Author's note: Oh, it takes a special kind of person to make an angst-fest out of this children's TV show. I actually don't know anything about the P&F fandom, but I'm hoping y'all will be kind, lmao. Pardon me if my writing is a little rusty, or inaccurate; I haven't written Phineas and Ferb fanfiction before, nor have I ever perceived myself doing so in the future. Additionally, I haven't written much third person as of late, save for a couple snit-bits in roleplays.

Without further ado, though, here's this angsty garbage. Make sure to watch the episode "Mission Marvel" before you proceed, if you have not already. Also, consider this fic to be like... a story where they all have physically possible head shapes? So like, Phineas has a more angular face but not so much triangles, etc... this is also kinda like, outside of Act Your Age? Y'know, like, it's sort of in an AU. But also not. ,,,I think my rambling is just making things worse; you'll understand more if you just read it.

Phineas Flynn had plenty of moments in his life to be proud of. All those machines, all those victories. In the eyes of most teens his age, a twelve-hour day was a means of cramming in more video games without their parents noticing. However, in the deep blue eyes of the red-haired teenager, a day of that length was a day of endless possibilities. It took him mere hours to crack codes that it took professionals centuries to figure out. In his head, mysteries were less mysteries, and more... a means of occupying his time more efficiently. Never would the youth succumb to boredom, never would he ever give up. He'd walked on Mars, he'd traveled between dimensions (say what?) and he'd created all sorts of new, creative innovations that would undoubtedly leave the adults of his generation scratching their heads in wonder for years to come. Phineas was brilliant. In a sense, he could do anything. Nothing was impossible, for him. Flying? No problem, just get him a tool box and a doughnut. Rest assured, the task would be completed. Want some fries with that?

Or at least, that was how things were when he had his older brother there to help him. Phineas didn't like to take credit for himself- actually, he loathed to do so, especially when it was at his brother's expense, but when all the words slipped off of his tongue, Ferb tended to vanish into his shadow. And it wasn't like Phineas spoke so much in an attempt to outshine his brother! People automatically assumed that it was because he was an extroverted chatterbox by nature, and while he wasn't thick enough to deny it, he wished that people would understand that he only spoke so much out of nerves. When it boiled down to it, his creativity was something that he was always itching to spill, and when he was only faced with Ferb's silence, Phineas tried to take steps to fill the silence. It just so happened that Ferb was shy (or maybe just introspective?) and Phineas didn't feel comfortable in that much silence.

Even so, being a kid genius was so much easier when he had his brother's support. The minute school got out, every year, Phineas took initiative. There were ways to occupy their time together, there always had been. And that time had always been theirs. That wasn't to say that they didn't have friends who came over to spend time with them. That wasn't true, even in the slightest. Isabella, Baljeet, Buford, Irving- Phineas and Ferb were innovative, and apparently Phineas had a sort of contagious excitement that really compelled other people to hang around him. Even so, the time that was spent during the summer, working to create whatever they could to keep themselves occupied, he had always viewed that as his time with his brother. His brother, and his best friend. Before Ferb had come into his life, Phineas had been desperately lonely. His intelligence had been unheard of as a four year old. But when his mother remarried and Lawrence moved in, he'd met not only a new brother and friend, but an intellectual equal. And he had been forever grateful.

Only, Phineas hadn't been seeing so much of his green haired brother, ever since he'd taken up that internship at Stark Industries. It wasn't Ferb's fault that he wanted to do something other than spend the summer building meaningless contraptions, but even so, the internship took up all of his time. Ferb was never around long enough to hold more than a casual conversation with his younger brother. He would be there in the morning, staying around long enough to eat breakfast and exchange some quiet pleasantries with his parents, before he would grab his belongings and head off to work. He didn't even take weekends for himself, which Phineas found to be ridiculous for a number of reasons, but the most prominent of which being that it gave him none of the quality sibling time that he so desperately wanted. Of course he was capable of making all those devices and creating all those things without Ferb around, but the meaning of all of it was just sort of... lost on him, without his brother's silent reassurance.

