'Come on baby, don't fear the reaper
Baby take my hand, don't fear the reaper'
*
'Shit, shit, shit!' I yell out as I watch the blood pour from his wound. Yet again I am covered in the claret of someone I value in my life. Another person injured because of my existence.
It's good that he's awake and coherent, but I can tell just how much pain Harry is in. Every time I place pressure over his stomach his jaw clenches and a sharp breath is sucked in. Despite this, he's remaining as quiet as possible so not to attract any attention from the London tourists. The last thing we need is a scene, even I know that.
Instead, I tend to him myself with as much caution and silence as I can, but in my head is a ringing that completely clouds my senses. That same dull sound that called out the moment I found Joe's body. That day it was like time froze and I was stuck in an alternate reality. I'd convinced myself that it was all just a nightmare I would awake from, but unlike the princesses in fairy tales, no kiss could wake me from this. Real life cannot be so easily solved by a knight in shining armour.
My fist connects with the side of the van, banging a few times to grab George's attention. We're in no position to ask the others for help, so for now it's just us three as we try to mend the damage that has been inflicted today. After a few attempts the back door finally opens and he stumbles out, eyes latching onto my own before scanning down to the injured man below. As he processes the scene in front of him I watch all colour drain from his face. I wonder if he's ever found himself in a situation like this since joining the Municipal. Part of me prays he hasn't so he can maintain the last pieces of innocence that he holds onto.
George steps closer cautiously, almost as if his movements will make the ground cave in and we'll all fall to our demise. I understand his fear, but I need another set of hands if we're going to get Harry to safety. I look up at him with wide eyes, nodding my head to the side to indicate my need for him. He just stays cemented in his spot, completely thrown off by what he's seeing. 'George, please, I need help,' I beg while keeping my tone as calm as possible.
His eyes trail up to mine while his mouth remains open wide. I can tell he has so many questions, but nothing is able to come out. He's completely paralysed. I know that feeling all too well, but now is not the time for it.
Harry grunts underneath me, trying to squirm away from my grasp as I increase my pressure over one of the wounds. The problem is there are so many littered across his stomach that I don't have the power to ease the bleeding on all of them. I feel helpless, which can only mean this won't end well. I'm not strong enough to keep him alive despite how badly I want him to live.
I hadn't even realised my hands had started shaking until Harry lightly grasps them to ease my panic. Even though he's the one that's been injured, he still feels the need to look after me. I have to be that person for him. 'Atlas, it's ok, breathe,' he tells me, voice barely above a whisper. He's managed to open his eyes, but they quickly close again when he shuffles slightly to try and sit up higher so we're eye level. I immediately move my hands from his and place them on his shoulders to stop him.
I shake my head at his words, refusing to accept his attempts to comfort me at a time like this. 'I should be telling you to breathe,' I say with a deep swallow. I can feel a lump in my throat that only grows by the second. 'I don't know what to do, tell me what to do,' I plead when his eyes meet mine again.
His chest is heaving up and down at such a rapid rate, I worry that he'll send himself into an anxiety attack if he doesn't ease it soon. 'You need to get me in the van first, ok?' he speaks, hands over some of the deeper wounds. Blood streams out between his fingers, soaking his shirt further and pooling on and between his legs. It only reminds me of the last time I dealt with someone in this position. 'George, come over here buddy,' he calls out, understanding the young man is still stood watching us.
I hear footsteps sound next to me, timid ones that barely place any pressure on the concrete. 'I'm sorry, I should have heard, I should have listened,' he begins apologising whole he grips his hair and tugs at the roots. I've never seen him in such a panicked state before, but I know he feels guilty for being inside the vehicle the whole time while Harry was being attacked.
Harry tries to sit up again, only managing a few centimetres until his body tells him to stop. 'Enough of that mate, just help Atlas get me inside the van and then take me to my place, alright?' he orders, managing to carry the same weight of authority that's always in his voice despite the pain he's in.
