Warnings: AU, Slash (Stone Cold Steve Austin/CM Punk), Mentions of Child Abuse, Profanity, Age difference, Smut.
The first Saturday of May, Phil decides that they're going fishing. Steve can't bring himself to argue, because it might do him some good to get out off the Ranch. He feels disconnected, has felt disconnected since he stood sobbing in Phil's arms last Sunday. He thinks it might be embarrassment. He's supposed to the strong one. He's supposed to be the one helping Phil get better. He's not supposed to collapse into Phil's arms as a weeping wreck. Phil seems to be striving to make everything normal between them, but Steve knows he's not acting normal. He can barely look at Phil without thinking something inappropriate. His thoughts aren't just sexual. It'd almost be a relief it that's all it was. If it were just a sick desire for Phil's body, it'd be better than the entirety of the desire Steve has for him. He wants to curl up with Phil, and hold him close. He wants to keep precious, sweet, damaged Phil safe from the World, wants to wrap him up and keep him close. He wants to love Phil. It's wrong, he knows that, but he can't seem to shake the desire off.
"So... Tell me about her." Phil slips it into his ramblings whilst they're out on the boat, and Steve turns to him incredulously.
"Who?" Steve knows exactly who the her Phil wants him to talk about is, but he knows just as well that he doesn't want to talk about her. He wants to lay her to rest, and move on. There's a lot of things he wants to move on from that he can't seem to, and the memory of his dead wife is just one of them.
"Your wife... Tell me about her." Phil smiles over at him, and Steve shakes his head, landing a fish, and busying himself with taking the hook from its mouth. "It won't get better if you don't talk, Steve. I... When I spoke to the consoler about what happened to me, no... When I spoke to Scott about what happened to me, that's when it got better. The consoler was nice, and she was real helpful and all that, but just telling my best friend that made it a little easier to deal with, you know?"
"Really?" Steve glances over a Phil. He's sceptical about how much help telling his best friend would have been, but the diary did say that they'd no idea how to talk to each other at first. The way Phil had written that part did seem to put a lot of emphasis on the best friend, so it might be that he's telling the truth as much as it's the truth for him.
"Yeah... I needed to tell someone who wasn't going to judge me... Scott's a lot of things, most of them just plain goofy, but he doesn't judge me. He loves me, and I needed to tell someone who loved me first, someone I could rely on." Phil pats Steve's shoulder, and then curses under his breath as his reel starts spinning. The fish he lands is surprisingly big, and an oddly proud expression flits over his face. "I'm not going to judge you, Steve." There's an unspoken meaning behind Phil's words, an unspoken I love you, and Steve sighs.
"I... She hated fishing." It's a safe place to start, and Phil doesn't comment, instead he's tying a worm to his hook, not even looking at Steve. "Said it was a sport for men, like shopping is sport for women. It's not about what you catch, or what you buy, it's about spending time with your peers..."
"She was a smart woman." Phil mutters, casting his line, and Steve laughs. She was a smart woman, far smarter than him, far better than him. After that first little comment, talking about her becomes easier, telling Phil stories of the woman he reminds Steve of so often isn't as painful or as difficult as it had at seemed. Phil listens, his comments occasional and soft, prompting Steve to keep talking. The talking turns to rambling, and by the time they're back at the Ranch, bellies full of campfire roasted fish, there's not much about her Phil doesn't know. The good, the bad, and the ugly of Steve's marriage, and the woman he was married to has been shared with Phil, and Steve feels better for it, freer if nothing else. That night he sleeps soundly for the first time in a long time, and he's not entirely sure why.
"You're not dressed for church." Phil comments on the Sunday morning, and Steve doesn't answer, instead he steals a little of the bacon sitting waiting for the rest of breakfast to cook, and makes a pot of coffee. He's not dressed for church; he's dressed for a day spent writing his letters, because that's what he intends to do. There'd been no point in spending that month of Sundays in church; there'd been nothing there for him. What he needs to do is work through the sickness himself. There's no one he can talk to about it, no one to help him get better. It's a matter of self-medication, and willpower to resist the urge to just stare at Phil. He shouldn't be captivating. Steve's seen him pottering around the kitchen hundreds of times, but it is captivating, and Steve wouldn't mind seeing Phil cooking a hundred more. "You're not going back?" Phil glances up from the stove, and Steve shakes his head.
