Summary: Another one about Phil helping Dan through his depression, but a different writing style.
TRIGGER WARNINGS: depression
What do you do when you hate yourself?
What do you do when the pain of pure loathing, disgust at your own existence, seeps into your veins and poisons you until you're choking on your own tears?
What do you do when your head is full of sugar promises laced in venom, lulling voices promising happiness and forcing your cold hands to dig your own grave, your lips wobbling, but shaking with a smile stolen from the last of your dying sunshine and you lie through your teeth, lie, and lie, and lie.
What you want to say is, why?
What he wants to say is, why?
Why the hell do you like me?
Why do you tolerate me?
Why do you speak to me?
Why don't you just beat me black and blue?
Why don't you tell me the truth?
Why do you say all these pretty things, and speak those pretty words, to console such an ugly and scarred creature?
What am I worth, what do you possibly see that doesn't compel you to turn right back around and leave me?
My mind is a mess of shattered pieces.
I am shattered.
I deserve nothing.
He wonders that. He wants to ask that.
But they have stolen his breath from his lungs and hold his delicate throat in their fingers and squeeze until his limbs are numb and his eyes won't close, and he can't say a word.
No one wants a word from you.
He shuts up, shuts up
SHUT UP.
"My beautiful Dan,"
Liar.
"I love you, my brilliant Dan,"
Liar.
"You're so precious, my gorgeous Dan,"
Liar. Liar, liar, liar.
How could that possibly be the truth?
Please don't lie to me anymore.
Phil.
PHIL.
He lies through his teeth, but the beautiful boy with eyes made of oceans and lips made of candy and lace, skin made of clouds and snow, hair made of the night sky, heart full of universes, sunshine, sunshine, sunshine smile, he always knows.
He has a darkness too.
He was too broken.
You're beautiful Phil.
Even if you don't believe it.
He holds him through his endless nights, his silent days, his breaking skies, but when his skin is unraveling and falling from his bones,
He
Can't
Say
A word.
He's trapped, trapped, trapped, in this collapsing glass castle, and there's no air.
Or there are too many holes in his chest.
Lock the door, lock the door, lock the door.
Click.
Hide.
Hide from them, they're coming.
He's under the covers, his lashes sealed over his cheeks, his arms the walls before him, to stop his heart and his blood from falling out of his body. Smaller, smaller, smaller, a tiny, tiny being.
I want to disappear.
His throat ached and scratched.
He breathed, breathed, breathed.
They all fell out.
You deserve nothing.
Starve here, you deserve nothing.
Drown here, you deserve nothing.
Die here, you deserve nothing.
You don't deserve nourishment.
Don't eat, stop eating, stop, stop, stop.
You don't deserve help, no one wants you.
Useless, worthless, unnecessary.
Fucking disappointment.
You disgust me.
DISGUST.
End this wretched existence.
I don't want to hate myself anymore.
Crying, crying, the stars are all falling down. The broken colors are smashing on the ground, his mouth is open, he cannot scream.
They are choking him.
He reaches out but his fingers are quivering, shaking, reaching out, out, out, for nothing.
No, no, no escape.
I'm going to drown here.
You deserve nothing.
He lays there forever.
Forever and forever until him.
He comes in with his clumsy limbs and bright clothes and mismatched socks against his pale ankles.
His eyes are worried.
His words are burning.
They aren't laced with silk and clouds and cotton candy.
They are burning.
There are crystals on his lashes.
He is afraid.
"Dan."
His soft hands are pulling the darkness from his lips, and pulling his tiny, tiny, tiny body, unfurling his arms and legs tucked so tightly that his bones locked, and his soft hands are touching his damp cheeks. They are flushed and pink, and his fingers stroke his skin.
"Dan."
He says his name like a promise, like it's precious, like it's relief.
He breathes. Phil catches it, staining it with flowers and gold, and pushes it back into his chest.
Soft, soft, soft hands.
"Where are you going?"
His voice is crackly from the crying, and raspy, and unused, just above an exhausted whisper. He is straining. When did it become so hard to breathe?
Phil looked back down at his sleepy eyes, washed out and faded, combing back his unkempt curls, crescent shaped but losing light. He weaves new thread through those soft strands.
He smiles, but it is weak. It is weak and scared and sad for the blue boy hiding from himself.
"You're dehydrated, and you need to eat. I'm going to get you some things."
You deserve nothing.
"No."
Quiet, quiet, quiet and small, Phil catches those words and turns them into dissipating wisps of smoke.
"You deserve everything."
He leaves.
He comes back with a sloshing cup of cool liquid that he tips down Dan's throat until his stomach is sloshing too, and crackers. He makes Dan chew them all. His body whines and churns, his head spinning.
"Let's take a shower Dan."
You deserve nothing.
Everything.
He stands.
Phil holds him, holds his tired, bare body against his own as the warm downpour sinks into his twisted, knotted muscles, and unwraps them just a bit, dampening his hair, and presses his candy, sweet lips to the column of his champagne neck. Lathered in soapy bubbles, and hot water, and soft hands, and sweet kisses.
"Beautiful, wonderful, precious boy."
He lets Phil dry him off.
His hair is fluffy when Phil bundles him up in fuzzy pajamas and fluffy blankets and feeds him real food.
You deserve nothing.
"You have to eat it Dan,"
Nothing.
"You've barely eaten a thing."
Nothing.
"My beautiful, brave boy,"
The pad of his thumb on his bottom lip, tracing its supple curve. "Please eat."
He breathed in the smell of scented candles, clutching at Phil's bright, bright clothes.
He ate.
More water.
You deserve nothing.
"You'll feel better."
He squeezed Phil's soft, soft hand. His arms wrapped tightly around his slim waist, tugging his being into his warmth, his embrace, his vest, his pretty heart thudding in his pretty chest.
"My precious, beautiful boy, my pretty, pretty boy," He hummed purple skies into his collarbones, and drew sunflowers on his stomach, beneath his shirt. He held him slowly, tightly, gently, and kept his falling heart from shattering, shattering, shattering.
He held him, held him, held him.
He didn't need to say anything else.
What do you do when you hate yourself?
Try to make it just a little better.
You deserve nothing.
Liar.
You deserve everything.
A/N: Sorry I feel like this was absolutely and positively terrible, and just like every other one shot about depression, just a different writing style. Please leave comments telling me your thoughts and feelings and thank you sooooooo much for reading. I love you all so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so much, please if you ever need anything or anyone I am right here and it would be my pleasure to help. You're all so incredibly beautiful and even more so when you're healthy and nourished and hydrated. So please please please please treat yourselves like you are the most precious thing in the world. Take care of your beautiful bodies and minds. You have the right to be happy. Please eat well. Drink lots of water. Take care of yourselves, be kind to yourselves, and treat yourselves because you're special and you're worth it. Just take deep breaths, relax, don't stress yourselves out. Breathe. Have something warm to drink. Get in something comfy. Watch something funny. Just do kind things for yourselves, no matter how small. I'm sending you all so much love and the biggest, warmest virtual hugs. Eat and stay hydrated! Love youuuuuuuu!