Chapter Text
Ferb POV - Now
Ferb Fletcher had a good life.
Objectively speaking, it was perfect. He had a loving family, a solid group of friends, and the kind of effortless intelligence and charm that made things come easy. His father, Lawrence, doted on him in that quiet, British way, and his mother, Linda, kept their home warm and welcoming. His sister, Candace, was an endless source of entertainment - if only because of her constant dramatics.
By all accounts, Ferb had nothing to complain about.
But then again, there was the shadow.
A gap, a missing piece, something he never knew but always felt.
Phineas.
His brother.
The name didn’t hurt, exactly. It wasn’t a sharp, open wound, but rather a dull, distant ache. A ghost of something that could have been. His parents never hid it from him - he had known about Phineas since he was old enough to understand - but there were no stories, no childhood memories to cling to.
A scant few baby photos. Nothing more, nothing less.
Sometimes Ferb would sit on the edge of his bed, arms propped up on his knees, staring at the other side of his room that seemed way too big. Imagining how things would be, if there was another bed standing there. Another person in his life.
Phineas would be the same age as him now. Well, nearly. He would be a year younger, but still.
When Ferb was younger, he hadn't spoken a lot. Speaking had been exhausting, tiring… noises had made him nervous, edgy… and sometimes he thought about what could have been back then, if Phineas could have been there. He liked to imagine that Phineas would have understood him without problem. Phineas, the one who talked; Ferb, the man of action.
Sometimes he looked at the vastness of his room, and a deep longing filled him.
He wasn't the only one.
He sometimes caught his mom staring at old baby photos of her lost son. His dad, hovering next to her, sadness in his eyes for the child he had never met.
Or Candace, staring at the space in his room as well, where another bed should have been. And the words would get stuck in her throat. Just for a second.
Even Perry would sometimes just lie down in the empty spot and just look… sad.
There was still a private investigator on the case, even though the chance of any findings coming to fruition at this point was minimal. His mom refused to stop. It felt like giving up, like letting the truth crush her.
Ferb hated that.
Hated that a stupid accident had separated Linda and Candace from her husband Francis and Phineas… that Linda had lost a husband and a son on that day and Candace a father and a brother. On the other hand… if Francis hadn't disappeared with Phineas during that accident, Ferb wouldn't be here. Linda would have never remarried Lawrence.
Ferb sighed and scratched Perry across his back before getting up from his bed and walking down the stairs.
It was a beautiful sunny day out. No time to waste on things that could have been.
—
The heat buzzed over Danville, warm and bright - the kind of day that demanded people go outside and do something.
Naturally, Buford had dragged them all to an arcade instead.
The air was thick with the smell of buttered popcorn, soda syrup, and old electronics humming in the background. Neon lights flickered against the floors, the mechanical beeps and chimes of games mixing with the occasional triumphant shout or groan of frustration.
“Alright, losers,” Buford declared, stretching his arms like he was about to run a marathon. “Time to assert dominance.”
“You do realize this is an arcade, right?” Isabella said, raising an eyebrow. “What exactly are you ‘dominating’ here? The overpriced ticket economy?”
“The law of the jungle,” Buford shot back. “You either win, or you-”
“Waste all your money on rigged games?” Baljeet interrupted, adjusting his glasses. “Because that is what you are going to do. I have studied these machines, Buford. Statistically, you are going to lose.”
Buford scoffed. “Baljeet, you think everything is rigged.”
“Because it is!” Baljeet gestured wildly. “It is a capitalist trap! These machines are literally designed to take your money and give you the illusion of control while- ”
“Yeah, yeah, nerd stuff, got it.” Buford waved him off, walking towards one of those machines with the claw hanging inside and appealing plush animals littered around it. “You can do your little conspiracy TED talk over there, while I… ”
The claw machine’s metal hand let go at the last second, sending the plush flopping back onto the pile in defeat.
Buford stared at the empty prize chute. His eye twitched.
