Reason To Be (A Zouis Family AU)

Part Four, Chapter Eight

He would never act such a way if he were alone with Brad. But right now, he has to take care of his little brother; and he doesn't trust Brad with him. He hardens his glare almost threateningly as he leads Niall down the hall and into their bedroom, letting go of the small boy for barely a few seconds to close the door and flick on the lights.

Niall hasn't looked up properly yet, arms wrapped firmly around himself, water dripping in thick rivulets from his clothes and into the carpet beneath his feet, shivers wracking his small frame. His hair is so saturated that it appears dark, plastered to his forehead and creating estuaries over his temples and cheeks. He sniffles pitifully, and Harry feels his heart ache again.

He doesn't speak until he's reached into his wardrobe and pulled out his smallest pair of joggers and a hoodie, turning to look down at the boy with his brows pinched together in sympathy; inside, his heart is still thrumming with the knowledge that Brad is still on the other side of the closed door, likely the angriest he's ever been. His tongue darts out subconsciously to run over the raised split in his lower lip.

"Ni, I'm so sorry. I know I said I would be there, and I let you down. You needed me and -"

Niall shakes his head and hiccups out a raspy sob, wrapping his arms around himself tighter as he stares down at the floor. "No, it's me. I'm all - I'm all wrong. It's not - it isn't you, Haz, I-I don't know what's wrong with me," he chokes out, voice trembling.

Harry winces at that, tongue heavy in his mouth as he tries to search for the right thing to say. He turns his attention to warming the younger kid up instead.

"Take your clothes off, Ni, just dump 'em on the floor. I've got my thickest hoodie here, yeah? That'll warm you up," he says softly, setting the clothes down in the edge of the bed and hurrying across to the en suite to grab a towel.

By the time he gets back into the room, Niall is shirtless, just pulling on the joggers and trying to synch in the waist band using the drawstrings, only his hands are trembling too much to tie them.

He crosses over to lend a stabler hand (though his own body is wracked with anxious tremors that never seem to go away fully), stopping with a sharp intake of breath when he sees the insides of his brother's uncovered arms. Harsh red lines run vertically from his wrist to half-way along his forearms, some scabbed and others slightly raised and fresh with the skin unbroken.

His heart hammers in his chest even harder, tears stinging the backs of his eyes that he desperately tries to blink away because crying isn't going to stop the situation.

It kills him to know that his brother has been harming himself, whether that has been his intention or not. He never wants to see any sort of mark on the skin of someone that he's supposed to look out for and protect.

He's failed him.
Just like he's failed himself by staying with Brad.
Maybe he failed Brad too, somewhere along the line, in a way that caused him to grow so violent.

"Let - let me help," he manages to force out, and Niall still doesn't look up at him, head ducking until his chin is almost on his chest as he lets out another sob.

Blinking away his tears is growing harder by the second, and his own vision blurs as he reaches out to take the drawstrings of the joggers and tugs on them gently, tying a knot to secure them in place around the smaller boys narrow hips.

Without intending to, his hands move to take Niall's arms, wrists facing upwards. His thumbs ghost over the marks, making Niall cry a little harder. And god, he wishes he could take his hurt away; he'd put it all upon himself if it were an option.