Heavy

1

Stiles looked up at the house, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette. His split lip ached as he licked his lips. With a shakey exhale, he walks across the street. He knocks on the door - three raps against the old wood. His eyes move across the windows, and then toward the street before the door is finally pulled open. 

A man, tanner, a few inches taller, and much more muscular, opens the door. He gives a glare, mouth a hard line. His eyes scan the street, then Stiles. He knows he doesn't look like much, particularly now. "Can I help you?" the man asked. Stiles nods, trying to peek behind the man. The door is inched closed as many inches as the man could spare. 

"I'm looking for -" Stiles has to cough halfway through his sentence, throat hoarse. "- Brian? Or uh... Rome?" Please, please, please. The man gives Stiles another once over, analytical. Trying to see if Stiles was a threat. Then, he turns over his shoulder. Another took his place. 

This one was likewise, a bit taller and more muscular. He frowned at Stiles and then snuffed, "What's up?"

Stiles blinked for a moment. Rome had grown. He certainly wasn't the 17-year-old that Stiles was hoping to find. A car drove past, Stiles turned to watch - skittish as a cat. Rome tracked the movement and watched Stiles turn back to the door. 

"He-hey, Rome," Stiles murmured. "Long time no see?" he coughed again, hand reaching for his throat. A spackling of red-purple bruises marred it, handprint almost sharp enough to pull fingerprints from. Another moment, before Rome's face changed completely. 

"Shit. Get in here, Mischief," Rome says. He doesn't reach for Stiles, just opens the door wider for him and steps back. 

"Haven't heard that name in a long time," Stiles murmured, stepping inside. The house smelt warm and soft, full of unique people scents. His stomach growled at the smell of food - real homemade food. He looked around while Rome shut the door. The first man wasn't standing too far away, and there were a handful of others clustered around the living room. A man with tangled blonde curls stood, eyebrows creased. 

"Shit," he says, echoing Rome. "The hell happened to you?"

Stiles wiped under his nose, snuffling. He gives a rueful smile, which tugs at his bruised cheek and split lip. "Dad's on a bender. Can I stay for a few days?"

"What's going on?" A woman with long brown hair and pretty brown eyes comes from the kitchen. Brian gives her a short smile. 

"This is Mischief. He's good people, family. Dad's a bitch though," Rome answered. The first man - shaved head, the same eyes as the girl but harder - nodded. 

"Yeah, we'll make up a bed," he says. 

"Thank you," he says, earnestly. "Sorry. I didn't have anywhere else to go."

"Brian and Rome's family is our family," the woman says evenly. "Hungry?"

"No, I'm okay."

"You smell like blood," Brian frowned, eyes darkening. "Take that hoodie off." Stiles shakes his head, stepping back. 

"I'm good. Just need a place." 

"Mischief, was it?" another woman rasps. She's got dark hair too, shorter, and hazel eyes. "We're not gonna hurt ya. We just need to see what we're dealing with."

"I'm fine."

Brian snuffed, circling Stiles. "Mia, heat him a bowl of dinner. Rome, let's get him upstairs."

"Jesus," Stiles muttered, but he let Rome lead him upstairs. Brain followed so he couldn't run. They entered a small bathroom, and Rome looked at Stiles. "Fine." He unzipped the hoodie and let it fall to the ground. Then, aching, he pulled his shirt over his head. 

The wounds were already stitching themselves back together. A handful across his shoulders, one still sluggishly bleeding. 

"Mischief," Brian breathed. "What happened?"

"He threw a bottle," Stiles sniffed and then shrugged. "I just... I walked in at the wrong time. Tried to leave, he hates when I do that." Rome hissed as he inspects the bruising on his neck. "And uh... he'll need some new drywall. Again." He gives a dry little laugh. 

"Jesus," Rome sighed. He telegraphs his moves, pulling Stiles into a hug. "You aren't going back there."

"I gotta," Stiles returned, playfully pushing Rome away. Or, he tried to make it playful, but both could see the horror and fear on his face. He looked away, finding his own gaze in the mirror. He hissed. "I look like shit." He prodded gently at his bruised cheek. It would be healed in the morning, and his back would be healed in a few days. His neck would clear up by the end of tomorrow. 

"Yeah," Brian agreed. He snuffed gently. "Stiles, he means it. You can take my name, we'll put you in school. Jesse's on the same age, ya know." Stiles shakes his head. 

"I just need a few days. Dad'll call when he's sober. He can't be on his own."

"Think about it. And let me make sure those are clean." Brain comes behind him, carefully inspecting the wounds. He picks out a few small chips of glass that stuck and throws them away. They give Stiles some clean clothes, and privacy to change. Rome gave Brian a look, and Brian just sighed and nodded. 

"He goes back, I'll kill Noah," Rome spits finally.

"Don't be dramatic," Stiles snapped from in the bathroom. "He'll kill himself fast enough." He comes back out. "Now, dinner?"

He gets led back downstairs and sat down in the kitchen. Brain kisses Mia's cheek, and asks her to go sit in the living room. The meal is placed before him, and he wastes no time digging in. There were murmurs in the living room, but they were talking so low that Stiles could barely hear even with his were-hearing. Rome sat with him, quietly fuming, while Brian stood between the kitchen and living room. 

"You can take my room," Brian offered. "I'll sleep with Rome."

"No need. I can just sleep on the floor," Stiles says, shaking his head. Brian nods. The murmurs quiet. 

"So, you staying?" Dom asked though he came no closer than the doorway. 

Stiles shakes his head. "Even if I did, can't afford rent. Dad needs me home."

"We'll give ya a job." 

The last dregs of hesitation melt. "Okay. I'll stay."

Stiles can't tell if he regrets coming, or not coming sooner.