Warnings: AU, Implied Child Abusem Mild Profanity. Eventual Warnings: Slash (Stone Cold Steve Austin/CM Punk), Smut, Age difference.
"Do you even get Trick or Treaters out here?" Is the first thing Phil says to Steve on the morning of the day after his birthday. He'd looks kind of embarrassed, and Steve shakes his head, starting the first batch of coffee for the day.
"Nope. You wanna Trick or Treat you're gonna have to go into town, Punkster." Steve laughs, and Phil snorts disdainfully, muttering that he's too old for that whilst he plating up breakfast. "So you want a run to school?" That morning, Steve has appointed himself a mission. He wants to make a new addition to the household, so he's going to have to get his ass to the market as early as possible.
"Sure... You heading to town?" Phil sets breakfast down in front of Steve, and then starts eating, subtly passing little bits of bacon down the very pleased looking Hershey.
"We're gonna be able to dress her up as Santa if you keep feeding her." Steve laughs and Phil glances up, looking slightly guilty.
"I'll take her running." He sounds contrite, and Steve shakes his head. The dog looks fine, but once Phil's gone, in less than a year, only eight more months now, she's going to miss him, and his cooking. Though, Steve might miss the cooking a little more, a return to nothing but toast in the mornings is going to be hard to accept.
"She runs plenty, don't worry about it." Steve grins, and goes to fetch the coffee, bringing back a couple of cookies to go with it. They're the newest batch, pumpkin spice for Halloween, and Steve is going to mourn their passing, they're damn good, but Phil has stressed that they're for Halloween only.
"So, what you going to town for? The fence is all fixed, is there something else we need to be working on?" It makes Steve grin to hear Phil say we so casually, October really has been a good month for them. In the face of the tiny baby steps taken in September, it feels like they've taken a great big leap. It's good, but Steve is worried something is going to scare Phil back behind his walls again. Though even if it does, there's that crack in them, there's a way to get him to poke his head out. It's just unexpected that it's fishing.
"A surprise." Steve grins, and Phil frowns, clearly trying to work out if he thinks this is going to be a good or bad surprise. "A new addition to the ranch." Steve clarifies, and Phil definitely looks intrigued.
"I could come-"
"You're going to school, Punkster. Don't you need to find out how well you did in your art assignment?" Steve interrupts him, knowing that Phil was about to offer to ditch to come help.
"Urgh... Don't remind me." He groans, polishing off his cookie. "I need to remember to go see that lady at the art store sometime. Anything has to be better than this flake they have teaching me." He grumbles, taking the dirty dishes to the sink, and going to get ready for school.
When Steve drops Phil off, he's greeted by his fan club with lots of high-pitched giggling. Steve remembers a time when he was greeted like that with a certain fondness, but Phil looks horribly embarrassed. He gives Steve a vague wave goodbye, before being swallowed up by the jostling girls, all of them competing for his attention.
"What the fuck!" Steve has to fight a laugh when Phil's shock interrupts him from cleaning his guns that afternoon.
"You like her?" Steve sets the gun he's working on down, wandering over to where Phil is standing staring at the little pen and the animal in it. "I'm thinking of calling her Cranberry Sauce."
"There's a turkey in the yard." Phil says dryly, staring at the bird. "It looks furious... It knows we're gonna eat it, I'm sure of it." Phil glances over at Steve, something like horror on his face. "It's looking at me... It's looking at me, Steve." He sounds incredibly uncomfortable, and Steve loses the fight with his laughter. Phil glances back at Hershey, and Steve shakes his head. Hershey doesn't much like turkeys either. She had a bad experience with one when she was a teenager, she's been wary since then, so she's sitting on the veranda looking warily at the bird.
"Cranberry here is your project, Punkster. You raise her up good, and I'll give you twenty dollars a week. I want her fat for Thanksgiving." Steve had thought long and hard about this. He knows that Phil is almost undoubtedly intending to spend the money Jim gave him on presents to send back to Chicago for Christmas. He might not know Phil as well as he'd like, but the way the Cubs cap, and beat up old hoodie have become permanent parts of Phil's everyday wardrobe suggests that the people who sent them to him are important to him. They'll be getting presents, and the only money Phil has is that hundred. Steve gets the feeling that just giving Phil money wouldn't sit right with the kid, so having him earn it is the only option. Turkey rearing is a tricky task, so it will be hard-earned cash, but Steve's sure Phil's up to the challenge.
"You don't need to pay me, Steve." Phil mutters softly, staring the turkey in the eye. "I might be a corpse by the end of the week, anyways." He laughs, and almost jumps when the turkey gobbles at him.
"You'll be fine, see she likes you." Steve claps Phil's shoulder lightly, pretending not to notice the wince his touch inspires.
"It's laughing at me." The turkey gobbles again, and Phil sighs, then straightens up, staring the turkey down. "We'll see who's laughing when I'm shoving stuffing down your throat, Cranberry." He smirks, looking like he's decided that he can handle anything the adolescent fowl can throw his way. "I've never cooked turkey before... I'm gonna need to get a recipe. I've never fed a turkey before, what do they eat? If I feed it different things will it taste better? Hmm... Is there a book about this in the house? Steve? Steve? You listening? Answer one of the questions." Phil is on the veranda by the time his ramble finishes, sounding like he's never left Chicago, and Steve is fighting another laugh. The rambling is very sweet, and a sign that the poor kid has spent far too much time on his own. It's like he's worried he'd forget what people sound like if he didn't talk to himself. It's a habit some of the kids who have stayed at the ranch in the past had, usually ones who were neglected or left alone for long periods of time. They'd never say anything important aloud, just a little stream of consciousness, something to make them feel less lonely. It's almost shocking how much Steve hates Phil's parents; it almost floors him how much he wants to beat some sense into these people. Their son is a good kid, but is seems that he is a good kid despite and possibly to spite them.
"Should be a book in the den, I'll look it out. So what you making for dinner, chef?" Steve follows Phil into the house, laughing when he starts rambling about what to cook.
Halloween night, they'd watched old movies and eaten candy corn. Phil had insisted that they at least get dressed up, buy some candy, and carve a pumpkin, just in case someone showed up. Whilst Steve had expected it to be a pointless waste of time, some random kids had turned up at the door, with their older sisters. The girls had giggled at Steve being dressed as Igor, Phil as Dr Frankenstein, and poor Hershey who'd found herself with some bolts on her collar. She'd more than enjoyed having some new visitors, and the kids had been more than enamoured with a monster dog. The older sisters, who Steve recognised from the gaggle of Phil's fan club, had been more than enamoured with Phil, much to his obvious embarrassment. Steve had teased him after they were gone, saying that when he was sixteen he'd have lapped up the female attention, but Phil had shrugged and not said anything, so Steve took the hint and left it at that.
