Work Text:
“… You’re sure your brother’s staying late at school today, right?”
Vanessa turned her head against the pillow, eyeing the vacant bed pushed up against the far wall. Ferb nodded once, but it was obvious his attention was elsewhere; he pushed against the black-lacquered fingers splayed against his chest, his lips brushing the curve of her neck with the sort of devoted, single-minded precision he had for most tasks in his life. Vanessa sighed – half in pleasure, half in resignation; Ferb was many things, but he’d never once been much of a conversation partner – and looped her arms around his neck.
The single black lock of his hair (the only exterior concession she’d been able to talk him into, beside the small spacer earring he wore in his left lobe) brushed warmly against her cheek, but she was distracted by how … orderly everything was around her. Both beds immaculately made, all books neatly organized on their shelves, desks free of clutter; everything done in calming, non-descript shades of blue. Somehow, it didn’t correspond with what she knew about either brother. She couldn’t quite shake the impression that the muted décor represented a sort of neutral zone, and that was the most unsettling thing of all.
“You two used to be so close,” she murmured absently, carding her long fingers through his hair. “What happened?”
Rather characteristically, Ferb said nothing at all.
======
“Hey, Phineas,” Isabella called, rapping her knuckles twice against the classroom door before stepping over the threshold. “Whatcha doin’?” She tucked a strand of hair behind one ear and slid her violin case onto the counter beside a stack of books.
“Hey, Isabella,” Phineas murmured, though he didn’t look up and it was obvious he responded more from habit than interest. “Just finishing some homework.”
Like always, she thought wearily, but her practiced smile remained in place as she hopped onto the stool beside him. “History homework in the Chemistry lab, huh? Mixing it up a bit, I see.” Her grin edged towards teasing as she poked him lightly in the shoulder. “Know what would be even crazier? If you actually took an afternoon off for a change and came to the Googleplex for ice cream with me and Baljeet.”
Phineas finished the sentence he was working on before tossing his pen down onto his notebook, stretching his arms above his head to ease the kink in his back and offering her an apologetic smile. “Finals are next week,” he reminded her. “… And I think Baljeet may want to talk to you alone.”
“Not as dense as you look, are you?” Isabella chuckled, laying a light kiss against his cheek.
“Not as dense as Buford, anyway. Go easy on Bal, though; he still thinks we don’t know.”
“Will do.” She watched him a moment in silence, noting with affectionate exasperation that his attention was already straying towards his essay again. “Maybe we can do something later, then?”
“I’m free tonight,” he offered, taking his pen in hand and tapping it absently against the half-filled page. His handwriting was small and neat and orderly, and yet for all that somehow indecipherable; like a boy writing in code. She still had the notes he used to pass her in Algebra, stashed away for safe keeping in a shoebox at the back of her closet, but it had been many years since Phineas had discreetly tucked the last of them into the curve of her waiting palm. Now when he didn’t pay attention in class, it was in favor of different distractions: thick books with thicker titles and writing even more indecipherable to her than his had always been.
“Mmm, no good. I have a Fireside Girls meeting to run tonight. But promise me you won’t stay here too late, okay? They call it homework for a reason.”
A strange look briefly clouded his expression, something shadowed and restless, and she found that she couldn’t read that, either. “No good. Ferb’s been blasting that terrible CD Vanessa got him all week. Music helps him concentrate, but I can’t hear myself think in all that racket.”
“Two geniuses sharing a bedroom, and neither managed to think of something as obvious as a pair of headphones?” She was teasing him again, but carefully; something about that look warned her not to press too hard. “You know, you could always ask your parents to give you Candace’s room. At least until her semester’s over.”
Phineas shrugged and smiled, but in the flat way that said he wasn’t going to talk about it. “Maybe. Tell Bal I said ‘hi,’ okay?”
Isabella sighed, momentarily defeated. “Okay.” She leaned in for another quick kiss before sliding off the stool. “Good luck with your essay. You still going to pick me up for school tomorrow morning?”
“Oh. Um, Ferb said something about working on the car this afternoon … I’ll give you a call tonight and let you know.”
“Sounds good. See you tomorrow!”
He waved vaguely in acknowledgement, but his head was already bent over his paper, lost again to his work.
