Chapter Text
March 12, 2020
PRESENT
“Harry,”
“What? I’m almost done, gimme one sec,” Harry replies, brushing off Louis’ urgency. He turns away from him and gently presses his bloody finger to the wall. The blue latex glove is covered in the sticky goo and Louis can almost see the drops pooling and waiting to fall.
“The police station is 5 minutes away,” Louis flips Harry's knife in his hand over and over, getting impatient with his boyfriend.
“You think I don’t know that? Besides, no one cares about this loser, it’ll be forever before they find him,” Harry says, his eyes not leaving the wall. He effortlessly dips his finger in the pool of blood on the floor before reaching over to keep writing.
Louis sighs and rolls his eyes, redirecting his attention to the disfigured body splayed in front of him.
“Should we leave him?”
“Yeah, way more evidence if we try to drag him somewhere. It’s not like we’re gonna be able to hide the fact that we were here,” Harry scoffs.
Louis smiles brightly and looks up to take in the scene. They managed to set up in the upstairs bedroom, after finding their target hiding in his closet. Broken glass littered the floor and ripped up the carpet.
“Who knocked over the lamp?” Louis inquires to himself, but Harry overheard. He always does.
“You did, Lou. You knocked it over with your fat elbow while you were tying him to the bedpost. You need to be more careful. You’re gonna get us caught,” Harry replies. Louis looks up at him, about to answer, when he sees Harry dot the last “i” and pull his gloves off, “I’m done, let’s go.”
“Yeah okay, looks good by the way. Neatest one yet.” Louis pulls himself off his knees to stand up and admire Harry’s work.
Harry’s neat. Always has been. He does everything with as much care as possible when stabbing someone. He’s meticulous with his cuts, knows exactly what hurts the most, and also what kills them the fastest.
Louis is the opposite. He never cares if he leaves a mess. He loves the feeling of destroying everything around him because of his hands, under his control. He was the kind of kid growing up that would take his anger out on his opponent’s in football.
That’s why they worked. Louis and Harry. Push and pull. Right and wrong.
That’s also why they’re the most wanted serial killers in the UK.
“Thanks, Lou. You have my knife right?” Harry steps back from his work to stand shoulder to shoulder with Louis.
“Of course,” Louis slides the knife out from under his sleeve and drops on one knee, dramatically. He holds the knife out in his palms and bows his head, presenting it to Harry.
“Get up, idiot,” Louis looks up at him to see Harry beaming. Louis smiles back and stands up as Harry gently takes the knife from his outstretched hands.
Louis watches him pick up his discarded, blood-stained, latex glove off the carpet. He carefully wipes down the shiny steel, making sure he absorbs every drop off the blade.
“You know sometimes I feel like you love that knife more than me,” Louis reaches out to run his fingers through Harry’s curls as Harry rubs the latex over the engraved “H.S.” on the gold handle.
“Maybe I do. I can’t carry you in my pocket. Well-"
“Don’t say it,” Louis says while pulling his hand back and booping Harry’s nose, “I was born this way, baby.”
“Please don’t start singing Lady Gaga at a murder scene,” Harry fondly rolls his eyes, “Are we good?”
“Yeah, I kept my gloves on the whole time and I grabbed the nylon ties, so we aren’t leaving anything behind. You have your knife and I have my gun,” Louis counts off on his fingers and pats his back pocket, where his gun is stashed.
“Ready,” Harry confirms and spins around to head out the bedroom door. Louis takes one last look at the dead man on the carpet beside the bed before turning to follow Harry.
“That’s number five on the list. Feels good,” Louis offers from behind him. Harry doesn't look back, but Louis knows he’s smiling in agreement.
They make their way through the upstairs hallway, ducking when they get to the foyer window. It’s still light outside and they can’t risk any neighbors seeing them. They duck walk to the stairs and head down them quietly, even though they know no one can hear them. It’s just instinct at this point.
“What’s the plan to get out of here? I know you told me before, but I wanna make sure I know,” Harry asks from in front of him.
“I surveyed the area. We parked the car on the other side of the woods in the backyard. It’s about a half-mile hike through the woods to get to the alleyway where it’s parked. All we have to do is not let anyone see us from the house to the woods.” Louis explains.
“Why did we decide to kill someone at 4pm, again?”
“It’s more fun that way. Thrilling. I love it,” Louis defends.
“You are ridiculous,” Harry giggles.
They reach the backdoor after a little more walking and stumbling over basically everything in the house.
“On the count of three, we’re gonna sprint to the woods. Take my hand, you’re slow sometimes,” Louis instructs.
