Chapter Text
When Phil clocks in at work that night, he expects a quiet shift. At worse, he’s ready to deal with the few drunken fuckers who like to start fights outside of the nearby pub. What he doesn’t expect, however, are the two kids sitting against opposite walls in the jail cell next to his office. He ignores them as he makes his way to the front desk, asking Bad for the night’s assignments and they do a quick job of having a short but friendly conversation about the weather. Phil appreciates him, the man is nicer than most of their colleagues, but they both notice the stack of paperwork listed under Phil’s name. Bad politely ends the interaction with a slight wave and a hearty “Good luck”.
The clock on Phil’s desk ticks as the minutes pass, and he’s surprised when a large man appears in the doorway. He greets his boss with a nod and waits for him to ask whatever it is he needs to be done.
“Samantha and Julian just clocked out, would you mind keeping an eye on the two brats in the holding cell? They shouldn’t cause much issue, scare them a bit if they act up.” Ronald sounds bored as hell, Phil thinks the old man could do the job just fine, but he’s sure the guy would prefer to nap in his office until the end of his shift. He’s not too fond of his boss. That's an understatement.
Phil nods, throwing a glance at the cell. His boss doesn’t offer any appreciation when he walks away from Phil’s office, but he can hear his heavy steps echo in the mostly empty station as the man heads back to his cigarette-infused office.
The cop goes back to his work, he absent-mindedly completes tasks that hold no purpose for the sake of the paycheck at the end of the month. After he signs the 46th report of the stack, his curiosity gets the best of him and he peers past his door into the holding cell again. To his dismay, he can’t see either of the kids, only the damp wall and part of the old bench people often use as a makeshift bed. He’s tested it, it fucking sucks.
He glances back at his work and grimaces at the amount he has to do. If he justifies his absence with a white lie, he’ll get away with ignoring the paperwork. He stands up from his chair and his joints crack at the sudden movement. Phil tries to sneak past Bad but the man spots him immediately, he freezes in place, but Bad nods at him and refocuses on his computer. When Phil looks over his shoulder, he sees the familiar graphics of an online game. He straightens up, if Bad can play Happy Wheels during office hours, then he can check on the kids in the holding cell whenever he pleases.
Phil crosses the hall to the holding cells, ignores the second one, empty for the night, and focuses on the first one. It reeks of piss and alcohol, and Phil can taste a slight presence of vomit and sweat in the air. He winces at the pungent smell but walks up to the door to peer inside. He was quiet enough that neither of the kids notice him before he pulls out a key and inserts it into the lock.
The clicking sound of the lock seems to wake the kids up, they stare at Phil in the dim light. Phil was right, they’re young, if he were to guess, he’d say they’re barely adults, right out of adolescence. The taller one looks scared, almost like a kid who got caught stealing grandma’s candies, but the blond kid has a proud look on his face. He’s the one to open the conversation.
“Hello Big Man, what’s up?” he grins up at Phil like a toddler looking at ice cream.
Phil stares at him in wonder. He’s seen a lot of people in here. From the average troublemaker looking for attention to the violent husband waiting for transfer, he knows them all. But that smirking little shit? He’s never had that one before. It doesn’t look like a facade, the grin doesn’t crack when Phil stays silent, and the kid keeps his composure better than most adults.
“Hello.” Phil keeps his greeting carefully neutral, he doesn’t know what to expect.
The third person in the room doesn’t pipe up, staying huddled against the wall, occasionally glancing at Phil. The cop doesn’t like the look in their eyes, they seem ready to run at any sign they might get hurt. Phil wonders what happened for the two of them to end up in a holding cell at night in the middle of the week.
The blond kid must have psychic powers, because, on top of being naturally creepy, he answers Phil’s thoughts without being asked.
“I’m Tommy, fuckers caught me in the middle of a prank. I told them I wasn’t doin’ anything bad but they dragged me here anyway.” He pauses to gauge Phil’s reaction. When he doesn't get any, he continues and points at his friend, “That’s Ranboo, I asked them to help but they’re too slow. I had to wait for him and now we’re here.”