The first Saturday of November sees Phil in the kitchen surrounded by homework that he's ignoring, and some books about turkeys that he's engrossed in reading and taking notes on. Steve's sitting with his latest batch of letters, writing replies. It feels strange giving updates to his old kids about his new one, but so many of them had seemed surprised and happy to hear that there was someone on the ranch with Steve. He'd never really thought just how important the work he and his wife had done was until he'd started relying to these letters.
"Cranberry is going to be trouble." Phil mutters, looking up from his book, and then down pointedly at his empty cup.
"They're not so bad, used to have a whole bunch of them back in the day." Steve takes the hint and starts a new pot of coffee.
"I guess that explains why you've got the feed, but still she's gonna kill me by Thanksgiving." Phil stands, plating up a batch of his latest cookies. "No chocolate in these ones." He warns Steve, setting the plate down.
"No chocolate?" Steve takes one of them, and is only mildly disappointed to find that its oatmeal and cranberry flavour. They're good, but nothing on the chocolate chip ones. "Not bad, Punkster."
"I had a feeling you wouldn't approve." Phil smiles slightly, and starts reading again. "So... Who's going to kill the monster?" He asks, looking up again. His eyes are impossibly huge, tinged with innocent cynicism.
"I'll kill her, but you're in charge of the plucking... I hate plucking feathers." Steve stands again, fetching the coffee pot, pouring Phil a new cup.
"I've never butchered anything... Maybe I should get something to practice with? A chicken or something..." He looks concerned, and Steve nods. There's an old bird out in the coop that isn't producing as many eggs as she was, so she'll make decent practice.
"I'll kill one of the hens. It can be your project for tomorrow." Steve smirks at Phil, watching him pale somewhat. "What? We keep the chickens for their eggs, when they're too old, they're for the pot." Phil nods, and looks almost upset.
"Which one?" He asks, Steve had assigned Phil the task of feeding the chickens a while back, and it seems he'd gotten more attached to them that Steve had assumed. He's a strange kid, and terribly sweet behind his nervousness.
"The big old brown one." Steve starts writing again, hearing Phil suck air in through his teeth.
"Ma Brown? I guess... She's pretty old, right? I'll have to find a recipe to do her justice." He stands, and Steve laughs at him.
"Sit down... You need to finish your homework, and you won't if you keep thinking about birds." Phil flops back into his seat, taking the first of his homework books up. "Wait... You named the chickens?" Steve has to admit, he's at once surprised and not surprised in the least. Phil is an oddly sentimental thing at heart so it seems, and has a huge soft spot when it comes to animals.
"I need to know who's trying to peck my shoes so I can shout at them." Phil looks up with a grin, and snags a cookie from the plate. "I'll give her a nice last meal tonight... I think it'll have to be some kind of stew, or maybe I could make soup with her. Hmm... I dunno." He starts chewing on the end of his pencil, and Steve shakes his head.
"Focus, Punkster. Homework, then food." Steve laughs, going back to his work, grinning to himself at the sound of Phil's pencil scratching across the page.
Sunday sees them still working on writing, Phil on homework, Steve at letters. It's a strangely quiet weekend, with nothing much of anything happening. A weekend spent being quietly in each other's company, one that for all of its quietness is one that Steve feels was productive. If nothing else, Ma Brown's stew was delicious, and Phil proved himself to be an efficient feather plucker.
"You're home late." Monday sees Phil back late, usually he's back straight after the bus drops him off, but it's after five before he makes his appearance, and there's a part of Steve that's worried.
"Yeah... Was held up in school." Phil mutters, going straight to the kitchen, Hershey trailing along behind him.
"Anything exciting?" Steve follows for a lack of anything better to do, and to try and find out what's wrong. There's a strange quietness surrounding Phil, like the life that had been in him these last few weeks has been sucked out, and it has Steve worried.
"No." Phil's voice is quiet but final, and Steve sits on a chair at the table, nibbling a cookie, and wondering how to get Phil to open up once more. It's a common problem between them. Something happens, Phil closes off, and Steve tries to regain the lost ground. They'd been doing so well, they'd been getting on with so few problems, that Steve can't say he's surprised about this setback; he'd been waiting for it after all.
The weekend rolls around, and there's very little change in Phil's mood. He's been quieter all week, and Steve wants to know what's wrong. The best way to do that is to ask him, and the best place to ask him is probably out on the boat, so there's really only one suggestion for what to do today.
"You wanna head out today?" Steve asks, and Phil looks up from his breakfast. There's a pensive set to his shoulders, as there has been all week, and he nods. "Okay, we'll eat, then head out to the lake." Phil nods again, and Steve holds a sigh in check. He needs to wait to find out what's troubling Phil, he knows that, but he'd much rather Phil rambling about anything than this return to the sullen silence.
The trip is quiet, Steve not bothering to make conversation, he can tell that Phil won't answer him. Whatever it is that's bothering his charge isn't going to be discussed in the car. It's one of those awkward fishing boat conversations for sure.
"You gonna tell me what's eating you, cause I know there's something wrong." Steve says calmly once he's stopped rowing in the middle of the lake. Phil sighs, and fidgets, tying a worm to his rod, and casting the line.
"The day I was late back... I was in detention." He sounds apologetic, and Steve laughs.
"That's it?" He turns to Phil, and the smile on his face dies. The kid is hunched in on himself, staring out at the water. "There's more..."
"I wanna drop art." Phil mutters, not looking at Steve. It's a surprise, Phil likes art, and he's good at it, that he wants to drop it is a shock.
"But... You like drawing." Steve mumbles, wishing Phil would turn to him so he could gauge the kid's mood, his profile is giving nothing away.
"I just like drawing." He says quietly. "I don't want to use it to psychoanalyse myself." He sighs, twitching his line. "I don't see why that's a bad thing. I..."
"Hmm..." Steve huffs; he's not sure what to say here. Phil and his art teacher really aren't a good match, but it would be terrible for him to give up something he likes just because his teacher isn't the right one for him. "How bout we go see the lady in the art store tomorrow?"
"Why? I don't want to tattle to my teacher's mom." Phil finally turns to look at Steve, his eyes bigger, and rounder than usual. There's times when it's hard not to fidget under that wide-eyed stare.
"She wanted to give you lessons, Punkster... If you're not learning from your teacher, you should learn from someone who might be able to teach you." Steve smiles with what he hopes is reassurance. He doesn't want Phil to give up something he likes because of one bad teacher. It doesn't seem fair, and the owl lady might be able to help him.
