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philtrashnumber66 · 1 month ago

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Starstruck--Chapter 5

Phil finally achieves a bit of clarity. Dan helps.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Phil wakes feeling like he's slept for a century. Like he’s been on a journey. In a sense, he has.

All day and all night he’s been drifting through strange, formless dreams. But for the first time, he's starting to remember them.

He doesn't know what made things click. Well, he knows it was Dan. But he's not sure if it was the things Dan said or simply his being there that finally brought Phil's brain the rest of the way online.

They aren't just dreams, not really. They're not quite visions either. There's still something standing in his way, something keeping him from truly seeing. But he's starting to glimpse the vague shape of it all.

He opens his eyes to find Dan spilled over his computer again.

Read the rest on ao3!!

“Good morning.”

Dan slides down and solidifies, peering at Phil over the jacket draped on the back of the chair. “Good morning,” he echoes. “How'd you sleep? You seemed really tired.” There's not anything in it, not quite concern nor accusation, just pure observation.

“I was,” says Phil. “Not anymore.”

“Oh. Nice.”

Phil unfolds himself from the mattress and clambers up to his feet with a little stretch. He's truly not tired anymore; in fact, there's such a thrum of anxious energy under his skin he already feels caffeinated. He doesn't even feel the need to go to the kitchen for coffee before getting on his computer, which is a shock.

“Um, Dan, do you mind if I…?”

Dan blinks up at him for a moment, then uncurls himself and stands. Phil feels bad for ousting him first thing in the morning but he needs to talk to Louise.

“Are you hungry? There's food in the kitchen, next to where you slept last night. Why don't you go get breakfast and I'll come out in a minute.”

Either he takes the hint or he's hungry, because he goes without any further ado. Phil shuts the door behind him. He hopes that “be careful and come get me if you need help and please don't flood my kitchen” goes without saying at this point.

He sits down and opens his computer. He has a day-old message from Louise.

sprinkleofglitter: isn't this you???

She's sent him a link to a news article. The photo of the broken tower at the top of the page makes Phil's stomach twist.

He allows himself a moment of distraction by grabbing his cameras and starting to upload the files. Then he takes a deep breath and reopens the chat window. He sends off a string of texts before he can consider them too deeply.

amazingphil: yeah that's us

amazingphil: gm

amazingphil: I understand everythig now

amazingphil: ok not everything

amazingphil: I understand what I didn't before and now there are a million new things that I don’t

amazingphil: but I think I understand the dreams

amazingphil: or why, at least

He reads through the article. Nowhere does it say “an alien spaceship knocked down the tower,” but it's not quite subtle in its speculations, in its scattered usage of the words unidentified and flying. He's worked with this paper before; he knows they have a penchant for sensationalism but seeing it in print makes his chest sink nonetheless. His words to Louise will have to be chosen carefully.

sprinkleofglitter: what happened?? are you and PJ ok?

amazingphil: yeah think so. havent heard anything

sprinkleofglitter: did you see something?

amazingphil: not exactly

amazingphil: in fact that's just the thing

amazingphil: it feels like I'm supposed to be seeing something but I can't. It's like there's something covering my eyes

amazingphil: have you ever tried walking around your house with your eyes closed to see if you could get around?

amazingphil: that’s what it feels like

amazingphil: that's why I never remember them

It’s a long time before she answers.

sprinkleofglitter: Phil what are you talking about?

amazingphil: the dreams

amazingphil: I slept like literally all day yesterday and I think I had some kind of breakthrough

It’s hard to find words for any of it, to get them into an order that makes sense. Phil feels a sudden pang of sympathy for Dan. He tries his best to sort through as much as he can. Not just because he needs to, but because she deserves to know what's going on. But he doesn't tell her the specifics about Dan or the crash. He doesn't tell her about this morning, about the way something shook him awake to an empty flat just before dawn.

He tells her about the dreams and the strange feelings and the way everything has sharpened to a point since the tower came down. In telling it, it starts to make a tiny bit of sense.

sprinkleofglitter: I always knew you were psychic

sprinkleofglitter: so basically you sensed the tower falling before it happened?

He hesitates.

amazingphil: in a way yeah

amazingphil: there's more but I can't tell you yet

amazingphil: but I will

amazingphil: it’s all really strange and I'm still trying to figure it out

What he needs to do is make some notes. The photos and stuff are good but there’s this massive other dimension to this problem that can’t be captured on audio or video at all. He needs to pin it down somehow.

