Warnings: AU, Slash (Stone Cold Steve Austin/CM Punk), Mentions of Child Abuse, Profanity, Age difference, Smut.
"You okay?" Phil's soft voice wakes Steve up Monday morning. His tone tentatively timid. Last night had been a terrible mistake, Steve knows it was, but lying with Phil curled up in his arms doesn't feel like a mistake. The warmth of Phil's body against him in the too narrow bed felt far better than anything else has felt in a long time. For a mistake, it felt perfect.
"I'm awake." It's not quite an answer to the question Phil was asking, but it's the only answer Steve is prepared to give. It's an honest answer, but it's clearly not answer enough for Phil, as he sighs, and sits up, clambering out of bed awkwardly. There's something dejected in the air around him, but Steve isn't too sure what to do to make that leave him.
"I'm gonna shower, then start breakfast." Phil leaves the room, after snagging a pile of clothes, and Steve closes his eyes, his head resting on Phil's pillow. He shouldn't be in this bed. This bed where Phil's slept for almost a year, where he's touched himself just last night, where he lay cradled in Steve's arms like the precious, treasured person that he is. Steve sits up, swinging his feet to floor, scrubbing at his face with his hands. It's too early to feel quite so unwell, but there's nothing he can do about it. Hershey hops up onto the bed, and starts licking Steve's face, her tail waggling happily.
"Mornin' Wonder Dog." Steve mutters as he ruffles her ears. "You're full of the joys this morning." He can't help but chuckle at the dog, she seems far happier than he's seen her for a while. He's not too sure why, but it's nice to see her look so happy without Phil by her side. "You gonna go find your buddy, cause I'm gonna go get dressed, little miss." Steve stands, leaving Phil's room for his own.
"So... I'm thinking pancakes... But I dunno. Eggs maybe? There's plenty of eggs, my girls have been busy." Phil sounds far more cheerful when Steve enters the kitchen. He looks no different to normal, but Steve isn't sure what he'd been expecting. There's no reason for Phil to look different, no reason for him to be different, at least no reason that Phil's aware of at least, because Steve has plenty of reasons to look at Phil differently. He's seen him come, has seen Phil naked, had lain in darkness holding Phil tightly watching him sleep. It'd been a night where once he'd drifted off, Steve had slept well, a night he'll remember forever, a night he shouldn't have had.
"Eggs... Eggs are good." Steve mumbles as he starts a pot of coffee. He can't bring himself to look at Phil, but he can feel those too big, too green, too pretty eyes on him.
"Steve?" Steve turns to look at Phil, but whatever he was going to say doesn't come to him, and Phil shakes his head, going to grab the basket of eggs on the counter by the sink. "How you want them? I'm thinking boiled..."
"I'll make toast, I can manage that." Steve laughs, but it feels forced, mostly because it is forced, but he's trying, and that's all Steve can bring himself to think, he's trying. The problem is he's not sure what he's trying to do.
All week Steve doesn't sleep well. He lies in bed staring up at the ceiling thinking about Phil sleeping downstairs, thinking about holding Phil's sleeping body close, the warmth of him, the solidness of him, the sound of his breath, the scent of his skin. It plagues Steve to the point where he simply gives up even trying to sleep, and he waits for exhaustion to take him. The time he spends with Phil is normal, curiously normal. He's been helping Phil run lines, watching him distract himself from studying with this new play. In a couple of weeks his exams will be over, then there'll be a performance of this play, and school will be over until next September, or August, whenever it's decided to send children back to schooling. He's not sure what Phil's going to do next year. He should ask about it, but he's no idea what he wants Phil to say. If he stays, then Steve is undoubtedly resigning himself to dealing with another year of this, another year of pining in silence for a boy. If Phil goes back to Chicago, Steve will be left with the silence of the Ranch house. Unless he takes Jim up on his offer. Two or three more kids in the house would be good, but what if the sickness isn't limited to Phil? What if this attraction to Phil is a latent perversion that his wife had kept at bay? What if he finds himself fantasising about other children? You're special. It's the excuse he's read in files of abused children, the poisonous words their abusers would whisper into their ears. You're not like other children. You're so grown up. You're special. Phil is all of those things, but he's still a minor, he's still a child, he's still Steve's charge. What Steve feels is wrong, what he did last weekend was wrong, the reason he lies awake in bed at night is wrong. This weekend he'll make this better, he'll make himself the guardian Phil needs him to be. He can't cure this sickness, but he can, and has to, hide it, for Phil's sake as much as his own.
"So this weekend, you got any plans beyond these here books?" Steve snags another cookie, and uses it to gesture to the wall of books surrounding Phil.
"I have so many plans beyond these books." Phil mutters, writing something else down in his notebook. "But achieving things that aren't studying isn't likely." He sighs, and takes a sip of his coffee.
"It's not good for a soul to be trapped inside on a day like this." Steve glances out the window to the sun beating down. He should be out there working. There's a thousand things that are more important than sitting writing these letters, but it's what he does on a Saturday, and he's not breaking tradition, not leaving Phil alone if he doesn't have to. He doesn't doubt that alone Phil will be formulating some way to get Steve to talk about last weekend, and all he'd like to do is move on from it. They should talk, they need to talk, but Steve would rather they didn't.
