Warnings: Future Slash (Colt/Punk) AU setting, Profanity

For the majority of his life, Phil has kept people as far away as he can. People are painful, spiteful creatures, and knowing their most intimate thoughts doesn't often endear them to you. However, since that one football game, weeks ago, Phil has stayed in contact with Scott. Their link a warm little spot in some corner of Phil's mind that's always there waiting to have a conversation, waiting to complain about school, or football practice, waiting, always waiting. Scott is the first person, since the old woman, that Phil has let even somewhat close, it's disconcerting in a kind of pleasant way, but there's a part of Phil that feels exposed at having someone with such access to him, not that Scott takes advantage of their link, but the knowledge that he could is always there.

The first time Scott starts a conversation, it comes as a surprise. Phil, in the midst of a talent related insomnia kick, was slumped in the back of some cathedral, granting clemency to old ladies, when Scott's perpetually cheerful voice broke through the soothingly repetitive fog of prayer.

'What you up to, Phil?'

'Nothing... Why?' There's suspicion in Phil's tone, he knows there is, but Scott sounds infuriatingly gleeful, even by his standards.

'No reason.' Phil offers him a spike of disbelief, absently assuring some small child that their pet dog is peeing on lawns up in heaven. 'Well, okay, I wanted to see if I could use the uh... Thingy to talk to you.' Thingy is a stock filler word for Scott, though sometimes, well more often than not, he forges on with the totally incorrect word, never heeding that it's wrong. Phil spends a lot more time correcting him than he thinks he should, but really, it's kind of enjoyable, and it's nice seeing the fruits of his labour when the next time Scott uses the word or phrase it's done correctly.

'Link, Scott, it's a link.' At least that's the term Phil decided on, he thinks it's possibly the best description for it, and if not the best, then at least the closest, so it's what he settled on.

'Meh... I don't like link, makes me think of Star Trek or sausages.' The very familiar feeling of Scott's amusement trickles over to Phil; Scott is infinitely more amused than he is. Scott seems to find humour far more easily and in the most unlikely situations. It's something that Phil is certain is a good thing, it's good for him to be inundated with humour when there's so very little in his life to laugh about really.

'It is what it is.' The mention of sausages has Phil wondering when he ate last, he can't quite remember, it's an irritating side effect of his gift, its ability to make him forget simple things like that, other people's thoughts on what they've eaten or when they've eaten more often than not overwhelm his own physical urges.

'Yeah but who said so?' Scott sounds pensive, as though this isn't really why he wanted to talk to Phil, as though for some reason he's stalling for time.

'What would you call it, then?' The urge to skim his thoughts, to take a little peak a little further into his mind is always hard to resist, but Phil is polite to other talents, and definitely polite to his friend.

'Uh... Huh... I dunno...' Still pensive and distracted, Phil needs to try and change the subject before that urge becomes too much.

'Link.' He makes it sound final, trying to force Scott onto a different topic.

'I guess.' Scott sighs over the link, and Phil gives up trying to pay attention to the congregation, Scott is too good at drowning out the rest of the world. When linked with him like this, it's the closest thing to silence Phil's ever experienced. It's nice, a little scary, but nice. 'You okay? You sound... Mandolin.'

'Mandolin? I sound like a lute?' Whatever it was that had Scott contacting him in such excitement has seemingly been abandoned in favour of comparing him to musical instruments.

'The fuck is a lute?' Scott genuinely sounds confused, meaning he meant something else entirely.

'Maudlin, Scott, maudlin. How the fuck do you pass English class?' It's a constant mystery to Phil how someone who isn't stupid by any stretch of the imagination, can manage to have such an incredible ability to fuck up words so often.

'With difficulty, my friend, with difficulty. What's up?' Phil's certain that Scott would be rubbing at the back of his neck if he were sat beside him. He can almost see the sheepish little smile that'd be on his face.