He starts by copying his explanation to Louise into a blank document. Then he tabs to a new page and creates a heading:

Dan

Shapeshifting—how & why

Needs salt (find more foods)

Breathes weirdly

Cold

Talks(???) to the internet

Home planet destroyed(?)

Lives in the sea

Afraid

He means to write more on that last bullet point, but he isn't quite sure what. He cuts it off there.

This is a start. It’s almost nothing but it's nice to have a few of the details laid out where he can see them.

Of course, Dan is probably going to see them as well next time he sticks his tentacles in Phil’s computer. That's fine. He’s welcome to make corrections.

Phil saves the document in a folder with the pictures and videos, logs out of the chat window and stands to head into the kitchen.

He finds Dan spilled across the island, partway inside a now-empty Shreddies box. Phil brews a pot of coffee. He pours a cup and turns to watch Dan play in the box like an oversized cat.

“It seems like you're doing alright with the food here,” he observes.

Dan solidifies, perched with his legs hanging off the edge of the counter. He's clutching the box in his hands and teeth, gnawing on the cardboard flap. “Hn?”

“Like, you can eat chips and pizza and cereal. I was a little worried I wouldn’t have anything for you. What do you eat normally?”

“Well, when I was in orbit here I didn't eat anything. The ship just kind of…” He waves vaguely. “Handled that. It's nice to have actual food.”

“That's so interesting.” He'll have to add it to his notes. “What about before you got here?”

Dan melts down and goes back to his cardboard box. Phil sighs.

“Alright, then. Maybe you could come shopping with me next time, see what else you might want.”

Assuming Phil can still afford groceries next time. Assuming he still has a job.

He spends the whole rest of the day waiting for that call. He checks the news, wanting a slightly more balanced source than what Louise sent. But he gives up before he finds anything out, sickened by the doomsday cadence of all the local discourse.

“Phil?” Dan asks that evening, while Phil is busying himself counting socks and quietly spiraling. “Could we play that game again?”

“Mario Kart?”

“Yeah. I want to practice.”

Phil lights up. There's something so delightfully absurd about this otherworldly visitor politely asking to play Mario Kart that he almost laughs, but he doesn't want Dan to feel like he's being made fun of. So he just goes to turn on the console.

This time they take it slow. Phil first points out each of the buttons on the remote and what they do. Then they start an easy track. It's much less chaotic than last night, and soon Dan has gone from “complete noob” to “actually kind of a threat sometimes.” He’s a fast learner, that much was already clear.

“You know, you could go creature mode if you want,” Phil says.

That brings Dan’s learning to a screeching halt. “Creature mode?” He boggles at Phil, big dark eyes challenging.

“I just mean—” Phil giggles helplessly. “If you use your real form, I mean. It might be easier.”

“No.” Dan turns up his nose, affecting a level of offense that Phil knows isn't genuine. “That's not the point.”

He’s not just practicing the game. He’s practicing this, all of it. How to banter, how to gloat when he wins and curse when he loses, how to fold his long legs on the couch beside Phil and glance from Phil to the screen and back. He’s copying Phil’s posture, even. Phil straightens his spine.

Dan still gets genuinely invested in the game, though. He still pouts when his car goes skittering backward into the sand.

“That time that was your fault,” he says, waving an accusing finger in Phil's face. It's fascinating watching Dan learn to gesture and talk with his hands. It makes a silly sort of pride swell in Phil.

He wants to hold onto it, so without really thinking, he tries to bite Dan's finger.

Something sharp flashes into Dan's eyes. Then Phil is pinned on his back, Dan on top of him, breath knocked out of his lungs.

They're frozen for not even a split second. Dan pins Phil with one hand splayed across his chest, teeth bared. Then the sharpness disappears and clarity returns, and Dan scrambles back, looking exactly as startled as Phil.

“Sorry,” he stammers. “Fuck, Phil, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—I don’t know why—are you okay? I'm so sorry.”

He’s whirring. His hands flutter like he wants to straighten Phil up the way one would a plushie dropped on the floor, but he doesn't touch him again.

“It's okay,” Phil chuckles, still catching his breath. “I'm fine.” He doesn't sit up yet. His heart is beating like a drum.