=========
“Boys, I’m home!”
Linda kicked the front door shut with her heel, balancing groceries and her purse as she moved through the darkened foyer. She followed the light spilling outward from the kitchen, depositing her purchases on the table. Ferb was at the stove, stirring something in a steaming pot. “That smells wonderful, honey,” she greeted, and he smiled his own welcome as he turned a cheek to accept her kiss. “But you need to warn me when you’re working in the garage; I had to park halfway down the block. Is your brother home?”
“Bedroom. But Dad’s not in yet.”
“He phoned me on his lunch break, saying he’d be home late again. Something about grading papers. I know I, for one, will be glad when it’s finally summer vacation.” She cast a wistful glance at the calendar magnetized to the side of the ‘fridge. “Your dad off, your sister home … I may even be able to convince you and your brother to relax a little. You kids should bring Jeremy, Vanessa, and Isabella along camping with your grandparents this year. Or is that not cool anymore?” She took a seat at the table, resting her chin in one hand while she watched her step-son cook.
“Camping’s always cool, Mom,” Phineas announced from the doorway, padding barefoot into the room. There were tired shadows under his bruised-blue eyes and a dark smudge of ink along the bridge of his nose, but his grin was warm and full of its usual charm. “Isabella’s been a Fireside Girl since she was in kindergarten. She lives for that sort of thing.” He stopped beside Ferb at the stove, peering curiously into the pot. “How was work?”
“Hectic. We got a large shipment in from an estate sale. I’ve been sorting through crates of musty books all day. How was school?”
“Surprisingly similar, actually.” Phineas’ lips curled into a wry smile as he arched up onto his toes, retrieving a jar of spices from the cabinet above the stove. He poured a liberal amount into the pot without consulting the chef, who contented himself with a pointed, sideways look that Phineas chose to ignore. “Musty volumes, outdated junk, dusty teachers.”
“Oh, honey, I sincerely doubt it was as bad as all that.” Phineas just snorted derisively before moving aside to fetch three mis-matched soup bowls.
“Two more years, boys. Then you can go wherever you want for college.” It didn’t come out quite as cheerful as she’d meant it to.
==========
“You may want to take a look at this.”
Ferb glanced up from his worktable, startled out of his concentration. They’d both been in the room all evening, but this was the first either of them had spoken.
Phineas had pushed his chair back from his computer and was giving his step-brother the weary look he reserved for one subject in particular. Ferb’s eyes narrowed. “What did he do now?” Reluctantly, he pushed himself away from the table and crossed the room, standing behind Phineas’ chair to better see the other boy’s laptop screen. The web browser displayed Irving’s latest blog post, complete with a set of pictures that, though relatively inoffensive in content, could only have been taken covertly through the back windows of their house. They were all there: Linda, Lawrence, Phineas, Ferb … even Perry. Though it didn’t escape the notice of either boy that Phineas was featured more than the others were. Silently, Phineas spun the wheel on his mouse, scrolling through the page, stopping only when prompted to by the tight, impulsive grip of Ferb’s fingers on his shoulder. “How did he get such a close-up photograph of you sleeping?”
Phineas shrugged beneath the weight of Ferb’s heavy hand. “Dunno. Guess we should ask Mom for a better set of curtains.” It was an attempt at humor, but it fell flat; what was amusing at eight was not half as funny at sixteen.
“I thought you were going to talk to him about this.”
“I did.”
“We should call the police.”
“Irving’s harmless, Ferb. A bit creepy, but harmless.” Phineas closed the webpage, sighing as he slumped back in his chair. “I’ll talk to him again tomorrow.”
“I’ll talk to him. I don’t want you alone with him.”
Something about Ferb’s tone – cold and uncharacteristically aggressive – made Phineas swivel his chair around to face him, forcefully dislodging his brother’s grip on his shoulder in the process. “You’re going to talk to him?” he laughed, derisive and harsh. “Or by ‘talk’ do you mean ‘punch in the face,’ like you did to that guy last year?”
The boy in question had been harassing Vanessa, as both of them knew well enough; but this wasn’t really about that time, and Ferb said nothing in his own defense. He simply sat down on the edge of Phineas’ bed, one hand clutching tensely at his bent knee while the other stroked restless fingers over Perry’s sleeping back.
