*checks watch* this isn't THAT late

Review replies:

WeAllLoveHiccup: I'm glad you enjoy it! Also, re: your username, yes that's a mood.

Candaru: I remember thinking "I want them to fight but P.T.'s not gonna risk Phillip, and the thieves aren't just gonna start beating on him, what would he fight for- oh that's an idea"

Punzie: Thank you! I'm glad you like it!

Broppy's little girl: This isn't... the latest I've ever posted... does this count? xD

Kashai: That is an amazing image thank you

Red-Wayne-Hood: Thank you so much!

Disclaimer: Don't take anything medical-related I say seriously. I am not a doctor and I don't know what I'm talking about.

Phillip, having hoped to keep his injuries at least slightly discreet, could not have picked a worse night to be attacked, as nearly the entirety of the circus' cast was in the tent when they arrived.

Phillip didn't know exactly what the purpose of the gathering was, but when he and P.T. pushed their way through the flap, they found themselves the center of attention, any conversation coming to a halt at their unexpected arrival. Nearly all of the performers were sitting in the bleachers, most with drinks in hand, to the right of the entrance. A few of them were out in the ring, and Phillip soon spotted Anne, sitting on her trapeze with the comfort that most would only find on solid ground.

"Barnum, Phillip!" Lettie called to them in greeting. "What are you doing out so late?"

"What are you all doing here so late?" Phillip called back. Apparently she hadn't noticed the cut, or that Phineas was… halfway holding him up.

"You and Barnum have your nights out, we have ours." Anne called cheerfully, descending from her perch via a rope that dangled beside it. "We started staying late every Friday, and now it's tradition. What brings you two here?" The two men exchanged glances as she started to approach, wondering how to best break the news to them that they had been attacked, but P.T. had only just opened his mouth to try when the trapeze artist frowned and increased her pace. "Phillip, is that blood? What happened to you?"

"It's…" He started, but trailed off, head still hurting too much for him to think of a way to break it to her gently. P.T. came to his rescue, starting to lead him towards the bleachers as he explained.

"We were attacked. Robbed. They took our money and watches, and tried to take my wedding band, but we got away. I fought them, but somehow Phillip managed to take the brunt of the damage." Anxious murmurs circulated amongst the performers as P.T. lowered the younger man into a seat. "We didn't have the money to hire a carriage, and Phillip likely couldn't make the walk home, so we came here since it was much closer." Anne hurried after them as Phillip leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes and silently cursing his headache.

"It's not that bad." He tried to reassure Anne as he heard her getting close. "'s just a scratch."

"Yes, probably the worst injury was the blow to his head." Phineas added helpfully.

"It wasn't that bad." Phillip said again, but his mentor only followed up with,

"Really? I should think that it would have taken considerable force for the bottle to shatter when it hit you." Anne sucked in a breath, and Phillip opened his eyes to shoot the older man a dirty look. Phineas only shrugged.

"Sue, run and get the medical kit, please." Anne instructed, apparently not noticing their brief exchange. "Tch, you're all dirty." He glanced down to see that, no, his jacket had not been appreciative of its multiple acquisitions with the street.

"Let me get that off you." She started to unbutton his jacket, and he didn't protest until he remembered the… rather prominent scar from the stab wound he had suffered two months ago. Anne would ask questions, and this episode was enough to worry her about for one night.

"I-I'd rather keep it on." He stammered, sitting up straight and pushing her hands away. "It's… it's a chilly night." He gave a weak explanation as she gave him a quizzical look. It was true. The days were getting colder and colder, and the nights even more so.

"Oh, of course. Let me get you a blanket." Anne hurried off again as Sue, one of the dancers, returned with the bag of medical supplies. As Anne had left the immediate area, Lettie took over her ministrations, taking a cloth from the bag and starting to clean the cut on his face.

"Barnum, are you injured?" She called, not looking up from her work.

"No. I was tackled to the ground, but that's the worst that had happened to me. Poor Phillip got hit hard before we'd realized what was happening."

"Yeah, well, you should see the other guys." Phillip grinned, then winced as the cut on his cheek stung. "P.T.'s cane packs a punch." Phineas grinned back at him, twirling the heavy cane.

