PHILLIP ALWAYS WOKE UP EARLY. He yawned as he rubbed at his eyes, jaw cracking, stretching as he looked around, reaching out and grabbing his phone which was lying facedown, raising his eyebrows at the time; he was sure he would have slept in a little more. He glanced over to Peter, whom he had fallen asleep next to, not wanting to head back to his side of the bed, then over to Aurora who wouldn't have opened her eyes even if he shook her.

Careful to not shift the bed too much, he made his way out of the room, walking down the stairs which were positioned right in front of Aurora's room and the front door. He remembered being told that a house with stairs positioned right in the entrance of the house meant a chaotic energy, but considering it was inhabited by mutants, he figured they probably cancel it out.

He looked around the house, rubbing the back of his neck as he realized no one else was awake. He was used to being alone in the mornings, though, so he had no trouble walking to the coffee machine and getting it started, hoping the noise wouldn't wake the others; he was intruding on their coffee.

He sighed as he poured himself a mug—no added sugar, sweetener, or creamer—leaning against the kitchen counter and looking out towards the white curtain covered window looking out into the rest of the world which was still just starting to wake up.

Yawning, he made another mug, still blowing on his, not wanting to have to go out and get mauled with a burnt tongue. He reached up to run a hand over one of the scars on his cheeks, sighing as he realized he would have to explain this to someone; whether it would be one of his parents was still up for debate.

Grabbing the other mug, he made his way back to the room, careful not to trip on the steep stairs, sighing as he realized he had closed the door behind him. Balancing, he lifted his foot and gripped the knob with his toes, pushing forward, turning it just enough to fall into the room, spilling some of the scalding coffee onto his hand.

He muffled his scream behind his lips, whining as he stumbled towards the desk, setting the mugs on top before cursing, wiping the spill frantically on his shirt, wrapping the cloth around it, taking deep breaths. He sighed as he moved forward, pressing his face against the comforters, groaning.

"What happened to you?"

He looked up to find Peter looking at him, rubbing his eyes and running a hand through his hair. "What time is it?"

"It's too early," Phillip grumbled, motioning towards the desk, "Made you coffee. Then burned myself."

"I'm sorry," Peter said, glancing towards the steaming mugs, "Thank you, though. Want me to take a look at it?"

"What could you do?" Phillip scoffed, sighing as he pulled it out of his shirt, hissing at the small welts starting to form, the skin red. He glanced over at Peter who looked at him with hurt eyes, turning to glare at the covers.

Sighing, Phillip mumbled under his breath, "Sorry."

Peter shifted, making a face. "Why don't you like me?"

Phillip sighed, climbing back onto the bed and burying under the covers, shaking his head idly as he tried to smother himself in the pillow, groaning softly. He felt Peter's eyes on him and, turning his head, he found Peter near close to tears, his lower lip trembling.

"Don't take it personally, it's not you," he grumbled, caught off guard by how affected the younger boy was, "Hey, okay, don't cry, it's not you."

"I just cry sometimes," Peter sniffed, wiping furiously at his eyes, "But I don't get it, I didn't do anything to you. I make you sandwiches and I came out to you, I mean, why don't you like me?"

Phillip sighed, forcing himself to sit up, unsure of how to comfort the boy, glancing over to Aurora's sleeping form. "Look, man, it's nothing personal, but considering my track record with the rest of you, you can't be surprised when I'm not really sure about you."

"But I thought we were friends," Peter said, and Phillip was at a loss for words, staring and unsure of how to proceed, watching as the boy's lower lip jut out as he fought the urge to cry.

"I mean, we could be," he ventured carefully, "I mean, I've known you about a day and all the stuff I've heard of you is from your girlfriend and the guy who's super jealous of you, so it's not as if I have a comprehensive idea of who you are as a person."

"If you think I'm gonna make fun of you, I won't, Briar and I don't get why people make fun of you, we didn't get the joke," Peter said, frowning at him, and Phillip sighed, moving back so he was lying down.

"It's...it's kind of a terrible story," he began, but Peter cut him off.

