The Avengers Battle HYDRA at the Playground with Startling Regularity
By: Kim Hoppy
Disclaimer: Avengers, Iron Man, The Hulk, Iron Man 2, Thor, Captain America, etc. and all adjoining characters are the property of Marvel and those associated with their creation and are used without permission or disrespect.
Summary: If asked, of course Tony is going to proclaim that he's reason they're all Avengers, he's the one who started it all. But the truth is, it was all Phil's fault. Most days, he doesn't regret it.
Or ... a story not so much about Avengers, but about two brothers who both like the Avengers film and experience the movies, in their own way.
In the Avengers, A Lot Of Things Happen That Can't Be Argued: A Team is Formed, the World is Saved.
But There are Questions That Need Answers: When Is Next Film and Did Loki Totally Xanatos Gambit Everyone and Is Phil Coulson Really Dead, like Uncle Ben, or Just Really-Dead-Mostly-Dead, like Jason Todd and Bucky Barnes (and Will Hence Come Back Evil)
Adam joined their little band of misfits; the only thing his father said was that he spoke to Mr. Young.
Great, Nick Fury told the man it was okay for Phil to babysit the Avengers, Phil thought sarcastically. He did not appreciate the irony of anything in that statement.
But whatever, Tony was happy, the other kids were happy, Phil was getting paid, so he was happy (and exhausted).
The addition of Adam was about as taxing as Phil had figured it'd be, which was to say, not very much. If he had been like the set of non-twin brothers, Phil might have had a problem, but Adam listened and only joined in the mischief the others started and helped dragging along the less willing.
The calendar of activities was followed and when they went to the park, the Avengers had to deal with a lot of mind control where half the team was the bad guy, which really wasn't too difficult from the comics, Phil supposed. (He had drawn Tony aside when Lucas had been dubbed Loki and said it wasn't fair to always make him the bad guy. Tony had looked at him like he was being silly and said, "Loki's not a bad guy, Phil. He just," Tony waved his hands vaguely, trying to put his thoughts into words, "he just makes a good bad guy cause he can do anything cause he's magic. You gotta have a good bad guy, Phil.")
Tony lost his first tooth as a casualty from one of these battles – and Phil made sure it was the only one, because those kids had some very strange ideas – and Phil was charged with keeping it safe for the tooth fairy. Once their parents were home, Tony had then done a lot of smiling and asking their parents if they noticed anything different about him, and Phil only paid attention long enough to make sure they did notice.
(One of his worst memories was when Santa forgot to visit his house. Even though he had been very, very young, so young most people didn't recall anything from that age, Phil could still remember getting up earlier than early and excited and then being absolutely devastated at the empty tree. He'd run to his parents room, sobbing, and woke both of them from a dead sleep and was absolutely inconsolable. His parents had rushed to try to take him to breakfast somewhere that was opened on early Christmas, his father trying to say something about elves being out-sourced and his mother saying Santa must have accidentally broken one of the toys and had to rush back to the North Pole and Phil had just woken too early. By the time they got back, [Phil couldn't recall if they even went anywhere or just drove around looking,] Santa had visited, at least, but for years afterwards Phil hadn't trusted him, the Tooth Fairy, or the Easter Bunny to have arrived by the time he woke up. He probably was the only child in the world who made a point to sleep late on those particular days, at least until Tony came.)
His parents had noticed, after pretending they hadn't for a little while. Their mother got out a little bracelet case for him to put it in, so it wouldn't get lost under the pillow.
The next morning, when Phil got back from his route, both his parents were still around, which was odd and he didn't like it. It ruined his morning and his routine.
"How long has Tony had that aquarium?" his mother asked.
Phil felt his eyes narrow. Seriously, this was why they were bothering him? He brushed past them to look into the refrigerator. "I don't know, almost two months?" No, not that long, but he was not dealing with this.
"Why does he even have it?" his father took over.
"Because he has a stupid fish named Jarvis. Because he won it in a game they had at the park," he added. There was no food in here, and he slammed the door closed.
"He never told us he won a fish."
Actually, Tony had incessantly said he had a fish named Jarvis in his room, did they want to see. (If Phil felt charitable, he could understand. Tony had also, in the past, said he had a spaceship and a donkey in there too, not to mention the rest of the zoo. [He didn't feel charitable.]) Phil shrugged and his gaze fell on the calendar. Library, unless it rained, which it was starting to. So, pizza today, and stuck in the house. Oh, joy of joys.
"Look, it's not a big deal. It's just a stupid fish," Phil said. They way they were acting, it was like Tony had tried to keep a puppy.
His father pinched the bridge of his nose. "Philip, that's not the point."
"It's just that we didn't know. That's all."
"That's not my fault," Phil snipped.
"Philip Lindsay."
Phil scowled but didn't press, crossing his arms and looking away.
There was a breath of silence, before his father finally broke it. "Your mother and I were thinking we might spend the last two weeks before school starts going to Disneyland or something, as a family."
Horror was not adequate to describe the look on Phil's face. "You're joking."
"It'd be fun."
"I got work."
"You can get someone to cover your route, Philip," his mother said, "one of your friends."
"No," he repeated, sharper and actually pointed at the calendar. "I've got everything planned out and committed, I can't just take off because you want to spend family time or whatever."
"What are you talking about?"
Phil gave a laugh, a bit sharp. "I've been baby-sitting Tony's friends all fricking summer. Mort and Lucas are going to be here in like forty minutes, and Anita and Frankie are here at nine, and Adam and Bruce'll get dropped off probably a little after that. Seriously, you really didn't know I was doing this?" Yes, he had suspected they were clueless about his life, but to actually have it verified made his stomach twist.
"You never told us," his father responded.
"You never asked," Phil countered, because yeah, like he was ever going to just volunteer anything out at their dinner table, especially baby-sitting. "And jeez, really, Tony's always talking about them and what they did. Did you think he suddenly had six imaginary friends?" (Tony's friends had never been imaginary, only stuffed.) (Again, if charitable, it probably didn't help Tony usually said what the Avengers did first, with code names and everything, and then, by the time any sane person was nodding and making vague noises, turned to what the group had also done. [Phil remained uncharitable as Scrooge pre-Ghosts. There were eight suits almost always drip-drying in the bathroom, and there was a freaking chalk unicorn on the driveway. A chalk unicorn.])
"Philip Lindsay," his father repeated, lower.
He didn't stop this time. "It's not my fault if you don't have any idea what goes on here because both of your are too busy avoiding or fighting each other to pay attention! And you thought going on a family vacation was a good idea?"
And there was his full name and his father stood up. "That's enough of your tone, young man."
Phil glared but backed down, a little.
"Philip," his mother started, and then didn't continue, clearly unsure what to even say. "We'll talk tonight, okay? I think … we need to say some things, but we need to cool down a little first." She grabbed his father's arm and pulled. "Let's go."
For a second Phil thought his father was going to fight it, start another fight, but instead he nodded. "We'll talk. Tonight."
"Whatever," he muttered and watched them go.
"Are you in trouble?" Tony quiet voice came from behind, timid and worried.
Phil turned and tried to smile. "Am I ever in trouble? What did the Tooth Fairy give you?"
Tony held up the little box and opened it to show two dollar coins. (Phil had already known, because he'd checked. Trust, but verify was a good life motto.)
"Wow! You're rich, maybe you should buy everybody pizza today."
He grinned and snapped the box closed protectively, and then asked, "Are you really not in trouble?"
"Don't worry about me. Hey, how about we see if you can stay at Bruce's tonight?"
"Really?" Tony asked, eyes wide.
"Yep. Think it'll be fun?"
"Yeah!"
Phil ruffled his hair. "I'll try to convince his mom, then."
Tony grinned and then turned worried. "You'll feed Jarvis, promise?"
He laughed and picked his brother up. "Yep. And let's feed you, huh? Cause you're all skin and bones," he said, tickling the exposed stomach.
It'd be a lie to say Phil wasn't thinking about tonight's promised talk – whatever that meant or would entail – but he did sort of have doubts that'd it even happen. His parents had promised a lot of things that they never carried out on. But, just in case it did happen, he didn't want Tony around, feeling like it'd just be better if Tony wasn't there to see any fighting that might (probably would) happen.
So he asked Bruce's mother when she dropped her son off. She didn't ask why, likely assuming it was something Tony had requested, and said it'd be fine. She also made mention that she was enrolling Bruce into Lakefield school.
"Really?"
She smiled and nodded. "He asked. Begged, actually. He really likes Tony, and it'll help him so be with kids his own age more. Like coming here has."
"It's a good school," Phil smiled, ducking his head at her compliment. "He'll like it. And thanks for taking Tony for the night."
"I'm sure it'll happen more than once," she laughed and left.
The day was about as challenging as one where they were all trapped together tended to be. It was difficult to engage seven kids for long periods of time and without fights springing up everywhere. For a while not too long ago, it had been the challenge to sneak into Phil's room and go through his things. Even the fear of Phil hadn't been enough to stop the game, and it probably fed it.
It was still a game, but Phil mastered the art of simply knowing when one of the little sneaks was stepping into his room (via a motion sensor in the doorway that sent an alert to his phone, thank you, Mark, and it made the kids think he knew everything).
But, with all the walls closing in and general havoc, the day hadn't been terrible. They'd watched a movie and played Make-It-Up-As-You-Go, which consisted of taking all the pieces from all the board games and somehow making a coherent game on the Clue board (and which Phil thought wasn't very coherent). And they'd had pizza and ice cream, before half the kids staged a coup and had Phil read them a story, and they'd made several forts and had battles between Avengers and Mind-controlled Avengers. (It was difficult to figure out which side was the mind-controlled side.)
Yet eventually everyone left for home, and Phil helped Tony and Bruce pack an overnight bag for Tony. And then he had to nod patiently to Tony's very serious description and then demonstration on how to feed Jarvis, as if Phil hadn't been the one to show him. (Though, to be fair, Phil hadn't said which colors Jarvis liked best, nor where to put the flakes, so there were some differences between the demonstrations. Jarvis would have to suck it up, though, because Phil wasn't color-sorting his breakfast. [There was a period when Tony would only eat green and yellow Fruit Loops. Guess how long Phil had put up with the kind of crap.])
Bruce's mother came and took the two boys away, and, after hugs and reminders to be good and to feed Jarvis respectively, Phil was left alone in an empty house.
Wow. It was … weird.
He made himself a TV dinner and put in a movie that didn't have to tailor to the sensibilities of grade-schoolers. (There were boobs. And blood and swearing and explosions and hints at the NC-17 the movie actually shot but decided to scrap to get a lower rating. And boobs.) And then once his TV dinner, he dug out the ice cream and ate from the container, because he totally could now. Not like there was much left worth dirtying up a bowl anyway.
