A/N: Wow thank you to everyone that read this (and especially to those who reviewed and did all of that stuff ily)! I honestly didn't think that anyone would read it, so this is way beyond my expectations. :D I've also decided to give this story a legitimate plot, and not just have it be a pure crack fic.

Warnings: Maybe like, two curse words? Also existential crisis in this chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own Dan or Phil, and I'm not claiming that phan is real. I also don't actually ship phan. Oh, and I used a song in here. I don't own The Funeral, but Band of Horses does!

I nudged the metal fencing open, exposing myself to the terrifying sight that was the encampment of the sick underneath the bridge. As I never had enough resources to trade for housing, I was forced to choose a far less "sanitary" place to rest. I walked through the tunnel, wary of the people crowded underneath the bridge and holding my scarf closer to my mouth. Honestly, it's like the dark ages all over again. In fact, I'm almost a hundred percent sure there's some other plague going around. Not that it matters, really- one would sooner catch BS than they would Cholera.

I continued to march through the conglomeration of people, eventually making it to my own little corner of paradise. Well, I say paradise. The only items I can call my own are the two thin, scratchy blankets I use to make up my bed and my Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone book, which I've read too many times to count. I mean, I'd read it a lot before the BS plague but after using most of my books as fuel for fires, I've had no other fantasy world to escape to.

Though, neither my book nor blankets could compare to my most prized possession: my mp3 player. I remembered people making fun of me for it, always rubbing their fancy iPod touches in my face while I was stuck with own outdated audio device. Well, unfortunately for them, iPods have the battery life of a goldfish's attention span. I however had enough foresight to save my battery when I found out that things were only going to get worse, which is surprising since I don't do many normal things correctly. Though, because of there being no electricity I have to cherish what little battery life I have left.

I shrugged to myself, I could use a little cheering up today.

I reached into my dirty, ripped backpack, pulling out the delicate little machine that served as one of the few reminders of a better time; a time when I didn't live in constant fear of a horrible death, a time when I could taste and hear and feel and smell and touch things that didn't remind me of pestilence, and a time when loneliness wasn't so prominent in one's day-to-day life with the hustle and bustle of the city.

I unwrapped the earbuds from the red, shining cylindrical metal, doing so with care so as not to harm them. The tiny speakers were honestly crap after I'd dropped it into a puddle of water one too many times, so without headphones the entire thing would be rendered useless.

Sitting down and pulling my hood from my head I turned it on, hiding the light of the screen from the view of others inside the tunnel. If anyone were to find out that I owned this, I most certainly wouldn't own it any longer.

I took a peek at the screen.

'54% battery remaining'

Sighing, I pressed play, only glancing at the song title and artist before I hid the mp3 player in my pocket.

'The Funeral by Band of Horses,' it read. Could be worse. To be honest, any tune would a welcoming melody to my ears, which were used to hearing only the silence of the dead and rasps of the ill.

Soon, the gentle rifts of the guitar filled my ears, and the chorus soon followed,

"I'm coming up only to hold you under
And coming up only to show you're wrong
And to know you is hard; we wonder...
To know you all wrong; we warn.

Ooooooooh Oooooooooh
Ooooooooh Oooooooooh

Really too late to call,
So we wait for…
Morning to wake you is all we got
To know me as hardly golden
Is to know me all wrong, they warn.

At every occasion I'll be ready for the funeral
At every occasion, once more, it's called the funeral
At every occasion, oh, I'm ready for the funeral
At every occasion, oh, one billion day funeral

I'm coming up only to show you're down for
And coming up only to show you're wrong."

As the song sped up, I couldn't help but think of the funeral that the artist was singing about. The song really wasn't very relevant to me; there was no one in particular that I was very attached to left. Those closest to me had already come and gone, so maybe the only funeral that I could still wait for was my own.

As the final notes rung through my ears I snapped out of my contemplation and went ahead and turned off the mp3 player. If I wanted it to last, I was going to need to use it less often.

I looked around before wrapping the earbuds back up and setting it inside the smallest of my backpack pockets, making sure that there was no one watching me.

I laid down on my blankets, sighing for the tenth time that day.

"What am I supposed to do now?" I grumbled, wishing for some sort of entertainment. The sun was still out, so it obviously wasn't dark enough for me to sleep. Besides, I'd wasted enough days in my makeshift bed, feeling sorry for myself.

I groaned as I stood up, deciding on going on yet another walk. I'd always complained about exercise requiring too much commitment and work, though I suppose nowadays it's all I have to entertain myself with.

I pulled my hood back over my head, preparing myself to endure the chilly Manchester weather for the second time that day. I marched through the conglomeration of the ill and realized that they, too, were waiting for their own funerals.

Because the only certainty in life is death, and in this reality it's the only safe haven left.

I became so absorbed in my own thoughts that I stopped looking at where I was walking, focusing only on the mortality of man. Well, of everything really. Can anything truly be immortal? Is time even immortal? Is time a real, physical thing or just an abstract idea created by humans to make sense of the universe? And if time is truly an imagined thing, is anything really real? Does this universe that I inhabit actually exist, or is it just some figment of my imagination? Or maybe someone else's imagi-

My thoughts were interrupted by a rather blunt force ramming against my chest.

"Oof!" I exclaimed as the air left my lungs. The object in front of me seemed to make the same sound, and we each stumbled backwards.

I looked up to see a (slightly) taller, hooded figure. I couldn't make out his facial features due to the shadow cast by the building we were both walking under, but I'll be damned if I didn't see my life flash behind my eyes.

My rather deep existential questions flew from my mind as more prominent ones emerged such as, 'oh god, did I break anything?' (granted, that was a rather stupid question), 'are they mad? Are they going to kill me?' and finally, 'is this one of those gang members..?'

"Oh god, I'm so so sorry," the figure apologized in a rather northern accent, stepping towards me.

Well, I'm pretty sure he isn't a gang member.

"Are you okay? Sorry, I wasn't looking at where I was going, I was kind of just off in my own little world…" he continued to apologize as I stood there, immobilized. Yeah, sure I contemplated death a lot, but possibility of dying right then and there was still a frightening one. I mean, I'm pretty sure angry gang members wouldn't apologize over and over again like they actually did something wrong, but who knows? Maybe this is just his strategy to get close enough to attack.

Because he certainly couldn't have done so as soon as he bumped into me.

"…but you should still be careful, since you could get infected by someone that accidentally rubbed up against you or an awful gang member or something-"

He was still talking.

"Oh, uh…" I interrupted, shifting from foot to foot nervously after I realized this man was probably not threatening enough to make it into a gang, "S-sorry."

"Oh, no it's fine!" He exclaimed, his tone lightening after hearing my own apology. I relaxed a little, at the very least glad that he wasn't going to beat me up because of my shitty apology. He then reached toward his hood, pulling it down to reveal shockingly familiar bright blue eyes.

He then extended a gloved hand, and I took it (albeit warily) with my own bare one, my eyes still transfixed on his all-too-familiar features. Something about his face bugged me, in a deja vu kind of way. I'd seen it before, I was sure of it. It may be a bit dirty now and the hair a little long, but I was sure I'd seen it.

He opened those all-too-familiar lips and curved the edges upwards in an all-too-familiar smile.

"My name's Phil. What's yours?"

I gaped. That's it.

"Phil.. As in.. Amazingphil!?"