"Dad's going to kill you," he heard his brother say.
"No, he won't, because he's not going to find out," he declared, keeping his eyes on the road.
"He's not going to find ou-? Stuart, look at him!" Stiles spluttered, gesturing to the moaning teenager strapped haphazardly to the back seat of the Jeep.
"The cut is on the back of his head, Stiles, once we get him stitched up he'll be good as new." Stuart hissed, trying not the think about what other injuries their brother had that they didn't know about.
"He's concussed, Stuart, that means keeping him in for observation, and I think Dad will notice when his son goes out to play football and comes home two days later!" Stiles exclaimed, wincing as his brother whimpered in the back seat.
"Thomas?" Stiles called. "Thomas, buddy, you've got to stay awake for us. We'll be at the hospital soon."
"No, we won't," Stuart interjected.
"He doesn't need to know that, Stuart," Stiles snarled.
"There's no point in lying to him, Stiles, he's seventeen, he's not stupid."
Stiles huffed and sat back against the passenger seat, arms folded across his chest. Stuart didn't have to look at his brother to know that his mind was replaying Thomas' fall again and again. Stuart was trying not to think about it, especially because, and he hates to say it, Stiles was right. It was his fault.
Stiles sat down on the gravel, his worn jeans stained with dirt and his t-shirt and plaid shirt caked in grass stains. He watched as Thomas hung from the tree next to their house. "I told you not to throw it so high, Thomas, we're going to have to wait for Dad to get home to get it down, he's not going to let you up on the roof again after you put your foot through Stuart's ceiling last summer."
"I've almost got it..." Thomas said, voice strained as he swung, trying to get enough leverage to haul himself up onto the rain gutter.
"Thomas, seriously, if you go through the roof again, not only will you have to deal with Dad, but Stuart's gonna have to sleep in our room and I'm not putting myself through that again," Stiles called from where he was sat, slightly amused at seeing his brother dangle from the large tree.
"I can do it, Stiles, I put the ball up here..."
He swung again.
"...I can get it down!" he grunted as he missed the gutter again and cursed loudly as a splinter dug its way into his palm.
Stuart looked up from his laptop and pushed his glasses further onto his nose. "Not again..." he muttered as he saw the unmistakable sight of Thomas' jean-clad legs dangling in front of his window. Stuart grumbled angrily as he checked his hair in the mirror, pulling his beanie further onto his head and straightening his button-up. He quickly pulled his phone from his pocket and sent a text to Stiles:
'Tell Thomas to get off the house'
"Stuart said to get off the house," Stiles called, a smirk on his face as he began to video his brother's awful attempt at retrieving their ball.
"Tell Stuart to shut up," Thomas grunted as he kicked his legs wildly.
Stuart sighed angrily as he got his brother's reply. He quickly jumped up from his desk chair and crossed the room to the window. He saw Stiles laugh as he came into view. Stuart quickly put his finger to his lips as he slowly opened the window. From where he was standing he could see Thomas hanging just above him, unaware of his brother's presence. Stuart slowly put his arm through the window and grabbed onto his Thomas' ankle.
For Stiles, it happened in slow motion, Stuart edging open the window, Thomas dangling, unaware that his brother was just beneath him. But as soon as Stuart grabbed Thomas' ankle, everything went into fast forward as he watched Thomas jump and instinctively let go of the tree.
There was a scream from Stiles, a yell from Stuart and a grunt as Thomas hit the ground. Stiles quickly rushed over to where his brother lay, writhing on the lawn with his hands wrapped around his head. Before they knew it, Stuart was by their side, trying to pull Thomas' hands away so he could see the damage.
When Stuart eventually pried his brother's fingers away, he heard Stiles gag as blood dripped onto the lawn. "Give me your shirt," Stuart commanded, not looking up from Thomas' head.
"What? No? Use your own shirt," Stiles croaked, turning pale as the blood coated both of his brothers' hands.
"You're wearing two, Stiles, just give it to me and I promise to have it clean by the time Dad sees it," Stuart snapped, glaring at his brother.
"Fine..." Stiles grumbled, shedding the outer layer of clothing and letting his youngest brother wrap it carefully around Thomas' head.
