Blackout [Larry Stylinson]

1: Hell of a Pub

“Harry...” Anne breathed, holding onto Harry's hand as tight as she could considering how weak she was in this state, sprawled out under the white sheets of her hospital bed, her vision blurring out way too fast for her liking. She knew she was dying, but she didn't know her demise would come this soon, and there was still so much more she wanted to tell Harry. He was only fourteen.

The curly haired boy's eyes were glazed over with new tears, others had dripped down his cheeks already. He didn't know his mom was going to die. He knew how critical her condition was, but he had never known she would be dying right before his eyes. Death was something nobody wanted to experience, and Harry couldn't believe he was going to watch his own mother slip out of his grasp; the worst part was, he couldn't do anything about it.

“I want you to know-” Anne's voice was raspy, unlike her usual tone, which had always been gentle and caring towards her children. “I'll always love you, so much, your brother...” she took a breath, as if it was her last, as if she wouldn't be able to take another after this. The steady beeping of the machine behind her begged to differ. “Please take care of him, I know you'll do your best Harry... I love you-”

That was it. The machine stopped beeping, his mother's grasp fell, her eyelids dropped. That was the end.

“Mom, no,” Harry begged quietly, a harsh sob escaping the back of his throat as he tightened his digits around her hand, holding it close, kissing the knuckles more than a bunch of times. As if this was a Disney movie, as if a kiss would fix it all. Maybe his mother would wake up after a few more, maybe she was just taking a nap, maybe this movie would have a happy ending just like all the others. “Please...”

But this wasn't a movie, Harry realized, this was real life. And to be honest, life fucking sucked right then. It really did.

*~*~*

Two years ago. Harry's mother had died two years ago, leaving him and Niall alone to fend for themselves. Of course, they were forced to go into foster care, with all the other kids who had no parents. It was tragic, really, seeing how young the kids ranged from and what they were forced to put up with. The younger ones hadn't had happiness in a while, and Harry could see through them all, he could see how they were struggling to hold on.

Ron, a young boy from Bradford, had been sent to Holmes Chapel after he had caused complete havoc in his last foster home. The young boy was only ten and knew how to light his own blunt, which wasn't expected, but didn't really surprise Harry since he knew he had probably been through a lot having no parents to guide him through the rights and wrongs of life. It broke his heart.

Josh, another young boy who had been sent here when he was only four, didn't hang around all the other kids when they played or got read stories. He didn't socialize with them, choosing to mope in his own corner rather than talk to anyone for that manner. He had been in and out of therapy sessions, Harry heard, but they had all failed since the boy refused to open his mouth or even utter the simplest of words. It made Harry sad just thinking about it.

And there was Niall, Harry's younger brother. Bright, cheery, happy Niall. Harry knew that if it wasn't for him, Niall would probably be like all the other kids in this hell hole of a home, with nobody to look out for him and nobody to mend his little heart when it swelled. Niall looked up to Harry, and not only that, but he wanted to be like Harry. Well, he wanted to be like the Harry he knew. The Harry who would always play Legos with him and push him on the swing at the playground. The Harry who let him go to daycare and meet new friends and fed him when he didn't feel like picking up the spoon himself. The Harry who encouraged him to try new things and told him bedtime stories at night so he could sleep well. The Harry who always told him about their mother, and how nice she used to be.