Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You’re drooling.”

Phil snapped out of his daze, nearly dropping Jimmy the cactus in his surprise. “I’m not! I’m fine.”

“You’re standing like a zombie at the middle of our corridor while staring at your pet cactus and drooling all over your shirt. I don’t think anything about this fits the definition of fine.”

Phil looked down at the innocent pot of baby cactus cradled in his hands, then looked back up at Dan. “It pricked you.” He explained. Dan blinked at him, halfway functional this late into the night.

“It did, because you put it in the kitchen drawer again and I didn’t expect a cactus to be lurking in the corner when I reached in for the cereal spoon. How did you know that?”

“It smells like your blood.” Phil muttered. It did, and it was driving him to a sedate sort of hysteria, if that was even a thing. It was a weird conflict of emotions he was experiencing, repulsion from the human side of his brain and an entirely different reaction from the side that was less human. He had possibly considered licking at Jimmy’s needles in hope of a leftover taste.

The cactus didn’t deserve it. To be fair, no one deserved this situation, including Phil himself. Being blood-drinker may not get you burned to death in modern day society, either by sunlight or by manic vampirephobes, but it was enough to earn the discomfort, the occasional subtle glances of disgust. Manifesting at twenty-eight with no close relative to guide him through the transition was a possible career-ender. He would have to tell his subscribers soon, though, and the radio station, and pretty much the rest of the world. Just… not today.

“Why don’t you just go find someone to bite at a club? There are people who enjoy being fed from, you know. Something like half the population of London, if the anonymous surveys are to be believed.“

Phil carefully made sure there wasn’t any excess saliva left in his mouth to spill before he opened his mouth to speak. “They’re not food.” He mumbled.

“They sort of are.” Dan said blandly. Phil began walking in the direction of the bedroom without answering. Three days into midlife puberty and he was just, he was done. Hopefully he would fall asleep and wake to find this was all a nightmare.

A few days later he woke to a frankly atrocious smell in his nose and Dan sitting next to him on the covers, fully dressed, a mug in his hand. The mug was clearly the source of the stench. Phil could already guess its content, the salt-and-iron smell was unmistakable.

“To be fair, you’d get eaten up in a club within five seconds, not eat.” Dan mused, considering Phil critically. “Aren’t blood-drinkers supposed to be effortlessly seductive? You’re about three galaxies far from managing any kind of seductive. I think your survival tactic relies more on looking like a motherless baby badger and waiting for people to offer you free blood. It wouldn’t be unsuccessful.” He held up the mug, offering.

“Why now.” Phil whined, burying his nose in his pillow.

“The doctors said one full bag every three days, remember? And only if you eat plenty of that disgusting nutrition paste as supplement. It’s day seven. Time for your second feeding.”

Phil pushed himself up into a sit, It was probably better to get it over with and have the blood sitting in his stomach than have it sitting in the mug and spreading the stink everywhere.

“We promised to film another Sims.” He choked out, after draining the cup without breathing.

“Not today. Youtube can wait.” Dan said firmly, and padded away. Phil let himself flop back onto the bed. Why this, and why him, and why now indeed.

“Most people feed directly from a family member, you know.” Dan mentioned offhandedly. “Or a significant other, or a very close friend.”

Phil shook his head mutely. His kart veered cleanly off the tracks, but neither of them particularly cared. Dan looked at him, fingers lax on the controller, a frown tightening his face. Phil averted his eyes.

“-you are now listening to Dan,” A sigh, and the sound effect came in. “Phil isn’t here today. He had something done to his teeth, and he can’t speak all that well right now. He’ll be back as soon as he’s able-”

Phil pressed at his temples with his hands, frustrated and a good deal humiliated. “I think I’m getting fired.” He said miserably.

“You’re not. You’re getting better. You didn’t slip with the fangs when I pulled Edward Cullen on you last night.”