"Okay... Tomorrow, I'll go see her... You're not pissed about me getting detention?" He asks, turning back to the water, his posture a little more relaxed.
"Ha, I surprised this was your first one... Last bunch of kids I had I was called into the school least twenty times by now." Steve laughs, and there's a little smile at the corner of Phil's mouth. "You're a good kid... Don't let anyone tell you different, okay?" This would be the perfect moment to offer some type of physical contact, a friendly pat on the shoulder, a one armed hug, but Steve does none of these things, he knows Phil won't welcome them, so he ignores the itching in his fingers. It doesn't matter that Phil hugged him; it seems he doesn't like being touched unless he initiates the contact.
"Sure... Good kid..." Phil sounds miserable, but perks up once he lands the first catch of the day.
"So what's the plan for the rest of the day?" Steve asked when they get home. Phil has been chattering vaguely the whole way home, and it's a comfort that the boat, that fishing is something that makes Phil relax and open up. It might be strange and unexpected, but it works, and that's all that's important to Steve.
"Uh... I guess I should do homework... But we did take those fish home... And Hershey does need more cookies..." Phil looks torn, and Steve laughs.
"I'm gonna go check on outside... Homework first, Punkster." Steve looks pointedly at Hershey, and she sighs, standing and following Steve outside. "I know you want those cookies, Miss Hershey, but education is more important than giving you new and exciting treats." The look on the dog's face argues that Steve is very wrong on that front.
"Before you say anything, my homework is mostly done, and here... Try these ones." Phil is in the kitchen, and there's the oddest smell coming from it when Steve gets back.
"How mostly is mostly?" Steve takes a cookie from the plate Phil pointed to, and then regrets it, there's only three left on the plate, Steve would like at least three dozen more. "What are these?"
"Yam." Phil sounds pleased with himself, and Steve takes another. "I'm thinking maybe for Thanksgiving? My pastry isn't up to much-"
"As I remember your caramel wasn't either, Punkster." Steve laughs, wandering over to the coffee pot. He thinks he's going to have to start getting better coffee, ones that compliment the many and varied cookies Phil is fond of making, and Steve is far fonder of eating. It feels like he should be branching out in the one area Steve has more talent than Phil in, if only because there's an odd part of Steve that'd like to impress Phil somehow.
"I can practice caramel, pastry is a science... I don't have the talent for it." Phil sounds annoyed, and huffs at the dough he's mixing.
"Well... Jim and his wife were thinking of coming down to keep us company for Thanksgiving... I could get Jan to make up some pies?" Steve smiles, and pours Phil a cup of coffee. "Come eat these two before they're gone." He points to the plate, desperately resisting the urge to devour the last two cookies.
"I've made more, Steve." Phil laughs, coming over, and taking one of the cookies. "I wanted your opinion on them before I tried them though." He grins, and Steve mutters brat under his breath, there's something decidedly brattish about the grin on Phil's face, made even worse by him poking his tongue out. "Hmm... Not too bad." He sips at his coffee, a considering look on his face. "I might use different flour next time... I want them crispier." Steve has no idea what a different flour would do, but he's sure they'll taste good not matter what kind of flour Phil uses.
"You're a strange kid sometimes, and I think..." Steve shakes his head, not wanting to finish his sentence, not wanting to tell Phil that he thinks his wife would have adored him. He can hear the conversations she and Phil would have had, can hear her discussing different flours and fats, all that weird cooking stuff she'd loved chatting with the girls about. If she were here, she would have loved Phil of that Steve has no doubt. Phil looks at him, clearly expecting there to be more, expecting Steve to finish his sentence, but Steve can't, all he can manage is another shake of his head.
"Finish the last one, I'm not hungry. This fish dough wasn't appetizing to make." Phil wanders back over to his mixing bowl, and flops the dough out on to the counter, beginning to roll out. "You better appreciate my effort, Missy." He laughs at Hershey, and Steve takes the last cookie. It feels like he was just permitted to chicken out, and Steve supposes that the next time on the boat he might have to let Phil ask him some uncomfortable questions. He thinks that it might be good to talk to someone about his wife, and it might be a good way to get Phil to open up to him some more, give him a little, hoping to get something in return.
"You're up early." Sunday morning sees Phil at the kitchen table, a plethora of books in front of him. "I'm guessing mostly was Chicago slang for not at all?" Steve laughs, and Phil looks up. He looks tired, his eyes red.
"It was mostly finished. I just have this last one to go... History report." He sighs, and Steve nods vaguely, starting a pot of coffee. "Breakfast's in the oven, should be ready." Steve nods again and opens the oven door, taking out a pan of fresh baked muffins.
"You're gonna make me so fat..." Steve mutters, setting the pan down on a stand, and considering how to get the muffins out of the tray.
"Join a gym?" Phil laughs, coming over, and removing the muffins quickly leaving them on a cooling rack. "When the coffee's done they'll be ready to eat." He shuffles back over to his books, picking up one again, writing some stuff down in his notebook.
"You like history, Punkster?" Steve asks sitting down, ruffling Hershey's ears as she wanders over, giving his hand an enthusiastic morning lick.
"No... It's all dates, I... I'm bad with numbers." Phil sighs, closing the book he's reading, and Steve nods. He'd been pretty good at history for the fact it was all numbers, he's pretty good with those.
"Want me to help you? I ain't got nothing but taking you to owl lady planned." Phil glances up, a wary look on his face. "What? You think I'd forgotten that?"
"Maybe..." Phil mutters, looking away, taking up another book. "I don't think there's any point in it." He sounds horribly unconvinced, and Steve shrugs.
"No harm in going and seeing what she says though, is there?" Steve stands, pouring two cups of coffee, setting them on the table, before bringing the muffins over.
"I guess... I just think it'll be a waste of time." Phil sighs, setting his book down, picking up a muffin. "I don't want you wasting a day on me." He mumbles, and Steve shakes his head him, the kid has some strange ideas on Steve priorities.
"Even if nothing comes of it, it won't be a waste." Steve assures him. Phil offers a tentative smile that's half cynicism, and half optimism.
"If you say so..."
"Hello again." Owl lady is sitting in her store, sketching on a big pad of paper on the counter. There's a few middle-aged women browsing at section of the shop that seems to be nothing but pressed flowers, but other than that the store is empty. "You must be Philip." The old woman comes from around the counter, and shakes Phil's hand.
"Uh... Yes ma'am. It's nice to meet you." Phil smiles at her, and Steve shakes her hand when she offers it to him.
"I was so hoping you'd come and see me... My daughter insists on showing me your work, keeps trying to tell me you don't understand her class." The old woman spits the word class, and laughs. "How anyone can understand that claptrap is beyond me... Now..." She wanders back behind the counter, and pulls up a folder. "This is all of your work, I've... Borrowed, shall we say."
