Something Amiss (Hoodie x Reader)

Eighteen: Bloody Hell

"LET GO OF HER, YOU FUCKING-" You flinched violently as Harry lurched forwards towards you, a vicious blur of red.

Hoodie pulled you back a step, pushing your body behind his slightly. "Grab him." He uttered the command at a moment's notice, and Harry was suddenly being contained by a much larger black form, long arms encircling his bloody torso, scalpel being pressed to his already lightly engraved throat.

Harry let out a grunt of rage, thrashing but unable to break free from E.J. - the man was strong. E.J. wrestled him backwards away from you, his black boot kicking the front door closed with one calculated movement.

You should have been thrashing around as well, trying to get to your brother. You knew you should have, a part of you really fucking wanted to run to him. But he was covered in blood, holding a bloody knife, pupils dilated with rage. After everything you'd been through, your trauma wouldn't let you do anything but stand and stare, whimpering as tears streamed down your face.

Hoodie pushed you behind him completely, and you didn't have the fight in you to resist his touch. You let him manhandle you backwards a few steps, until your back was firmly against the wall. Leaving you there, he began to stalk towards Harry. Click - to your increased horror, he flicked the safety off as he went.

You wanted to scream at Hoodie not to shoot him. Scream at E.J. to let him go. Scream at Harry to just fucking run. But some irrational part of your brain was telling you no. All three men before you were scary, dangerous, and wielding deadly weapons. Relative, friend, or stranger - it all felt the fucking same to you in your daze. Survival mode was an impenetrable glass wall behind your helpless vision.

"You should have run, Harold."

The sound of the voice changer felt like a bucket of ice water to your senses. If you weren't panicked before, you were fucking feral right now. Feral, but, unable to will yourself to move - beyond sliding down the wall, a pathetic little girl.

Harry growled at Hoodie as he approached. You'd never heard such a sound from him, not even playfully. You'd never seen him so viscerally angry. Behind his eyes, there was only rage and pure madness. When Hoodie was close enough, he hacked a glob of saliva into his mask. Which didn't do very much, considering it was a mask.

You didn't know if the spit angered Hoodie, or if he did it out of pure efficiency - but the man brought the side of his gun down across Harry's cheekbone with a crack. Harry screamed, thrashing in E.J.'s unbreakable grip. You sobbed.

"Calm down."

In the semi-friendly interactions you'd had with Hoodie, you'd almost forgotten what he was like when he went business mode. He addressed Harry with the same careless apathy he had treated you, when all this first began. There was no playfulness behind that voice changer.

"Let me get to my FUCKING SISTER!" Harry spat. The only thought you could muster, was that you didn't want a man that angry anywhere near you - especially not one holding a fucking knife.

"The police will have followed you here, Harold." Hoodie took another step towards Harry, blocking him from your view. "Do you understand what that means for you?"

"I didn't fucking kill Jade. Fuck you."

​​​​​​​Hoodie ignored him, "My suggestion to you now would be to hand yourself in."

"​YOU MOTHERFUCKERS FRAMED ME!"

You could see hoodie shake his covered head. "By framing you and not killing you, I gave you the opportunity to run." Harry lurched towards the man again, Hoodie seamlessly whacking him across the face with another crack. "An opportunity, which you did not take."