Baljeet adjusted the strap of his leather briefcase smugly. “I told you.”
“You’re lying. That’s cheating.”
“It is literally not.”
“I was robbed.”
“You were mathematically predictable.”
“You-” Buford pointed dramatically, “are why nerds get stuffed in lockers.”
“You haven’t stuffed me in a locker in years.”
“I think about it every day.”
Ferb chuckled under his breath, watching as Buford clamped his massive hands on each side of the machine and started shaking it rapidly to make the plushy fall into the hole.
Baljeet winced at the noise, looking left and right to see if someone noticed Buford trying to trick the machine.
Isabella rolled her eyes.
Ferb's face might have looked unimpressed from the outside, but he was laughing at the whole ordeal, his amusement only deepening when Isabella joined in.
“Buford,” she sighed, “I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think blind aggression is going to help you beat rigged electronics.”
Buford folded his arms, finally letting go of the machine. “That’s quitters’ talk.”
“That’s logic.”
“Sounds like quitters’ logic.”
Ferb leaned against the air hockey table, silent as always, but thoroughly entertained. This was their rhythm, their normal. Buford loud and dramatic, Baljeet over-explaining, Isabella egging them on, and Ferb simply existing in the background, watching the chaos unfold.
"Maybe you should try a different game," Ferb suggested before Buford could turn back and try to shake the life out of the machine again.
Buford turned to glare at him. "Excuse me? You think I'm just gonna let this machine win?"
"I think," Isabella cut in, arms crossed, "that if you keep this up, you're gonna get banned from this arcade again."
"That was one time!"
"That was three times," Baljeet corrected. "And you are technically still not allowed near the skee-ball lanes."
"That kid was in my way!"
"That kid was six."
"He was cheating! Everyone saw it!"
Ferb shook his head with a quiet smirk.
"Buford," Baljeet groaned.
Isabella sighed dramatically. "Alright, I'm calling it. Buford, we are officially moving on."
"Fine." Buford stuffed his hands into his pockets, grumbling as they walked further into the arcade. "I didn't even want that stupid bear anyway."
"The one you spent ten dollars trying to get?" Baljeet asked.
"Irrelevant."
They weaved their way through the rows of glowing machines, the air filled with the constant chime of game music, the clatter of buttons being smashed, and the occasional distant scream of someone losing at Mortal Kombat.
"Let's try this one," Buford said, suddenly coming to a halt in front of a new machine.
When Ferb took a look, at the exact game Buford had stopped at, he internally sighed again.
God, give me patience.
It was the Stack-the-Blocks machine. Glowing red squares moved left and right, going faster as they neared the top.
Buford cracked his knuckles. "Alright. Time to win."
Baljeet groaned again. "Oh, not this one."
Isabella facepalmed.
"You do realize it is even more statistically impossible than the claw-"
"Nerd words, nerd words, nerd words," Buford said, waving a hand. "Don't care. Watch and learn."
Buford pushed a token in and started the game.
All of them watched as he immediately lost.
Ferb couldn't hold back his slight snort as the neon blocks collapsed just before the final row, the machine flashing a taunting TRY AGAIN? in bold red letters.
Buford stood frozen in front of the machine for a second, before letting out a low growl, like a dog about to bite a mailman.
"You're just going to waste your money again," Isabella sighed.
"It's about principle."
"It's about making terrible financial decisions," Baljeet muttered.
Buford ignored them, already shoving another token into the slot.
"It's about patience," a new voice cut in. "It's about knowing exactly when to strike."
They all turned.
A red-haired kid stood a few feet away, leaning casually against the side of a nearby machine, ragged backpack slung over his shoulder, old and used looking skateboard in hand, swirling it in front of him. His ocean-blue eyes were fixed on Buford's machine's display.
His posture seemed relaxed, but there was an underlying tension, a sharpness to his expression, like he had already figured something out before the rest of them.