"Borrowed..." Phil mutters, and the owl woman laughs, waving him over.
"Mr... Steve wasn't it?" She smiles awkwardly, and Steve has the terrible feeling he knows what's she's going to ask him.
"Yes ma'am." He mutters.
"Be a good man and guard the store. I want to talk to your Philip." She smiles, and turns to Phil. "This way." She leads Phil to the back, and Steve sighs, he's no idea how to run a store, but by the look of things, it's not going to be too busy.
Its maybe two hours owl woman and Phil are gone, Steve could hear snippets of conversation and the old woman laughing every so often, which put his mind somewhat at east about what was going on back there. It sounds like she and Phil are getting along as well as Steve had assumed they would, which is in all honesty a relief. There'd been a part of Steve that had been worried this would be as pointless as Phil had thought it would be.
"So, I'll stop by on Tuesday?" Phil comes out from back room, and stands by Steve. Owl woman appears, wiping her hands on a towel.
"Every day beginning with a T." She laughs, and Phil nods. "You remember what I told you, I expect three drawings." Phil nods again, and the owl lady smiles. "Good man." She shakes Phil's hand again, and turns to Steve. "I see you didn't burn down the shop...This one was doubtful." She gestures to Phil, and he ducks his head.
"No ma'am, ain't nothing burn it with... So you'll be wanting some kind of pay-"
"God, no! I'm teaching this ruffian out of the goodness of my heart, and the need to make sure that my damn fool daughter doesn't destroy more talent with her wishy-washy nonsense." The old woman shoos Steve and Phil from around the counter. "That and I want to see if I've still got it in me to mould children into artists." She laughs, and holds her hand out again. "I suppose I should mention my name really... Mrs Davis, it's nice to meet you boys... Tuesday, Philip, don't you forget now."
"Yes, ma'am... Mrs Davis." Phil smiles at the lady, and Steve nods, ushering Phil out of the art store. "She really does look like an owl... I didn't believe you when you told me, but she really does."
"I know... So... You wanna grab something to eat in town? My treat. You can tell me all about your first lesson with the owl." Steve grins at Phil, getting a grin back, then a long rambling explanation of what Phil had been doing for the last two hours.
Tuesday night sees Phil home late, being dropped off by the owl. He comes almost bounding up the steps, a grin on his face, and Steve greets him with an easy smile.
"Well, how'd it go?" Steve asks, trailing along behind Hershey as she follows Phil.
"Good... Real good. I learned stuff... It's nice learning something in an art lesson for a change." Phil laughs, and Steve nods, watching Phil set his bag down. "You hungry? I'm not sure what to make for dinner..."
"You sure you're up to cooking... Been a long day's learning and I can probably do some grilled cheese, and canned soup." Steve goes to the kitchen, hearing Phil following him.
"I'm fine... Really." Phil smiles, and Steve shakes his head. The kid looks tired, his shoulders drooped, his eyes slightly hazy. It wouldn't be responsible, or fair to leave him with the task of cooking, and Steve pretty sure he can manage to cut cheese, and heat through a can of soup.
"I'll cut the cheese... I'm kind of partial to the idea now that I've had it." Phil smiles at his words, something grateful in the expression.
"Well... Alright, but you're not grilling anything, you'll burn it." Phil laughs, and as he moves past Steve to go fetch the grill pan, he doesn't flinch when their bodies brush.
See my rattlesnake, look how far you've come with him. I'm proud.
The truth is Steve's a little proud too.
"You're on holiday soon, right?" This weekend is the last before Thanksgiving, and Steve can't quite remember when it is that the kids used to get their break from school for the holiday.
"Yeah..." Phil murmurs, his attention is caught with his homework, but Steve is pretty used to Saturday mornings being spent writing letters, and watching Phil work. He's almost concerned about the amount of assignments Phil drags home with him every week, but he seems to manage fine, and Steve's heard nothing from the school, so he supposes it's normal. When she'd been there, his wife had been the homework mistress, Steve hadn't taken anything to do with the awful stuff since he'd had to do it himself.
"You gonna get up to anything exciting for the break?" Steve's fishing for conversation, he knows he is, but he's bored, and Phil seems engrossed in his work to want to head out to the lake. He looks up at Steve, an odd look on his face.
"Dunno..." He shrugs, and Steve holds back a sigh, turning down to the letter he's trying to write. "What's up?" Phil asks suddenly, and Steve laughs, meeting those far too big, far too green eyes of Phil's, surprised to see them filled with concern. "You seem... Off. Is something wrong?" Steve shakes his head and laughs again.
"No... Not at thing." It's entirely true, Steve's just bored, and he can't really confess that to the kid he's supposed to the guardian of, it'd look bad, or unprofessional, or something anyways. Phil looks unconvinced, and closes his book, some stern look in his eyes.
"C'mon... I'm not buying that. What's up?" He rests his chin in one hand, a lazy smile on his face, and Steve shakes his head, pretending to write, feeling strangely like a child under the kid's assessing gaze.
"Not a thing..." Steve taps Phil's homework with his pen. "You should be getting on with that." Phil laughs at Steve and stands, leaving the room.
You've got him worried, rattlesnake. You should talk to him, you know that don't you?
He can hear his wife scolding him, and Steve sighs, and caps his pen. He's not really sure what's wrong. It's almost like he's excited, which is ridiculous, but there's a part of him that's excited about the idea of Thanksgiving, about the idea of spending Christmas with Phil. He's always liked the Holidays, and last year had been miserable, just him and Hershey. This year Phil will be there, and whilst he's too old to appreciate Steve dressing up as Santa, there's a part of Steve that's certain he's going to anyway.
"Catch." Is all Steve hears before a baseball comes hurtling towards him. He manages to catch the ball, and looks up to see Phil wearing a smirk. "I bought a couple of mitts and a ball with the money from Mr Ross." He smiles awkwardly, and Steve stands, tossing the ball back. "Wanna throw it round a bit? Gotta be better than being cooped up in here, right?" He grins, and Steve nods, following Phil out back. Throwing a ball around will be a far better use of this strange energy.
Sunday sees Steve back at his letters, and Phil finishing the homework he'd abandoned on Saturday in favour of hanging out with Steve. The day they spend quietly writing. Phil seems bound and determined to finish as much work as possible, and Steve is in all honesty quite pleased to field the rare questions Phil asks him about how to solve various math problems.
"So... I guess today's the day then." Phil says come Wednesday morning, he's off school, and Steve's been enjoying the time they've spent together, pottering around the ranch, and braving the grocery store to buy the last of the things for Thanksgiving. He'd also been enjoying Phil's failed attempts at pastry. The pies he's made might not have been up to his exacting standard, but for failures, they'd tasted damn good.