"Shouldn't have gone in the first place, Punkster. There's nothing I need there." He smiles, wondering how Phil will answer, but all he does is smile shyly, his ears red, and returns to making breakfast.
The second Saturday, after a week of them being normal, has Phil kicking Steve out of the kitchen in the afternoon for some mysterious, and secretive reason. Hershey is sent with him, and Steve supposes he should be out working anyway. In all honesty, he'd kind of like Phil to come out with him, there's plenty to be doing on the Ranch, and the extra set of hands would be beneficial, but Phil has his own self-appointed task. It's probably for the best that they're apart. Normal for Steve these days involves far too much staring at Phil, far too much watching him in the most ordinary moments, studying how he moves, how his expressions change, revealing almost every one of his thoughts, how for something so gangly and awkward, Phil can be incredibly elegant when he's not really paying attention to himself. He has the self-conscious discomfort of being a teenager, but it's being tempered by the self-assured confidence of the adult he'll be in a few years. It's a strange mix, and whilst the moments where Phil's a nervous, blushing kid make Steve feel sick for his attraction, the moments of that confidence, the moments where Phil's the man he'll be almost make Steve feel better. The man Phil will be is going to be something to see, something Steve wants to see.
That night, the reason Phil chased him out becomes obvious. Jim's truck is in front of the Ranch, and when Steve comes in, dirty from working, he's greeted by Jan.
"Steve, go get yourself cleaned up for dinner." She laughs, swatting his arm. "Young Phil's been working like a fiend to pull something off. He won't let us in the kitchen till we're all assembled, so you be quick. That husband of mine's been bleating about how hungry he is for the last hour." She laughs, and Steve goes upstairs to get cleaned up. He'd forgotten about Jim and Jan coming over, but he supposes having some company will be a good thing. Other people will distract him from Phil, and distracting is more than likely what Steve needs.
Jim and Jan end up staying the night, intending to head back home tomorrow, and if anything Steve's grateful for them hanging about. It gives him someone to talk to that isn't Phil. He needs to get out more, needs to make friends his own age, it might be part of the problem, but he can't bring himself to leave Phil on his own. The month of dates had been painful for many reasons, but the main one had been that he was abandoning Phil to go out to serve his own selfish needs.
"Steve... You given any thought to next year?" Jim's leaning against a fence post, watching Steve work, a blank expression on his face.
"Next year?" Steve looks up, wiping the sweat from his forehead. He's thought about next year, about if Phil will stay, about if he wants him to. It's been playing on Steve's mind, and he can't give himself an answer. He doesn't know if he wants Phil to stay or not. If Phil wants to stay, then Steve will let him, no questions asked. The Ranch is Phil's home, and even if Steve is disgustingly, evilly attracted to the boy, he won't chase Phil from his home.
"Yup... You and Phil seem to be getting on just fine... And well, since you stopped taking on kids, Steve, it's gotten mighty hard to find a place for everyone. Now, before you start, let me assure you, it'd be two or three at the most, and if he stays, then you'll have Phil to help out. He's a mighty fine little cook." A fond smile stretches over Jim's lips. He'd eaten more than his fill last night, and had insisted on having as much of the food put in a doggy bag for him to take home as Jan would let him.
"I don't know if he wants to stay, Jim. He'll need to go back to Illinois for the trial anyways, won't he?" Steve starts back to work, a strange feeling settling in his gut at the thought of Phil giving evidence in court. The idea of him being cross-examined by lawyers working for the people who put him through hell makes Steve want to punch something, or more accurately someone. How that scum managed to create someone as perfectly sweet as Phil is a mystery to Steve.
"He can do it via video link, but that's something for me to talk to him about." Jim pushes off his fence post, and his hand comes to rest on Steve's shoulder. "Phil's growing up, Steve. He's a fine young man... And that's because of you. I knew you were the one for him." Jim pats Steve's shoulder, and ambles off back to the Ranch house, leaving Steve cursing how he'd phrased that sentiment. Steve's not the one for Phil, he might be in the way Jim meant it, but not in the way Steve's brain is taking it. Phil's everything Steve shouldn't want, but he's everything Steve does want, and it's so very wrong.
Sleeping is getting harder, and harder for Steve to get. Lying awake in bed hour after hour is becoming normal to him. Some nights he creeps downstairs, and stands by Phil's door listening to the radio, and the quiet sounds of him and Hershey's dreams. He feels incredibly weird for doing it, but there's something comforting in knowing that Phil's sleeping, safe from the harm Steve's growing attraction could cause him.
