The Brother I Never Wanted (Larry AU)

Chapter 6

Louis spits out a mouthful of dirt and grass for about the sixth time since practice started thirty minutes ago, his ribs aching and abused from collision after collision with the ground. He accidentally bit his tongue when he went down, and now there's a painful warm throbbing along the bone of his jaw that tells him he's not going to look pretty tomorrow. A groan leaves his parted lips as he rolls over onto his back, teeth grinding when his busted knee knocks against the cold, hard earth.

God, everything hurts. He's been pushed around before, but never to this extreme. It seems like every single player on the team is on edge -- high-strung and extra anxious about the semifinals coming up, and now they're aiming all that pent up aggression at their gay captain to show off for the coach.

They actually think that they have a chance of swaying Coach into rearranging the layout that Louis knows he already made and is dead set on executing. It's laughable really. He would be laughing if he wasn't already preoccupied writhing around in pain. They'll have to do much more than slide tackle into Louis' shins every time he has the f*****g ball to make him change his mind.

Louis sits up slowly, wheezing - one hand pressed to his chest to ease the burn. Looking down, he's able to make a good assessment of the amount of damage inflicted upon him.

Cleat marks run up and down his thighs - even beneath the fabric of his football shorts - and based on the fire trailing across his skin, he has some on the back of his calves too. Scratches and turf burns mingle among the marks to lead up to his mutilated knee, colored green from the grass. The skin on his knee is split. It's cut fairly deep, blood dripping profusely and oozing down his leg in red streaks. f**k. He's going to be out for at least a couple of days.

He brings a shaky hand down to touch it tenderly, gasping in agony as the sting spreads through his whole leg. There's absolutely nothing healthy about this scrape. There's small bits of gravel and dirt wedged into his flesh, and his skin is already turning purple. It's got an infection written all over it.

The coach's whistle blasts through the air. "Tomlinson! Why are you still down? Come on, let's go!"

Tears prick at the back of his eyes when he realizes he can't get back up. Not by himself. Every time he puts even the slightest bit of pressure on it, he whimpers pathetically and plops back down again. He feels frustrated. Completely and utterly humiliated and weak for not being able to stand in front of his own teammates. And the wind keeps blowing his bangs into his eyes, plastering them flat across the side of his face and irritating him further so he has to push it back.

"I c-can't, sir!" He yells back, voice only wavering a little. "My knees busted."

A hand reaches down for him to take, and with a grunt, he's hauled painfully to his feet. Louis may or may not have screamed softly, eyes scrunched and teeth grating. "f**k," he growls. The hand holding his hand slides across his back and loops around his waist, the other tossing Louis' limp arm around his shoulder. The embrace is warm and tight, and he's blessed with a comforting feeling. He gives the shoulder a thankful pat, meeting sad light blue eyes as he thrusts all his weight onto his one good foot. He smiles weakly.

Coach reaches them within seconds, finishing scribbling a note on his clipboard before glancing up. "Tomlinson, I don't have time -" He immediately cuts off at the sight of his knee, face paling. Whether that's because he just lost his captain for at least a couple of days or because he doesn't like blood, Louis doesn't know. "Never mind. You're not fine then." He licks his lips nervously, clicking his pen. He clearly wasn't planning for this to happen. "Alright, Tomlinson. Here's what's going to happen. Go sit on the bench for the rest of practice . . . Horan, you get the first aid kit and fix him up. We'll rest you as long as you need - drink plenty of fluids and get some rest. If it's better on Thursday, I encourage you to try and play. A team isn't a team without its captain. We need you back out there as soon as possible."

Louis nods obediently, and Niall helps him hobble off the field. He makes a face upon seeing the metal bench. He can practically already feel his thighs numbing again. He doesn't want to sit. It's way too f*****g cold for that. He wants to be out on the field, running and keeping up his body temperature.

A huff leaves Niall's lips as he carefully lowers him onto the seat. He looks almost disappointed. There's that wrinkle in his brows that he always gets when he's displeased. It's a look that mixes genuine concern with an 'I told you to get help, but you didn't listen to me'.

Again, Louis is left feeling that guilt build. It settles like a heavy rock in his stomach and pounds on his insides till he swears he's going to throw up. He hates disappointing people he cares about. It makes him feel so worthless, so dirty. And he hates that he always seems to be the one causing it.