"The day?" Steve asks, and Phil nods, looking grim.
"Cranberry's execution." He says firmly, and Steve nods. He'd forgotten that he had to kill the mean not so little any more turkey. She's taken more than a few pecks at Phil, but for all he doesn't like the turkey, Phil gets attached. Ma Brown had been made into what was perhaps the best chicken stew Steve's ever eaten, and he'd pretended not to notice Phil burying her wishbone in the yard. Being sentimental isn't a bad thing, but Steve has the feeling Phil's been told to not cry by too many, too harsh voices for far too long.
"It is... You ready to pluck her? It'll take you a while." Steve smiles easily, and Phil nods. He looks mildly distraught, and Steve stands, briefly resting his hand on Phil's shoulder, utterly surprised when Phil doesn't tense, seems to lean towards him slightly. "You did good work with her. She'll be feeding us for days."
"I hope so." Phil turns to him, and stands, clearly intending to follow Steve, and watch the passing of his project. "I've got the ingredients for turkey tamales... I've always wanted to try making those." He grins, and Steve nods, the idea is one he approves of vastly. "You want to keep the feathers for something?" Phil asks, and Steve shrugs, he's got no idea what to do with turkey feathers, but he supposes they could make quills or something.
"If you want, Punkster... I'm sure we can think of something to do with them." Steve smiles over at Phil, and the kid nods, looking distracted, clearly trying to think of something.
Cranberry's death was swift, and Steve politely didn't mention Phil wiping his eyes when Steve snapped her neck. Phil spends the majority of the afternoon plucking, only coming in to make lunch, then going back out to finish his work. Steve spends his time out pottering with the cattle, debating what to plant in the fields come the spring. He's not sure when Jim's going to take Phil back to Chicago, July probably, so whatever he plants has to either be harvested before then or be easy enough for one man to take in, and it's a hard decision.
"Steve?" Phil appears beside him late in the afternoon, looking pale. Steve's surprised by Phil's appearance, he'd been lost in thought, and the kid really doesn't look too well.
"What is it Punkster?" He asks, the mild surprise leaving Steve feeling kind of odd. He'd been thinking of Thanksgivings long ago, of the first one he'd had out here with his wife, of the burnt store bought turkey, and mountain of mashed potatoes that they'd ended up flinging at each other before making love on the old kitchen table.
"I, uh... Ha..." Phil looks uncomfortable, and leans against a fence post, rubbing the back of his neck. "I can't..." He trails off, and frowns, hiding his hands in his too long sleeves, turning to look at Steve, his eyes huge in his too thin face.
"You can't?" Steve prompts, pushing off his own fence post and coming closer. "What is it?" The way Phil looks is making Steve desperately uncomfortable, all he wants to do is hug the poor thing. He looks like he needs to be hugged; he looks small, timid, so very young.
"I..." Phil sighs, and swipes his cap from his head, looking earnestly at Steve. "I need you to chop her head off, I can't do it." He speaks fast and quiet, his accent thick and soft like molasses. Steve nods, not sure what to say, he knows he should say something, but he's not sure what.
"Alright." It's a poor thing he comes up with, something so insufficient, but Phil looks so very grateful, and he hugs Steve quickly, a quick awkward snatch of a hug, like the one he'd given Steve on his birthday. It truly seems like Phil would be a very tactile person, if he wasn't so damned scared, and hatred for Phil's parents builds in Steve again. These people, despite being clearly abhorrent, managed to make a sweet, sweet child. How Steve has no idea, but they did, beneath fear and uncertainty, Phil is a good kid.
The rest of that night, they spend in the living room watching TV. Phil seems subdued, and Steve can't say he blames him, he'd helped gut Cranberry, and there was something strangely sad about pulling the innards out of the bird. She might have been mean, and prone to pecking, but she had been part of the family. There's a good part of Steve that thinks that Phil probably could use another hug. He looks like it'd do him the world of good, and Hershey is trying her best, but Steve's certain that if he tried to be comforting, Phil would tense up. So Steve makes popcorn, and they watch reruns of NYPD Blue for a lack of anything better on TV.
"Why did I think this was a good idea..." Phil's already up and cooking when Steve wanders downstairs on Thanksgiving morning. The radio from his room has been dragged to the kitchen, playing some random call-in show, and Hershey is half asleep, half-watching Phil with rapt attention from her basket. He seems to be engrossed in what he's doing, complaining about how his gravy is going to be a lumpy mess, and that even in death Cranberry is causing him problems by being so fat. The kid had done a damn good job of feeding the mean bird up.
"Coffee?" Steve says by way of a greeting, and Phil jumps at the sound of his voice. A nervous smile on his lips.
"Yes!" He hisses, returning to wrestling with the corpse of Cranberry. "I need to get Cranberry in the oven soon or she'll be raw when it's time to eat. I've not made breakfast yet..." He's busy tying string around the turkey, and Steve's pretty sure if he wasn't standing there watching, the corpse of Cranberry would be being sworn at impressively.
"You stuff her okay?" Steve asks, creeping closer, wanting to inspect the contents of the pot on the stove.
"Uh-huh, stuffed, trussed, butter under the skin, bacon on top... And finally in the oven." Phil looks triumphant as he washes his hands.
"Bacon?" Steve questions, coming a little closer, sniffing at what appears to cranberry sauce to go with Cranberry herself.
"Bacon." Phil says firmly. "I read it keeps the meat moist... So, breakfast? What you want?" Phil leans against the sink, drying his hands, that triumphant look still on his face. Steve shakes his head, and waves Phil out of the way.
"We're having toast, sit and drink your coffee." Steve ushers Phil over to the table, and sets a cup down in front of him. "Good man." He pats Phil's shoulder gently, hoping that the slight tension he could feel in Phil is an improvement, it wasn't a wince at least, so that has to be a good thing.
"I can ma-"
"You've a feast to make, Punkster. Don't need you getting sick of cooking half way through." Steve grins over at him, and Phil shakes his head, standing again, going to Hershey's food cupboard, giving her one of the fish cookies from a couple of weeks ago. "I'm still not sure if I'm jealous of those... Fish cookies are weird, but she does seem to love them, and damn if they don't smell good." The toaster pops, and Steve starts spreading peanut butter on the first two slices, setting them down in front of Phil.
"They double as people food if you wanna try one." He laughs, and takes a bite of the toast.
"It's okay... I think Miss Hershey would take a chunk outta me if I tried to steal one of her cookies. Isn't that right, Wonder Dog?" Hershey looks up form licking the crumbs of her cookie up, something in her big brown eyes saying yes.
