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Leorio isn't sure how this happened. He got his license, he was planning to go home and study for the MCAT, and now he's on the front lawn of the most infamous assassins in the world. He just watched his friend, a child, get beat down over and over again. Each time he stood, his face sported a new bruise or cut. He's swollen beyond belief, certainly in incredible pain, and still the only thing on his mind, the only word on his lips is Killua. When they do meet that little bastard again, he’s even more bloodied than Gon. They knew he would be, of course, but seeing it is another animal entirely. The wrapping is sloppy, probably done by Killua himself, blood already seeping through the gauze on his neck. He's lost weight, and quite a lot by the looks of his cheeks, and even with the long sleeve shirt he's wearing, wounds are visible around his wrists.
They return to a hotel at Leorio's behest, insisting he needs to get a look at Gon's injuries and desperately hoping Killua will let him patch him up too. Gon's face isn't as bad as he thought, some ice and butterfly bandages will have him fixed up no problem. Killua, however, is another story. He's lingering by the door, looking ready to bolt if Leorio asks to see him. Luckily, Gon is the one who asks him to let Leorio take a look at his wounds. The kid would do anything for Gon, and evidently that feeling is mutual. Even still, he's slow to enter the bathroom, hackles raised and bristling like a feral cat.
“Alright, I need to see all your injuries. Shirt off.”
“Not a chance.” The response is quick and clipped.
“C'mon, Killua, he just wants to help.”
With a grimace, he peels out of his shirt. Leorio bites his tongue to keep from gasping. He's bled through the layer of bandage wrapping his torso, the wounds on his wrists look like he was struggling against shackles until he ripped his skin off, and-
“Are those from cigarettes?” He says, unable to stop himself as he inspects the kid's arm, gripping it just a little too tight. Killua squirms, wrenching his arm away from the scrutiny.
“Yeah, so what? Not like I'm dying.”
“That is not the issue here.”
He unwraps the bandages, watching Killua's face for any sign of pain. The gauze pools on the floor, revealing gash after gash across his skin. He has lost weight, ribs sticking out horribly against his skin, hollows of his collar bones casting shadows on his neck. He's more bruised than not, shades of purple flowing to yellow as new marks cover the old.
Rubbing alcohol cleans the dried blood off his wounds, revealing scars from past years under the new gashes. The scars are so healed, clearly over 5 years old, how old would this kid have been then? Seven? Leorio tries not to let his horror show on his face, not wanting Killua to think he's disgusted by his scars, instead of by the people who them to him.
“I'm fine, old man. You don't have to do this.” He says the last bit quietly, shoulders sagging.
“I'm not old but I am an adult and you're just a kid. Of course I have to take care of you.”
“I can do it myself, wouldn't be the first time.”
“This will be the last time. I will hunt down the ones who did this to you myself if I have to.”
“You wouldn't stand a chance against them,” He pauses, “I'm not sure anyone would.”
Leorio heaves a sigh. He knows that, how could he not, but to hear the helplessness in Killua's voice…
“They shouldn't hurt you. Parents shouldn't torture their kids.”
“‘s my fault.”
“No, no, absolutely not. You being abused is not your fault.”
“It's training.”
“It's torture, is what it is,” He can feel every bone in the kid's back as he wipes a cloth over him, “Christ alive kid, did they feed you at all?”
“Yeah, a couple times.”
“Couple times- it's been almost a month! How are you still alive?”
“It really wasn't that bad-”
“You don't have to defend them! They're horrible! You know that, that's why you ran away! I feel like I'm going insane.” Leorio yells, then quickly regrets it as he watches Killua wilt.
“It's just how things are.”
“It doesn't have to be, not anymore.”
They lapse into silence as the last few bandages are secured. Leorio desperately wants to smooth things over, still kicking himself for losing his temper at the kid.
“Alright, we’re done. Let’s get you something to eat. Whatever you want, I’ll pay.”
“Aren’t you broke? You saw the blood money mansion, I’ll pay.”
The four have chocolate cake for dinner. Not the best meal, but who cares as long as he eats something. They had been planning to go their separate ways now, but it seems cruel to leave just as soon as they got him back. So they stay the night, sprawled across the beds and floor of the hotel room. The kids are too beat up to comfortably share a bed, so both beds go to the injured, with Leorio and Kurapika sleeping on the floor. It’s disgusting and unsanitary to lay on a hotel floor, but at least I doesn’t have open wounds, Leorio thinks. The night is quiet, all too tired to dream. Day breaks and they head their separate ways. Leorio almost asks to tag along with the boys, to try and keep them safe, but decides he would be dead weight in that department. Besides, they need some time with each other, no cranky old chaperone following them around. He’s not either of their dads, and thank God for that, but he almost wishes he was. Chastising himself for wanted to take on parenthood at nineteen, he lets them go. But it haunts him as he goes to his nice apartment, paid for with his license, and wonders if that feral cat will have a bed to sleep in tonight.
Come morning, he’ll begin his studies and the arduous process of applying to medical school. For tonight, he silently screams to whatever higher power may be out there, one that has never heeded his prayers before, to please keep his friends safe, make them strong enough to never be taken again. As he finally drifts off to sleep, he almost wishes his heart wasn’t quite so big because then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much.
He hopes the boys are changing their bandages correctly.