"I don't wanna know the story, I just want you to like me," Peter huffed, continuing to swipe at his eyes, and Phillip sighed, closing his eyes and mumbling a curse before reaching out batting his hands away.

"If you need to cry, just get it out," he said, and Peter's lower lip wobbled even more as he took in Phillip's stoic expression, tears falling as he looked down at his hands, shoulders shaking.

"It's not like I don't like you," Phillip sighed, sitting up straight as he watched Peter cry—the boy had argued that, "I just cry a lot, it's not that big of a deal," but Phillip figured that it must have been a pretty big deal—"I'm just not that nice to near complete strangers, it's a trust thing, okay?"

"But you came out to me," Peter sniffed, "You listened to me, I'm trustworthy."

"Peter, it's not you," Phillip pressed, running a hand through his hair, wishing that he hadn't cut it, having nothing to cling onto, "C'mon, don't beat yourself up about this, I'll learn to like you and I'll be nicer, okay?"

"I want you to be nicer because you want to be," Peter whined, and Phillip forced himself not to scoff, looking towards Aurora's sleeping frame, wishing she'd just wake up and help him.

"I'm sorry, okay, Peter, will you—look, you and Aurora are both super nice and you're quickly becoming my favorites, so just give me a few hours and I'll be ready to die for the both of you okay? Okay, great, here you want a hug? Look, I can give you a hug, just please stop crying," Phillip cried, messing up his hair more as Peter continued to cry, hiccuping as he gave up trying to wipe his eyes, tears falling onto his sleep clothes.

At the mention of a hug, the smaller boy immediately moved over to where Phillip was, pressing himself against his side. Wrapping his arms around him, Phillip tried to remember how hugs worked, hoping that he was providing comfort, just holding the boy as he cried. It seemed to work, as Peter calmed down a few minutes later, now just resting his head against Phillip's chest.

"Okay, you good?" Phillip asked, pulling away as soon as Peter nodded, "Great, okay, there's your coffee, I'm sure it's cooled down by now."

Peter climbed off the bed, picking up the mugs and bringing them back, settling on the covers and quietly sipping as he sniffed, trying to make himself as small as possible. Phillip sighed with relief, glancing over to Aurora's sleeping frame.

"When she wakes up, we can go over the scroll," he said, taking a long sip of his coffee.

As if on cue, almost as if she had been awake the whole time, Aurora's projection appeared a few moments later, the girl yawning and stretching, as if she were actually conscious, giving the two a smile.

"Good morning," she greeted, and Phillip snorted softly; of course she was the type to say the full phrase.

"Hey," Peter greeted, his voice hoarse, and she gave him a concerned look, but said nothing, instead moving from where she was standing to climb onto the bed, hugging him and running her hand through his hair.

"I'll go get the scroll," Phillip said, standing up and making his way over, widening his eyes as he stared at the wall, already exhausted and the other two had just woken up.

"Here," he said, tossing it over in Peter's general direction, the boy catching it, even as he buried his face the crook of Aurora's neck, completely melting under her hug.

Finishing up his coffee—drinking it too fast usually gave him heart palpitations, but he was not in the mood—he climbed back onto the bed, leaning on Aurora's other side as she opened the scroll, the next set of instructions appearing in front of them.

THE BEST SWEETS IN THE KINGDOM

"I swear to God," Phillip sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "I'm suing, I hate this so much."

"Maybe we just need...well, no, because it needs to be, you know, sweets made under the rule of a king, right?" Peter rambled, rubbing his mouth as he thought, "Do we know any kings that have, like, a bakery or something?"

"Last I checked, we don't have kings in New York," Aurora said, eyeing the wording carefully, "Do you think it actually needs to be a real kingdom? It gave us the next ingredients, which means she accepts that picture of me in that dress as the reflection of a princess. Maybe, you know, it's like a castle bounce house or one of those play structures."

"But it said the best sweets, it can't just be any...it sounds like that has to be a declaration made by the king," Peter explained, and the two sighed; they weren't the best at English.

Phillip, who had been pinching the bridge of his nose the whole time, finally spoke. "I know where we need to go."