Buford narrowed his eyes. "Oh yeah? And what makes you the expert?"
The boy shrugged, looking up at Buford, a slight smirk playing in the corner of his mouth. "It's rigged," he said easily, tilting his head toward the Stack-the-Blocks game. "You're in a losing streak cycle. The machine won't let you win until it's cycled through a set number of losses."
Baljeet's eyes widened. "That is… statistically accurate."
Buford scoffed. "What, you some kinda arcade prophet?"
The redhead shrugged, amusement shining in his eyes. "Sure. If you want to call me that," he answered, nodding towards the game. "But see that tiny flicker in the corner?"
Ferb and the other's looked at the display of the game and indeed… there was a tiny flicker in the corner.
"Wait for the third blink. That's when it'll let people win."
Ferb narrowed his eyes, looking back at the redhead in suspicion.
Buford squinted at the screen, then back at the boy. "That's suspiciously specific."
The kid just shrugged. "Then don't try it," he said.
Buford grumbled. Ferb, Isabella and Baljeet looked at Buford in question… they all wanted to know… was that guy right? Or was he bluffing?
"Fine," Buford huffed, turning back to the machine, watching the flicker like a hawk.
They all did.
One blink.
Two.
Three.
Buford slammed the button.
The blocks stacked perfectly.
Ferb's eyebrows rose higher than ever before.
A loud chime rang out, and the machine spit out a prize.
Isabella was gaping. So was Baljeet.
Buford stared at the alien plushie now sitting in the collection bin, like it had just materialized from thin air.
"Well, I'll be…" He bent down, picked it up, and slowly turned back to the redhead, squinting at him like he was a wizard.
"Okay, nerd," Buford said, pointing at him. "You're either a genius or a con artist."
"Neither," the redhead said easily. "I am just very observant."
Buford nodded, a wild glint shining in his eyes. "New plan then," he said, thrusting a finger at the redhead. "You. Teach me all the other tricks."
The boy blinked. He hugged himself slightly, pulling his skateboard closer to his body. His gaze flicked around the arcade, like he was scanning for something.
"I… don't really know anything about the other machines," he said cautiously.
Buford squinted. "Yeah, well, you figured this one out pretty quickly."
His eyes darted across the arcade before locking onto another machine.
"What about this one?" Buford asked, throwing an arm around the kid's shoulders and steering him toward it.
The redhead stiffened slightly.
"The Light Spinner?" Isabella raised an eyebrow. "That game is the biggest scam here."
"It's about reaction time," Ferb chimed in, raising a finger. "Which, statistically speaking, Buford does not have."
"Hey!" Buford scowled. "Speak for yourself."
Isabella snickered, Baljeet snorted, and even on the redhead's lips, a slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Ferb counted this as a win.
"So?" Buford looked at the redhead again. "What about this one?"
The kid's smile dropped slightly.
"Buford, leave the guy alone," Isabella said, still grinning.
"Yeah, maybe let him breathe first," Baljeet added.
"You don't have to do anything he says," Ferb said, speaking directly to the boy. "He plays all tough and mighty, but in his heart he is a softie."
Buford snorted, though the redhead looked at Ferb a second longer, as if trying to figure out if he was saying the truth.
Then, instead of answering, he hugged his skateboard a little closer to his chest, biting his lip. His fingers curled around the edge, his gaze flicking toward the exit.
Ferb noticed … were they coming on too hard?
"Come on," Buford groaned, dramatically throwing his hands up. "There’s gotta be some trick to this one too, right?"
The redhead shook his head. "I don’t know. It was just coincidence."
"Just coincidence," Isabella repeated, unconvinced.
Buford narrowed his eyes. He seemed determined to break this guy.
Ferb didn't know if he should interfere yet again. He had the feeling they were overwhelming the boy a little, but before Ferb could act, Buford started talking again.
"Alright," he muttered, digging through his pockets. "Time for the ultimate deal-maker."
