Work Text:
“Hold still,” Tunny huffed out the response for probably the millionth time in the last two minutes.
It was Tuesday, it was nearly three in the morning, and the three teenagers were sat in the basement of Will’s mom’s house. It wasn’t inordinary for them to be there, but it was rather unlikely on a Tuesday, just four hours before they were supposed to be at school. It was even more unlikely for Johnny to have facetimed their group chat at two-thirty to tell them that he was coming over to Will’s house and that Tunny had better meet him there. When Johnny had a plan, though, it was near impossible to stop him; so Tunny and Will had obviously obliged.
Once Johnny had got there (after Tunny, considering that Will and Tunny lived closer than Johnny did), though, they understood.
The first words out of anyone’s mouth upon Johnny’s arrival had been Will’s, and they were: “What happened to you, Jesus?” And Johnny responded with the grumble of a single word – a single name – and no more questions were asked.
Will had fetched his mother’s first aid kit and Tunny had taken over, and apparently Johnny didn’t know how to sit still for any longer than, like, ten seconds.
“It fuckin’ hurts ,” Johnny protested, after being chastised by Tunny for the million-and-first time. “I can’t ‘hold still’ when you’re rubbin’ fuckin’ alcohol in my open wounds.”
Tunny rolled his eyes, continuing to dab the wet cotton ball along a cut across Johnny’s cheek. None of the injuries were nearly as bad as Johnny was making them out to be (open wounds, broken bones, etc.) but they weren’t exactly pretty, either. He had a few scrapes on his cheek and knees, and scattered bruises just about everywhere on his arms and legs. Will was the one tending to the bruises, with an ice pack that he’d move around on occasion, holding it to the darkest ones the longest.
Will was also the next one to speak up, seeing as Tunny didn’t have anything else to say in response, “At least they’ll heal easier now. If you left them untouched, it probably would’ve taken longer for them to stop hurting and to heal.” He lifted the ice pack for a moment, before gesturing towards the bruise it had just been covering. “Some of these bruises probably won’t even be visible by tomorrow.”
Johnny groaned, flopping back against the couch and nearly knocking the cotton ball out of Tunny’s hand as he did so. “Great. Perfect,” he grumbled. Once he was in a bad mood, it seemed like grumble or yell was all he did. In this situation, both Tunny and Will supposed they could understand and would just let it slide. “That means Brad won’t even see what he did to me this time. He won’t have to look at me and feel remorse. Not like he ever has.”
The other two shared a look. Will was better at comforting people physically – with touch, like gestures and hugs and that type of thing. When it came to words, Tunny was the better option. With Johnny, it was hard to tell what he needed. Tunny tried first, offering a shrug and tossing the cotton ball into the small garbage bin across the room, “One more year, man. We’ll all be eighteen and we can finally get the fuck out of here.”
When Johnny didn’t react, Will patted his shoulder. “You can come back here after school and spend the night, if you don’t wanna go back so soon,” he offered. He knew his mom wasn’t a fan of the whole ‘having overnights on a school night’ thing, but he was sure there was some kind of excuse he could come up with to get her to agree. A group project, or something. He didn’t like lying to his parents, but there were some things – some people – that were worth lying for.
“Yeah, okay. Whatever,” Johnny mumbled, running his hands over his face. “God, I just wanna run away. I hate it here.”
He’d tried before, a few times. The first two times, his family hadn’t even noticed and he was brought back home by Will’s and Tunny’s endless texts and calls. The third and last time, his mom had noticed and the police had gotten involved and Brad had been absolutely fuming. Although Johnny couldn’t care less about what emotions Brad felt, he didn’t necessarily want the guy pissed off because more often than not it was taken out on him when his mom wasn’t around.
“We will,” Tunny said, though at this point it felt more like an empty promise, flopping down on the couch next to Johnny. “As soon as you turn eighteen, ya’ little baby, we’ll be out of here.”
Johnny swung and landed a half-hearted punch at Tunny’s shoulder. “‘m not a fuckin’ baby. ‘s not my fault you’re old.”
Will would turn eighteen first, in just a few months. Tunny followed a few more months after. Johnny was the youngest, and wouldn’t turn eighteen until Will was nearly nineteen. With Johnny also being the shortest, it was practically natural for the others to make jokes about him being a baby.
Before Tunny had a chance to argue back, Will interrupted them by tossing each of them a controller and loading up his Nintendo Switch. They settled into a slight calm, while trying to beat each other in Smash – and said calm only lasted until someone won, but at least there was no more talk of Brad and bruises.