"Well, why do you think I carry this? Because I'm a frail old man? Of course not. It makes a wonderful weapon in a pinch."

"As I have just had demonstrated to me, yes." Phillip smiled, closing his eyes again as Lettie used a sticky tape to fasten a pad of bandages over the cut. "Thank you, Lettie."

"Of course." She said gruffly. "If I was there, they wouldn't have gotten off nearly so easy." She muttered vengefully. "No one does this to my Phillip." The ringmaster chuckled, his head starting to droop to the side. He was tired.

"Still, I'm glad Barnum was there. You could have been hurt far worse." Anne's brother, W.D., spoke up.

"Of course, that's why I was there." P.T. replied absently, lowering his cane back to his side. "If it had been just you, they wouldn't have asked so nicely. Likely they would have just beaten and robbed you, and left you there, like the first time." Phillip stiffened as Lettie's hands froze on the bandage. Phineas, no.

"'The first time'?" Anne's voice broke the silence, and Phillip opened his eyes, craning his neck to see the trapeze artist standing behind him with a blanket draped over her arm. "Phillip, what is he talking about?"

"Nothing." Phillip shot a glare at the older man, silently begging him to don't tell them don't tell them I've had a bad enough night without you making me into a laughingstock. Phineas met his eyes, then squared his shoulders and said,

"Phillip was beaten and robbed, about two months ago now. He was stabbed in the shoulder. I noticed something wrong, and grilled him until he admitted to it, and I've walked him home each night ever since." Phillip could feel heat creeping up his neck as all eyes turned back to him. Phineas- Phineas had just told everyone that not only had he been attacked, and had lost and was injured, but that he had tried, and failed, to hide it, and was so terrified by what happened to him that he needed someone to walk him home at night. No one spoke for a few moments, tense silence filling the air, before Lettie broke it.

"Phillip, why not just tell us?"

"I didn't want to worry you." He muttered, his eyes lowering to the ground as the inevitable protests filled the air.

"We can only blame ourselves for not noticing." Anne started, coming up behind him and wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. "But what if Barnum hadn't noticed? You could have been seriously hurt tonight!"

"I wasn't seriously hurt the first time, there's no-"

"You were stabbed." P.T. interjected. "That qualifies as 'serious', I should think."

"P.T., just shut up!" Phillip snapped, rising to his feet even as the world spun dizzyingly around him. "You're just making this worse!" Whirling around, he stalked off, past Lettie and Anne, towards one of the side tents. As he walked down the aisle, painfully aware of the others' eyes on him, the world took an alarming serve to the right and he found himself on the ground, dangerously close to having slammed his head into one of the support poles. Clutching the pole with both hands, he tried to get back to his feet, but a pair of hands on his shoulders pushed him down.

"Sit." W.D.'s firm voice ordered. "I know you're mad, but you're not even going to be able to go anywhere in this state. Sit and rest." Unable to do much of anything else, Phillip relented, resting his aching head on the pole. He couldn't very well shun P.T. and accept his and the rest of the circus' help at the same time, so he settled for glaring at whatever was the unfortunate target of his unfocused eyes.

He heard many sets of footsteps heading his way – apparently the entire circus felt it necessary to follow him over. He felt fingers prodding at his head, and a distant voice saying,

"Where does it hurt?" Lifting a hand from his support, Phillip showed her the bump on the back of his head, and heard her click her tongue and say, "Your hair is caked with blood." He hadn't even noticed the bleeding.

"He needs to lie down. He's in a bad state." A different voice said, and an arm wrapped around his back, lifting him to his feet. Automatically, he opened his eyes, planting his feet, but the world still swayed in front of him and he closed them again. "Barnum, help me." Another arm wrapped around him from the other side, but he jerked away stubbornly. Head injury or not, he was determined to stay mad at him.

"Phillip, I'm sorry." P.T. tried to apologize. "They had a right to know." Phillip wanted to argue, but he was too tired. W.D. started to drag him down the aisle again, and he tried to walk, but he couldn't keep his balance well enough to be much of a help. After a few minutes of listening to the murmuring voices in the background, he found himself being lowered down onto a bench, something soft stuck under his head – the blanket, maybe. He heard voices, in fairly urgent tones, but never could make out what they were saying before he passed out.