"Well, they are her's, and you've plenty of cookies of your own to eat, Steve." Phil grins at him, and Steve nods, sitting with his own plate of toast. "You up for helping prep, or are you going to be incapacitated by football?" Phil finishes the last of his toast, looking slightly mournful that it's all gone.
"I'll help, don't worry. I'll watch the game with Jim, when he and his wife come over." Steve considers if he should make another round of toast, but decides that cookies are probably a better choice and opens the jar. It should be more worrying than it is that the cookie jar has been moved to sitting on the kitchen table instead of on the counter. He really is going to have to consider joining the gym in town; he's getting too soft around the middle.
"His wife is coming over?" Phil sounds surprised, and Steve nods.
"Yup, Jan... She's a good woman, a fine cook." Steve laughs, and Phil shakes his head, taking a cookie, and nibbling at it thoughtfully.
"She's making pie?" Phil asks, and Steve nods. "Hmm, I wonder if she can give me some tips for my pastry..." He trails off, clearly lost in his own thoughts, and Steve leaves him to it. The kid tends to get distracted by his thought process, and it's kind of adorable really.
"I think she's bringing some over... I pushed for pecan, and a pumpkin one... Jan makes a damn fine pumpkin pie. I'm sure if you ask, she'll give you some advice." Steve grins, and Phil nods. The only pie he'd seemed content with is the apple one that's sitting in the fridge ready to be heated through. He's been working on something all secret for a while, and Steve thinks it's something to do with the pie, but he's not sure. Phil has many secret cooking projects he runs in the mornings before Steve gets up. It's worrying how often Steve's woken up to fresh muffins, or grits. He'd been surprised that Phil had known how to cook those, but it seems that he's been reading Steve's wife's old recipes, and practicing them. His mac and cheese is almost as good as her's had been. He does insist on filling it with vegetables from the patch out back though, and it's taking Steve some time to get used to there being bits of broccoli in with the noodles.
"Okay... I need you start on the sweet potatoes, and I do the beans, okay?" Phil stands, a look of determination coming over him. Steve nods, saluting with a smile on his face.
"My word, you two have been busy!" Jim's wife's voice is a complete surprise, Steve hadn't even heard her come in the house, usually Hershey would be up and to the door when people arrived, but she's been engrossed in watching Phil. It seems she's utterly transfixed when their little houseguest is cooking. Steve had been engrossed too, once he'd finished helping with the prep, he'd sat down under the guise of writing letters, and had instead been watching Phil stalk around the kitchen, stirring, and checking on everything, helping when called over, but mostly just observing.
"It's all Punkster... He's good in the kitchen. I'm a hindrance more than anything." Steve laughs, and the woman chuckles, pulling Steve into a hug.
"You're plenty good at chopping and peeling, Steve. Don't sell yourself short. It's nice to meet you ma'am. I'm Phil." Phil holds his hand out politely, and Jim's wife laughs.
"Ma'am... Heavens above, no... My name is Jan, and I'll thank you to use it. Now let me take a look at you, little one." Her hands rest on Phil's shoulders, her eyes running over him critically. "Handsome little devil, aren't you?" She laughs, letting Phil go, giving Steve a quick questioning glance, when Phil ducks his head, looking embarrassed. Steve isn't sure what to say, or how to respond to the look she just gave him.
"Okay, Jan." Phil mutters, quietly, turning back to the stove, stirring Cranberry Sauce's namesake.
"Well, that's what smelled so good. What's in it?" Jan hovers over Phil shoulder, and Steve excuses himself in search of Jim. He already knows that the conversation isn't going to be one that'll interest him. Recipes and ingredients are nowhere near as interesting as the finished product in his opinion.
"There you are, Steve... Was thinking you and young Philip were out fishing or something." Jim smiles, in his hands are a pair of pies, and Steve takes them from him. "There's more in the car... I swear she thought we were coming to feed an army... That wife of mine, she doesn't believe Philip can cook... Is convinced that you must be ordering takeout or something." Steve sets the pies down on a table by the front door, and follows Jim out to his truck. Inside there's several dishes of food, all covered carefully, he's just glad that there's not a turkey in there. He's pretty sure Phil would be deeply offended if Jim and Jan had brought their own bird.
"You didn't give her the cookies he gave you last month?" Steve asks, taking what looks like a dish of green beans and carrying it inside.
"Those damn cookies barely made it to the top of your road, Steve... That child is..." Jim trails off, snickering at his wife as she's sitting watching Phil beside Hershey, nibbling on a cookie.
"He's a cookie dealer... Those things have some kind of narcotics in them." Steve laughs, and Jan turns to him look guilty.
"I don't know what to say now... I feel like I brought too much to eat... There's only the four of us, and you boys are gonna stuck eating my leftovers for weeks." She takes another one of the cookies from the jar, looking horrified with herself but not stopping eating. "Why are these here, Steve? This is a terrible place for these crack cookies." Phil's snickering by now, his shoulders shaking, and Steve has to admit, it's good to see the kid enjoying himself so much.
"I assure you, they're one hundred percent drug free, Mrs Ro- Jan." He calls, not turning around, and Jim snorts a laugh, taking a cookie for himself.
"Well, how do I get you to stop calling me Mr Ross? If you're going to be calling my wife by her name, I have to be Jim, Philip." Jim takes a bite of his cookie, and Steve gives up trying to resist the open jar, taking one of the really, really good ones he hid at the bottom.
"I'd imagine you'd start by not calling him Philip, Jim." Steve laughs, taking a seat at the table.
"Phil, Jim, call me Phil." Phil says, still not shifting his attention from his pot. There's a strange almost smug part of Steve that's thinking about Phil quietly asking him to call him Punk. It shouldn't make Steve so happy, but it's a little tactic admission that Steve is closer to Phil than either of the people at the table. It wouldn't surprise Steve to learn that he's the only person not in Illinois that calls Phil Punk. "You know if you keep eating those, you're not going to have room for everything else." Phil finally turns round, and Steve closes the cookie jar, setting it on the counter.
Lunch is an easy affair, the four of them talking happily about nothing important. Tales from Jim travels, tales from the years gone past, all told with the express purpose of making Phil laugh, and all finding their mark. It seemed, to Steve, that he, Jim and Jan had all silently agreed to make sure to make Phil happy, and they'd worked perfectly in concert to do so. By the time for desert rolls around, everyone is stuffed, and Phil's got the happiest smile on his face. Steve feels strangely pleased with himself, he didn't do much of anything, but seeing Phil looks so happy is a great reward for such little work.
