathing.”
“That is so fucking creepy,” Dan says with a laugh. “What is wrong with us?” Phil just grins back in response and Dan remembers why he came to check in on him.
“How’re you doing, bub?” he asks. He leans against the side of the bunk and slips a hand inside to rub at the back of Phil’s head, just below the cap. The other hand finds Phil’s and laces their fingers together, palm touching palm.
“I’m fine,” Phil says in a voice that tells Dan he’s absolutely not fine. “Just a little drained. Too much peopling today.”
“Is that all?” Dan asks, his voice low and gentle, the voice he never lets anyone but Phil hear. He moves the cap aside and scratches Phil’s scalp as he talks. Phil pushes his head into it, sighing happily like a lazy cat.
“Dunno,” Phil says with a shrug. “Just maybe. I think I might be getting a little homesick.”
“Is there anything I can do tonight?”
“I could use a cuddle,” Phil says. His smile is bashful as he presses his face into the palm of Dan’s hand. “But I don’t think there’s any way to get that now.”
Dan sticks his head further into Phil’s bunk and looks around. “Do you think I could fit in there with you?”
That at least makes Phil laugh. “No, I don’t think it would hold our combined mass.”
“Useless bunk,” Dan says, thumping it with his knuckles. “Maybe next tour we should bring the bedroom back.”
“I like having a lounge,” Phil says. He yawns. “Besides, it was always too tempting.”
“Oh yeah?” Dans asks, giving Phil a salacious grin.
“Get that look off your face right this second, Daniel.”
“You’re no fun.”
Dan squeezes Phil’s hand and brings it to his lips to kiss gently. Phil sighs softly.
“Get some sleep, Philly. It won’t be too long to the next hotel.”
“Mmmhmm,” Phil mumbles in reply. Dan leans forward to press a kiss to his forehead. He’s about to pull away and leave Phil to sleep when Phil grabs his hand.
“Real one,” he demands.
Dan grins and leans forward again, pressing a soft kiss to Phil’s lips. “Sleep now,” he murmurs, placing the WAD cap back on his head. “See you in the morning.”
“Night, Danny.”
~
In the morning, Phil doesn’t seem brighter. Everyone on the bus is used to pre-coffee grumpy Phil, but Dan can see that it’s worse today. It’s not the grumpiness of waking up and shaking sleep away, but something deeper. After he makes his coffee, Phil heads back to the lounge, leaving everyone else at the front of the bus. Dan asks the crew to give them some time alone before following Phil back and closing the door behind them.
Phil glances at Dan for a moment. He looks almost wary, but just for a split second, then his expression smoothes into a small smile.
“Morn,” Dan says, and sits beside Phil, stretching one arm out so that his fingers just brush the curve of Phil’s shoulder.
Phil glances down at the touch, then takes a sip of his coffee. “Ming,” he says, voice scratchy.
“Coff,” Dan offers.
Phil clears his throat again, then gives up the game. “It’s good,” Phil says. “Where did this one come from?”
“Fuck if I know,” Dan says. “CapitalismMart. Mass produced by underpaid children and white labeled by every major manufacturer in Americaland.”
“Dan.” Phil just sounds tired again. “Shut up.”
Dan sticks his tongue out at Phil. “How-” he hesitates, because the question is so blunt, and he knows as the words come out of his mouth that it’s not exactly the right thing to say. “How are you feeling?”
His instincts are right. Phil grimaces, the lines along his mouth deepening briefly. In the morning light with smudge-bruises of exhaustion under his eyes and stubble shadowing his cheeks, he looks every year of his age and maybe a little on top of that.
“Dan,” he says, in a voice that invites no argument. “I’m fine.”
“Well,” Dan says, switching tactics. “I’m not.”
The irritation flickers out of existence in an instant. “What’s wrong?”
“I need a cuddle,” Dan says, and takes Phil’s coffee from his hands to put on a table beside the sofa. “I slept like shit.”
“They-” Phil glances at the door.
