Chapter Text
Muffled banging of thin cabinet doors and pan-bottoms clanking on the stovetop woke the blonde. His ears pricked at the tickticktick of the gas shooting up, at the muffled hum of Sharon’s endless lineup of 00’s girl groups. But Richie did not open his eyes, tenderly feeling out moving before deciding against it, and resolved to fall back into the shroud of sleep if he could. Sharon’s voice floated up the stairs before Richie could fully devote himself to the endeavor.
“You’ll be late to school, Virgil! Get your ass moving, baby brother!”
Next to him, Virgil groaned and stretched, then stopped--- surprised at the other warm body in his bed. Turning over blearily, V met Richie’s eyes, and looked around before flopping back on the bed with disgust.
“I almost forgot.”
Richie blinked swollen eyes awake and threw an arm over his face, hating that his voice would be hoarse when he spoke.
“I wish I could.”
A knock at the door made Virgil stiffen, and Rich watched as he gingerly made his way to the door. The blonde knew that underneath his white tee, the other teen would have bruises littering his ribs, and he winced in sympathy as Virgil carried himself carefully.
“Hey, Pops.”
“Virgil. No school today?”
“Sir…”
Richie watched mutely as Virg opened the door to his room fully and stepped back, turning back to Rich and throwing him a sweatshirt as Mr. Hawkins moved across the threshold. Richie ran a hand through his hair, feeling it stick hay-soft into the air as his hand tunneled into it. He couldn’t bear to look at Mr. Hawkins, knew that if he did he’d only start crying again, and so Richie only stared at the lines of his hands. It wasn’t possible for all of him to feel so much older in all of one night, could it? But his hands seemed to have more definition, more valleys and more minute wrinkles than they did before. Richie wondered if his face held the same.
He could listen with only one ear as Virgil spoke to his father, voice serious.
“Pops, I know I haven’t been completely clear with me and Rich’s relationship. And I know he spends the night during the summer, and on weekends, and you say nothing, but mostly during school nights we keep our hands to ourselves--”
A sharp intake, and Richie could tell he was getting flustered but bless his boyfriend, the other man just pushed on.
“And what I’m trying to say is, none of that is why Rich was here last night. Dad, he-- his dad really--”
And Virgil’s voice was shaking, he could hear Virg start to cry like he hadn’t let himself do last night when Richie needed him to be strong. He could hear Mr. Hawkins make a small sound of concern and fold Virgil into a hug.
Richie made himself look up because if Virgil could be strong for him then fuck it, he could manage it too.
“Mr. H, last night my dad beat the absolute living shit out of me. I mean-- worse, than when I was younger and stuff, like he really almost...he almost killed me.”
He made himself meet Mr. Hawkins’ gaze and was surprised to find nothing but receptive eyes looking back at him. Swallowing loudly around his throat, Richie rasped, “And V and I, we’re always careful around my house, we aren’t there holding hands, or kissing, but. But my father decided that he didn’t like V coming around the house to get me and he snapped, and...I’m sorry V got hurt, sir.”
He made himself look the older man in the face when he apologized, knew that he needed to take responsibility for Virgil’s injuries. Richie started, surprised, to find Mr. Hawkins moving towards him and placing large hands on his shoulders. The feel of them almost felt like his own father’s but nothing like them, not at all, always kind and caring, and Richie felt himself bite hard into his lower lip to keep from crying. Again.
“Mr. Hawkins, it’s all my fault.”
“No, Richie. Your dad is a mean man plain and simple,” and oh god, he was being swept into a hug, Mr. Hawkins hadn’t given him one of these for years, “and he’s cruel, and he can’t see what a smart son he’s got. Luckily us Hawkins, we know better.”
One large hand on his back now, emanating a soothing heat in the place his own father had kneed him in the back. Body tensing, Richie sobbed even though it was like running a chainsaw through his tonsils, knew he’d be coughing up blood later today if he kept wailing, but he couldn’t make himself stop.
Virgil had somehow slipped onto the bed next to him and just held his hand and let him cry, and Richie snivelled and sniffed and tried to remind himself he didn’t even like his own dad.
(But he’d loved him.)
Sharon came up later with plated eggs and bacon, eyes solemn, her first aid kit tucked under one arm. She sat cross-legged on the bed and made Richie take off his shirt and bandaged all of the cuts he had before she held him close, his head tucked into the crook of her neck, and Richie had just let her. She was strong and silent and didn’t demand anything of him, only kept him buoyed up and floating, and if Rich hadn’t spent the last of his tears on her father he might’ve shed them then.
He knew that Virgil was messed up because he didn’t say a word but thank you to his sister. When she made to leave, he had grabbed her tight and kissed her temple, and she swatted him halfheartedly before going down the hall to get ready for her mid-morning shift.
Brown eyes found brown eyes and he could only watch V frown, his hands coming up to frame his face.
“Look at you,” he said, softly, anger making the teen’s voice tremble.
Virgil’s thumb smoothed over the plane of his face, and Richie wondered what they looked like right now, dark skin on bruised skin on pale skin. Breathing shakily he caught Virgil’s hand in his own and pressed a kiss to it.
“Look at me. Still here. Still wildly gay for some dumbass superhero. Still kissing you.”
He kissed V’s hand again, and again, until Virgil screwed his mouth up in a somewhat-smile and leaned down to take the next kiss sneakily.
“V,” the genius whispered, “thank you.”
He got a real smile then, goofy and lopsided.
“Love you too, Osgood.”