Warnings: AU, Mentions of Child Abuse, Profanity. Eventual Warnings: Slash (Stone Cold Steve Austin/CM Punk), Smut, Age difference.
Sunday, the first day of the month, and Steve isn't sure he wants to get out of bed. Yesterday had been brutal. Phil sobbing against his chest, trembling in his arms, soaking his shirt with tears, the thought haunts Steve, and won't leave him in peace. There's no way he can accept the hand fate dealt Phil as being fair, no way he can accept that this was what Phil was destined for. There's a goodness in Phil, a goodness that thrives despite the horrors inflicted on him, a goodness Steve wants to cultivate. Phil's a good kid, he'll grow into a good man, and Steve wants to watch him grow into that man.
Jim had been gentle with Phil at dinner, and for that, Steve was more than grateful. He'd avoided talking about Phil's journal, and about going to the Police, but Phil had brought it up, had quietly said that as soon as Jim had time he wanted to make a statement. Jim had been delighted, and had promised to take him after school on Monday. Steve's glad, he's relieved, but he's not sure how Phi's going to be after telling his story officially. He's worried about that, worried that Phil will withdraw, will hide behind his walls again, and there's nothing Steve wants less than that. He wants Phil getting better, and he can only hope that talking to the Police, getting his story told and recorded will help with that.
"Hey, you gonna stay in bed all day?" There's a knock on Steve's bedroom door, and he sits up reaching for some clothes, pulling them on quickly. There's no need to give Phil another eyeful like the one Steve had given him on his birthday.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm up, I'm awake. Jesus, it's ten already?" Steve glances at the clock on his bedside cabinet, and rubs his eyes. It's not like him to lie around in bed half the morning, and on the other side of the door, he can hear Phil laughing.
"It is... But if it makes you feel any better, I've only been up for like twenty minutes." Steve opens his bedroom door, and is briefly puzzled over it being closed. He usually leaves it open for Hershey, but he supposes he must have shut it at some stage last night.
"Twenty minutes? Punkster, it's not like you to sleep." Steve laughs, and Phil ducks his head, his ears slightly red.
"I was... Tried." He murmurs, and starts down the stairs. "I'm making French toast. I want something horrifically sweet for breakfast." He calls up, and Steve ambles down behind him to the kitchen, going straight for the coffee pot. The rest of the day, they barely leave the kitchen, the day given over to writing, and silence. It's not unpleasant, but there's nothing much that Steve can think of to say, and it appears that Phil's in the same boat. Words don't come easily after what happened yesterday, but Steve's determined to be the same as ever around Phil, determined to be the supportive influence Phil needs in his life.
All day Monday, Steve frets. It's the day Phil's going with Jim to make his statement, and the more Steve thinks about it, the more he concludes that he should have offered to go with them. Jim and Phil had seemed content with their plan for it to be just the two of them, but the longer the day goes on, the more Steve decides that he should be there for Phil, but he can't, he knows he can't. If he was there, he'd only add more reasons to the already gargantuan list of hatred he has for Phil's parents, and decide to hop on a plane to Illinois. It's far better for Steve to stay where he is; at least that's what he keeps telling himself. Monday night sees Phil back late, his face blotchy and red. He walks straight past Steve, straight past Hershey, and straight into the bathroom closest to his bedroom. Jim comes in a few seconds after, and Steve turns to him.
"I should've been there with him." Steve snaps, and Jim shakes his head, walking to the kitchen, and helping himself to a bottle of beer. "I should have goddamn well been there for him, Jim." Jim doesn't answer, he just sinks the beer, and grabs another, opening it, and drinking half, before setting it on the counter.
"You wouldn't have been allowed in the room, Steve." Jim sighs, taking another swig of his beer.
"I could've driven him there. I could've been there, just outside the door... I shouldn't have let you take him. I should've been there, Jim." Steve takes the now two empty bottles from the counter, and rinses them in the sink, leaving them to dry upside down.
"There's nothing you could've done, Ste-"
"I could have been there for him!" Steve snaps, his voice laced with anger, anger all aimed at himself. He should've taken Phil, he should have, but he didn't. Jim had said he would, and selfishness had left Steve feeling nothing more than relieved when Jim had offered last night, a day to think it over has reversed Steve's decision, and now he regrets it bitterly.
"He'll be alright, Steve... He's a strong kid." Jim grabs another beer from the fridge, offering one to Steve, but Steve shakes his head. He's not in the right mood for drinking; it'd end up messy if he did.
