Meant to start something for Kinktober.... went a completely different route...
This is just an idea.....
The first ‘Stray’ Porsche ‘adopted’ wasn’t even his fault. He’d come home late one night, after working 2 different jobs that day, to find his brother, a mess of bandages, and a bleeding teenager on his couch. His first reaction, and he stands by it, was to rush forward, drag his brother away from the other kid, and scream, “What the fuck, Chay?”
His brother had twisted in his hold, “Phi, we have to help him!”
“Who the hell is he? And why is he bleeding on our couch?” He had tried to keep some of the fear he had first felt in mind, but the truth was, after getting a decent look and seeing this young, pale, bruised, and bleeding teen, he could understand his idiot brother's desire to help.
The kid, though clearly older than Chay, looked seconds away from passing out, yet he still watched Porsche carefully, like, despite his injuries, he would fight if Porsche turned out to be a threat.
“His name is Kim, and I found him on the way home from tutoring,” his brother said, finally managing to pull himself free and moving back to kneel next to this Kim.
Sighing, Porsche did the same. Though he swore that after they patched up their guest, he was going to have a very long, very detailed conversation with his little brother about bringing injured strangers into their home.
A very detailed conversation, he thought again when Chay had lifted the other teen’s shirt to show what was obviously a stab wound just below his ribs.
Sighing again, he pushed his brother, gently, to the side and removed Chay's attempt at wrapping the wound.
“This is going to need stitching," he told Kim. who frowned briefly before his jaw tighten and he nodded, and because his hand was on the other’s stomach, he felt the teen take a deep breath, like he was bracing for the pain, shit, he couldn’t help but think, this kid was expecting him to do it. To stitch him up, here and now, in his freaking living room, with no meds. Porsche swallowed against the urge to throw up.
He took a second to stand up, surprising both teens, “I think we should get you to a hosp--”
“No!’ Kim tried to stand, thankfully, Chay was close enough to grab his arm and push him back to the couch, “Hia, isn’t saying you have to, he is saying he’d prefer it.”
Sometimes, he hated how well his brother knew him, because the brat was right, as badly as he wanted to shove this kid into their neighbor's car and rush him to a hospital so that someone who knew what they were doing could look at him, Porsche was all too familiar with being unable to seek professional help even when you needed it.
“His right,” he said, hopefully in a calm voice, despite how off kilter he felt, “I was just telling you that I think it would be better, but if you insisted on me doing it, then you will take something for the pain,” because no way in hell was stitching this kid up without something to help block some of the pain.
He could see it in the younger man’s eyes that he wanted to protest, and for a moment they simply stared at each other, but Porsche was used to staring down drunks and stubborn little brothers who didn’t want to do as they were told. He could be very patient.
“Please, phi,” Chay whispered. The other teen broke eye contact with him to look at Chay, and Porsche had the unique pleasure of watching someone else take one look at his brother's adorable puppy eyes and cave.
It was subtle, but one second Kim was tense and angry, ready to fight, and the next, his shoulders dropped and he sagged back against the couch, no verbal reply needed.
Chay smiled at Kim and then turned to Porsche,” What do you need?”
“The pain meds from when you broke your wrist, and the sewing kit from under my bathroom sink.” With that, his brother was rushing out of the room, “And you, you’re going to need to get your shirt off and lie down,” he turned to walk out of the room, but stopped and turned back, “and we will most definitely be having a conversation about what the hell happened to you,” he heard the kid groan as he walked into the kitchen.
Trying to ignore his shaking hands, he leaned against the counter and took a second just to breathe and think. Stab wound notwithstanding, the kid, Kim, didn’t seem bad; he seemed shaken and weary mostly. That didn’t mean Porsche missed the fighting stance the kid a fell into when he had thought he was going to be forced to the hospital or how the kid’s eyes kept scanning the room looking for a threat, it just meant that for the moment Porsche was betting he was more harmless than dangerous, especially with how easy the younger man had folded for his little brother.
Chuckling and feeling a little better, he found a pot and started to boil some water. Then he grabbed a couple of clean towels from the laundry. He wasn’t an expert in patching people back together, but due to his street fighting, he knew enough to keep himself out of the hospital. He just had to hope that stitching someone else up was easier than stitching himself.
By the time he had the hot water into a bowl and was carrying everything back into the living room, Chay was already there, sitting on the floor close to Kim’s head, and the two were whispering back and forth. Not sure if he wanted to know what had his brother grinning like that, he cleared his throat, letting them know they weren’t alone.
What followed was about 40 minutes that would leave him with nightmares, not because of the stitching or the blood, but because Kim didn’t make a fucking sound throughout the entire ordeal. Not a whimper or groan, nothing to show he was in pain, and yes Porsche had shoved a pain pill at him before he set about cleaning the wound and making sure to sterlize his needle, but still those pills weren’t that strong and he knew, from experence, that even after taken one (or two on really bad nights) you could still feel some of the pain.
It left his mind spiraling about what the hell this kid could have been through that he could just take this pain, on top of what he had already been through, and not make a sound. It didn’t paint a good picture. And Porsche just knew he wasn’t going to be able to sleep thinking about it.