Phil has a hunch that by “helping”, Tommy means “coerced”. He usually avoids the night shift, so nights like this one are a rare occurrence for him, but it would make sense that the kid is used to this cell. He looks content to sit in silence and wait. On the contrary, Ranboo looks uncomfortable, and Phil can see how their nails dig into the fabric of their jeans. He glances back at the front desk. When he sees Bad staring at his computer screen like a mosquito stares at a lamp, he’s confident he can spend a few minutes with the kids without having to justify himself.
He isn’t used to being in charge of the holding cell, and he’s sure the teens can tell, so he doesn’t pretend to hold any pretence under their gaze. He sits on the bench a few meters away from Ranboo, facing Tommy, and observes the blond. His hair is messy and Phil can see leaves and branches tangled in the next, there's blood spots on his shorts and he cradles his hand on his thigh. Phil thinks the kid is trying to hide his injury, so obviously, he asks about it.
“What happened to your hand?” Phil doesn't expect the glare from Tommy, he almost wants to retract his question, but to his surprise, he gives him an answer.
“One of your friends fucking stepped on it, hurts like a bitch.” Tommy speaks like he’s used to such things happening, when he sees Phil’s frown, he tries to backtrack immediately, “Dunno why you care Big Man, could’ve been you.”
Phil’s frown deepens when Tommy shrugs carelessly. What on Earth has this kid been through? He stands up and without a word, walks back out of the cell.
When he unlocks the door again, he has a first aid kit under his arm and an old blanket from his office cabinet over his shoulder. He can tell the kids weren’t expecting him to come back. Tommy visibly perks up when Phil opens the door, he unconsciously sways on the bench closer to Phil.
Tommy looks happy to see him until he notices the kit under his arm, the grin on his face falls and he turns away while crossing his arm. Phil doesn’t let the kid deter him, he kneels next to him and rummages through the bag for a moment. When he looks up, he finds Tommy looking at him curiously, the kid quickly catches himself and comically makes his lips tilt downward in a caricatural grimace. Phil smiles at him, even though he can’t see it.
“Can I see your hand?” Tommy ignores him. Phil is ready to ask again but the kid holds his hand out blindly, still looking away.
Phil gently takes Tommy’s hand in his own and examines it. He can’t see anything that catches his attention, just a few scrapes and a slightly larger wound at the base of his thumb. He’s careful when he gets the antiseptic wipes out of their package, he quickly warns Tommy and cleans the smaller scrapes as fast as possible. Once those are clean, he raises his gaze to see Tommy looking back at him. He thinks Tommy’s eyes are wet from where he’s sitting but the kid looks away before he can take a good look.
“This is gonna hurt a bit more, I’m gonna clean your thumb.” Phil keeps his voice level, he can see Ranboo looking at him in his peripheral vision.
He can feel Tommy nod more than he can see him, he opens a new packet of wipes and cleans around the wound to avoid hurting the kid, but he can’t leave the dirt inside. He grabs the tweezers out of the kit and raises Tommy’s hand closer to his face, he doesn’t want to let the kid leave with gravel in his skin.
Tommy winces when Phil touches the raw skin under his thumb, but otherwise stays completely still.
“Sorry, I should’ve warned you, I’m getting the dirt out before cleaning it again and covering it up.” He gets a tense shrug from Tommy, who looks like he wishes he could be anywhere else. Behind him, Ranboo looks vaguely more at ease than before, he still looks at Phil with a hint of caution but his hands sit on his laps instead of gripping them. Phil counts that as a win.
Taking gravel out of someone’s hand turns out to be a time-consuming task, the three of them enjoy the quiet room with Phil’s occasional warnings to Tommy and the kids’ shaky breaths.
Phil wraps Tommy’s thumb with gauze and ties a tight knot to keep it in place, he lets the kid add two plasters on the scrapes and packs up the kit. He shoves the packages in his pocket, he knows he’ll forget about it and expects a little surprise next time he throws his work clothes in the washing machine, but he can’t bring himself to care.