“Told them to give us a few minutes,” Dan says, and then slides himself into Phil’s side, wrapping both arms around Phil’s waist and squeezing. For a moment he feels Phil stiffen, like he’s going to push Dan away, and then all at once it’s gone and he can feel the tension draining away as Phil melts into his arms.
Dan presses his face into the side of Phil’s shoulder and just breathes, slow deep breaths like his therapist taught him in their very early sessions. After a moment, he notices Phil matching his breathing, relaxing further into Dan’s arms with each exhale. Dan almost comments on it, but manages to hold himself back for the sake of preserving this brief moment of peace.
He’s rewarded for his silence a few minutes later, when a more relaxed Phil whispers, “I guess I haven’t been sleeping well.”
Dan doesn’t think that poor sleep is the only thing bothering Phil, but he knows better than to say it out loud right now.
“Need a great big nest,” he says instead and Phil hums in agreement.
“Let’s skip roller coasters tomorrow and just have a bed day,” Dan suggests after a moment.
At home, a bed day is a joyful and sacred experience that they both love but rarely have time to indulge. All expectations of productivity are shoved aside in favor of each of them recharging with the one person that doesn’t drain their social battery. Just a bed, a tv, massive amounts of takeaway, and no leaving the bed for anything but snack refills and to use the toilet. If sleep or homesick or too many people were really any of the things bothering Phil, a bed day would sort him out properly.
Instead of the soft laugh of agreement Dan hopes for, he receives the opposite reaction. Apparently this too was the wrong thing to say. Phil stiffens and pulls away from Dan, disentangling their limbs and putting physical space between them on the sofa.
“Stop it,” Phil says in a tone that leaves no space for argument. He doesn’t elaborate on what Dan should stop, but they both know. He picks up his coffee and walks out of the lounge, apparently more willing to deal with morning small talk than whatever it is that Dan’s offering.
~
Phil always pulls it off on show day. He doesn’t even usually stress too much over it, maybe because it’s always Dan that has a mini breakdown at least once a week. There are too many backstage spaces that have seen him almost hyperventilate–not over stage fright, but over some existential fear that he’s triggered a series of events in their life by wanting to pursue the stage that will ruin their career.
Hilarious especially given that a five year hiatus doesn’t seem to have ruined anything. But his brain does what his brain tends to do, which is feed on minor insecurities until it ruins him.
Phil is so busy managing Dan’s crises - both remotely and in person - that he just doesn’t have time to panic himself. Even when Dan’s brain is behaving in a neurotypical way, they’re usually just too busy. They have to cram laundry and eating and rehearsal into each show day, and any spare time they might be blessed with is taken up with recording videos or the stray interview or just returning emails.
The goddamn emails. They never end.
But Dan is trying to take care on this particular show day to make sure they do have extra time. He pulls Rick aside and says not to bother Phil, that if anything comes up, Dan will handle it. He asks the same of Sarah, and during the period of time between when they finish the tech rehearsal and when they start meeting fans, they’re supposed to have an hour free.
Phil seems suspicious when he finds this out, but Dan just shrugs and says if he doesn’t like it he can always edit. It appeases Phil enough.
“I’ll do the laundry,” Dan says. “And you can sort it when I’m done.”
The laundry machines are in a different room, and when he comes back he’s not surprised to see Phil asleep on the sofa with the lights dimmed. Even in sleep his face looks drawn, mouth tense.
He has the brief thought about telling Sarah they need to push meet and greets back. They can whittle the preshow down to a tight fifteen, maybe even ten, if they need to make up time. It would let Phil sleep an extra half hour, and maybe that would help.
But he also knows what Phil would say if he did that. He already feels like there’s something pulled taught and tense between them; not in a way that makes him fear for them but in the way he knows that life on this tour could become pretty unpleasant if he pushes the wrong way.
Phil might want to be coddled when it comes to getting the last bit of a meal he likes, or winning a gaming video, but when it comes to things like this, it’s a different story. So Dan shifts the foldable hamper of laundry on his hip and lets the door clang open noisily as a warning before he turns the lights back on.