Irritated, Phineas pushed against the wall of his brother’s silence. “Are you trying to get expelled? Look, I told you; Irving’s harmless. And even if he wasn’t, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. The last thing anyone needs is for you to go around menacing people like some drugged-out street thug. Or is that what your new friends do for fun these days?” He was being deliberately provocative, but it surprised neither of them when Ferb didn’t rise to the bait. The taller boy simply stared with vacant eyes out the bedroom window, calming his own anger in the repetitive strokes dealt out gently against the steady curve of Perry’s spine.
Phineas made a frustrated sound low in his throat before slamming shut the laptop and pushing himself to his feet. “As if you could actually talk to anyone about your feelings,” he snapped. “What a joke.” He stormed from the room in a theatrical rage that would have done his sister proud, adding childish punctuation to the action by flicking the lights off on his way through.
Ferb waited until the echo of Phineas’ footsteps had vanished down the hall, then released a long, pent-up breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His mind turned briefly to the fuse box waiting on his worktable, to the recently-abused light switch waiting by the door. But in the end, it all felt like too much effort.
It all felt too far away.
He stretched out on his back instead, staring blankly up at the moon shadows dusting the ceiling above his brother’s bed.
============
“—No, no, you can’t push so hard. The whole thing is going to collapse! You must gently press the sides, like this.”
Phineas hesitated in the doorway of the Art Room, torn between mortification and amusement and entirely unsure if it was a good idea to interrupt. He waited a beat, then made a show of clearing his throat before finally ducking into the room. “Hey, guys. What are you working on?”
Buford jerked his hands free of Baljeet’s as though they’d been burned, covering embarrassment with a dry, unsteady laugh and wiping his clay-coated fingers against the seat of his jeans. The clay left chalky, finger-shaped imprints against either denim-clad butt cheek, and Phineas winced in sympathy; that would go over great in the locker room later.
“Hi, Phineas,” Baljeet greeted with decidedly more finesse, switching off the potter’s wheel and cleaning his own hands on a dirty towel. “I was just helping Buford finish his art assignment.”
“Coach said I’m off the team if I fail another class,” Buford muttered in explanation, stiff and awkward on the thin metal stool. He’d grown enormously in his high school years, a solid wall of muscle and sinew, and it was hard to picture anywhere else he might have looked so out-of-place. He certainly towered over Baljeet, and Phineas smiled quietly to himself at the unlikely pair.
“No problem,” he assured them, easing the tension with a characteristic smile. “Baljeet told me to meet him here after school, but there’s no rush. I can come back later.”
“Nah, it’s okay. I’ve gotta get to practice anyway.” Apparently grateful for the release, Buford slid quickly off his stool – nearly upsetting it in the process – and grabbed his waiting backpack without so much as washing his hands. “Later,” he muttered to Baljeet out of the side of his mouth before bolting past Phineas and through the open door. They watched him go a moment in silence before exchanging a bemused look.
“Same old Buford, I see,” Phineas laughed finally, slinging his own pack onto a clean expanse of table and taking a seat. Baljeet just shook his head and began to clean up their clay-spattered workspace.
“He secretly likes art, you know,” he confided as he gently transferred their work-in-progress to a drying shelf. “I think he only pretends to be bad at it. But don’t tell him I told you; he’d never forgive me.”
“Your secret’s safe with me,” Phineas promised – meaningfully – though if Baljeet heard the extra weight in his tone, he gave no notice of it. “Sorry I interrupted. What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”
“Oh! Yes. I wanted to tell you: my cousin was just accepted into Harvard! She won extra points with the admissions committee for her essay, and so I asked her if I could see it. I made you a copy.” Turning from the sink, he dried his hands against the front of his apron before retrieving a piece of paper from his pile of textbooks. “Here. You told me you were interested in learning more about the admissions process, right? Well, now we know what it is they’re looking for.”
Phineas scanned the offered sheet with obvious apprehension. “Baljeet, we can’t copy her essay.”
“No, no, of course not! I would never suggest such a thing!” His friend looked positively scandalized by the very notion. “But Phineas, you know as well as I that everyone who applies to Harvard has perfect grades and high SAT scores. Everyone who applies to Harvard has plenty of extra-curricular and volunteer experience. The essay’s the important part! It’s the deal breaker. The admissions council wants to know if you are a good fit for their community. Thus they want conformity in the essay, not originality.”
