What are Friends For [part 3]

Daaron's father was an abusive man with just enough money and power to pay off anyone who came sniffing around inquiring about Daaron's well-being when he showed up at school with bruises and broken limbs. The only person who actually knew about Daaron's father and what he did, was Emmit, and since childhood he'd treated Daaron in silence, playing doctor to the stoic silver-headed boy.
The two had been friends since third grade, when Daaron had saved Emmit from a bunch of bullies who where on the verge of beating the small boy up, and they'd become nearly inseparable when suddenly, in 9th grade, Daaron disappeared without so much as a goodbye. His father still lived in the same old house, and it came to light later that Daaron had gone away without his father's permission, because the older man had sent out squads of people looking for him, but every search turned up inconclusive. Daaron was gone.
Now, years later, he's grown much taller and stronger, yet for some reason, he still lets his father get to him, and the result was a years worth of yelling to come home to.
Emmit easily slips back away from his hatred into an easy caretaker sort of role, his compassion for his old friend outweighing the fact that he'd spent several years completely alone, having to move on past the friend he'd been told to assume dead.
"I can't do anything right here. What do you want me to patch you up with, my homework?" His tone brings Daaron away from his thoughts and he looks down with raised eyebrows
"I mean, wouldn't that be a good excuse for not doing it? 'Oh sorry teacher, I had to stop the bleeding on Daaron with my math, that's why it's not done'. I bet your teachers would love that."
"I didn't miss this at all." Emmit grumbles in response, shaking his head. "I thought I told you to shut up." He heaves a heavy sigh like he's deciding to do something against his best wishes. "Look, I can't do anything here. You'll have to come back to my house if you want help. And you can stay there one night until you're better. One. But then you're gone again. Fair?"
Daaron grimaces and hangs his head, but his shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. "Do I have much of a choice?"
"Not really, no."