“Can we please get rid of that mask.” Phil pleaded, raising his head and meeting Dan’s gaze across the lounging room. He realized his mistake a split second later when Dan’s eyes widened in shock.

“You forgot sunscreen today when you went out to get cereal, didn’t you.” He said flatly, crossing the room and retrieving the giant bottle of Aloe gel that had, embarrassingly, become a frequent necessity.

“I didn’t! I forgot and put on the old one, that’s all.” Phil protested, poking cautiously at the tender skin of his face that was, no doubt, flaming in color. Dan pointed at him threateningly, looking half a pitiful excuse away from murdering Phil with the plastic bottle. Phil felt his teeth extend automatically, snapped his mouth shut- and winced.

Silence reigned for a moment.

“Oh my god, did you seriously just impale yourself on your own teeth? No, don’t speak, don’t open your mouth, I’ll get first aid.”

There was plenty of time to facepalm and bang his forehead repeatedly on the wall while Dan went to dig out the first aid kit collecting dust in their pile of random stuff beside the toilet door. Phil Lester everybody, something suspiciously like Dan’s voice whispered in his mind, apex predator and accidental self-mutilator.

“Hello, Dan and Phil Games living blood containers! Today we are playing a competitive charity donation game to ensure the continued survival of an endangered Phil.”

“Dan!”

“I know, I know, I’m editing that out.”

Sometimes- or raretimes, to be exact, it was almost an advantage. He didn’t need glasses anymore. His sense of smell was unbelievably acute. His skin was smoother, his limbs were less awkward, and his weeni stayed perfectly soft despite the lack of moisturization effort. His reflexes were a thing of wonder; more than once he miraculously caught a glass he’d knocked over with an unfortunate flail. His pancake flipping skills had officially surpassed the limits of human imagination and cooking facilities.

He would give it all back if he didn’t have to imagine the repulsion on the faces of his friends, his colleagues, his subscribers, when he told them the color on his cheeks was borrowed from the pulse of human veins.

“Open the door, Phil. I know you’re in there. It’s locked from the inside.”

“No.”

“I already know your eyes are red.”

“No.”

“Yes I do. It’s natural, it means your development is settling. Bloody open the door so I can get my phone.”

“You understand, don’t you,” he told Jennifer late one night, after puking out his eighth bag of much-needed blood. Jennifer the fern herself was in for an imminent pot replacement, her branches having multiplied alarmingly in the past few months. She seemed to flutter her leaves in sympathy. That, or he was going mad on top of malnourished. He leaned his head against the rim of her pot and listened to the clock in Dan’s room tick away three walls across.

The light above was flickering irregularly. Off, and on, and off again when his attention faltered. Or maybe it had something to do with the fact that he’d just collapsed against the stairs on his way to the toilet. His vision wasn’t quite reliable for the moment.

He heard the soft thump-thump of bare feet on the floor far before any human ear should have been able to pick up the sound.

“That’s my spot.” said Dan, and nudged Phil’s hip with his toes. “Existential crisis isn’t your area of expertise. Get up.”

“Can’t.” Phil said pitifully. Dan immediately crouched in front of him, peering into his eyes in concern. The pupils, at the very least, had to be stained red; with the consistent hunger bleeding into his eyes, he hadn’t been able to film anything without species-specific contacts recently. His fangs also seemed to be out, full length, prickly against the skin just beneath his lip. Dan was seeing all this and he wasn’t flinching or shying away. The thought brought a smile to Phil’s lips.

“Are you all right?”

“No.” Phil said quietly, honestly. He really wasn’t. “Not now, but- I’ll be fine after a nap. I’m a bit tired.” That, too, was true, the exhaustion settling in hand-to-hand with the intensifying hunger. The craving was a constant distraction now, but he could live with it. He would.

“Are you drinking regularly from the blood bags?” Dan asked again.

“You’re always there when I do.”

A shadow moved across Phil’s vision, and he felt fingers wrapping around his biceps, urging him up.