Feeling suddenly restless, Phineas abandoned his stool and drifted towards a row of art projects lined up beneath the rain-lashed windows, distractedly studying their colorful components. “Doesn’t that bother you?” he asked quietly, pushing the tip of his finger through a thin coating of dust on the lowest shelf. “I mean, this whole ‘conformity’ thing. Doesn’t that defeat the point?”
Baljeet watched him a moment, his gaze sympathetic but his response perfectly resolute when it came: “No, Phineas. The point is Harvard. The prestige of the name. It doesn’t matter what you study there. So long as you have a diploma with ‘Harvard’ written on it, you can do anything you want! You know that. There will be plenty of time to be creative after college. For now, you have to play the game. Do what you must to get in and succeed there. You know that. Isn’t that why you work so hard?”
Phineas had been wandering his way slowly down the row, but he stopped suddenly in front of a particular construction now. He knew without looking who had made the model, and he touched it lightly with his dusty finger. “I don’t know. I guess so.” But what he really meant was, it’s more complicated than that. “What about you, Bal? Your parents offered to send you to a private academy after junior high. Why didn’t you go?”
Baljeet was silent for a moment, considering his response. “The academy uniform was dreadful,” he said finally, his mouth curling into a faint, enigmatic smile. “It would not have looked right on me at all.”
Which meant it’s complicated, too.
“Guess you’re right.” Phineas flicked a piece of the model before him, watching the miniature blades spin. “Well, we still have two years left to worry about it. No need to stress now.”
But Baljeet shook his head in vehement disagreement. “Oh, no, Phineas; it’s never too early to start worrying. Summer vacation begins in two weeks, which means we only have one year left – not two! Either you or I will be valedictorian of our class, and the other will be salutatorian.” He covered this piece of information quickly, as though he could override the latent tension in the words. They both pretended that it didn’t matter to them which way it went, but in truth they had been competing for top academic honors since sixth grade, and it did matter. “Isabella will receive third honors. We all know this. The community will look to us, Phineas. If anyone is going to get out of Danville, it will be the three of us. You don’t want to be trapped here forever, do you?”
Phineas flicked the blades again, pensively watching the wheels spin. “No,” he agreed softly. “No, I don’t.”
“It would be wise for us to spend the summer working on our volunteer projects. Did you ask Isabella about helping at the Fireside Girls retreat? We could all earn extra credit that way. And we’ll need it, if we are going to apply for scholarships.” Another source of tension. Phineas gave the blades another whirl, hard enough this time to make the little metallic piece rattle in its setting.
“No, I forgot. I haven’t been thinking much about summer.”
“Well, that’s uncharacteristic,” Baljeet chuckled. “Do you remember when we were kids? Oh, you and your brother used to build such wonderful things …” He sighed wistfully. “Were we really that young once, Phineas?”
“No. No, we were never that young. That’s the problem.”
Baljeet blinked at him in confusion, clearly not understanding.
“What is this?” Phineas asked suddenly, derailing the conversation and gesturing towards the model. “I didn’t think Ferb was taking an art class this term.”
“Oh, he’s not. That’s for a contest. Vanessa’s dad is looking for someone to do contracting work; making the model is part of the application process, I guess. The job’s supposed to pay well, too. And Ferb’s model is the best. I guess we know what he’ll be doing this summer.” The comment was made with a smile; a joke. But Phineas wasn’t amused.
“Guess so,” he said tightly, and then he flattened the carefully detailed construction beneath his fist.
=============
“Wait, don’t tell me; this is some kind of ‘Goth’ thing, right? Because nothing says ‘tortured soul’ quite like pneumonia.”
Ferb glanced up from his contemplation of the ground, rainwater streaming down his pale cheeks. He was seated, which gave his addresser an uncharacteristic height advantage. “Wasn’t raining when I sat down.” He shrugged.
Phineas was silent for a long moment, staring at him from beneath the shadow of his umbrella. “It was my day to use the car,” he said finally, in a strange, flat voice rendered deader still by the muted patter of the rain. “Don’t see why you had to have it, if all you’re going to do is sit out in the rain anyway.”