The third Saturday of the month had been normal, writing, cookies, and just being in Phil's company. It was a good day. Stressful because Steve had to watch himself to make sure he didn't linger too long in his looks at Phil, but good because Phil had been laughing, he'd been talking, he'd been happy all day, and that's all Steve wants for Phil. It might not be all Steve wants from him, but for Phil, all he wants is happiness.
A low noise, a soft pant draws Steve's attention as he walks quietly past Phil's room. The door's cracked open a half inch, muted light spilling from the gap, and Steve freezes for a second before another soft pant comes to him. Phil's a teenage boy. It's not surprise. The only real surprise is that this is the first time Steve's caught him masturbating. There's a horrible part of him that's tempted to peek, to see if he can steal a glance at what Phil's doing through the crack in the door, but that'd be a horrible violation of his privacy. The third quiet little moan is something Steve's sure he'll hear for the rest of his life, the visual it conjures in his mind will stay with him for eternity. The thought of Phil naked, his thin fingers touching himself, curling around his cock, maybe teasing his ass, or stroking his chest, pinching his nipples. Steve shakes his head, and goes to the kitchen, fetching a glass of water with far more noise than it requires. He can't walk back past Phil's room with him still touching himself, so he has to make Phil aware that Steve's awake somehow, and this seems the easiest way to do it. Hershey's curled up in her basket fast asleep, and there's a part of Steve that wonders why she didn't come upstairs and sleep with him, but he supposes the dog has her reasons. Steve sips the water slowly, trying to pretend that he's not listening for more of those soft pants from Phil, but he is, he can't help it. The thought of Phil's hands on his body won't leave Steve's mind, those long fingers touching smooth, pale skin dusted with the barest hint of hair. The body of a child. He drops the glass, hearing it shatter on the floor, and suddenly the kitchen's bathed in harsh light.
"Shouldn't you be asleep?" Phil looks rumpled, his pyjamas slightly skewed, the buttons done up wrong, a hint of his stomach showing, a fine dusting of hair visible on the pale skin.
"I'd say the same to you." Steve doesn't look up from the shattered glass, and puddle of water at his feet. "Go back to bed. I'm sorry I woke you up." Phil's footsteps are light, and before Steve can say another word, he's there, picking up the largest pieces of glass, and throwing them in the garbage.
"How come you're awake?" Phil's staring up at him from where he's crouched to clean up the mess. Steve's mind conjures all manner of other reasons for the boy to be on his knees in front of him, reasons he has no business thinking.
"I couldn't sleep." Steve mumbles, and Phil stands. He's so tall his eyes are almost level with Steve's, but he's still so thin, so fragile, so much a child.
"Whatever it is, it'll be okay." Phil smiles softly, his hand resting on Steve's shoulder. "You wanna talk about it? I'm a good listener." Steve shakes his head, and takes a step backwards.
"It's ain't nothing, Punkster... Don't you be worrying about me. Go on, get to bed. I'll finish up here... You need your rest. You've studying to do tomorrow." Steve forces a smile to his lips, and his voice to sound normal. He doesn't think it fools Phil, but the boy concedes to him, and leaves the kitchen, pausing at the door.
"Steve... You can talk to me if you want, but it'll be okay, I promise." A sad smile flits to his lips, and he takes a deep breath, exhaling it slowly. "No matter how bad you think it is, I've lived through worse." The smile falls away, leaving Phil looking impossibly small. Steve steps over the remaining shards of glass, and comes to Phil, pulling him into a tight hug.
"C'mon little one, I'll tuck you in."
In the light of morning, they don't mention the strange conversation in the kitchen, and for that, Steve's grateful. He doesn't want to talk about the sickness in his head, doesn't want to think about it more than he has to. Yet that's the problem, he always has to think about it, there's no avoiding it, especially when Phil's sitting opposite him, with a distantly distressed look on his face.
"There's something bothering you?" Steve smiles awkwardly, and Phil nods, chewing on his bottom lip, the look on his face not wavering. "What is it?"
"I need your help... But I'm not sure I should bother you. I can get the Owl to help me. It might be a better idea." Phil starts eating breakfast, and Steve sighs, pouring another cup of coffee out for himself.