Ferb watched as Buford dug through the endless abyss that was his cargo shorts, pulling out an assortment of arcade tokens, lint, an old receipt, and-
A slightly squished chocolate bar.
He held it up like a sacred artifact.
"Here," Buford said. "You can have this. Trade offer: you help me win, I give you chocolate."
The redhead blinked.
Ferb caught the way his eyes flickered to the chocolate bar.
He hesitated.
Not in a fake, playing-hard-to-get way. Not in a debating-if-he-should-help way.
In a way that was different.
Ferb didn’t have the words for it.
But after just a second too long, the kid exhaled and nodded.
“…Alright.”
Buford grinned. "A-ha! So food is the way to get you."
The redhead just let out a soft breath of laughter, brushing the comment aside.
"Play it," he said, nodding toward the machine. "I need to see how it works first."
Buford immediately shoved a token in.
The machine lit up. The neon ring of flashing lights spun wildly around the edge.
Buford hit the button.
The light kept going.
It landed three spots past the jackpot.
Buford stared at it. "It cheated."
"It didn’t cheat," Baljeet sighed. "It just delayed your input slightly."
Buford turned to the redhead, pointing dramatically. "Fix it."
The kid shrugged.
"Play it again."
Buford did. The redhead watched the lights.
One round.
Two.
Three.
"Again," he said.
Buford scowled but shoved in another token.
Same thing. The lights spun, lagged, and landed past the jackpot.
Buford growled. "If you are scamming me, I swear-"
The redhead lifted his palm. Open. Expectant.
Buford stopped. "What?"
The kid just gestured slightly, like he was waiting.
Buford narrowed his eyes. "Did you even see a trick?"
"As if," Baljeet scoffed.
Ferb and Isabella exchanged amused glances, equally unconvinced.
But the redhead just stood there. Waiting.
Buford groaned. "You better not be playing games with me."
The redhead smirked slightly.
Still, with great reluctance, Buford placed the chocolate bar into the kid’s hand.
The boy unwrapped it, took a slow bite, and only then did he speak.
"Alright," he said, leaning against the wall. "Here’s the trick."
The group watched him closely now.
"This game is rigged obviously," he continued, voice casual. "But it’s not random. Every few cycles, the delay gets shorter."
Isabella frowned. "Shorter?"
The kid nodded toward the lights. "It’s always lagging a bit behind when you hit the button. But every fourth round, it resets slightly. If you time it right, you can hit the jackpot."
Baljeet adjusted the strap of his briefcase. "That, again, is… statistically possible."
Buford stared at the machine, slowly absorbing this information.
Then he pointed at the redhead again. "You better not be messing with me."
The kid just shrugged, chewing his chocolate.
Buford huffed, turned back to the machine, and shoved in another token.
The lights spun.
One cycle.
Two.
Three.
Buford waited.
Then, on the fourth-
He slammed the button.
The light flickered-
And landed right on the jackpot.
The machine let out a triumphant chime.
Hundreds of tickets poured out.
Baljeet and Isabella gasped.
Even Ferb raised an eyebrow. That was impressive.
Ferb looked at the redhead, who had a pleased expression on his face, taking the last bite of the chocolate bar and shoving the wrapper into his pockets.
Buford stared at the pile of tickets. Then at the machine.
Then at the redhead.
He took a deep breath.
And then-
He dramatically dropped to his knees.
"MORE." He grabbed the kid by the arm, shaking him slightly. "I NEED MORE."
The redhead actually laughed.
Ferb rolled his eyes.
"Only if you give me more food," the boy said smoothly.
Ferb snorted at that.
Buford, dead serious, patted his pockets immediately.
Isabella giggled. "Okay, that’s enough," she said, grabbing Buford by the hoodie and dragging him up. "You’re gonna turn him into your personal arcade consultant. Let's do something actually fun."
The redhead chuckled at the antics.