On the sofa, Phil groans at the intrusion and shifts to hide his eyes against the cushions. “No,” he whines, sounding a bit more like himself than earlier in the day.
“Sorry, bub,” Dan says, crossing the room to dump the hamper on the far end of the sofa, by Phil’s feet. “Time to wake up.”
“I need my beauty rest.”
“We’re past the point of that helping, I’m afraid.” Dan grins down at Phil and for a half a second he considers offering to sort the laundry so he can rest longer. He bites his tongue when he meets Phil’s eyes and sees something in them. It’s like he knows exactly what Dan’s thinking–the inconvenient part of sharing your only two working brain cells with another person.
Phil finally moves into a sitting position, grumbling all the way. He looks Dan up and down and sighs. “All day long you treat me like I’m made of glass and now you want me to do chores? Seems unfair.”
Dan chokes a little at that. He knew he’d been hovering a little, but hadn’t realized how obvious he’d been. Still, he won’t let Phil win here. “Do you need help, princess?” he asks. The offer is followed by him dumping the entire hamper of laundry on Phil’s head, pants and socks and all.
There’s a long pause before Phil starts laughing and–it’s so good. The sound immediately relaxes some part of Dan’s brain that’s been on high alert all day. He realizes he hasn’t heard Phil laugh, really laugh, in a while. While that little tidbit isn’t reassuring, he’s taking the victory. Phil even looks better, like maybe he’s been refreshed by the nap. Dan is hit by the sudden urge to kiss him, so instead he places the empty hamper gently over Phil’s head and pats it.
“Looks like you’ve got things well sorted here. I might go take my own nap.”
He stands and walks back to the door, leaving Phil with his pile of laundry. There’s not actually time to rest–Sarah texted that some silver ticket holders are claiming to have meet and greets and he needs to respond to the email about getting the photocards restocked before the next show. Phil doesn’t need to worry about that right now, though.
“Hate you,” Phil calls after him in a sing-songy voice and Dan flips him off as he walks out the door.
~
Dan feels like a husk of a person by the time he allows himself to shut off for the night. It’s not really a bad thing. He always sleeps well after a show, like his brain has been so thoroughly wrung out that there’s just no room left for insomnia. It just means he’s usually on autopilot from the moment they step off stage until his head hits the bunk or hotel room pillow.
But tonight he pushes past it. It’s clear whatever benefit Phil’s pre-show nap was, it’s worn off now. Phil is standing still in his show clothes but he’s got one hand on the wall and he’s breathing shallowly.
Dan can read all of Phil’s expressions. He’s an expert in Phil. He’s basically got a PhD. A Phil degree. A phegree.
But it doesn’t take one to understand Phil’s not doing great right now. One of the crew even offers him water before Dan can get to him to do so, and Phil actually takes it.
“I’m fine,” he’s saying, as Dan steps in closer. “Just a bit of a headache, that’s all. Some sleep will sort me out.”
If Phil is willing to tell someone he has a bit of a headache, it means it must be nearing at least an eight on the Phil-when-his-health-potentially-inconveniences-someone-else scale.
He sees Dan and gives him a warning look immediately. Dan raises his hands in fake surrender. They’re about to go to sleep, anyway, he reasons. Phil will be fine in the morning. Anyone would get a bit of a headache after what they put themselves through each evening. Right?
“Just gonna take a quick shower, okay?” he says to Phil, trying to keep his expression neutral. He doesn’t add are you okay? or I’m worried about you or any of the other thoughts in his head that he knows Phil doesn’t want to hear right now.
Phil gives him a short, quick nod, his expression relaxing just a tic. He slowly follows Dan back into the dressing room and sits on the sofa, leaning his head back against the cushions as Dan disappears into the shower.
Dan spends his time in the shower trying not to catastrophize, not to imagine worst case scenarios, but his brain was never going to be his friend in that. He tries to keep himself from spiraling, running through the facts and putting them into context. This is the point where he’d usually turn to Phil to tap him back into reality and make mountains seem like molehills, but Phil can’t be trusted in this.
