Warnings: AU, Implied Child Abuse. Eventual Warnings: Slash (Stone Cold Steve Austin/CM Punk), Smut, Profanity, Age difference.
The morning comes, and Steve pulls himself from bed. His dreams had been strange; he'd seen his wife sitting under a big old tree, a jug of ice tea beside her, with a delicately beautiful smile on her face. No matter how hard Steve had tried to walk to sit by her, he'd not been able to leave the veranda he was standing on. It'd been like there was something tethering him in place, something desperately clinging to him, stopping him from going to her. Now, he's not really one for reading too much into dreams, but he thinks that it's a sign that he can't go to his wife, because there's something that needs him where he is, something that he needs to feed before sending to school. It's not modesty or misogyny that's kept Steve out of the kitchen, but the brutal fact that he is the sort of man who can't even boil water. Over the last year, he's learnt a little in the culinary arts, but for the most part cookery is a science far beyond him. He has at least mastered the art of putting bread in the toaster, and then covering it in peanut butter.
"Hershey?" The spot on the bed beside him is empty, habit makes him leave the door open for her, in case she needs to go get a drink in the night, but she's usually curled up by the pillows in the morning. Not today, her spot is vacant, and it throws Steve. He supposes she's gone to wake up their little houseguest. She was always good at knowing which of the kids would need a cold wet nose to wake them up in the morning, so he supposes that's Hershey has gone to make sure the kid doesn't sleep in on his first day of school.
Downstairs smells surprisingly good, like real, actual food and slightly burnt coffee. When Steve comes to the kitchen, he's expected maybe Jim to have come bearing gifts of food, not the kid to be awake, talking to Hershey in a low voice about how strange it'd been going to sleep with only the sound of crickets, standing at the stove cooking something that smells delicious.
"You cook?" Steve doesn't mean to surprise the kid, but he jumps and turns to Steve, looking guilty, his eyes darting nervously around the room.
"Well... Uh... You didn't strike me as much of a chef, Mr Austin, sir..." He trails off, his hands twisting in the sleeves of his too big and too long shirt.
"You're not wrong about that, son." Steve grins, and walks further into the kitchen, pouring two cups of coffee out. "How'd you take it?" The kid stares at him for a few seconds before turning back to the pancakes he's cooking.
"Black." There's a strangely tense but surprisingly comfortable silence between them, the only sounds are Hershey's soft panting and the noise of food cooking. "I don't know where her food is..." The kid says eventually, carrying a plate of pancakes over to Steve. Hershey's eyeing them hungrily, and Steve can tell that he's going to end up feeding her some of them. "So I made her one... Is that okay?" Steve laughs and nods, at least this way he doesn't have to part with his own food.
"Course, I'm sure the wonder dog'll appreciate it." Phil nods, and starts cutting the last pancake into pieces, dropping it into Hershey's bowl. "You take syrup or butter?" Steve stands, going to fetch both, sitting back down when the kid does. He's going to need to remember to stop thinking of him as the kid. Phil has a name, and Steve needs to remember to use it. Phil starts pushing his food around the plate, clearly waiting for Steve to give his opinion on his cooking. The pancakes look good, and by the way Hershey has already devoured her's, they should taste pretty good too. The first bite confirms that Miss Hershey has good taste. They're light and fluffy; the kid has some skill when it comes to the science of cooking, even if his elective choices would indicate he's not much of a scientist.
"Are..." The kid starts, but quickly stops talking, and starts eating, his eyes downturned, his whole posture tense. This timid, nervous stuff isn't Steve's speciality, he longs for his wife to be there to break the awkward silence with easy chatter. Even if it was just her talking, she'd never let a heavy fog of off-putting silence last too long.
"So, you cook anything else or are we eating pancakes for every meal?" Steve thinks he sounds too forced, but he can't take the air of misery that's built up between them anymore, something to break this silence is better than nothing.
"They're okay?" The kid sounds so very uncertain, and Steve laughs, taking a sip of the coffee. "That's burnt... I can't not burn it." Phil looks slightly contrite and Steve laughs again.
"Well, I make a mean cuppa coffee. How's about I pour this away and make a good pot?" Steve takes the two cups and dumps the contents down the drain, before collecting the pot and starting a new batch of coffee. He retakes his seat and returns to eating, half watching the kid, half-watching Hershey as she inches closer, a little puddle of drool under her. "To answer the question, they're damn good, son. And I repeat, do you cook anything else?" Phil looks up; his eyes are far too big for his slender face. He looks like one of those Asian cartoons where the characters faces are nothing but eyes. In the picture from the manila folder they'd been hard to take, but in person they're much worse. There's entirely too much of a stray kitten about this kid, he looks so helpless and vulnerable. Steve can only hope that he gets over this nervousness soon, cause its making Steve nervous too.
