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“That was so reckless of you,” Phil chieased harshly, unlike his grip on Tommy’s arm— it was soft and comforting, and he wanted to sink into it.
His other hand was busy wrapping bandages on the eighteen-year-old’s shoulder where a deep gash laid. The injury hadn’t been bad enough to require a professional doctor, but it still hurt like a bitch.
“I told you to stay in your position, and what did you do?”
Tommy didn’t respond, his vision trained on the ground. Blonde hair fell into his eyes, blocking them from the older man’s view.
“You went against my direct orders.”
His vision blurred slightly and he snuffed down a sob. A weak gasp still managed to make its way out, so he played it off as a painful grunt.
Phil sighed and removed his hands. He got up from the stool and gathered the bloody rags that had been previously held onto his wound into his arms.
“What am I going to do with you?” he muttered under his breath as he walked away.
Tommy didn’t think he was supposed to hear that.
The superhero came back quickly with a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water in his newly washed hands. He set them down on the counter and fished out two capsules.
The younger blonde grabbed the items wordlessly, swallowing the pills in quick succession.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, testing the waters.
Phil sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Tommy…”
“I know— and I’m really am sorry. Truly sorry.”
An uncomfortable silence surrounded them. Tommy still kept his eyes trained on the floor, kicking his feet against the cabinets every once and a while.
“Tommy, you can’t just go against direct orders. I wanted you to stay there so you didn’t get hurt. ”
His heel connected with the cabinet again.
“What if it had been worse, Tommy? There’s an artery right there,” Phil stressed. He was pacing now, running a hand through his hair as he talked.
Tommy’s vision blurred, and he found himself speaking before he could think about it.
“I just wanna be like you.”
Phil stopped in his tracks.
(The thing was, his mentor already knew that. He had just desperately hoped that it wasn’t true. He had tried to be blissfully innocent as Tommy had copied him, and look how that had ended.
Philza wasn’t a good person. He didn’t want anyone following his bloody footsteps.)
He looked up from the floor at the glassy blob he knew was Phil.
“I wanna be strong and smart and— I’m trying not to make mistakes, but that’s all I seem to do, ” he sobbed.
“But you are smart,” Phil reassured— suddenly, he was at his side again. “You are the smartest, brightest kid I know.”
“Then why do I fuck up so much?” He leaned his head into Phil’s chest, and his mentor’s arms came up around him.
“That’s just human, Tommy. Everyone makes mistakes. I should’ve seen that blade coming at my face earlier, and I ended up getting a scratch, see?”
Phil moved away momentarily and pointed at his face. There was a thin line along his cheek, almost hitting his eye.
“And the first time I went on a mission, I almost got my wing ripped off.” Phil turned, and sure enough, along his humerus, there was a long gash. Tommy had noticed it before, but he had never had the guts to ask.
Wings were very personal things, and him and Phil were close, but not that close.
(At least he thought. He wasn’t that good at observing his relations with other people.)
“A sword went clean through it. If I hadn’t had a health potion on me, I would’ve lost the wing.”
Tommy stared at the gash for a moment.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated.
It wasn’t for the injury or the accident, but for everything.
“Why are you saying sorry again?” Phil sighed and shifted so he couldn’t see the base of his wings anymore.
“For making you stress.”
“Mate, everyone in the Avengers makes me stress,” he assured him. “Just— don’t tell them I said that, alright?”
“It’s pretty obvious Phil. You dote over all of us.”
Phil smiled softly. “That’s just my job as a father figure.”
He held his hand out for Tommy, and he took it with his uninjured arm. He hopped off the counter with the help.
“Let’s get you to bed, mate.”
“I’m not even that tired,” Tommy protested.
“You just had one hell of an adrenaline crash. There’s literally no way you aren’t tired right now,” he huffed.
He didn’t need to hold onto Phil anymore for support, but he kept his hand curled around his. It was extremely comforting.
