Author's note: cavity level fluff, just so you know.

"Come on, Phil!" Anne called from the trapeze hoop high above Phillip's head. She was trying to teach him a new dance for tomorrow's show, but he was having a hard time coordinating the footwork with the music correctly. The burn on his back from the fire still hurt considerably, even though it had been almost two weeks since he got it, and it made concentrating and dancing difficult. Anne spun down from the trapeze and landed gracefully next to him.

"Are we done yet?" Phillip asked, exhausted. Anne laughed.

"Not yet, Phil. Try one more time?" she asked, making a sad face. Phillip sighed.

"Okay," he said. Anne broke into a wide grin.

"Remember, it's like this," she said. She demonstrated, moving her feet inside an imaginary circle. "Step with your left foot, cross over your left foot with your right foot, step back with your left foot, and move your right foot back." She smiled, moving her feet effortlessly in time with the music. Phillip attempted to copy her footwork and tripped, falling onto his back. He gasped, feeling a hot spike of pain shoot through his body from the burn. Anne's eyes widened and she helped him sit up.

"What's wrong?" she asked. Phillip shook his head.

"I'm fine," he said. Anne raised one eyebrow.

"Really?" she asked. "You're awfully pale." Phillip shook his head, ignoring the pain as he stood up.

"I just got the breath knocked out of me is all," he said. Anne looked at him, not convinced in the least, but let it slide.

Later that night, Anne pulled P.T. aside as the rest of the performers were leaving.

"Could you ask Phillip about his back?" she asked.

"What for?" P.T. asked, confused.

"He says he's fine, but I think it's hurting him more than he lets on," Anne replied. "I know he trusts you, and you have some medical experience from your time working on the railroad, right?" P.T. nodded.

"No problem," he said. Anne smiled at him, then hurried out the door to catch up with Phillip. As she left, P.T. wondered if Phillip would let him look at the burn. When he had been in the hospital two weeks before, a nurse had told P.T. that his friend had lash marks all over his back, mostly scarred over, but Phillip had never said anything. P.T. wasn't sure, but he had a feeling that the scars were from Phillip's childhood. He had heard rumors that Phillip's father beat him, but Phillip had never said anything about it. P.T. decided to just ask him tomorrow, maybe while he was in the office doing paperwork so they would have some peace and quiet.

The next day, Phillip was in the office he had in a little tent next to the larger circus tent when P.T. walked in.

"Hi P.T.," he said tiredly. He had been working on some calculations to find the average amount of money the circus brought in each night to see which night of the week attracted the most customers. He was going to ask P.T. what his opinion was, but Phillip thought they might be able to do two shows on Saturday, when the most people came to the circus. He stood up, wincing a little as the burn sent pain flaring through him, and walked over to where P.T. was standing.

"Hey Phillip," P.T. replied. "How are you doing? You look exhausted." Phillip smiled weakly.

"I'm alright," he said. "Just really busy, honestly. Although, I wanted to run this by you, but I was thinking that maybe we could do two shows on Saturdays and we could each do one, if that would work. If not, I understand, but—"

"Phillip," P.T. interrupted.

"Yes?" Phillip replied meekly.

"You're in no shape to do extra shows," P.T. told him. "You look like you could fall asleep standing up, and Anne told me that your burn was bothering you again." Phillip's eyes widened in surprise.

"How did she know that?" he asked. P.T. guided him over to a chair and pulled another over next to his desk.

"She said you fell yesterday," he started, "and you looked like you were in a lot of pain. Since you fell on your back and that's where your burn is, she put two and two together." Phillip sighed.

"I told her I was fine," he said, burying his face in his hands.

"But Anne knew you weren't telling the truth, and that you were in a lot of pain. She can tell," P.T. told him. "And she's really worried about you. She asked me to see if you wanted someone to look at your burn, and I told her I wouldn't mind since I have some medical experience from the railroad. Do you want me to look at it?" P.T. asked. Phillip's head snapped up to look at his friend and his eyes widened in fear. "I won't do anything to it if you don't want me to," he said.