"Yeah, but he's still a kid." Steve mutters, taking a seat on a stool by the counter. Jim polishes off his third beer, but doesn't say anything else. He looks pale, and grim, like he'd like another beer, but he really shouldn't have any more, not if he wants to be able to get home tonight.
"He is... By god, he is still just a kid." Jim stands, and rubs his eyes with his knuckles. "Steve... Take care of him." He leaves the kitchen, and Steve can hear him knock on the bathroom door, shouting a goodbye to Phil, then the front door closes behind him. Steve sits at the counter, staring at the wall. He's not sure how he feels. It's like there's something dark, colossal and tarry in his mind, and he wants to scrape it out, but he'd no idea what it is, or how. After a long time, the bathroom door opens, and there's the sound of Phil's padding to his bedroom, the door creaking on its hinges as Phil opens, and half-closes it. Steve gives him a few minutes to get changed for bed before heading to his room.
"Knock, knock, Punkster." Steve hovers on the other side of the half-closed door, staring into the darkness. There's a softly distressed sound from the darkness, and Steve goes in. It's hard to make Phil out in the gloom, but he's curled up in bed, wrapped around Hershey, his face against her fur. "Hey..." There's a quiet, little sob, and Steve sits down on the bed behind Phil, his hand reaching out, and resting on his back. "Hey?" He tries again, but all Phil does is press against Hershey some more. The dog turns her head up to Steve, and he strokes her ear gently. She looks deeply distressed that her friend is weeping, and Steve has to admit he's distressed too. He's not entirely sure what to do in this situation, but Phil needs to be comforted; he needs to be reassured he's safe. Steve takes a deep breath, and lies down behind Phil on his back, his side pressed against Phil's curved spine. "I'm right here if you need me." Steve murmurs, and then he stares up at the dark ceiling. It takes Phil maybe five minutes to turn around, stop being curled around Hershey, and to press his forehead against Steve's bicep. Steve doesn't say anything, doesn't push Phil for answers, and isn't surprised when after a few more minutes, Phil moves closer still, letting Steve wrap his arm tight around his shoulders. Eventually, after about made twenty minutes, Phil moves a little closer. His head rests on Steve's chest, and Steve doesn't think about it, doesn't dwell on the fact this is the first time in over a year he's held someone like this, instead all he thinks about his how thin and light Phil is, and how much of a relief it is that he's stopped crying. Phil falls asleep not long after he settled against Steve, and Steve doesn't much mind. He can sleep where he is, as he is, if it helps Phil, it's no hardship for him.
The next morning, Phil getting out of bed wakes Steve up. Phil doesn't look at him, instead he seems utterly humiliated, and Steve sits up, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"Hey? How you doing?" Steve asks, and Phil opens his mouth to speak, but ends up shaking his head, and saying nothing. "Punkster." There's a part of Steve that wants to go over to Phil, and hug him, but the look on Phil's face says that wouldn't be welcomed. He looks like he wants to run, and Steve doesn't want to scare him any more than he already has. Hershey hops off the bed behind Steve, and leaves the room; the sound of her drinking is loud in the quiet stillness of the house.
"Thank you... Last night, I... Thank you, Steve." Phil's voice is quiet and scratchy. He busies himself with getting clothes for school.
"You wanna take today off?" Steve thinks it might be an idea, Phil looks pale and tired. Despite sleeping well, he looks drained, but that's more than likely because of telling his story to the Police yesterday. It had to be emotionally draining if nothing else.
"No." Phil shakes his head, and turns to Steve. There's a light in Phil's eyes, a tiny spark that wasn't there before, like some weight has been lifted from him. "No, I'm fine." He smiles, and Steve can almost believe that Phil really is fine.
"You sure?" Steve stands, and Phil nods, his smile not faltering. If he's putting on a brave face, it's more believable than the one he'd worn at the end of December. "Alright." Steve wanders past Phil, heading upstairs to shower, and get dressed into some clean clothes. "You gonna have time to feed me?" He calls back to Phil, and all he gets is a laugh, a happy light little laugh, a laugh that convinces Steve that maybe Phil really is okay, for now at least.
