Chapter Text
Phil Watson. Air Force veteran. Long time mental health advocate. Now a parent.
Well, a foster parent.
Small steps.
Phil is determined to help others live their lives well, to help them live to the fullest. As a result, after going to therapy for both mental and physical health, he went through the process of becoming a certified foster parent. He had seen first hand what good it can do after meeting Puffy, who had fostered a set of siblings a little over a year prior.
Puffy had been the one to help him with all the paperwork and preparation.
Her advice helped him greatly in comparison to what he could do on his own. Though, when time came for the first call, the first child to be put into his care, there was no way to truly prepare for what his life was going to become.
The default ringtone of his phone shocks Phil out of his own head, taking him by surprise before he practically throws himself off the couch and into the kitchen to grab it.
Phil wasn’t one to keep his ringtone on, usually opting for the phone to vibrate, but he was expecting a call and refused to risk missing it.
Sliding to answer the call, he places it on speaker, leaning back against the counter while holding the phone in front of him. He can already feel the ache in his knee from how fast he stood.
“Hello, Phil Watson speaking.”
“Hello Mr. Watson. I’m Austin, from the Foster Association. I’m calling in regards to an urgent placement. Are you currently available to take a child under your care, sir?”
“Yes! Ah- yes. I- I am available.” Despite being in the confines of his home, Phil blushes of embarrassment, quickly noticing his tone is far too excitable for the situation.
There’s a mumble on the other side of the phone, before the voice on the other end becomes clear and audible once more. “That’s good news, Mr. Watson. Would you be able to bring the child into your home this evening?”
Phil blinks.
He was not expecting such short notice. He had barely even had time to think about what cereal the kid might like, let alone whether the room was ready.
“Yes.”
And yet, here he was, agreeing without hesitation.
“Thank god…” Phil knows the praise was one he wasn’t intended to hear. “I’ll send the boy’s file to your email. I’ll call you again in a few hours, sir.”
“Of course. Thank you.”
“No, thank you for fostering, Mr. Watson.”
The phone call ends.
He instantly dials another number.
“Hel—”
“I’m having a child!”
“...Excuse me?”
“That- that came across wrong.”
“You think?”
“I just got a call from the foster agency. I’m—”
“Oh!”
“I’m taking in a kid—”
“That’s amazing!”
“Tonight.”
“Wait- what?”
“Yeah, I know. It’s really short notice, but I think I have everything I need—”
“Phil.”
“I just have to double check that at least one of the rooms are set up—”
“Phil.”
“And I should make sure I’m fully stocked on food—”
“Philza!”
He pauses. “Yes?”
“Breathe, you old crow.”
“Oi!” He can hear the light laughter of his veteran friend on the other end of the call, and takes in a deep, slow breath. It’s only now, after being told off for it, that he realizes he was nearly hyperventilating. “Sorry, Puffy. I’m just- I’m excited. This kid- I’m going to be able to give them a home, be able to help them.”
“I know. But you can’t do that if you give yourself a heart attack, old man.”
“Oi! You’re only a year younger than me, you fuck!”
Puffy laughs again from the other side, and Phil can hear a distant, young voice say something in the background. “Yes, it’s alright, duckling. I’m on the phone with Phil, give me just a few minutes and I’ll come back to the table.” There’s a quiet response before Puffy speaks again. “Phil?”
Phil gives a hum in response, having taken advantage of the moment to focus back to his breathing.
“Don't give yourself a panic attack. Take it one step at a time; make sure the room is good, check food inventory. And prepare yourself. This is a big change for both you and the kid. Take it slow, and be calm. There’s no telling how they’ll react.”
“Yeah.” Phil takes a slow breath, letting her words process through. “Thanks. Puffy.”
“Anytime. I’ve got to get back to lunch, but call me again if you need, okay? I’m always happy to help.”
The awful beeping as the call ends echoes through the kitchen, and eventually all that is left is Phil.
Phil, who has to prepare for a child.
Oh boy.
By the time Phil gets the second call, reaffirming his availability and informing that they’re on their way, he has gone from excited to extremely nervous.
He made sure the room was completely set up, with fresh bedding, both a large cover blanket and a much softer blanket—it’s a pretty blue, Phil quietly hopes the kid will like the color—as well as restocking the already stocked fridge and pantry. He may have gone a little overkill with the amount of food.
He paces quietly in his living room, as he waits.
The clock reads 9:43.
9:46.
9:48.
9:49.
9:49.
Phil stops looking at the clock.
Finally, finally, there’s a knock at the door.
Phil’s eyes glance at the clock. 9:52. He wastes no more time walking to the door.
He does his best to not look like he was pacing his house for the last thirty minutes, straightening out his shirt and quickly brushing his hands over his attire.
A final, deep breath.
He opens the door.
A man, presumably Austin, stands in front of him. Short, blond hair is styled neatly on the pale man’s head, with freckles dotting around brown eyes. He stands tall, his posture straight, with business casual attire and a bright, though artificial, smile.
Phil smiles back, though his eyes stray to the kid standing behind the man for a brief moment.
“Hello, Mr. Watson?”
Phil nods. “Austin, I presume?”
“Yes sir. This is Wilbur.” He steps to the side, revealing more of the brown haired pre-teen with him.
Peering past wild locks of brown, Phil makes eye contact with light, golden eyes. It lasts for only a moment before the boy’s eyes flicker away as he grips the bottom hem of his shirt, but Phil smiles all the same.
“Pleasure to meet you. Why don’t you both come inside?” Phil takes a step back, holding the door open for the pair. Austin gives a slight nudge to Wilbur, prompting him to enter, and both step inside the warm house, out of the cold night air.
It takes 15 minutes before Austin is walking back out of the house, bidding Phil a good night.
Phil turns back to the kid now in his care, who is wearing a dull, stormy grey hoodie—clearly a few sizes too big for the skinny kid—and a nearly hidden pair of shorts, with tattered and torn tennis shoes adorning his feet. He has a duffel bag on his back, the strap looped around his torso.
“Hey, mate.” The kid stays quiet, though raises his gaze to look at Phil. Phil gives a small smile before continuing, “Have you eaten dinner already?”
Wilbur gives a curt nod. Phil is just glad for a response.
“How about I show you your room, let you settle in and rest for the night?”
Wilbur nods again.
Alright, not the talkative type.
Phil can work with that.
He continues to calmly smile, stepping around Wilbur—he makes sure to leave enough space between them both to avoid upsetting the kid—and begins up the stairs. His knee, aching with a dull pain, causes him to move slower on the stairs than he might like, though he hopes the slowness can instill a little thought of security for Wilbur.
He steps past the landing, walking around the railing at the top of the stairs and to the hallway. Pushing open the first door to the left, he steps back from the doorway, turning back to face Wilbur, who had followed him with near-silent steps.
“You can have this room. Unless I think you’re in danger, I won’t enter without asking, okay?”
Wilbur nods, and after a quiet exchange of ‘goodnights’, Phil hears Wilbur’s door click shut as he walks back down the hall.