"Well, my soul's just going to have to suffer, because I doubt my brain is going to suddenly just know this." Phil meets Steve's eyes with a weary smile. "You can head out, Steve. I'll be fine on my own."
"I'm nearly done with these." Steve starts writing again, replying to one of his old kids, a girl, woman now he supposes, with a family of her own. There's a picture of her son with the letter, and Steve finds himself staring at the baby in the picture, dreading feeling an attraction to it, and feeling ridiculous when the only thing he feels is happier for looking at the smiling child. He's not a paedophile, he knows he's not, but he also knows that there's something about Phil that draws him in. Phil's a child. He is, for all intents and purposes, Steve's child. He supposes there's a philia for him, some kind of scientific name for a man who's attracted to fragile but strong young men who are in their care. Even if there is a scientific name for him, Steve knows the truth is that he's a pervert, he's sick, and Phil will be much better off if he leaves as soon as he can. "I'm gonna head out." Steve stands suddenly, leaving a slightly bewildered looking Phil behind him.
Saturday night, Phil cooks, and they eat in the living room, watching TV. Steve feels a little more like himself, feels the sickness recede in the face of something that's normal. They watch their shows, Steve absently asking Phil random practice questions for his exams, with Phil giving him increasingly rambling answers until it gets late enough for him to be yawning. He retreats to bed, and Steve has another night of staring at the ceiling, thoughts of Phil churning in his mind.
Sunday is quiet, a day spent with Phil helping him out on the Ranch, running lines with Steve as they work. It lulls him into a false sense of security that lasts until dinner.
"I think we need to talk." It's not a conversation Steve wants to have, but Phil sounds determined, and Steve stares resolutely down at his food, pushing it around the plate absently.
"What you wanna talk about, Punkster?" Steve chances a quick glance at Phil, and gets caught by those eyes of his. They're a weakness Steve's going to have to overcome, he can't keep failing to deal with those eyes, but they're inescapable, too big to avoid, and too powerful to resist.
"Steve." The tone Phil uses to say his name makes the hairs on Steve's arms stand on end. He's never heard his name said like that, and he manages to break his gaze from Phil's turning back to dinner. "Last week..." Phil sighs, and takes a drink from his glass. "There's something bothering you, and I wanna help."
"You can't." Steve takes a bite of food, and Phil slams the glass he's holding down, liquid sloshing onto the table.
"You don't know that." He snaps, and Steve holds back a laugh. He knows Phil can't help him, because Phil's a good part of the problem. Steve's the majority of it, but Phil's part of it. He's not putting blame on Phil, he's done nothing wrong, but he's still what's bothering Steve, or at least he's what's bothering the sickness in Steve. "You said you were sick. How?"
"I can't tell you that, Punkster." Steve mutters, and Phil snorts, starting to eat with short, sharp movements. "It's... I can't."
"It's me, isn't it? You're really bad at hiding it." He says suddenly, his voice soft and miserable. Steve stares at him, hoping Phil's not worked out the truth, hoping against hope that Phil doesn't think he's done something wrong, because he hasn't, he's perfect as he is, he's the best thing in Steve's life.
"It's not you." Steve reaches over the table and rests his hands on Phil's wrists, squeezing them gently.
"You said it was me, that it was always me." Phil sets his cutlery down, and shifts his arms, forcing Steve to surrender his light grip on him. "It's been strange since I gave you that fucking journal... I shouldn't have. I should never have-"
"No! You don't get to do that, you don't get to regret letting me in, Philip." Steve stands, his palm flat on the table, as he glares at Phil. "You don't get to wish you'd stayed with that all locked up inside of you. You don't. You just don't." Steve's heart is racing; he can feel it fighting to get out of his chest. "You told me, and I'm honoured you did. Don't you ever regret that, ever."
"I don't know what else I've done, Steve... I don't know what I've done wrong." Phil curls into himself, his arms wrapping around himself tightly. "I want things to be good between us... It was good when you didn't know. It was good before I kissed you. It's me being a faggot isn't it?"
"Stop it." Steve walks around the table, and crouches down by Phil. "Don't call yourself that."
"Why? It's what I'm called at school, it's what I was called by my parents, it's probably what you're thinking right now... Nothing more than a pathetic little faggot." Phil laughs bitterly, and Steve turns his chair around, tilting Phil's face up to him.
"You are exactly that way you should be. You are perfect the way you are. You're not a fa-" Steve trails off, he can't say that word, he can't bring himself to say the word that clearly causes Phil so much pain. "You're gay, so what? You're not sick, there's nothing wrong with you. I'll tell you that every day till you believe me, Punkster, every single day."
"Then what is it?" Phil's eyes drift closed, hiding the fact there'd been tears shimmering in them. "What's wrong? What did I do?" There's an edge to his voice, a frayed, fragile edge, and Steve gathers him close, cradling him gently. "Tell me."