Buford scoffed. "Winning is fun."
"Yeah, yeah, come on." She gestured toward the air hockey tables.
Buford groaned. "Ugh. Why is it always air hockey with you?"
"Because I’m better than you."
Ferb smirked as Buford’s competitive spirit reignited immediately.
"Alright, fine," Buford muttered, gathering up the tickets. "But I get first game."
The redhead didn’t follow.
Ferb noticed.
He was still standing near the Light Spinner, holding onto his skateboard, fingers absentmindedly tapping against the side.
"You coming?" Ferb asked.
The redhead hesitated. His gaze flicked toward the exit again.
Ferb followed his glance, but didn’t see anything unusual.
"You should come!" Isabella chimed in, already walking ahead. "Unless you’re scared of losing."
"Yeah!," Baljeet said. "Join us. Someone has to keep Buford in check."
"What did you just say?" Buford asked, a slight darker tone creeping into his voice.
Baljeet winced, ducking his head.
"Nothing," he chuckled warily.
The redhead huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "I’ll pass."
"Aw, come on," Buford said, focusing completely on the redhead again. "You gotta stick around so I can force more tricks out of you later. I'll even give you more food."
The kid snorted, amused but hesitant.
"Okay, fine," he said
"Ha. I have figured you out. Next time I'll bring a whole dinner with me," Buford said.
"Buford," Baljeet said, rolling his eyes.
"I'm Isabella, by the way," Isabella said, putting a hair strand behind her ear and grinning.
"I am Baljeet, and that arcade addict over here is Buford."
Buford threw Baljeet a glare. Baljeet fled behind Isabella, who just huffed.
"I am Ferb." Ferb held out his hand towards the redhead, smiling warmly.
The redhead paused.
For just a second.
Ferb saw it.
A small flicker of hesitation.
Then, just as quickly, he recovered.
"Phineas," he said, like it was an afterthought, still looking at the hand Ferb had extended.
Ferb felt a brief jolt of something.
Recognition?
Excitement?
Gone before he could even process it.
Just a coincidence.
Then Phineas took Ferb’s hand and the thought was gone.
His grip was firm but light. His hands felt colder than they should.
Phineas’s lips quirked into a small, soft smile. "Nice to meet you."
It was a nice moment.
A normal moment.
Phineas’s eyes flicked toward the exit again.
And this time, he froze.
Ferb followed his gaze, but…
Nothing.
Just the arcade entrance.
Phineas inhaled sharply, stepping back.
"I- I have to go."
The sudden shift made all of them stop.
"Wait, what?" Isabella blinked. "We just started hanging out."
Phineas’s grip tightened on his skateboard. "Yeah, sorry- gotta be somewhere."
Buford scowled. "Are you kidding? We were gonna milk more tricks outta you!"
Baljeet frowned. "That is not the correct way to phrase that."
"Yeah, whatever." Buford turned back to Phineas. "When are you coming back?"
Phineas hesitated again.
His fingers curled tighter around his board.
Then, maybe without thinking, maybe just to get them to stop asking-
"Tomorrow?"
Isabella perked up immediately. "Really?"
Phineas blinked, like he’d just realized what he said.
A beat of silence.
Then he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Tomorrow."
Ferb tilted his head slightly.
That was… interesting.
"Alright," Isabella said, smiling. "Then we’ll see you tomorrow, Phineas."
Phineas opened his mouth like he was going to say something else.
But then, as if remembering something, he took another small step back.
"I gotta go," he repeated.
And before any of them could say anything else-
He was gone.
Vanished into the arcade lights and neon glow, skateboard tucked under his arm.
Ferb turned back toward the entrance.
For just a second, he thought he saw something.
A shadowy figure just outside the doors.
Then- gone.
Ferb frowned.
Just for a second.
Then he shrugged it off.
"Weird guy," Buford muttered, shaking his head.
Isabella rolled her eyes. "Takes one to know one."