'Nothing, just tired, I guess.' It's not guesswork at this stage though, Phil is tired, he's always tired but sleep is a risky business and not to be approached lightly.

'Go to sleep?' If Scott's suggestion was an option Phil would take his advice, but sleep isn't safe. Lately, his power has been feeling stronger, more voices bearing down on him, more and more each day. He's beginning to worry that eventually other people will drown him out completely, and he's not sure he wants to know what will happen if they do.

'Sage advice, Scott.' He can't really be sure if he sounds amused like he'd wanted to, something like concern comes from Scott, and Phil shifts on his pew, rubbing at his temples, he doesn't want Scott worrying about him. People generally don't worry about him, though honestly, generally, people only worry about themselves.

'Thank you, parsley. Seriously though... Go to sleep.' Concern, undeniably obviously concern this time, and it makes Phil uncomfortable.

'I... Yeah, I will. G'night.' Phil tries to sound sincere, but before he firmly cuts the link, he can feel a spike of disbelief and even more concern from Scott. They've never talked about the problems that arise from sleeping for Phil. It's not really a conversation that he wants to have so early in their friendship; it's a deeply personal problem, not one he thinks they're close enough to discuss yet.

Taking the night train is always a terrifying prospect, but there was no other way for Phil to get back to his home. His wanderings had taken him farther south than he'd realised, so he had to brave the train. The whole journey, a man sat opposite him, staring at him, horrid little visions running through his head. Perhaps the worst thing about Phil's talent, other than the risks posed by sleeping, is that he knows exactly how perverts like this man picture him, he's seen himself in the minds of dozens of people, in various states of undress, in pain, in pleasure, he's seen the his starring roles in the fantasies of so many people. He's certain it's fucked him up a little, sex isn't something that he can say he's honestly interested in, he's seen it, heard it all too often for far too long. Love and sex are two things so separate in so many people's minds, for so many people sex is a bargaining tool, and love is something they're not certain even exists. Phil couldn't say for certain either, emotions are rather different to intellectual processes after all. It takes very little to urge the man to stay on the train when it pulls into Phil's stop, people like that man will generally keep their thoughts to themselves, generally they don't act on them. The ones that do though, those are the ones that Phil would love to stop, would love to prevent them from hurting anyone ever again. The worst thing is, Phil knows he can, knows he can stop somebody so very easily with his gift. People can barely handle their own thoughts bumbling around in their heads, let alone the thoughts of everyone around them. He did it once, only once, to a man like the one on the train, only this man had been more proactive, had grabbed a terrified nine-year-old Phil, and tried to drag him away. The news had reported it as a massive brain aneurysm. Phil knew the truth, has been trying to forget the truth for a good eight years, but funnily knowing you made someone's brain dribble out of their ears is hard to forget.

'Hey!' The next morning Scott's voice over their link drags him back fully to consciousness. The night, Phil had spent in the strange half-asleep, half-awake he has instead of actually sleeping. He glances at the clock by his bed, briefly wondering if Scott had meant to act as an alarm clock, seeing as he'd woken Phil up in time for school.

'You sound awake.' Phil steps into the shower, going through his morning routine without a thought, focusing instead on talking to Scott.

'Do I?' He does, incredibly chipper even by Scott's high standards of cheerfulness.

'Infuriatingly so... What's got you all bright eyed and bushy tailed?' Phil's grimly aware he probably sounds half-dead, but he feels it. He needs to find some better way to deal with his exhaustion; the current method just isn't working anymore.

'I wanna talk to you.'

'Okay, go ahead.' Phil rests his head against the tiles, hearing the sounds of his family waking; the urge to persuade them to stay in bed till he's gone comes over him. He's entirely not in the mood to deal with them.

'No, no. I wanna talk to you. You free tomorrow?'

'What day is that?' Honestly, he isn't sure, the lack of sleep, and the garbling thoughts of his family clouding his mind to the point that he really can't be sure what day of the week he's on.

