Warnings: Mild Slash (Colt/Punk), AU setting, Profanity, Mild Smut.
"Mr Brooks, may I have a moment of your time?" Heyman's voice is as unexpected as it is unwelcome, and Phil nods vaguely. His chest is weirdly achy, and his head is beginning to throb. It's possibly psychosomatic, but he doesn't feel well after telling Scott he's going home. "Wonderful, shall we?" Heyman gestures up the street, and Phil starts walking, his head bowed, not really sure what the man wants, but relieved that this meeting is in public. "I need you to undo what you did, Mr Brooks." Heyman says tightly, his lips pursed, his eyes narrowed as he stares ahead of him.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Phil mutters, not exactly certain what Heyman means, it's possible, more than likely, that he means the link he set up between the kids, but he can't see why that would be difficult for someone as strong as Heyman to just remove.
"Philip, when you visited my little... Facility, you encounter some individuals who require special training." Heyman smiles awkwardly, despite how relaxed he looks on the outside, Phil can hear a trickle of nervousness from him. The first thing Heyman has given away, the first crack in his impressive armour, and it's all over those kids. "These individuals are incredibly important... I can't have them compromised." He stops; turning to face Phil, a rather anxious expression flits through his eyes. "I need you to undo the link you made." There's a tiny hint of pleading on Heyman's face and Phil shrugs.
"I didn't do anything." Heyman looks mildly horrified and sighs. Phil can feel him poking at his mind, and he hopes that he's got the knowledge of the kids, their little relay point hidden with half as much diligence as he has his link to Scott. Heyman's eye widen suddenly, an odd sneer comes over his face.
'You've spoken to the old man?' He snarls, his eyes narrowed, the expression on Heyman's face is making him increasingly nervous. 'When?'
'Uh... the other day?' He imagines that the old man has to refer to Piper.
'I imagine he showed you all manner of exciting little tricks.' Heyman scowls, his pace slowing somewhat. 'I think, Philip, we've gotten off on the wrong foot.' He turns to Phil with a smile, and stops walking. "My name is Paul Heyman." He holds his hand out to Phil, clearly expecting him to shake it. Nervously, Phil takes the man's slightly damp hand. "I'm interested in you, Philip, interested in making you the best you can be." Heyman smiles easily, and starts walking once more. "Everyone around us, every single person who should be able to see us, can't." He waves a hand in front of a woman waiting at a crossing; she doesn't seem to notice Heyman's hand, almost walks into it when the crossing light changes to walk. "We walk amongst these people, being better than them. They're nothing much but pawns in an elaborate chess game." Heyman shrugs, and Phil frowns, trailing after him. He's certain he's thought these things before; he's considered himself better than the average people around him more than once. "They don't realise this, of course, but it's better for them that way." He ushers Phil into an expensive looking restaurant, and sits at a table, after snagging a menu. 'Order something you like.' He smiles at Phil, and for the first time since Phil's known who Heyman was, the man looks genuine, looks almost friendly.
"What's good?" There's absolutely nothing on this menu that sounds remotely like anything Phil's ever eaten in his life, this whole establishment is far beyond him, yet Heyman seems perfectly content in this environment.
"Do you drink?" He asks Phil with an easy smile on his face. 'Ah, wait... Straight edge right?' Heyman laughs and a waiter comes over with a bottle of wine, two wine glasses, and a can of Pepsi. "For people like us, Phil, the World is our oyster. It's all sitting there waiting for us to pick it."
"I've never had oysters..." Phil shrugs, feeling weirdly decadent sipping pop from a fine wine glass.
"Then oysters we shall have!" Heyman laughs, his eyes flicking over the menu rapidly. "Snails?" He smiles over at Phil, laughing at the face he pulls.
"Eww... Fuck no!" Phil wrinkles his nose, and picks the menu up once more, scanning the desserts section. "Crème brûlée? Never had that..."
"With piquant hints of lavender and scattered with wild raspberries? Sounds delightful. Tell the man." Heyman nods to the waiter, and Phil frowns, it's easy enough to talk someone into things, easy enough to trick them, and really, a lot of the things he's figured out himself have been tricks, skipping the next step in someone's thought process to get what he wants. This, however, this is would be introducing something cold, no one seems to know they're there, no one seems to have noticed them, everyone's eyes flicker over the table he's sat at with Heyman as though it simply wasn't there. The oysters arrive, several small plates of them, all prepared differently, and the server who brought them stands by the table rigidly. 'It's a simple thing, Philip.' Heyman smiles easily, the way he explains it, it's not simple in the least, it's complicated, relies on Phil using his power carefully, but he thinks he manages to order once the server leaves. "Well done." Heyman smiles and nods towards one of the plates. "I'd start with those ones." He takes an oyster for himself, Phil follows suit, and eats one, not entirely sure he likes them but he's going to relish them like the reward they feel like.
