Tea-Stained Tears
Words: 2.5k
Tags: Age regression, Hurt/Comfort
(Commissioned by @andibecameaphannieovernight)
It isn’t that he doesn’t trust Phil.
Dan would place his bleeding, fragile heart in Phil’s hands, no matter the likelihood of him dropping it from his grasp. He trusts him with his entire soul, all the bits and working pieces that come together to form his being.
It’s just- Dan can handle this…aspect of himself, alone. It’s better left untouched- unexplained and safe in the closet behind old jumpers and past trauma. The possibility of anybody placing their touch on this part of him, even if it’s Phil…
It’s too scary, and he leaves it there. This habit of Dan’s that he files under self care, under a list of therapy-founded tools, is buried just far enough under coping skills he knows so well he wrote them into a book.
It’s just a step further than the traditional bits of self care his therapist had to practically force his step into, anyway. Sensory comfort, safety, familiarity, the likes. She’d be overjoyed knowing he’s found a way to set down work and his mountains worth of internal angst, to let his body and mind relax into a state of genuine calm.
So why hasn’t he told her?
Well. Because- because he can handle it himself.
When Dan was a child, he learned very quickly that expressions of joy were punished. He’s spoken about it with his therapist a hundred times, a hundred different ways, about how his bullying and parental neglect formed steel walls around his soft edges.
He’s been working on it, on letting himself be open again, letting himself be happy.
A few days after the hard launch goes live, Phil has some errands to run. Post office, groceries he says he might as well save delivery money grabbing, and a meeting with his brother. He’d invited Dan, of course, but was anything but shocked when he declined. In the past, Dan hiding from the world in his bed was a genuine concern. Now, it’s an understandable need to process.
He’s learning more about that, processing. Small and big, good and bad.
So Dan stays home, responds to some lovely messages from old colleagues, and pushes himself out of bed to make a coffee.
When they were designing their forever home kitchen, a starred item was a good coffee machine. Phil gets grumpy without his coffees, plural, and Dan wanted to really feel the commitment they were making.
Also, their last one kept breaking.
So it’s strange when Dan slides the puck into the machine, clicks the button, and nothing happens. He presses it again, and…nothing, still. Checks behind the machine, makes sure it’s plugged in. Pushes it again.
Okay.
He’s too sleepy to try fixing it, wouldn’t even know how to, so he sighs, feeling it deep in his lungs, and sets the kettle on for tea. It’ll just have to do.
He’s starting back to the bedroom, eyes fixed on his nearly overfilled tea when he makes a wrong step. Except- there shouldn’t be any wrong steps. He knows the very clear, very flat path of a walk from the kitchen to the stairway.
His foot lands on a small mound, sending him tipping forward. It’s barely anything, not enough to crash onto the floor, but-
Enough for his mug to send half the tea splashing against the hardwood. Dan stares in shock, blinking down at the object on the floor. A sock. Phil’s crumpled up sock, to be specific. He inhales, a bit shakily, taking in the damage. The tea is swimming towards the lounge, spreading out as it attempts to stake territory.
Dan exhales loudly, setting his mug down on the nearest surface. He’ll deal with that later, if he’s still in any mood to drink the remaining liquid.
As he’s towelling it down, cringing at the feeling of wet paper towels on his fingertips, he feels the sharp threat of tears behind his eyes.
He’s extra sensitive after such a vulnerable video being all the world’s to watch, so it’s hardly a surprise how easily he’s tearing up. It’s the secondary, fuzzy feeling creeping up into his chest that alerts him. He’s sleepy, ticked off, and sensitive. It’s the perfect recipe for…that.
He wouldn’t be upset about it, really, it’s served as such a good tool, helping him process his feelings and remind his body that he’s safe now, able to drop his shoulders and squeeze the paws of his teddy bear with his eyes glued to his laptop screen.
But he really prefers to do it when he knows Phil won’t walk in to it. To him. Whether he’s asked Phil to give him a couple hours of space after a strenuous week, or he’s found himself alone for the day, Dan doesn’t like to feel…little, when the possibility of Phil coming home to the sight isn’t next to zero.
Today, Phil could be home at any moment.
Dan starts scrubbing the floor a little harder, trying to push the feeling down. He knows it’s no use, that this is how his body wants to get through the upset in his delicate mind, but what happens if Phil sees?
That only sends the feeling faster through his veins, fuzziness spreading into his hands and chest. He sits back on his ankles, the majority of the loose tea cleaned up. It’s still sticky, but…that can be a problem for when he’s big again.