When he lays all the information he has out, Dan thinks he’s over-reacting. He’s just overly sensitive to everything about Phil, and a part of him had always worried that Phil might struggle a bit through the longer legs of the tour. They’ve been in America for well over a month now, with precious few days off. Some of the rest days they’d built into their schedule had been lost when they added new dates. Of course Phil was tired. And really, he’d been going strong for most of it. It’s just been the past week or two where he’s seemed off… maybe it’s the change in the weather, or just too many shows without a break.
When Dan turns the tap off and begins to dry, he’s convinced himself it’s all fine. Phil just has a headache and a day off–which they’ll have tomorrow–will sort him.
When he slips back into the dressing room to find Phil still sitting on the sofa in his show clothes, face drawn into a grimace of pain, he starts to doubt again. Phil is clearly not okay, and Dan’s just spent the last 15 minutes gaslighting himself.
He crosses the room and sits next to Phil on the sofa, placing a soft hand on his shoulder. He wants to shout or yell or demand Phil finally tell him what’s going on, but now isn’t the time. Dan’s going to see that Phil gets well and then he’s going to shout at him until he’s hoarse about trying to hide when he’s poorly.
“Come on, bub,” Dan whispers, keeping his voice low to avoid causing Phil any additional pain. “We need to get you changed and get back to the bus.”
Phil groans but doesn’t respond, just stays where he is with his eyes closed. Dan gets the hint and crosses the room, shutting the overhead light off so only the soft glow of a small lamp illuminates the room. He grabs Phil’s backpack and sorts through it to find the clothes Phil brought to change into and the doomed cap shoved in at the bottom.
Phil whines softly but doesn’t protest when Dan pulls him to his feet. He just stands there quietly, limp and pliable, while Dan pulls off his mesh shirt and tank top and replaces them with his oversized hoodie. He puts the cap on Phil’s head, hoping that the mysterious magical properties it seems to possess will somehow make Phil better again.
“Take your shoes off so we can get you out of those trousers,” Dan whispers and Phil complies, holding onto Dan for support as he toes his sneakers off. If nothing else, the lack of a joke or innuendo or any response at all tells Dan everything he needs to know about how Phil is doing. He slips his hands into Phil’s waistband and pulls the sticky pleather trousers down as smoothly as he can, bringing Phil’s pants with them. Phil steps out of them with Dan’s help and then waits as Dan pulls clean boxers and sweatpants up his legs. Then, he helps Phil back into his shoes, kneeling on the floor at his feet to put them on for him one by one.
“Better?” Dan asks once he’s finished dressing Phil into his softest, comfiest clothes. Phil nods and cracks his eyes open the smallest bit to look at Dan, giving him a weak smile of thanks.
“Just need to rest my eyes and I’ll be sorted,” he says. Dan presses his lips into a line and huffs out his frustration.
“Let’s just get you to bed now,” he says. “We’ll worry about the rest tomorrow.”
“Nothing to worry about,” Phil responds as Dan leads him out of the room, but the words don’t have much meaning when he can’t seem to stand up or walk in a line without wobbling and bumping into every object in his path. Dan again keeps his thoughts to himself, but he knows now this is more serious than Phil is letting on. He won’t let Phil shut him out of it any longer.
~
It’s one of those nights where most of the driving they have to do takes place while they’re asleep. They’re well into Florida by the time Dan wakes up. He can hear the commotion of people talking and smell the mixture of coffee and tea that signals morning.
Phil is already up. Dan isn’t convinced he even slept by the look on his face, but he’s dressed and sitting at the table, cap still firmly on his head.
He gives Dan a timid smile. Dan returns it as he makes his own morning matcha and scrounges the pantry to see if there are any bagels left. By the time he has one toasted and slathered in cream cheese, the person sitting across the table from Phil has conveniently vacated the spot.
“I feel better today,” Phil offers. “I was right, I just needed sleep, and to take some tablets for my head.”
Dan would like to know what the tablets were and how many Phil took, so he can know if Phil tries to take more too soon, but he bites back the questions.
