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Part 3 of In Any Other World
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2016-11-07
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2018-06-06
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your heart in exchange for mine

Summary:

The bailiff brought him out into the courtroom. It was too loud, too bright, too... everything. The judge called out a case number, cutting through the haze. John was next.

It was a preliminary hearing, to which John would plead guilty. And if he was lucky, he would spend the rest of his life in prison. John stood in front of the judge, but before he could speak, a ghost walked up next to him.

John hadn't seen him in years, had half convinced himself that he was someone John had dreamed up, a young boy's fantasy to keep loneliness at bay.

But here he was. John couldn't look away.

 
"Harold Kingfisher for the defense, your honor."

Notes:

Harold and John are the same age in this one.

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

The bailiff brought him out into the courtroom. It was too loud, too bright, too... everything. The judge called out a case number, cutting through the haze. John was next.

At this point, John didn't really care. He had felt Arndt's slick blood on his hands, felt bones break beneath his fists. He'd seen the horror in Jessica's face, and wondered what kind of monster he was, that everyone he'd ever loved ended up looking at him like that.

A plea deal later, John's case was up. It was a prelimenary hearing, to which John would plead guilty, and if he was lucky, he would spend the rest of his life in prison.

John stood in front of the judge, but before he could speak, a ghost walked up next to him.

John hadn't seen him in years, had half convinced himself that he was someone John had dreamed up, a young boy's fantasy to keep loneliness at bay.

But here he was. John couldn't look away.

 

"Harold Kingfisher for the defense, your honor."

 

---

 

It wasn't hard to get the charges against John dismissed. There was a case to be made with John's military background and PTSD. Perhaps temporary insanity. But Jessica, soon to be ex-Arndt, had arrived just in time (with a little anonymous help from Harold), and insisted on speaking to the judge. She had quite the black eye, which she hadn't covered with make-up at all, and her arm was in a sling (spiral fracture, Harold knew).

Harold watched her have a quick conversation with John before she left. He didn't need to bluejack anyone's phone to guess what was being said. 

It was goodbye. For good, this time. She would always love him, be grateful to him for saving her, but there was no path forward for them. A final kiss, then John was standing there, alone, looking as lost as Harold had ever felt.

Harold couldn't help himself.

 

---

 

Harold brought them to a diner. Small. Out of the way. Indistinguishable from the countless others of its kind scattered across the country. 

 

"Their eggs benedict is remarkable, Mr. Friel," Harold said, so that's what John ordered as well.

 

John tried not to let the formality sting. 

As soon as the waitress had left, John leaned forward onto the table. 

 

"Why are you here?" John asked.

 

Harold met his eyes for the first time since they'd left the courtroom and John just. let himself feel, for the first time in what seemed like forever. It was painful, mostly. Pins and needles. Like a warm blanket after being numb from the cold. 

 

"I suppose," Harold began, "I should say that I came because you needed a lawyer. But I'm well aware that, the facts being what they were, I could have hired anyone even halfway competent and that would have sufficed."

 

Harold reached across the table to take one of John's hands in both of his, and suddenly John couldn't breath. 

 

"I once promised you I'd never lie to you, and that still applies." Harold paused. "The truth is that I missed you, John."

 

 

Chapter 2

Notes:

as always, thank you to Talon G. for being awesome at proofreading + editing and being awesome in general! :D

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Iowa suited John and Harold very well, but in very different ways.

 

John Friel loved the wide open spaces, loved to run, loved gamboling about in the fields and pastures. It was a joy to watch him, like watching a newborn foal get up on shaky legs. He was tall for his age, awkward and ungainly, but sweet nonetheless. The length of his limbs promised a future of athletic triumph he was eager for.

 

Harold Ingram was a much more sedate boy, in contrast. He spent hours at the library, hours in his room, and was never without a book in his hand. Some days, his father would insist that he go out, get some sunshine. On these days one could find him observing the rolling hills teeming with life. Harold would look closely into each nook and cranny. He would cram himself into awkward places, perch himself on dangerous branches and slippery rocks. He would watch all manner of snails and birds and mushrooms. His gaze was unnerving for a child, too focused, and he was so still. But one only needed a little time to see the kindness in him. You could see it in the fallen birds nursed and brought back to the sky. See it in the foxes' dens known and mapped, but remaining unmolested.

 

They met in the fall of Harold's 11th year.

 

---

 

At the tail end of dinner, John asked Harold if he was going to disappear again. He tried to keep his voice light. Casual. The look on Harold's face told him it wasn't working.

 

"Mr. Friel," Harold started. John looked away.

 

'Oh, we're back to that,'  he thought, 'Lovely,'

 

(It wasn't.)

 

Harold had called him John earlier, had said his name and held his hand. It still felt warm, a phantom sensation that kept his entire arm tingling. John focused on that, though it wouldn’t make the brush off hurt any less.

 

(Harold doesn’t brush him off. Instead, they set a date to meet here again in three days. For the first time in a long while, John finds himself looking forward to something that he can’t find at the bottom of a bottle.)