The movie was still going strong when he heard the cars park in the driveway, and, whoa, timing, because his parents never arrived at the same time. This was almost starting to seem serious, and Phil wasn't sure how he felt about it. He ignored them when they entered, focusing on the TV.
"Is Tony in bed already?" his mother asked from the kitchen after they'd puttered around a bit, clearly as eager to start this whatever as Phil was.
"He's staying the night at Bruce's."
"Bruce's."
Phil rolled his eyes. "His friend who lives by the park, his newest and bestest best friend ever." (Phil was pretty sure Tony liked Bruce best of his friends, mostly because Bruce completely followed Tony's lead, and they were always on the same side or team.) And given how much Tony talked about Bruce, his parents had no excuse to not know who the other boy was.
"I know who Bruce is," his mother said a bit testily as she came into the same room as Phil. "I just didn't know he was staying over there."
The TV was clicked off by someone who was not Phil, though he didn't react. "Neither did I," his father commented.
Okay, Phil thought as he crossed his arms and remained staring at the blank screen, he might have seen something like this on TV. Either this was an intervention or he was going to get shot the hell up. Neither option was entirely appeasing, but, Bob, if he had a choice, he'd go with option two. Messier, but it'd be over a hell of a lot quicker.
"Philip, we're not mad, but we would have appreciated being asked if Tony could spend the night at Bruce's," his mother said.
"Why?" Okay, he hadn't meant to say anything, because he knew his rights, and anything he said can and will be used against him in the Court of Parents. But whatever, in for a penny, in for a pound, and he was sick of this shit. "It's not like it matters."
"It matters, Philip, because we're his parents, we're yours," his father said in the same level voice. "You don't get to make those decisions."
Phil dug his fingers into his arms until he felt the bite of his nails to remain still. Don't react, because reacting only made things worse, made it a game. "Well, sorry." But sometimes someone had to make those decisions, and Phil trusted himself a lot more than he trusted other people. And it was just shoving Tony off on Bruce's mom, big deal, not like the outcome wouldn't have been the same anyway if their parents had known.
"We're not mad," his mother repeated, sitting next to him, and Phil had to keep from instinctively moving away. Hello, boundaries, anyone? She leaned forward and Phil saw she set the calendar down. "So, you've been baby-sitting."
He shrugged. No point agreeing when he'd admitted it this morning.
"How's that going?"
"Fine."
"Any problems today?"
Oh, God, could someone just shoot him and get it over with. This was awkward family dinner, and there was nothing to distract them. He should have made Tony stay. "No."
"What did you do today?"
"Nothing."
His mother gave a soft sigh and there had to be silent communication between his parents. (They could do silent?)
"Philip," he father started, sitting in the chair. "Philip, will you look at me when I am talking to you."
Phrased as a question, given as a command. Phil briefly considered treating it as the first, but why make this worse? He took perverse pleasure in the fact that his father did not look as poised as he often did, like he would at any number of meetings at the hospital. (Phil remembered a Take Your Son to Work Day and getting to follow his father into numerous boring meetings, and sitting at a desk with paperwork and a picture of him and Mom, and a lot of people saying he looked just like his father. [Phil hated that comparison now and was only relieved because he was convinced it was a lie people said.])
It was clear his father was trying to gauge his questions, what to ask, how to ask it. "When did you start baby-sitting?"
He'd been baby-sitting Tony since the brat came into existence. But Phil knew how it'd go if he answered that way, so he answered the question that was being asked. "Start of summer."
"And you watch … six other kids, and Tony?" After Phil's short nod, he asked, "That isn't too much for you?"
If it had been, Phil wouldn't still be doing it. There was child-safety to consider, they were his responsibility, and Phil knew his pride had to take second place. If he'd ever had difficulties, he reported it to the parents and said flat out, if this wasn't fixed, they couldn't keep coming here. (Mort and Lucas were big repeat offenders, because they just egged each other on and Phil constantly needed support from the home front, but surprising he'd had to have words with Adam's father when it became clear the other boy had a small but troublesome habit of name-calling. [Phil had a feeling it was how his old friends had treated each other.] With Anita, they'd had to enact a No-Bringing-Toys-With-Her, because she did not share, claiming her things were girl things and they were boys so there, and after a few casual mentions to her father about the language slippage, when she did fall into Spanish, it was with words children could repeat.) So he said, "No." And because he felt this was important, he deigned to add, "They listen to me."
There was a twitch on his father's face. "Have you spent all summer watching them?"
"Not all of them."
His father pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. "Can you give me the numbers of their parents?"
Phil turned suspicious. "Why?"
"So I can talk to them."
So help him, if his father managed to end this gravy train of easy money, Phil would not be happy, and, for different reasons, neither would Tony. "Why?"
"Philip, I would like the numbers. I just want to talk to them."
"I don't have the numbers on me." Liar, liar, pants on fire, and his eyes shot to his phone sitting on the coffee table without his permission.
His father caught the motion and actually grabbed his phone.
"Hey! That's mine!" Phil protested, outraged at the theft and complete breach of privacy, and almost dove for it, except he felt his mother grab his arm.
"Technically, it's mine, because I pay for it."
"Paul," his mother said in a low, warning tone. "You'll get it back, Philip."
He shook off her grip and looked away. "Whatever. I don't care." Except it was his phone! He had alarms set, and his music, and a schedule on it, and everything. It wasn't his life, Phil could totally do without it, but he didn't actually want to test that theory when he didn't have to. "Are we done?"
"Philip Lindsay—"
"For now," his mother cut in, another warning tone not directed at Phil.
"Good." He jumped from the couch, seriously debated stomping out of the house, going to park, driving to his friends, something, because the urge to get out of this house was strong, but he had a sense he wouldn't even make it to the door, so instead Phil turned and took the stairs two steps at a time.
His parents barely waited until he got to the top before they turned their attention to each other, voices coming up to the second floor like hissing snakes.
If asked, he only went to Tony's room to make sure the stupid fish was still alive. It'd be just his luck it'd decide to go belly-up the one day Tony was away and he'd have to frantically drive to a pet store with a dead fish in a bag so he could get a good look-alike, because Tony would notice, and damnit, Phil could lie, but sometimes Tony would pick the wrong times to just know when he was and it'd be drama and tears and he did not need that shit right now.
Jarvis was still alive, swimming aimlessly around – he thought it must really suck to be a pet fish, stuck in ten gallons of water and swimming in endless circles, good thing they only remembered like three seconds or something – and Phil sat down on the bed. And then because he felt stupid checking on a dumb fish for no reason, lifted the lid and carefully dropped down a few flakes (it was just luck, Phil would claim, they were the colors Tony approved of) even though Tony'd fed the fish before he left. Jarvis went after them.
"You are so lucky you don't have to deal with this kind of shit, Jarvis," he muttered. "Why do they care, been doing it all summer. Not like it even matters."
Once Jarvis finished eating, (and then maybe like ten minutes of just watching the fish swim around, because it wasn't like he had anywhere to go,) Phil clicked off the light. "Go to bed. I'm not telling you an Avengers story."
It was early, so he just lounged in bed and (because it'd be so wrong, so very wrong to open his window and climb down using the bit of overhang of the porch and jumping down to the ground, and Phil wasn't stupid, he knew he wasn't a gymnast and he'd probably get himself killed and if he actually survived he'd be so dead when his parents found out, but oh, the temptation was there and he really felt he could do it) became immersed in the internet, God's gift to the bored and unhappy and in need of escape. Seriously, the Evil Overlord's List was so right on that count.
Phil considered bitching on his various personal pages, because he needed some serious venting, but he didn't. He never did and would, because the internet was forever and the one time he put something even remotely problematic, there'd be called from relatives who thought they were FBI or CIA or whatever and who'd want to help or just find out what was wrong because they were all gossips. With the way his parents were acting, it wasn't worth the risk.
The internet was a time sink, like it always had been and would, so Phil wasn't sure how long it had been when there was a knock on his door. He debated ignoring it, pretending to be asleep or something, but that never worked. So he made some vague noise that was loud enough to be heard but didn't exactly convey welcome.
Apparently it conveyed too much welcome, because the door opened and he glanced up just long enough to see his mother before turning his attention back to screen.
"I come in peace and bring your phone," she said, sitting on his bed.
The hostage is freed, Phil thought but just made a little noise, because he would not show how happy he was to get it back.
His mother set his phone on the nightstand. She was quiet for a moment, and then tried to look at the screen. "What are you looking at?"
"Nothing," he said, almost without thought immediately turning the laptop away from her. What the hell, she really had no sense of boundaries!
She shot him a look but didn't press, instead simply staring at him.
"What?" he asked warily.
"Can't I look at my son?"
"No."
"When did you get so big?"
Phil had no answer.
"I remember when you were Tony's age like yesterday, and yet, here you are, almost all grown up."
Oh, God, please don't let her start to cry.
But his parents were never very emotional in ways that didn't lead to fighting. "But you're different, both of you. When you were that age, you were much more … quiet. You've always been quiet, Philip, and then you were even quieter when we had to deal with Tony's clamor."
"So?"
His mother shrugged. "So, nothing. It's just a fact from a mother about her sons."
He rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to computer screen.
"Tell me something, Philip."
She actually waited until Phil looked up at her.
"Do you think we're bad parents?"
His brain froze and tripped. Loaded question, no safe way to answer it. "What?" His mother repeated the question, which didn't help anything. "I dunno, you're fine or whatever," he muttered, shrugging and looking away.
"Are we? Because I'm getting the sense you don't think so." There was a small pause, a small wait for a response, and then a little sound of disappointment. "And you're not denying that, are you."
And why was Phil feeling like shit, guilty and dirty? He hadn't saying anything! Or was that the problem? He wasn't sure, all off-footed, and he still didn't say anything.
His mother looked down at her hands. "Your father and I, we're not perfect, no one is, but we do try. But right now, I'm not sure if we're not trying enough for you or if you just don't trust us anymore, Philip."
Still confused and unsure, the safest and maybe most honest was to just shrug.
She set her hand on his arm. "Whatever you think, you're still a kid, Philip, not even seventeen, and it's not fair for you – or to Tony or even us – if you act as his parent. And I'm not taking about the fish or letting him stay at his friend's, well, not really, but … other things. Like doing the shopping with your own money, working your schedule around his, and watching him all the time, and that's our fault, your father's and mine, for making you even think or believe you had to."
He refused to look at his mother and instead stared unseeing at the screen in front of him.
"I'll let you get back to your nothing," his mother said, and then, seriously, she got up and kissed his forehead, like he was some little kid. "Good night, Philip."
"Night," he parroted back, and once the door was shut, he dragged his hands down his face and took a deep breath.