'Saturday, Phil... Are you okay?' More of that concern from last night, it still makes him feel horribly uncomfortable. Concern for him isn't something he's used to; people are generally too concerned with themselves to be concerned with him.

'I'm good, just-'

'Tired? You need to sleep more. You live near the red light district or something?' Scott laughs, and Phil shakes his head, getting out of the shower.

'What? No! Why?' He gets dried and dressed quickly; his father's making a move out of bed, the headache his hangover is giving him, bleeding over to Phil.

'All that fucking, it's the only thing I can think of that'd keep you awake so much.' Phil has to resist the urge to laugh, typical teenager thought processes, really sometimes Scott is so normal it's funny.

'So tomorrow?' It's not a subtle change of topic, but really, Phil isn't in the mood to discuss his sleeping patterns with Scott. They might be friends, but he doesn't think that their friendship is at the sharing bone deep fears of getting lost amongst the minds of the rest of humanity and dying stage yet.

'Huh? Oh, yeah, tomorrow. You know the big park with the lake?'

'Yeah, I know it.'

'Bout two? That okay?' Two sounds late, Phil would rather it was earlier but there's more than likely a reason Scott wants to meet so late in the day, probably something football, or family related.

'Park at two, tomorrow... Yeah, it's fine.' He leaves the house; skipping eating breakfast, he's not entirely certain that there's any food in the building in the first place. There's plenty of empty cans though, he knows that for a fact.

School is a strange place for Phil. Its place where most everyone is constantly on guard, looking out for themselves. How people can forge friendships in place like this he's no idea, yet some people must. He has a skewed view of friendship really, he knows that, but people gravitate towards two types of people. The first are those who are like-minded, people who will agree with them, bolster their egos, match their ideas. These same friendships are on the surface very strong, but deeper down, the thoughts beneath them are more selfish; people like to dwell on how they're superior to each other in the ways that they're similar. It seems counter-productive to Phil, but long ago, he came to the conclusion that he doesn't understand normal people. The second type of friendship is one that is based on a deficiency. These friendships should be more vital to people, but they are in fact more fragile, because people don't like being reminded of their flaws, of their weaknesses. If there is one thing people truly don't seem to be able to handle, it's having their deficiencies pointed out to them. Phil thinks he's rather different in that respect. He's more than aware of his failings; his deficiencies cause him no problems because he has a work around for them all, and if can't work round them, he'll make you forget they're there.

The day goes as he'd expected until the last class, English. Instead of the normal, dusty mind obsessing over how to get more children to read Ray Bradbury novels, it's someone with a smooth cool mind, like glass. Phil sits in his normal seat and stares at this new teacher, a man in a suit, bald save for a greasy ring of hair, a smirk on his face.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, my name is Mr Heyman." The man writes his name on the board, neat little letters to go with his cool little mind. Phil can't help but think this man is a talent. His mind is too quiet for him not to be one; the glassiness is too uniform, too strange, too not normal. The entirety of the lesson, Phil pokes at this strange mind, tries to find a chink in the smoothness of it, but there's nothing. It's like trying to find a pockmark on a pool ball, there's nothing, it's smooth, flawless.

"Mr Brooks, if you would." After class, the teacher flags Phil down, pointing to a chair, his eyes narrowed, something like a sneer on his face.

"Mr Heyman?" Phil sits nervously, something in stomach rebelling at being alone with this man. He might seem pleasant, but Phil has no doubts that behind that glass shell, his mind is churning with grimy thoughts.

"How long have you been aware of your... Talent?" The man perches on the teacher's desk, the smile on his face, Phil thinks, is meant to kindly and reassuring, but it's anything but that, it's a leering thing, like the man is peeking into Phil's mind himself.

"I don't understand, sir." Phil fidgets slightly, and the man stand, walks up to the desk Phil is sitting behind and slams his hands down on it, making Phil jump slightly, sitting up straighter, staring at the teacher.