"Nothing." Steve's voice is little more than whisper. He feels weak, he might be the one holding Phil, but in this moment, he feels like he's taking more comfort than he's giving. "You've done nothing, this is on me."
"But I'm part of the problem, so what did I do?" Phil tries to pull out of Steve's arms, and for a few seconds Steve holds him fast, but the second Phil attempts again he lets go. He won't trap Phil with his own selfish desires; he won't hurt him more than he already has. "Steve... Last weekend... Did you hear something?" Phil mutters softly, and Steve glances away. "I knew it. You were worried about the faggot having a crush on you, and then it turns out he does." Phil laughs, and pushes the chair back, getting to his feet. "Don't worry... I won't be here for much longer anyways. This year's almost up, and we can forget about this whole th-"
"Stop it!" Steve bellows as he stands. "Fucking stop this! How many times do I have to tell you I don't care that you're gay? You like dudes more than chicks. That's fine! It's great even!" Phil's glaring straight back at Steve, his fists clenched, trembling in rage.
"Then why the fuck are you acting like this?" He demands, and Steve crumbles in the face of the well-deserved anger in Phil's tone. "Fucking tell me, because this fucking hurts, Steve." His voice softens, there's no less anger, but the tone is milder at least.
"I don't want to hurt you." Steve sneaks a glance at Phil, at the way he's trying to control his temper, the way he's still trembling.
"You are." He says simply, and leaves the room. Hershey glances at Steve, and then follows after Phil. For a long time the only sound is that of her claws scratching at Phil's bedroom door.
He tries to sleep that night, but Steve can't. He can't sleep with this tension in the house, he can't sleep with Phil in pain, but he can't think of any way to make it better.
"You still awake?" There's a soft voice from by the open door, and Steve sits up in bed, just about making out Phil in the darkness.
"I didn't know what to say... I've been trying to think, but ain't nothing coming to me." Steve flops back against the pillows, and throws an arm over his eyes. The bed dips beside him, the covers flapping up briefly, before gravity settles them around Phil. "Punkster."
"I half think I should revoke that right." Phil mutters, and Steve laughs softly, his arm snaking under Phil's shoulders, pulling him closer. He shouldn't be doing this, but having Phil beside him makes him feel better, having Phil come to him like this is a tactic truce agreement. There's no way Steve can tell Phil the truth, and he's not smart or quick enough to think up a good lie, so this is the way it'll have to be. Both of them existing together with a strange unspoken thing between them, trying to not offend each other, trying to not hurt each other.
"Wouldn't blame you." Steve mutters, cuddling Phil tighter. "I'm sorry I keep hurting you. Don't ever wanna hurt you." Steve presses a thoughtless kiss to Phil's forehead, feeling him snuggle closer.
"It's okay... I'm used to being hurt." Phil says softly, and Steve squeezes him tightly. Always the people who should love and care for him the most are the ones who hurt Phil. From his parents to Steve, no one who is supposed to look after him is capable to doing so without causing him pain.
"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry." Steve can feel tears pricking his eyes; can feel them running down the sides of his face to his pillow.
"Hey... Hey, don't cry... It's okay." Phil twists in his arms, staring at Steve. "It's okay." He repeats, trying to sound comforting, but Steve knows that comfort is the last thing he needs, or deserves.
"I'm supposed to take care of you... I'm supposed to protect you, be there for you, and all I'm doing is hurting you. Jesus... And now I'm making this about me... It's about you, it's always about you." Steve rests a hand on Phil's cheek, stroking it slightly. There's a hint on hair on Phil's face, a sign that before too long he'll have to start shaving. He's becoming a man before Steve's eyes, and when he's fully-grown, he's going to be heart-breaking in his beauty.
"I'm pretty sure I'm sick of it being about me." Phil mutters wryly, a smirk settling on his lips. "When it's about me, I end up hurt even more." He laughs bitterly, and Steve pulls him into a hug.
"I don't want to hurt you anymore." Steve kisses the top of his head, and Phil makes a softly content noise, the tension that was in him melting away. "I know you have a crush on me. I know and I don't care. You can have as many crushes as you like, you're a kid. It's what kids do." Steve kisses his head again, and Phil snorts, squirming slightly as he mumbles not a kid. The little movements of Phil's wriggling body send a spark through Steve, but he ignores it. This isn't about him, it's about Phil, it's about making things better for him. The sickness, Steve and his attraction aren't important, not in the face of Phil's needs. Phil is, was, and will always be the most important person in all of this.
"Stop pushing me away then." Phil whispers. "You can't tell me what's wrong, and I'll respect that, for now at least." He lifts his head from where it was resting on Steve's chest, meeting his eyes easily. "But, don't shut me out... We... I... Stay with me." Phil stresses those three little words, and Steve holds him tightly.
"I ain't going anywhere. Get some sleep, little one. You've got school in the morning." There's an odd little noise, and the bottom corner of the bed dips. "Looks like Hershey was feeling left out." Steve can't keep a laugh in, and Phil smiles at him, settling against him once more. "G'night, Punkster."
"I'm letting you keep that for now... Pull this shit again, and I'll only answer to Great One." Phil chuckles. Steve squeezes him lightly, and closes his eyes, falling asleep easily.