Well, he never really fell unconscious, so 'passed out' was the wrong term. The world became a haze, and he heard nothing but fuzzy snatches of conversation for a long time. Occasionally, his head would flare with pain, but mostly all he felt was exhaustion.

Finally, he managed to wake up from his half-asleep state, and he opened his eyes a slit to see considerably fewer people gathered around him – Anne, Lettie, W.D., P.T., and just a couple of the dancers and one of the lion tamers. They looked relieved when he opened his eyes, and he became aware of something tight wrapped around his head.

"What happened?" He tried to ask, but his words came out slurred and barely recognizable.

"We tried our best to get you patched up, and the others are going to get a doctor." Anne replied, setting her hand on his arm. "We're afraid you have a concussion. How do you feel?"

"Exhausted. My head hurts." He closed his eyes again, wishing his head didn't hurt too much for him to get to sleep. "I just… want to sleep."

"Alright, you just rest, darling." Lettie's voice. "We'll leave you be." He heard more voices after that, but they were so muted that he couldn't make out the words.

Eventually, the voices faded away, but he still couldn't get to sleep. Curse this hard bench. And it wasn't as if he could move, even the slightest shift in position sent pain stabbing through his head. So, he just lay there, suffering.

After about ten minutes of this, Phillip was seriously considering trying to call the others back. There had to be some way to relieve this pain. Not to mention the cold. As he debated how far his weak voice would carry, however, a voice only a couple feet away made him jump.

"Phillip?" Followed quickly by "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." Phineas' voice. Even though he was insistent in staying mad at him, Phillip couldn't deny that he was glad he was still here. That he hadn't left.

"'S… okay." He whispered. His voice was far too weak to have called them back anyway.

"How are you feeling? Any better?"

"Worse."

"Oh. Is there anything I can do?"

"No, I don't… just… don't leave."

"Alright." There was a few seconds of silence. "I'm sorry for telling everyone."

"It's… fine. I forgive you." Phillip twisted his head just a bit to face him. "I'm sorry… for reacting so badly. W.D. was right, I was very fortunate that you were with me. I owe you."

"You owe me nothing." P.T. waved him off. "And I can't blame you. You were hurt and upset already."

"Hmm." He didn't really have an answer for that. P.T. was quiet for a few moments, then spoke again.

"Can you not sleep?"

"Not at all. This bench is horribly uncomfortable, and it's cold."

"Oh." A paused. "I'm sorry, but I've been ordered not to move you by people who likely know better than me."

"That's… that's best anyway, my head hurts terribly."

"I'm sorry."

"Please don't apologize, there's already plenty enough blame to go around." P.T. chuckled.

"Alright." More silence. Finally, he heard,

"Here." And something soft and warm was draped over him. Phillip blinked his eyes open in surprise to see the older man's red-and-gold embroidered coat laid on top of him.

"Thank you." Phillip actually managed to smile, shifting a bit to lie on his side and closing his eyes again. A moment later, they popped open again. "Won't you get cold?" P.T. just stared at him for a moment, as if the idea of 'cold' was foreign to him, before shrugging.

"I don't have a serious head injury. I figure I'd better keep you alive until the doctor arrives, hmm?"

"I guess." Phillip let his eyes fall shut, smiling. He was significantly more comfortable now, and just the act of P.T. giving him his coat made him feel that much better. Exhaling, the ringmaster rested his cheek on the blanket under his head, and started to drift off. Before he fell asleep, he dimly felt the bench shift underneath him, under the weight of another body.

This was how the others found them when they got back half an hour later, Phineas sitting on the wooden bench, asleep, one hand on Phillip's head as the younger man slept next to him, using his coat as a blanket.

Me: Is P.T. Extra enough to wear his ringmaster coat everywhere he goes

Me, 0.5 seconds later: what am I saying of course he is

Can't guarantee there will be more updates, since as of now I have no more ideas, but if anyone has any more just throw them at me :'D

~FFF