Besides that, all those inventions had truly given the brothers a means of communicating with each other. It was beyond words, for them. Phineas could almost read Ferb's mind, and even if Ferb couldn't reciprocate (though Phineas was certain that he could), he spoke so often that it wasn't really necessary. There was an almost meta level of communication between each other. There had been shortcomings, of course, as there were in every relationship, and they had, believe it or not, argued on occasion, but it had been perfect because it had been theirs, and Ferb was more than just an older brother, he was a friend. Somebody who eased Phineas' loneliness, and understood the few things he left unsaid.

Phineas tried to be happy for his brother. Hello! Stark Industries? That was an opportunity that nobody should ever miss. It was the chance to work alongside Iron Man, for Christ's sake! And the offer had been extended to Phineas, as well. But something had held him back, strangely. Something had put a bitter taste into the red head's mouth and made him backtrack, muttering excuses and saying suddenly that he wanted to spend more time with a friend of his. When Ferb looked at him, an almost downtrodden expression playing on his features, Phineas had blurted that he wanted to spend more time with Isabella. And strangely, they had bought it without another word. Ferb had shot him a quick smirk, a knowing look playing in his pale blue eyes. Phineas hadn't understood what inside joke was being shared between them, but he went with it, smiling because he was supposed to.

Ferb had become weirdly distant, was all that Phineas could fathom. And without his older brother there to assist, some of his energy began to fade. He lost some of his enigmatic tendencies and drooped, a little, losing the rambling tendency that he'd been able to keep up when Ferb had been at his side under that tree in their backyard. In the beginning, he'd accidentally found himself turning to talk to Ferb and finding nobody standing there multiple times, but as he adapted to having lost that support, he began to fall silent in more ways than one.

The situation would have been more bearable if more people had seemed to genuinely care, but his prolonged silence seemed to enforce a sudden assumption that Phineas didn't really have any ideas for anything without his brother around. And while the impression couldn't have been further from the truth (in actuality, he came up with ideas as a constant; it was just that he had no motivation to carry them out or even utter so much as an "I know what we're going to do today!" when his brother wasn't around) he found that he lacked the energy to correct them. Slowly, when people realised that his presence was not going to provide the addictive thrill of doing something dangerous any longer, people began to fall away. Irving was one of the first, though he didn't look like he particularly wanted to step away. Even so, the rest of the folks who generally watched their antics slipped away, leaving Baljeet, Buford, and Isabella. Buford had been determined, to begin with, to scare Phineas back into his creative tendencies, but the worst of his terrorising had only given Phineas the desire to muster a weak chuckle. Baljeet had eventually intervened, pulling Buford to the side and whispering to him. Phineas heard wisps of the words "misses Ferb" and "space."

Buford left after saying begrudgingly that he hoped Phineas would feel better. Isabella, meanwhile, stuck around as long as she could, but after a long internal struggle, seemed to convince herself that the best thing she could do for Phineas would be to leave him alone, as Baljeet and Buford were doing. Eventually, she hugged him, whispering that if he needed her, she could always call and text. No matter what time it was, she promised, she'd pick up the phone for him.

Even when she pulled away, Phineas still smelled the cinnamon that always lingered around her. His eyes didn't leave her lithe form until she had disappeared down the block, casting several regretful glances in his direction as before she was out of sight.

So Phineas was alone, sitting under the tree. It was a hot day, hotter than he remembered it being all those summers spent building with Ferb, but what did it matter, really? He had sufficient amounts of shade. And if his white t-shirt proved to be too overwhelming for him, he could always go stick his head in the refrigerator. It seemed to work well enough in movies. With a groan, he slumped down, stretching out his lanky frame and tilting back his head to look up the expanse of the tree trunk. The bark of the tree was too rough for him to be comfortably sitting against it: how had he managed to do that through those years of childhood? But then, he hadn't really had the over-analysis going for him, back when he was younger... at least, he had had Ferb by his side, then.