Niall drags the case from under the bench, the whistle once again going off to continue play on the field. Louis kind of half-watches the scrimmage. His eyes only really track the movements of one player when he's not watching Niall's careful hands on his skin. He looks good. Louis not afraid to admit it because in that moment Niall's not watching . . . and Harry's not watching. So is it really that bad to admire the sweaty curls clinging to the back of his neck or the way the borrowed uniform conforms around his biceps and hips? It's not bad when no one knows about it, right? Harry halts when the ball is in the goal, puffing out a breath and ruffling his entire head of hair, shoving the stringy strands out of his eyes; then he glances down, notices his boot is untied and bends to redo the knot. He honestly doesn't even notice when he leans forward a little until Niall de-caps the can with a shrug outside of his vision, giving him no warning before spraying his wound.

He screams in shock, trembling hand gripping around his wound. "Holy f*****g s**t!" His whole leg throbs violently, and he wants to kick Niall with his cleats. "Ow. You could've given me a heads up. Jesus."

The Irish boy simply lets his lips curl smugly. He knows that Louis wasn't paying attention to what he was doing, and Louis hates the way he's gazing at him. Like he knows exactly what he's distracted by. God, is he that readable? He thought Niall wasn't watching. The bandage wrap is taken out next, Niall unwinding it around his fingers.

"I don't see why you're so hung up on this stepbrother thing," he comments truthfully. "If you told me I was getting a stepbrother, I'd be thrilled. I wouldn't automatically assume that he's an asshole just because he's hot . . . Don't even try to deny that - you're drooling."

Louis fish-mouths in disbelief, lips parting and closing again. He is not drooling. "I didn't assume anything. I was being pleasant. He was the one who acted bitchy."

Niall is unconvinced. "I think you both are acting rather unreasonably. You guys act like its the end of the world to be placed under the same roof. If anything, you should be honored to experience finally having a sibling to look after. You said that you've always wished you had someone who could understand yourself better than you do. Maybe he can be that person. He can be like the little brother you never had."

"More like the little brother I never wanted," Louis grumbles under his breath before clearing his throat and speaking louder. "It's a mutual hatred. We just like to push each other's buttons. Nothing more, nothing less. Isn't that what siblings do? Besides . . . I already have you."

He shakes his head, patting the finished bandage and looking into his eyes. Louis' leg feels stiff and immobile, barely even shifting when Niall touches it. "You two take sibling rivalry to the next level, and you're not even related. One of these days, one of you is going to say or do something really horrible to the other and regret it." He sighs dramatically, sitting back on his heels. "You should at least try to get along with him. He's probably just upset about having to move to a new town. Let him warm up a little bit first."

Louis knows that Niall is right. He usually is about these kinds of things. He really should give him a chance. But he's afraid of what he'll do if they actually get close. He gets so flustered and useless whenever he's near, and his mind always wanders back to when they met at the coffee shop when he flashed him that flirty, cheeky grin that made his insides flush. If he wasn't going to be his stepbrother, he might even be a little flattered. Okay . . . A lot flattered. But they are going to be related by marriage and that's too f*****g weird. That'd be like incest. He licks over his lip.

"I'll give it a shot," he says timidly. If it will make Niall feel a little bit better, then he's willing to try. Only for Niall though. If anyone else were to ask him, he'd probably punch them. "I'm not expecting much though."

Niall stands from his crouched position and wraps his arm around him again to pull him to his feet. He can't move his knee at all with the bandage wrapped so snuggly, but he can kind of limp with Niall's shoulder to lean on. Louis' hand squeezes his shoulder as he leans over to kiss his soft cheek, his facial muscles constricting under Louis' lips as he talks. "Trying is all I'm asking for, Lou. I love you. I just want what's best for you. And I think having a brother will be good for you."

Louis keeps his face close to the side of Niall's cheek, taking advantage of the slight heat to warm his nose and exhales softly. "You're the best, you know that?"

"Damn right."

He giggles quietly, but his eyebrows soon scrunch as he sees the expression on Niall's face. Niall's eyes are trained to the left - not even looking at him, and Louis attempts to look over his head but fails. His head lifts slightly to put his mouth near Louis' ear. "Uh oh. Don't look now, but I think someone's a little jealous."

Louis looks anyway, pushing Niall's head down so he can see. The hopeful feeling fluttering in his stomach is confirmed when he witnesses emerald irises flick over him irritably, darting away quickly when he's caught. It's such a casual and smooth move as he jogs breezily past the sideline that Louis genuinely believes Niall imagined the whole thing. But, come to think of it, since when is he on this side of the field?

"Don't be ridiculous," he brushes off. "Harry doesn't give a shit." Niall looks like he's going to argue, but Louis tugs on his shirt impatiently, limping faster so he's forced along towards the locker rooms. "Just drop it. I want to get changed so I don't die of hypothermia, and I can't do it alone."

Niall groans good-naturedly, not really all that upset. Louis knows he'll do anything for him. Even if it means helping him change. "f**k you."

"Love you too, Ni."