dark devil ; phan sequel

xiii;

Benji was missing, jacket left behind in a puddle of blood, ID tested and confirmed as his. His cousin, the only family member he had left other than a dad who was in jail, other than his aunt and uncle he'd said maybe two words to, was demanding a funeral be held, even though she hadn't seen him in maybe seven years.

Today was the funeral of Phil's best friend, his long remembered companion, a man who he'd already thought he was losing, just not in this way.

Benji was gone. He was gone, with his Deadpool jokes and his fantastic music taste. He was gone in every possible way he could be. Raze was gone too, katana swinging, all his witty comments and times he'd saved Phil's life, the times he'd made fun of him or wrecked a mission for the pure fun of seeing Phil start to fume.

Benji was never coming back. Phil would never make memories with him again. They'd never hug and share an emotional moment, would never spend another holiday together, would never see Benji's eyes light up when they watched Guardians of the Galaxy for the eighth time. He'd never even lived long enough to see his favourite superhero on the big screen for the second time.

Phil was going to cry. He felt the bubbling sadness in his chest, in his throat, and he could feel the tears in his eyes, the ones that spilled over his cheeks as he stared in the mirror.

He'd lost his brother back as a kid, and Benji had lost his mother, so they'd had each other. Phil's own mother had let him stay in their house, had become his legal guardian until they'd both turned eighteen and gone off to school together, to university where they shared the biggest dorm they could afford without being entirely broke.

"Phil?" Dan asked gently into the bathroom, and Phil had forgotten Dan was there, so he choked on a sob and leaned forward, his heart aching harder, because he'd never cared about someone the way he'd cared about Benji, a brother who'd never shared blood with him, a man who stood by him when he'd been at his weakest, at his strongest. "Phil?" He heard his boyfriend repeat, putting a hand on the doorframe of the bathroom. "Everyone's here for you when you need us." He was quiet after a moment, and Phil heard another person crying somewhere.

Dick Karter.

Dick Karter, the detective who'd been searching to arrest both Phil and him back in the day, who'd gotten attached to Benji when he'd moved in temporarily, to the point where Benji never moved out, where they started dating.

Fuck him, Phil thought bitterly, because it wasn't fair for Dick to feel that way. He hadn't known him intimately like Phil, hadn't been there to see Benji wrecked, coming home in the middle of the night drunk, trying to forget what had happened, what had made him so damn afraid of physical contact.

Dick wasn't allowed to feel so sad when he had only known Benji for so little time. It wasn't fair. It really, honestly wasn't fair.