"Why are you doing this?" Phil's feeling lazily content and almost sleepy, his stomach full of food he'd never even considered eating before. Heyman steeples his fingers, and sighs. His eyes focussed on the other patrons in the restaurant.
"I told you. Telepaths are rare. We're terribly fragile things, you and I, Philip." At one table is a little child, kicking up a stink over not wanting to eat their food. Phil's honestly surprised that the child's parents would take them to such an expensive place. A curiously soft smile sits on Heyman's face as he watches the child fuss and cry. "You see that child?" He gestures at the crying kid and Phil nods, not certain what Heyman's going to do with this. "That child is the single most vulnerable person at the table, but at the same time, they're the strongest one there, they've got everyone else in thrall." He smiles lazily and suddenly the child stops crying, starts eating their food happily. "There's not many of us, but the few there are... We're treated well." Heyman sighs, and rubs a hand over his face. "You and that child, Philip, you both have so much potential, there's so much you could do. Right now, there's no way to tell if that kid's going to grow up to be the next Hitler or Lincoln."
"There has to be a way..." Phil mutters, staring at the child, watching its family talking to it, laughing as it giggles and burbles, its mind too young to have fully formed thoughts. "Can't some people see the future?" Phil sips at his pop again, turning from the baby to Heyman.
"Pre-cogs? Pff... Unreliable." Heyman laughs, shaking his head and finishing his wine. "The future changes constantly, Philip, you can't predict it, you can try and guide it towards a vision of the future, but every action you take changes the outcome in a thousand different ways." He stands, waiting for Phil to finish his drink.
"Like walking across bubble wrap?" Phil frowns, if he's honest, he's glad the future isn't predetermined, it's a relief that his fate isn't somehow laid out, the idea of a finish line set in stone fills him with dread.
"Hmm, something like that." Heyman smiles lazily, and comes to a stop at his nondescript car. "Will you take a drive with me, Philip? There's someone I'd like for you to meet." Getting in the car is probably the stupidest thing Phil has ever done, but he's far too interested in seeing what else Heyman might let slip to pass it up.
They pull up to the warehouse, and Heyman gets out, wanders round and open's the passenger door, ushering Phil out of the car, and into the warehouse.
"I need for you to talk to one of the student's here." Heyman says quickly, walking down one of the fake grey corridors. It's a relief that Heyman's bothered with the illusion, it means he's got no idea that Phil knows what's really there, it means the little trick Piper taught him is still secret from Heyman, and that's huge relief. "He's a difficult child, rather a danger to himself, and others... I just need for you to talk with him, get him to open up to you." Heyman smiles, and points to the one lit up monitor. It shows a black and white image of a young boy, strapped to a chair. It's neither of the two boys Phil's already seen, so it must be the kid from the dark cell, the kid with the horrific mind. He almost wants to refuse, but there's no way to get out of being in the kid's company without Heyman finding out Phil knows more than he wants him to.
"I'll try..." Phil rubs the back of his neck, the absence of Scott's presence hitting him in a sudden wave. The link is so quiet, so close to being mute, just the tiniest of murmuring noises keeping him aware that it's there.
"Then just go down the stairs." Heyman gestures to a door. "Good luck, Philip." He sits down behind his desk, and starts typing at the computer. Phil sighs, and starts down the stairs, coming to a heavy door, that clanks loudly behind him.
'If I'd known this would bring you back, I'd have tried it sooner.' Phil knows that voice, knows that softly monotonous drawl, and he wishes he didn't in that moment. The little boy sitting on the chair stares at him, his pale eyes wide, and a smile on his face. "So he brought someone else to prod at me?" He laughs, and Phil glances at the camera in the corner of the room. 'He's watching, right? I'll pretend for you.' A smile flits over the kid's face, and Phil nervously sits on the other chair, wanting this encounter to pass quickly.
"Hello." He starts, not sure what to make of this grinning child. Heyman's told him nothing, and his only experiences with the child haven't exactly been pleasant.
"How formal." The child laughs, and that shark like grin doesn't move from his face. 'It's okay... I won't hurt you.' Something impossibly sad flits over the boy's face, and he glances away. 'I'm sorry I did hurt you.' There's a strange urge to reassure the boy, to tell him its okay, and Phil sighs, rubbing at his temple.
'It's okay... You were... Startled.' "My name's Phil... What's yours?" He smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring fashion, his tone he hopes is friendly and kind.
'He really is watching, huh?' The kid laughs, and Phil smiles back at him.