Dan feels a familiar pull for comfort, to wrap himself up in his blankies and sink into his own little pocket of safety. It’s impossible to resist, with the pull so strong and the floor beneath him so sticky with tea.
The feeling of being little is nestled in his chest as deeply as he is, disappearing into the safe cocoon of his bed, bear tucked into his neck as he squeezes its paws gently. He’s got Pooh bear playing softly on his computer- it’s never a question what he’ll watch when he feels like this. It’s as familiar as his bear and reminds him of his nana. He can drift in and out of consciousness and not feel lost, watching what he’s seen so many times before.
His eyes snap open, not remembering when they’d fluttered shut, when he hears the front door click. Dan’s heart rate spikes, but it isn’t enough to snap him out of his daze. He slams the pause button on his computer and tosses it off the bed, landing with a thud on the cushiony carpet below.
“Dan?”
Oh no. Dan doesn’t talk when he’s little, not unless it’s to his bear, who he knows won’t judge him or call him weird. It’s just Phil, it’s just Phil, it’s just-
“M in the bedroom!” Dan calls out to Phil. The volume of his own voice makes his face scrunch up. Too loud.
“Everything okay? I heard a thud.” Phil’s voice is drawing closer, so Dan panics, stuffing his bear under the bed. “Sorry,” he whispers, hoping it will forgive him. “I’ll come back later,” he swears.
“Fine!” Dan yells, a little too loudly.
A couple moments pass with nothing, which he would usually find concern in, but right now the only thing on his little mind is clearing any indicators of his secret. He feels tears spring up behind his eyes again, because this isn’t supposed to happen when he feels small, he’s supposed to feel safe and not scared, he’s-
“Dan?”
“Hm?”
“Could you come up here a sec?” He doesn’t really think that’s a good idea, he really just wants to curl back up in bed and rescue his poor bear from under the bed, but… “Okay,” he manages to respond.
Phil said up, so Dan pads up to the kitchen. He got it right, which is good, but Phil’s…Dan’s blood runs cold. Phil’s stood next to the stained, dried puddle of tea.
“Do you know why the floor’s sticky? Did we spill something?”
Dan inhales very slowly, trying his best to sound normal. You have to be big right now, you can’t be little you have to- “I’m sorry,” he exhales. “I…spilled tea.” His voice sounds tiny, now that he isn’t forcing the volume.
Phil’s eyebrows scrunch together, and Dan panics. He’s mad, he’s so mad. “Dan that’s fine, did it just not come out?” Phil’s looking down at the patch of tea again, and seems to finally notice the object on the floor. His loose sock, probably ruined forever by the tea. “Did you trip on my sock?”
Is he upset with him? Dan can’t tell, he isn’t meant to deal with big emotions like this, not when he’s little. He just wants to go back to bed. Dan squeezes his hands a few times, his eyes shutting in tandem. “Yes.”
“Did you fall? Are you alright?” Dan’s head is swimming, too many questions. “Dan, what’s going on?”
Through the sticky-slow rush of thoughts in Dan’s mind, he finds a couple options swimming about. He could keep trying to get himself to be big and explain it to Phil, but that doesn’t really feel like it’s working.
He could also…tell Phil. It’s just Phil, Phil who has always supported his…coping? Is that the word?
Dan isn’t feeling good anymore, and Phil looks really worried now, so maybe…maybe it’s time? Maybe it’ll be okay?
“Can we sit down?” Dan mumbles out. Phil’s eyes widen. “Did you fall or something? Are you hurt?” Dan shakes his head, a little sloppily.
“No, I’m okay.” He knows he doesn’t sound like himself, his voice smaller and less articulate. He can’t help it.
When they’re sat on the couch, not a foot apart, Phil still looks scared and Dan still feels scared. He didn’t get this far in his thinking, how he’d explain…this to Phil.
“I, um. ‘M sorry for spilling tea.”
“Dan,” Phil places a gentle hand on Dan’s leg. “I don’t care about that, I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
“Okay,” Dan nods, looking down. He feels too small for this, for words. “I’m okay. Not hurt. But…I have something to say.” Phil nods, inviting him to continue. “Um, sometimes…when I get upset or scared, ‘ts too much to feel it all. And, my head gets kind of fuzzy.”