What he can’t do is bite back the next thing out of his mouth. “Are you sure you want to go to the theme park today? We can cancel and just get a hotel-”
He’d like to think Phil might have given it some consideration, but Sarah happens to overhear it and says, “Oh, Phil, are you feeling poorly? We can definitely arrange something different if you need-”
“No,” Phil says, cutting her off. He smiles in a friendly way but his voice is firm. “No, I want to go. Dan loves theme parks, and I promised to go on every roller coaster with him.”
It was a conversation they had months ago, when they were still hammering out the details of the tour schedule. Dan regrets it now. Phil gets motion sick on long car rides and the tamest theme park experiences. With how Phil’s been feeling lately, this can’t be the best decision.
“You sure you’re feeling up to it?”
He knows exactly how he sounds, but he has to ask. Last night he’d promised himself he was going to take care of Phil, and this doesn’t feel like taking care of Phil.
Phil just gives him a look–the kind of look he usually gives when Dan is going too far with something–and then laughs for the benefit of the crew.
“Yes, dad,” he says, glancing around at the others and rolling his eyes in a look what I have to put up with sort of way. The rest of the crew laugh with him, all used to Dan worrying too much about little things, Dan taking things too far.
He’s not, though. Dan knows he’s not taking this too far. Not after days and days of watching Phil look worse and worse. He wants to demand everyone take this seriously, to demand Phil tell him what’s going on. But everyone else is calm and happy and excited, Phil most of all, and he lets himself get swept away in it.
Within the hour, they’re dressed and at the theme park, hoping to take advantage of the smaller crowd in morning hours. Once they’re inside, Phil morphs into planner mode, identifying the rides that are likely to have the longest wait time and the easiest paths to get to them all. He finds the roller coaster Dan had been talking about only days before and sets them on the path to it.
“We can try something tamer,” Dan offers as they walk, but Phil won’t hear any of it.
“Don’t wimp out on me now, Danny.”
Despite his worries, Dan manages to get caught up in the excitement, particularly once the ride is in sight. The queue is shorter than he expected and it’s not long before they’re being flung through the air, twisted around, and looped head over heels. Phil’s smiling when he gets off the ride and tells Dan it was amazing before excusing himself to run to the toilet.
While they wait, Dan walks over to a park map to look at what’s around them besides roller coasters and plan their next ride. Dan’s still standing at the map with Sarah several minutes later when someone walks over and says “Hey man, are you Dan?”
Dan turns to see the person, expecting to find a fan–he’s surprised they haven’t run into one yet. Instead, it’s some middle-aged man with a worried look on his face.
“Yeah, that’s me. What’s up?” Before the words are even fully out of his mouth, Dan knows exactly what the man is going to say.
“There’s a guy in the restroom saying he needs you. He looks pretty messed up.”
Dan doesn’t wait to hear the rest of what the man has to say, just mutters a thank you and takes off in an awkward run, dodging the people around him to get to the toilets.
“Phil!” he calls as soon as he walks through the door. There’s a kid at the sink washing his hands that’s clearly terrified by the giant man barging into the toilets shouting, but Dan doesn’t have time for that.
He only barely manages to hear Phil say, “In here,” voice coming from the furthest stall down the row. Dan crosses the distance in three long strides and pushes the door open to find Phil sitting on the floor looking as pale as Dan’s ever seen him.
“I’m here,” Dan says, dropping to the floor to sit next to him, to hell with the disgusting, sticky mess of a floor or with any of the other people nearby. Phil leans forward and rests against his chest.
“I’m not okay,” he whispers. Dan wraps his arms around Phil and pulls him close. He’s simultaneously so grateful that Phil is finally admitting something is wrong and terrified that things are bad enough for Phil to admit something is wrong.
“I’ve got you,” Dan says, breathless. He touches Phil’s face, moving it back so he can get a good look at him.
“We’re getting you out of here, Philly. I need you to be honest: hotel or hospital?”
“I don’t need to go to hospital,” Phil says.
“Fine,” Dan says. “Get up and like, run a mile for me.”
Phil glares at him, or makes a sad little attempt. ”I just… I need my tablets.”