The next week is too busy for Steve to follow, the days blur into one another. Phil's too busy to be around much. His nose is constantly buried in a book; he even forgoes going to see the Owl on Tuesday and Thursday, opting instead to study more. The old woman shows up at the Ranch though, apparently unwilling to not see her student, and makes dinner. It'd been a surprise to find her in the Ranch kitchen, bustling around cooking and cursing under her breath. She's a pretty good cook, and rather like Phil, she sees it as a military operation, drafting Steve into being of use. She'd offered to come by on the weekend, and throughout the next week, to keep an eye on them, and Steve couldn't find a good reason to deny her.
"Steve?" Sunday afternoon brings another surprise guest, and Steve's left staring as Jim and Jan wander down to meet him in the field he's working in.
"Hello? Didn't know you were coming this weekend." Steve had been expecting them next weekend, when Phil'll be finished with school, but there's clearly been a change of plans.
"Well, my sister's sick, and we're heading to see her." Jan smiles slightly, and leans against a fence post.
"I didn't know your mother was in town, Steve." Jim's arm rests on his wife's shoulders, and Steve stares at him in confusion.
"My mother? Oh! No, that's Phil's Art tutor... The Owl... Uh... Mrs Davis." Steve laughs awkwardly, and Jim laughs along, but Jan looks mildly disapproving for a few seconds before sighing dramatically, and swatting at Jim's hand on her shoulder.
"She does look a little owlish." She concedes with a smile. "Why is she here?"
"She's a good cook, and I'm not?" Steve laughs, giving up on working and coming over to stand by the couple.
"Ah... Looking after you pair then?" Jan chuckles, and Steve nods. "She seems nice."
"Very nice. Will you be staying for dinner?" Steve starts ambling up to house, Jim, Jan, and Hershey following along.
"We will." Jim absently offers Hershey a treat that the dog inhales, then runs up to the house. "She's gonna miss young Phil if he leaves... Has he said either way?" Jim sounds rather sullen, and Steve shakes his head in response. Hershey is going to miss her little friend, but Steve's going to miss him so much more. One good thing would come from Phil leaving though. Without him there the sickness might fade. If it's just Steve and Hershey in the house, he might get better.
"I'd like him to stay." Jan says suddenly as they approach the veranda, sitting on the swing bench is Phil, a thick textbook on his thighs, and a pen in his hand, a look of concentration on his face that morphs into a smile when he spots Steve. "He makes you happy, Steve. I've not seen you happy in a long time." Jan brushes past them, and takes a seat on the bench by Phil, asking him about the book in his lap.
"The Owl says to tell you to get cleaned up. She kicked me out here to warn you that if you weren't clean she'd turn a hose on you." Phil grins at Steve.
"Alright... I'm go put on my nice clothes." On his way past, Steve rubs his hand over Phil's short-cropped hair, getting an absent chuckle from Phil, and a warm feeling in his belly.
Dinner's a noisy affair, voices chattering about nothing, and Steve thinks that at that moment the sickness should leave him in peace, but it hits him in a wave. Phil's sitting between Jan and the Owl, a smile on his face as he jots down a recipe the Owl's sharing with him and Jan. It's one of those utterly mundane moments when Steve's caught by Phil, and can't shake himself out of staring.
"You don't want him to leave, do you?" Jim's voice is distant, almost as though he's on the other side of a thick wall.
"Never." Steve whispers what is the most brutally honest word to ever leave his lips.
The next week passes without much of anything happening, Phil's still studying for his exams, but by Wednesday his new obsession is running lines for the play on Friday, accompanied by the utterly despondent belief that he's neglected to rehearse enough in favour of studying. Steve's busy, but there's no way he's going to let the Owl, still up in the Ranch house, run lines with Phil. The old woman has taken to showing up in the afternoon, making Steve lunch, making small talk with him, and then staying put till after dinner. She's rather like some oddly friendly housekeeper, Steve's sure she must be doing the laundry, and dusting the house, because it's been so clean, and he's not been near the washer since she started showing up. She's good company, surprisingly so, and seems to be enjoying herself, busy painting something up near the Ranch house. More than once Steve's spotted her standing in front of a large canvas, paintbrush in hand, and concentration on her face. Unlike Phil, Steve's sure the Owl would let him peek at her work-in-progress, but Steve's come to realise that paintings, art in general is only ready to be seen when the artist thinks it is, so he doesn't push it, instead waiting for her masterpiece to be revealed to him.
When Steve gets to the auditorium on Friday night, the Owl is sitting in the middle of the front row, a pleased smile on her face, the seat beside her occupied by her copious purse, which she moves to her lap when Steve approaches.
"Steve, did you bring a camera this time?" She holds her hands out expectantly, and Steve hands her over the old camera he'd looked out for the occasion. "Hmm... Very nice." She mutters as she inspects the device. "Should be able to get some nice shots of your Philip with this." Steve glances over at her in shock at her words your Philip, but the old woman is fussing with the camera, a little smirk on her lips, ignoring the awkward fidgeting that Steve quickly abandons in favour of taking his seat beside her.