He doesn’t know if he’s explaining well, all he knows is the more he talks about it, the more the fuzziness comes back, stronger than earlier. It’s making him sleepy all over again, but he has to focus. Has to tell Phil. “It…is like… I feel like a little kid, ‘nd I watch Pooh bear and stuff and it makes me feel safe again.” He doesn’t dare look up at Phil, the idea of disgust on his face too scary to see.
He feels the hand on his leg squeeze once. “Okay,” Phil says, calmly. That’s good, isn’t it? “Can you tell me a little bit more about that? And maybe why spilling your tea made you feel unsafe?”
Dan takes the risk, looking back up, and Phil looks…confusing. Not so scared, not anymore, but too…complicated for Dan right now. So, he just focuses on answering his questions. “The…coffee machine,” he remembers. “It was broken, so I had to make tea. So I was upset. Then I tripped on your sock, and,” he drags the word out, remembering the feeling. “That was scary. So much to clean, and I just wanted to hide. Then I forgot about the spill.”
Phil doesn’t squeeze his leg again, but he does find Dan’s hand and gently takes it in his own. It feels like how being under his warm blankie felt. “After you…” Phil waves his free hand around, like he’s trying for the right words. “Hide, and watch Winnie the Pooh, and stuff, do you feel better? Or do those big feelings come back, maybe worse than before?”
Dan thinks a little. “I feel better. Like when you cry and feel better after, even if nothing else is different.”
Phil smiles prettily. “Okay, good.” He’s nearly whispering now. “Do you feel like that right now? Little?” Dan nods right away. Was he supposed to keep that a secret? He doesn’t know. Phil is making him feel safe. That’s all that matters.
“Well, why don’t I clean up the sticky floor and we can go watch Pooh Bear together in bed?”
Dan’s eyes light up. “Really?”
“Yeah, sweetheart. Meet you there?” Dan accepts it like it’s a race, careful not to tumble down the staircase in his socks.
He’s cosied up under the heavy blanket when Phil walks in. Phil has his computer, which makes Dan smile under the duvet. Phil is taking care of him, not making him get his own laptop that’s tricky to operate when he’s small.
He’s got Phil, who’s setting up Pooh bear, he’s got his soft blankie, so what is missing? Something is missing…
His bear!
Dan gasps, straightening up and nearly tumbling over the side of the bed. “What’s wrong, baby?”
“My bear!” Dan stretches out his arm once he’s kneeled down on the carpet, and yanks his bear towards his chest.
“What was he doing under there?” Phil asks, a frown landing on his face.
“I had to hide him,” Dan answers, sharply articulating every word like he’s repeating a strict rule. “So that you wouldn’t find out.”
“Dannie,” Phil pats the spot next to him. He looks sad, oh no. When Dan is next to him again, their legs pressed together, he continues. “You didn’t need to hide this from me. Just because it’s something new doesn’t mean it’s wrong.” He brushes his fingers through Dan’s fringe as he speaks, tickling his skin with his soft fingertips.
“Okay,” Dan mumbles, nearly imperceptible, but not to Phil.
“You’re not in trouble, okay?” Dan inhales like it’s pulled out of him. Somewhere, concealed under all the fog of worry, shaken in with the fuzziness, he needed to hear that. Badly. He doesn’t know how to reply, not with his already limited vocabulary, so he just scooches closer to Phil, and buries his head in his chest.
Phil immediately wraps his arms around Dan, firmly and warm, and kisses the very top of his head. “When you feel small like this, you can come to me, okay? I can take care of you, help you feel safe, yeah?”
“Yeah?” Dan’s voice cracks, muffled against Phil’s jumper. He feels the responding hum on his nose.
“Promise, sweetie. D’you wanna watch Pooh bear, now?”
Dan leans back, his fringe in his eyes. He shakes his head a little and fixes his gaze on Phil, searching for anything other than sincerity. No, he’s serious. He’s okay with this. He accepts you. Fuzziness encapsulates him, a gentle smile lifting his cheeks towards his big, brown eyes.
“Mhm,” he nods, his lips pressing together.
When they lower themselves further into the bed, laptop resting on Phil’s legs, Dan feels himself pulled into Phil’s solid chest. He’s protected on all sides, the blankie covering his lower half and his Phil holding onto him.
As the keyboard quietly clicks, the sound of Pooh bear filling his ears, Dan curls up into Phil, sinking further into bed. He didn’t realize it could…feel like this. He isn’t alone in his secret anymore, the tinge of paranoia forcing him to stay just that little bit alert.
He’s safe and he has his Phil with him. He’s safe and Phil will make sure he is.