"Some easy stuff... I'm not... I mean, I can cook easy stuff." He mutters, and Steve's beginning to think whoever told Jim that this kid has a big mouth was lying, because he seems like he's afraid of his own shadow, unless this is all an act, or it's still nerves or something else entirely.
"Easy is about twenty times better than me. We'll head to the store after school, get some groceries." Steve goes to the coffee pot and comes back with two cups, setting one down in front of Phil.
"Did..." Phil sighs and sips at his coffee, scratching behind Hershey's ear when she wanders over to him and rests her head on his thigh. "Your wife before she died... Did she do all the cooking?"
"Now, how'd you know my wife was dead? Did Jim tell you?" Steve has to fight down anger, he doesn't want to talk about her, not yet, and not with some kid he's only just met.
"No, sir... It's just..." Phil looks up at him, still bleeding nervousness. It's easy to let go of anger in the face of those too big eyes, it's easy to not want to make the kid even more uncomfortable. "None of the pots had been used in a while, the flour was old, and you're not a cook, Mr Austin." He smiles slightly, and Steve nods vaguely, he's not a cook in the least. "You still wear your wedding band so divorce wasn't likely... And no offence, but this is the sort of place where divorce is still a big deal, so it's even less likely. That all makes her dying the most logical thing to have happened." The kid finishes, his voice growing slightly stronger the longer he talks, by the end of his little deduction, he sounds almost confident, and Steve has to admit he's impressed. Phil is both observant and smart.
"Ha, you're a smart little thing, aren't you?" Steve laughs, and the kid looks desperately uncomfortable, fidgeting in his chair.
"Not really." Phil ducks his head, sipping at his coffee, but there's a tiny smile on his lips. He looks a little pleased with himself, and Steve can't really say he blames him. If he could work things out like that, he'd be a little smug about it too.
"No! You, sir, are a clever thing, Mr Brooks." Steve grins at him, but something stricken crosses Phil's face, and he looks horrifically uncomfortable.
"Don't call me that." He says quietly, busying himself with drinking his coffee again.
"Well, I'll stop call you Mr Brooks, when you start calling me Steve. Mr Austin is what officers of the law and the taxman call me." Steve thinks the smile on his face is reassuring, he hopes it's reassuring because Phil looks desperately like he needs reassurance right then.
"I... Okay, I'll try." Phil downs his coffee, and starts gathering the dirty dishes, taking them to the sink, leaving to get ready for school when Steve waves him off to do just that.
"So you ready to go? The bus stops at the end of the track, but I need to go into town, so I can give you a lift up to the road." The way the kid's dressed is going to stand out, he looks like a city kid, but Steve doesn't think it'll matter too much, the other kids in the town all seem to want to dress like city kids too. Gone are the days of denim cut-offs, hand-me-downs, and plaid shirts that Steve vaguely remembers from his time in high school. Phil nods, but doesn't seem inclined to say anything. "I'll pick you up after, okay?" Another nod, and Steve chokes back a sigh, patience is going to be imperative with this kid. It's been less than a day since he left Chicago and came here; it's understandable that he's still scared. If he's still this way in a month, Steve'll be worried, but for now it's okay. "Well, have a good day." A third nod and the kid gets out of the car, and onto the bus. Steve watches it drive away, for a few seconds worried that this is going to be a horrible experience for the kid, but there's nothing he can do about it. What will happen will happen, and no amount of worrying will change the outcome, so he goes to pick up the supplies for fixing the fences he needs from the hardware store, resolutely not thinking about Phil and his too big, too scared eyes.
After a day spent telling himself to not worry, but doing it anyway, Steve sits and waits for Phil with the other parents there to pick up kids. He's been fielding questions from soccer moms the whole time he's been waiting. They seem at once happy and surprised to see him back at the school, even more surprised that there's only one child down at the ranch. Eventually, Phil comes shuffling along, a small group of artsy looking girls around him, clearly slightly enamoured with him, not noticing how desperately uncomfortable he looks.
"Mr Austin." He sounds relieved when he walks up, and the soccer moms chuckle, surprised, once more, that Steve's letting him away with being so formal.
"Mr Brooks, good day?" Steve laughs, and nods to the moms, getting in the truck.
"It was... Okay." Phil winces at Mr Brooks, but smiles awkwardly, and ties his seatbelt. "The people here ,the other students, they're all nice." He shrugs, giving a vague wave to the girls who'd walked him to Steve's truck. There's more than one swooning, giggling female in the group, and Steve can't help but think that once Phil stops being nervous, he's going to be in a bit of a situation there.