"What is it?" He takes a sip, and Phil looks up once more. He looks torn between making his request, and not, but mostly like he's demanding to know what's bothering Steve. "I'm fine... There's just-"
"I know..." Phil interrupts, and sets his plate down on the floor in front of Hershey. She looks up confused for a second before devouring the mostly untouched food.
"Punkster." Steve isn't sure what he's trying to say with that, but Phil shakes his head, and snags a cookie from the plate in the middle of the table. "What is it? C'mon, tell me what's bothering you."
"Why should I tell you, when you won't tell me?" He snaps, and Steve smiles wryly at him. He makes a good point, but what's bothering Steve isn't something to be shared, not with Phil, not with anyone really. "Don't tell me it's because I'm a kid, don't tell me it's because I won't understand." Phil snaps his cookie in half, and dunks it into his coffee.
"It's nothing." Steve sighs, finishing his breakfast, and taking a cookie of his own. "I'm really getting fat." He laughs as he takes a bite.
"No, you're not." Phil's tone is harsh, and Steve stares at him. "What? You aren't. You look great. Is that what this is? Is it because of that woman you were seeing last month? Whatever happened to her anyways?" Steve laughs, he'd forgotten all about that woman. She'd faded into obscurity in his mind as soon as Phil had held him as he wept. Pinning his morose mood on weight gain would be easy, but Phil's shrewd, he'd see through it with no difficulty.
"It wasn't working... I'm just... I'm. I don't know how to explain what's going on with me." Steve rubs a hand over his head, and sighs. "It's stupid, and complicated, and really, honestly, it's nothing for you to worry about, Punkster." Steve smiles, and he feels a little better for that explanation. His sickness is nothing for Phil to worry about. Steve is never going to act on his perverse desires for Phil, so he has nothing to worry about. Phil looks unimpressed with Steve's words, and shakes his head with a sigh, then tosses a sheath of papers over to Steve. "A script? You want me to help you run lines again?" Steve laughs, and Phil nods, a shy smile creeping over his lips. "Honestly, you get so wound up over lines... I'm never gonna say no to you." Steve laughs, watching a deep blush spread over Phil's cheeks, and then realising how what he said could be taken. He quickly starts leafing through the play.
"I don't want you to get bored of it before you've seen it performed, is all." Phil mumbles, and Steve chuckles, looking up from the script.
"Even if it was the worst, most boring play in the World, I'd still be there to see you." He means it, wholly and honestly, those words are true. Even if Phil was in a high school adaptation of Plan Nine from Outer Space, he'd be there to watch it every night it was performed, he'd even help Phil run his lines, because Phil's far more important to Steve than even he realises.
"Steve, The Room has better dialogue than this!" Phil laughs, and starts telling Steve about his character, seemingly content to let the heavy conversation looming between them go for now.
The following week is coloured with something odd. Steve's sure Phil knows something is wrong with him, but Steve's sure he's managed to hide the truth of his sickness. He hopes he has at least, because the last thing he wants is for Phil to feel uncomfortable at home. The Ranch is where Phil belongs; it's his home, and Steve's going to miss him in so many ways if he decides to leave. The more Steve thinks on the idea of the house being empty of Phil, the more he hates the thought. Phil has given Steve meaning, a purpose to keep going, and if he leaves, Steve will lose that. He maybe should think about taking in more kids if Phil goes, should maybe think about it if he stays. This obsession with Phil might be caused by the fact that Phil's the only person Steve's around regularly, but he'd been with that woman for a month, and the obsession had only grown worse. He sees people at the market; he talks to Jim, to Jan. None of the people he sees regularly haunt him the way Phil does. More kids in the Ranch might be a good idea, but then again it might be a horrible one. It might be that Steve's attracted to Phil because he's a child. He knows that isn't the case. There's nothing appealing about children, nothing appealing about anyone but Phil in all honesty, but it doesn't stop the thought from appearing in Steve's head, and it doesn't put his mind to rest. He's beginning to think nothing will put his mind at ease.
The last weekend goes quietly; Phil's lost to studying for his upcoming exams, the kitchen table awash with textbooks, and notes, with Phil behind them looking stressed, and worried. Steve's not sure how to help beyond braving the weekend rush, and bringing back ice cream. It was gratefully received by Phil, and for a brief moment, Steve had been content with the smile Phil had given him, but then the same horrible thoughts crept into his head as always. The memory of the noises Phil had made last weekend had surfaced to haunt him once more, and Steve had left Phil to his studies, heading outside to work.
