#i should have known my spiritual essence would be wearing a sick jumpsuit

[ferryboatpeak]

into the harryverse

2K of harry/harry crackfic. also available at ao3.

The angel straightens his lace jabot before throwing open the flimsy door. There they are, his corporeal selves, blinking confusedly in the harsh fluorescent light. Standing around like beautiful idiots. Or sitting around, he amends, noting the Harry who’s lounging coquettishly on the floor with one ballet slipper tucked underneath the other knee. He seems unbothered by the corpse sprawled on the dingy linoleum next to him. The only Harry who looks pressed is the one sitting at the back of the room with his head in his hands.

“Who’re you?” The first one to speak up has pink streamers at the wrist of his open blouse. The scrap of fabric flutters in the draft from the door as he gestures at the angel’s face, which looks just the same as the rest of theirs. “I mean, obviously you’re… you know… but…”

“I’m in charge here,” the angel says firmly. No need to get into the particulars yet. His authority should be apparent from the splendor of his jumpsuit. (Although the Harry in purple sequins is giving him a run for his money in that department.)

The face of the Harry in a sparkling blue blouse brightens. “Are you the Wolf?” His posture straightens a bit, although it’s not much of an improvement.

“Why would I be the Wolf?”

“Well, because of…” He gestures at Harry’s corpse on the floor. “I thought maybe someone had sent the Wolf. Like in Pulp Fiction. Because of the body.”

The angel rolls his eyes.

“Haven’t you ever seen Pulp Fiction?” Harry in blue asks worriedly. The eyebrows of all the Harrys draw together in concern. Even the one in boxing boots looks up at him.

“Of course I’ve seen Pulp Fiction.” He pulls his Bad Motherfucker wallet out of the pocket of his jumpsuit and waves it at them. (God bless Alessandro for giving him pockets in every universe.) “It’s our favorite movie.”

The Harrys visibly relax. “Let’s get to work,” the angel says, clapping his hands together sharply. “Which one of you was smart enough to close the drapes?” The drapes are thick and stodgy and hideous, just like something Niall would have in his bedroom, but they’re effectively keeping the scene hidden from the street.

“Me.” Blue sparkles points his thumb at his suspenders and squares his shoulders proudly. “Is there anything else I can do to help, Mr. The Wolf?”

“Please,” the angel says. “Call me Harry.” He points at the boxer, who’s sobbing softly into his hands. “What are you doing here?”

“What are any of us doing here?” interjects Harry in the pink blouse.

The angel waves his hands vaguely. “Parallel universes, that sort of thing, you know.”

“I don’t think we do,” pink blouse says thoughtfully. “Pretty sure we don’t know.”

The angel taps the stacked heel of his patent leather boot on the floor. “Haven’t you ever seen Into the Spiderverse?”

Blank stares greet him. “Come on, any of you? Spiderman?”

The boxer looks up. “I don’t think I ever listened,” he says, “when Louis and Liam were talking about Spiderman.”

The angel sighs. “Did any of you?”

“No,” says pink blouse slowly. “I don’t think any of us ever listened to Liam.”

“We don’t have a lot in common with him,” the ballerina adds. All of the Harrys nod in agreement.

“Fair enough.” The angel has to concede that he doesn’t pay much attention to the Liam he knows either. Liam the angel seems to have absolutely no control over the preposterous things his corporeal counterparts get up to. Gold chains, ill-advised nudes, calamari binges… it’s too much chaos even for Harry. “There are parallel universes, and every one of them has a Harry Styles.”

Harry in the pink blouse extends a fist bump to Harry in blue. “Nice to meet ya.”

All of the Harrys snicker. “J’adore la mer,” the one in the sequin jumpsuit drawls.

The one in the lace dress is still staring at his reflection. Fair enough, the angel thinks. He does look stunning. “Do you have fruit pastilles in your universe?” Harry asks his reflection earnestly.

“Yeah!” The ballerina gets to his feet, bouncing on his toes. “Do you have brussels sprouts with curry sauce?”

All the Harrys chime in. “Is there Van Morrison in your universe?”

“Is there more than one Mitch?”

“Does your universe have good weed?”

“Do any of you have a third album yet?”

“Gentlemen.” The angel claps his hands. “Let’s stay on track here. All of you are moderately compliant vegans, you underestimate the size of your shoe collection by at least a factor of three, you treat people with kindness, and Mitch and Sarah have never had a threesome with you in any universe.”

The Harrys look around at one another. The one in blue whispers audibly toward the boxer. “Is there Gucci in your universe?”

“Anyway,” the angel interrupts loudly. “You’re not supposed to meet each other. When you” – he points at the boxer – “met him” – he points at the corpse – “and you killed yourself, it created a burst of energy that pulled the rest of you out of your universes and brought you here.”

The boxer’s chin quivers. “I didn’t mean to hit him that hard.” He sniffles. “He just surprised me, when I saw my face on my neck and all, and I…” He buries his head in his hands again. The ballerina pads across the room on satin-slippered feet and rests a comforting hand on the boxer’s shoulder.

The angel sighs. “What were you doing here in the first place? You’re supposed to be filming a music video.”

“It was the only place in Cancun that had mushrooms,” the boxer says sulkily.

“Hey, I’m filming a video in my universe too,” says pink blouse.

“Me too.” Harry in blue sparkles runs his hands down his bare chest.

“Yes, yes, you’re all very talented and famous.” The angel rolls his eyes. “Except him.” He points to Harry’s body on the floor.

Pink shirt looks quizzically at the angel. “How do you know all this?”

“And why were you late?” adds blue sparkle Harry. “Didn’t you get summoned like the rest of us?”