And maybe it was the only thing keeping him from yawning, but you didn’t hear that from him.
They walked up the stairs from Phil’s basement and then continued up to the second floor. They were at the Avenger’s Compound, so he had his own spacious room.
To his surprise, Phil turned away from his door and began to lead him to his own.
He had been in there once (Phil had been chewing him out) and it had one of the biggest nests he had ever seen. It made sense though— Phil took his sons in there whenever they had a bad day, and his wings were giant. They were even bigger than his own pair, which was saying much. Usually, they only grew big enough to carry you, but Phil’s were strong enough to carry another person as he flew.
He opened the door and led him inside. It looked extremely lived in, but he hadn’t expected less from Phil.
Blankets were strewn all over the place. Knick-knacks lined the shelves, and a big window looked out to the training field. He could see the calm waves of the bay from here.
Phil brought him to the middle of the nest and plopped down unceremoniously.
“Can I preen your wings?”
Tommy nodded excitedly and followed suit. He splayed his wings out beside him to their full extent.
Silence enveloped them as Phil began to straighten out his feathers. Coverts and secondaries were fixed and bent feathers were removed.
He felt himself falling asleep, but he kept himself awake. To lose this memory to the weight of his sleep would be heartbreaking.
To lose the comforting weight constantly behind his shoulder would be soul crushing.
To lose Phil would kill him, and he was taking that knowledge with him to the grave.
The hands went away, and he leaned back onto Phil. A hand started to comb through his hair instead.
“How does your arm feel?”
He frowned and moved it slightly. The tylenol had taken away some of the bite, but it still hurt.
“Better than before,” he decided.
“Good.”
He turned his head to look up at Phil. Their eyes met, and they stared at each other for a moment.
“Tommy—” Phil started and then cut himself off. He looked to be pondering, as if he had something to say but didn’t know how to say it.
“Please, just promise me this…”
He trailed off again. A somber tone surrounded them; it was time for the lecture. Boo.
“Don’t— Don’t be like me. Don’t try to be me. Please.”
That wasn’t what he had been expecting.
Tommy frowned and looked away. His hands found the tassels of a blanket, and he began to fiddle with it as he waited for Phil to choose his words.
He knew some of Phil’s past— it was filled with bloodshed and bad decisions. He knew that Phil still strived to make up for something, but he didn’t know what.
He also knew that Phil didn’t consider himself as a good person. It always rubbed him the wrong way.
How could Phil not see what he saw in him? What everyone saw in him?
“Everything I tell you, everything I teach you, and yell at you for— it’s so you can be better.”
“I don’t want you to be me. I want you to be better than me, Tommy.”
Phil’s hand grew tight in his hair, but it quickly smoothed out.
“Tommy, promise me you’ll be better.”
His eyes had strayed from the tassel in his hand to a framed painting on the wall.
In it was a simple apple. It had round curves and a bright red pigment was used. Honestly, the only reason he knew it was an apple was because of the colour.
Next to it was another painting of the same kind. In this one, more hues were used, and he could even spot some blue. Imperfections were present on the skin, but it still looked like an apple.
More detail had been added, but he could still see that under all of it, it was the same painter.
Phil was a little like the painted apples, he supposed.
Phil was still Phil, sure, but he was different. He had strived to change himself for years and he could see the results. His rough edges were still there, but now he was a better apple.
“ Please. ”
He laid still for a moment, soaking Phil’s words and pleas in.
“I promise,” he whispered.
At once, a bucketful of tension dropped from Phil’s shoulders.
“Thank you.” The older blonde’s voice wavered. “Thank you.”
Tommy bit his lip, still unsatisfied with the conversation, but shelved it for another day. His eyes drooped.
The soft hand began to card through his hair again, soothing his worries and pushing them to the very depths of his mind. He let his eyes shut as a yawn escaped through his lips. Phil laughed quietly overhead, and finally, the tranquility allowed him to drift into a peaceful sleep.