Late Sunday night, a quiet noise once more draws Steve's attention, and he pauses in his trip to the kitchen outside Phil's bedroom door. He has the sinking feeling that he knows what that noise was, that it's Phil masturbating again. He should leave like he did last week, but he can't resist this again. Another soft, muffled noise draws his attention, and he creeps silently to Phil's door, to the slight crack left from where he didn't close it properly. The light isn't great, but the lamp on in Phil's room baths his naked body in soft, buttery light. A kid shouldn't look so good to a fully-grown man, but Steve's cock almost twitches at the sight of Phil laid out on his bed. The contrast of the dark blue blankets, and Phil's skin is captivating, the way his hands are running over his chest has Steve's swallowing thickly. Phil's fingers trail down his stomach to brush through the hair at his groin, tugging on it lightly, before they wrap around his cock. A soft, stifled moan is bitten back, and Phil's hips jerk slightly off the bed. He should leave again, Steve knows he should leave once more, but he's been fixated on the thought of this for a week. He wants to see, he almost feels like he needs to see how Phil does this, how he brings himself pleasure. It's fumblingly slow, as though he's still learning himself, his fingers exploring his body without any real pattern, a stroke here, a pinch there, all the while the hand around his cock moves at a leisurely pace, the head leaking precum steadily. Watching this is so wrong on so many levels, from the fact that the act itself is so private, to the Phil being a child, and Steve's charge, but the sight isn't one he can tear himself away from. When Phil's long fingers are lapped at, and covered in saliva, Steve can feel a spark of confused intrigue. He thinks he knows where those fingers are going, he thinks he knows what Phil's intending to do, but it still sends a rush of horrified pleasure through Steve when it happens. Phil's legs bend, his feet planted, thighs splayed, and those slick fingers move down. The crack in the door doesn't let Steve see much, the darkness, and the angles hide so much from him, but he can hear the moment Phil breaches himself, the way his breath hitches and speeds up. His back arches, and his hand on his cock stills, his chest raising and falling rapidly.
"Fuck." The word is quietly panted, heavy with pleasure. "Fuck..." Phil draws this one out, his hand slowly starting to stroke his cock once more, speeding up, clearly finally looking to finish this, and go back to sleep. His arm moves quickly, his breathing is heavy and rushed, panting, almost sobbing for air. Steve stares, riveted to the spot, entranced by the sight of Phil pleasuring himself. Steve's never watched another man, boy he needs to remind himself he's watching a boy, pleasuring themselves. He should turn away, he should leave, this is so wrong, he thinks as his eyes close firmly, but the sounds Phil makes, those soft gasps draw him back in. He can't leave, he can't not watch this, can't not see Phil like this. Wrong it might be, but he needs to see it, he can't resist. Phil looks like he's close, his hips bucking up into the hand stroking his cock, rocking back down against the fingers inside of him. Wrong, but so very beautiful, wrong, but so very right. "Ah, fuck... Steve!" His name on Phil's breath as he comes makes Steve's own catch, his cock, hard as it is, twitches at the almost pained moan of his name that falls from Phil lips. Behind him, he hears Hershey huffing, and her claws clacking on the kitchen floor, then the sound of her lapping water from her bowl as Phil's lapping his cum from his fingers, a slight grimace flitting over his face. He groans as he sits up, and Steve isn't sure what to do. He should leave, Phil's going to get out of his room, and head to the bathroom to get cleaned up soon, but there's nowhere for Steve to go really. If he goes to the kitchen Phil will spot him, if he tries for the stairs, Phil'll see him too. He's stuck, but the kitchen seems like the lesser of two evils.
He pats Hershey's head when she looks at him, her head to one side. He can almost hear her judging him, and he doesn't think he needs her joining in on that, he's judging himself more than enough. He should have left Phil alone like he did last time. He shouldn't have stayed to watch that. It wasn't for his eyes, even if he was on Phil's mind, he's still just a boy. A beautiful, broken boy who's standing staring at him, the light from the bathroom behind him makes it all but impossible to see his expression.
"Steve!" He laughs nervously, and comes closer; before he'd left his room, he'd pulled clothes on, a too big t-shirt, and some boxers. He looks so different so barely dressed, so different now that Steve's seen him naked, seen him come.