“Bed.” Dan said. He was a solid line of warmth along Phil’s side, shifting to support some of his weight. Phil curled in toward the comforting presence of Dan’s body, arm looped over his shoulder and head lolling against the hollow of Dan’s neck. His neck. It was really close.

For a moment, both of them stood still, and Phil watched his breath raise goosebumps on the thin skin it brushed. Then the moment passed, and he staggered away from Dan and the steady call of his pulse in his throat.

“I’ll,” Phil said. He didn’t quite know how to finish. He didn’t need to; Dan nodded and disappeared hesitantly into the kitchen. Phil remained on the spot briefly, bracing himself against the returning dizziness and the creeping thought that maybe, if he had a taste, Dan would be completely different from the dead liquid stacked in a pile of bags in their fridge.

There was a blood donor kit sitting on the kitchen counter.

“No.” Phil rasped, as soon as he recognized it. His throat felt perpetually dry as of late. Some of his horror must have shown on his face, because Dan wordlessly stepped forward and put the box away in the cupboards. They didn’t mention it again.

Cat was a success. Louis was a success. So was Connor, and Tyler, and the entirety of their friends on and off the youtube. Not one of them frowned at him, or drifted away, or did any of the things he had known they wouldn’t do, but had nevertheless feared they might. The majority of bbc also took the revelation in stride, and the rest that didn’t could at least tolerate the fact, mainly for the reason that it was Phil, who they’d known as he was mauled by a passing street squirrel and played the Circle of Life on national radio. Obviously he couldn’t prick an aging beaver if it threw itself in his face. Nick in particular had shown trepidation for the first few weeks, but had mellowed soon after. By then Dan had already deleted ‘my best fwend Nicky’ from Phil’s contacts list with something like vicious satisfaction on his face.

It was good. It was all going well, the people were generous, he had kept his radio show, he didn’t forget his sunscreen anymore. Except the hunger that was growing, and was sickening, and wouldn’t let him think clearly for a moment without recalling the smell of Dan’s jugular at the back of his brain.

“What the hell, Phil, it’s the green hoodie again?”

Dan’s voice was a muffled thing through the thickness of the duvet fort. Phil tucked the corners in more securely over his head. He was mostly sure no part of his body was visible, but he swore Dan seemed to have a mutant see-through eye sometimes.

“No.” he groaned, lisping a little.

“Your elbows are showing. It can’t be healthy that you’re in sick mode for the second time in two weeks. Remove that cocoon cave, come on-”

Phil yelped as the comforter was yanked forcibly off him, and accidentally embedded his canines in his lip. Again. He licked at the blood welling up since, well, there was no point wasting a dribble of perfectly fresh blood.

“I finished that RH+ A bag just yesterday.” He said defensively. Dan’s eyes were fixed vaguely heavenward, hands on his hips. Dan No-nonsense Howell, in all his eye-rolling glory.

“And you regurgitated it right after I went in the work room, which I know isn’t the first time you couldn’t keep it down. Don’t think I didn’t notice.” Dan said. “What’s wrong with the bags? Are you deliberately trying to starve your way to the grave so I have to pay the rent alone? I will dig you out, Phil Lester, so fucking stop whatever this is and tell me what the fuck is going on.”

“My life channel is no longer PG-thirteen.” Phil grumbled. Dan fixed him with a Stare.

“Okay, fine. I can’t drink it.” He scrunched up his nose. “It tastes horrible! It’s like you’re licking at an oily steel plate with cheese stuck to the roof of your mouth. It’s so stale. It’s clotted, sometimes.”

“Which is because you insist on only getting blood that’s past the expiring date.”

“But the hospitals need the fresh bags.”

“At this rate, you’ll need the hospital.”

Dan shoved his wrist under Phil’s nose. Naturally, the headboard was waiting to brain Phil when he ducked quickly away in alarm.

“What are you doing?” he squawked, rubbing the back of his head.