“Okay,” Dan says. “That’s a start. Where are they?”
“I–” Phil sighs. “I don’t know.”
“What? Like, you don’t know if they’re in your bag, or on the bus…?”
“I lost the bottle,” Phil says.
“Fuck,” Dan says, mouth falling open. “Phil, you fucking-”
A teardrop smears along Phil’s bottom lashes, then trickles down his cheek. The angry building in Dan abruptly fades.
“I need to-” Phil says, and the pale tinge to his skin begins to look a bit green. Dan helps him up and just in time to be sick into the toilet. There isn’t even time to shut the door behind them.
On the far side of the room, Rick and another member of the crew walk in looking for them. Dan shoots them a scared look and turns back to Phil.
“Okay, I’m going to ask you again,” Dan says. “Hotel or hospital?”
“Hospital,” Phil says. Dan springs into action.
~
The return to the car park and the drive to the hospital are some of the longest moments of Dan’s life. It’s hard to say. Phil’s not exactly in mortal peril as far as he can tell, but he’s pale and limp and in pain. When Dan asks him what he’s feeling, Phil just says dizzy and closes his eyes.
He might have some slight residual trauma from the last time they were in a hospital. He knows this is an entirely different situation. Phil hasn’t had any kind of procedures and there’s no chance of him painting the floor red with bodily fluids.
This is just Phil’s body doing its best to absolutely torture him. They’ll go to the hospital, they’ll get whatever scans Phil needs and hopefully prescriptions to make up for the ones he’s lost, and then it’ll be fine.
He’ll be fine.
~
They have a stupid amount of paperwork to fill out, but luckily the emergency room they go to isn’t all that full. It’s only an hour until they’re ushering Phil into the back.
Dan comes with him, lying with ease about being a spouse. It’s weird how in moments like this, he doesn’t even hesitate. If any fan happens to be lingering in the halls of this hospital, then fuck it. They get the scoop. He doesn’t care. All he cares about is trailing behind Phil as Phil is shown to a small room with an exam table.
The doctor comes in and examines Phil while Dan hovers about like a worried mother bird. He doesn’t trust American hospitals and American doctors. He can tell this doctor is too young and doesn’t have the specialized knowledge that Phil’s condition requires. It’s Dan that explains Phil’s medical history and all the tiny details about his condition to the doctor while Phil sits quietly, eyes closed and nodding along in appropriate places.
Then there comes a point when Dan can no longer provide the needed information. The doctor starts asking Phil about his symptoms, about how long they’ve been happening, about how long he’s gone without his medicine. Dan takes a seat for this portion and listens to Phil respond, suddenly realizing he’s no longer of any use. He can’t explain how Phil’s been feeling when Phil has spent the past several weeks… weeks… hiding it from him. He sits on the edge of his seat listening as Phil details the headaches, the dizzy spells, the accidents, their increasing frequency and severity. The longer Phil talks, the more detail he provides the doctor, the more still and quiet Dan becomes. He had no idea what had been going on.
He’s still sitting in silence when the doctor leaves to call in a neurology consult.
“It sounds like it’s just the medication,” Phil says a little hopefully once he’s gone.
Dan closes his eyes and exhales. “Why–” he begins, but then he stops. Asking the questions in his mind right now isn’t going to be helpful. It’s not going to keep Phil calm, and he doesn’t want to fight in the middle of an American hospital, where Phil is probably getting substandard but overpriced care. He breathes again.
“Yeah, hope so,” he says eventually. He tries to offer Phil a bright smile, but it falls flat. He can see the worry in Phil’s face, though. The creep of the anxiety about his health that keeps him up at night and prevents him from enjoying so much in life. So Dan crosses the room and sits beside Phil on the exam table, wrapping an arm around him and offering a shoulder for Phil to slump against.
Phil is going to be okay. There’s nothing seriously wrong. That’s what matters. That’s what’s important right now.
When the neurologist arrives, she seems far more competent and familiar with Phil’s condition and agrees with the other doctor’s prognosis. To be careful, she sends Phil for a few scans to make sure nothing looks off. Dan is simultaneously grateful and ready to rant about the greed of the capitalist nature of the American medical institution.