Dan wobbles his eyestalks at Phil, bewildered. “You were going to bite me.”

“Yeah, sorry. I was just being silly. I won't do it again.”

“No,” Dan blurts. “It was cute.” He says it like a question, like he's not quite sure what it means.

“Oh.”

“I just—I didn't expect it and it was just—just—”

“Instinct?”

“What?”

“Like, a reflex? Like your body moved before your mind could think?”

“Yeah.”

Phil finally peels himself up. Dan’s shape seems to have left an impression in his chest and now it burns in the cool air of his flat. His diaphragm skips a little against the negative space.

“I'm sorry,” Dan repeats. He puts his face in his hands. “I was trying so hard not to scare you.”

“It's fine, Dan, really.” Phil is suddenly desperate to reclaim the energy they had a moment ago, to keep Dan from crumpling like he is now. He tilts forward and headbutts Dan's shoulder, jostling his face out of his hands. “Wanna keep playing?”

It seems to work. Dan bumps Phil’s shoulder in retaliation, face finally twisting into a tiny, barely-there smile. He takes an oddly human breath, in and out, and then resumes his whirring as he picks up his controller.

They carry on like that, bumping and jostling and tilting ever toward each other as they play, until finally Phil's phone lights up and starts buzzing across the coffee table.

It startles them both. Dan drops his controller, skidding off the roadway. Phil's heart sinks as he watches the words “Mr. Graham” ticker-tape across the screen. His first instinct is to tuck himself even closer to Dan's side, to retreat further into this warmth they've made.

“What's that?” Dan says.

“The radio station.” Phil drops his head dramatically onto Dan's shoulder with an anxious whimper. He's been waiting all day to hear anything at all, but fuck…

The phone keeps buzzing. Dan waits, still and solid below him, until Phil finally lifts his head and launches himself from the couch. He snatches it up. “I'll be right back.”

“Phil,” Mr. Graham greets plainly as he answers, no fanfare or sympathy. “I have good news and bad news.”

Phil hurries into his bedroom and shuts the door. “Okay?” he stammers.

“They’ve taken a look at the damage and it is fixable. Still no clue who or what could have done it, but repairs are underway. Four weeks, maybe six if we're not lucky.”

“Oh.” He takes a deep breath. Four to six weeks. That's fine. With the strange way time has been passing lately, four to six weeks is nothing. “What's the bad news?”

“Well, naturally, the higher-ups aren't happy about how this incident is affecting our profit margins. Once everything's sorted, they're going to want to do some… how should I say… temporary restructuring. Nothing's certain now, of course, so don't lose all hope, but given the way things are looking I thought it best to warn you as early as possible.”

“What are you saying?”

“I'm saying, Phil, that I'm afraid it seems you and some of our other hosts may be off the air indefinitely.”

Phil’s anxious pacing clatters to a stop. Indefinitely. The air around him is suddenly cold and thick like glue against his skin. The static of the line hisses as the silence stretches out between them. Phil should say something but he can't quite think of the words.

“How—why��why?” he manages finally.

“Well, ratings being as they are,” Mr. Graham says. “The line is going to have to be drawn somewhere. The question now is simply where?”

Something inside Phil starts to bubble like boiling water. “What about PJ?” he says after another long silence.

“I’m not sure. As I said, nothing certain, nothing permanent as of yet. I’ll let you know as soon as I do. And be sure to keep this under wraps until then, don't go twittering and tweetering about it just yet.” He laughs. Phil doesn't.

“Anyways, we're not going to leave you in the dust. Once things are settled you'll have a meeting to discuss disaster pay or sabbatical or severance, as the case may be.”

At the word severance, Phil's chest twists and a sharp sob rises into his throat. He doesn't think he quite manages to suppress the noise, as Mr. Graham hurries to pretend he didn't hear it.

“Well, like I said, Phil. I'll let you know. Just hold tight for now. And take care of yourself. Who knows what whoever did this might do next.”

Phil hangs up without waiting for a goodbye.

He stands there as that bubbling feeling in his chest creeps up into his throat and threatens to spill. He wants to cry. He doesn't really, because he'll probably give himself a headache and Dan will probably hear him and make him explain himself and in the end it won't solve anything. Nothing will, it seems. The world around Phil is suddenly coming apart, and everything inside him is leaking out into the cracks.