"I'm just hoping you know someone who can develop them, Ma'am." Steve mutters, and the Owl laughs, turning to him with a smile.
"I'm going to teach Philip how to do it. It's good for his education." She chuckles, and Steve nods slightly, flipping through the programme for the play. Once more, there's a picture of Phil in it, and Steve can't help but smile at the shot of him. He looks horribly unimpressed with being photographed, but still the sickness comments on how attractive he looks. "He's a handsome young man, isn't he?" The Owl says suddenly, and Steve nods without verbalising an answer. It's an interesting shot of Phil; even if he isn't smiling, he looks good in it. "I do wish he'd smile for photos though." The Owl laments, and Steve chuckles at her with surprising fondness.
"He's not one for smiling in photos much." Steve mutters, flicking through the rest of the program. There are photos of all of the other cast members, and whilst Steve is capable of picking out the more attractive ones, they all just look like children to him. There's no attraction there, there's nothing that makes him think of them the way he thinks of Phil, and it's a relief. These strange little mental tests he keeps giving himself are always a relief when he passes them.
"Well, it's a good thing he's such a smiley young man in person then." The Owl laughs, and takes a shot of the stage. "He's seemed happier as of late... He was a little depressed a while back, but wouldn't tell me what was wrong... His work was dark for a period, but we seem to be coming more into the light." Her tone is vague, and Steve isn't sure if she's expecting an answer, her attention once more on the camera.
"We had a rough patch... We're working through it." Steve hopes the answer is sufficient for her, because he's not sure how else to phrase it. He doesn't really want to talk about this with her; he doesn't really want to talk about it with anyone.
"Well... No relationship is without struggles. You're the man of the house, and he's still finding his feet... He'll be a fine man when he's got them under him, and he's got you to thank for that." She smiles, and Steve nods awkwardly, he doesn't have words for her, but is spared having to think of any by the lights dimming, and a student taking the stage.
"How'd I do?" Phil, as with the last play, is there as soon as he's able, still in costume, eager for a review of his performance, a manically excited grin on his face. "Was I okay? I think I was okay... Did you notice the improv I did in the middle of the fourth scene? I think it was better than the script. Was it? I think it worked better for my character, but I don't know. What do you think? What did you think? Steve?" He's almost bouncing in his desperation for a comment, and Steve gets to his feet, pulling Phil into a tight hug.
"It was good, Punkster. I liked the improv, added a more realistic dimension to the character." Steve pats his back once, and let's him go.
"Really?" He looks at Steve critically, as though trying to detect any falsehood in what Steve said to him.
"Really." Steve nods firmly, and offers the Owl a hand to aide her to her feet.
"Come here, young man, give your teacher a hug." Phil hugs the old woman tightly, his ears turning red at whatever she tells him. "Now, go and get dressed. I'm taking you out for dinner, my treat this time." She smiles, and Phil nods bounding off to go get dressed in his proper clothes once more. "That boy..." She shakes her head fondly, and takes Steve's arm.
"You know, we should be treating a lady, not the other way around, Mrs Davis. You've already done so much for us these last few days... These last few months really." Steve already knows that arguing with the Owl will be pointless, if he's learned anything about her over the course of her visits it's that she doesn't take being disagreed at all, but his upbringing requires him to at least make the show of being polite.
"Hush you. I'm going to spoil our little Renaissance Man, and there's nothing you can do about it." She starts walking, and Steve trails along beside her. "He does have quite the talent on the stage... I wonder if he'll do anything with it when he's out of school. Have you been asking him what he intends to do?" Steve shakes his head, and she tsks at him. "Will he be staying next year?"
"I don't know, Ma'am... I don't wanna put any pressure on him." Steve sighs, and the Owl turns to him, her lips pursed. "I don't know what he's told you about his life before here, but he didn't have a whole lot of choices... I don't want to force him into making a decision before he's had time to think about it properly."
"Hmm... Well... I suppose no matter how he chooses; I'll still be his teacher." She smiles slightly, waving to her daughter who's standing down the corridor, pretending to not notice her mother. "I have two girls... The eldest moved away, has girls of her own now." The owl sighs wistfully, still focussed on her daughter.
"Oh?" Steve's not sure what the Owl's taking about, but at least she's not asking him difficult questions about Phil anymore, anything is better than that.
"I'm their teacher, as well as their Granma." She laughs, her eyes still on her daughter who seems to be studiously ignoring her mother. "Every Sunday morning I teach them over the Internet. I'll work something like that out for Philip if he leaves us." She turns away from her daughter, and back to Steve. "You won't be shaking this old bird off quite so easily." There's a playful twinkle in the old woman's eyes, and Steve can feel a blush forming on his cheeks. "When I was teacher they used to call me the Owl... I always rather liked the comparison." She chuckles, and Steve's beyond grateful when Phil shows up, a confused expression forming on his face at the sight of Steve's beaming red cheeks. "Now gentlemen, let's eat."
"So the Owl was talking to me." Steve starts once they're in the truck heading for home after they've eaten, and escorted the Owl back to her house.