Ferb worked his fingers through the rusted chain links of the swing and said nothing.
“I saw your model, in the Art Room,” Phineas went on, acting as though his brother’s silence didn’t bother him. They both knew it did. “You never told me you were applying for a contractor job. It’s – well; it was – a very nice model. Impressive work.” He paused, waiting for that to sink in.
Ferb scuffed the toe of his black boot in the muddy gravel before looking up again, the slanting rain stinging his narrowed eyes. “What did you do to it?”
Phineas seemed to contemplate that a moment before taking the swing beside his brother, one hand gripping the cold, slick chain while the other awkwardly held his umbrella. “Crushed it,” he answered, once he was seated. For as close as they were sitting, it was hard to hear him over the sounds of the storm. “You should thank me. You don’t want to work for Doofenschmirtz.”
Ferb dropped his gaze to the ground again, rubbing his anger into the rusted chain links until it eased its way out of his shoulders. “Don’t I?” His voice was eerily calm.
“No. You’re better than that.”
“Like you, you mean.”
“Yeah. Like me.”
They said nothing for a long time. Ferb continued to contemplate the churned earth below while Phineas stared at the faded yellow plastic of the sliding board, both aware of the chill creeping into their damp, bare fingers. The wind nudged the third and final swing on Phineas’ other side into a ghostly rocking motion, old chains screeching in dull protest; the muted sounds of traffic drifted to them from the distant highway, though the fog obscured the lights. In the middle of the city, they were profoundly alone.
“Isabella’s like Candace,” Phineas said finally, without preamble. He was still staring at the slide, and Ferb wasn’t entirely certain whether his brother was taking to him or to the piece of old playground equipment. “She’s very smart, and she has plenty of dreams – but they’re small dreams. She wants to go to school, become an elementary teacher. She wants to get married and have kids of her own. She wants to be den mother for her own Fireside Girls troop. Sometimes, she talks about opening and running her own summer sleep-away camp. And she wants to do it all here, in Danville. Her family’s here. She told me she wants her children to grow up close to their grandparents. That she wants to stay close to everyone she knows.” He paused for a moment, pushing against the unstable earth with his heels until his swing rocked slightly, in tandem with the ghost beside him. “And that’s fine, you know? It’s fine. But she wants me to be her husband. She wants me to live here with her, in the suburbs of Danville. Sit on the town council, maybe run for mayor or something. But to do it here.”
Ferb was watching him now, but still said nothing, and eventually Phineas continued into the silence. “I love her, you know. But not enough to stay. And I don’t think she loves me enough to leave. I figured that’s how it was with you and Vanessa. Vanessa’s older; she’s beautiful. I know she’s intelligent. But she has no grand ambition. She chose to go into business with her father after high school, rather than go to college. She obviously has no intention to leave Danville, either. Ferb … you shouldn’t let her pull you down. You shouldn’t stay here just for her. You’re talented; really, really talented. Too talented for this small town. Baljeet’s smart, but he has to work for everything he has. He’s not naturally gifted, not like you and me. We should be competing for the top grades …” He trailed off awkwardly. It was clear this speech was unrehearsed, unmediated, and that wasn’t like Phineas at all.
The silence stretching between them was deafening.
“Maybe I am too good for Danville,” Ferb said finally, “but you’re too good for Harvard. Or Yale. Or wherever.” He sighed, dragging both heels back through the dirt, relishing the heavy friction. “I don’t want to go to college, Phineas. Vanessa and I share similar feelings on the issue, but I didn’t make the decision because of her. I’m tired of school. It’s too much ‘learning,’ not enough ‘doing.’ I need money to finish working on the car, and this summer job gives me an opportunity to get it while exploring my creativity and working with my hands. I don’t know if it will turn into a full-time position or not. At the moment, that doesn’t matter. Working with Vanessa is a perk, but it’s not the only reason I’m interested in the job.”
It was the longest speech Ferb had made in a very long time, and it left Phineas fumbling for a response.
“Ferb, your father’s a teacher –“
“—And yours is an accountant. What does that matter?”