First full weekend of February is cold, and miserably damp. The decision to stay inside is made easily, and as usual, Saturday morning is spent at the kitchen table with a plate of cookies, hazelnut and choc-chip, and a pot of coffee between them as Phil works on his homework, and Steve works on his letters. He's been debating bringing up Monday with Phil. It really seems like Phil has lightened since talking to the Police, and for that Steve's grateful, but it feels unresolved to him. He expects there to be a fallout for this whole thing, but Phil really does seem to be okay. It might simply be that Steve's borrowing trouble for no reason, but he feels like there should be a spanner through into these straightforward works. Yet nothing happens, nothing of note anyway. It's an easy two days of tranquil normalcy between Steve and Phil. It's nice, but Steve is unnerved by it. He knows the darkest, bleakest parts of Phil's past, and Phil seems okay with it. He seems okay in general. It's strange, but Steve had expected there to be more to this, had expected Phil to clam right back up, and run from him, but it seems like Phil has relaxed, has come to accept Steve's concern, has come to accept that the Ranch is somewhere where he's safe. It's all borrowed trouble, Steve's sure of it. He's not going to wish for a return to sullen, distant Phil, not when he spent all weekend with his normal Phil, sweet, quick-witted, and easily embarrassed normal Phil.
The first hint of trouble comes on Tuesday evening. The Owl, instead of dropping Phil off, stops in for dinner.
"So, Steve... Our dear Philip has reminded me that Valentine's Day is this weekend." She smiles, and Steve stares at her. He'd forgotten all about it. Since his wife died, and he just then realises it's been a while since he heard the ghost of her voice in his ear, he's ignored the idea of romance. He's not sure he wants another woman, not yet at least.
"Is it really?" Steve mutters, and the Owl laughs, nodding. "Well, now, I can't rightly think why I'd need to be reminded about Valentine's day Mrs Davis, unless you'd like to come to dinner?" Steve laughs, and Phil almost chokes on his soup, getting a sharply concerned look from the Owl.
"Well, I'm flattered." She chuckles, but there's something calculating in her eyes. "It's been over a year since your wife, God rest her soul, passed away... A man-"
"You should go on a date, and Mrs Davis' friend's daughter is single. We're fixing you up." Phil interrupts, and Steve stares at him incredulously. "What? You're still young! You shouldn't be on your own on the most romantic day of the year." Phil smirks, and the Owl nods sagely.
"Joan is a sweet girl, just divorced gone two years, no kids, the ex didn't want them. Good with animals, good with children, she's a math teacher, and very pretty." The Owl reaches for her purse, and starts rooting through it "Now where is that darned thing... I'm sure it's in here somewhere... Ah-ha! Philip, be a dear and find that picture for Steve." The Owl hands an old looking cell phone to Phil, and he starts clicking buttons on it, before turning it to Steve, showing a picture of a woman with slightly frizzy hair, a sweet smile, and a cat, one of those big fluffy white cats who's owners inevitably dote on. She's not Steve's type, but he can't honestly say what is anymore. He's not really been attracted to anyone since the day he was told his wife was dead.
"She looks... Nice." He offers mildly, and Phil grins at him.
"You're meeting her at six at the restaurant in town on Saturday." Phil sounds positively jubilant, and Steve nods vaguely. He can't remember the last date he went on, his wife had never been one for romance. She'd been a practical woman far fonder of getting dirty than getting dressed up.
"Great." Steve hopes he sounds more enthusiastic than he feels, because he doesn't feel the least bit filled with enthusiasm, he's almost dreading this date.
"Oh it will be!" The Owl is clearly delighted, and Steve returns to eating, letting her and Phil chatter happily about what Steve should wear, and what present he should bring this Joan.
When Saturday comes, Steve's greeted to the sight of Phil carefully ironing a shirt, glaring at it critically and swearing at the creases he can't get ironed out. Breakfast is cooking on the stove, and Hershey's sitting in her bed eyeing the occasionally hissing iron warily. She's very distrusting of certain kinds of technology, and Steve can't blame her, he's never been overly fond of irons or vacuum cleaners either.
"Punkster, you heading out for Valentine's too?" Steve asks, and Phil looks up at him briefly, then shakes his head, returning to his work.
"Nope, but I'm making sure you look handsome for your date." He sounds preoccupied, and like something's bothering him, but what Steve can't say, so he busies himself with making coffee. "I think this is finally all sorted." Phil puts the shirt on a hanger, and unplugs the iron, wandering over to poke at breakfast. "I'm making oatmeal... It's cold out." He mutters, distracted by stirring the pot on the stove. "Do me a favour and grab the blueberries from the fridge." Steve fetches the berries, and sets them down by the stove, taking a glance in the pot. He's never been a fan of oatmeal, it's always been too bland for him, but he doesn't doubt that Phil will be doing something to it to make it more palatable.