"Hey, Punkster." Steve mutters, taking a sip from the glass of water he'd gotten to give himself an excuse to be downstairs at this hour of the night. "Couldn't sleep either?" He smiles, and Phil flicks the bathroom light off, leaving the hall and the kitchen with nothing but the light of the moon.
"Yeah..." The sound of Phil's bare feet on the kitchen tiles is soft, his steps light. "You know I don't sleep all that great." He takes a glass from the cupboard, and fills it with water. "It's not like you to be up, but two weekends in a row... You okay?" Phil takes a long drink, and Steve stares at him. He doesn't look any different to normal, not really, but the way Steve sees him has changed. He can see the lines of his thin body; can see the curve of his thigh, the swell of his ass. He's not just seeing Phil, sweet, broken Phil; he's appreciating his elegant, if slightly gangly, Punkster. He's sexualising a boy. He's wrong, so very wrong. "You've been looking washed out lately..." Phil finishes his water, and comes closer, taking Steve's glass from him, setting it on the counter. "I'm worried about you, Steve." He sounds so earnestly honest, and Steve shakes his head, reaching for the glass once more.
"Don't worry bout me, I'm fine." Before Steve can take a hold of the glass, Phil wraps his arms around him, hugging him tightly. "Hey... What's this?"
"There's something bothering you." Phil's arms squeeze him, and Steve isn't sure what to do. The hug, the embrace, it's not what he should have. What Steve needs is to be away from Phil, he needs distance between them, he needs this year to be over so he can try and get back to normal, only he's tried normal, and it didn't work.
"Yeah..." Steve murmurs, his arms wrapping about Phil, holding him just as tightly.
"Wanna tell me about it?" Phil's voice is soft; his thin body so warm, and clinging to him, beneath his normal smell, is the scent of cum. He's a teenager, they're sexually charged, it's normal for Phil to masturbate, what isn't normal is for Steve to lurk in the doorway watching through a gap. It was wrong, just so very plainly wrong.
"I..." Steve can't even being to think of how to explain what's wrong with him, how sick he is, how fixated he is to Phil. How can he tell a child that he's sexualised him, and wants him, not just physically, and this is the very worst part of it, but emotionally as well? Steve wants Phil, wants to heal him, wants to be there as he becomes more and more the man he should be, will be. Phil isn't a man, not yet, he's a child, he's only sixteen, but Steve wants to watch grow into a man. He wants to be allowed to love Phil, from boy to man, and that's so wrong. Steve tries to pull away, but Phil holds him firmly. The time he's spent on the Ranch has made him stronger. He's still thin, but he's finally filling out some, there's a little lean muscle on his lanky frame.
"What is it?" He prompts, but Steve can't find the words. It's too difficult to explain the truth to him. The truth would destroy their relationship; the truth would destroy Steve, because the truth would take Phil away from him. Even if Phil has a crush, if he knew that Steve was interested, it'd terrify him. Steve's no doubts that Phil's crush is like his crush on the coach, safe because there's no way for it to be realised. That's why Phil had that crush in the first place, Steve's sure of it, and he's in that same zone. He's a safe person to fantasise about, because he's normal, he's straight, he's older, a father figure of sorts. Phil needs to be looked after, to be loved, and Steve does love him. He loves Phil in as many ways as he should, and in so many ways that he shouldn't.
"It's nothing you can help with, little one." Steve murmurs, pressing a kiss to Phil's head, feeling a slight shiver work through him. "C'mon... Back to bed with you."
"You're right. Bed's a good idea." Phil doesn't make a move to let Steve go. He seems perfectly content to stay standing in the loop of Steve's arms, holding him fast.
"Gonna have to let go if you wanna go to bed." Steve's voice is just on the wrong side of rough. The longer he holds Phil, the more he can smell sex on him, the longer he holds Phil's thin body, the clearer the image of him naked is. Steve let's Phil go quickly, trying to step away determinedly, but Phil clings, his arms tightly around Steve, not loosening his grip one bit.
"Stay with me." He sounds painfully vulnerable, painfully small, and Steve closes his eyes, his arms loosely wrapping around him one more. "I... You're not yourself, Steve. It's been weird, so weird lately. What's wrong? Tell me. Don't just say that I can't help, or I won't understand. I'm not a child."