"Pushy though?" Steve glances at him, notices he looks slightly less uncomfortable now he's away from the gaggle of girls, perhaps he'd already noticed the potential rivalries for his attention in that little group of girls.
"Incessantly nice." He says quietly, and seems to curl into himself slightly. "It's... Different to Chicago." His voice is quiet and soft, like he's not sure if it's a good or bad different, and really, Steve can't help him either way there. It was always going to be different; this small Texan town is obviously nothing like Chicago, it's up to Phil if that's a good or bad thing though.
"Well, we're good folks for the most part down here." Steve grins over at him, Phil nods slightly, like he'd already assumed that and frowns.
"Isn't Hershey here?" He asks, seemingly disappointed, and Steve has to hide a smile. He'd known how much Phil was taken with the dog even last night, it's not surprising the first thing he'd ask about is her.
"She don't much like the truck, hiding out in the back." Phil twists at Steve's words, talking to the laying down and looking miserable Hershey. "I'm convinced she remembers the first time she was in this truck." Steve glances at Phil's back in the rear view mirror.
"Oh? What happened?" He doesn't turn around; still fussing over the dog, the sound of her wagging tail thumping off the seat is surprisingly loud.
"We had to take her to the vet... She doesn't like the vet, and after that she went for her first bath." Hershey whimpers at Steve's words, and Phil laughs at her.
"That's a lot of trauma for a puppy to take in one day, poor Hershey." Phil settles back down in his seat, a little smile on his face. "She's a good dog... Clever." He says quietly and Steve nods.
"Hershey the wonder dog." He confirms. "So, you been thinking bout what you can cook, cause I hate to tell you, son, it's your job from now on. I've got nothing but toast in the old mental cookbook." Phil laughs at him, and Steve grins, more than a little proud of making his sullen little charge laugh.
The rest of the week passes in a similar fashion, though Steve lets the school bus ferry Phil to and from school back to the ranch. He spends most of his time hiding out, wandering around the ranch, and Steve leaves him to it, lets him explore his new surroundings, and get used to where he's staying for the next year. He needs to feel comfortable, and he's not going to unless he knows his new home.
The first weekend, Steve knows that they're going to have to do something, they need to spend some time in each other's company beyond meal times. So at breakfast on Saturday morning, he decides to try and broach the subject. It's another one of those moments when he sorely misses his wife's presence. She'd have taken one look at Phil and been able to tell what would be something he'd enjoy. She'd always been good with guessing what the kids would like, always able to tell which ones would enjoy working with the animals or out in the yard, or the fields, or the house even. Steve has no idea, and the ranch is a shade of its former self, the chickens are still there, but the fields are barren, it's too much work for one man to look after cattle and maintain a reasonable crop. The other problem is it's raining heavily, Fall showers aren't usually a big deal, but today it's like God has decided to try and pour half a year's worth of rain down at once.
"You've got a duck pond but no ducks." Phil says quietly, looking up briefly from the scrambled eggs he'd made for breakfast, and Steve nods, slightly sore about the downpour. Its weather for ducks if nothing else. There'd been quite a brace of ducks when his wife had died, but he'd let them go back with the last girl who'd been in charge of them. The animals the kids had looked after were either sold or given away when Steve had asked them to leave, he'd know he wouldn't have time for them all, so had let them go somewhere where someone would be able to do right by them.
"They were kind of a project for the kids who used to stay here." Steve sips at his coffee, ignoring his own plate of food in favour of watching Phil. He has an odd closed little expression on his face, his eyes still down cast.
"You got rid of them with the kids?" Phil sees far more interested in pushing his food around the plate than eating it, and Steve fights the urge to sigh. He'd hoped they'd have made a little more progress by now, but the kid still looks desperately awkward, desperately out of place in the ranch.
"One of the old kids took them, they're in Ohio now." Steve finishes eating, and stands. "I got a picture in one of these here letters." He wanders over to the pile of letters on the counter, and grabs them, coming back over to the table, noticing but ignoring that Hershey's busy swallowing the food that had been left on Phil's plate. If the kid isn't hungry, there's no point in forcing him to eat, he's nearly sixteen, almost old enough to start making decisions for himself, there's no point in babying him. "Here." Steve tosses half the pile over to Phil. "Postmark'll-"
"Be Ohio?" Phil smiles at him, and Steve nods, a grin on his face.
"Smartass." He mutters, rifling through his half of the letters.