Buford scoffed. "Hey, at least I don’t vanish into the night like a cryptid."
"You might as well," Baljeet said. "You eat like one."
"It's not even night," Ferb stated.
"Yeah, maybe we should go get some ice cream. The weather is too nice to waste a whole day in here," Isabella said.
Buford groaned.
Ferb let their banter fade into background noise.
His mind was still half on Phineas.
Something about him didn’t quite line up.
Not in a way that made him suspicious.
Just…
Curious.
He figured he’d find out soon enough.
Phineas POV - seven years ago
Six-year old Phineas was pretty sure he could fix this radio.
His bare feet swung off the counter, kicking the air while he leaned real close over the open back. There were wires everywhere - some snipped, some in the wrong places, and one that looked all black and crispy like burnt toast.
It was broken, but broken things didn’t scare Phineas. Everything could be fixed.
His dad said he had "a brain too big for his own good," and Phineas liked that. It made him feel special.
He twisted a loose wire around his pinky, his tummy growling faintly.
Phineas ignored it.
There was still a little bit of bread left in the back room. He knew that. He always kept track of how much food they had. But he also knew that if he kept his hunger down, maybe they wouldn’t have to go to the store yet.
He didn’t like when they went to the store. That was when his dad got the squinty-line look on his forehead. Phineas had read that in a book - worry lines. Adults got them when they were stressed.
His dad got them a lot. Especially when they ran out of stuff. Like food. Or batteries. Or rent money.
But books helped. His dad brought books from the library, and Phineas loved books almost more than ice cream. They were full of dragons and pirates and cool facts about electricity. He liked disappearing into stories. That way, his tummy didn’t feel so loud anymore.
As if on cue it growled again, but Phineas had learned to pretend he wasn’t as hungry.
His dad didn’t eat much. He always made sure Phineas ate first.
So Phineas would eat real slowly, take small bites, and say, “I’m already full, Dad,” even if he could still eat a little more.
That way, they wouldn’t run out of food as fast. That way his dad could eat too.
Across the workbench, his dad was working on some circuit thingy. His shoulders were scrunched up and he had sweat on his forehead. It was really hot today. Phineas liked summer though - summer meant bare feet and sun and ice cream sometimes if they had enough money.
"You ever think about how machines are kinda like people?" Phineas asked, twisting a wire between his fingers. "Like, if you connect the wrong parts, nothing works right. But if you do it the right way, everything lights up?"
Francis let out a tired chuckle, rubbing at the stubble on his jaw. “That so?”
Phineas nodded seriously. “Uh-huh. But some parts break easy. And some are real old, but they still work better than the new ones. Like Mr. Simmons’s toaster! Remember that one? It’s so old but it still works!”
Francis huffed, shaking his head with a small, fond smile. "You think too much for a six-year-old, kid."
Phineas grinned. “Maybe.”
The shop was kinda messy but nice. It smelled like metal and hot wires and coffee that got zapped in the microwave too many times. There were wires hanging from the ceiling and a big blinking light that never stopped flickering no matter how many times Dad tried to fix it.
Their beds were in the back room behind the counter. Phineas had a little rolled-up mat and some books by the wall. Dad’s cot was nearby. Phineas liked being close. Sometimes at night, he could hear his dad breathing. That helped.
Something had happened in the past his dad didn't like talking about. Something that was the reason why he didn't have a mom anymore. His dad didn't remember. Retrograde amnesia. Phineas had read that in a book once. He would love to find out more but…
Sometimes his dad got weird about it.
Like now, when he thought Phineas wasn’t watching.
Francis had stopped working, rubbing his temple, squeezing his eyes shut.
Phineas knew that look.
It meant his dad’s head was hurting again.
At least it wasn’t one of his dad’s bad days.
On those days, his dad would stay in bed. He wouldn’t talk much. Wouldn’t smile.