WTF summed it up as eloquently as possible, everything and all the parts – the experience and words and accusations and his feelings.
He closed his laptop and changed into his nightclothes, made sure his phone's alarm was on for tomorrow, and then did a very good job of reliving everything before he didn't fall asleep. And if he did sleep, it was very poorly, and he was up before his alarm, dressed, and literally sneaking out of his own house to go do his job. That he totally did it as slow as he done when he had been eleven, which was hard, because he had a car now instead of a bike, even if one did factor in how much his route had grown.
And Phil wasn't ashamed to admit he was going to totally avoid his parents until the world righted itself properly. Or until he woke up from Wonderland, whichever happened first.
Upon reaching home, the world had not righted itself and Wonderland was really messing with his head.
Why were both his parents home and not on the work, or on the way, or something? He exited his car and checked his phone's clock, because, yeah, this was late even on an I'm-Running-Late day.
It was with the caution of one approaching a bomb that he slipped inside, and at least things weren't so completely topsy-turvy that he didn't hear his parents arguing from the kitchen. He still was wary as he went to the kitchen, his parents discussing something at the table and something cooked on the island.
Hunger dictated he check out the food – breakfast sausages – and Phil cautiously started to eat even as his parents belatedly noticed his arrival.
"Good morning, Philip," his mother greeted.
"Why aren't you at work?"
"Believe it or not, we're allowed to take personal days," his father said dryly.
"Why?"
"It's in our contracts."
Phil glared. Haha, very funny, and his mother was also giving his father a look. "Whatever," he answered, turning to leave. He had about a half an hour before the terrors arrived, and he had to make sure Jarvis was still alive. And then he stopped. "You're not going to be here all day, are you?"
"Funny concept, this being our house and all."
"Paul," he mother warned.
His face paled. No, no, no! WTF! How was that even going to look? The babysitter needed his parents around to babysit? Phil withheld a snarl and left the kitchen, rushing up the stairs. Stupid parents, ruining everything.
Jarvis still not-dead and now fed – with a little breakfast venting for his enjoyment – Phil paced his room like a caged tiger, glancing repeatedly out the window. There was a chance of rain, and it still looked dreary, which meant even though they were to go to the library, he'd probably have to deal with all the kids saying no, or at least the ones that had the charisma to convince the others they didn't want to go to story time.
Later, he would know his mistake had been to leave the door unguarded, because however good his hearing, the fact was it was easier and quicker to get to the door from downstairs than upstairs, and it meant even rushing down the stairs at the first sound of the doorbell Phil had not been the first to the door.
Phil took a deep breath and forced it out slowly, because one thing he had learned was that he could not show weakness in front of Mort and Lucas. (They once tricked him into eating hot peppers, topping his pizza with it. [He should have been suspicious when they oh-so-kindly got him another piece, smiling sweetly, and everyone was giggling.] It took all of Phil's self-control and a long childhood [and several high school lunches] of doing stupid crap like that to not totally lose his cool. His voice had only been a little hoarse, eyes watered, and face a bit red after he got the pizza down, drank a huge glass of milk, and then took them by the shoulders and very calmly warned them about the dangers of giving foods to people without their knowledge.) So after his father very politely introduced himself to the boys and their mother and they managed to slip away while the adults talked, he merely greeted the two like he did every morning.
"You have parents?" Mort said.
"You're not a pod person?" Lucas added.
"Hilarious."
"Where's Tony?" Lucas asked, looking around, because Tony was always there.
"He'll be here later. He spent the night at Bruce's."
"So it's just you?" Mort said, making a face.
"And his parents. Why are your parents here? They've never been here before."
Phil shrugged with forced casualness, but either it wasn't good enough or they were just little monsters.
"You're in trouble!" It was said in stereo, and like it was the most hilarious thing in the known world.
"No, I'm not," Phil said evenly. He hadn't done anything wrong, anyway, which really wasn't the same thing as what the brats were accusing him. His glanced at the doorway, and, jeez, now his mom was there. Phil frowned and glowered. What the hell were they still talking about? He had it to a fine art to say hello-good bye to the kids' parents in three minutes flat.
"Are you in trouble?" Mort repeated, quieter.
Phil snapped his gaze down to the boys. "No."
"We're still going to get to come here, right?"
"I can't see why not." Unless that was what they were discussing. It wasn't fair! "Unless you two do something stupid. Again."
Lucas made a face while Mort absently rubbed his cast, more from it itching than any sting Phil's comment might have had. "I bet your mom will show us all your nakey pictures from when you were a baby."
If she even knew where they were. "And why would you want to see those?"
"Because you don't want us to?" he smiled sweetly.
"Do I look like I care?" Because yeah, what were they going to do with them? It wasn't like they were his classmates or whatever, just little brats trying to get under his skin.
"You're no fun."
He finally managed a smile. "I know."
"Pod person," Lucas accused.
"You have no idea what one of those are."
"Yeah! You!"
Phil kept the smile and, with finely honed practice, managed to get them to find something to amuse themselves, which, without Tony to suggest other things, turned out to be watching some cartoons. A glance at the parents showed them still talking, and Phil didn't dare let his curiosity guide him over to hear, because he didn't care. And they had to stop talking soon, because Mort and Lucas' mother had to get to work.
And finally she did leave, and then it was even worse, because now his parents were turning their attentions to Mort and Lucas (and Phil). At first, the boys felt as comfortable as Phil did, but they quickly warmed up as his parents peppered them with seemingly innocent questions that Phil knew meant something, though he couldn't figure out what.
So he sat in stony silence until the door rang again, and then he leapt up to answer it.
"Phil, we have to listen to this!" Anita said imperiously, holding up the newest Kidz Bop CD in her hands, as soon as the door was opened.
"Anita," her father scolded, while Phil felt his lips twitch.
"So my music isn't good enough?"
"It's okay, but this is better," Anita pronounced, while behind her Frankie was gagging. "So we have to listen to it. And dance."
Anita liked to insist they dance to music, while most of the boys never suggested it. They just did it once the music turned on.
"We'll try to listen to it," Phil promised, and was this close to getting Anita's father safely away before the hand landed on his shoulder.
"Hello, I'm Philip's father, Paul."
"George, Anita's father." They shook hands. "It's nice to finally meet you. You must be very proud of your son. Anita and Frankie love coming here."
Normally, Phil rather liked Anita's father. This was not one of those times, and he felt his face heat up as his father agreed. Anita and Frankie were looking up curiously and shyly, ducking behind Anita's father's legs a little, and it really was more for them than him that he shook off his father's hand guided them inside.
Of course, that left his mother open, and Phil was actually forced to do introductions. Anita warmed up quickly to his mother, whom Phil sometimes thought wished she'd had at least one daughter, while Frankie kept a small distance.
"I thought you were the parent," he said.
Phil desperately hoped his parents weren't listening, because while it seemed like they were engaged with Anita and her father respectively, sometimes one could never really tell. "What?"
"Like on Lilo and Stitch," Frankie explained.
He honestly had no idea how Frankie got the impression or what the hell Tony could have ever said to give that impression.
"We just thought he was a pod person," Mort said, turning around from the couch to look over the edge.
"A really boring one," Lucas added.
"Tony and I have parents," Phil said, glaring at the brats. "They're just … busy, so that's why they were never here before."
"We think Phil's in trouble," Lucas whispered, leaning forward over the edge.
"Sit properly!" he snapped, while Frankie looked between them trying to gauge the words.
Lucas stuck out of his tongue but did slide back down, because Phil rarely tolerated messing around on the furniture. The only exception proved to be the Lava Game – Phil claimed he was from Iceland and hence it was totally okay if he had to walk on lava when, after leaving the room for like five seconds to go to the bathroom, they'd all screamed bloody murder that he was "on the lava, get off, get off, you're on the lava, you're gonna die!" – and even then he did frown at too over-enthusiastic avoidance.
"Where's Tony?" Frankie asked.
"Bruce's. He'll be over later."
"Okay. Do we have to listen to Anita's CD?"
Phil grinned as the other two boys groaned. "I'm sure you'll all like it."
"Girls suck," Mort muttered.
"Boys stink!" Anita yelled back, because she had ears like a bat.
"Anita!" her father scolded, sending a glare from the doorway, while Phil snorted.
"He started it," she protested.
"I don't care. There's no call for that language."
Phil's mother leaned over and whispered something to Anita, which replaced the scowl with a blinding smile. Great, now they were friends.
"You might want to pick your battles a bit better today," Phil said, "and it wasn't nice to say that anyway."
"It's true," Mort said, albeit quieter.
"Even if it is, sometimes some things stay secret. For your own safety."
Lucas supported his brother. "What do you know?"
"Can't tell you, it's a secret. But you'll figure it out, in a few years. If you're smart."
"You're a dork."
Phil shrugged and then turned to the door when he heard another car pull up. Adam, a bit early, he found out when father and son made it to the door. Adam's father introduced themselves easily, and even started a vague conversation about teaching Tony once school started.
"What did you do?" Adam asked, and Phil had to keep from raising his hands in exasperation while the others laughed.
"You're all horrible children," Phil said.
"We know," Mort grinned.
"But we didn't do something bad," Adam added.
"Yet." Because they would. They always did.
Unable to stay longer – thank you, Lord – Anita's father called good-bye to Phil, the smile falling easily until after his father shut the door. There was a silence stand-off until Phil decided to blink and turned his attention to the brats. "Who wants to feed Jarvis? I forgot this morning, and Tony will kill me if he finds out."
What was one lie if it saved so many lives? And it's not like Jarvis was going to complain anyway.
So Phil followed the four of them upstairs, glad to leave the adults behind. He only hoped that once Adam's father left and his parents started arguing, they'd be more circumvent than they ever were when it was just him and Tony. And then he didn't have time for any other thoughts as he had to carefully dole out the correct colored flakes – because they would so tell Tony if Phil decided to ignore that requirement – in small enough quantities that Jarvis wouldn't be overwhelmed but so everyone had a fair bit.
And then, because upstairs was better than downstairs no matter what the cost, Phil actually deigned to let then in his room and touch his stuff. Well, most of his stuff. Anything he'd let Tony touch. That was still a lot.
("Put that down!" "Do I go to your house and jump on your bed?" "I don't know why they're drawn like that." "Don't you dare take those out of the box!" "No! You can't open that!" "Those were alphabetized!" "Don't look at that!" [And it wasn't like there was actual porn lying around or discretely hidden for them to find. It shouldn't have been as stressful as it was.])
So distracted by the chaos he had brought on himself, Tony and Bruce's arrival went largely unheralded until Phil felt a weight bodily attack his side and his name yelled far too close to his ear.
"Did you miss me?"