“I don’t have a physical form to summon. All of you are the physical forms of my spiritual essence.”

“Wow,” breathes the Harry in blue. He looks the angel up and down. “I should have known my spiritual essence would be wearing a sick jumpsuit.”

The angel preens a little. It is a great jumpsuit, after all. But apparently a resplendent white jumpsuit isn’t enough of a spiritual calling card, as the Harrys are all still staring expectantly at him. He’s going to have to simplify. “I’m an angel.” He waves his hand in a somewhat heavenward direction. He’s never been too clear on the geography of it all. “I take care of all of you. Clean up your messes.”

“You’re our guardian angel?” Green eyes widen around the room.

“In a manner of speaking. Most of you are doing perfectly well taking care of yourselves.” Or charming other people into doing the same, he supposes. If the angel’s honest, he’s got to admit that Jeff Azoff’s pretty much taken over his job these days. “You’ve really done it this time, though.”

“I’m so sorry.” The boxer rubs at his eye with the back of his hand, smearing tears across his face. “What can I do to fix it?”

“What we need is another burst of energy to counter the one you unleashed. That should knock each of you back to your own universe, and he’ll be back on his feet when he lands.” The angel’s not entirely sure which universe the dead Harry’s from. Tough to tell with that outfit. He might own a shady Italian restaurant. Or maybe he’s just filming a music video too. The angel hopes he doesn’t have grandkids who miss him.

“How do we do that?” asks blue sparkle Harry, ready to help.

The angel sighs. He’s going to have to walk them through it. “What gives you energy?”

The Harrys consider it. “Fresh squeezed green juice?” asks the boxer.

“Hot yoga?” suggests the ballerina.

“An oat milk flat white?” is the pink one’s contribution.

“Think bigger,” the angel urges them. “On a grand scale, what nourishes us? What nourishes Harry Styles?”

Harry smooths down the sequins on the side of his jumpsuit. “The ecstasy of adoring audiences.”

“Good.” The angel shoots him a quick nod. “Now what specifically about that gives you life?”

The Harrys glance sideways at each other, furtive looks on their faces. Harry in the pink blouse finally jerks his chin at the one in blue sparkles, delegating.

Harry in blue admits it sheepishly. “Being sexually desired at an unprecedently massive scale?” Sequin jumpsuit Harry smirks.

The angel surveys the other Harrys, all nodding or smirking or both. “Exactly.”

Something clicks for the ballerina. “We’ve got that here,” he says, looking around at the others. “I think you’re all well fit.” Harry in the dress blushes, as does his reflection.

“You’re halfway there.” The angel points a finger at the ballerina. “The problem is you’re all infuriatingly modest. Your entirely appropriate level of positive self-image cannot generate nearly enough wanton desire to raise the dead and shoot each of you back to your proper universes.” In turn, he looks each Harry in the eye. “You’re going to have to do something shocking, something unprecedented.” Holding their attention, he pauses for effect. “Something to do with… new levels of hunger for your own physical form.” Surely they can take the hint. Harry’s usually good at taking a hint, especially if the hint involves sex.

“I don’t know about this,” pink blouse Harry says warily.

“Speaking as Harry Styles,” says sequin jumpsuit, “I generally agree that the solution to every problem is sex.”

“Although sometimes it’s mushrooms,” the boxer adds. The one in the dress nods vigorously. His reflection in the mirror nods along with him.

“Sex and mushrooms,” summarizes the ballerina. “And feeling sad.” The other Harrys hum approvingly at this elegant harmonization of their core principles.

“Let’s do this,” blue sparkle Harry says, already undoing one row of buttons on the front of his trousers. He hooks a thumb under one suspender and drags it down his arm, moving toward Harry in the dress. “Palms against the mirror? I think it’ll help if we can all see ourselves.”

The reflection doubles over with laughter when Harry’s palms touch his. Harry, now out of alignment with his double in the mirror, looks quizzically back at the angel. His lips are gently parted, tongue pressed to the back of his front teeth.  Blue sparkle Harry already has a hand on his hip, inching up the hem of the dress. The Harry in the mirror slaps his thigh, guffawing.

“Ah, fuck, that’s not a mirror.” The angel scrubs at his hair with both hands. “I forgot there were two of you.”

“There’s two of us in dresses?” the boxer asks incredulously.

The angel raises an eyebrow at the boxer. “Mate, there’s so many more of you in dresses. I’m actually shocked to see most of you in trousers today. Well, trousers and…” He gestures vaguely at those of them in jumpsuits.

The boxer stands up decisively. “Does more energy help? I kind of feel like I should do my part. Since I created the problem and all.” He approaches the second Harry in a dress and cups his face with his hand.

The ballerina sidles over to yet another Harry. “While we’re here and all… haven’t you ever wondered …” He twines his fingers through the pink streamer at the other Harry’s wrist.

Things are progressing smoothly. “Step into the light,” the angel encourages them as the energy in the room intensifies. In a bright flash, the corpse, the Harrys in dresses, the ballerina, pink Harry, and blue sparkle Harry vanish. The boxer jumps back, startled, when Harry disappears from his arms. He looks wildly around the room, and then flees out the door into the night

Harry in the sequin jumpsuit claps his hands slowly. “Nicely done.”

The angel narrows his eyes. “Why are you still here?”

“Oh, I’m from the same place as you.”  His sequins flash as he smirks. “Only the other direction. Just showed up to watch the fun.”

The angel looks closely at sequin jumpsuit Harry for the first time. Two locks at the sides of his head curl gently upward, almost like horns. “Huh,” the angel muses. “Turns out she’s a devil in between the sheets?”

“Nothing I can do about it,” the demon says smugly, reaching for the angel’s outstretched hand.