"These are all from kids who've stayed here?" Phil asks after a while. He's sorted each letter by which state it was sent from, Steve following his lead once he'd realised what the piles were.
"Yup, they are... I should probably write back, but I don't know what to say to most of them." Steve finishes his coffee and goes to get a refill. "There ain't much you can say when all they're saying is hey Steve if you need a place to stay, I've got a couch, and I'm sorry she's gone." Steve sighs, his hand tightening around the mug he's holding. It hurts talking about her; even now, even so long after she's gone, and Phil never met her doesn't know just how sorry every one of those kids are.
"Thank you is alls you can really say, I guess." Phil's voice is far closer than Steve had been expecting, and he pours more coffee into Phil's cup. Those huge green eyes of his stare up at Steve, and very suddenly Steve feels horribly old and desperately lonely. This kid has no idea what it like to lose the one person you love more than any other. He's no idea of the pain and misery Steve has been living with for over a year now, but those eyes have a pain of their own, they know far too much about being hurt and afraid. They've got a lot in common in some respects, both alone, both hurt, both fond of coffee.
"Well, that's true I guess." Steve nods, and goes to sit back down, picking up the few letters from Ohio, trying to find the one with the picture of his ducks. He can hear Phil rustling around behind him, doing something with cupboards and crockery. He comes back and sets a plate covered in homemade cookies down.
"I couldn't sleep last night..." He mutters, taking one of the cookies and nibbling on it. "I didn't wake you?" He says quietly and Steve stares at the little plate, and then up at Phil.
"Didn't hear a peep." Steve takes a cookie and bites into it, utterly unsurprised that it's delicious; Phil's a good little cook. "Here you go, see there were a few of them back in the day." Steve hands the photo over to Phil, and he smiles at it. It's a shot of the pond a few summers back, a mama duck and sting of ducklings all swimming along behind her, a very cute little picture.
"Ha, cute." Phil smiles slightly and finishes his cookie. "Hershey came down to see what I was up to... I figured she'd have woken you up too." He mutters, taking another of his cookies. Steve didn't even notice the dog had left the bed in the night. He's getting more used to waking up without her there. Hershey seems to enjoy her mornings with Phil, if nothing else she's certainly spoiled by him, her food bag is going down slower than normal, she's definitely sneak more people food than she should.
"Did you get any sleep? You're looking white, kid." Now that Steve really looks at him, Phil does look pale, dark smudges under his slightly red eyes.
"A little... It's quiet here." He mutters, and Steve laughs, he's so used to the quiet that the idea it could keep someone awake amuses him. The noise of the city would drive Steve mad, but he supposes it's all a matter of what you're used to, his wife could always sleep though, it was one of the many things she excelled in.
"That it is... How bout I stick a radio in your room, you can leave it on for some noise." It's an easy solution and Steve sure there's an old wind up radio somewhere in the basement, finding it will be the only tricky part of the plan, but it'll use up the day and keep them out of the rain.
"It's nothing really." Phil finishes his cookie, sipping at his coffee again. "I don't sleep all that much anyways."
"It's not good for a soul to go too long without sleeping." Steve takes another cookie. They're damn good, and he really needs to see if the kid can be persuaded to try some of the recipes his wife used to make, he's missed her brownies far more than he'd like to admit. "You done? You can come help me face the basement, I'm sure there's an old radio down there."
They'd spent the day in the basement, clearing through old junk, finding books of very old photos from when Steve was younger and his hair was a flowing, golden mane. Phil had gotten a good laugh at his expense, and in all honesty, it was good to hear the kid laugh, made him seem more like he belonged, somewhat at least. The old photos of Steve's wife had him choking back more tears, and trying to avoid Phil's eye, but the kid is smart, and every time there'd been a picture Steve had lingered over a little too long he'd gone back to moving boxes in search of the radio. It had taken all day, but eventually they'd found it, and Steve had had to explain how it worked, getting a dubiously raised eyebrow from Phil, but it seemed like he'd liked it well enough, and if nothing else, it brought something else to the plain little room he'd chosen, made it look more lived in that the beat up rucksack tossed in one corner.
"You wanna watch a game?" Dinner had been a surprisingly easy affair, filling and quickly made. Steve's beginning to think good Ol' Jim had sent Phil to him solely because the kid could cook. The clean up they'd shared, and it feels like Steve's made some progress with Phil today, a few baby steps taken towards getting him to open up. He's still nervous, but he's laughing more. Granted it's usually at Steve's expense, but something is better than nothing, at least that's what Steve keeps telling himself.