Notes:

So my thing here is that harold and john grew up together

Also, I named Harold's father Thomas (you'll see some of him later on). We saw his death certificate in the show, and it looked like a thomas? I'm not sure.

https://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/pediaofinterest/images/3/38/POI_0501_Harold%27s_Father%27s_Certificate_of_Death_%28with_partial_name%29.png/revision/latest?cb=20160507222340

Chapter 3

Notes:

As always, many thanks to x_talon_x for helping me with this chapter! They've actually looked over the outline for the whole story, and their advice has been invaluable to me. <3 <3 <3

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

 

Present

 

Harold met John again, three days, just as he said he would. It had taken almost all of his willpower to not observe John in that time, to allow the other man some measure of privacy, but he regretted it almost as soon as he saw John. He knows from his conversations with Detective Carter that John was homeless, currently, and apparently had been for months before New Rochelle. Harold had known it, in his head, but he hadn't been prepared for what that would entail, exactly.

John looked emaciated. The bulk of the coats he had... collected, from the streets, had given him heft he did not have, and he no longer had a bushy beard to hide behind. He looked exhausted, from what Harold could only assume was alcohol withdrawal.

 

But beyond that, John looked happy to see him, at least, and Harold clung to that as he sat down. They were in the same diner, ordered the same eggs benedict, but this time John actually ate his.

 

And half of Harold's.

 

And seconds. And thirds.

 

Harold never thought he'd be so happy to see someone eat an ungodly amount of eggs. A roll of cash burned in his pocket, a farewell gift he had been intending to give John, to help him get back on his feet...

But then John looked at him, a smile on his face, and Harold knew he was about to do something really stupid.

 

---

 

Harold resisted the urge to fidget as Nathan glared at him, feeling like a little kid again. They sat in easy chairs in front of a fire, but Harold might as well have been facing a firing squad, for all the anxiety telling Nathan was giving him. The age gap between them shouldn't have felt so large, a mere six years, but it felt like a lifetime to Harold.

In many ways, it had been Nathan who raised him. Their father, though alive until Harold was in his twenties, had succumbed to Alzheimer's early, and Harold had always thought of him more as a grandfather than anything. And their mother, Harold knew, had passed from cancer when Harold was very young, so his memories of her were hazy at best. All his life, it had been Nathan who guided him, had been his family, and for a few golden years, Margie Friel.

 

(And John.)

 

"So John is back from overseas?" Nathan asked, an unspoken question hanging in the air.

 

'I thought he'd died?'

 

Harold didn't know what his face was doing, but it made Nathan soften his expression.

 

"I hope you know what you're doing, Harry," Nathan sighed, taking a sip from his whiskey.

 

'Don't let him hurt you again.'

 

Harold took a sip of his much smaller amount of alcohol, making a face (which he knew made Nathan smile, always, without fail.)

 

'I hope so as well,' Harold didn't say, 'Especially for John's sake.'

 

 

---

 

Past

 

"Interloper in the forest, identify!" came a voice from somewhere in woods. Part of John thought this was just a dream, but he didn't think he'd ever think to string together words like that, so this must be real?

 

"Hello?" John called out. "Please, help me!"

 

He'd found himself on the ground a few minutes ago. He's gotten up, dusting himself off, and been hit with a dizziness so intense he'd fallen over and thrown up. The pain had made it impossible to try again, so John had sat there, hoping this was a nightmare, and that he'd wake up soon.

But no. The rustling of the woods behind him was making this all of a sudden painfully real, and John felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He whirled around, despite the nausea, and found a boy making his way towards him.

The kid was pretty small; John could have taken him in a fight easily, on any other day. He had a pretty big stick though, which would have made John nervous, except he was using it to walk, more than anything. In his other hand was a box he held carefully, and behind him, a heavy looking backpack hung.

Now that the the boy had gotten a closer look at John, at his muddy clothes and pained expression, the somewhat belligerent tone left his voice.

 

"Are you okay?"

 

---

 

Harold, as the boy introduced himself, was surprisingly calm upon finding a stranger in the woods who had no idea how he got there. They walked, slowly, to Harold's home to get help. Harold had asked John to hold his box and his backpack, so he could concentrate on supporting John. Nothing was wrong with John's legs, it was his balance that was off, so that seemed 'optimal' (as Harold had put it), and John found himself liking this odd guy who had come out of nowhere to help him.

When they got to Harold's house, John remembered everything as soon as he saw his mom. They'd moved almost clear across the country for a job offer, and she'd let him go outside to play while she talked to the guy who was hiring her, who looked like he wasn't much older than John himself.

 

The nest.

 

The fall.

 

The baby birds.

 

His head still hurt, but John, squirming in his mom's grip, wanted to go back out there.

 

"The birds!" John said, as his mom wiped mud from his face, tsking as she did so.

 

"These birds?"

 

John looked behind him,

The guy hiring his mom had his arm around Harold, who was holding out the box he'd been carrying earlier. John stumbled over to look inside.

There they were, chirping in distress now that their nice warm box had been exposed to the cool fall air.

