Terror Twin [Def Leppard] #Wattys2016

XXVIII: Die Hard The Hunter

"Steve, you're scaring the shit out of us."

Steve laid there with a cigarette pinned between his teeth, taking it all in.

The doctor had asked the others to write letters for Steve, voicing how they felt about the situation, and then had them read the letters aloud.

Phil didn't have the strength to read his. He couldn't bear to look into the other man's eyes.

"Phil, how long am I going to be in here?" Steve murmured after everything had been read out.

"You're leaving tomorrow." Phil whispered, voice catching in his throat. Phil was seated on the cot, back facing Steve.

"And we can go home, then, right?"

"No." Phil wiped a tear escaping down his cheek and fled the room.

Steve raised an eyebrow.

"What's he talking about?"

Both Joe and Sav found their eyes in their laps, twiddling their thumbs. Rick has no such luxury.

"Steve.. y-you're.. you're gonna go to a place for a little while. So you can get better--"

"You're sending me to fucking rehab!?" Steve spat, removing the cigarette and putting it out in the ash tray next to the bed.

"It's for the best." Sav whispered, eyes welling with salty tears that burned in the worst way as he tried desperately to hold them back. But alas they spilled out, and the bassist found himself sobbing into his lover's shoulder. Joe wrapped an arm around Sav, cradling him close.

Steve turned his attention to Sav, ready to scream. A look from Joe silenced him.

"It's only for a little while to see if it helps." Joe murmured, looking into Steve's eyes as gently as he could manage.

"I can't fucking believe you guys. He promised. He promised you'd never send me away."

Steve rolled over in the bed, buried his face in the pillow and did not speak again.

•

A knock on the door caught the tall man's attention. He rolled his eyes, not in the mood to deal with another therapist. Turning back to his locked window, he continued staring out blankly from a high floor. He had forgotten which floor he had been put on. The unhealthily skinny blonde man blew out a sigh from between dry, pale lips, running weak fingers through long, now-unkept-and-matted hair. His dull blue eyes welled with tears again, and he was on the floor, wet stains dripping down all over his white, baggy uniform.

The door opened.

Steve begged for it to be Phil.

"Clark. Get up and get in bed. You're supposed to be asleep."

The doctor turned and left again, closing and locking the door behind him.

Steve didn't bother moving, bundling his knees up to his chest and sobbing harder.

He had never felt more alone.

This was nothing like they had told him.

Steve wasn't sure if the center didn't allow visitors or if the others just hadn't bothered to come.

Night had fallen long ago outside, leaving nothing to stare at. Only blackness and the silhouettes of trees.

He stared into his knees, biting his lip. He knew they might hear him, but he wanted to sing anyway. He sang it when he needed help.

"Let's welcome home the soldier boy, from far away, no angel of mercy; just a need to destroy."

Steve fell asleep on the floor at some point.

•

There was a weight on his shoulder. A hand. He could feel the fingers. Steve didn't open his eyes though; he figured it was just some nurse making sure he was still alive.

"Steph'."

His heart skipped a beat.

"Phil?" He whispered, sitting up before realizing the hand was gone, the weight was gone, the person was gone.

He sat in an empty room.

The hole in his chest returned.

Steve walked out of the center that afternoon.

•

There was a persistent knocking on the door that woke Phil up, finally.

It was three in the afternoon and he had slept all day, because he couldn't at night anymore. He could never sleep alone.

He groggily dragged himself out of bed, tugging on a shirt and forgetting pants. It was probably just one of the guys checking up on him.

Phil had been losing his grip on a downhill slope ever since Steve was put in the center, and never had tried to right himself.

"What?" Phil growled, flinging the door open. His jaw dropped.

Steve raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms.

"Haven't seen me in almost a month and that's what I get?"

"Steve!" Phil leaped on him, which was a bad idea, and Steve toppled down the concrete stairs in his weakened state.

Both were unharmed though, and Phil slid into Steve's lap, wrapping his arms around him and holding on tightly. Steve inhaled the scent of his lover, running his fingers through Phil's hair.

"I tried to come and see you, so many times.. they never let me in. Always said you were busy."

"Busy wishing you were there."

Phil paused, realizing what was wrong with the situation.

"Steve. You're not supposed to be done for two more months."

"I walked out." The other man replied simply, gently removing Phil from his lap and walking inside hand-in-hand. "I just couldn't do it anymore."

Phil sighed, squeezing his boyfriend's hand.

"I figured this would happen, honestly. You didn't get much out of that, did you?"

Steve shook his head.

"Steve.. whatever happens next, I'm sorry. They're not going to send you away again, but.. y'know, I have no idea. Forget I said anything." Phil dropped Steve's hand and took the lead walking into the kitchen, starting to make tea for the both of them.

Steve didn't forget, but headed down to their bedroom and quickly changed into his normal attire, throwing the uniform into the trash.

He brushed his hair, disgusted with how unkept it had become. I'll have to wash it five times later to get it nice again, he thought, rolling his eyes.

Steve did his best to ignore Phil's comment earlier, and cleaned himself up as best as he could in five minutes, humming the tune to Kiss' Forever.

"Until my life is through, I'll be lovin' you forever." Phil's singing alerted Steve of his presence. The blonde turned to Phil, the brush caught in a particular strong knot, hanging off his head.

Phil folded his arms over his chest, chuckling.

"The tea's ready when you are. Looks like you might need some help there, though?" Phil stepped inside the bathroom, removing the brush and running it under the faucet. Steve closed his eyes as Phil gently unknotted his unruly locks. He leaned back against Phil's chest, who wrapped an arm around Steve's belly.

"Don't fall asleep on me, you can do that later." Phil teased, pressing a kiss to the back of Steve's head. He placed the brush back on the counter, taking Steve's hand in his and leading him into the kitchen for tea.

What a way to kick off the 90's.