In the end, Phil is discharged with a new prescription and instructions to monitor his symptoms closely and see his doctor at home if things don’t improve. Dan’s already doing the math in his head, how they can change flights to stop in the UK before Australia, how the dates will work out. There’s also the question of if they should even continue the American tour or start canceling dates to head home early. He decides they’ll rest for the night and see how Phil’s feeling in the morning.
~
The relief Dan had felt at the hospital has been replaced by something entirely different by the time they’re settled into their hotel for the evening. Phil takes his tablets as instructed and stretches out in bed for a rare nap.
“Join me?” he asks.
“No,” Dan says instantly. He hasn’t named what he’s feeling yet, but he knows curling up next to Phil isn’t what he wants right now. The brief look of hurt that crosses Phil’s face has him adding, “I’m going to get a head start on editing the next video. The children are hungry.”
This makes Phil smile. “Feed them before they get restless,” he says with a grin before turning onto his stomach and burying his face in the pillows. Dan offers a smile in response, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
He settles on the sofa while Phil sleeps and tries to focus on the video. There’s an energy itching under his skin, though, and it keeps distracting him. After three quarters of an hour spent staring at the computer screen with zero progress, he puts the computer away and changes into gym clothes.
It’s when he’s on the treadmill in the hotel gym, running at a full clip, that he finally knows why he feels wrong. He’s angry. Behind all the worry and relief, he’s angry at Phil for trying to hide how he was feeling, to keep everything bottled up and hidden away from Dan, as if Dan isn’t one half of Phil, part of his life in every way both meaningful and inconsequential. They share a home, a career, a mortgage, a bank account, a Netflix subscription–every possible marker of togetherness. Dan is Phil’s emergency contact, his power of attorney, and the executor of his goddamn will, as much as Dan hates to think about it.
Phil should tell him things like this. He shouldn’t hide when he isn’t feeling well.
By the time Dan’s worked it all out, he’s six kilometers in and dripping with sweat. He’s more sad than angry now too. He tries to be quiet when he gets back to the room, but there’s no need. Phil’s awake and sitting up in bed, scrolling through TikTok.
“You’re back!” Phil says as Dan slips into the room. His smile changes to a grimace once he gets a good look at him. “You look like a slug.”
Dan doesn’t look Phil’s way and he doesn’t respond, mouth set in a straight line. He removes his shoes and then heads into the bathroom, muttering “shower” by way of explanation.
He’s only under the spray for a few minutes when he hears Phil enter the room and climb into the shower behind him.
“Not in the mood,” Dan says, a myriad of meanings behind those words.
“I know,” Phil replies, voice only just audible over the sound of the shower. He invades Dan’s space anyway, crowding against his back, wrapping arms around Dan’s stomach. “You’re cross with me.”
Dan says nothing. It feels wrong to be so angry at Phil when Phil has been so sick. The underlying fear and relief are still there, along with a sense that he needs to be grateful it wasn’t worse.
But he can’t lie. He is cross. More than cross.
Phil sighs and rests his forehead between Dan’s shoulder blades. “It just wasn’t that bad to begin with. And I had a few extra in my bag, so I was just taking them one every few days, until I ran out.”
“That’s not how that works,” Dan grits out, turning his face into the spray. He wants to make it hotter, but Phil doesn’t like his water scalding.
“I know that,” Phil says, guilt in his voice. “But I felt - Dan. I didn’t want to be like… the reason things weren’t going well. Your last tour was so good. I didn’t want to be ruining this one for you.”
“Dying would ruin it,” Dan says, and grabs the hotel shampoo since he forgot his own. He turns around and, instead of using it on his own hair, begins to lather Phil’s. He takes care to massage it into Phil’s scalp the way he knows feels good for Phil when his head is hurting.
Phil sighs and slumps into it. “I wouldn’t die. Just feel really poorly.”
“No need for that either,” Dan says. “You have to stop being so stubborn with fixable problems.”