Phineas would sit next to him and talk anyway. Sometimes, he’d sing or read from his adventure stories.
His dad liked that.
Other times, Francis woke up from bad dreams.
Phineas wasn’t sure what they were about, but his dad would wake up breathing too hard, staring at nothing.
Phineas didn’t like when that happened.
Sometimes, his dad wouldn’t know who he was.
It would take a while until he snapped out of it.
In those moments, Phineas waited quietly.
It wasn’t a good idea to touch his dad or speak during those times.
Phineas had learned that.
So today wasn’t one of the bad days.
Which meant his dad could work.
Which meant Phineas could help.
That was how it worked.
If Phineas smiled enough, maybe his dad would too.
He was still talking about wires and parts when the bell above the door jingled.
Phineas paused, head snapping up.
Jim.
He knew Jim. Jim always smiled like a shark and never paid for the stuff he took. Phineas didn’t like him much.
Francis, too nice, too tired to argue, greeted him anyway. “Hey, Jim.”
“Francis, my friend!” Jim grinned. “Just here to pick up that old speaker you fixed for me.”
Francis rubbed the back of his neck. He looked at the speaker on the counter.
“Hey, Jim. Uh, listen, about that… you still owe me for the last two repairs.”
Jim waved a careless hand. “Ah, you know me. I always pay. Just got some… delays, you know?”
Phineas, swinging his legs, watched carefully.
His dad didn’t say anything right away. Phineas knew that look.
It was the look that meant Dad was too tired to push back.
It was the look that meant they wouldn’t have enough for food again.
Phineas’s gaze flickered to Jim’s wrist.
A shiny new watch.
It caught the light, gleaming like something expensive.
Phineas tilted his head. He didn’t even have to think about it.
“Wow,” Phineas said, voice full of wonder and excitement. “That’s a really cool watch!”
Jim paused mid-laugh, glancing at him.
Phineas leaned forward, eyes wide. “Must’ve cost a lot, huh?”
Jim grinned, proud. “Oh yeah. Top of the line! Got it imported, actually.”
Phineas blinked. “Oh! So that means you can pay for the speaker now too, right? And the last two repairs? The reason for the delay got fixed then, I assume?”
Silence.
Jim’s grin faltered.
Francis’s head snapped toward Phineas, eyes slightly wide.
Jim coughed. “Uh. Well-”
Phineas just kept smiling.
Waiting.
Francis blinked, stunned expression on his face. His eyes darting between Phineas and Jim.
Jim grumbled, digging into his wallet.
Phineas, smiling, hopped off the counter, grabbed the speaker, and hurried over to Jim. They exchanged the goods. Phineas took the money with a smile; Jim grabbed the speaker with a disgruntled expression on his face.
"Thank you so much sir!" Phineas grinned, stepping back towards his dad and handing over the money.
"Yeah, yeah," Jim said, waving him off. Then he left.
Phineas looked up at his dad, still grinning widely.
Francis stared at Phineas, then at the money, then back at Phineas.
“You’re dangerous, kid.”
Phineas beamed.
Francis shook his head, exhaling, but there was a small, tired smile on his face. He knelt down to Phineas level, ruffling his hair and then pulling him into a hug, that made Phineas feel all squished and safe and warm inside.
"Smartest kid in the world," he said and Phineas felt even more squishy. He giggled.
He didn't see the slight tears in Francis eyes when he hugged him. Didn't see the pain in his features. Didn't fully realize what he had just done, for the father who loved him more than anything - but who was never quite whole.
Phineas grinned as he wiggled out of the hug, hurrying towards the counter again to fix the radio. He wanted to hear it click and buzz and maybe even play music again.
He was good at fixing things. He had learned how to adapt, to be creative, to find solutions in the most unexpected ways.
But on this day, he had learned something else as well.
If you watched closely, if you paid attention, people gave away everything.
Just like machines, they had patterns.
And if you understood those patterns, you could make them work the way you wanted.