"Do I have to pick a tie out, or have you already decided on one for me, Punkster?" Steve assumes that Phil had fetched the suit and shirt from Steve's closet at some time during the week; he vaguely recognises the charcoal pants and jacket from some court hearing or something, the pale blue shirt he remembers from having to go for an interview somewhere or another for some reason that's lost to annals of time.
"I didn't know where you keep them." Phil starts plating up the oatmeal, sprinkling the berries, and some nuts he's chopped on top. "I'll give you my expert opinion later." He carries the bowls over to the table, and sits down, starting to eat. "C'mon, eat up... It's better hot."
"You okay?" It seems like a silly thing to ask, because on the whole Phil seems fine, but there's something off about him, something strange about his demeanour this morning, and Steve can't put his finger on what it is.
"I'm fine." Phil smiles, a tiny little smile that Steve doesn't quite believe. "Really, I am." He tries again, and Steve raises an eyebrow at him. "It's nothing much of anything, so don't worry."
"So there is something? I worry, Punkster, I can't help it. You're the only person I worry about." Steve tells him plainly, and Phil ducks his head, his ears turning red in embarrassment. Steve almost wants to take that statement back as it's clearly made Phil uncomfortable, but it's entirely true. He worries about Phil a great deal, Phil is his dear and precious charge, there's nothing and no one on the planet he worries about more. He can only hope that there's not some story from Phil's life in Chicago connected to Valentine's that he's not been told. He doesn't want there to be something horrible that's happened to Phil that Steve should be making better for him, rather than swanning off on some date.
"I'm okay, Steve... Don't worry about me." Phil doesn't look up, and Steve gives up trying to prod answers out of him. Phil will tell him what's wrong in time he supposes.
They spend the rest of the morning, and most of the afternoon writing, an almost sullen silence hanging heavy over Phil, and Steve wants to talk to him about it, but he's no idea how to address it. It might be related to a thousand different things, because he's not sure where this mood has come from in the first place. All week Phil's seemed pretty happy, but today there's more than a hint misery creeping through his demeanour.
"Go shower." Phil says just after lunch, and Steve stares at him blankly. "It'll take a while to get ready, and you don't want to be late, so go and shower now." Phil doesn't look up from his homework, and Steve doesn't bother arguing with him. "I'll come make a choice on the tie once you're ready." Phil chuckles, and Steve snorts, standing and grabbing his pressed suit and shirt.
"You wanna pick my underwear too?" Steve jokes, and Phil's glances up at him, then very quickly back down at his homework, his face beet red.
"I'll trust you to not pick some tightie-whities." He mumbles, and Steve leaves the kitchen laughing.
Once out the shower, and as dressed as Steve plans on getting before he leaves the house, he calls Phil upstairs to examine the few ties he's tossed on the bed. The selection isn't great, but Steve is very much not a suit and tie kind of man, that there's more than one is always a point of pride for him really.
"So which one do you think?" He asks, and Phil pauses at the door, staring at him. "What?" Steve feels more than a little self-conscious, dressed in the suit pants and shirt, and Phil's staring isn't helping with that in the least.
"I... Uh... Nothing." Phil scrubs a hand over his face, an odd pale blush on his face, his eyes downcast to the ties. "Hmm..." He pokes at them, and seems to be considering which one would look best carefully, glancing up at Steve quickly as if he was trying to look at the sun. "Try this one." He hands over the black tie first, and Steve starts putting it on, turning to Phil when he's finished. "No... Too dark." He hands over a paler grey tie, but then quickly changes his mind, and hands over the navy one instead. "This one." He says firmly, and Steve dutifully takes the strip of fabric from him, knotting it around his neck.
"So, will I do?" He asks, and Phil nods, fishing his phone from his pocket, and points it at Steve, snapping a picture.
"You look good, see." Phil shows him the picture, and Steve thinks he just looks like himself, but Phil seems content with his decision, and stashes the phone back in his pocket. "You better get going... This took way longer than I was expecting." Phil laughs, and Steve shrugs. He'd shaved, and had had a moment of indecision over the underwear. He's not planning on putting out on a first date, but he'd not wanted to wear the first boxers that had come to hand. It'd been surprisingly difficult to choose the right pair.
"I won't be back too late... Will you be okay on your own?" Steve trails along behind Phil down to the hall, and Phil points over to Steve's dress shoes. They look like they've been freshly polished, and Steve smiles gratefully at him.