Harry playfully slaps him just as Louis swings the door open. “Focus, this is important. Run fast and please, for fuck’s sake, don’t fall on your face.”
“I won’t, promise,” Harry assures him. Louis looks into his eyes with intent to make sure he knows this is serious now. He searches his face for any sign of doubt or confusion, but Harry looks more confident than he ever has.
Louis takes a deep breath and sticks his head out slowly. He searches the neighboring backyards for any sign of life. He spots a small dog laying in the grass two yards over, but that’s it.
“Coast is clear, ready?” Louis asks the taller boy.
“Yeah, let’s go.” Louis traces his fingers down Harry’s arm and laces their hands together. He squeezes hard, not sure if he’s trying to calm Harry or himself. Probably both.
“One,” Louis squeezes harder.
“Two,” Harry inhales.
“Three,” Louis takes the first step and pulls Harry behind him. He feels his arm getting tugged and pulled on as Harry clumsily lets himself get dragged.
They don’t say a word as they run straight for the woods. They’re both wearing jeans and long sleeves, so they know they don’t stand out normally. However, two teenagers running through a backyard will always seem suspicious, especially when the only person that lives in the house is a 50 year old man.
Louis forgets himself, it feels like. The only thing he can focus on is the trees quickly growing larger and larger and a gangly boy behind him. He can sense Harry’s pulse in his thumb by how hard he’s squeezing now.
Harry’s breathing is shallower than Louis’. He can hear each inhale and exhale almost in rhythm with his steps. On the other hand, Louis feels like he hasn’t breathed since his left shoe hit the grass.
Louis feels the grass beneath him get rougher and harder. He looks up slightly to see the branches of a large evergreen tree towering above his head.
They made it.
Louis doesn’t stop, though. He can’t. He knows they aren’t completely out of sight, yet. He reaches the first large tree trunk and weaves to the left, tugging sharply on Harry’s arm to make sure he doesn’t crash into it.
The dead leaves and broken branches snap and crack beneath their boots. They’ve been running for about 30 yards when Louis feels a sharp tug on his forearm. He stops immediately once he realizes that the weight behind him is pulling him down. He turns around and lets go of Harry’s arm when he sees him on his knees.
“You okay?” Louis asks while wrapping his arm around Harry’s shoulders. Harry flips himself over so he’s sitting on his ass. He grabs his ankle and brings it to his chest.
“Twisted my ankle, I think. It hurts,” Harry hisses when he bends his ankle away from him.
“Sorry, H, I should’ve slowed down. Here, I’ll carry you the rest of the way and then we can get ice at a gas station, okay?”
“Mhm, yeah. I’ll be okay,” Harry says through gritted teeth.
“Get on my back, it’ll be easiest.” Harry nods and Louis drops to his knees in front of him, so that he doesn’t have to jump to get on his back.
Harry seems to understand and crawls over to him and slowly, carefully, climbs onto Louis’ back.
Louis is frozen for a minute. He comes to the realization that it might be difficult to get to his feet with a 6-foot-tall giraffe on his back.
Anything for his boy.
He takes a deep breath in and uses all his weight in his left leg to raise his right knee. He then transfers his weight to his right thigh to propel himself up to both feet. He bounces Harry on his back a few times before deciding this is the best it’s gonna get.
“This is gonna be a bumpy ride, Haz,” Louis warns and takes a few steps forward.
“I just killed someone, Louis. I think I can handle a piggy back ride. Besides, we’re in the clear now. We don’t have to run.”
“You know, I played football for 10 years and not once did I twist my ankle running,” Louis chimes in.
“Yeah well you suck with knives. We all have our things.” Louis shuts up after that, he just walks in silent.
They make their way through the woods, rather slowly. He knows they’re getting closer because the distance between the trees is gaining and the sky is more visible.
“Louis,” Harry says quietly, “I don’t have blood on me, do I? I didn’t stab, it shouldn’t have sprayed.”
“No, you don’t. You did a good job. You always do,” Louis praises him. It’s true, honestly. Louis loves watching him work. The way he feeds off his victim’s screams. The way they squirm beneath him, begging for mercy. And it doesn’t even phase Harry. He never hesitates.
They have a process, Louis and Harry. They work together in the best ways and never fight over who does what. That’s why they are so good at this. The killing thing.
Louis loves talking. He’s addicted to playing with people’s emotions. Loves to watch them get hopeful and shatter their spirits when Harry pulls out his knife. The feeling of watching someone’s eyes light up under the pooled tears when faced with a flicker of hope, only to get dragged down when faced with inevitable death. It makes Louis jittery with adrenaline and power.
He also has his gun. His unloaded gun. Yet, it’s his biggest weapon.