"Sure?" He sits on the couch, looking rigidly uncomfortable, sat like he was at a fussy aunt's place, all straight back, feet on the floor. Hershey hops up beside him, and curls up, her head on his thigh. "She's allowed on the couch?" He looks nervous, and Steve nods.
"Of course, it's her home as much as it is ours." Steve hopes Phil will take the hint in that statement, will hear the implication that, for now at least, this is his home. He doesn't say anything, but does seem to relax some, petting Hershey absently. Steve flicks through the channels till he comes to some local league game on Public Access, and grins over at Phil. "You're a Cubs fan, right?" Phil nods, and Steve laughs. "Well, I guess you can do some talent scouting, lord knows these guys are probably good enough for Wrigley."
"The prophesy will be fulfilled, just you wait till twenty-fifteen." Phil scowls over at him, and Steve can't resist the urge to laugh, there's a deeply serious expression on the kid's face.
"I don't place too much faith in the accuracy of Michael J Fox movies." The kid snorts, and Steve laughs. It seems that they both only laugh at each other's expense.
"We'll see. Come twenty-fifteen, you'll be sorry for that lack of faith." Phil grins, turning to Hershey, ruffling her ears. "Isn't that right, Hersh? He'll regret doubting Marty McFly." Hershey yips excitedly, and Steve has never had her pegged as a Cubs fan till now.
Sunday they spend finishing up clearing the basement out. Steve isn't sure why, but he'd decided that organising the junk and clearing enough space to wander around down there seemed like a good idea. It gave them something to do whilst it rained for the second day straight.
The second week, nothing much changes, Phil makes breakfast and dinner, he does his homework, and spends most of his time alone or with Hershey. It's like sharing a house with a strange little ghost that only appears around meal times. Steve can't help but worry over how to bond with him. He spends the majority of his time on the ranch puzzling how to get Phil at least more involved in the running of the place. It'd be good for him if nothing else, all that fresh air and sunshine. He's still too skinny, but based on the width of his shoulders, when his weight catches up to his height, he'll be a sturdy kid, he'll be good to have around for a little manual labour. The only problem is inviting him out to help, Steve's wife had been the organiser, she'd been the one who divvied up chores and duties, Steve had just been her enforcer. So the entire second week they coexist, sharing polite mealtime conversation and little else.
"I just don't know what to do with him, Jim." Steve sighs into the phone. Phil and Hershey are out back. Hershey hunting bugs, her tail wagging, and Phil sketching on the big pad of paper he'd dragged back from school on Monday. Breakfast had been quiet, Phil utterly uncertain of what he wanted to do, and had cited that he'd homework to get on with. Steve had offered to help, but had been assured it was alright, Phil was certain he could manage.
"He's not talking to you at all?" Jim sounds worried, like he'd been expecting more progress by now, but really so had Steve in all honesty. If she were still alive, Phil wouldn't be this closed off, scared little thing anymore. He'd be talking to her at least.
"A little, but it's like pulling teeth." Steve sighs and rubs a hand over his head. Hershey's gotten bored of bug hunting, demanding attention from the kid, giving him big slobbery kisses, getting surprised happy laughter from him. He's a got a good smile, one he should wear more often.
"Well, he's only been there a few weeks... Give him some time?" Jim sounds harried, and Steve knows he should let his friend go, but he's not sure he wants to try another painfully awkward conversation with Phil. "I'll come by at the end of the month. Look, Steve, if this really isn't working, I can-"
"No you can't." Steve snaps. He knows what Jim was going to offer to do, and there's no way he's sending this poor kid off somewhere else. Getting him to open up will take time, it'll take patience, it won't be easy, but Steve's not pawning him off on someone else, the kid deserves better than that. "He's staying with me... I'll let you get on now, Jim."
"Well alright, but the offer's there if you need it." Steve hangs up, and takes a deep breath, intending to brave joining Phil and Hershey in the yard.
"So... What you drawing?" Steve sits down by Phil, not trying to glance at the pad tossed on the grass, whilst the kid mock wrestled Hershey.
"I don't know." The smile he's wearing from trying to avoid Hershey's licks hasn't moved, and really it does suit his face so much more than the awkward, nervous expression he's given to wearing.
"You don't know?" Steve laughs, and catches Hershey's tail, getting a mournful big brown-eyed stare from her, Phil taking advantage of her distraction to squirm out from under her.
"It's supposed to be a representation of our dreams but... I don't know what to draw." He sighs, tossing the pad to Steve, and letting Hershey settle herself half on top of him. "I keep starting and changing my mind." The page is covered in erased lines, random doodles around the edges, faces Steve doesn't know, random buildings, little cartoons, Phil's got some talent.