"But..." Phillip started, trailing off into silence. In order for P.T. not to see the scars crisscrossing his back, he would have to tell the older man why he didn't want him to see, which would mean telling him about the abuse he had endured from his father. Even thinking about the scars brought back memories his mind had twisted into nightmares.

"Phillip? What's wrong?" P.T. asked, snapping him out of his reverie. Phillip looked up, his conflicted emotions battling inside him.

"I..." he said.

"Does this have something to do with your father?" P.T. asked gently. Phillip looked down, unable to meet his friend's gaze. He felt hot tears begin to spill down his face remembering all that had happened and feeling ashamed that he didn't have the strength to tell P.T. when the older man had been so kind to him.

"Phillip?" P.T. asked again. Phillip nodded miserably.

"I'm so sorry, P.T.," he choked out. P.T. rubbed his friend's shoulder, trying to make him feel better, but clearly unsure what to do.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" he asked. Phillip sighed, rubbing a hand across his face to wipe away the tears. P.T. offered him a handkerchief, which he accepted gratefully. He wiped off his face and took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the explanation he would need to give. He slowly began to unbutton his vest and shirt, pulling them off and turning around to show P.T. his back. P.T. gasped, and Phillip's mind started replaying his worst memories as he wondered what P.T. would think. As the older man's eyes swept across his back, Phillip did his best not to let the tears welling in his eyes to fall.

The burn was an angry red color, but that was nothing compared to the rest of the scars on Phillip's back. For one thing, much of the skin was gone, replaced by a maze of old and newer scar tissue, the most recent seeming to be from only a few months ago. Secondly, the scars formed long, slightly raised ridges; P.T. knew enough about medicine to know that only many severe beatings could cause that kind of scarring. Even without medical knowledge, someone could tell that the scars were from deep, painful lashes. P.T. couldn't believe that any person could do this to someone—let alone their own child. He put a hand on Phillip's shoulder to comfort him, bit the younger man flinched away from his touch, whimpering as his worst memories ran through his head.

"Shh, I'm not gonna hurt you, Phillip," P.T. said, realizing how many horrible memories were probably flooding through his friend's mind. "But why didn't you say something?" he asked. Phillip turned around to face him, then crumpled into his chair, feeling P.T.'s disappointment threatening to overwhelm him.

"I couldn't," he whispered in reply. "It was my punishment. My burden to bear. I'm so sorry, P.T." P.T.'s heart melted for his friend, seeing the usually confident young man dissolved into this scared, weaker version of himself because of his father and finally understanding the intense emotional pain that he held inside him.

"Phillip, please listen to me," he said. "I want to help you, and so does Anne. You can talk to us." Phillip shook his head.

"I can't tell Anne," he told P.T. as he rubbed at his face with the handkerchief.

"Why not?" P.T. asked. "She's really worried about you, and she wants to know what's wrong."

"But..." Phillip said.

"What is it?" asked P.T. quietly.

"I don't want to tell her about everything my father did to me, what he punished me for," Phillip responded.

"Why not?"

"I can't relive that again." Another tear slipped down his face.

"Phillip, I understand your reluctance to think about everything that man did to you, but it isn't healthy to keep all your emotions bottled up like this," P.T. told him. "Have you ever told anyone about any of this?" he asked. Phillip shook his head. "Phillip, you can't keep all this to yourself! The things your father said, what he did to you, something like that permanently scars someone's mind and body, forever. We can't do anything about the physical scars, but we're here for you and we want you to trust us. You can talk to us, anyone here at the circus, but especially Charity, Anne, and I." Phillip looked up at his friend.

"But I'm the one who made my father mad," he said. "You shouldn't have to bear my burden for me."

"Phillip, we want to help you, but we need you to let us. Do you want me to get Anne?" he asked. Phillip nodded, tears welling in his eyes again. P.T. stood up and walked out to find Anne, leaving Phillip alone, his quiet sobs the only sound in he small office.

After what seemed like centuries, Anne walked into the tent. She rushed over to Phillip, wordlessly comforting him as she sat down, taking Phillip's hands in hers.

"Can you tell me what happened?" she asked. Phillip opened his mouth, but couldn't bring himself to face the memories again. "Phil?" Phillip blinked hard and looked up at her, swallowing.