A tepid groan managed to escape Phineas' lips as he fixed his position, finding himself lying completely in the grass. It didn't feel like it had been that long since he and Ferb had been building together. The year before, that, the summer when he had turned fifteen, they had been able to build a robot that worked as a nanny. She had ended up being more of a nag than their older sister Candace (Candace, Phineas thought with a grimace, was now twenty two, and happily spending her time in her last year of college with her long-term boyfriend, Jeremy) and Buford had eventually lost his temper with it and destroyed the machine. Phineas chuckled fondly at the memory, his lips curling into a brief smile... until the expression faded, and the momentary mirth disappeared from his eyes. Right, those fun times were impossible without Ferb around. Well, maybe they were possible. But his gross lack of motivation begged to differ. And who was he to argue with hormonal depression?

His eyes fluttered shut, briefly, and he went back to thinking less of Ferb, but more the lack of his presence. Phineas had vague memories of the days before his older brother had come into his life, back when, in his eyes, it had been just him and Candace. Their mom had been emotionally unavailable at the time, why? Somehow, Phineas couldn't wrap his mind around it. There were always moments, blips in their lives, where his father would come home, and he and their mother would argue. Back when he was three years old, and he got into reading some of the materials that Candace took home as homework, she quietly confided in him that she hated their father.

Phineas hadn't been old enough to sustain his sister on an emotional level, as much as he'd wanted to. In all honesty, he'd never been good at emotions, or sensitivity. Always, his focus had been on intellectuals. He loved Candace, and admired her valiant attempts to protect him, but he constantly felt as though he could never give back to her. And by the time the divorce had settled, their mother was a wreck. It was all Phineas could do to keep from grimacing while he watched his mother and his sister talking, late into the night. Their mother drifted, for a while, between boyfriends. At one point, he remembered her coming home talking about some Heinz guy she'd met, but that relationship ended quickly. Things only really improved for the Flynn family when two Brits moved into their house. One of them was their father, Lawrence. And one of them had been Ferb.

Things got better from there. Ferb was better at emotions than Phineas, he could balance them out. Somehow, his older brother always knew how to fix things in more than just a practical manner. Phineas sometimes couldn't sleep for the admiration. But sometimes he just felt absolutely sick with envy. The redhead felt his expression contorting, both hands going to tangle in his hair. One palm brushed against his cheek on its trip, and he was startled to find that his face was wet. His eyes fluttered open, momentarily startled by the sun shining above him, but he lowered his arms and hummed, trying to get a better gather on his surroundings. Had he really just started crying, thinking about his older brother? There was a lot to cry about, sometimes, things that seemed to go away when Ferb was around, but none of what he had just been thinking warranted the waterworks, at least in his imagination.

Sometimes, he recalled, he would wake up late at night and find his face wet from tears as it was then, and Ferb would silently slip into the bed next to him. All the smarts in the world wasn't enough to make Phineas understand why thinking about his biological father and the time before his mother remarried hurt so much, but Ferb somehow got it. Without talking, Ferb could make all his worries go away. He could make things feel better when they were so incredibly wrong.

His right hand was suddenly alerted to the presence of something soft slipping under it. Phineas started, looking over, only to note that his and Ferb's pet platypus, Perry, had crawled over there. It was hard to tell what Perry was thinking in the best of times, but even an emotionally constipated genius like Phineas could tell that his brown eyes were filled with concern. The expression coaxed a smile out of the youth, his own eyes slipping over to the side as Perry chattered disdainfully.

"There you are, Perry." Phineas uttered, slowly stroking the fur of his turquoise pet. "I thought you'd be far gone into your daily activities by now," he commented, glancing at the roof, where he and Ferb had once spotted their pet standing. Perry seemed to consider the statement before jumping into his lap, nudging his face with his beak. Phineas managed a laugh, turning his head to the side. "Don't worry about me, Perry, I'm just being stupid."

Perry said nothing, but he let out a low, soothing purr, which somehow convinced Phineas to keep talking.