A gun frightens you into submission. When there is a threat two inches from your temple, you can be baited into anything. Louis doesn’t need bullets to make someone beg.
He remembers one of their first unplanned kills, a man that spit at them in a pub for making out, Louis had retrieved his gun from his car and slid next to the man’s back. He rested his lips right next to his ear and whispered, “I have a gun pointed at your back, I suggest you follow me outside right now.”
The man put his drink down and squeezed his eyes shut before slowly standing up. Harry still sat at the bar about 10 feet away. As they walked past him, Louis made eye contact with him and lifted his coat up, just enough that Harry could see the butt of his pistol. He cocked his head and raised his eyebrows and Harry got the message. He paid the bartender, thanked him, and quietly followed Louis into the parking lot.
Their car had been parked behind the building in a vacated area. They led the fearful man to the car, and pushed him inside. Harry went around to the front to drive and Louis slid in next to the man.
Louis reached beneath the carseat to pull out his box. He rummaged through to find his favorite rope.
“Hands, please,” Louis had condescendingly asked. The man hesitated, but nevertheless, offered his wrists to Louis. Louis skillfully replaced the gun with his hands and grabbed his wrists and pulled them together. With his other hand, he placed the gun between his teeth. Then, he had bound his hands with 4 intricate knots.
“Let’s go to the spot, H,” Louis had suggested from the backseat.
“Yes, sir.”
Louis then turned his attention back to the man, who was now facing forward, “You’re in for a fun time. You’ve seen our faces. Which means...,” Louis pretended to ponder to himself, “This right here,” Louis pointed to himself and smiled, “is the last one you’ll ever see.”
…
“Ok, good, just wanted to make sure. I can’t be covered in blood when we go to the gas station, of course,” Harry replies.
“Hey, look, we’re here,” Louis saw the familiar, brick building ahead of them. The brown dirt turned to pavement beneath his feet and the sun came into view.
Ahead of them sat their stashed car, tucked away behind an abandoned building. It’s a basic, black range rover. Definitely too fancy for its job.
Louis approaches the passenger door and swings it open. Turning his back to the opening, he leans back and drops Harry into the seat dramatically. Harry pulls his legs inside and Louis goes to close the door, but Harry stops him.
Louis looks at him confused but smirks when he sees Harry has a huge, beaming smile on his face.
“It’s time for the back-up plan,” Harry says and giggles.
See, their “back-up plan” consists of them making out in the car, so that if any wanderers find them, they won't be suspicious of a hidden range rover behind an abandoned building. They’ll just brush it off and not associate them with the dead body that would be found in a matter of days.
But if Louis’ being honest, it’s just an excuse to mess around with his boy.
“How could I forget?” Louis steps into the passenger seat and straddles Harry’s waist.
Louis feels high off this. Giddy, almost. He pushes Harry's chest deeper into the seat and then pulls back to admire him. Their lips haven’t even touched, but he feels like he’s on fire.
“You did good, babe. So good. ‘m so proud,” Louis randomly praises. He shuts the car door and immediately feels the car get hotter.
“Five, Lou, five!” Harry laughs and claps his hands in front of Louis’ face. Louis smiles back at him and then grabs his wrists. He pushes them above Harry’s head, pinning them to the headrest. Harry slides down in the seat slightly, allowing Louis to tower above him. Louis lets one of his hands hold Harry down and uses the other one to search for the lever below the seat.
His fingers trace the side of the seat, scouring while keeping eye contact with Harry. He finds it in a matter of seconds and tugs hard. The back of the seat drops down quickly and Harry’s whole body bounces back up.
“Oops,” Louis apologizes. Harry just keeps smiling in return, so Louis assumes he’s okay. He leans down so his forehead is resting only 3 inches from Harry’s face. He then grips his pinned wrists harder and slides them up higher, stretching Harry’s torso out.
“Kiss me, please,” Harry begs from beneath him. Louis goes to obey his request, but freezes when he spots a small drop of blood on Harry’s neck. He brushes past Harry’s lips, teasingly slow. His nose traces his jawline, crawling closer and closer towards his ear. He, then, quickly drops his lips south and sucks hard on Harry’s neck, right below the blood drop.
“You have something here,” Louis kisses gently on his neck. He takes his free hand and brings it up to Harry’s collarbone and firmly presses his palm, neutralizing Harry even more. Louis finally licks over the drop of blood and collects it. Harry squirms beneath the touch.
“Got blood on you babe,” Louis releases himself from his neck and pulls back. He takes his hand and rubs it over the forming bruise, “I got it, though.”