"I'll be fine. Go and have fun. I left something for you to take to her by the door." Phil smiles, and watches Steve pull on his shoes, then he holds up the suit jacket, Steve rolls his eyes, but does duck a little, letting Phil put it on him.
"So, will I do?" Steve asks again, and Phil nods. There's an odd look in his eyes, the pupils far bigger than usual, and a soft little smile on his face. It's strange, but Phil looks far more interested in Steve's date than Steve feels. He feels kind of sad for Phil; this has to be kind of depressing for him. As far as Steve knows this isn't the sort of town where being gay is seen as normal, or even as acceptable. It has to be hard for Phil to keep his sexuality to himself, but he seems to be doing okay. It's all Steve can really say at the moment, that Phil seems to be doing okay. It feels as though he's reached some kind of plateau with Phil, where Steve is permitted to be a part of Phil's life, and where he's permitted to know certain things, but there's still a divide between them, there are still things that Phil keeps strictly to himself.
"You'll do." Phil nods, and Steve smiles at him. "Have fun." Phil leaves, and Steve sighs, grabbing his overcoat, and keys, heading out for his first date in years.
"How was your date?" Phil's voice is a surprise, Steve had expected him to be asleep by the time he got back, but it is a Saturday, and it's only just gone eleven. Phil's more than old enough to stay up later than this if he likes.
"It was..." Steve isn't sure how to answer the question. The Owl's friend's daughter had been nice enough, but he can't say that he'd enjoyed her company. They'd had nothing in common, nothing to talk about, and she'd spent a good ten minutes showing him pictures of her cats. Steve had spent the entire time thinking about Phil, home on his own with no one but Hershey for company. All Steve had really wanted to do was go back to the Ranch and spend time with Phil, even if it was just sitting around watching movies, it would have been better than his date. It was, all in all, a wasted Valentine's.
"That bad, huh?" Phil laughs, and Steve nods, flopping down into his easy chair. Phil tosses him the remote, but all Steve does with it is set it down on the arm of the chair, the movie Phil's watching looks interesting enough for Steve.
"You really didn't have a date for tonight, Punkster?" Steve asks, and Phil laughs softly as he pets Hershey's ear. She's fast asleep, her head in Phil's lap, her feet twitching every so often.
"My date thought I was too boring clearly." He chuckles, and Steve smirks at him, he thinks that his own date had probably been bored with him too. "Did your date like her chocolates?" Phil asks, his tone hopeful, and Steve stares at him.
"What chocolate?" He'd not given her any, he'd brought a cheap posy of flowers from a store on the way to the restaurant, and she'd not seemed over impressed, but there was no chocolate.
"I left a box on the table by the front door for you... I said before you left." Phil shakes his head, an incredulous look on his face. Steve stands and wanders to the front door, sure enough there's a pretty little bright red heart-shaped box sitting there. He hadn't noticed it when he was leaving, and there's no sense in letting it go to waste. He snags the box, and returns to the living room.
"Here you go." Steve hands Phil the box, holding back a laugh at the bewildered look on Phil's face. "I guess you'll have to be my Valentine this year, Punkster." Steve chuckles, and Phil ducks his head, his ears bright red. Steve sits in his chair mentally berating himself. He'd meant it in a light teasing sort of way, but with the horrors Phil's lived through, it's more than likely terrified him. He doesn't look terrified though, his ears are still red, and he's busy unwinding the pretty white ribbon from around the box, he looks okay, a little embarrassed, but okay. "You do all that yourself?" Steve hopes that Phil will answer him; he hopes he's not scared him with that joke.
"Uh-huh... I wanted it to look nice for you... For your date." Phil takes the lid from the box, and shows the contents to Steve. Inside the box, there are maybe a dozen little heart-shaped candies, and Steve takes one, biting it in two, and then scrabbling to lick up the lightly salted caramel that flows out of the chocolate shell.
"I'll be damned if you haven't gotten far too good at this." Steve mumbles around a mouthful of chocolate, and Phil grins at him, taking a chocolate for himself.
"Practice makes perfect." He smiles, and nibbles on the candy. They sit watching the movie, eating the chocolates until the closing credits, and then Steve considers heading to bed or finding something else to watch. He's not sure what the right choice would be, but Phil looks decided. "I'm gonna head to bed." He smiles slightly, and Steve nods. He supposes sleeping is a good idea, it's getting pretty late, and he can make a start on getting the spring bulbs planted tomorrow if he gets a good night's sleep tonight.