"They didn't start you off simple, huh?" Steve shakes his head; he's no idea what he'd draw either. He's no idea what his dreams are anymore. Once upon a time, it was two beautiful kids to go with his beautiful wife, then it was a house full of children, and he lived that dream for so long, but now, he's got no idea at all. Phil snorts, getting another lick form Hershey.
"Nope... I'm half-inclined to draw some dude sleeping in bed with an empty dream bubble coming out of his head." Phil's wearing an absent little scowl as he scratches behind Hershey's ear.
"I think I'd be called in to talk to your guidance counsellor if you did that." Steve laughs, and Phil turns to him with a slight grin.
"You'd cover for me, though?" He sounds hopeful, sounds like a little of his walls have been chipped away with this conversation, and Steve nods, just as hopeful that they have.
"God damn right I would! I'd tell them some bullshit like everyone's dreams are entirely subjective, so to try and capture them on paper is a futile endeavour. The best way to do it is to see what your own dreams are or something like that." The kid looks deeply impressed and Steve smirks at him. "What? You think I was nothing but a dumb redneck?" The kid looks away guiltily, and Steve laughs again. "I went to college. I got a degree. I just like playing in the mud more." Phil nods, and picks up the pad again, starting to draw something, a glance over reveals it to be Hershey hunting bugs. "Fuck it, draw your sleeping guy."
"Mr Austin?" He sounds horribly confused, and Steve smirks at him.
"Mr Brooks, draw your sleeping man, if the school want to say something bout it, I'll handle it. Ninety percent of the kids in the World don't know what they want. It's a fucking dumb thing to ask you to draw."
"Well, if I get in trouble I'm blaming you." Phil mutters turning to a new page in the pad. "Hold still." He says, clearly intending to make Steve the sleeping man in his picture. It's something Steve's not entirely comfortable with, but at least Phil's talking to him, opening up a tiny bit, so he'll endure being sketched in silence for a while at least.
"So, how long you been drawing?" Steve asks eventually, Phil shrugs, not really paying attention, focused instead on his work.
"Long as I can remember." He offers absently, glancing up, before turning back to the page. "Why?"
"No reason... Just making conversation. You like it?" Steve tries to sneak a peek at what Phil's drawn, but he moves round slightly, hiding the page.
"I liked it a lot better before people started telling me what and how I should do it." He glances up again, a hint of fire in his eyes.
"Typical kid, no idea what you want, but every idea what you don't." Steve laughs, and Phil turns to Hershey with a smirk.
"Well, Miss Hershey, it seems your daddy doesn't want to eat tonight. I mean, if he did, he'd know better than to piss off the person who does the cooking, isn't that right?" Hershey wanders over to him, sitting down by him with a huff, and Steve can't help but laugh.
"Will an apology suffice to endear myself to your good graces once more, Mr Brooks?" Phil looks up at him, and scowls.
"Don't call me that... Please." There's more than a hint of pleading in his voice, more than a hint of desperation. Steve considers his options at that statement. He could try to push for an answer on why Phil doesn't want to be Mr Brooks so badly, or he could concede, or he could ask what the kid would prefer to be called.
"What should I call you then?" It seems like the easiest choice, putting the ball firmly in Phil's court, letting him have a sliver of control in the situation.
"Phil's fine." He mutters not looking up, his eyes focussed on the page. "Did you write back to those letters?" He asks after a while, his hand moving over the page carefully. Steve had drifted off into an odd daydream whilst the kid had been sitting drawing him, trying to think about what the hell they could do tomorrow.
"No... It's a hell of a lot of hassle just to write thank you a thousand times." Steve mutters, and Phil sucks air in through his teeth.
"They wrote you cause they were worried... It's only..." He sighs, glancing up. "I'm sure you were raised to be polite." Phil smirks, and Steve scowls at him.
"Smartass." He knows the kid's right, he needs to write back to all those letters, he just doesn't want to; it'll be like the final nail in her coffin if he does. If he acknowledges those letters with pen and paper, it'll be agreeing that she's gone, but he supposes he needs to do that, he needs to let her rest. "But you're right... I guess I know what I'm doing tomorrow." Steve sighs, and Hershey wanders over to him, sitting between him and Phil, making Phil glance up at her with a frown.
"I could help." He says moving so that the dog isn't in his way. "I mean... Lick envelopes, do addresses or something." Strangely, he sounds like he'd enjoy helping with such a dull menial task and Steve nods.
"You won't still have homework to do?" Phil's attention is back on the page, back with his drawing and he sighs.