There was no correct answer to that, and one didn't really need to be said.
"Phil, Mommy and Daddy are here!"
"Really? I hadn't noticed," he said, pushing the barnacle off.
"Yes, you did," Tony said, before greeting everyone else and then loudly extorting what Bruce and he had done the night before. Then he panicked about Jarvis, and everyone reported that they had fed them, which led to Tony demanding an exact account of their actions. (Thank God Phil had given the correctly colored flakes.) Phil leaned back on his hands and half-listened.
Once Tony had died down, Anita looked seriously at Phil. "Can we listen to my CD now?"
"I guess." He pushed himself off the bed and shepherded the lot of them out of his room and downstairs. Unfortunately, there hadn't been a divine miracle, because his parents were still there. It was with practiced camouflage and the fact Tony was always a willing distraction that Phil could make it to the CD player and put the disc in, modulating the volume to something loud but not too loud. (He could never really trust these CDs designed for kids.)
And then Anita grabbed his hand, but, honestly, Phil expected it. Kids were really predictable. "Dance!" she commanded.
"Magic word, Ms. Hawkins?" he countered, even though he held out his other hand. It was just easier to yield on the small things.
"Hawkins?"
"Sadie." He shook his head. "Never mind, you'll get it when you're older."
Face serious, she took him at his word and nodded. "Please?"
"One song."
She pouted a little, and she'd probably try to coerce him again, but for now it'd be enough. So for now, they danced a little and sang along. The Kidz Bop CDs always had songs Phil was at least vaguely familiar with, so he could give it a good try. (And so could the kids, usually quite loudly.) There really wasn't any laughter, unlike when the other boys had first starting coming. Tony and Bruce were too little to really get shamed by dancing – and Tony wasn't self-conscious anyway – and just took Anita's orders as a fun game. It had been a trade-off: she played their games, they played hers. Fair's fair. Frankie had given them, especially Phil, funny looks, but joined in soon enough. But, of course, Mort and Lucas, the little pests, had had to make a big deal of it, which had been enough for Frankie to join with them and Bruce and Tony to be just a little unsure, though they still took Anita's side. It'd taken quite of bit of work to get them the three boys to realize dancing wasn't bad, pointing out there was a Wii game and reality shows that had contests for dancing, but the brothers still sort of hung back until it was clear the dancing was fun. And now Adam, he would sit back and watch unless he knew the song very well.
Not that Phil himself especially cared for dancing, either, but he had long accepted doing it instead of being nagged. And if he looked like a fool, because really, he did, and he knew he couldn't dance, well, it's not like anyone important was watching him.
Unlike today, and when Phil remembered almost immediately, he forced himself to forget. He wasn't going to be influenced from doing his job. (Damn, his face felt hot and he hoped to death he wasn't blushing, because that wouldn't do. No.)
Phil made it through the first song unscathed and separated from Anita. There was a little pout, but she quickly turned her attention to the others, some a bit more willing. They'd be fine, though, and Phil slipped to the kitchen to see if there was anything edible to cook for lunch. On the windows were spots of rain, which meant they were definitely staying in. Maybe he could convince the brats to watch a movie after lunch. He needed something low stress. Maybe they could even all take naps. (Hey, he could hope, and he would continue to hope.)
After rummaging in the cupboards, Phil decided on tomato soup and grilled cheese, because that rarely went wrong. He was in the middle of putting the cans on the counter when his father said his name, and Phil cautiously peered over the island. "What?"
"What are you doing?"
Jeez, did he have to make him a sign? "Making lunch," Phil said slowly, enunciating each word.
"Your mother and I thought we'd order out for everybody. Pizza or Chinese or something."
"Why? I can cook," Phil said, stubbornly refusing the offer, because, no. He wouldn't. It wasn't on the schedule anyway, it'd just spoil the brats, and he could do this by himself. He hadn't needed their help before and he wouldn't need it now.
"We know. We just wanted to help. There's … that's a crowd of them out there."
Wow, he had never noticed that. Phil frowned and didn't answer, instead opening the cans and dumping the soup and then the water into the saucepan. There, now there was no reason to order, because it'd just be a waste of money, because look, food was already cooking.
"Philip," his father said, and Phil turned enough to see him rubbing his forehead like he had a headache. "Would you just talk to me, please."
He didn't answer, just started getting out the little oyster crackers and cheese, because they were in the same room, and if his father said something important, Phil would respond.
"Bad as your mother," his father muttered, and probably not as quiet as he thought. (Phil had long heard he was as bad as whichever parent he wasn't currently annoying, and it always stung, even when he didn't want it to.) Phil heard the sigh and knew his father was pinching the bridge of his nose. "Look, I understand that today was a little … surprising, but being in a snit isn't going to solve anything."
If Phil were in a snit, there would be no doubt. Right now he simply had nothing to say and wasn't going to say anything. He focused on opening the cheese slice packets.
"So you plan to ignore me," his father said several minutes later, as Phil finished the last of the toast for the sandwiches. (There were far too many brats to make proper grilled cheese sandwiches.)
"No," Phil said evenly, though he didn't turn around. "I just have nothing to say."
"In general or just to me?"
He shrugged a shoulder.
"Your mother and I talked." (Phil very much doubted they had talked.) "We were discussing seeing a counselor. A family counselor."
Up until that clarification, Phil had had a private amusement of his parents ruining the professional career and sanity of the poor sap, or maybe it becoming something like The Lockhorns comic, but at the words family counselor, he actually turned to his father. "What?"
"We thought it might help."
"To do what?"
This time it was his father who shrugged. "Help." Even though it sounded casual, he was staring at Phil intently.
Phil turned back to his sandwiches and forced himself to not react. This was a horrible idea and it was going to end badly, like many ideas his parents had agreed upon. And why? Everything was fine, and there was no reason to show some stranger whatever problems they allegedly had.
"You do have to come along," he father preempted.
Having taken that as an unfortunate given, Phil rolled his eyes and scowled. "Yippee," he muttered.
"Our first session is tonight."
"What?" He turned sharply to gape. A little warning!
"We were lucky, there was an opening. We'll have to leave right after the last kid is picked up, but we'll make it."
And Phil felt his temper rise at the sound that it was his fault it had to be so late, but he squashed it down. "And that's why you and Mom took off. For this … thing."
"There's nothing wrong with getting help, Philip."
"Does Tony know?" Which was a stupid question to ask for two reasons: obviously not, because otherwise he'd be asking Phil about it as well as telling everyone, like it was something super cool to do, and Tony wouldn't even properly care even if he did know.
"We'll tell him later. And hey, perhaps we'll go out for supper afterwards. That'll be fun."
"Loads," Phil responded and didn't bother checking his sarcasm at the door. He did not need this kind of crap.
Phil knew he was saved from a tone-heavy scold when Frankie skidded into the kitchen, because his father and the boy stared at each other, both wary of the other.
"Something the matter, Frankie?" Phil asked, lowering the heat on the stove in case this took time.
Frankie gave his father a last look before coming over. "Anita was making me dance silly, and Adam was making kissy faces because he's stupid. And then Anita yelled at me when I told her the words weren't right and said I was stupid." He wasn't so much as tattling as making a vague statement about what brought him here, because Frankie and Anita rarely escalated into actual fights. They were too used to each other, but not so much as Mort and Lucas, to take offense to each other's words without real cause, and Frankie often rushed away from Anita before it happened anyway. (Apparently Anita went through a very vicious phase when she'd been Tony's age, and Frankie had reported several of their classmates still had the scars.) "Whatcha doing?"
"Making lunch."
"What?"
"Tomato soup and grilled cheese."
"I liked grilled cheese." His smile, a little less gappy than when they had first met, showed approval at the choice.
Phil grinned. "Everybody does. Want to help?"
"Can I?"
He hooked the stool with his foot and brought it closer. "Help yourself."
Frankie hopped up and started putting together the sandwich pieces with far more care and seriousness than Phil had, and Phil took the chance to turn his attention to the soup. And it really didn't take too long for Tony to come in, Bruce following like a puppy.
"I want to do that! Phil!"
"Frankie's doing it and he's almost done. You two can set up the table, all right?"
Tony pouted and looked hopefully at where Frankie was working, but he allowed Bruce to tug him to the bottom cupboard where Phil set up an area for their dishes. (He'd moved the old pots and pans to the garage. Never used as they were, he didn't dare risk his mother's wrath by getting rid of them.) Soon it was decided that he really wanted to set the table, anyway, because Phil heard the running commentary Tony, with some help from Bruce, regaled their father with – who got what plate and cup, why they got that one, who had to sit where, etc – and it soon turned more into Bruce doing all the work.
"Phil," Bruce said quietly. Once he had Phil's attention, he said, "We need two more bowls and plates and spoons and cups, please. For your mommy and daddy."
Phil very much considered saying he was going to let them starve, but he wordlessly got down the items Bruce requested. And then because the soup was basically done, he got out the milk and chocolate syrup and put them on the table, poured the milk into the glasses, and then scooped the soup into the bowls. (He made a mental note to stop at the gas station tomorrow after his route and pick up more milk and bread.) Then he tossed the plate of sandwiches in the microwave until the cheese was properly warmed, cut them into triangles, and let Frankie put each on a plate.
"Lunch is ready. Eat now or starve," Phil reported, leaning out of the kitchen for the rest of the kids.
"Philip," his mother scolded, holding Anita's hand.
"He says that all the time," Lucas reported.
"He thinks it's funny," Adam added.
Phil pressed his lips together, watching everyone sit. It always was a tight fit, today even more so, so Phil chose to eat at the island. It at least had the benefit of elbow room and less conversation. And, as always, there was conversation to be had. But, first he helped Bruce with his mediation, checking the boy's levels and making sure everything was given correctly.
"Phil! You didn't cut my crusts off!" Tony complained.
"Or mine!" Lucas added. Phil was pretty sure he only started wanting them cut off to be a little dick, but he still did so without making too much of a fuss.
"Here, I'll do it for you," his mother said.
Well, at least moms had a use, and Phil focused on his food and checking what got updated on his phone and texting a few friends. And he actually got to do it without a mountain load of interruptions, because, who knew, apparently brats were better behaved with parents around. (The little monsters, Phil was going to kill them for all the grief they put him through when it was possible they could sit through an entire meal reasonably properly, they just wouldn't.)
The soup was completely finished, and so were the grilled cheese sandwiches. And, as trained – because Phil trained them as much as possible to not make his life even more of a misery – each dropped their dishes into the dishwasher and stood expectantly in front of Phil for their choice of cookie, the stash hidden where no one but Phil knew. (Phil had calmly explained that they didn't need to put their dishes in the washer, but it also meant he didn't need to give them a cookie either.)
