The Gifts -Narry & Ziam- (AU) *Completed*

Chapter 9; Day IIII

Chapter 9; Day IIII

“Zayn, spread your wings for us.”

The cold metal bed pressed against Zayn’s chin. His arms fell limp at his sides, blood trailing its way down his hands and dripping onto the white-tiled ground. It was horrifically beautiful as Zayn unraveled his wings, a scream ripping from his lungs as someone hits him in the square of his back. The white wings were dotted with violently red blood, it was sick and twisted and gruesome. It was so grotesque it was majestic. It was nothing more and nothing less than killer beauty.

Hands on his wings. The images all came to him fuzzily, a needle entering the skin inside of his elbow. Laughter. A crack of thunder so loud it made his bones shake. Niall’s piercing scream. The sound of his fists against a wall. Nothing was tethering him down, he was safe and free. Wind in his hair and air in his lungs, clouds white and wet on all sides, the taste of his excited shout on his lips.

Then came the falling.

Wind rushing past his ears, slicking back his hair, forcing his mouth into a silent scream of terror. A burst of rain drops as he plummets through a cloud. The trees becoming visible. Then Liam’s there.

“Zayn! Spread your wings, save me!” He screamed, wind-milling his arms desperately. His fingers stretched towards Zayn’s. Zayn stretched, desperate, his wings twitching, unresponsive. The street was to close, he could see a woman walking her dog, big expanses of grass. A light post and a police officer dressed in blue on a street corner with a crying child. “Zayn! Please! Please! I love you!” Liam shouted, big eyes looking frighteningly at the ground. Zayn opened his mouth to reply, urged his wings open, but nothing worked. Time stopped, his heart stopped, Liam struck pavement. His head smashed against black-top, his jaw unhinging, his skull crumpling like a deflated balloon. His body twisted, his limbs bent at  unnatural angles, lying dead in a pool of his own essence. His mouth open in a never ending scream of pain and rejection. Zayn’s wings opened, pulling him up as his boot tapped the ground.

He tried to pull them in, to land soft and safe and save Liam, who looked like a puppet with too many broken pieces in too many directions to count, but his wings refused him again. They carried him up-up-up and never stopped.

A doctor nodded, an assistant plunging a small needle into the bulging vein on Zayn’s neck. His thrashing calmed, his wings rolled in on themselves like a rug, snores spilling from his swollen, bloody lips.

The doctor made notes on a small yellow legal pad.

~….~

Two men and a woman sat in plush spiny chairs, watching a large T.V. propped on a coffee table in front of them. They watched intently as Niall Horan lost his mind and tried to find it once again.

“My name is Niall James Horan.” Niall stated, trying to get the simple facts out first. His brain was jumbled, and he hated the feeling of needing to organize everything again. It was like he had a filing cabinet for a brain and someone had scattered the papers.

“My mom’s name is Maura and my dad’s name is Bob. My brother’s name is Greg.”  He tapped his knee caps with his fingers. His head bobbed along with a wordless tune only he could hear.

“My mom died in a car accident. My dad beat me and was a heartless alcoholic. It wasn’t long ago that he got arrested.” Niall paused, counted something out on his fingers and said, “Seven years. It was seven years ago. I was nine when they came and took me away from him. I don’t know anything about my brother. Maybe he got housed.” Niall shrugged. He lost his train of thought. Green eyes and curly hair. Dirt under his nails. A throbbing pain in his fingers. What?

“I dyed my hair when I was eleven to be closer to my mum. I came out when I was thirteen. I’ve been to at least thirteen different homes and this is the only one I’ve stayed at for more than seven months.” He thought of the color of the sun. Was it orange, or yellow? How hot was the sun exactly? Nothing but silence rung in his head along with his right ear. His toes were cold. He needed to shower. His tummy rumbled. Who said what now?

He forced his mind back to the here and now.

“I….” Green eyes. Green hair? Spirals. Curls? Lips. Lips. Lips. Only one thing made sense.

“Harry?” This was the beginning of a never ending mantra.

“Harry?” Silence.

“HARRY?” Nothing.

~…~

Shouting, stabbing pain in Liam’s temples.

“Help!” Someone shouts. “Harry?” Someone screams. His chest lurches. His head pounds. His tongue thickens. His hands and feet are made of lead. The room is crushing his chest. He can’t breathe.

“Help!” Someone shouts again. Nothing make sense. It’s dark. He’s surrounded by walls. His knees clank together.

“Help!” The same desperate yodel. Liam wants to get out desperately. The room is too cold, and too tight. There’s no air.

“Help!” He realizes that it is his own mouth forming those words.  He wants Zayn. He wants his mommy. He’s wet himself like a child with no self control. He’s crying. Snot bubbles. Make it stop. Pleasepleasepleaseplease. Make it stop. There is no ending.

Only no air and darkness and his screams.

A man watches Liam James Payne go insane inside of a black spray painted phone booth.

~…~

Lightning strikes. Thunder booms. Thunder rolls. Thunder claps. Electricity sparks in the room.

Louis looks at his glowing, sparkling hands. The room is on fire.

A man is clapping his hands and shrieking in glee.

Louis palms erupt white fire once again, arching high towards the ceiling. The whole room shakes with the powerful strike and pitter of thunder.

Louis learns he doesn’t have a lame power at all.

~…~
Harry patted himself up and down. He was not bruised. He was not  bloody. He was in his pj’s. Harry chose waffles.