"Probably... I think this school is trying to kill me, it's like every class has a ton of homework. You sure this is Texas and not China?" There's a grin on his face as he talks, and Steve's glad, he really does look much better with a smile on his face.
Nothing much of anything interesting happens over the rest weekend, Steve spends it writing letters, dozens of letters, and Phil does homework, he wasn't kidding when he said he had a lot, or writes out the envelopes. They don't really talk, and Steve has to admit he's slightly annoyed by that. He had wanted Phil to be more willing to open up to him, but spending time with the kid does seem to be chipping away at his shell, so Steve will be patient, there's little else he can be in all honesty. It's all a matter of waiting Phil's fear and uncertainty out. It's beginning to feel like it might take forever for that to happen though.
The third week begins and progresses much like the second, only Steve gets a call from the school about Phil's picture. Steve gives them the answer, or at least something close to it, that he gave Phil. The blame he takes onto himself and the school concedes easily enough. He asks how Phil's doing. He's quiet, but clever, uncertain of his place in the new school dynamic, but trying to fit in with the other kids who are seen as outcasts, is what he's told. It doesn't really surprised Steve that Phil's not joined the football team or something like that. He's not the type for those sort of things, the nerds and geeks, those are Phil's people and he's grateful that he's found them.
"I got a call from the school." When Steve speaks, Phil glances up nervously, his already huge eyes getting bigger.
"Oh?" He pushes at his food and Steve nods.
"I gave them the shtick, they fell for it too." He laughs, and Phil smiles at him, looking relieved.
"Good... Maybe you can think up some more shtick to feed this art teacher... She's the worst." He takes a bite of his food, and frowns. "It's like she has this weird idea that anyone who can draw should be this existential weirdo." Phil sighs, and Steve waits for him to keep going. He seems to be considering his words very carefully. "It's like she uses art as a form of therapy, and she expects everyone else to as well. I just like drawing..." He shakes his head, and laughs.
"You get on with the other teachers?" Steve tries to keep him talking, once Phil starts, sometimes he'll keep going, but more often than not, he'll clam up once he thinks he's said too much, like there's some kind of timer in his head for how long he's allowed to speak.
"They're interesting." He shrugs, finishing his food.
"Interesting?" Steve raises an eyebrow and wanders over to the fridge, pulling a pie he'd picked up at the store out. "I got dessert to celebrate getting one over on the school." He cuts Phil a slice, and sets it down in front of him. Phil takes a bite of the pie, and seems to be considering Steve question.
"They're very different to my old teachers... Not better, not worse, just different. It's all different." He sounds slightly miserable, and Steve isn't sure how to cheer him up.
"Well, most everything is different to everything else." Steve shrugs, and Phil nods, a smile on his face.
"Very true, Steve." He says Steve's name tentatively, like he's expecting a reprimand, but all Steve does is nod at him, and the little smile the spreads over Phil's lips feels more like a victory than anything else that's happened today.
At the start of the fourth week of September, Steve tells Phil that Jim's coming over on Sunday. Phil seems to be out of sorts after being told that, the little steps they'd made over the last three weeks erased, Mr Austin coming back as though they'd never progressed to Steve. He can't work out why Phil's so on edge about this, until he realises that he expects this to be some kind of test that he's going to fail. Over the rest of the week, Steve tries to get Phil to talk to him, tries to engage him in conversation about anything, but he mostly gets clipped answers or vague nods. The first time Phil seems to come out of his funk is on Saturday, when he tracks Steve down as he's working on some fences in a field.
"Mr Austin?" He comes closer and Steve has to hold the urge to correct him with Steve in check.
"What is, son?" He's not got the heart to use Mr Brooks again, Phil does seem to hate it, and if he wants this timid kid to open up to him, he needs to get in his good graces.
"I've no idea what Mr Ross eats." He leans against a post in the fence, watching Steve work, and try to puzzle out what the hell good Ol' Jim likes. "You need some help?" He asks eventually.
"Sure, grab some gloves and come hold this." Steve grins at the kid, holding a length of barbwire out to him. Phil pulls on a thick pair of gloves from the four-wheeler on, and grabs the wire.
"I figured he's a steak eater, but I dunno. There's no steak in the fridge." Steve nods at Phil, hammering a u-pin into the post to secure the wire in place.
"Well... I guess we should go to the store. We need groceries." Steve glances over at Phil, watching him nod, and move onto the next strand of wire that needs to be secured, holding it in place whilst Steve fixes it in its spot. "We'll finish up here, and then get off, kay?" Phil nods, and takes up the third strand of wire.
"You know..." He says quietly, not really looking at anything in particular. "I get bored up in the house all the time... Can I, I mean, would you mind if I came and helped out?" He sounds miserably tentative, and Steve chuckles.
