You're armed, I'm dangerous - Larry Stylinson

7

Harry pushed his hair back into a bun from where it had fallen out while he was fighting one of the douchebags. Merited he had snuck into a gang house but that did not mean they could tamper with his hair, that's drawing the line. So naturally, death is justified.

Ok, maybe that's a tad extreme, but the guy stabbed him too. Harry swore the other guy started it.

He sighed, glad that Raven hadn't shown up like the last nine assignments he had done over the previous two months.

Harry held a hand to his lower ribcage and groaned in frustration, deciding he really should have worn his armour and not just jeans a white t-shirt and a mask, but he didn't so here he was. Only mildly bleeding out.

The dark colour was seeping through the shirt alarmingly quickly, so he tucked into a small corner room and froze upon seeing another figure crouched in the shadows at the back of the room.

"Shit."

The other man's head jolted up. "Ah, Saving Grace. Thought I'd be seeing you here." Harry groaned, "I hoped I wouldn't be seeing you here." Speaking took a lot more effort than it should.

He turned so the man in front of him could see the dark colour soaking his shirt. His chest rising and falling more rapidly, how he was beginning to drift. The room was getting slightly blurry; the medical part of his brain promptly informed him that he was probably going to bleed to death quite soon if he didn't receive medical attention. How helpful.

Faster than he had thought possible the other man was directly in front of him, reaching for him before Harry could protest, one hand lightly grazing his cheek before clutching his shoulder, the other hovering over the wound, unsure, eyes scanning for any other injuries.

"Who did this to you?" The little of his face he could see above the mask had gone from playful to steely in a split second, what Harry noted to be almost rage consuming his features.

"Who - and why, why were you stupid enough not to wear your damn armour?"

Harry paused, trying not to sway too much. "I wasn't planning on fighting anyone." He was beginning to feel lightheaded, and he was pretty sure there was blood dripping off his hand where it was pressed to the wound.

He extended his arm to hold himself up against the wall and then slowly sank down to rest his back against it.

Louis shook his head to himself, hesitating. There was the enemy's best weapon, weak and bleeding out at his feet. He should let him die, he really should. The idiot had come into a gang house without his armour and seemingly only one defensive weapon judging from the holster on his waist. And yet. Thinking of him gone made Louis want to tear the world to pieces. So that wouldn't be happening.

Before the rational part of his brain had time to contribute, he reached into one of the (many) pockets hidden in his suit and pulled out a roll of bandages and some antiseptic.

Harry let his head loll sideways to look at him as he fumbled to redo the button on the hidden pocket. "What are you doing?" His voice was hoarse. Louis sighed and knelt beside him, moving him so that his back was resting in his lap. "Saving your fucking life, obviously." Harry coughed, wincing as his lungs moved.

"Why?"

"Cos you're a fucking idiot apparently," he muttered as he brushed a stray curl out of Harry's face, noting how his eyes were unfocused and hazy with pain. Whoever had done this was going to fucking pay.

Moving quickly, he pushed Harry's bloody shirt up far enough to uncover the wound. The blood wasn't black, he'd live if he got medical attention. He retrieved the antiseptic from the floor, trying to use his other arm to support Harry's neck.

"This might sting."

Harry wanted to retort that duh, he had 4 years of medical training, he knew what antiseptic was, but his body wouldn't quite cooperate with his brain. He hissed in response to the antiseptic when Louis applied it without further warning. "Don't be a baby". His voice was still soft and comforting.

"Hurts." He managed through gritted teeth. Louis let out a little laugh of stress. "It's not that bad." Harry squirmed a little, "Says the one without a stab wound."

"Not my fault, is it?"

He pulled his dark gloves off and took Harry's gloves off as well since they were soaked in blood. He dodged looking at the size difference in their hands.

Louis pulled the bandage tightly around Harrys ribs, "That'll do for now." When Harry didn't respond, he looked up to the other boy's face, now noticing that the taller boys' eyes had slipped closed.

"Well, I assume you got the guy anyway," he tugged out the small tile tucked into Harry's glove, "Mitch?"

"Yes, Louis?" Louis' eyes widened "What?"

"Your fingerprints are in the system now. What can I do?"

Louis rubbed a hand over his face. "Ehm, two things: first, did Harry complete the mission and second can you calculate the fastest and easiest way out of here?"

The tile beeped, "The mission was completed and the easiest way out of the building is down the left upstairs corridor and out the first-floor window fire escape." Louis nodded. "Okay," He slipped the chip into his pocket as well as Harry's gloves. He tidied up his stuff making sure to disinfect the area before slipping his gloves back on.

Harry was still leant up against the wall and Louis looked down at him hoping the body would give him an answer.

"The hell am I going to do with you?"

Louis caved and picked Harry up putting as little strain on the wound as he could.

And if the building burned down only hours later and the gang leader mysteriously disappeared, then it was nobody's business.

At least blood stains aren't too obvious on black fabric.