"Thanks," Stuart mumbled. "Now, go and start your Jeep, we have to take him to the hospital."
It had been twenty minutes since Stuart and Stiles had spoken to each other, each too stubborn to break the silence. Eventually Stuart's desire to take care of his brother overcame his need to argue with Stiles.
"You should probably climb into the back with him, make sure he's okay," Stuart mumbled, watching the car in front of him.
"We already know he's not," Stiles muttered, staring out of the passenger window, eyes fluttering over the livestock in the fields alongside the road.
"Stiles, stop being stupid and go sit with him, make sure the shirt is still on tight and try to keep him awake," Stuart barked, glancing irritably at his brother.
Stiles mumbled angrily but pulled off his seatbelt and crawled into the back of the jeep. As he slid between the front seats, Stuart elbowed him in the knee, causing him to fall into the foot well.
"Jeez, do you want to be an only child or something?" Stiles asked irately, rubbing at his elbow.
"If you end up being my only brother then yes, I do," Stuart spat, trying to ignore Stiles's glare from the rear view mirror.
"Hey, buddy, how're you feeling?" he heard Stiles call softly. Stuart listened to the hushed conversation as he comforted their brother.
Stuart fidgeted uncomfortably as he heard Thomas whisper that Stuart was going to be angry with him, and that he hates when he gets mean.
Stiles winced sympathetically as he knew that he could hear everything Thomas was saying.
"We're almost there, Thomas," Stuart called, clearing his throat and not showing any signs that he had heard his injured brother, "Just a few more minutes, you're gonna be okay."
Thomas blinked slowly at the voice, seemingly unsure of where it came from. He looked around before his eyes settled on his younger brother behind the wheel. "Stiles?" he asked, a frown on his face.
"Yeah? What is it, Thomas?" Stiles answered, holding the shirt tight to the back of his brother's head.
"Was Stuart always there?"
Stiles's eyes widened at the question. "Stuart, you better speed up."
"On it."
"Okay, I've called Melissa, she's going to meet us out front and they're going to bring him in, she said we can't go with him though," Stiles babbled, locking his phone and dropping it into his lap.
"Thomas, just stay awake for a few more minutes, we're nearly there," Stuart called, reaching a hand back and pulling at his brother's arm.
Stiles frowned worriedly at the quiet grunt in reply. "You know we're going to have to tell Dad, right? Melissa knows now and she's definitely going to tell him."
"I know, we'll call him after they stitch Thomas up," Stuart growled, gripping the steering wheel even tighter.
There was a mumble from Thomas as he tried to roll over in the back seat and a groan as he found he was tangled in seatbelts. "Sit still, Thomas, you're going to hurt your head," Stiles called softly.
There was a whimper before the sound of sick splattering onto the floor mats filled the Jeep.
"Oh, that's gross," Stiles mumbled, rolling the windows down.
As Stuart watched Thomas being wheeled in through the front door of the hospital, he sighed in relief as he knew that he would be taken care of. He watched as Stiles turned around and ran a hand through his hair, climbing back into the Jeep.
Stuart restarted the engine as he slowly pulled off to find a parking space. Stiles opened his mouth to speak, but Stuart cut him off. "I'm sorry. For what I said, I mean. I was just stressed about Thomas."
"Everyone's stressed about Thomas," Stiles laughed, "It's okay, though, I know you didn't mean it. You were just feeling guilty."
"I mean it though, you were good with him today," Stuart said, quietly.
"What? Me? No, you were amazing. If it was just me, I'd probably still be sat on the lawn, panicking over the amount of blood coming out of his head." Stiles sighed before continuing. "When did you stop being the little brother?"
Stuart raised an eyebrow. "You do realise that I'm only 27 minutes younger than Thomas?"
Stiles rolled his eyes, "No, I get that, it's just that you were always the annoying brother who didn't want to play football and only wanted to play on his computer," Stuart chuckled. "But you were really good out there today."
Stuart sighed as he pulled into the parking space and slumped against the seat. "Thanks, Stiles. That actually means a lot. Come on, we better go in and see if he's okay."
"Wait." Stiles stopped him from opening the car door.
Stuart frowned at the look of sheer panic on his brother's face.
"Which one of us is going to tell Dad?"