"What about?" Phil sounds tired, as if he'd like to fall asleep in the car, but Steve's hardly surprised, between studying, exams, and the play he's had a busy month so far. Now it's over he's due a good long rest. This weekend Steve intends to let Punk relax, maybe head to the lake, but other than that he's going to insist Phil takes it easy.
"Your future." Steve glances over at Phil, at the odd little expression on his face. He looks almost teary, and Steve isn't sure why.
"I don't think anyone has ever worried over my future before." He mumbles, and Steve laughs, his hand resting on the back of Phil's neck.
"I worry. The Owl worries, Jim and Jan worry." Steve squeezes lightly before putting his hand back on the wheel, his attention fully on the road once more. "I don't wanna rush you, but you know, if you want to..."
"The Ranch is my home. I know that, Steve... Even if I decide to go back to Chicago, the Ranch will always be my home. It's where I belong." Phil yawns, his tone mild and soft as if he was stating a simple fact. "I don't know what I'm gonna do next year, but I've been thinking about college... I mean I'm gonna have to get a part-time job, or a scholarship to-"
"I'll pay. My wife and I... We..." Steve sighs, and parks the truck outside the Ranch house, turning in his seat to face Phil. "We always saved up a fund for our kids." He smiles slightly, and catches Phil's hand, holding it lightly. "We never had kids, and the ones who passed through the Ranch always went on their way. Sure they stayed in touch, but they weren't the ones who needed this fund."
"Steve, I can't let you do that... I'll manage, I'll work something out." Phil won't look at him, and Steve supposes that's okay. This is charity, and Phil's a prideful thing at heart.
"But if you can't work something out Punkster, the fund is yours." Steve kisses the back of Phil's hand, and gets out of the truck, ambling up to the front door, opening it to let Hershey out. She scrambles over to Phil, flinging herself at him excitedly, covering his face with enthusiastic licks. "It's too late for coffee, I'll do coco instead." Steve calls over his shoulder, getting nothing but a half lost in laughter okay back.
The next morning, Steve drags himself out of bed early. It's not hard, he'd not really been sleeping, and he wants to be up early enough to make breakfast for Phil. He's getting this weekend to decompress from the end of school, then next week, and that weekend, Steve intends to put him to work on the Ranch. The amount that needs done has picked up, and hard labour will distract Steve from his obsession with Phil. Breakfast is a simple fair, some toast, some coffee, and a paltry attempt at scrambled egg, hardly up to Phil's standard, but he seems pleasantly surprised when he stumbles into the kitchen.
"So... You never told me what it is you're planning on studying at college." Steve smiles over at Phil, watching him take a sip at his coffee.
"I'm torn to be honest." Phil sets his cup down, and rubs at his eyes. "I'm not sure if I wanna do Art, or English." He starts eating, taking a bite of the scrambled egg. "Steve, did you put any pepper in this?" He mutters, grabbing the pepper grinder from the middle of the table, and adding it liberally to the mound of slightly rubbery eggs.
"Uh... No?" Steve laughs, and Phil shakes his head, taking another bite, deeming it sufficiently seasoned. "Art, or English... I guess it depends on what you wanna do after school." Steve tastes the eggs, and finds himself reaching for the pepper, adding some to make the yellow mass more palatable.
"I wanna be a teacher." Phil smiles, and Steve raises an eyebrow at him. "I've been thinking about it, and I think I'd be pretty good at it."
"Oh?" Steve's surprised, but happy that Phil has a goal for his life. Strangely, it makes him feel better about himself, that at least his parents haven't destroyed Phil; at least Steve's attraction hasn't tainted him, he has a goal, something to work towards, something good to aim for.
"Uh-huh. I've learned a lot from you, and the Owl, and I wanna put it to good use." Phil grins, and takes another mouthful of over-cooked egg.
"The Owl, I get... But all I did was teach you how to fish." Steve laughs, and Phil looks at him incredulously.
"No... Steve, you taught me how to fish, and you taught me how to take care of animals, how to fix fences, plant crops... You taught me a whole bunch of practical things." Steve chuckles, but the amusement dies at the seriousness on Phil's face. "That's stuff's all great, but they're not the most important things you've taught me." Phil sets his cutlery down, and takes a drink of coffee. "You taught to be patient, to let people come to you in their own time. You taught me that you can trust people, that you can be accepted for who you are... You've been trying to teach me its okay to be me... But most importantly, Steve, you taught me to listen... That listening to someone is the most important thing you can do for them, even if it makes you uncomfortable, especially if it makes you uncomfortable, listening to someone is the greatest gift you can give them."
"Phil... I..." Steve glances away from Phil's earnest gaze for a few seconds before turning back to him, a soft smile resting on Steve's lips. "It's something I'm learning too, Punkster... But you're welcome." Phil nods, and returns to eating. "There's one thing, a couple of things really, that you're gonna have to teach me too." Phil looks up, his head tilted to one side as he stares at Steve. "How to make scrambled eggs that aren't rubber is the first." Steve smirks, and Phil dissolves into giggles, leaving Steve with a warm happiness in his chest, and the sickness churning in his mind.