“I didn’t-” Phil starts, then stops. When he keeps going his voice is quieter. “I was afraid they’d say I had to go back home and cancel the tour. That the travel wasn’t good for me, or something was getting worse. Then what?”
“Well, if they’d said that, we’d have canceled the tour,” Dan says immediately.
“Exactly,” Phil says, and sighs.
Dan’s hands stop in his hair. “Your health comes first, Phil.”
“But I wish it didn’t,” Phil says. “I wish it wasn’t like that. You’re so much happier on tours. This is your element, on stage.”
“My element is wherever you are, idiot,” Dan says. “You remember how miserable I was on the last tour?”
“Only sometimes,” Phil said. “You came home ready to go again.”
“I came home wanting to experience it again with you!” Dan raises his voice slightly, then immediately drops it. “Can you not get that through your thick skull?”
It goes against Phil’s nature to ever admit when he’s wrong, but Dan watches in real time as he overcomes that. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how poorly I was actually feeling. But you have to get over it and you can’t be overprotective.”
“I wouldn’t be overprotective if I could trust you to be honest with me.”
“I can’t be… It’s hard to tell you if I’m not feeling well when you freak out every time I look a little pale. I’m always going to look a little pale.”
“True, it’s the North in you.” Dan takes a ragged breath then and decides he can’t completely deflect with humor, at least not yet. His voice is soft when he says the next part. “It’s hard not to worry about every little thing when, just a few months ago, I watched you lie bleeding on a hospital floor. It was. I mean. Phil.”
“I thought we decided we weren’t going to take trauma from that.”
Dan stops focusing on Phil’s hair for a moment and instead looks him in the eyes. “You decided that.” He shakes his head. “I’m trying, but it’s hard not to worry when I can tell something’s wrong with you but you won’t tell me what it is. If you don’t want me to be overprotective, don’t hide things from me.”
“Okay,” Phil says, and steps back so he can thrust a hand out. “I’ll be more honest, you’ll be less protective. Shake on it.”
Dan rolls his eyes. “Handshake with our dicks out? Sure, why not.”
Phil laughs at that. “Stop it! Be serious.”
Dan gives in, even if he secretly thinks it’s a little silly, and he would absolutely be making fun of Phil right now if he hadn’t just been to hospital. He grasps Phil’s hand firmly and shakes.
“There,” Phil says brightly. “All better now.”
Dan tugs on Phil’s hand to pull him into his arms and then squeezes him tightly. “All better,” he agrees. He pulls back to look at Phil again. “Except you’re all covered in shampoo and the water pounding on my back is getting colder by the second.
“I’ll pound on your back later,” Phil says without a moment’s thought, and then he laughs as if it’s the most delightful thing anyone’s ever said.
“Oh, God, I think they missed something in your scans. Your last remaining brain cell must’ve fallen out.”
Before Phil can respond, Dan turns him so he’s under the spray and can rinse the shampoo out of his hair. Luckily the hot–well, lukewarm–water lasts long enough for Dan to wash himself, and then they’re lying wrapped in towels cuddled together in bed.
“Hungry?” Dan asks, looking at a still very sleepy Phil. “We can order in.”
“Do they have Applebee’s on Deliveroo?”
Dan scoffs. “Brother, they don’t even have Deliveroo in this hellscape. We have to slum it on DoorDash tonight.”
Phil yawns and burrows further into the covers, leaning more heavily against Dan’s side.
“Don’t care what it’s called. Order me something tasty.”
“Sure, bub.”
Phil falls asleep before the food even gets there. Dan’s right arm is going to fall asleep, but that’s fine. He’d rather have pins and needles in a hotel room with Phil by his side than be spending the night in a whole separate bunk.
He also takes a moment to marvel over how much he hates that this keeps happening. Not just the headaches; it doesn’t matter if it’s his fucking migraines, the dizziness, a botched routine examination, eating a toxic substance, or Dan is sure, eventually wandering off the edge into a volcano - if there’s danger Phil or his genetics will accidentally find it.
And when that happens, Dan will be there.