Something Amiss (Hoodie x Reader)

Nineteen: Drowning

Trigger Warning: a lot of blood, no surprises there

You couldn't breathe. The fault of the shock, but only a little. Mostly, it was because you were being drowned.

You couldn't push his body off of you, from where he crushed your own form. Blood was gushing out of his wound and yours, a grotesque cocktail flooding into your mouth and nose. His head was on top of yours, matted hair tickling your forehead. He hadn't been breathing for at least thirty seconds, while you lay there immobilised and choking on the hot streams of red.

As poetic as it would have been to drown in your own kin's blood, you felt like your lungs had been set on fire. You didn't have the resolve to lie there complacently, couldn't let unconsciousness take you as blood loss and lack of oxygen fought to kill you first. You loved him and hated him, this was both of your faults and neither. And you wanted out from under him, the heavy bastard.

It took all your effort to form a scream, blood gargling in the back of your throat. It was Harry's, gushing down your windpipe, a punishment for what you had just done. Though you felt it may as well have been your own; what difference was there at the end of the day? Blood of my blood, as they say. You heaved, screaming pathetically, wriggling your lower body in violent jolts as you felt yourself going under.

Not. Like. This.

The weight was suddenly lifted from you, a strong pair of hands hauling Harry's corpse off and away. You couldn't see which one of them it was, your eyes tearing up and blurry from the hot, dark liquid that had splattered your irises as you had driven the knife into him. Rolling onto your front, you coughed and coughed and heaved blindly. It took a few rounds, but you eventually managed to haul in one heaving breath of oxygen. It wasn't enough. The scent of blood and musty carpet flooded your nose.

"Is she conscious?"

Hands were on the back of your shirt then, tugging you backwards across the soggy floor. You could only groan, struggling to breathe with yet more blood and spit trickling from the corner of your mouth. The carpet grated your exposed skin, digging fiery hot into the wounds on your shoulder and knee, both bleeding profusely.

"Yes."

Strong arms were wrapped around your rib cage and shoulders from above then, holding your limp torso inches from the ground.

"Cough, (y/n)."

A voice in your ear, calm and commanding. You complied, body already urging you along. Eyes beginning to clear, you watched in detachment as more blood splattered patchily onto the carpet before your eyes, fresh from your lungs and mouth.

"Good. Again."

You just barely recognised the voice that spoke, the arms that held you up, as E.J.'s. It felt like your throat was being fed into a paper shredder, but you did as he said. Another spurt of liquid hit the floor beneath you, and you at last took a shaking inhale, a proper one, with your windpipe cleared. The arms brought you up and backwards, movements filling you with vertigo until you felt your back being pushed against a wall, legs firmly on the ground in front of you; a dry patch of carpet at last.

"Hoodie, bag."

E.J. crouched before you, a gloved hand moving up to place painfully strong pressure to your shoulder. You let your head fall back against the wall behind you, room spinning violently and head pounding with such force you felt you'd throw up any second now. The spots were encroaching your vision again, you felt your eyelids growing droopy until your cheek was met with a firm tap.

"Stay awake."

You could only gaze dazedly up at E.J.'s nightmarish blue mask. You really didn't want to be awake right now. He should just let you sleep. Let you fall into the blackness; you didn't want to know what came after.