Phillip didn't want to open his eyes. He wasn't even sure if he could.

Everything hurt. His legs, his arms, his chest, his face. Cool sheets felt refreshing on his burnt skin, but they weren't his sheets. Reluctantly, he forced his eyes open, squinting at the harsh lighting that pierced his gaze. He looked around. He was in a hospital room, lying on the small bed, surrounded by Anne, Lettie, and all the other performers from the circus, their tear-stained faces looking down at him.

Upon seeing that he was awake, Lettie gave him a weak smile, very different from her usual grins, and Anne took his hand, gripping it tightly.

Phillip frowned. Something was wrong.

"Where's-" Phillip croaked, but his chest contracted and he was overtaken by a fit of coughing. Anne helped him take small sips of water from a glass next to the bed, and patiently waited for the wheezing to subside. Phillip tried again. "Where's- where's Phineas?"

Everyone around him looked at the floor, suddenly desperate to avoid his eyes.

A cold chill enveloped Phillip. "Anne, where is he? Lettie...?"

Still no one said anything.

"No," Phillip said. "He's not-"

"They couldn't do anything, Phillip," Anne whispered, tears falling silently down her cheeks. "He inhaled too much smoke, it was too late-"

"No," Phillip said forcefully, and Anne flinched. He winced as he tried to sit up. It felt like a thousands tiny creatures were biting into his side. "He's not dead. He can't be. It's a trick. It's just a circus trick."

"Phillip..." Anne was properly crying now. Phillip felt tears prick at his own eyes, but he blinked them away. They must be lying to him. Barnum couldn't be- He couldn't have-

"Show me."

Anne's eyes widened and she shook her head. "We can't let you see, it would break you-"

"Please. I need to see him. It's the least you can do, after all he did..." Phillip's voice cracked.

Anne looked over at Lettie, and a moment passed as they had a silent conversation.

Anne sighed. "Fine. But Phillip, are you sure?"

Phillip nodded.

The doctors wheeled him through corridors and hallways. He was 'too weak to move yet', they had said, insisting he stayed on his bed. They pushed him through a doorway into a similar room to his own, but this one was colder, not just physically, but the whole atmosphere. It was like it was full of ghosts, brushing against Phillip's arms.

He saw P.T. lying there, still. He shook his head, trying to clear away the tears that threatened to spill. He motioned for the doctors to push him closer, and reluctantly they did.

Phillip gazed upon the face of the man he loved, now somber and pale where it used to be joyous. The eyes that had once held the very spark of life were now shut, and Phillip knew that even if they were open, that spark would be gone. The chocolate brown would now be lifeless and cold, empty of emotion. Phillip choked up, and through a hazy veil of tears he reached up to touch Phineas's face. The skin was cold and stiff to the touch, almost waxy in texture. This wasn't the body Phillip had loved, had touched and hugged and kissed. This was an object, a thing. But it was undoubtably him. Phillip let his tears fall, let them spill onto Phineas's skin, hoping that they could bring life back to him. But of course, they didn't. They couldn't.

Phineas was gone, and now Phillip was alone.