“Where do you think it came from, hmm?” Louis asks. Harry looks up at him lustifully and tries to think, but Louis doesn’t want him to answer.
“Maybe the wall?” Louis finally leans in to kiss him, then. Just a short peck, leaving Harry chasing after his lips when he pulls back. Louis doesn’t keep him waiting, though.
“Maybe it did spray. Maybe when you were cutting him open, you didn’t notice it get on you. But, you notice everything, I thought?” Louis carefully unbuttons Harry’s flannel, hovering his lips over each one.
“You know if there is blood on your neck, I’m not confident there isn’t blood anywhere else…” Louis dives in then. He’s no longer patient or teasing. His lips connect with Harry's collarbone and he sucks hard, releasing a low moan from Harry. He lets his wrists go, but looks from them to Harry’s eyes, making sure he knows not to move them an inch. He uses both hands now to shimmy his flannel off his shoulders and expose his whole chest.
Louis plants his hands on either side of Harry’s chest, using his strength to hover above Harry. The only part of his body that’s touching him is his lower body where their legs are tangled.
He drags his beard up and down Harry’s chest, scratching it while biting down at random times, not letting his boyfriend get used to anything.
“This is what your victims feel like, you know,” Louis kisses closer and closer to Harry’s crotch, “They don’t know what's coming next,” he licks around his belly button, “But you don’t even care, do you?”
“No, no… I don’t,” Harry whispers through a small groan, when Louis sucks particularly hard.
“I love watching you. You make people scared of you, Harry. You don’t even realize. You’re too busy focusing on your knife and your work, that you don’t notice when they take their last breath. When their eyes roll back in their head. Because of you, because of your skills. Make me so proud,” Louis kisses him on the lips, shutting up any response he’d have. It’s a proper kiss, this time. His tongue slides across his bottom lip and he rubs his finger lightly across Harry’s neglected nipple, causing his mouth to open slightly. Louis slips his tongue in all the way and brings both of his hands up to Harry’s neck.
He squeezes lightly, not enough to cut off his air supply, but just enough to make Harry’s chest tighten and tense up.
Louis lifts up his hips and slowly rolls down, grinding down on Harry’s dick, his lips never leaving his mouth.
Harry bucks his hips up instinctively, and they lazily grind together, meeting each other in the middle.
“Fuck,” Louis groans, “Harry, we gotta get ice on your ankle. The swelling is gonna get worse.”
“Okay,” Harry immediately brings his wrists down to his lap and gently pushes Louis off of him. He reaches down beneath the seat and grabs the lever, propelling the seat upwards. He grabs his flannel and pulls it back on his shoulders. Louis sighs and climbs off his lap, opening the door. He walks around to the driver side and steps in.
Louis’ used to this. Harry.
He hasn’t figured it out, yet. He’s not sure Harry even realizes.
Harry somehow has the ability to just turn off his horniness like a light switch. He’s noticed it with other emotions, too. It’s like he doesn’t get affected by anything.
“Ready? We have to go in public, now, so this is where it gets important. Act normal,” Louis states.
“I know, Louis, let’s go.”
Louis inhales sharply, turning his face away from Harry, slightly. He pulls out his keys and starts the engine. He contemplates bringing it up with Harry, again. The way it seems like nothing pulls on his heart, like it should. It’s been that way forever, ever since Louis’ known him.
Harry’s off. Louis knows that. He knows it's not “normal” to not even flinch when someone screams and begs to be let go. It’s not normal to despise hugs. To reject kind gestures from strangers. To be completely fine after the trauma he faced.
He lets it go, though. Just like normal.
“There’s a gas station about 10 minutes down 75,” Harry chimes in from over in his seat. Louis looks over to see he has his phone pulled out and he’s scrolling through it.
“We gotta go farther, love,” Louis replies, “You take a picture of the wall, this time? I didn’t notice.”
“Of course, I did,” Harry says, sounding offended.
Louis ignores his tone. Ignores him, completely, actually.
They drive in silence, Harry on his phone- probably editing his picture- and Louis stares straight ahead. They’ve pulled onto the highway at this point, heading nowhere in particular. Harry hasn’t complained about his ankle, so Louis figures they can drive a little farther before stopping. He can’t risk someone at the gas station remembering them, even if they aren’t suspects.
The government doesn’t know them. They know the disasters they cause, but as far as Harry and Louis know, they have no clue it's two, practically-teenage, boys.
Just as Louis spots an exit sign for a gas station, Harry reaches over and shows him his phone, “I finished, look.”
Louis pulls off the road just in front of the exit ramp to look at the screen. He grabs Harry’s phone and zooms in.
There, painted in dark red blood, reads:
This is not the end Psyco