"I mean... Ferb is off doing that internship at Stark Industries. I should be happy, shouldn't I? I mean, he's taking steps to pursue an actual career, aside from just tinkering with me, and that's awesome! After all, I can't just expect him to stay attached to my hip all this time. He might be my brother, but he has to go and take care of his own life, instead of humouring me all the time." Phineas felt his voice wobble, but forced himself to keep talking. "But what if he really was just humouring me? I mean, Ferb is so brilliant and creative on his own, he doesn't need me to be a spokesperson for him. And besides that, I talk so much that everybody always recognises me and forgets Ferb's name. What if it makes him feel invalidated? If that's true, then he really does deserve to be away from me! I wouldn't ask him to do anything else, I couldn't! It's just that, well, he's the only person who really..." now his eyes were burning with tears and he talked faster, feeling an almost painful desperation creeping up in his tone. "Understands, what it's like, y'know? I mean, when I was younger I didn't really care at all but now I'm just, there's so much I don't understand, and it feels like everybody else is so much more content to just do normal, everyday things. And I've tried, doing that, I really have, but I just can't.

"I can't help but feel an overwhelming loss without Ferb here. It's like I'm missing half of me, the better, quieter half. And now that Ferb isn't here, it's like... it's just Phineas now, missing the things that make him special." He sneered at the word, hating to hold himself above others. "Everybody says I'm so smart, but I can't even figure out how to deal with somebody's emotions. There's so much I can't do. And Ferb felt like the only person who didn't care."

Phineas knew he was rambling, babbling, ranting to a platypus, and his words made zero sense, but he couldn't muster the energy or the motivation to make himself give even half of a damn. Everything felt exponentially worse without his brother there, and the words that were spilling out felt like there was no plug to them. He almost couldn't make himself stop talking, which was supremely sucktastic, especially given that Perry couldn't offer any verbal comfort, even if he understood well enough to want to. Guilt weighed down on his chest at the words that flowed from his lips; he'd always known that he felt that little selfish desire for Ferb to be back with him, but somehow, saying those words out loud made them feel so much more real. Gravitational. There was no denying them anymore, no more pretending to himself. As soon as they left his tongue, they stayed there, hanging in the air.

Perry growled, which was enough to stop Phineas' talking. The platypus gave him a reproachful look, chattering aimlessly. Phineas tried to listen for a moment, smiling begrudgingly. "You know I can't understand you, boy." He said, faintly, dully. With a huff, his pet leaped from his lap and hurried over to the house, looking over at Phineas, who took the hint and dragged himself to his feet, shuffling across the yard.

From the looks of it, Perry intended for him to follow him into the house. Phineas did so, albeit curiously, and watched as his pet hopped onto the kitchen counter and bit down on an uncapped pen from near the wall. The red head's brow furrowed as he watched Perry struggling to drag over a piece of paper, and then putting one of his webbed feet on the white page to keep it in place as he adjusted the pen's positioning between his teeth. It occurred to Phineas that his pet was going to write something, and he stepped over, watching with amazement as the platypus made several purposeful marks on the page. The only sounds audible in the kitchen were of Perry's frustrated grunting (it must have been difficult to write without functional thumbs, Phineas thought) and of the pen tracing over the paper. Eventually, though, the teal mammal relinquished his hold on the implement and stepped back to admire his handiwork. Briefly, he cast an expectant look upon Phineas, and the teen took another step forward, looking down at the page to see what had been written.

The platypus hadn't written very legibly, and the letters were large and choppy, but if Phineas concentrated, he could decipher what his pet had written out for him. As the meaning of the words settled in for him, his eyes widened, and he looked at Perry, his expression reflecting great bafflement.

Perry had written, "You are enough." Phineas tried to wrap his head around the fact that his pet had somehow managed to write something, despite an apparent inability, at times, to understand what members of the Flynn-Fletcher family were saying to him. Maybe their platypus pet knew more than he let on. Phineas felt his eyes burning, tears threatening to spill over at the message in those purposeful letters, and he wished quietly that he could spend more time willfully communicating with Perry. At the same time, though, he felt as though this was good enough for him. Choking past a sob, he reached out, stopping halfway, but found himself reassured when the platypus leaped into his arms. Phineas buried his face in the mammal's fur and tried not to cry, instead breathing in the comfort that accompanied the embrace.

While Phineas trembled, Perry looked over his boy's shoulder to find the corner where he'd left the O.W.C.A's wrist communication device and hoped that Dr. Doofenshmirtz wouldn't mind his missing their planned tea-time. Sometimes, there were more important things to take care of.

End.