George finally joins us on the floor, but he tries to keep his distance from the blood that has gathered around Harry. While I willingly jumped into it, he remains afraid of it. If only he could feel the terror that's coursing through my own at the moment. Both of us reach our hands behind Harry's shoulders, lifting him ever so slightly to try and make it easier to stand. There are no materials here for us to place him on, so he'll have to rise to his feet if we can get him inside the vehicle. I'm not sure it's even possible at this point. On our first attempt, his body collapses the minute we lift his backside off the ground.
I step back for a moment, looking down at the weakened figure as I try to weigh up his options. We still need something to gather the blood as we carry him otherwise the pressure of standing may cause the flow to increase. Instantly, I pull the cardigan off my body and bring the arms around Harry's waist to tie it. It's not much, but at least it will stop the trail that'll follow behind us. Once inside I can actually put more force behind it.
He gives me a quick nod, acknowledging my process, then tries himself to stand. Again, it's no use. The more he tries the louder his cries of pain get. We need to quiet him until we're inside the vehicle, otherwise someone will hear. If we contact the team, the whole robbery could be thrown out the window. They'll lose their composure and come running to their leader, that is a given.
The only thing I can think of to silence him is more clothing, so I pull my shirt out from my skirt, and begin ripping the fabric until I have a long strip. The men stare up at me, one with confusion, the other with gratitude. I bend down so I'm eye level with Harry again, holding the material out to him. 'Put this in your mouth ok? It's going to hurt but we need to move you now or it will be too late.' He nods at my words, immediately pushing the fabric into his mouth. I see his jaw clench as he bites down on it. 'We'll fix this.'
I turn to George, moving my arms under Harry again while I wait for him to do the same. 'On the count of three,' I tell him, earning a hesitant nod in response. Before moving, I steady my breathing and make sure my grip is tightened and strong. Then I poise myself to move. 'One, two, three...'
As the number sounds both of us out all our might behind our movements, guiding Harry's body to stand. Instantly, I hear his cries, his body instinctively fighting it but between George and I we finally manage to get him to his feet. It's clear that he's weak, and it wouldn't surprise me if we have to drag him towards the vehicle, but reaching this step is good.
While I hate the sight of anyone in discomfort or agony, seeing Harry enduring it is particularly hard. Throughout the time that we've known each other, I have always been the one that's been picked up off the ground when things get too much. He's made me feel safe at every possible opportunity and I've revelled in it. Now, I am the one that needs to be protective, I am the person in this that needs to be strong. Yet, when I look at him and hear his affliction, I completely crumble.
Given how close we've gotten as of late, seeing him like this shatters my walls and makes me genuinely fear the future. If Harry doesn't make it, I'm not sure how I'll cope. It's silly how attached I've become, but it's somehow impossible to imagine my life without him in it. He's latched onto the routine of my days and evolved into a permanent resident, something I've always been hesitant with. The threat of him disappearing isn't an option. Not anymore.
As suspected, Harry's feet give way once we begin to move round the length of the van to the back door, George and I dragging his weight along. His muffled screams and shoes scratching across the concrete are all I hear. It's what I decide to focus on instead of the shrieking inside my head.
We keep our movements slow and steady, not wanting to cause anymore damage to the beaten soul, but the quicker we get him into this vehicle the better. There's only so long the day can go on without someone wandering down the street and catching us. Sure, there will be evidence left at the scene, but no one will know what's happened unless we let them.
Harry's head is hung low, like he's losing consciousness at the motion. I pinch at his skin a few times to try and keep him awake, his head whipping up when I finally slap at it harshly. If it weren't for the cloth in his mouth I know he'd berate me for it, but he'll thank me later. I soothe my hand on the arm he's draped over mine; any attempt to try and ease his weary mind. While I know he's no stranger to violence and aggression, it clearly doesn't get easier being a victim of it.
Eventually, the three of us reach the back door, halting for a moment while we adjust our positions so he can lay down. Gently, we turn him around so he's facing the both of us. On his face are streaks of claret, mixed with moisture that I know to be tears. I never thought I'd see the day that Harry Styles cries; I suppose that's what happens when you get stabbed several times. The both of us ease him down until his back is on the floor, then I jump up and crawl inside. Once by his head, I swiftly drag him closer to my knees by his shoulders so his feet are inside the van, which only earns me more yells of pain.