º º º

Aurora and Peter didn't say anything as they parked in front of a classy looking bakery. They bit their lips as they stared up at the off-white and pink color scheme, then at the fancy font completing the name of the bakery, referencing the well-known candy maker whose candy was shipped all over the world, but could be found making sweets of all sorts in person at one of the hottest tourists spots in the outskirts of New York.

Peter and Aurora never figured they'd have the chance to meet King Candy himself, let alone have enough money and time to step foot in the Candy Kingdom, which was usually jam packed with people, but it was the morning and it was just barely time for opening.

"Who are you and how did you get in?" one of the pastry chefs demanded, storming out to the front at the sound of the bell jingle as Phillip unlocked the door with a key.

"It's me, Ramiro, where's my dad?" Phillip said coldly, his tone sharp and biting, and Aurora and Peter reeled back in shock, grabbing onto each other as they watched their somewhat-friend stare down the older, unimpressed pastry chef.

"He's busy," the older man answered, just as cold, and Phillip stomped his foot.

"Tell him I'm here," he commanded, with all the authority of a prince which, if their suspicions were right, wasn't as far off as expected.

After a moment, Ramiro simply walked away, and Phillip sighed, relaxing visibly before gagging, covering his mouth and nose with his hand, breathing carefully. Aurora and Peter lurched forward, flanking him on either side.

"Are you okay?" they both asked, holding onto one of his arms each.

"I hate the smell of this place," he groaned, rubbing his face, "God, I haven't been in here in forever."

"Well, maybe you should drop by more often."

The three looked up and Phillip immediately ran a hand through his hair, scratching his neck and tugging at the black turtleneck that had been given to him to wear that day, setting his jaw and gritting his teeth as he stared at the man in front of him.

Hubert Prince—King Candy as he was widely known—was a rather large man with kind eyes and a fairly jolly disposition, at least when in public, with a graying beard and balding head he hid underneath his crown-shaped chef's hat, a gag that wound up sticking all these years. He looked down at his son with what seemed to be affection, but it didn't seem to stick that way to Phillip who looked ready to throw up.

"What're your best sweets, we need some," he asked, tone clipped, "Also, I want the car in the garage."

"Hold on there, son," Hubert began, but Phillip interrupted him.

"Don't call me that!" he cried, stomping his foot, "This isn't a family visit, this is a business transaction, so just please listen so I can get out of here!"

"Phillip, your friends are here, at least introduce them," Hubert said, tone never changing, and that only seemed to agitate him more.

"Peter, Briar, this is King Candy," Phillip spat, pointing to each in turn, "Now seriously. What's your best sweet, we really need it."

"Please," Aurora added carefully, placing a hand on his arm, and he had to stop himself from shaking it off.

"Well, I can certainly go get them for you, it's an easy pick which one that is, but why don't you three sit down, I'll get you some drinks and you can try the other pastries," the man said, already heading to the back, ignoring Phillip's protests.

Grumbling, Phillip moved to sit at one of the metal tables, the metal chair scraping against the wood roughly as he dropped into it, crossing his arms and trying to steady his breathing, rubbing his temples.

"Phillip," Aurora said carefully, placing a hand on his arm, taking a seat to his left, "Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not okay," he sighed, "I hate this place and he's gonna try to make you guys laugh and be all nice, and we're never gonna get out of here, and we won't get all the stuff in time, and it's because my dad's the worst, and I really need that car."

"We have Flash's car," Peter pointed out, trying his best to calm down the boy who had his head pressed against the table, groaning.

"It's symbolic, he promised me that car for my birthday, it's been a year and I'm getting it," he gritted out, "It's been my incentive since I was five and he—"

The two watched in horror as Phillip gagged, rushing to the trash can in the corner before throwing up, gagging and coughing as he struggled to stop, his entire body seizing and heaving as his legs gave out, feet struggling to stay upright as he sagged.

"Oh God," Peter cried, the two rushing over to help him, Peter holding him up easily, wary of hurting his stomach.