Phil topped the washer up with a few more stray dishes from the sink and turned it on.
"So that's probably why I can't remember the last time I've had to load that thing," his father commented, startling Phil. He had nearly managed to forget they were there.
"Lunch was good, honey," his mother said.
Phil shrugged. It was good enough that it got eaten without a huge battle, which was all he really cared about. A glance out the window showed it was still dreary, not raining, but in no way promising not to. He withheld the sigh and left the kitchen to make sure everything was going okay in the main room. Adam and the brothers were going through the channels, looking for cartoons, while Tony, Bruce, Anita, and Frankie were playing with some Avenger toys. (There was no need to say who was playing with which toy, because, in the first, Tony was rather insistent on some things, and, secondly, each had gravitated towards a particular toy anyway.) (Anita had complained bitterly that she didn't have a toy that went with the boys on the team, and it took Phil quite a bit to explain it was because, as a spy, the Black Widow had to be a master of disguise, so she was around, she just didn't look like herself. Or something. It wasn't a good excuse, but Anita believed him; he still felt so sorry for her he went and found a little Black Widow toy so she could join in with the others. [Thank God it hadn't been a Barbie.])
He dropped onto the loveseat and tried to stifle a small yawn. Last night was catching up with him.
"Phil, can we watch a movie? Nothing's on," Mort complained.
"You know the rules if you can't all decide on one," he shrugged.
"Those rules suck," Adam said.
"Only because you always lose," Mort smirked.
The three boys dug through the collection of DVDs, each working to convince the others of what to watch. If there wasn't any agreement, Phil made each of them pick in secret a number between one and one-hundred and put it on a post-in on the DVD, and then he wrote down his own random number, and whoever was closest to his was the winner. It wasn't a bad system, and it was relatively fair, he thought.
This time, there was agreement on Kung Fu Panda 2, and it wasn't very long before all of kids were watching. Tony crawled into his lap and actually sort of dozed, while Anita sat at his side and threatened to kick anyone who sat in front of her.
The movie passed in a sort of haze for Phil, who had already seen it about five million times and might have also dozed with Tony. He never would have done it if his parents hadn't been around – and he only did it because they totally ruined last night's sleep – but he also never really fell asleep. It was just, one minute Po was speaking with his father, and then he was suddenly yelling at the ship near the end.
After the movie was over, it was decided now they had to watch the first one, which was fine. By the time that one was over, it always basically time for everyone to go home. And clearly his parents had said something to the kids' parents, because he hadn't even texted Anita's father yet and Adam was gone, then Bruce, and then Mort and Lucas. Phil made sure Anita had her CD when she left with Frankie, because nothing was worse than trying to find something one of the kids left behind days later. His parents had a bad habit of cleaning and making it impossible for things to be found by anyone every again.
Once Anita's father's car left the driveway, there was an awkward bit of silence before their father, after glancing at his watch, said, "We might as well leave now."
"Where are we going?" Tony asked, rubbing his eye. Apparently Phil hadn't been the only one last night to sleep poorly.
"We're going to meet someone, honey," their mother said, purse on her shoulder.
"Who?"
"Her name is Dr. Holland."
"Do you work with her, Daddy?" Tony asked as they entered the garage.
"No. We're just going to talk with her. We might do it a few more times."
"Why?"
Phil had an answer to that, but he chose to silently get in the van and wordlessly express how very much he was against this.
The rain had cleared up, leaving everything damp, and it was a silent ride to what was a clinic that was far outside walking distance, stuck in the more business area of the city. Phil studied the front with a critical eye and a quick glance to make sure there was no one around who could recognize him. The last thing he needed was one of his friends knowing his family was seeking therapy. He could just imagine the comments.
The inside was boring, like most waiting areas Phil had graced, and he followed Tony to the little toy area, because the option was staying near their parents as they tried to fill out paperwork.
"These are boring," Tony pronounced, disappointed, though he did start playing with the legos.
"Don't lose your Iron Man," Phil warned. "I'm not coming back to get it and I'm not buying you a new one."
Tony ignored him, and Phil took the toy and stalked over to a chair. He played with it for a few seconds before snagging an old People magazine dated January. Of last year. All waiting rooms were the same.
It would be impossible for Phil to answer if the wait was long or not. However long it was or wasn't, a woman eventually called for them, smiling and shaking hands with his parents. Phil felt Tony against his leg, and then witnessed an uncharacteristic flash of shyness from him when Dr. Holland turned her attention to them.
"Is that your Iron Man, Tony, or is it your brother's?" Dr. Holland asked, bending to be eye level.
"Mine. Phil got him for me, but he's mine. His name is Tony, too. He can fly."
"Wow, that's cool." She straightened and smiled at Phil. "Hello. Do you prefer Philip or Phil?"
Phil shrugged, even though he did prefer Phil. "Doesn't matter."
"It's your name, I would think it does matter."
He felt himself glare at the presumption.
"Philip," his mother sighed, "don't be difficult."
Dr. Holland stepped away from the issue, inviting them into her lair, and Phil felt Tony absently grab his hand. And then, when Phil made a point to take an armchair, Tony crawled up onto his lap without any permission. Phil scowled but didn't push the brat off, because now was not the time to give ammunition.
He only paid nominal attention as Dr. Holland started talking, saying what she did and how she did it and a bunch of stuff that sounded pointless but his parents were eating up. Communication and honesty and listening and no judgment and blah blah blah. Phil didn't buy it, because he wasn't stupid. If at all possible, he was going to pretend he wasn't here.
"So, to start with," Dr. Holland said, pen and a pad of paper in hand, "how about everyone tell us why you think you need to be here. Why don't you start, Paul?"
Phil watched as his father deliberated on what he wanted to say. "We don't communicate very well. To be fair, Claire and I … we've never been the best at it." Gift for understatement, Phil thought. "Sometimes it's like we're strangers."
Dr. Holland nodded supportively. (Phil had rolled his eyes.) "And how about you, Claire?"
"Communicating might be part of it," she said, and Phil knew that tone. She was disagreeing and saying she thought her husband was a moron, but pretending she agreed a little. His father also understood the tone, because he frowned. "But I think Philip is working too hard. He won't let us help him."
And this was his fault. Actually, thinking back on his father's reason, Phil figured both of them were blaming him. Figures. He traced the seams of the armrest, ignoring when Tony looked over his shoulder at him.
"Phil?" he whispered, except Tony never whispered.
"What do you think, Philip? Why do you think you're family should come here?"
Phil looked up briefly. He could be honest, which, yeah, that'd fly well. Whatever Dr. Holland said, he was the one who had to live with these people. Clearly he was going to have to say something, but what would be the safest and something they'd buy? "I think … they forget I'm sixteen and am supposed to get my own life that doesn't involve them."
"What about me?"
He winced at Tony's face, wide panicked eyes. "Them, not you," Phil said quietly. "Parents are different than brothers."
Tony was relieved.
"What about you, Tony?" Dr. Holland interrupted.
He turned his head to look at her. "Huh?"
"Why do you think your family is here? Do you think there are any problems?"
Likely, Dr. Holland was only involving Tony to get him involved so he wouldn't feel left out. Tony wouldn't know if anything was wrong.
Tony appeared to think about it seriously, turning Iron Man around in his hands. "Umm … Mommy and Daddy forget things, but that's okay, cause Phil remembers."
"What do we forget, honey?" their mother asked.
"Stuff," he explained, and Phil rolled his eyes.
Dr. Holland interjected before Tony could be subjected to more of an inquisition. "Why don't you each tell me a little about your family and yourselves."
"Can I go first this time?" Tony asked, leaning forward. "Everyone should have a turn going first cause then it's fair."
Phil was perfectly happy to let Tony go first, because Tony could talk forever, and then Phil wouldn't have to. However, it did seem their parents were a little more leery. It was clear in their faces, but then, Phil noticed with glee, they didn't want to object just yet in front of someone whose job was study them and possibly find more problems.
"I think that's a nice idea," Dr. Holland said with a smile. "Everyone deserves a turn. I'll just ask a few questions about everyone, and you can answer them." Tony nodded seriously. "How old are you?"
"Five, but I'll be six soon. I'm gonna get a birthday party!"
"You are! Wow!"
"Tony …," their father started, because this was clearly the first either he or their mother had heard of it. Phil rolled his eyes, because it was so very boldly marked on his calendar for baby-sitting. It wasn't going to be a real party, just some cake and ice cream.
"I am. We ordered a cake, it has Avengers on it, because we're Avengers, me and my friends. And Phil is Agent Phil, who's not dead."
"And who's coming to your party?"
"Everybody! Bruce and Anita and Mort and Lucas and Frankie and Adam and Phil."
"What about your parents?"
Tony shrugged. "They'll be working, but Phil says we'll probably do stuff that weekend, so that's okay."
"Doesn't that bother you that they won't be there?"
He shrugged again, and Phil honestly didn't think Tony was especially bothered by their absence. "I get a friends party and a family party, and that's two parties."
Dr. Holland nodded. "Where do your parents work?"
"Daddy works at the hospital and Mommy works with a lawyer. And Phil works too. He delivers papers and I get to help him sometimes, but it's really early and I don't want to do it all the time."
"You do a lot with your brother, I see."
Tony beamed while Phil felt himself cringe. Great, now she'd see he really had no life.
"How about you tell me a few things you two do."
"Lots! We go to the park and the library and stuff with all my friends all the time. And we go shopping and swimming in our pool and Phil tells us stories about Avengers and stuff."
Yep, proof he had no life, and Phil hoped he wasn't blushing.
"All right. Do you think it can be Phil's turn now?"
Tony sighed dramatically. "I guess."
Despite himself, Phil's lips quirked, but the humor left when Dr. Holland focused on him. Well, he wasn't volunteering anything.
"You and your brother do quite a bit together, it sounds like."
He shrugged.
"Some people might consider that a burden."
Did she have to say that in front of Tony? He frowned at her and said, "It's not."
"How long have you delivered newspapers?"
"Since I was eleven."
"Do you think you're working too hard?"
Phil tried to understand the questioning, because it didn't seem as straightforward as Tony's. "No. It's easy work, and watching Tony and his friends isn't bad, since everyone mostly gets along and listens to me."
"You're going to be a junior this year."
"Yes."
"Excited?"
He shrugged. "It's school."
"You really don't think you have to be here, do you?"
Phil blinked at the question, surprised at the bluntness. Then he tried to think of how to answer. "Not really."
"You don't think there are problems at home, trouble communicating, something else?"
The hell he was going to say what problems they had. "No. Well, except some people over-reacting," he added, because, really, that was the current problem and he might as well admit it. Solve that and things could go back to the way they were. Phil knew how to navigate that.