'You'll have to drive us there, George, get in the seat, now!' I call over to him. The doors immediately shut, only Harry and I in the van for a few seconds before George finally pulls himself into the driver's seat.
While he turns the engine on, I cross my legs and pull Harry's head into my lap. My hands smooth over his hair so it's out of his face, now finally able to get a proper look at his features again. I've always enjoyed studying his face, the small details that no one else would realise unless they look closely. There's some stubble around his chin and mouth that he's recently started growing out, the clean shaven look no longer attempted. I like him either way, but there's something alluring about a man with facial hair. I told him that this morning, I never imagined we'd end up here.
His eyes meet mine, a small smile on his cracked and dry lips when they do. I'd say I can't believe he's smiling right now, but it doesn't surprise me that he's finding humour in this situation. It's not as bright as the others I'm used to, clearly only done for the benefit of my own sanity, but the sight of it sends butterflies to my stomach.
'Can't say I'll be into knife play in the bedroom,' he teases, body jolting when he tries to laugh. I reach forward and place pressure on his stomach, my cardigan already soaked through. 'And now your boobs are in my face, this is turning out to be a good day.'
I wish I could laugh with him, but I can't. Seeing as the blood spills out of his wounds and stains my hands, it only brings me back to the same fear I felt after I shot Joe, and the moment of numbness I endured when I found his body. Now is not the time for laughing, despite how much he wants me too. There's no greater sound than his laugh, I think. It's louder than thunder and echoes across vast lands, haunting you in your dreams and your nightmares. The sound sticks with you, constantly ringing in your eardrums. When you watch him, that smile will remain painted in your brain or the rest of your life. Nothing compares to that sight or sound.
However, it's diminished compared to what I see now.
I quickly grab the bag of weapons and start pulling them out one by one until it's finally empty. Once done, I shuffle around to his side and gently place his head on the bag so it's not just laying flat on the floor. It won't bring much comfort, but it's something. My hands move back to their position on his stomach, pressing harder down on some of the cuts that are particularly deeper. That's all I can do right now. There's no way of telling how deep they are, or if they've sliced through anything important. I just need to keep him alive until we can find someone that knows what they're doing.
'Please, don't make this a joke,' I warn him. I refuse to meet his gaze; it won't bring me the same joy I usually feel when I look at him. I take a deep breath as the first tear falls from my eye without warning. I can't seem to control it, but once one trickles down a few more follow. It's not a sob, but the moisture is slow. 'I can't lose you too.'
I feel as his fingers delicately draw patterns on the skin of my arm, but it doesn't ease me. 'I'm not going anywhere, ok?'
I finally turn my head to look at him again and notice the worry on his face. This is ridiculous, he shouldn't be comforting me. 'You've weaselled your way into my life, and I never let that happen.' My teeth start to pull at the dry skin of my lips, almost scared to even speak like this. Being vulnerable isn't a particularly easy thing, that's probably why we only choose to show it when everything becomes fraught. 'If only I just told you to fuck off, I wouldn't be feeling like this. I wouldn't be sat here on the verge of a panic attack at the thought of you not being there. You've claimed residence, yet you can so easily pull away. It's not fair.'
My attention moves back down to my hands, the warm liquid coating them thoroughly. I move the cardigan around a bit so a dryer side is placed over the wound, but the entire thing is virtually soaked. I'll never get used to the feeling of it on my skin. Again, he tries to reach out and touch me, but I shake it away. He clears his throat to speak, but I fear the words that will leave his mouth. 'You've gone soft on me,' he breathes out.
The tone only frustrates me more. 'You're not allowed to die; you made a promise to me. You said you'd protect me and look out for me. You can't do that if you're dead so just stop with the jokes and start taking this seriously.'