"I've eaten too much... I think I'm gonna die." Phil grumbles, and Steve laughs at him. Jim's wife glances over at him, concern on her face. In all honesty, they all ate far too much, and there's still all of the food Jan brought with her. Steve has the feeling that he and Phil will be eating Thanksgiving leftovers till Christmas. He's proud though, not one of Jan's dishes were opened, everything that was eaten was made by Phil, and the kid looks kind of proud too. There's a contented smile on his face, and half-asleep look in his eyes.
"You do look pale, dear. C'mon, you and me slaved over the stove all day, the old men can field clean up." She stands and pats Phil's shoulder, the kid looks at her, and then at Steve.
"Go on, scoot, me and Jim have got this." Steve stands, running the faucet to fill the sink.
"Alright... Alright." Phil mutters, looking dubious, but leaving with Jim's wife.
"You know, I'm pretty sure I'm gonna die too." Jim groans, pushing to his feet. "That boy of yours is a damn fine cook... You'll be needing to hit the gym once he's gone, Steve." He laughs, and nudges Steve out of the way. "You can dry the damn things. I got no idea where you keep anything in this kitchen."
"Well, JR, I'm none too sure I know where most of these pans go myself. I ain't seen half of these in a long time." Steve rubs a hand over his head, and takes up the dishtowel starting to dry the cutlery. "He is a good cook... You think maybe I should encourage him to study it more? See if there's a cooking class in town or something?"
"You can ask him... Did he take up the art lessons from that lady you were telling me about?" Jim's a decent washer, but he's damn slow, and Steve leans against the counter considering if he's room for the apple pie Phil made or not. He's pretty sure if he doesn't start eating it, Phil will insist on Jim and his wife taking it home, and really, when it comes to Phil's cooking he doesn't much like sharing.
"He did... They seem to get on well enough. He's there every night on a day being with T. Weird old owl that one." Steve laughs, and Jim glances at him. "I'm telling you, Jim, she looks like an owl. Just you ask Punkster, he'll back me up."
"She does!" Phil shouts from the living room, and Steve laughs at the odd face Jim pulls. "If you want to eat the pie, remember to heat it up in the oven. I made ice cream for it, it's in the freezer!" Phil shouts again, and Steve thinks he must be pulling an interesting face, because this time Jim laughs at him, but really he didn't expect Phil to have made ice cream, they could have bought that at the store easily enough.
"Well, I suppose we should hit the trail." Jim says after many hours and more food have passed. His wife nodding, accepting a hand up off the couch from her husband.
"I'm going to need to get your recipe for those cookies, Philip." There's no response from Phil, and Steve glances over at him, surprised to find that the kid had fallen asleep. Steve stands, intending to shake his charge awake, when the old woman steps in front of him. "You leave him be now, Steve. Poor thing's tired, you let him get some rest. He can email me the recipe tomorrow." The woman pets Phil's hair gently, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "He's a sweet little thing... Makes me wish I could persuade this crotchety old man to let us have another one in the house." She straightens up, and ruffles a sleeping Hershey's ears.
"Hush you woman, we're too old and too busy to be looking after kids, and you know it." Jim mutters, shaking his head. "He didn't leave us a doggy bag of cookies?" Jim asks as he hovers at the front door looking hopefully at Steve, there's a noise from inside the house, and suddenly Phil appears clutching a couple of paper bags, looking embarrassed.
"I'm sorry." He glances nervously at Steve, and holds the bag out to Jim, who takes it and peeks inside, a smile on his face. Steve has no doubt that it's a doggy bag of cookies. "This one's for your wife... Is she in the car?" He asks, holding up the other bag, and Jim nods. "Okay... I'll..." Steve waves him off, and Jim frowns.
"You've still not read the damned file you had me get for you, have you?" The old man snaps, and Steve shakes his head, watching Jim's wife laugh, and pulling Phil into a hug that has him freezing nervously.
"He told me to ask, and I will..." Steve mutters, watching Phil fidget as Jim's wife starts looking in the bag, laughing when she pulls out a sheath of papers.
"And when will that be, Steve? If you want to help him, you need to know what he's dealing with." Jim taps Steve on the shoulder. "He really is opening up to you though, huh?" Jim asks as Phil walks back towards the house, a timid little smile on his face as he meets Steve's eyes.
"I'll ask him when he's ready, and yeah... He is." Steve pulls his friend into a hug, and Jim sighs, a long-suffering but understanding sound.
"Well, Gentlemen, it was lovely, thank you for inviting us." Jim sets his hat on his head, and walks down to his car. "But we must be leaving. I'll see you next month." He calls as he drives off, and Steve grins over at Phil.
"Well, now what was in that baggy? Cause I don't think recipes are gonna be what Jan was so happy about." Phil shrugs at Steve and wanders back into the house, heading for the kitchen.
"Make some coffee, Steve?" He asks, his head in a cupboard when Steve gets there. Steve nods absently, starting a pot.
"So you gonna tell me what was in the bag or not?" He's tempted to peek at what Phil's doing, his head's still buried in the cupboard, but it seems like it's a surprise, so Steve stays where he is, watching the pot brewing.
"Take it through to the living room, will you?" Phil asks eventually, poking his head around the cupboard door, a grin on his face. Steve shakes his head, and wanders through to the living room, setting the coffee pot and a couple of cups on the table. Hershey wakes up looking confused, like she'd expected Phil to be beside her still, and hops off the couch, clearly in search of her friend.
"Traitorous dog..." Steve smiles at her back, he's glad she and Phil have bonded, but he kind of misses her being his shadow.
Don't be jealous, my rattlesnake. She loves him, and he loves her. It's good for her to have new friends.
Steve can almost hear his wife laughing at him; can almost feel her fingers rubbing over his baldhead, and her lips pressing a kiss to it.
When he's gone, she'll be all alone with only you, so let her have this for now.
"Ta-dah!" Phil sounds unreasonably pleased when he sets a box of candies down on the table, and Steve glances at it, and then at Phil. "Open it." He grins, and Steve does as he's asked. Inside there's some very clearly homemade chocolates, and Steve stares at Phil. "I've been working on them for a while, that's what's in the bag I gave Mrs Ross."
"You made candies? You made all of these?" Steve's more than a little bewildered. Of all the things in the World he assumed Phil to be doing, becoming a chocolatier was not on the list.
"Uh-huh... Took me forever, but I thought it'd be... Fun to learn, and it wasn't hard once I got the hang of tempering." He grins again, and hands Steve a little slip of paper. On the paper, there's a little drawing of each chocolate, and a description of the filling.
"You're a strange kid, Punkster... I should be enrolling you in chef school or something." Steve picks out one the paper suggests is hard caramel, and pops it in his mouth. It's not a real surprise when it's damn good. He's beginning to think that Phil really should pursue some kind of culinary career; he's more than got the talent for it.