"Course, plenty of work for you to do. Don't you worry bout being bored again." Steve laughs, and Phil nods, looking grateful.
"Thanks, Steve." He says quietly, and Steve doesn't really think there's anything to say to that. It's one of those little tiny baby steps in the right direction, that pushing Phil too far will make him take back. He misses his wife more than ever when it comes to Phil, she's have him eating out of her hand by now, not still trying to coax him into the house as it were.
The trip to the store was surprisingly entertaining, the Saturday queues annoying Phil as much as they did Steve, and by the time they'd escaped, they'd both agreed to never again go to the store on a Saturday. They'd gotten takeout, and ate whilst watching another ball game, Phil curled up on the couch with Hershey, Steve on his easy chair. It was perhaps the easiest, nicest evening they've ever spent together, and when Steve goes to bed that night, he feels accomplished.
Sunday sees Phil up early, getting started on whatever it is he'd decided to make Jim for dinner. He'd come down and helped with the fencing some more, a pleasantly light conversation about baseball had filled the air between them, but as the day wore on Phil became more and more closed off. By the time, dinner and Jim came around he'd been utterly silent for hours, and barely looked at anything or anyone that wasn't Hershey.
"I'll walk you out." Steve nods over to Jim, and Phil gathers the dishes, taking them to the sink and starting to wash them.
"Well, I see what you meant... He's a quiet thing, isn't he?" Jim sighs, and hands Steve another manila folder. "This is all I've got on him, there's not much more than the first one, and this is with as much question asking as I could. I'll stop by next month, I guess." Jim smiles awkwardly, and Steve takes the folder.
"He's getting chattier... It's slow going, but we'll get there." Steve doesn't voice his concerns that he's never going to get there with Phil, that there will always be something to chase him back into being afraid. He waves Jim off, and comes back into the house, taking the manila folder to his bedroom and tossing it on the bed. He's not entirely comfortable with it lying around somewhere Phil might see it. It feels like prying into Phil's private affairs, and he feels guilty about it.
"Will Mr Ross be back next month too?" Phil asks when Steve comes back to the kitchen, the dishes mostly washed, the pile waiting to be dried getting precariously high.
"He will." Steve grabs the dishcloth and starts drying. Phil nods; he seems as subdued as he did throughout dinner, his mind clearly elsewhere. "What's up, kid?" It's almost pointless to ask, Phil won't answer the question, he never seems willing to answer that question.
"Nothing." He says quietly, wiping down the counter beside the sink. "No... I... He had a folder with him." Phil pulls an odd face, and turns to look at Steve. "Like the one they had on me..." He sighs, squaring his shoulders. "If you want to know something, you could ask." Steve stares at him, stares at the misery on his face, and he catches Phil's shoulders, pulling him into an awkward hug that he fights out of quickly. He plasters himself against the island, his eyes wide and scared.
"Phil..." Steve stares at him, and he shakes his head. "Shh, Phil, it's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you." Steve's not entirely sure what's wrong, but he can take a guess, and the thought makes his blood boil. Someone in Illinois has hurt this kid, has terrified him, and Steve wants to find this person and gut them.
"I... I know, it's fine... Good night." Phil all but runs from the room, and Steve sighs, glancing at Hershey for a few seconds before the dog leaves, following Phil. He's glad she's going to comfort him, because Steve's not in the mind set for it. There's the urge to hit something, the urge to phone Jim in a rage and demand more answers, but there's nothing to be gained from either action. There's nothing this futile rage can do for either him or Phil.
He's scared, my rattlesnake. He's so very afraid, so very hurt, and you have to be patient with him.
He can hear her so clearly, can almost feel her warmth against his back, can almost smell her perfume in the air.
Wait him out, encourage him to take baby steps. Tomorrow's another day, my rattlesnake, we'll start again then. He'll be okay you'll see.
Tomorrow is another day, and it's damn near another month. Steve hopes that October goes better than September, hopes the words he can imagine his wife saying are right, because this a struggle.
Many thanks to the ladies and gentlemen who reviewed:
plebs, Shiki94, Brokenspell77, Rebellecherry, AshJoivillette, littleone1389 and WWEfangirl31
Your reviews have all been very encouraging - I apologise for the delay on this chapter and hope it was somewhat worth the wait. Life is being less of a bitch to me this week, which is nice cause the last two weeks... Aiya...:'(
Still kind of nervous with this one, so if there's anything incredibly squiffy PM me and lemme know, okay? :)
Needless to say... I'm more than interested in your thoughts, so please do review!