The air around us is silent for a few minutes, neither one of us daring to speak after my orders. George looks over his shoulder a few times to make sure everything is alright, but as soon as he sees Harry is breathing he focuses back on the road. We're not too far away from his area, that much is clear. Through the windows I can see the streets of Hampstead nearing, the same wealthy families and residents lining the streets as always. It's not a long journey, probably one that would only take around twenty minutes on a good day, but I know George has gone over the speed limit behind that wheel.
'George, call Graham. He should be at mine soon after we arrive,' Harry asks, receiving a curt nod from his follower.
As George's conversation with the doctor begins, I allow myself to look into Harry's eyes again. I can't read his expression; it's entirely closed off to me. I wonder if my words have made him uncomfortable. Whatever is going on with us hasn't been established, but it would be idiotic to claim that feelings haven't entered the equation. Only now do I realise just how much I care about Harry, despite all my earlier disposition towards him.
I never expected to feel this way about a man that asked me to help steal a set of jewels, yet whenever I look at him I feel a pang in my chest that has never been caused by another. Even with Joe this feeling never occurred. At first, I had moments of affection and adoration, but nothing that matched up to the calamity that erupts when mine and Harry's eyes meet. I find myself thinking about him more and more, and no longer in solely sexual terms. No, this man has grown to mean something to me, and I'll be damned if I let him slip away before I've even figured out what that is.
Harry's hand comes out slowly and lightly caresses my cheek. Without even realising, I lean into his touch, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation. This shouldn't be happening. 'I thought you said you can protect yourself, little gem?' he speaks calmly, despite the evident pain he's experiencing. Perhaps he's become numb to it.
Hearing the nickname causes my heart to do the same summersaults it did the first time he called me it. 'Well, I've changed my mind.'
'Noted.'
It goes quiet again, my words lingering in the air. If I had superpowers I'd wish for mind reading so I could tell what he's thinking. Not knowing makes me panic. Maybe I've said too much. It could just be the fear of his death that caused them, but I know I meant what I said. I didn't expect to say them, but now they're out there, and I can't take them back.
After some time, he clears his throat again. I keep my eyes trained on the wounds, though. 'I don't think it's fatal, you know,' he states.
I shake my head at the absurdity of his words, entirely unconvinced. I have two eyes; I can see the damage that's been done. The amount of blood that has left his body is a testament to that. 'Don't be an idiot.'
He lets out a sigh, almost like he's trying to laugh but I whip my head in his direction and give him a warning glare to stop him. 'It wasn't their intent, Atlas,' he tells me, his hands now moving to his hair as it tangles with dried blood. 'I know who did it.' My eyebrows knit together in confusion at his words, but it doesn't surprise me that he'd know the perpetrators of the attack given his history with Hugo. 'Two people, one of them knocked me over the head and then the other stabbed me. She's a doctor, she knew what she was doing. If Emma wanted to kill me she would know exactly where to hit, just like I do. She went around those areas, never centred on them.'
The blood seems to contradict his statement, but he's the expert on stuff like this. Perhaps if the wounds haven't hit any major organs or arteries, but if we don't control the fallout then it will become fatal, whether he believes it or not. Whoever this girl is, Emma, I now have a personal vendetta against her.
'So, it was a warning then?' I question, remembering the folded photograph in my pocket that was left behind. Strike Two. What does it mean, though? Last time someone was killed, but this time Hugo has ordered that Harry doesn't die. What is the purpose of that?
The van starts to slow as we reach the gates of his residence, George hopping out quickly to unlock them after asking Harry for the code. 'He's closing in on us, I think. He knew we were there today, meaning someone told him. It would be too much of a coincidence otherwise.'
Immediately I rush through the names of everyone involved in this operation. The core team, and those behind the scenes. It could be anyone. Granted, not as many people knew the precise details of the plan, but it was still a group wider than our smaller circle. There's no way of knowing. Yet another problem to add to the list of things going wrong.