"Alright, I'll head there myself." Steve stands, switching the television off at the socket out of habit. When he turns, Phil is behind him, a tight pensive little look on his face. "Hey, what is it?" The words are barely out of his mouth when Phil kisses him. It's a tiny soft little brush of lips on lips, but Steve can feel panic rising in him.
"Happy Valentine's." Phil's voice is nothing more than a whisper, and he flees the living room, leaving Steve staring after him, and Hershey scrambling to catch up with her friend. Steve fingers touch his lips, rest over them, and he feels unwell. He's no idea what to make of this. The kiss on his birthday, that'd been nothing more than a kiss to his cheek, but this was different, different in a way Steve can't explain, different in a way he doesn't understand, different in a way he doesn't want to think about.
On Sunday, Steve can't really bring himself to be around Phil. He's confused more than anything, and he knows that if he's in Phil's company he'll bring up that kiss. He's not sure it's something that should be brought up, but he thinks that for the sake of his sanity it'd be nice to discuss it. Yet his sanity isn't what's important here, Phil's is, and Phil, being the sweetly affectionate creature that he is, probably mean nothing by it. Steve spends the day out in the mud, planting bulbs on his own. Hershey is with Phil, and Steve's grateful for that, he doesn't like the idea of Phil being lonely, and Hershey is very good company. When its dinnertime, Steve heads in, but the house is empty, and he slumps into a chair at the kitchen table feeling sick. Phil's nowhere in the house, his things are still there, but Phil himself isn't.
"Oh god..." Steve buries his face in his hands, and tries to think where Phil might be. The Ranch is huge, the surrounding area is bigger still, there's the possibility Phil's in town, or worse that he's gone. It gets later, and later, and Steve's considering calling the Owl to see if Phil's with her, when he hears the front door open, and the sound of Hershey's claws clacking on the floor. "Where the hell were you?" Steve doesn't turn to look at Phil, he just calls from where he's sitting, hearing Phil stop in his bedroom briefly, and then enter the kitchen, going straight to the fridge, and pulling food out to start cooking.
"Out." He says softly, and Steve glances at Phil's back, his shoulders are tense, his movements slightly jerky as he chops something. "I was going to mention it, but you were busy." Phil's voice is distant and sullen once more. It's the tone he'd used when he'd first come to the Ranch, and Steve wants to kick himself. All of the hard work he's done with Phil over the last few months has been unravelled in one fell swoop, unravelled by Steve freaking out over what was probably nothing.
The next week is painful. Phil's barely around, and Steve tries to invent reasons to not be in the house. He can't think of what to say to Phil, and it appears as though Phil is painfully aware that what he did made Steve horrifically uncomfortable, so he's not in the house much either. It's worse than it was in the beginning, far worse. At least in the beginning Steve had known what he had to do, he'd known that he had to get close to Phil, to get to know him, but now Steve has no idea what he should be doing. He can't stand this distance, but he has no idea what to make of that kiss. It'd definitely been more intimate than the birthday peck, but it had still been an innocent gesture, probably at least. The more Steve thinks on it, the more he thinks he's blown this thing out of proportion, but he can't work out how to explain that to Phil, so they continue in this horrible pattern. Phil barely talks all week, by the time the Saturday morning comes around, Steve thinks he's heard maybe two words from him since last Sunday.
Gone out - Breakfast needs heating up.
Phil
The note is short, simple and to the point. Steve stares at it, and something in his stomach aches, something in his heart aches. He's chasing Phil from his home, and he has no idea how to fix it. Phil doesn't come back for lunch, isn't back for dinner, and Steve is in another panic when he hears a car coming up the track at maybe ten o'clock. He rushes to the window, and recognises the Owl's beat up old station wagon.
"I'll pick you up tomorrow then, Phil." She laughs, and from the window, Steve can just make out Phil smiling at her, Hershey hopping out of the car behind him, her tail wagging happily.
"Thank you, Mrs Davis." Phil waves her off, and then stands outside for a few moments, his arms wrapped around himself. He looks so small out there, so fragile, and Steve isn't sure what to make of the urge to go and wrap him up in his arms. It'd be a horribly idea if nothing else. So, instead, he sits back down, and switches on the TV, turning to one of Phil's favourite shows, hoping to entice him into joining Steve, but instead he goes straight to his bedroom, the hinges creaking loudly, starkly deafening even over the sound of the television.