"You're quite strong for a child, Philip, but really, that's all you are." Heyman taps Phil's temple with one finger. "A child with no real understanding of the gift he possesses." Heyman straightens up, fixes his tie, schooling his face into blankness. 'I could help you, Philip. Train you to use your gift, teach you how to keep everyone out.' Heyman walks behind Phil, resting his hands on his shoulders, squeezing them lightly. 'You look so very tired... It's difficult at night, isn't it?'

"I don't..." Phil starts his voice soft, something in the pit of his stomach is rebelling at having this man's hands on him, something inside of him wants this man far away. 'I don't want help.' Phil is honestly proud of how firm his mental voice sounds, how strong his convictions feel, but Heyman laughs, squeezing his shoulders again.

"Think on it, hmm?" He lets go of Phil, and is back in front of him swiftly. "I'll be here for a while... When you change your mind, I'll talk to you some more, okay?" Heyman smiles and waves towards the door. "Enjoy your weekend, Philip." Phil grabs his bag, and heads for the door as quickly as he can. "Philip, do say hello to Scott for me."

That night, Phil spends sitting in a cathedral, he sits granting forgiveness and punishing as he sees fit, carefully keeping his mind blank, he ignores Scott, he ignores his thoughts on Mr Heyman, he ignores everyone but the faithful flock that file in and out of his church.

"Hey!" Scott comes jogging up to him, and flops on the bench beside Phil, narrowly avoiding the bag of stale bread Phil is tearing up and feeding to the pigeons. "Sorry, I'm late." He grins over at him, but Phil keeps focussing on the birds gathered in front of him.

"S'okay, didn't have anything else planned." Phil mutters, tossing more bread to the birds. Scott nudges him with his shoulder, and Phil shakes his head. "So, you wanted to talk?"

"Yeah, I did... You okay?" Scott nudges him again, clearly wanting some kind of acknowledgement, but he keeps his head bowed slightly focussed on the birds.

"I'm fine." Phil mutters, but the truth is he's not, he's anything but fine. He feels like he's drowning, like every voice around him is screaming for his attention, he's going to lose himself at this rate, and he's no idea what to do. Without his consent his head lifts and turns to face Scott. Phil glares at him, using their talents on each other is something that, he thinks, should obviously not be permitted.

"Fuck me, Phil... You look like shit." Scott pokes at the bags under one of his eyes, and Phil pulls back.

"Personal space, fucker." He sneers, and Scott laughs, rubbing the back of his neck.

"There was a sub at my school." He changes the subject, grabbing some bread from the bag between them. "A sub that-" 'They had a talent, they knew that I had a talent...'

"Mine too." Phil says softly, eyes narrowing. Two substitute teachers, two talents, who knew about his and Scott's powers. 'They say anything about training?' Phil can still feel the almost slimy coolness of Heyman's mental voice; it was nice feeling Scott in its stead, feeling those warm, jovial tones in place of slimy coolness.

'Yeah... Were kind of... Weird about it, like I didn't really have a choice, you know?' Scott sounds confused, as though he isn't happy with his encounter with his substitute as well.

'No choice... Yeah, I got that too...' Phil trails off, his mind overwhelmed by a gaggle of power-walking women, their thoughts sharp and bitter towards each other despite their laughing and joking exteriors. Scott nudges Phil's shoulder again, drawing him back to himself. Phil scrubs at his eyes, he tired, far too tired.

"You need to sleep, man." Scott mutters, nudging Phil again.

'I know...' Phil keels over, his head flopping onto Scott's shoulder. 'Feed my birds.'

Phil wakes confused, he doesn't know where he is, it's quiet though, neat, orderly, everything clamped down. He can feel panic coming over him.

'Fuck me! Calm down!' Scott's voice, Scott's mind, that's where he is, Phil tires to calm himself down, succeeding barely, finding his physical form, and scurries away from being so meshed with Scott.

'The fuck was that?' He knows that Scott won't know but really, he doesn't either, so there's no harm in asking.