"I don't wanna be a chef." Phil shrugs, picking out a white chocolate, and grinning. "Maybe keep making these though... Try these ones, they're good." He sounds unreasonably pleased with himself, and Steve takes the candy Phil suggested. It's sweet, but not overly so, a hint of sharp raspberry something in the middle to counter the white chocolate. "See, good right?" Phil grins, picking out another one of his creations, and Steve nods. He has the terrible feeling that this box isn't going to last too long sitting beside him. He's already got a mental list of what he wants to eat in his head, and it's currently sitting at one of each and as many of the hard caramels as he can.
"I'm gonna need to get a membership at the gym." Steve mutters around a mouthful of chocolate, and Phil laughs.
"Don't be stupid, you look good." It has to be the light, but Steve swears he can see a blush on Phil's cheeks, but it has to be the light.
That night as Steve lies in bed, he can't help but thinking about what he's grateful for. This time last year the list had been short, nothing but Hershey on it. In those dark times after she died, all Steve had was Hershey, all he'd wanted was that sweet pup's company, but now that's changed. The things he has to be thankful for has expanded so much, and are so focussed on one person. Back in August Good Ol' JR had said that he thought Phil would be good for Steve, and as he lies in the dark, staring at the ceiling, Steve thinks he agrees.
The final weekend of November comes after a strange week. Phil had been in an odd mood, quiet, but not withdrawn, just lost in his own thoughts. It's silly but Steve had felt almost jealous of that, he'd felt stupidly like he deserved some of Phil's attention, but he was caught up in some book from school all week, forgoing even watching TV with Steve to read. Saturday begins with the traditional Saturday breakfast of pancakes, though the side of Jan's cranberry sauce is decided untraditional, it works strangely well. After the dishes are put away, it's time to write, Steve with his letters, and Phil his homework, only Phil is fidgeting, staring into his coffee cup, his homework spread out but untouched.
"We need to take a fishing trip?" Steve asks eventually, taking one of the cookies from the plate between them.
"Huh?" Phil looks up, blinking owlishly, and Steve briefly wonders if Phil's maybe spending too much time with Mrs Davis.
"You've been quiet all week Punkster... Fishing usually takes your mind off things." Steve smiles, taking a bite of his cookie, watching a little smile spread over Phil's lips.
"This book..." Phil taps to the book he's been reading all week. "It's a script... I got drafted into the end of term show." Phil sighs, looking at once annoyed and excited. "Alls I wanted to do was help paint the backdrops... Maybe some scenery, but no apparently I've gotta be in the thing." Phil takes a cookie, and bites it clean in half, chomping on the half in his mouth vigorously.
"When is it?" Steve takes another cookie, using eating to mask the laughter that wants to escape him. In the past, there were some kids who have lived on the ranch who would have loved to be offered a role in this show. Whilst Phil might not fully want to be in it, it's clear that for all his bluster, he's excited to be asked.
"Last week of term..." Phil takes a deep breath, as though steeling himself, and Steve furrows his eyebrows, not sure what could have brought such seriousness out in his little charge. "I know you probably have things to do, and I know you won't want to, but..." Phil sighs again, his head bowing, his hands curling in his sleeves, his voice growing quieter and more full of doubt the longer he talks. "It'd mean a lot to me... And... Forget it." He stands suddenly, leaving the room, then the house, and Steve stays in his seat a moment longer, blinking dumbly at the empty space Phil once occupied.
Go on, get! Go to him, rattlesnake! You tell him that not even the hounds of hell could keep you from watching him in this show!
Steve smiles, he knows that if she were here, there would never be this delay. She'd have followed Phil out and then pulled him back inside, telling him he was being ridiculous.
"No way, I ain't gonna be there." Steve sits down by Phil on the swing bench on the veranda, pushing with his feet, making it sway slightly. Phil doesn't look at him, just curls up more, fussing over Hershey when she jumps up beside him. Steve keeps the bench moving gently, watching Phil pet Hershey out of the corner of his eye. "I don't know what's happened to you, Punkster... You can tell me when you're ready, but I'm here... If you need me, when you need me, don't be afraid to ask, okay?" Steve doesn't look at Phil, but he can feel the weight of Phil looking at him. "I ain't goin' anywheres, when you're here, you're mine." Steve hears a sudden, sharp inhalation of breath from Phil, then there's a warmth against his side. Phil had scooted closer, very slightly closer, their thighs just touching. They sit out there a long time, Phil moving a little closer every so often, till he's sitting close enough to Steve for Hershey to have sprawled herself on the other side of the bench.
See... Look how much he trusts you, rattlesnake. Look how much more relaxed he is. He's doing fine, one day... Someday soon, he'll tell you everything.
Steve closes his eyes at the thought of her voice, closes his eyes against the thought of hearing Phil's story. He knows it's going to be nothing good, he knows it's going to break his heart, and fill him with fury. No one has the right to scare a kid so much; no one has the right to terrify someone as sweet and good as Phil into this nervous, terrified wreck of a child.
"T..." Phil croaks, then pauses clearing his throat. "Tomorrow... Would you... Will you help me with my lines?" Steve nods, and without thinking wraps an arm around Phil's shoulders quickly, squeezing him tightly once, before standing.
"Sure thing, Punkster. Does mean that today we gotta get all this writing outta the way." Steve wanders into the house, and lets the grin that'd been dying to break out spread over his lips. When he'd hugged him, Phil hadn't flinched, hadn't tensed up, hadn't pulled away. What he'd done was leaning into Steve, he'd relaxed, he'd been comforted, and Steve thinks that's another thing to add to his things to be thankful for list.
Many thanks to the ladies and gentlemen who reviewed:
pleb, Brokenspell77, AshJoivillette, Shiki94, littleone1389, and Rebellecherry.
First off - I'm super sorry for the dealy on this chapter... Life and I aren't friends right now, in fact I am considering contacting Life's Manager and complaining about the sodding lemons I keep getting handed. (anyone wanna give me a plot lemon? LoL) I'm hoping the next few weeks are more calm, but exam season is looming, so it might not be. Secondly - THANK YOU so much for your reviews, they really have been desperately encouraging. I am in all honesty freaking out about this fic, there's a lot that I think can go wrong (and possibly is), but your reviews assuage my fears. I hope this chapter was worth the wait, and if there's anything horrifically wrong about Thanksgiving let me know, I'm a Brit, I live in China, I've never been to the USA, so everything is research and guesswork which can go very wrong!
Happy (early) Thanksgiving!
Needless to say... I'm more than interested in your thoughts, so please review!