“Doing what you can’t, Philly.” Dan said. “Feeding you. Come on, bite. It’s not difficult. You have the fangs, here is the vein. I’ve done the research, I’ll tell you if you’re doing anything wrong.”

“I’m not biting anyone!” Phil yelped. “I’ve managed just fine so far.”

“If you say fine one more time, I’ll show you what not being fine can really be like. And you can’t bite a damned blood bag properly, I know you can’t bite people.” He smelled really nice, Phil thought miserably. Warm, salty, rich and earthy like- like blood, waiting to be spilled under the fragile cover of skin.

Dan pushed his arm again toward Phil’s face. “I’m not people.” He said patiently, snapping his fingers in front of Phil’s eyes and startling him back to focus.

Phil craned his neck to the side in an attempt to escape the terrifying torture of Dan’s wrist two inches from his mouth. He was quite possibly dribbling over his chin.

“Just think of it like a cocktail of sodium and iron.” Dan paused. “Try to like it… ironically.” He snickered.

“I hate you.” Phil whined. “I feel like I might join Belinda soon. And Billy. And Bryony-”

“There was no Bryony.” Dan interjected.

Phil shook his fist feebly in the air, slumped uncomfortably on his pillows. Dan reached out to rearrange his limbs.

“Leave me alone, I’ll- I’ll chacksploon your-” he stopped. No, no, that was not a mental image he needed right now.

“Hold on for your botanical raptors.” Dan said from somewhere beside his torso. He couldn’t exactly tell where, what with the constant dizziness writhing like a living thing inside his skull. He heard footsteps. That heavenly smell was thinning in the air, and- where was Dan again?

Time seemed to drip in sludges across his consciousness. Phil blinked, and found himself tucked securely under the comforters. Someone draped a gentle hand across his eyes; the palm was blissfully warm against his skin, and Phil inhaled, inexplicably calmed. Someone was Dan. The smell was no less devastating than it had been for the past six weeks. If anything, it was stronger.

Phil’s eyes snapped open when he realized it wasn’t just his imagination. The scent was actually explosively strong. He tugged aside Dan’s hand, and the second his eyes adjusted to the light- much slower than normal human eyes would- he almost knowked himself off the bed in his haste to snatch at Dan’s bandaged forearm.

“Did you cut yourself!” he shouted, forgetting everything else.

“Yes, Phil, I hacked my hand off with the kitchen knife and left the perfectly pristine blood extraction kit sitting in the cupboard, because it was too busy not doing its work.” He nudged the cupful of fresh blood he was holding into Phil’s slack hand, wrapping it around the mug finger by finger.

“Why not my lego mug.” Phil said numbly.

“You wound Kitty’s feelings. Shut up and drink on her brains.”

He did. He didn’t mean to, but he did. It was indescribable. The mouth he had opened to protest had glued itself to the rim of the cup, and the liquid in it was gone in a matter of seconds. Phil stared into the bottom of the cup, dismayed.

“According to wikipedia, which I will stop consulting as soon as my Amazon package arrives, you only need a couple cups every two weeks if the blood’s fresh. I can afford that. Maybe spare me the pain of stabbing my own wrist with a needle next time and just use your teeth, because your saliva supposedly contains anesthesia. Also, the neck should hurt less.”

"You," Phil said, and swallowed back the lump in his throat. His voice was suddenly so much clearer. His eyes, on the other hand, were suspiciously blurry.

Dan rolled his eyes, but there was a quirk at the corner of his mouth that Phil had seen a thousand times before, and would like to see just as much more. "It's time for a hug, you idiot. You're missing the cue again."

And they did just that.

“Hello, Dan and Phil Games subscribers. We’re not playing any games today. I have something to tell you instead, and I’ve been meaning to say this since a few weeks back, but I guess I just didn’t have the courage until now.-”

Chapter Text

"Really." Dan said. "I leave you alone to film for five consecutive hours, and I get a call from A&E?"