harry almost expected carlos to argue, to resist, to make more claims guided by little more than guilt and panic than rational thought but he didn't and harry smiled as he rubbed his thumb over the shell of carlos' ear. ❝ good. ❞ harry said, and he lowered his hand from carlos' face, down to his shoulder, then the length of his arm before he grasped his hand.

all the while, carlos drank in what was left of his mother's body. a bloodied mess that would stay a smear on the floor until harry dealt with it. for now, harry tugged carlos away from the bloody scene, led him back into the tunnels beneath the isle. ❝ to the ship. we'll clean you up and you'll stay the night. ❞ better that carlos sleep off the low that would come from the act somewhere no one would look for him. and while he slept, harry would rid the isle of another corpse.

❝ then, wherever you want, ❞ harry said, glancing back at carlos as he said it. auradon would always be the home of the enemy in harry's eyes, but to carlos it was something else. a safe haven, a place of freedom, maybe even a home. there was no reason he couldn't go back.

Carlos was still in a bit of a days, and it was almost like he was rooted to the spot. Harry guided him away, but as it happened part of Carlos felt like he was still there. How could he not be.

Carlos was alot of things. Over the years no one ever questioned his more peaceful nature. Only a few had truly seen him violent, Harry was one of them. He was chosen for this for plethora of reasons. Lack of judgement, clean up, and getting Carlos away. Because if it weren't for Harry he probably wouldn't leave.

Clean up? A novel idea. He wouldn't be clean from this ever. He knew this in the back of his mind, just when would he bring that up to Harry, he wasn't sure. Not as Harry was trying to guide him away, and get him focused on something else. It was hard, because when he closed his eyes its what he saw. And he didn't even know how he would describe how he felt about it. It wasn't positive or negative but it wasn't neutral either. It was weird that he couldn't put a feeling to it. Though Carlos was never the best with feelings.

So, Harry led him away. He came, slowly gaining more of himself the farther they got. But their was still a ghostliness to him. Like he was still floating through everything in the aftermath, though he was present. "I... don't know if I can go back. Wont they all know?" He felt like they would, no Cruella sighting they would come to him. And Mal, Evie, and Jay would definitely see a difference.

All this saying... he was just like her, he gave in, and became just like her. He just couldn't say it out loud yet.

#squad

I could fix him. I could make him worse. Good for you. I could gently take the weapon out of his shaking, blood-soaked hand and hold him until he finally believes that he doesn't have to be defined by all the ways the world has hurt him. Then we could ruin the lives of everyone who has ever treated him like he's a monster who doesn't deserve love.

Carlos leaned into his fingers and Harry hummed, a pleased sound that didn't belong where they stood. It was a sound that belonged somewhere quiet, warm, and intimate, not in the dark place they were in, not with a still-warm corpse lying at their feet. But Harry made the sound all the same, fingers brushing over the shell of Carlos' ear, massaging idly into his scalp.

The moment passed. Carlos froze beneath his fingertips and Harry tensed, brows furrowed as he eyed the boy before him for what may have triggered such a change. It was only when he looked up at him, eye wide with fear, with desperation, only when he spoke that Harry understood.

❝ Carlos, ❞ Harry said, his voice stern. Using the others name the same way he might use the word listen, or stop. ❝ no one is coming. she is dead and gone and no one is looking for her because no one cares, ❞

Harry spoke slowly, deliberately, and with the same harsh sternness he used when speaking his name. Grounding Carlos in the here and now, in the present and away from whatever nightmares or horrors he was conjuring in his head about a dreamed persecution for a thing that many would celebrate. Harry paused, purposeful in his stillness as his expression grew gentle, ❝ well, almost no one . . . you asked me for a reason, this is it. come with me, ❞

Carlos cared. God, Carlos cared. It was disgusting that Carlos cared. Whatever came over him to do this, that had snapped clearly. The haze was gone. Carlos was overthinking again, rather than thinking clearly and simply. He looked down, and then back to Harry, leaning into the other.

"Okay," he said sounding tired, but following Harry's lead. Trust in Harry was well placed. Carlos knew this because he knew Harry. For whatever dance that was their relationship it relied on trust. Trust that Carlos didn't necessarily put with others. Harry was in a class all on his own.

He looked at Harry, and then let his eyes drift over to his mother, to Cruella. She always did have an affinity for a red accent. This was more than an accent. He looked back to Harry, remembering things again. This whole thing was very weird. Their was the catharsis, the coming down from adrenaline that had him tired, there was apprehension as to what happens next. "Where are we gonna go?" he asked, the unasked question ever present. Can I go back to Auradon?"

                  We live in a kingdom of bullshit.

                                                              ©

harry curled his fingers tightly into carlos' hand, cold and clammy and soaked in splattered blood. there was a disturbing kind of fascination in the way that harry seemed to handle carlos in those few seconds. to anyone else, any other sane person that hadn't been raised surrounded by violence, who hadn't been plotting his father's murder for as long as he could remember, or anyone with a reasonable moral standing, the scene that he had just witnessed may have been shocking. someone else might have been frightened, sickened even.

harry sighed as carlos spoke. for the first time since harry had known him, he believed the small, meek, and docile display. harry straightened, reaching his free hand out to pat carlos' face in the firm yet gentle way he did when he was trying to be kind.

❝ bad people don't ask if they're bad, ❞ harry said. he let the words hang between them for several seconds, brushing fingers absently through the curls of carlos' hair that hung around his ears. ❝ c'mon, let's get you cleaned up . . . she's not going anywhere, ❞

Harry and Carlos had a unique relationship, that even those on the isle did not fully understand. Honestly Carlos wasn't sure on the best of days he did, he wouldn't even pretend he could guess if Harry understood it. He knew it was just natural for them at this point, but that didn't mean it wouldn't look odd to another.

But this was one of the reasons Carlos went to Harry.

He leaned into the other's touch. Carlos had tried to be good and bad, but in this moment he did not want to be bad. He just murdered. He should be bad, but he found himself implicitly trusting Harry's words.

He nods, and then freezes when Harry says she wasn't going anywhere. Not because of the fact that he would be haunted, this of course would haunt him for various reasons. No he froze because if she wasn't going anywhere he'd be found. He looked up at Harry, eyes wide with a minute bit a fear, "I'll be found out," he said, his voice hoarse from running. "We have to move her."