"Do you get to spend time with your own friends?"
"Um, yeah?" Not as much as at the start of the summer, but he was working now, and so were the others. And he texted and kept up on Facebook and stuff. Feeling like he had to support his statement, he added, "Last weekend we went to the mall, and sometimes I get to talk with them at the park and stuff." And he wasn't Tony, he wasn't going to list his friends.
Dr. Holland nodded and, thankfully, turned her gaze to their mother. With the scrutiny off him, Phil actively tried to not to pay attention anymore, in between trying to figure out what the doctor was writing. At least, he tried until Tony showed he was getting bored. Then his attention was distracted by keeping the little monster still.
Tony was a good distraction at that, anyway, and time went a little faster. At least, soon enough Dr. Holland was talking again. She said something about wanting them to have conversations about some topics she'd suggest, or something, and Phil worked on speaking the bare minimum and staring at her notepad. And finally – finally – it was finally over. Phil carried Tony out into the waiting area and made him squeal uproaringly when he tipped him upside down.
The fun lasted until they were ordered over to their parents and Dr. Holland, who had been talking about stuff Phil hadn't cared about. It turned out they had a follow-up appointment Monday, which just totally ruined the weekend and the week at the same time, good job guys. But what really made Phil's jaw drop – well, not really, because Phil was very sure people looked about 100 points dumber if they had their mouths just hanging opened – was the fact that he was supposed to come back for his own private session in two days.
WTF? He was the sane one!
"Can I come, too?" Tony asked, eager.
"Not this time," Dr. Holland said kindly. "I want to speak to your brother alone."
"Why?"
Yeah, why, Phil scowled, and glared at his parents for clearly going along with this nonsense. He came to this without putting up a fuss. Maybe that had been his first mistake?
"Your brother was a little quiet. I really didn't get to know him as well as the rest of you."
"Oh." Tony appeared to believe this, but he didn't accept it. "What about me?"
"You were very talkative, Tony."
"No, what about me?" he repeated more forcefully, a small undercurrent of worry in his voice.
Phil understood. "Mom or Dad will be around to watch you," he said into Tony's ear, because he really didn't want the adults hearing this. He was sure it was going to fuel something, and Phil would have to deal with all the added crap.
Tony would never modulate his voice. "You're sure?"
"Yep."
He seemed willing to accept that answer. "Okay. But you can take my Iron Man with, so then I'm with you, too."
Phil rolled his eyes. "Thanks." Then he looked at their parents. "Can we go now?"
There was his name and the sigh at his manners, tone, whatever, but they made it to the van and left the stupid little clinic, even though Dr. Holland did press an appointment reminder card at him, as if Phil was going to be allowed to forget. Oh, God, he could just imagine the next two days: "helpful" reminders on the hour, texts, notes, comments, everything. Like he was the one with the problem remembering to do something.
They went out, as if their parents were subtly apologizing for doing this to them. Since Phil liked Chinese buffets, he was willing to drop his ire about two notches (out of like a million), and he even muttered a few answers while everyone danced around the whole We Just Had Therapy and It Was Completely Pointless So Why Are We Going Back. Well, Phil wasn't bringing it up.
So it was just another awkward supper with the family, only the location different and since they were in public, there was less actual fighting. (That was one of the reasons Phil liked eating out. The food was another big draw.) Because two out of the other three were using them, Tony wanted to try chopsticks (again), so there was a long bit of amusement while their father once again tried teaching him. Phil offered no help whatsoever and might have smirked while he ate his own meal. Eventually their mother stepped in and made Tony a pair of cheater chopsticks, (the only way she was ever able to use them,) because she had no sense of fun and a great deal too much pity. Phil clapped (only a little sarcastically) when Tony showed him the piece of chicken being held by a tenacious grip and a prayer.
When they made it home, Phil disappeared upstairs into his room, because Chinese aside, he was still miffed at the whole therapy thing. So he showered and killed some time on the internet before he gave it up for a lost cause and called it an early night. It had been a trying day and a crappy night before, anyway.
He must have fallen asleep, but Phil doubted it had been for long. Tony was sitting on him, weighing a ton, and Phil groaned and pushed him off. "Go a'ay."
Tony bounced, because he always would unless tears would get him something. "I want my story."
"Make Mom or Dad," Phil grunted into his pillow.
"Mom did. She wasn't very good," Tony reported and actually tried to worm under the blankets.
Phil growled half-heartedly. "Get lost, Tony."
Tony ignored the threat and curled next to him, breath smelling of toothpaste. "Did you miss me yesterday?"
"No."
"I missed you."
"Great."
"You didn't miss me at all?"
He pried open an eye. "Go to bed, Tones. I'm tired."
"Did you miss me?"
"Fine, a little, are you happy?"
Tony beamed. "I love you, Phil."
"Great, my life's complete." He yawned.
"You love me, right?"
"Tony, only someone who loved you would put up with your crap."
"You swore," he giggled.
His eye closed. "Why aren't you in bed?"
"I am. I'm in yours. I want a story."
"Mom told you one."
"Not the right kind. She didn't know any Iron Man or Avengers stories. She read about a duck." The tone explained Tony's stance on that.
"You didn't get one last night, you'll survive not getting one tonight."
"Last night I told Bruce one, just like you!" Tony said proudly. "He really liked it."
His lips quirked despite himself. "That's nice." And idea hit him, and Phil yawned again. "Why don't you tell me a story tonight, kay?"
"Really?"
He nodded. "Yeah. I'm tired."
"Are you sick?"
There was a hand on his forehead, as if Tony could tell. "No. Just tired."
"You're sure?"
"I'm very sure I'm very tired."
"Okay." There was a moment of blessed silence before Tony started telling a rambling story. Phil really didn't pay attention and likely fell back asleep within ten minutes. The next morning, when he remembered what the hell had happened, Phil was not entirely surprised to see Tony had not vacated his bed, but it was annoying dressing and getting ready quietly and with as few lights as possible.
Life returned a little back to normal over the next two days, because at least his parents didn't stay home. The kids were their typical bratty selves, but nothing Phil couldn't handle. The only really annoying thing was what Phil had expected, the stupid reminders about his appointment.
At least he won the battle to drive himself. Jeez, he did not need his mother waiting in the waiting room like he was a baby. True, he did have the idea to just not go to the thing, but Phil knew how that'd turn out if he dared. He liked living with some level of autonomy, thank you very much, and it was bad enough deal with his parents now without giving them a reason to not trust him.
Coming back to the clinic alone was somehow worse than the first time, and Phil looked around for … whatever before he dared to approach the doors. (He left the Iron Man figure in the car, because despite Tony's insistence, he would not carry that thing inside like a woobie.) Checking in and waiting was a nightmare, because, seriously, what if his friends saw him? There were windows here, and Phil made a point to pick a seat and slouch out of sight.
He had been busy picking at a loose thread on his shorts when Dr. Holland called his name, and by name, she called him Phil. There was a flash of Run Away in his head, (which sounded suspiciously like the krill in Finding Nemo, so it was really saying Swim Away, and why did that film have to have been on,) but he repressed it and made the dead man's walk to her.
"How are you doing today?" Dr. Holland asked.
"Fine." Never volunteer.
"That's good."
In the office, Phil took the same seat he had before and, uncomfortable, crossed his arms and slouched.
"It's nice to meet you again," the doctor said, smiling. He shrugged an answer. Sure, it probably was, because she was getting paid to see him. "How's Tony?"
"Fine. Annoying."
"Did he give you his Iron Man toy?"
He blinked in surprise at her even remembering Tony's stupid comment. "It's in the car." His face felt hot with the admission, because what if she thought he wanted it brought along?
But Dr. Holland only nodded. "I'm not sure if your parents said anything, but the reason you're here is that I like to speak with teenagers alone sometimes. It makes it easier for some of them to speak freer."
Phil wasn't sure if he completely believed her, but he shrugged again.
"Maybe I'm wrong, but I do think that's the case with you. You're very used to watching what you say."
"Only because Tony repeats everything," he defended. Seriously, the snot was a little snitch of everything Phil never wanted repeated, reported, or recorded. And he didn't care who he told either.
"I know what you mean. I have three younger sisters, and they always only remembered the one thing that would get me into trouble."
He wasn't sure if she was making that up. "So, what? I'm here because you think I'm protecting Tony by not saying stuff?"
She smiled. "Are you? Protecting him?"
"No."
"Why did you think you were coming here today, Phil?" she asked, leaning back.
"Because my parents are idiots?"
"A response I hear quite often. So you don't think there are any problems at home, then."
"They think they are all my fault."
"I hope you don't believe so."
"I don't," he affirmed, rather firmly too.
"So the problems are their fault."
Phil felt himself freeze. "I didn't say that."
"I noticed." She shifted in her seat. "Phil, I'm here to help you and your family. But I need your help too. Your honesty and openness. I promise to not share anything you say with your parents, it'll be completely confidential here."
"Right," he said, sarcastically. "Like whatever I say isn't going to somehow get said in the magic circle family time, and then I get blamed for that too."
"Your family isn't coming here to place blame, Phil."
He scoffed a little and looked away. He knew who he was blaming, and he knew who they were blaming.
"You're allowed to be angry and vent here. I won't mind."
"If I want to vent, I can troll internet boards." He'd done it, a few times, made some anonymous posts and felt better at some of the comments when they took his side.
Dr. Holland gave a small laugh. "Sounds like fun."
"It is." He pulled at the string of his shorts again. "Look, I get it. Parents worry or whatever, but I'm fine and I'm not over-worked or stressed. I deliver newspapers and I babysit Tony and his six friends. It's not hard and the money's good enough. They're just POed because they didn't know and once they get over it, this will go away."
"You're babysitting seven kids your brother's age? And you're not stressed?"
He felt himself smile. "They're good kids, they listen to me."
"Whatever you have, bottle it up and sell it, because you could make a mint," Dr. Holland suggested with a straight face. "And you do, honestly, get time to yourself, for your friends and interests?"
Phil looked up for a moment, then shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. Not as much when it was just Tony, but I can still meet everyone when my parents get home to watch Tony. It's just a bit harder, because they work, too, except they give me shit and say I'm not actually working." He rolled his eyes. Like stocking shelves and asking if they wanted fries with that was harder than watching any of the kids. "They're just being idiots, though, because none of them would even dare trying watching Tony for an hour. He's pretty notorious among anyone who's ever watched him. No one really comes back after the second try."
"Does he do it on purpose, do you think?"
There was no need to even think about his answer. "No. They just wanted him to sit in front of a TV so they could sit in front of a computer or whatever. So then he's annoying or just does what stupid kids do when no one's watching them, like turn the tub on and forget to turn it off or make the dishes into Frisbees or other stupid stuff. He thinks it's fun or is funny or something."