'Of course he's watching... He brought me here to crack you open, kiddo.' Phil scowls, he's certain that's what Heyman meant by talk to the kid. There's something about this boy, something Heyman, or maybe the people he works for wants, what Phil has no idea, but there is something.
'You gonna try?' The kid's eyes narrow, and this time Phil laughs, shaking his head. 'You know, you weren't supposed to be here yet.' The kid smiles slightly, nervously. He's a cute kid when he doesn't look like he wants to murder you, is really all Phil can think. This kid should be out climbing trees, and causing havoc in his backyard, not strapped down to a chair in creepy warehouse.
'I'll be back again, don't worry. I promised you I'd get you out of here, and I will.' Phil closes his eyes, resting his head on his folded arms.
'You okay?' The kid asks softly, his little fingers twitching, his voice laden with concern, concern that makes Phil ache and yearn for Scott's touch to soothe the headache he has.
'Sore head... Perks of the job.' Phil raises his head slightly, smiling at the kid, and the little boy frowns.
'I wanna help you...' He tugs at the bounds on his wrists. 'Lemme free and I'll help you.' Phil's incredibly doubtful that this child could help him, his mind is nothing like a biopaths, it's animalistic buzzing is increasing in volume and frequency, the noise making his headache worse. "Lemme go!" The kid snarls suddenly, Phil raises his head and looks at him again, but the kid is glaring at the camera, tugging violently at the restraints on his wrists. "Lemme go!"
"Hey! Calm down." Phil snaps, and the kid turns to him. 'They'll hurt you if you don't calm down, kiddo.' He tries to smile reassuring, incredibly grateful that at his request the buzzing of the kid's thoughts settled to a tiny little noise.
'They try... They always try.' He nods down at one arm, and Phil goes over to look. It's covered in scars, and wounds. Burns, cuts, contusions. The skin on that little arm is hideous. 'I don't feel pain...' Phil lets his fingers skim over the damaged skin. 'I don't usually feel that either.' The little boy says softly, and Phil stares at the deepest, most painful looking wound.
'Every one of them... Every single cut, every single burn, every bruise, every fucking scratch... I will etch into their minds for you.' Phil snarls, his eyes focussed on the kid's skin, feeling the child's gaze on him. 'Every second they've sought to make you suffer, I'll pay them back ten times over.' He turns to the camera and shakes his head. The locking mechanism of the door clicks open. 'By the time I'm done... There'll be nothing but blood and ashes.' Phil turns back to the kid; on his little face is some strange expression. 'There will be vengeance, for you and your brothers, I swear to you.' The little kid nods, a dark fire in his eyes.
Heyman meets Phil just outside of the cell, his eyes narrowed, as he wrings his hands.
"Are you alright, Philip?" His arm is wrapped around Phil's shoulder before he can protest, guiding him away from the little cell, and the manically laughing little boy inside. "I can have Brock fix this for you." Heyman sounds ridiculously concerned, and Phil shakes his head. The pain in his head is lessening the further from the boy he gets. "Did you manage to get anything from him?" Heyman forces Phil to sit in a chair, and hands him some overly sweetened tea.
"A headache." Phil mutters sipping the warm liquid out of politeness. "But nothing else... I'm sorry." He shrugs, feeling sick to be apologising to this awful man, but not really knowing what else to say to him. The day he gets to fulfil the promise he made to the boy in the cell, that day can't come soon enough.
"Thank you for trying, Philip. He's a dangerous creature... I had hoped he might open up to you somewhat... What with you being closer in age, but..." Heyman sighs frustrated, and Phil shrugs.
"I need to get going... I've school in the morning..." Heyman glances at Phil, a vague distracted look on his face.
"Of course, I can dri-"
"I'll walk. Thank you for today, Paul." Phil stands, dusting himself down slightly. "It's been educational." That much is true enough, he's learnt a lot today, many things Heyman possibly didn't intend to tell him, but Phil learned all the same.
During his walk home, Phil practices the little trick Heyman taught him, has people randomly do things to amuse him. He thinks, by the time he makes it to his parent's house he has this new skill down. He gets the feeling it's going to be a rather useful addition to his arsenal.