Sunday is a repeat of Saturday, and Steve finds himself moping down by the creek. He'd come to talk to his wife, but when he'd got there, the fact that she's gone hit him like a tsunami. There's no one to talk down there. There's only Steve, the creek, and the tree. He'd ended up getting horribly frustrated and going back to the Ranch house, taking all the beer he could find down to the basement. He tried to find his wife's voice in memories stirred up by old photographs, but she didn't talk to him, and the beer did nothing but make him progressively more and more drunk, more and more maudlin, until he'd passed out.
Monday morning, he'd woken up in his bed, with no recollection of how he'd gotten there, to the sight of Hershey's deep brown eyes.
"What're you doing here?" Asking Hershey is pointless, but Steve's more than confused. It's the first time since Phil has been on the Ranch that he's woken up to Hershey's face. He glances over at the clock, and then flops back down against the pillows. It's after eleven. Phil will already be in school. "I'm no better than his parents were, Wonder Dog." Steve mumbles, and Hershey looks at him, before huffing loudly. "I drink myself into a stupor. I ignore him. I take advantage of him and his kindness. I know he's been feeding you, girl, me too... Jesus... I'm fucking up with this one, Hershey... I'm fucking up. It's like one step forward, and two steps back." Steve raises his hands to his face, and scrubs at it. "Gotta do better this week, I gotta."
The resolve isn't easy to find in the face of Phil's continued absence though. Even if he's in the Ranch house he's not there emotionally, and more often than not he's there physically either. Steve knows he can't let this go on much longer. Jim's coming by on Saturday. He and Phil need to be at least civil to one another by then. Only Phil seems to have no interest in talking to Steve, no interest in being anything other than absent.
The last day of the month, two weeks since Phil kissed Steve, two weeks since there was any real conversation between them, and Steve still isn't sure how to address it. He comes down stairs hoping against hope that Phil will be there, but once more, the kitchen is silent. This time there's no note, and Steve slumps into a chair. There's the sound of claws clacking behind him, and then Hershey's chin rests on his thigh.
"You been left alone too?" Steve asks her, and she whines softly. "What is it?" She whines again, and Steve stands walking for the back door, assuming she wants out to pee. Hershey scarpers across to the door, and then starts almost herding Steve away from it. Steve sighs and goes to sit down, only to encounter Hershey blocking his way once more. "Alright, I get it. Where are we going?" The dog trots out the kitchen door and Steve follows her. She slinks into Phil's room, and Steve pauses at the door. The room is still dark, the soft sounds of talk radio playing, and Steve hovers nervously. "Punkster?" He's not sure why he's whispering, but it seems appropriate. Hershey huffs, and appears at the door. Steve's sure that if the dog could talk she'd be demanding that he gets into the room now. Steve pushes the door open, and notices nothing out of the ordinary apart from the bed. Phil's curled up, the blankets up over his head. Steve creeps closer, and even from a distance, he can feel the heat coming from Phil's body. "You got yourself ill, Punkster?" Steve mumbles, and there's a soft noise from the blanket heap. "Shh, shh. I'll heat you up some soup."
"Steve?" Phil's voice is painfully soft and scratchy, and Steve gently moves the blankets so he can see Phil's face.
"You're sick." Steve tells him, and something horribly wounded flashes through Phil's eyes. "I'd say you'd caught a fever." Steve quickly adds, utterly devastated that Phil would think he was insulting him, that he was throwing the same cruel barbs his parents had at him. He cares deeply for Phil, cares about him more than any other child that's passed through the doors of the Ranch, because unlike every other child, Steve has been so involved with Phil. Phil's been Steve's focus since day one, and he wants to do right by him, needs to do right by Phil. This whole kissing thing Steve is just going to have to ignore, because his own musings aren't helping Phil. Phil's the only thing he's concerned about, the only thing that matters, and he'd meant nothing by it. It was a sweet little gesture that means nothing, and that's all there is to it.
"I'm fine." Phil sounds anything but, and Steve snorts. His hand resting on Phil's forehead, resolutely ignoring the way Phil shrinks back from Steve's touch. They'd gotten passed flinching, and ducking, they've gotten passed all of this. Steve's not letting his over-thinking and discomfort cause distress to Phil, not anymore. He needs Steve, now and in general, it's not the time to be selfishly focussed on himself.
"You're not fine at all, Punkster." Steve sighs, and stands. "You've caught yourself a flu." Steve smiles at him, and Phil does nothing more than close his eyes. "You wait here." Steve wanders off to the kitchen, setting some soup up to cook on the stove, and then he starts building a blanket nest on Phil's couch. Once he's satisfied the blankets and pillows will keep Phil warm enough, Steve goes back to his room, finding Phil curled up even smaller. Steve shakes his shoulder gently, and Phil turns to look at him, blinking slowly, as if keeping his eyes open takes herculean effort.