He charges back and forth, wringing his hands and breathing for a long time as he waits for the feeling to pass, for the ice water sloshing in his skull to recede. He can't stay in here forever. Dan is out there. But the tension doesn't fade; in fact, it strengthens, pulling at the edges between Phil and everything else. He wraps his arms tightly around himself and tries to hold himself together.

Finally, he gives up and goes out into the living room.

Dan is standing in front of the couch, facing the bedroom expectantly when Phil emerges. “What happened?”

Phil just shakes his head, stalking tensely to the other side of the room to avoid Dan's curious gaze. He had hoped coming out and rejoining Dan would force him to calm down, but it's not. He wants to run back into his room and curl up as tight as he can and hide until everything goes back to normal. Better yet, he wants to escape the way Dan does: to melt out of this human shape and become something else entirely. But that's a dangerous thought path to take. He can already feel his skin shifting.

“You're upset,” Dan observes. He's practicing again: naming feelings or maybe just reading Phil.

“I'm fine.” Phil slumps down on the couch, tugging at his hair and focusing on the burn in his scalp. His head swirls.

“You're not. Is it because of the tower?”

Dan’s eyes are so big and wet and sharp. Phil can't look at them. It’s too much. He drops his gaze to the floor and nods shakily, scrambling for control. He must not scare Dan. He may lose everything else, but he refuses to lose Dan. Not yet.

“You’re—you’re upset,” Dan repeats. He’s floundering almost as much as Phil is. “Can I help? Let me help.”

Phil scratches at his chest with both hands, up and down. His sternum pulses with the beating of his heart. “Could you–” he starts, impulsive, almost hysterical, and then cuts off the half-formed thought before it can get any further.

Dan latches on, though. He sits down next to Phil. “What? Tell me. Please, Phil. It's my fault. Please let me help.”

Phil flickers and goes still, holding his breath to feel the pressure build in his lungs. He wants to look at Dan but if he moves, his body is going to come apart at the seams.

“Could you, um.” His eyes are burning holes in the coffee table. “Could you hold me down. Like before.”

“Hold you down.”

Phil swallows. “Yeah. Like during the game. The—the pressure—it would help.”

Dan opens and closes his mouth a few times, searching. “You want me to…” he tries and then says, “Phil…” like he’s thinking through a puzzle.

Then he abruptly gives up on words and crawls forward.

Phil falls back and Dan drops himself the way a large dog settles down to sleep. He is so heavy and warm, and he molds himself to Phil's shape like a weighted blanket. “This helps?”

“Yeah,” Phil stammers. He lets himself be crushed, lets the pressure push him back into his body.

Dan's voice is thin and thready, crackling like a cell phone speaker right into Phil's ear. “I'm so fucking sorry, Phil. I ruined everything. I just wanted to see you.”

“It's okay.”

“Don't say that. It's not.”

“It will be. They'll rebuild the tower and everyone will calm down and we won't have to worry anymore.” He's persuading himself as much as Dan. The static begins to seep away, replaced by that warm, treacly feeling. Phil lifts his one free hand and rests it on Dan’s back.

Dan wriggles even closer, burying his face in the crook of Phil's shoulder. “I ruined everything for you,” he whispers. “And all you've done is help me.”

“It's okay, Dan.”

“I want to help you too.” His hushed voice grows suddenly fervent. He lifts his head again to look into Phil's eyes. “I'll do anything. Tell me how to help you.”

The urgency in Dan's gaze scares Phil a little. But the pressure holding him together offsets the worry. “This helps,” he reaffirms.

Dan stares for another moment as though still not convinced, and then intently buries his face again.

Phil takes slow, deliberate breaths, pushing his ribs up against Dan’s warm weight. Each breath is slightly easier.

“You’re tired,” Dan says into Phil’s chest after a minute.

“Yeah.”

“Sleep.”

Somehow, he's already halfway there. All the energy has been squeezed out of him along with the anger.

He closes his eyes. “You don’t have to stay here.”

“I want to help you,” Dan says yet again in a tone that brooks no argument. Phil is too tired to offer one anyways. He pulls Dan close and sinks into sleep.

#dan and phil #phan #phanfiction #amazingphil #phil lester #daniel howell

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