George hops back in again, driving the small distance towards the front of the house. Once outside, he runs back to the door and helps me with pulling Harry out. It's a lengthy process, neither one of us wanting to injure him anymore, but being gentle won't solve anything. We begin our journey up the steps, each one more difficult than the last, reaching the front door. As Harry goes to tell me the code, I instinctively punch it in, still recalling the times I've seen him do it before. 17364. I don't even allow him an opportunity to question it, immediately picking up my feet to move further into the house. He seems weaker than he did in the van, his breathing heavier and movements slower. It only causes further panic to arise.
We enter the dining room and walk toward the table, my arms reaching out and pushing the décor out the way so we can lay him down. If this doctor can help close his wounds, it will be best if Harry is kept on a flat surface. George rushes over to the sofa and grabs a pillow, carefully placing it under his head. My hands are still gripping onto the now cherry red fabric.
'George, check where Graham is, we need him here now,' I order, his body jumping slightly at my tone. I don't mean to scare him, but I'm not taking any chances right now. He finally nods, pulling his phone out and leaving the room while he speaks into the device.
It's just Harry and I again. I can tell how drained he is from how tightly he's been holding onto consciousness, but it's evident that he can't stay awake for much longer, not with how much blood he's lost. All colour has been drained from his cheeks, and his lips are paler than they normally are. It always shocks me how much someone can bleed out.
He coughs a little when a breath gets stuck in his throat, his hands grabbing onto mine at the pain it causes in his stomach. 'Please, just stay awake a little longer, I promise it won't be so bad,' I beg, pulling his hands away and placing a hard kiss on his knuckles. I'll do anything to keep him alive.
He mumbles some words, but they're barely legible. When I pull his eyelids back to try and find any sign of life, a smile cracks over his features. 'I just want to rest, it's painful getting stabbed,' he teases, but again I find no humour in his words. He winces slightly as more claret pools around him. Will the blood ever stop?
I fall to my knees and kneel next to him. The wooden floorboards hurt my shins, but I barely pay attention to them, only focused on his breathing. In this position, I could pray. I could place my hands together and call upon God to intervene and save this man's life, despite never speaking with him before. Maybe that would help. I've never been the type to pray, but Harry has given me something to believe in.
'I care about what happens to you, ok? I care that you're alive, you have to just hold on a bit longer.' At my words his hand rests on my shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze. 'I can't live my life without you in it, you hear me? It's not possible, not after what you've done.'
My head hangs low as I speak, but upon feeling his fingers play with the strands of my hair I look back up to him. A smile rests on his lips, but it's not as playful as the others. This one is entirely the opposite. It indicates that he's grateful, that my words are what he needed to hear. That's what I tell myself, anyway.
A stray tear escapes and slowly glides down my cheek. Once reaching my jaw, I feel it drop onto the bare skin of my chest exposed by undone buttons at the top of my shirt, streaming down my cleavage. 'Please, Harry. I can't do this on my own.'
His hand moves to my cheek, thumb wiping under my eye. 'The brightest diamond in the world.'
As his words sound, the door behind me opens. George frantically paces in, followed by another man I don't recognise. This must be Graham. He immediately places a bag down by Harry's head at the top of the table, eyes scanning over to my hands that rest on Harry's stomach. He gives me a quick nod, before removing them and beginning his examination of the wounds.
I back away slowly, walking into George. He looks just as worried as I am. 'You two can wait outside,' Graham tells us without turning around as he cuts Harry's shirt open to get a closer look. I catch a quick glimpse of them, instantly turning away at the sight.
My feet move towards the door, pulling George along with me. As we reach it, I turn back around once more, hoping this will not be the last time I see Harry alive. Graham turns around, eyes locking on mine. For a moment we hold contact; I only continue staring back because of the expression on his face. It's a look of surprise. His eyes are wide, mouth agape, while he searches the features of my appearance.
For a moment, it feels like he knows who I am, but I've never met this man before.
Now is not the time to question it, though. I give him a quick nod, glancing at Harry once more, his eyes now closed, then slowly exit the room and close the door.
Harry's life is in that man's hands, and there's nothing I can do about it.
-------
A/N: Another cliff hanger I KNOW
Thanks for 60k reads, it blows my mind that people are actually reading this story.