'You're the telepath, Phil, you tell me.' Scott moves beside him, shoves Phil off his shoulder. "You just kind of... Passed out?" He shrugs and glances over at Phil. "You sick?"

"No... No... I'm just-"

"Tired?" Scott interrupts with a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck again. "I'm gonna start worrying about you, you asshole." He laughs, and Phil nods, feeling stupid, feeling painfully like a child.

"So what do you make of these subs then?" He changes the subject, unwilling to further discuss his sleeping, more than unwilling to discuss that the however long Scott let him sleep against him is probably the longest and best he's ever slept.

"Ah... I was hoping you'd have something to say about it, to be honest... Training is tempting but-"

"There's something off about the whole thing?" Phil asks, standing, the urge to slump against Scott's side is painfully strong, and not something he should indulge.

"Off is being polite, Phil. This is fucking suspicious, with a capital S." Scott stands too, snagging the empty bread bag. "Fed your birds." He grins over at Phil, kicking his ankle lightly. "Friendly little things. Can you read their minds?" He smiles at Phil, and Phil can feel a smile on his own face, this is one of those moments when he's painfully aware of his deficiencies, and painfully glad he has a friend to cover for them.

'I've been thinking.' Scott's voice comes over their link late in the night. Phil had been carefully staring up at his ceiling, trying to block out the mental tirade his mother had been having on his father's addiction to alcohol. Self-realisation for her would great and terrible thing, there are times when Phil wonders if he went in and fixed his mother so she didn't have to rely on her medication, would she resent it or not.

'Oh?' Phil doesn't make the cheap joke Scott was likely expecting, instead Phil is grateful for his friend's voice to break up the familiar misery of his neighbourhood.

'I think they're government.' Scott sounds rather pleased with himself, and at this, Phil can't help but laugh.

'You're probably right... You should be asleep, Mr Colton.' Phil glances at the clock; three am is when good boys should definitely be asleep.

'So should you, Mr Brooks.' Scott laughs, and cuts the link, clearly asleep. Phil goes back to considering just how long it would take to make his mother sane.

He spent Sunday brooding, going from church to church, listening to prayers, his mind buzzing with his, and Scott's, problem. It makes sense that they must be recruiters from some kind of government thing. It makes sense that there would be a government agency or something like it to deal with talented people, but why wait till now. That's the part that Phil can't make make sense to him. He's had his power for as long as he can remember, Scott has too, so why wait till now to come for them? Were they not powerful enough before, were they too young, or something else entirely? Did they somehow make themselves known by doing something stupid? He's not sure, and honestly, Scott isn't much help in the matter. He's in the same boat, has been entertaining the same thoughts. The story of how the sub at his school revealed themselves was, thankfully, infinitely less creepy than Heyman with Phil; it was almost a nice story, like the guy really wanted to mentor Scott. Phil told the story of his meeting with Heyman, edited heavily to make it seem less creepy. Phil isn't sure why, but he didn't want to raise any doubts in Scott's mind about how capable Phil is of handling himself, Phil is perfectly capable, even against Heyman, probably at least.

He broods on it all day, wandering further and further from the city, till he finds himself in the suburbs. It's surprising how far he's wandered; Phil has no idea where he is in the least. A quick scan of the minds around him reveals something at once wonderful, and utterly terrifying. The house he's standing in front of is owned by a family consisting of one mother, one father and two sons. The mailbox is marked with their name Colton. Somehow, Phil wandered to Scott's house.

Lying in Scott's bed should definitely feel more uncomfortable or at the very least strange, and Phil's sure he should feel bad about breaking and entering, but wrapped up in his friend's blankets, in his friend's quiet suburban house, he couldn't really care less. Out here in the suburbs there's so few people, fewer voices vying for, demanding Phil's attention, as he lies snuggled under Scott's blankets, the closest thing to sleep he ever has comes over him. It's less sleeping and more like a light doze, his mind ready to snap awake at the slightest provocation, like the door to Scott's room opening and closing.