"Steve?" He murmurs, and Steve scoops him up easily. For being so tall, Phil really is almost terrifyingly light. Steve sets him down on the couch, holding back a laugh as Phil burrows into the blanket nest like a little mole, leaving only his eyes visible once he's settled.
"Here you go. Invalids get to be in charge of the remote." Steve hands Phil the remote for the TV, before he heads to the kitchen, and grabs the phone. It's not a good idea for Jim to come over today, not with Phil sick like this, so rearranging when Phil's better is the only option. "Jim, its Steve."
"Steve?" Jim sound confused, and Steve balances the phone between his shoulder and ear so he can stir the soup in the pot. He doesn't blame Jim for the confusion, he probably thinks things are going fine with Phil and Steve, he probably has no idea that they've barely spoken for two weeks, and in that period of silence, Phil has somehow managed to get himself ill to the point where Steve's playing nurse to him with very little complaining being done by Phil.
"Yeah... I know you're supposed to be coming down tonight, but Phil's none too well. It's not a good idea." Steve grabs a bowl from cupboard, and manages to serve the soup one handed. He slightly proud of that, and loads the toaster with bread, flicking the coffee pot on, as he considers putting Phil's bowl on a tray or not.
"He's sick? How sick? Jan can bring him some soup." There's an almost surprising amount of concern in Jim's voice, but Steve supposes that Jim's almost as invested in Phil's wellbeing as Steve is. Without ever meaning to, Phil's wrapped them both around his little finger, both of them want nothing more than for Phil to be healthy, and happy. Happy is the most important thing for Phil to be in Steve's mind.
"It's alright. I can look after him... I'll give you a call in the week. Let you know when he's better." Steve finishes up the call quickly, and carries Phil's soup through to him. "Here, take this. I've got some toast on the go too." When Steve comes back with a round of toast, two cups, and the pot of coffee, Phil is slowly eating his soup, the TV playing an episode of one of their shows, which Steve's already watched but Phil hasn't seen yet. Steve sets the toast and the coffee on the little table between the couch and his chair, taking a seat and a slice. There's a silence between them, the only sounds that of eating and the TV, but this silence feels better than the heavy dark one that's been lingering around the house as of late. Once Phil's finished eating the soup, Steve takes the bowl from him, intending to take it to the kitchen when Phil talks.
"Steve." His voice is still croaky, but he sounds a little better, which is something.
"Uh-huh?" Steve sets the dirty bowl on the coffee table, and crouches down so that he's level with Phil's face. "What is it?" Phil's skin is pale and clammy, he looks like he's gotten himself far sicker than Steve had realised, and he's considering thinking about calling the doctor to come check up on Phil.
"On Valentine's... I'm..." Phil looks away, and Steve moves his head so that he can meet those huge eyes of Phil's. There's something swirling in their depths, something small and bright, like the light that had been snuffed out over the last two weeks has been rekindled. He's glad Phil's bringing this up, over these few weeks, Steve's been stalling for something to say, and he's grateful that Phil is biting the bullet for him. "I'm sorry, Steve... These last two weeks, I've been trying to work out how to apologise for making you mad-"
"I ain't angry, Punkster." Steve interrupts him, and hugs Phil tightly, ignoring the tension in Phil's body, ignoring the way it feels like he's thinking about pulling away. Steve needs to make Phil understand he was never angry, could never be angry with him. He was confused, he was over-thinking, he was being stupid, but never angry. "I ain't angry with you. Fuck me, that's what you thought? No... No. I can't be angry with you, Punkster." Phil almost seems to nuzzle against Steve, his arms wrapping around Steve tentatively, squeezing back tightly. It's a relief, a complete and utter relief that Phil's not pushing him away, that the two weeks of purgatory and retrograde in their relationship is over with. They can move on, they can focus on helping Phil heal from the horrors of his past, they can watch TV together, eat together, fish together, decide what to plant out back in the vegetable patch together. This divide is over with, and Steve's beyond happy about that.
"No? You're not angry?" Phil whispers, his voice is so tentative, so worried, and all Steve can do is shake his head, never.
Many thanks to the ladies and gentlemen who reviewed:
Rebellecherry, Lovingsiri, Shiki94, Brokenspell77, plebs, AshJoivillette, and littleone1389.
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