It's been a long time since Phil's lain in his own bed, staring up at his own ceiling. His parents had barely acknowledged his existence when he walked in, hadn't even registered he'd not been home in weeks. The lack of concern hadn't been a surprise, but it had made him think of Scott's mother waiting up for him, worrying about him, wanting him home and safe. The link to Scott has been nothing but a quiet buzz, almost unnoticeable since the afternoon. This was stupid, it's all Phil can think, he shouldn't have told Scott he wasn't going to meet him, he shouldn't have gone with Heyman for all he learnt it hadn't been smart, and he really shouldn't be in this house. He should be on the other side of town, he should be with Scott, but he's not, and he's not going to be. This time alone is a good thing, it gives him time to think, to plan, and that was the whole point in not going to Scott. The list of things to dwell on is long, long and stressful. In the time he's known Scott, there's been nothing but hassle and chaos added to his life, and none of it's going to be easily dealt with, especially not Scott himself. His feelings for him are confusing, utterly bewildering in all honesty, he's no idea what to do with them, no idea how to handle them at all. All he knows is, he wants Scott to kiss him again, to kiss him more often. Saturday night, when Scott had him pinned to the bed, his hands moving over Phil's body, touching him in places, ways, no one ever has, he wants that again, he wants more of that, wants it without clothes between them. He wants to return the favour, he wants to touch Scott, wants to feel his skin with his fingers, with his skin. He wants more, as much as Scott will give him, as much as he can take, and he wants it more than almost anything else. There is one problem though, one major hazard in Phil's desires, and that's control, Scott's and his own. In all honesty, he's no real idea what happens when he comes, which should be an incredibly embarrassing admission, but he's never brought himself to orgasm, has never really felt the need. His mind is constantly assaulted by other people, their desires, their lusts, that his own have never really been to the forefront. He's felt other people coming, has felt the pleasure but with none of the messy, sticky after effects, and right now, he'd kind of like to feel sticky.
Phil might have never touched himself, but he's seen, heard, and felt enough to know what to do. He pulls his shirt over his head, and closes his eyes, tries to remember the weight of Scott over him, the way he felt pressing him down against the bed. His fingers skim over his collarbone lightly, then down the centre of his chest, to the waistband of his pants. Scott had only briefly touched the skin beneath his pants, only briefly caressed Phil's hip. He can still feel the soft tingle of Scott's fingers there, dancing so close to his groin but not touching him there, not even through the thin fabric of pyjama pants, but Phil wants him to, wants Scott's hand to cup his cock, wants to feel his fingers curl round his balls and squeeze them ever so slightly. He wants the hand around his cock to start moving, slowly, carefully, learning what he likes, learning where to squeeze, and where to caress, when to go fast, when to slow down, when to swipe his thumb over the head, and collect the pre-cum gathering there. He wants to lap his own pre-cum from Scott's thumb, suckle on it, staring into his eyes, trying to convey that if he wanted Phil to, he'd stop sucking his fingers and start sucking something else. He wants Scott's hand to trail lower, down past his balls, wants his finger to brush over his asshole, to press just a little, just a tiny little amount, to tap against that tight little pucker, to tease penetrating him, to tease taking him, filling him with his cock. He wants... What he really wants is for all of this to have happened rather than to have been his own fantasy. Phil frowns absently at his own cum on his hand, not entirely certain what to do with it, and feeling slightly guilty that he can hear the jumbled and confused thoughts of everyone around him. It seems that coming for him has the slight side effect of bleeding off onto everyone in his range, but really, what kind of miserable bastard is going to resent that.
'Phil?' Scott's voice over the link doesn't really come as a surprise, even though Phil feels mildly guilty for what he's just done, using Scott's image to masturbate to was probably not fair, and he'd been expecting a reaction from him. If a casual daydream in class sounded like a wet dream, he can only imagine what a full-blown fantasy like that must have sounded like.
'Hmm?' He's too comfortably sated, too comfortably contented with the lingering pleasure of his orgasm to really mind how appropriate his choice of fantasy material was, Scott can just deal with it.
'I... Uh...' Scott sounds hesitant, over the link is a lot of concern, omnipresent and perpetual concern, mixed with something else, something desperate, something hungry like that look in his eyes on Saturday night. 'No... It's... It's nothing. Just wanted to say g'night.' He sounds so painfully hesitant, so horrifically uncertain, and they need to talk, they need to discuss things, they need to plan, but not right now, not when Phil's hand is covered with cum, and his mind is still processing his actions. So he does the only thing he can, he fobs Scott off, let's his thoughts fade from him, as he drifts in what was sleeping for him before, before he had his anchor, before Scott.
'Hmm... Kay, g'night.'
Many thanks to the lovely Ladies and Gentlemen who reviewed:
littleone1389, shiki94, Rebellecherry, Brokenspell77:
I've some ideas as to what Philippa might look like, but really I will leave her and her appearance to you all. :) A little time away, a little more on Heyman and the warehouse, a little Dean, and lot of absence making the heart grow fonder, I think sums this one up. :)
So I fly Monday... and will be gone for a month... I'm gonna try and get a couple of chapters done to post whilst I'm gone, but this may not happen, so this might be the last update till the middle of September... (I'm specific aren't I?)
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