"Sounds like a regular Calvin."
"Who?"
Dr. Holland actually blinked at him. "Calvin, from Calvin & Hobbes, the comic. Nothing? Before your time, I guess, and now I feel old. But try reading a few, I think you'll like them."
"Right."
She actually frowned at him. "You do not get to knock the greatness that is Calvin & Hobbes, Phil. It is the best comic, ever. Hands down, bar none."
"I'm pretty sure you can see people to help you deal with this obsession of yours," he offered.
She laughed at him and leaned her head against her hand. "Trust me, on nothing else if you must, it's a good comic."
"I never argue with crazy people."
"I'm sure you don't. So, tell me, how did your parents not know you were watching seven kids?"
Phil shrugged, the light mood he had been feeling fading away. "They got dropped off after they left and were picked up before they got home."
"But neither you nor Tony said anything? You, I'd believe, but Tony? He's a squealer, I can tell."
"When Tony talks, most people don't listen out of self-preservation."
"Any reason you didn't say anything?"
"Didn't matter."
"Why not? You were getting paid, it was a job."
Phil frowned. "I don't need my parents to tell me when I'm doing a good job. I'm not a little kid."
"It just seems like you were keeping it a secret."
"I wasn't," he said.
"But you still never told them."
"Why should I have?" Phil knew he was sounding like Tony, but he didn't care, because now she was saying it was his fault too.
"Did you think they'd tell you to stop?"
"No. I just didn't think it mattered."
"To you or them?"
"To anyone. They wouldn't care, I didn't care, and if they wanted to know, they could have just asked or paid attention or something, but they didn't. They just thought I sat at home all day doing nothing, because yeah, Tony would totally let me do that."
"So would you say your parents aren't involved in your life?"
"I don't want them involved."
"Fair enough. Are they involved in your brother's?"
"Enough, I guess. Tony doesn't care."
"I think he does, but currently his needs are being met by you."
"Huh?"
"I just mean Tony's used to having you around, so as long as you're there, he's happy. The problem, Phil, is what happens when you go to college. I think you have to admit Tony relies a great deal on you and you moving away will be a big strain for him."
"That's two years away," Phil dismissed, even though he started to think about it. Because there was no way he was living at home when he was in college. Possibly no way he was going to be in the same state.
"It'll come quicker than you expect. I'm not saying it has to be so Tony won't miss you, because he will miss you, but I think it's important that he get to the point where he can trust your parents to be around like you are for him."
"He's stupid, he already thinks they are," Phil said dismissively.
Dr. Holland tilted her head. "Now, but in two years a person's mind can change," she said.
Phil looked away again, because yeah, that was right. Tony believed in their parents listened now, but eventually he'd wise up. Phil had been lucky because he'd had Grandpa Tony, who went to all the games and plays and stuff. But it wouldn't be fair to tell Tony their parents would do stuff when Phil knew they wouldn't. "What are you even trying to do?"
"Help your family."
"Do what? Communicate or trust or get along or what?"
"All the above would be nice."
"Yeah, you'll get that done in twenty sessions," Phil said sarcastically, because one thing he had paid attention to was how long this crap was supposed to last. Goal-orientated therapy, his ass. A good patch job, more like it.
"We'll take as long as we need to, but, like I said, Phil, I need help. So, tell me, what do you think needs fixing? And don't tell me nothing, because you've been screaming since I first saw you that something is bothering you."
"Have not."
"Metaphorically." The doctor leaned forward and Phil really hoped she wasn't going to touch him or something, because Phil seriously considered screaming Bad Touch if she did. Thankfully, she didn't. "You can trust me, Phil, all right. So just take your time and tell me something, anything. It doesn't even have to be about your family right now."
"Isn't the counter-productive?"
"Wise man say: It's not the destination, it's the journey."
"Right." He pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off a headache. "I don't want to talk."
"I could turn on the radio."
"Yeah, my parents will love that." He could imagine the conversation, about wasting their money and being stubborn and difficult.
"Completely confidential, Phil," Dr. Holland reminded impishly. "But bear in mind, I pick the station, and I listen to a lot of 70s and 80s music."
"You haven't had bad music unless you've ridden with my friend Mark's Dad. It's not even the music, it's the singing."
"I can't promise I won't sing," she laughed even as she got up and clicked something on her computer, and then music was playing. Not very loud, but loud enough to drown out the silence. And Dr. Holland let him just sit and listen through four songs and several ads.
He wasn't even sure why he spoke next, but he did. "My parents fight. A lot," he said quietly, digging his thumbnail into the seam of the chair.
"A lot of parents fight."
"Not every day. Every single day. About every single fucking thing." Then he winced. "Sorry."
"It's all right. These walls have heard worse." There was a length of a song that played. "So they fight a lot."
Phil nodded, still focused on the seam. "Even when they were here last time, they were fighting. They were just trying to make a good impression."
"Do they fight in front of you and Tony?"
He shrugged. "Sometimes. Nothing bad, not like they throw stuff or anything, they're not going to kill each other and they're not going to, you know, actually hit each other, or Tony or me. They just fight, argue, whatever. They don't like each other very much and then they avoid each other until something happens. They blame each other when something goes wrong. They just … fight," he repeated, closing his eyes.
"Thank you for telling me, Phil."
He didn't want to admit he couldn't talk anymore because he felt sick, like he had committed a breach of trust or maybe swallowed poison or just got the flu, so Phil traced the seam and listened to the music. Dr. Holland let him and might have even let him leave ten minutes early, Phil wasn't sure.
Not in the mood to go home and get drilled about what happened – because, yeah, it was going to be so confidential, he just knew it – he drove around aimlessly. No point getting home too early, anyway. He went to the park hoping maybe one of his friends were around – no such luck, but he did wave to Bruce's dad while he was mowing the lawn – and after a long lap the of park, he walked to the ice cream parlor and ended up picking at his melting two scoops.
"No Tony today?"
Phil jerked and looked up stupidly at Mr. Young. "Do you just eat ice cream?" And then Phil desperately wished to take the question back.
Mr. Young just laughed and waved a hand down at a little girl next to him, who was shyly peeking out at Phil. "Me and Mary are trying."
He hadn't known Mr. Young had a daughter, or a wife, or, you know, a life. Phil was still pretty determined to pretend he didn't, even if all evidence pointed to the contrary. There was enough wrong in his life without adding more. "Hi, Mary, I'm Phil. It's nice to meet you."
"Hi," she whispered, ducking her head against Mr. Young's leg.
"Tony's at home. I had, um, an appointment." He looked back down at the ice cream and forced himself to eat.
"Please tell me you're not undoing a dentist's hard work."
Phil snorted a laugh. "No, Mr. Young."
"Well, we'll let you eat. I just saw you and figured if anyone could tell Mary school was perfectly safe, it'd be Tony. She starts this fall."
"Trust me, it's safe. Your dad only sends kids to the dungeon every third Tuesday," Phil winked.
"Uncle," Mary corrected shyly.
"Huh?"
"Uncle. Her father got deployed, so she's staying with us for the time being," Mr. Young explained.
And now Phil left like a complete idiot again, even more so. "Oh. Uh, sorry."
"Honest mistake. Well, come on, Mary, let's go see a gal about some ice cream."
For lack of anything better to do, Phil watched them make their order, and then, rather stupidly, let them sit at his table. Now it was stupid and awkward.
"What flavor do you got?" Mary asked.
Phil looked down at his bowl. "Melted."
She giggled. "I like mint and sprinkles. Lots of sprinkles." Yeah, Phil could tell.
"You can never have too many sprinkles," Mr. Young agreed, for a man who didn't have a single piece in his bowl.
"My brother likes the blue and red and yellow one," Phil said as Mary attacked her bowl. "It's called Superman."
Mary nodded and focused on her ice cream.
"Ready for school to start?" Mr. Young asked, because he was a principal and it was probably programmed into him.
So Phil lied. "Yep. Can't wait."
Mr. Young grinned at him. "Tony excited?"
"When he remembers, because Bruce is going to be in his class now. And Adam will be a few grades ahead."
"That's good for him, then."
There was some quiet as everyone ate, and Phil glanced at his phone. Honestly, he was waiting for the call that asked where the hell he was, and he knew he should get home. "I have to get home before they send out search parties. But if you really want Mary to meet Tony – and I advise running away fast, because he's absolutely too friendly," he said to Mary, smiling, and she smiled back, "we'll be at the park tomorrow unless it rains." Because he damn-well knew the schedule he created.
"We'll think about it," Mr. Young said.
So he went home and Tony dive-bombed him as if he had been gone for years. And of course his parents tried questioning him, and maybe he was a little snide when he reminded them about doctor-patient confidentiality. And then when they asked what took him so long to get home, he honestly reported he had talked with Mr. Young and his niece and if they didn't believe him they could totally call the man up. (Phil hoped, if they did, Mr. Young wouldn't divulge they met at the ice cream parlor.) Tony was much more interested in learning about Mary and the possibility of meeting her, of her being younger than him, and being able to tell her all about school. Phil was kind of hoping Mary did come to the park tomorrow, even if it meant being forced to talk to Mr. Young, because otherwise Tony was going to be miserable, and then he'd make Phil miserable, which just should be avoided, in Phil's opinion.
It turned out life was sort of going his way, because his parents backed off and the next day Mary was there at the park. (Okay, it was debatable if that meant life was going his way, but after Tony regaled Mary with the greatest of school – OMG, seriously, what a little liar, but, then again, Mr. Young was present, so it wasn't like Tony had a choice but to lie – the girl fit into the group without too much trouble.) Anita liked there being another girl, even if she was younger. The only really difficult part was when – and Phil should have suspected something when Tony had asked about the girl character who talked to Director Fury – Tony called her Maria, and Mary insisted her name was Mary, and there was drama (and the threats of fists, and Phil wasn't sure how to take that Tony could get beat up by a girl younger than him) until Phil explained, and Mary was only a little appeased. Mr. Young was mostly amused, which concerned Phil, since the man was the principal and one of his students threatened bodily harm on another student. Clearly there was familial favoritism going on, and that was wrong.
Phil wasn't going to have to watch Mary for the rest of the summer, which he was fine with. Honestly, he was getting to the point he wasn't sure he could handle any more brats and was slightly relieved the end of summer was within sight. Not that he'd ever admit it, especially not to his parents. The weekend was a nice, relaxing time, even if his parents decided to try to hang out with him. Actually, it was a little like Hell.