The rest of Saturday Steve had spent working outside, and Phil had been pottering about up at the Ranch house. When Steve had come back up for lunch, Phil had been on the porch, a pad of drawing paper in his hands, and smudges of colour on his fingers. Whatever he'd been working on was top secret, the pad closed before Steve could get close, and when Steve had returned for dinner, the pad had been sequestered to Phil's room. The picture he's working on is clearly private, but if he's honest, Steve's more than a little interested in seeing what Phil's been creating. It's not often Phil shows him his drawings, occasionally he'll get a glimpse or two at something he's working on for the Owl, but on the whole, Phil's art is between Phil and his paper. It's okay though, when Phil's ready, he'll show Steve his creations, it's just a matter of waiting for him to be ready.
"Morning." Phil calls from by the stove when Steve comes down on Sunday morning. It's early, but Phil looks pretty awake. He's clearly been waiting for Steve, and Steve's interested in knowing why. "C'mere, I'm gonna teach you how to make scrambled eggs properly." Steve groans, but comes closer, resigning himself to being a failure of a student. The eggs turn out okay, far better than yesterday's efforts, if lacking in comparison to Phil's usual level of fluffy perfection. Phil's teaching had been good, calm, patient, and Steve thinks his decision for his future might be a good one. There's plenty of potential for Phil to be a good teacher.
"So, I was thinking of heading up to the lake after breakfast. What you think?" Steve asks as they eat, and Phil nods, a smile on his lips.
"Sounds good to me." It's a relief really, there'd been a part of Steve that had almost hoped Phil would decline the offer of spending time together, but he seems eager, and that's strangely, a wonderful relief.
On the boat there's a comfortable silence that Steve's working hard to maintain. The sickness in his mind is strange, sometimes it's completely to the forefront of his brain, demanding he pays attention to every little thing Phil does, and seeing the beauty in it, other times it's just there, a black ball of desire that's cancelled out by just enjoying quiet moments spent with Phil.
"So... Have you given any thought what you're going to do next year?" Phil asks suddenly, and Steve laughs nervously, twitching his fishing line, hoping to entice something into taking a bite so he can avoid answering Phil's question.
"What do you mean?" Steve glances over at Phil, but he's not paying attention, instead he's squinting out at his lure.
"I mean, will you take on more kids if I go? If I stay even?" Phil turns to him with a smile, and Steve's grateful to the greedy fish that decides to take a bite of his bait at that moment.
"I'm not sure... What do you think I should do?" Steve mutters once he's landed the fish, and is tying a new worm in place.
"I think you should take some more in. You're good at this, Steve. You're a good guy. Every letter you have to write back to on Saturdays proves that... I prove that." Phil sounds slightly smug about adding himself to the list of proofs, but it makes the sickness flair up, and Steve isn't sure how to quell it back down.
"I dunno... It'd be a lot of responsibility, and I'm on my own, and-"
"Steve, you'd do great." Phil says firmly, and Steve smiles at him, a little of Phil's unwavering confidence in Steve rubbing off on him, fighting the sickness back with its earnestness.
The next week, all weekend they spend in each other's company, almost every waking second together. A week of Phil helping Steve out on the Ranch, and then the two of them all but collapsing into the house, Phil enlisting Steve to helping in the kitchen to feed them both. It's been a good week, a week where Steve's felt comfortable, a week where Phil's gotten himself a tan, where he's gotten himself some more mass for his still too tall, and too lanky frame. He's filling out a little, growing up some more, looking less like a boy, and more like a man, but he's still a boy. He's young, even if he's not quite a child, he's not quite an adult either. Phil occupies that strange grey area between childhood and adulthood, and this train of thought isn't helping Steve in the least. The longer he thinks on Phil being in that strange no man's land, the more the sickness in his mind tries to convince him that Phil's enough of an adult to be attracted to, but he's not, and even if he were, he's still Steve's s charge.
"Steve?" Phil's soft voice comes from the door the wrong side of the bathroom door, and Steve freezes, despite the warmth the shower spray he's standing under, a chill forms on his skin.
"You shouldn't be in here, Punkster." Steve's voice is quiet, so quiet he's worried that Phil might not have heard it over the rush of water. The shower curtain is drawn back, and before Steve can manage to move, Phil's arms are around him, holding him tightly. "You're getting all wet." It's a stupid comment to make, Steve knows it is, but Phil's still fully dressed, and wearing wet clothes isn't fun, but the only other option is Phil taking those clothes off. He can't have Phil naked in front of him. He knows how Phil looks naked, knows how that still developing body looks, and to touch it, for it to be pressed against him would be more than Steve could handle.
"I'm standing in a shower... Of course I'm gonna get wet." Phil mutters, his face pressed against Steve's shoulder. Hesitantly Steve wraps his arms around Phil's waist, pressing his face against his neck. The water falling on Steve's bare back feels soft and soothing, but its heat is nothing compared to the feeling of Phil in his arms. The slender body he can feel under the soaked clothes is warm, solid, real. He's dreamt of holding Phil like this so often, but to have him in his arms is completely different to how it feels in Steve's dreams. In his sleep, Phil's a wriggling eager creature, desperate to move on to the next stage. In reality, Phil seems more than happy to be held under a shower, whilst still fully dressed for as long as Steve chooses to embrace him.