"I..." he said. Anne squeezed his hand in a silent gesture of support, and finally Phillip told her everything. He showed her all the scars crossing his back and told her all about what had happened. When he was done, Anne looked up at him, wiping away the tears still clinging to his face.

"I'm so sorry, Phil," she said. "But why didn't you tell us sooner?" Phillip looked up at her, a deep sadness in his eyes.

"It-it was my burden to bear," he said softly.

"But we want to help you, Phil," Anne said. Phillip felt the tears starting again and blinked unsuccessfully to get rid of them. "Aw, don't cry. It's okay," she said. Phillip only cried harder. Anne rubbed his back gently, singing a song her mother had taught her when she was much younger.

You know I love you with all of my heart and my soul, we won't fall apart, and I'll carry you through all the storms and I'll let you rest in my arms.
Because I love you with all of my heart and my soul, we won't fall apart, and I'll carry you from darkness to light and I'll let you rest in my arms.

As she finished, Phillip finally looked up, unable to cry any more.

"I'm sorry, Anne," he whispered hoarsely. Anne smiled at him.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for," she told him. "But will you let me bandage your back?" Phillip nodded, and Anne stood up to go get a first aid kit. "I'll be right back, okay? I promise." She slipped out the tent flaps, returning a few minutes later with some bandages and ointment. Phillip obediently turned around in his chair to let her work, and she started gently rubbing ointment into the burn. At first, Phillip had to clench his teeth as not to make any noise, although he heard himself whimper more than a few times. Soon, however, he felt the pain fade away, replaced with nothingness, and he eventually relaxed. He felt Anne bandage the burn, her fingers delicately winding the material around the wound. When she was done, she packed everything neatly into the bag and sat back down next to Phillip.

"Thank you for telling me," she said. Phillip managed a smile. "I'm so sorry that happened to you."

"It's alright," Phillip replied. "It wasn't your fault."

"But Phil?" Anne interjected. "Will you please let us help you with things like this? You shouldn't have to deal with this pain on your own. We want to help you." she said. Phillip nodded.

"I'm really sorry, Anne," he said. "I know I shouldn't have kept all this to myself. I just—I didn't want to face all that again." Anne pulled him close, gently reassuring him that it would be alright in the end. He melted into her embrace, letting himself be comforted by her steady heartbeat.

"Are you okay?" Anne asked him. Phillip nodded.

"Thank you for everything, Anne," he said.

"You're welcome, Phil. Just please remember that we're here for you and we want to help you, okay?" Phillip nodded again. Anne pulled him in for another hug, smiling as he returned the embrace.

Later that night, Anne helped Phillip remove the bandages so the burns could breathe and lay down carefully on his side. She slid into the bed next to him, careful not to jostle the wounds or wake him up, but he turned his head to look at her, still awake.

"Thank you again, Anne," he said. Anne smiled at him, absentmindedly but gently tracing the scars on his back and feeling her heart break a little more for Phillip each time she looked at his back.

"It's not a problem at all," she replied. "We want to help you, so thank you for letting us." She sat up and kissed his forehead as he slowly lay back down, groaning a little as the sheets rubbed against the burn. Anne kept tracing the scars with a finger, a few tears finding their way down her face as she thought of the pain Phillip's father had dealt him. She bent down and kissed one, her hand on Phillip's shoulder, and felt him tense up.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, letting go of his arm.

"It's alright," Phillip replied, attempting to sit up. "Just a reflex." He felt Anne's hand on his shoulder again, guiding him back down, and he let himself fall back onto the pillow.

"Are you sure?" Anne asked. Phillip nodded.

"I love you Anne," he said quietly. Anne smiled at him, ruffling his hair before responding.

"I love you too, Phil," she said. "I'm sorry he did that to you."

"It's not your fault," Phillip said. "Don't blame yourself, Anne."

"I know. It's just hard. It breaks my heart to see those scars, Phil, and I know I can't fix them but I wish I could." Anne sighed, curling up into Phillip's back, once again tracing his scars. She felt Phillip relax and heard his breathing slow and even out. Soon they were both asleep in each other's arms, Phillip finally dreaming completely peacefully for the first time in years.

When the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you