Phineas’ face clouded the way it did whenever his biological father came into the conversation, but Ferb was unremorseful. He hadn’t been the one to start the conversation. “Go to Harvard, if that’s what you really want,” he finished quietly. “You’re certainly intelligent enough to get in. But that’s not the life I want for myself. It never was.”
Phineas hesitated, but then, before he could think better of it, he blurted out in flat, clipped tones, “I’m the thinker. You’re the doer. We’re a set, Ferb. Neither of us is ever going to do well without the other.”
Ferb laughed, and his amusement made Phineas flinch. “Is that what you’ve been so worked up about? Phineas, you’ll be just fine without me. We’re not chess pieces, for crying out loud. We’re not even actually brothers.”
It was a mistake. Ferb realized it a split-second after he said it, but it was too late to take the words back. Phineas’ face shuttered behind a screen of perfect blankness as he pushed himself away from the swing. The umbrella got itself tangled up in the chain and Phineas let it fall to the mud, obviously no longer concerned about whether or not he got wet. “Right. I keep forgetting. Well, I’ll see you at home.”
“No, I didn’t mean – wait –“ Phineas was already heading towards the playground gate, and Ferb lurched awkwardly off his own swing in an attempt to overtake him. He managed to grab the other boy’s arm, hauling him back, but it was the final straw; Phineas had never intentionally hit anyone in his life, but when he whirled around now his fist connected solidly with Ferb’s jaw. The shock, more than the impact, sent them both sprawling in the slippery mud.
“Phineas! What the hell?!”
And then somehow they were tussling, rolling around angrily in the dirt the way they never had as kids: biting and kicking and hitting more from frustration than anger, and with no amount of finesse or skill. The sickly-plastic smell of Phineas’ rain poncho overwhelmed Ferb as his step-brother landed on his chest, knocking the wind out of him, and somehow that – more than the mud and the grass and the rain beating against his head – brought him back to his senses. He laid perfectly still on his back, staring vacantly upward as he had the night before, until Phineas finally stilled against him.
“You’re such a jerk,” the red-head hissed, but he’d pressed his face into Ferb’s shoulder and the words were muffled against the soaked fabric of the other boy’s t-shirt.
“Control-freak,” Ferb countered, gripping a handful of rain coat in one fist to hold him there.
“Hooligan.”
“Momma’s boy.”
“Juvenile delinquent.”
“Teacher’s pet.”
“Underachiever.”
“Overachiever.”
“… Platypus lover.”
“Menacing drugged-out street thug.”
Phineas made a small, strangled sound which Ferb knew meant he was choking back laughter. “I guess I did throw the first punch, didn’t I?” he conceded, pushing himself off his brother and helping Ferb sit up. They eyed one another a moment – bruised and soaked and completely covered in mud – and then they both began to laugh.
“Mom’s going to kill us,” Phineas groaned, looking around to see what had become of his abandoned umbrella. The wind had kicked it against the far fence, a forlorn patch of blue struggling like a wayward leaf against the chain-link.
Ferb touched his shoulder to regain his attention a moment, before the moment could pass. “I’m sorry for what I said,” he offered simply. “I didn’t mean it the way you thought I did.”
“I know.”
“Of course we’re brothers.”
“I know.”
“I was simply pointing out that our destinies or fates or whatever are not inextricably entwined.”
“I know.”
“But honestly, Phineas; ‘Platypus lover’? You’re never going to get into Harvard with an insult like that.”
It won him the smile he’d been angling for, and then a suddenly somber look he hadn’t expected. “I’m jealous of you, you know. I have no idea what I want. Not a clue. The future … it scares the hell out of me. I don’t know how you can be so calm about it. It’s rather infuriating.”
Ferb was quiet for a moment, considering this. Then he reached forward and peeled a piece of grass away from Phineas’ mud-slick cheek. “It freaks me out, too. I don’t talk about it much. But I don’t really know what I want yet, either. … Want to know my secret for keeping calm?” Phineas nodded mutely, watching him with large, dark eyes. “I know something you’ve entirely forgotten. In two weeks, we finish 10th grade. And that means that there are exactly two-hundred and eight days of summer vacation left before the future catches up to us.”
They stayed there for a long time after that, and this time the silence was companionable:
Two brothers, huddled silently together against the faded curve of the sliding board, watching the rain fall.