 

---

 

Harold will wake John up every few hours that night. "You had a concussion, you shouldn't sleep so long", he'll say, and John won't say that this wasn't his first concussion, and that his mother, the nurse, had deemed it safe for him to get a full night's sleep.

John will just stumble blearily after Harold, to the nearby shed where he kept the chicks. And the two of them will feed the birds and watch them eat.

 

(and out of the corner of their eyes, watch each other.)

 

 

Notes:

Okay, so in this AU, Harold and Nathan are literal brothers.

Also, I changed Harold's name and made it Ingram. x_talon_x pointed out that Harold's lawyer name shouldn't be his real name, so now Harold Kingfisher is Lawyer!Harold's name, and Harold Ingram is his real/birth name.

Chapter 4

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Past

 

John felt a little nervous, standing outside the study door. It was almost always closed, and he'd only been inside a handful of times. Even though Nathan wasn't much older than he was, he sort of thought of Nathan as the boss of the house. In a sense, John supposed he was. Because Mr. Ingram was ill, all the decisions were made by his son.

"Dad has Alzheimer's," Harold had told him easily enough. Not that he'd needed to, John's mom had told him even before they'd left Washington. Thomas Ingram was pretty lucid on some days.

On the good days, Mr. Ingram would work on fixing his tractor, and make jokes during dinner time. On the bad ones, he wouldn't know who anyone was. Wouldn't know anything. John's mom always looked more tired in those days. Instead of doing chores around the house, laundry and cooking and all that stuff, she'd have to make sure Mr. Ingram didn't wander off, keep him calm when he got agitated. Everyone hated those days.

 

As he stood outside the door, John wondered if he was in trouble. If he'd done something wrong. Nathan had told John to come after school. That would have been okay, but he'd told John to come without Harold. That made the young boy nervous.

In the two weeks since John and his mom had arrived, John and Harold had become inseperable. It hadn't taken Reese long to realize that Harold was a lot like him. One of those fringe boys, not really part of a group of friends. Harold had Arthur, another computer nerd, and Alicia, who didn't really do anything besides study, and that was it.

One of the first things John had discovered about Harold was that he was smart. Like, scary smart. Harold wasn't a know-it-all or anything. Just, he could tell that Harold pent his time thinking about something else. He didn't need to concentrate on his schoolwork, the way John himself did.

 

"John? Why are you just standing there? You could have knocked."

John startled as Nathan opened the door, the older boy looking as surprised as John felt. He had a tired expression on his face, and an empty coffee mug in his hand. It was huge, and had a childish scrawl across it in glitter glue. It read 'World's #1 Brother!'.

"Why don't you wait inside while I get another cup of coffee?" Nathan gestured with the mug he had in his hand. "This will only take a minute."

---

True to his word, Nathan spoke with John for a very short time. It was probably no more than twenty minutes.

"Harold has some OCD tendencies," Nathan told John, "And he was born with some spinal and hip issues."

It went almost without saying that the other kids were... less than kind to Harold, sometimes. So Nathan just wanted to make sure that John looked out for him a little bit.

John took this to heart (perhaps taking it a little too seriously), and his resolve became a constant to him. Almost like a touchstone.

'Keep Harold safe,' became his life's mission.

 

---

 

Present

 

Reese was inordinately happy to see Harold again. He'd been sure that the second meeting would be the brush off, and he had tried to prepare himself accordingly

To prepare for the next meeting, John had stopped drinking cold turkey, and hadn't that been fun? He'd wanted to his last look at Harold to be a sober one. A clear picture he could keep for himself. Like a fool, he'd even come in the best clothes he could, had spent what little money he had to get a room where he could bathe and shave. Wash his clothes in the shower stall and hang them to dry without too many wrinkles.

The look on Harold's face walking into the diner told John that his attempt at making himself look vaguely presentable hadn't been very successful. But he didn't care. He was almost giddy just seeing Harold again. He would take anything he could get.

---

As it turned out, 'anything' included a job. John had eaten as much and as slowly as he could, but there was a limit to how many eggs he could eat. Eventually, the meal had to come to an end. John braced himself for goodbye, for good this time, when Harold made him an offer. A job offer. 

"It isn't really a big thing," Harold stumbled over himself to clarify, "It's mostly doing odds and ends around the house."

Harold swallowed, fidgeting in his seat, "And maybe you could stay for a bit. Until you find a new job. Get your legs under you."

The bespectacled man stared at his hands, folded on the table. John stared at him, a feeling of vertigo coming fast.

'It's just being Harold's household help,' John tried to tell himself,

'He probably just feels sorry for you.'

But it was useless. His stupid, hopeful heart was already beating fast in his chest. Harold wanted him around again. For years, the way Harold had avoided him, right before he went off to college, had haunted John. Left him confused and angry and sad.

He hadn't even known what he'd done wrong.

But for Harold to invite John into his home, flimsy pretext notwithstanding, well. John was ecstatic. His mother had died while he was overseas, and Jessica was gone. Harold and Nathan were the only family he had left.

There was really only one possible answer.

 

 

 

Notes:

Haven't updated this fic in a year, so I thought I'd give it some love ♡

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