Phil stands up and struggles to find his balance on shaky legs. He’s too old to kneel on a concrete floor for so long. When he feels like he can walk, he grabs the blanket and offers it to Ranboo. The teen is hesitant to take it, but the shivers that wrack his body are too hard to ignore. Soon enough, Phil leaves the cell and the two kids behind, wrapped up in one of his old blankets, all patched up, and looking sleepy. If he could, he’d stay in the small cell for the rest of the night, but the stack of papers on his desk call his name. Bad throws him a knowing glance when he walks past him, Phil gives him a confused one in return which doesn’t phase Bad at all. Instead, the other man winks at him like he knows something that Phil doesn’t. He elects to ignore it, crosses the hall to his office, and leaves his door open before he sits at his desk, grabbing the first document he can to review it.
Phil is bored. It doesn’t take a genius to come to that conclusion. He’s slouching over his desk like a shrimp, in a way he’ll regret tomorrow. If somebody were to look through the doorway they’d think a middle school student somehow snuck their way into the police station to sit at his desk. Phil believes a funeral would be more enjoyable than this, now remembering why the night shift isn’t his favourite. The station is nearly empty, the only people here are napping, catching up on late work, or playing Happy Wheels on their PC. No one to talk to, no one to observe.
Unless .
Phil stands up and heads to the door, he takes a quick look at the empty hallway before making his way to the holding cell. No one is willing to talk to him, but that doesn’t mean he can’t make the two kids talk to him. He’s kidding, he won’t force them to speak, but he’d enjoy a little company during a long night shift.
The closer he gets to the cell, the more certain he is, he can hear whispering behind the concrete wall. He’s a cop, but he’s not a complete asshole, so he waits until the voices disappear before walking to the door. Tommy shoots up from under the blanket, he holds his left fist out, ready for a fight, but sits back down with a sigh and a tug from Ranboo on his shirt sleeve.
And, listen, Phil knows they’re in a cell, in a police station, in the middle of the night, but all he can see now are two kids in dirty clothes huddled under an old blanket on a metal bench. He feels awful.
“You guys need anything?” His voice is carefully neutral, he doesn’t want to scare the kids, but he’s also the authority here.
To his surprise, it’s Ranboo who shakes their head at him. Granted, they don’t look his way, but it’s better than the treatment he received earlier. The kid is probably too tired to be wary of him. He’s not sure how to feel about that.
“You sure? I can get water or crackers.” Maybe he cares more than he initially thought.
Tommy raises his head to stare at Phil, “I want a hot chocolate and a green tea.” His voice holds some challenge in it as if he is daring Phil to say no.
When Phil nods and goes to leave, he can see Tommy raise his eyebrows in his peripheral vision, the kids share a glance in shock. When Ranboo shrugs, the teens fall back to their lethargic state under the rugged blanket. Phil wishes he was better at leading conversations. If he knew how to make the kids talk on their own accord, this shift would be a lot more interesting.
The walk to the vending machine at the entrance is quick, but he usually avoids it; the prices are bonkers and the products are shit. The teens don’t know that, though, so he inserts some coins and presses the three buttons he needs. A hot chocolate, and a small green tea, and he also gets some cheap crackers. He doesn't feel good knowing the kids probably didn’t eat dinner before being brought here.
He doesn’t bother opening the gate, instead sliding the two cups and the packet of crackers through the bars and leaving without turning back.
Time passes slowly in Phil’s office, he reads piles of paperwork and amuses himself however he can. He’s proud to say he’s gotten very good at throwing balls of paper into the bin in the corner. There’s a mound of missed shots around the trash, but the bin is full, so he can’t be that bad. His boss appears in the doorframe again, looking significantly more drained than earlier.
“I got Sarah to deal with the idiots in the cell, you don’t have to do it anymore.” he looks at Phil, probably expecting a sign of acknowledgment, so Phil hums his agreement without raising his head any further. He doesn’t see his boss leave, but he can hear him trample down the hall. Phil thinks there’s a clear reason the man was pulled off the field to rot in an office. Guys like this one don’t last long when running after thieves or rioting teens.
Speaking of the teens, Phil should be relieved that the task passed to someone else, but he can't unsee the hesitance in the kids’ eyes every time someone goes near them. Maybe they’re just wary of cops and authority, but Phil is certain there’s something hidden deeper. Something he’s scared to discover, something that would undoubtedly change his vision of the job.
