Never Let Go - Danisnotonfire x Reader

Abused... Bruised... Alone?

You open your eyes slowly, the dim light from the street lamps outside feeling like knives cutting into your eyeballs. You manage to look out the window, and see that it's dark outside. It's completely silent.

You notice that you're still lying on the grimy floor, and your instincts tell you immediately to get up. You try to raise your upper body, but to no avail - your back is in agony. It feels as if you've been lying on the cold, flat ground for years.

You manage to summon enough strength to crawl your way to the bedroom doorway, freezing like a statue in fear as the landlord grunts in his sleep and turns over.

Next, you have to get downstairs, a feat that seems impossible to you in your current state.

As much as it hurts your very soul to say it, you have to leave your laptop and your other belongings behind. It would seem ridiculous in a normal situation, possibly even going against your instincts as a fangirl, but right now you have to get out and get help, in case the demon - sorry, landlord - wakes up again.

How will you even get help? The nearest police station or hospital is dear knows where, and you'd definitely need your SatNav to get to either of the two. Furthermore, to access your SatNav, you'd need to get into your car and start driving.

Can I even drive with these injuries? you ask yourself.

A twinge of pain in your ankle answers that question for you. You wince and squeeze your eyes tightly shut, and then tell yourself to pull yourself together and start moving.

You crawl along the floor until you're at the top of the stairs, then lower yourself down each step carefully and as slowly as you can afford. It's as if you're climbing down a steep cliff with no rope. One wrong move could send you hurtling down, and then what would happen?

I'd be even more injured, and the landlord might wake up, you think to yourself, and this thought spurs you on, highlighting the urgency in the situation.

You finally reach the bottom step, then lower yourself onto the floor. Everything around you is pitch black. You look back at the light upstairs and sigh, forcing yourself forward to the front door.

You glimpse the keys to the front door on a key rack high above you, and come to the conclusion that you're going to have to stand up to get them.

You grit your teeth and use a nearby small table to pull yourself up to your feet. Once standing up, one of your feet immediately buckles under you, making you curse quietly and your head throb.

Your ears ring momentarily, and you become aware of your loud and increasingly fast heartbeat. You look around again. The dark looks almost fuzzy, your eyes not being adjusted to the dark yet.

You're terrified.

You grab the keys from the keyrack, leaning your elbow against the wall for support. Once they're in your grasp, you slowly slip the keys off the hook of the keyrack, and smile when they come off smoothly.

You limp over to the door, a wave of nausea hitting you and making you stop momentarily. Once it passes, you slot the keys into the lock and turn them, grabbing the door handle.

Suddenly, you hear the floorboard creak behind you.

You turn around and look into the vast darkness, the blood rushing in your ears. A pair of eyes look back at you.

On the verge of screaming out, you blink. The eyes are no longer there.

You turn around and push down the door handle, pulling the door open and going outside as quickly as you can. You close the door softly behind you, resisting the urge to slam it in utter fear.

A cold gust of wind hits you, getting through your pyjama bottoms and hoodie. You shiver and look to your left and right. The street is completely empty, and free from any pedestrians or vehicles. You breathe a sigh of relief.

Wait - where am I going? you wonder.

You hardly know anyone in London, only a distant cousin who hasn't talked to you for as long as you can remember. You don't even know their address, let alone if they live in London anymore.

You're definitely not knocking on a random person's door and asking to stay with them. Besides being slightly scared of people you don't know, you hate to ask people for things. You'd much rather just suffer in silence - but in this case you know you have to ask for help.

What are you going to do?

You look across the road, your eyes coming to rest on a familiar flat. Dan and Phil's. Would they mind if you stayed for a few days until you got proper accommodation?

You hope not. You decide to go over to their house, just because you have no other options. Heck, you'll pay them to let you stay with them for a while.

You cautiously check the road for cars, and upon seeing none, you decide to get a move on. The wind harshly blows through your clothes, making you shiver again.

Only a few metres, you tell yourself encouragingly.

You begin to limp across the road as fast as you can, praying to whatever deity there may be that no cars are travelling your way tonight.

The night is eerily silent, and all your can hear is your erratic breathing and your heart thumping, which even drown out the sounds of your footsteps.

You begin to feel faint, and limp a little faster. You don't want to pass out in the middle of the road. You shudder at the thought and try to make your breathing deeper so you can force yourself to calm down.

You eventually reach the door, pressing your sore, numb fingers to the doorbell.

At that moment, you can't stand any longer. Your legs crumple underneath you, giving you no choice but to lie helplessly on the ground by the front door as your headache gets worse.

It's dark inside the house, and you almost lose hope. Then, you hear someone coming down the stairs, and a light flicks on.

Thank goodness.

You hear the click of a lock, and then the door opens. "No, I don't want your politics leaflets," a man's voice says tiredly.

Dan, wearing a dressing gown, steps out onto the front step and looks around with a frustrated look on his face. "Playing a game of ding dong ditch, huh? Mature."

He sighs and turns to go back inside.

Desperately, you gather up every last trace of your energy to say his name, yet it still comes out as a whisper.

"Dan," you say feebly.

He stops moving inside for a second and looks back onto the street. Then he looks down, and gasps as he sees you.

Dan immediately crouches down to you, worry evident on his face. "Oh my god! What happened to you, Y/n?!"

Your headache worsens, making your skull feel like lead. "I was... I..."

Your vision fails and you lose consciousness.

a/n: ooo, are you hanging off the metaphorical cliff right now because i hope you are ;^)