He might have been a little nervous going to the clinic on Monday, because he had no idea what Dr. Holland was going to do or say or anything. But Monday came and at the clinic Dr. Holland didn't tell his parents what he had said or even what really happened when they had met, and his parents had not-so-subtly tried to ask. There was a bunch of how have you been type questions and about the only thing that happened is that Dr. Holland sort of seemed to be checking to see if Phil had told the truth about his parents always fighting. (Yeah, there shouldn't and wouldn't be any more questioning that, he noted.)
Phil was pretty sure no progress had been made, unless it was some really weird backwards progress, and the only thing really annoying was that Dr. Holland gave them homework. Tony's was a big secret – Phil would get it out of him later – and his parents had to read these cards or something to each other, but Phil was supposed to voluntarily tell his parents something he didn't think they knew about him each day. (Yeah, he wasn't too keen on that.) Dr. Holland made a point to tell him that it didn't have to be any big secret, maybe just something like he liked wearing Pokka dots, and the only way his parents were supposed to respond was by thanking him for telling them. They weren't even supposed to tell him if they already knew whatever it was he said.
He consoled himself by saying at least it wasn't hard, except he was pretty sure it was going to be. What the hell was he supposed to tell them? No, strike that, what the hell did he want to tell them? He'd have to make a list tonight.
They didn't go out afterwards, and as quickly as possible, Phil started on the list of stupid things he would tell his parents. It wasn't too long before Tony barged in and bounced on his bed.
"Whatcha doing?"
"Can't you knock?" Phil asked peevishly. This was hard.
"Did you buy me a birthday present yet?"
"Nope. I didn't think you needed one."
"I do," Tony said seriously.
"What did Dr. Holland tell you?"
"Nah uh, can't tell you. I promised."
"Why not? I won't tell her."
Tony grinned. "You're being stupid, Phil."
"I'll hang you out the house if you don't tell me," he threatened.
"Nah uh."
"How about a hint?"
"Nope!" He laughed and rolled on the bed. "Where's my present?"
"I don't get little snots presents," Phil sniffed.
Tony pouted. "You're being mean, Phil."
"Yep. So get lost."
He kept pouting and eventually pulled out all Phil's pillows to make a fort, which was when Phil bodily picked him up and tossed the pest out of his room. Tony was frankly lucky he hadn't been tossed out the window.
It wasn't the last time Phil expressed that sentiment, because, yeah, Tony was eager for his birthday party and knowing what he gift was. He even dug around Phil's room trying to find it, and Phil very nearly committed fratricide when he saw what Tony had done. Even the rest of the kids gave him a wide berth that day.
The day of Tony's birthday, Tony literally jumped onto Phil and a very sensitive area, waking him from a dead sleep. Once Phil could breathe and think, he glared at the monster. "Why are you even up?"
"It's my birthday!"
"No!"
"Yes! Present!"
"You haven't been born yet," Phil growled, curling back under the blankets. He had at least forty minutes before he had to get up. "You weren't born until two. In the afternoon," he added.
"Phil!"
"Let me sleep or I'm cancelling your party."
Tony gasped. "You wouldn't!"
"I won't pick up your cake either."
"Phil," the birthday-brat whimpered. "Please."
He refused to budge. "No. Let me sleep."
Tony sighed dramatically and flounced next to him, and occasionally poked him, but Phil could doze through that. And when his phone alarm went off, Tony was up like a piece of toast, grinning. "Present!"
Phil scowled at him. "Birthday spankings!" And then he made to grab the brat.
That got the little monster to screech out, likely to wake the rest of the victims. Phil staggered around and managed to get dressed, smirking at hearing Tony disrupting their parents' sleep. And he was out the door before Tony could beg for his present some more.
After the last paper was delivered, he dropped by the bakery and got the stupid cake. Phil had to admit it looked delicious, and when he got home, Tony was bouncing all around trying to see it, as if he hadn't been the one to pick it out.
"Don't you like my cake, Daddy?" Tony asked once Phil put the cake on the island.
Phil felt their father more than saw him, and he moved away from the looming. His father didn't notice his retreat, staring down at the cake. "It's very nice, Tony. Did you pick it out?"
"Yep. Well, Phil helped, but only a little."
"That was nice of him." Their father straightened, as if waiting for something. "Well, I have to get to work. See you two later. Happy birthday, Tony." He ruffled the younger's hair and accurately read Phil's look that said, Try it and I will remove your hand.
"Bye, Daddy!"
Phil breathed a little easier once the door closed. "So, you get lost, I'm going to set up your stuff."
"My present?"
"Is my unending tolerance for you," Phil deadpanned.
"Phil," Tony whined.
Phil smirked and started putting a few decorations that their parents had bought. Avenger-themed, because Tony had picked it out and he was ever-obsessive. And Tony followed him, telling him exactly where to put everything and fixing it just so even when Phil followed him to the letter.
At least when the others arrived, Tony was distracted, except for the part where he was begging to open each and every present they brought him, and then stared at them stacked neatly in a pile like a man dying of thirst in the desert.
Phil hadn't planned anything special for today. There would just be cake and ice cream for lunch, and presents, which really was enough. So they had fun in the pool and ran around the yard like crazy people, which was normal.
What wasn't normal their parents coming home just before lunch.
"Happy birthday, honey," their mother said, hugging Tony as he bounced around, wet as a dog.
"What are you doing here?" Phil asked stupidly.
"We thought we'd join the party, too," his father said. "Tony asked us too."
The brat was not going to see another day when Phil got his hands on him, once the witnesses were all gone.
"Besides, he wanted Mary to come too, and since we wanted to speak with Mr. Young anyway, this was a good time," his mother added.
"Mary? Here?" Why hadn't anyone told him?
"Didn't Tony tell you?"
Phil managed a tight smile and bided his time. He left his parents take care of the food and then greeted Mr. Young and Mary when the door rang, all polite. And then he snatched the little brat.
"Why didn't you tell me you had invited Mom, Dad, and Mary?" he asked, trying to sound pleasant and not like he had Tony cornered where he could gut him like a dog.
"It was a surprise!" Tony grinned.
"Wow, it sure is," Phil agreed, mentally telling himself Tony was an idiot who meant no harm.
Tony looked at him. "Are you mad?"
Yes. "Just … surprised."
"I would have asked you, but Dr. Holland asked me to ask Mommy and Daddy for stuff this week."
"She did?"
Tony nodded. "And I wanted Mary to come too, and Mommy and Daddy, so they could be at both my parties, because you were right, we get a family party too. We're gonna go see Grandma Dottie."
"And you didn't tell me?"
"Because it was a surprise," he repeated, like he thought Phil was slow.
"I would have liked to have known."
Tony rolled his eyes. "That's not how surprises work, Phil. Daddy even said it was going to be a surprise for you and Mommy agreed, that's how I got the idea."
Despite how easily Phil could place blame on his parents, he had an idea they had been making an honest comment and expected him to have known. "You're an idiot," he said instead, and let the brat go.
"Maybe, but it's my birthday," Tony replied and skipped off.
Lunch was awkward, because either Phil could eat with the kids or he could eat with the adults, and both options really sucked. He spent a bit of time in the kitchen weighing the options of the lesser evil. The adults chose to eat out on the patio, and he decided it was too weird and wrong to eat with Mr. Young and his parents at the same time, so he sat with the kids because he really had no life.
"Cake!" Tony proclaimed once he was finished eating, which set off a chorus of agreements.
"Ask Mom and Dad," Phil replied, because he wasn't done eating.
If someone had asked him why he had looked up, he couldn't have answered. He had a feeling, an innate sixth sense, that he should look up, especially since he was noticing the brats were looking up several times and giggling. Or maybe he had felt a drop hit him. After examining the ceiling, he said with a natural blandness that had been fine-tuned after years of dealing with Tony, "Why is there a reasonable facsimile of the Sistine Chapel on the ceiling?" Well, perhaps not reasonable, but there quite a few splashes of color that shouldn't be up there.
There were a few moments of bafflement before Tony, like it was so obvious he couldn't believe Phil hadn't already figured it out, explained, "It was HYDRA."
"I leave the room for five minutes" – it wasn't an exaggeration, in fact it was an over-estimation – "and HYDRA attacks. And paints the ceiling." There was no sound of question in his voice. WTF had they even used?
There was much nodding.
"Can we have the cake now?" Mort asked.
"We got the bad guy," Frankie said proudly and held up a water gun.
"It was a spider," Mary explained.
"A big one," Anita added.
Phil continued to stare up at the ceiling. "Put the water guns on the table."
They complied and then he looked at them, and then back to the ceiling, and then went back to his food. Since he was also great at multi-tasking, Phil as also calculating how long it would take to clean up the latest HYDRA debacle – impossible, and too expensive to repaint, the only hope was to pray no one looked up ever again.
Once he finished eating, Phil gave one last look at the ceiling, gathered up the stack of water guns, and went to the kitchen with a procession behind him. And then he proceeded to cut out small pieces – no need to give any of them more sugar – and ignored all of the instructions and criticism that he was cutting the cake wrong.
There was only one viable outcome, and Phil cut himself a huge piece of cake as compensation as he imagined how the conversation could go when their parents came back inside. If there was one thing Tony and he had in common as brothers, it was a plethora of imagination.
"What is in these guns?" he asked.
"Water colors," Anita explained. "It makes the water pretty."
"And so you know who shot you," Lucas added.
"Ah." The adults came in, drawn by the cake. Phil waited until the kids had finished their own pieces and escaped the blast zone before saying, "Our ceiling was attacked by HYDRA."
There was no comprehension, and Phil merely pointed towards the room with the damage. And then he watched while Mr. Young struggled not to laugh and his parents struggled not to kill, or something, and he braced himself for the blame.
"Philip," his father said calmly.
"I was in the kitchen."
"I see."
"Who fired the first shot?" Mr. Young asked and managed to almost keep a straight face.
"I didn't ask. It's water colors, I guess."
"It'll wash off, then."
"Good," his mother said. "Where are those toys?"
"Kitchen. I already took them away."
"Good," she repeated.
"Should I have the Avengers assemble?" Phil asked, making a little joke. At least Mr. Young appreciated it. His parents just gave him an annoyed or exasperated look.
"I haven't even seen that film, and I think I hate it," his father said, shaking his head.
"It's good," Mr. Young protested, in the tone of How could you not have seen it?
"It's out on DVD in September," Phil informed him. And then, what the hell, he could share this, because no way they'd know it and it was completely harmless. "It's my fault they're Avengers, you know. Tony might have got everyone together, but I got him interested."
"Thank you, Philip. Thank you so much," his mother said sarcastically.
"You're welcome."
"So you were the inspiration for the Avengers. At least you didn't have to die," Mr. Young grinned, winking.
Phil grinned. "Tony's pretty sure I'm not dead, and he's confirmed it with Jarvis. And at least you didn't get blood on my cards, because I would kill you."