No, he’s not overjoyed about the responsibility being shifted to someone else. But he also knows that, realistically, no one will stop him from checking up on them, he just needs a solid excuse in case the big boss comes around. It would be very bad timing, the last time Phil remembers seeing him was around a month ago, the dude alternates between three stations in the city and spends most of his time in his main office located in the wealthier areas. Phil can’t say he can blame him, this area can be somewhat dangerous during the night, but the actual criminals get sent to the county jail right away. Best to avoid the main streets. Not only that, but the only arrests they make here are the random teens spray painting their school’s walls and drunks in alleyways. Nothing worthy of his attention.
Still, Phil would like to think his job has a meaning, that the paperwork he spends hours hunched over helps someone somewhere. He’s an optimist, he can’t help it.
Tommy’s voice crosses the hall and reaches Phil’s ears, he stands up abruptly. He looks at the cell and sees Sarah near the door, she clearly looks uncomfortable in the hallway light. Phil watches her talk to someone, but she’s facing away from the door, he guesses Bad got off of his game to speak to her.
He’s about to leave his desk to satisfy his curiosity but Sarah doesn’t wait for him to walk there. She knocks on his door frame before he can cross his room.
“Dunno what you did to the kid in there but he hates me.” She looks dejected as she reports to Phil. Technically speaking, she’s still in training, so Phil is her superior. He thinks she has potential. She adds some context. “Bad said you got to talk to him, we need to get some info from them.”
She fishes out a tiny notepad from her pocket and hands it to Phil. He reads it over quickly, only finding some basic questions and some more specific to the kids’ arrest. Again, his curiosity overpowers his exhaustion, he takes the notepad from her hands.
“I’ll do it, I’ll put this back on your desk when I’m done. Ronald doesn’t have to know. We can go over it together later.”
Sarah nods in relief. Phil can understand her, he doubts their boss gave her any instructions other than the basics. He just offered her an out anyone would love to take. And maybe Phil wants to know what happened to the kids. He won’t let that show, though. To anyone else, he had only offered his help to a colleague, not to two random teens in their holding cell.
She hurries away from him, heading back to the safety of the shared office space further in the hallway. Phil watches her disappear behind the corner before he closes his office door behind him, he crosses the hall again, and when he walks past him, Bad is back on his game. Phil wants to tell him how horrible he looks, perched on his chair like that with a dead look in his eyes. He doesn’t, he’s not a complete idiot, he can tell when his colleague doesn’t want to be bothered. Also, he can hear Tommy and Ranboo whisper to each other in the nearby room. Normally, Phil would conduct his interviews in another room, but since the cell is empty apart from the teens, he forgoes the usual safety measures and simply knocks on the gate, signalling his presence. Tommy glances at him and Phil can see the way his body tenses then relaxes when he realises who’s in the doorway. The hot chocolate cup from earlier sits empty near the bench and the green tea is half done. The crackers stay unopened, but they’re on the bench next to the teens. That’s a good start, especially considering the last person who attempted to talk to him got yelled at.
He doesn’t know how to open the conversation, so he asks the first thing that goes through his brain.
“Why’d you yell at Sarah?” at Tommy’s confused glance, Phil elaborates, “The officer who was just here.”
Tommy sighs, he looks bored more than angry, which reminds Phil how young he is. “She acts like a mother.” It's Phil's turn to look confused. “She said if we’re nice then she’ll be nice. She’s fucking weird.”
Phil can’t fully understand the kid’s feelings, but he gets the gist of it.
“That’s what we’re taught to say, it never works. She’s new, probably only a few years older than you.” Phil can’t pinpoint his reasoning for oversharing the information with Tommy, but he can’t see it being used to harm someone, so he lets it go.
“Well that’s stupid, I’m not a little kid.” Ranboo throws their leg out, probably to kick him, but they overshoot and end up sitting on the floor. Tommy fully laughs, clearly unbothered by the idea of his friend being hurt. Phil takes a look at Ranboo to make sure the kid isn’t hurt and smiles at the scene in front of him. And then he stops smiling, because he has two kids in a holding cell whose only communication involves grunts and screams. There aren't many things to laugh about.
He steps into the cell and makes sure the door locks behind him. He might not hate the teens but he isn’t a complete idiot, he knows they ended up here for a reason. Once he’s inside the room, he kind of forgets why he’s even there in the first place.