"What the fuck?" Scott sounds suitably confused; he pulls the blankets from over Phil's head and stares down at him. "Does my mom know you're here, Phil?" He asks, absently sorting the covers, apparently, seeing Phil in his bed isn't quite as distressing as Phil had thought it might be.

"No... I... In my defence, the window was open." Phil shrugs, sitting up, managing to look slightly contrite. Scott laughs, rubbing at the back of his neck; he seems incredibly calm for having found his friend in his bed, after climbing through his bedroom window, this really should cause a minor freak out at least.

"Okay... What are you doing here, anyway?" He asks, sitting on the edge of the bed. Phil moves over slightly, something awkward coming over him. He's not sure of why he's here in the first place, but now that he is, he knows what he wants, a repeat of the nap he had on the park bench yesterday.

"Uh... Sleeping?" He laughs, before he can stop himself he's rubbing the back of his own neck, feeling a sheepish little smile on his own lips. He's little doubt that he looks like he's doing a bad impression of Scott.

"Okay... Whatever." Scott stands, grabs some pyjamas from the pile of clothes on a chair. "Here." He tosses them to Phil, starts rooting through the pile, pulling another pair from it, and gets changed. Phil stares down at the bundle of fabric in his lap. "What? You plan on sleeping in your clothes?" Scott asks him, confusion on his face.

"Uh, no, no... Thanks." Phil changes quickly, without getting out from under the blankets, feeling painfully awkward, shoving his clothes out the side of the bed, and trying to get settled once more, rolling on to his side, his back to Scott.

"Well, g'night." Scott turns the light off, and gets in the other side of the bed. They lie there in awkward silence for a long while before Phil squirms, moving to lie on his stomach, one hand thrown towards Scott.

'Hold my hand.' He pretty sure he shouldn't make it a demand, because it's really a tentative request, but demanding it is more likely to get Scott to comply with his odd request.

'Uh...' Scott sounds surprised, as he should be really, but honestly if Phil wasn't convinced that physical contact would help him stay grounded when he slept, he wouldn't be making the request, so surprise is something Scott is just going to have to get over, because Phil is certain he needs this.

'I get lost.' Phil starts, quietly, so soft he's not sure that it'll be audible over the link. 'When I sleep, properly at least, I get lost, like yesterday... I woke up in your mind, cause you were the closest mind to me, but sometimes... I...' "Fuck it, nevermind." He says, his voice overly harsh, and he moves to pull his hand back to himself, but Scott grabs it firmly.

"Go to sleep." Scott sounds odd, his voice quiet and clipped, the urge to peek in his mind is powerful but Phil lets it go, instead focused on the feeling of Scott's hand wrapped around his, their fingers entwined. 'I won't let you get lost, Phil, promise. You'll be safe, I've got you.' Phil's almost certain that he wasn't supposed to hear that, is almost certain that the only reason he did is when people truly believe their thoughts, they tend to broadcast them. 'G'night Phil.' That he was supposed to hear, the quality of the thought firmer, less wispy.

'G'night.' He might not have meant for Phil to hear it, but he trusts Scott's thought, trusts that he won't get lost in the tangle of sleeping minds, because he has an anchor, he has his friend.

Many thanks to the lovely Ladies and Gentlemen who reviewed:

Rebellecherry, littleone1389, Brokenspell77, InYourHonour and shiki94.

I hope we can maintain your interest, we're just getting into the firs "arc" of this fic, so if it seems slow, I'm sorry...

This took a long time to find the time to write, it felt a thousand times longer because exam season is upon me once more... I'm not a fan of exams to be honest. As ever trepidation haunts me with this fic... as such: Please leave a review, even if it's just "Hey, that didn't suck", I'd be so far and beyond grateful. Heck even if you thought it did suck, tell me too, something is better than nothing after all. :D