"You need to leave, Punkster." Steve's voice is rough, deep with a desire he knows he shouldn't feel, but does. It's almost as though he can't help himself, over the time Phil's been at the Ranch, Steve's been growing more, and more dependent on him, and now they're here. Steve completely, helplessly devoted to Phil, and Phil standing, fully dressed, in the shower with him.
"I've been reading... Researching." Phil's voice is soft, only just audible over the water, and Steve closes his eyes against the feelings that quiet whisper stirs in him. "Seventeen." He pulls away from Steve, his eyes flickering down to glance at Steve's naked body. "A year... Less than a year, really." A tiny smile flickers over his lips, and Steve shakes his head.
"Phil, what? Don't... You'll still be young, and I-." It's wrong, so wrong, how a part of Steve had thrilled at the thought of Phil being legal so soon, but he will always be a child, will always have been Steve's charge. It doesn't matter how much he wants him, Phil will never, can never, be Steve's, and what he said wasn't quite right, the look on Phil's face says that in those words Steve gave too much away.
"Young, but not a child... Not legally." A smile spreads over Phil's lips, his hands coming up to rest on Steve's cheeks. "A few months... It's nothing." He leans closer, his lips all but touching Steve's. "A few months is nothing compared to how long I've waited for someone who loves me." Steve's hands come up to rest on Phil's shoulders, intent on pushing him away, intent on getting distance between them, but Phil's delicate little fingers on his face stop him. Those slim, slender, barely touching him digits have all the power in the World over Steve in that moment. "You love me, don't you?"
"Punkster... Phil." Steve's fingers tighten against Phil's shoulders, to push away or to pull closer is something Steve's no longer sure of.
"You do, don't you?" Phil asks again, and Steve groans. He needs space; he needs away, he needs out of this cramped shower. The warm water, Phil's presence, the tension, he needs to rid of it all. "Tell me I'm wrong." Phil's voice takes an edge, almost daring Steve contradict him, daring Steve to make a liar of himself. They both know that unless Steve admits he loves Phil it'll be a lie. It's the degree, the quality of love that Steve would like to argue, but he's certain he'd be a liar if he tried to argue that love was merely familial.
"You know I do." Steve mumbles, wanting to sallow the words back up, wanting to have never said them, but Phil doesn't comment, all he does is settle himself against Steve once more, his face tucked against Steve's neck. "You know I love you... And you know I can't." Steve takes his hands from Phil's shoulders, letting his arms rest uselessly at his sides. "Even if you were seventeen, I'd still be your guardian." Phil laughs softly, and Steve closes his eyes, resting his head back against the tiles, feeling Phil's body heat through his sopping wet clothes.
"Eighteen then." Phil murmurs, and Steve sighs. He's made a horrible mess of this, the kind of mess that should have never been made, the kind of mess he's going to regret for the rest of his life. "Hold me?" It's pointless to try and resist that request, Phil has a hold over him that Steve's no power to deny. His arms wind around Phil once more, holding him tightly, trying to block out sense and reason as they scream at him, telling him that is too much, that these aren't the actions of fully-grown man with their charge. These are the actions of a sick, sick man with a child.
"Get out, Phil." Steve thinks he should have tried to sound more commanding and less pleading, but it's too late to regret not being as firm as he should have been. In his arms, Phil chuckles softly, and Steve presses a kiss to his hair, the short, shorn strands prickling his lips. "Go on, go put on some dry clothes, and get to bed..."
"You're staying with me?" Phil asks softly, and Steve wants to say no, he wants to resist the knowledge that he'll sleep curled up with Phil, where as in his own bed, he'll toss and turn, never catching a wink of sleep. Steve nods grimly, getting a tight squeeze from Phil. "Good... I sleep better with you there. No nightmares. No hours of lying awake listening to the radio to remind myself that I'm safe. No wondering what's wrong with me... There's just you. Just knowing I'm safe, that I'm exactly how I'm supposed to be, that you accept me, that you love me."
"Always." The conviction in that little hiss doesn't surprise Steve in the least. Even if this attraction to Phil is never acted on, he will always love him. In time that love will change from a desire to a less poisonously wrong kind of love, but it will always be love. Phil has given him so much, and helped him so much, and Steve will never forget that, he's love him for that forevermore.
"Good." Phil's moved once more, those slim fingers on Steve's face again, those thin lips so close to his own, those eyes directly in front of him, long dark lashes fanning over Phil's tanned cheeks. He knows he should stop this. He knows he should, but he can't, because it's exactly how he'd pictured it. Soft, nervous, so very afraid of getting it wrong; all the timidity of a first kiss, and it's perfect.
Many thanks to the ladies and gentlemen who reviewed:
plebs, AshJoivillette, littleone1389, Rebellecherry, Lucien Raven Jacobs, Shiki94, Brokenspell77, and Moiself .
So... That's June over with and it's a long one... Uh... Lemme know if this was okay!
Please review - it means a lot more than you realise.