"You are." Steve nearly snaps, and Phil snorts, finally letting Steve go. "You're sixteen, Philip. You are a child." Steve rests his hands on Phil's shoulders, staring into those impossible eyes. "You're just a kid."
"I'm not just a kid." Phil scowls, his eyes narrowed, his shoulders squaring beneath Steve's hands.
"Every child says that, Punkster." Steve laughs, and Phil's scowl deepens briefly before he sighs, and looks away, his posture drooping to the horrible round-shouldered cower of when he'd first arrived.
"You're right... No surer way to tell if someone's still a child than them declaring they aren't." He laughs, but it's without humour, bleak and dark. "Shitty things might have happened to me, shitty things that have made me mature in some ways, but I guess... I'm just a kid." Phil sighs, and turns away from Steve, walking towards his room. "Only you know I'm not, Steve. You know what's happened to me... You know." He pauses at the threshold of the kitchen door, looking at Steve. "I'm not just a kid. I'm me, and you know what I've been through." His shoulders square once more, his tone like he's issuing a challenge. Steve isn't sure what that challenge is, but there's a crackling tension in the air. "I'm not a child, not anymore... I was... But not anymore. I'm young, but I'm not a child." His tone isn't sharp, it's not wheedling, it's not the tone of a child. It's the tone of someone who's seen too much, endured too much, and just wants to rest. When Phil had first arrived at the Ranch, Steve had thought him an alley cat that was tired of fighting, and in all honesty, it seems he still is. All Phil wants is to be safe, to be protected, to rest. "So... You gonna tell me what the fuck is going on with you or not?" He folds his arms over his chest, and Steve shakes his head, wringing his hands slightly.
"I can't... I can't." There's a pleading in Steve's voice, a desperate need to make Phil realise that he's asking something impossible. Even if Steve wanted to tell him what was going on, there's no way he can. Even if Phil makes a good point, he is young if not a child, in the eyes of the law, in the eyes of anyone with morals what Steve's thinking is wrong. A brutally wounded look flashes through Phil's eyes. The sort of look that has Steve across the room, and pulling him into a hug before either of them have fully realised what's going on. "You... Always you." Steve mutters, and Phil tenses in his arms.
"I told you... It's okay to mourn her, Steve... It's okay if I remind you of her..." Phil's voice is muffled from how his face is pressed against Steve's chest. The warmth of his breath is almost too much, even through the cotton of Steve's shirt. "It's not just that, is it? There's something else, isn't there?" Phil tries to pull away, and for a few seconds Steve holds him fast, then lets him go. "Come to bed... It's late." Phil smiles slightly as steps away.
"You're right... I'm sorry. This has been weird. We'll chalk it up to insomnia" Steve laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'll be okay in the morning." He tries for another laugh, but Phil's just looking at him. "I'll... Uh... Head up to sleep now."
"Steve." The way Phil says his name has Steve frozen to the spot, staring back into those deep green eyes. "Come to bed." He repeats, and Steve suddenly realises what he means. He's not telling Steve to go to bed, he's telling him to come to bed, Phil's bed, which is beyond a bad idea.
"Punkster... I'm gonna go to my bed and sleep." Steve starts walking away, but the light press of Phil's hand on his arm stops him.
"Stay with me." There's no arguing with that soft little voice, there's no way for Steve to deny it. He'll deal with the mental fallout for this tomorrow. They can talk this over during the week, or more likely next weekend, because the rest of the week is going to be busy for both of them. Phil's got his play to rehearse, exams to start studying for, and Steve has the Ranch to deal with. The weekend is about the only time they have for talking. There's no getting out of a talk though, there's no way that he can share Phil's bed, and not discuss it, but it'll have to be later. They can talk this over some other day, because, tonight Steve'll sleep downstairs. Tonight he'll sleep in Phil's bed. Tonight he'll wrap his arms around his precious little charge, and not think about how wrong it should feel. Instead, he'll focus on how right it feels, on how perfectly content he feels with Phil in his arms.
Many thanks to the ladies and gentlemen who reviewed:
plebs, xLifeFullOfLaughterx, AshJoivillette, littleone1389, Brokenspell77, ash64, Moiself, Lucien Raven Jacobs, and Rebellecherry.
May, and finally I think I've checked all the eventual warnings into the warnings column.
Please review - it means a lot more than you realise.