Chapter Text
Why the hell did they think visiting Canada during winter was a good idea?
Dan rubbed his arms, trying to chase the creeping numbness away.
Phil had been so excited about the Ice Hotels, and the winter festival. Dan wouldn't say he wasn't pumped, either. It had been brilliant, toasty under layers and layers of shirts and jumpers, watching light twinkling amongst glassy ice walls and falling snow in the approaching dusk. There were maple syrup treats being frozen and sold, and cheerful chatter, laughing children; sounds of merriment and joy.
Indecipherable English, and Québec-quoi intermingled in the streets, along with stray snatches of foreign language. It was like a wonderland.
But then the weather turned, sometime when Dan and Phil got separated (Phil had to hit the loo, and Dan had been taken astray by a cart trundling along with hot pastries). As everyone rushed to close up shop and take shelter, Dan had frantically gone searching for Phil.
After twenty minutes, the snow began to fall thicker.
It became a mild snowstorm after that; enough to obscure Dan's vision, but not yet enough to render him immobile. He became disoriented, teetering off-course and shouting hoarsely into the muffling wind.
"Phil!!!"
But he must have walked quite a ways away, because he couldn't see any lights penetrating the white screen, nor hear any sounds of life or civilization.
At this point everything started to burn; hot red-blue, piercing through his flesh and settling his bones to cold stone. His nose, and mouth, even his lungs, began to hurt like he was breathing in glass. The non-existent shards pierced him inside, and he thought he could taste blood.
Whether real or not, this wasn't good.
"Phil. . ." He could barely whisper the words out. Distantly heard as he fell into the hard powder, an arm trapped beneath him, and the other out-stretched. The pain had begun to fade, only to be replaced with a paralyzing numbness.
It was almost like when he had a really bad depressive episode, or sleep paralysis.
He struggled to wheeze, vision blurring as the snow just. . .kept falling.
At some point, he just couldn't keep his eyes open.
The first thing he registered was noise.
A slow, crawling beeping.
Then, harsh, ragged breathing.
Voices filtered through, but their words had no meaning or comprehension.
Feeling came next. Creeping, hot-cold chills that left a freezing harshness in him. His . . .right(?) hand ached deeply.
After a while, he pried open his eyes.
He was in a hospital?
". . .Phil?" He managed, sounding groggy.
A harsh intake of air.
Then raven hair framing blue, teary eyes filled his vision, and Dan jolted, trying to sit upright.
Phil rarely cried. Dan was the crybaby between them.
Phil quickly brought his hands up, as though to push Dan back down - though there wasn't a need, as his whole body protested the movement, dropping him into the bed.
It creaked as he flopped down.
"It's okay, it's okay! Just - relax, all right? Please?"
Dan groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "What happened? I feel like absolute shizz."
". . .Hypothermia," Phil said, right to the point. "We managed to find you in time; oh god, you were turning blue, Dan!" He stood suddenly, trembling. ". . .I was so dang scared. They said any longer and you would have lost more than. . ."
He cut off, looking away and biting his lip.
Dan felt a jolt of terror. "More than what, Phil? What did I lose?"
Phil squeezed his eyes shut, gripping the bed rail tightly. "You're- you're pinky and ring finger. They had to amputate them." He looked like he wanted to vomit.
Dan felt close to tears then, lifting his arm despite the pain and wires to see. Sure enough, the last two fingers on his right hand were gone, bandages replacing them.
Now he wanted to throw up.
"But I'm glad you're alive. I'm so, so glad." Phil had begun crying again, voice stuffy from clogged sinuses. "I couldn't stand- if-"
And then Dan reached forward, gripping Phil with his left hand and pulling him down. Phil got the idea and leaned forward to hug him, sobbing.
Dan was crying too. Managing to blubber out, "Hey, at least it's not my dominant hand, yeah?" Before fully breaking down and squeezing his best friend tighter with his one arm.