"I hate this place," Phillip sobbed, heaving as he continued to empty the contents of his stomach, which was nothing but coffee and the toast he was given for the road, "I hate it so much, I wanna leave."

"Then let's leave," Aurora said, tugging on his arm, "C'mon, I'm sure there's another—"

"Not without the sweets and the car keys," he said fiercely, gagging as he struggled to breathe, "Just go sit over there, I'll be fine."

The two didn't move, Aurora rubbing soothing circles into his back as Peter kept him upright, watching as Phillip's arms struggled to hold him above the trash can, shaking as madly as his legs were.

"What happened?"

The two turned to see the boy's father back out with an array of sweets. He gave them a warm smile, moving towards the table they had been sitting at. "The best sweets are just about finished, but in the meantime, I brought you somethings I think you'd might like. Come over here."

"Phillip threw up," Peter explained, Aurora continuing to rub his back as the boy seemed to continue with renewed fervor.

"That happens sometimes, I'll get him water, but please," the man said, motioning to the table, and Phillip waved his arms to dismiss them, coughing as he finished throwing up, now simply gagging, grabbing a napkin from the display case and wiping his mouth.

The three took their seats again, Phillip struggling to breathe as he turned away from the table entirely, groaning and leaning over the back of the chair, groaning when his father returned with some plates.

"I tend to pick based on initial assumption, I tend to be spot on. For Peter, I brought out a dark chocolate and buttercream filled tarlet, he seems to be a bright lad who can take the punch," he said, motioning towards the pastry and winking, "Then for the lovely lady, I brought a strawberry shortcake topped with chocolate and vanilla shavings with buttercream frosting. The frills are a specialty of mine, and the sugar suits women."

"Now, father, you're living in the past. This is the twenty-first century," Phillip snarked, his thorns covered in honey, "Nowadays, we try not to buy into 60's sentiment. We still have milkshakes and racism."

"Phillip, don't be like that, you know my intuition is always right—" Hubert began, but Phillip wasn't in the mood.

"Just bring your best sweets and the car keys and let us leave," he snarled, nearly slamming his fist on the table.

Sighing long sufferingly, the man turned and headed back into the kitchen, giving the other two a kind smile. Phillip sighed and looked over at the others who simply sat there, looking at him.

"You can eat it if you want," he said, "Honestly, please do, he won't let us leave until he hears how great you think it is."

Carefully, the two began to eat, eyeing Phillip who forced himself to watch, looking utterly disgusted. Peter nearly opened his mouth to ask a question, but was silenced by a look from Aurora who just ate her cake in silence.

"Here we are," the man said, coming back out, "This one isn't a pastry, but it's our best sweet. You know it, Phillip. It's your favorite."

Phillip jumped up in his seat, throwing it to the side as he glared at his father, refusing to look down at the three candy bars in his hand. "Don't say that to me."

Wordlessly, the man pushed them into his hand, then handed him a spare set of keys, all mirth drained from his eyes, giving his son the same disdain he held for him. "It's furthest to the left, don't touch anything else and try not to wreck it on the first day. Keys are in the glove compartment. Next time, don't chuck your spares into the river, someone could've broken in."

"I wish they did," the boy snarled, storming out of the bakery, leaving his friends inside, climbing into Flash's car and slamming the door.

Aurora and Peter turned to look up at Hubert who clicked his tongue, shaking his head in disappointment. "I apologize for my son, he's...his mother could have raised him better. But go on, take the plates, I don't want him taking out his anger on you."

Standing up with the remainder of their pastries, the two carefully made their way to the door as well, thanking the man for his time and the free food, then, finally, Aurora paused at the door.

She never spoke out against adults, always passive and reminding herself that they had lived long enough to earn respect. But his words hit a part of her that felt sick just hearing them. Turning on her heel, she addressed him.

"You said his mother could have raised him better?" The man nodded, shaking his head sadly, shrugging.

"Why didn't you?"

AUTHOR'S NOTE

( 07.03.18 )

I had so many references in this, try to catch them all, honestly while Phillip doesn't have much to him, there's a lot to work with in small ways.

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!