The Lemonade Stand

Duke Henry Creel had never been a social butterfly. Preferring to stand on the sides of ballrooms, sipping from his glass and occasionally grimacing at the shy debutantes and mothers eager to be rid of their daughters, the young Lord had gained a reputation for being inhospitable. Season after season, Lord Henry had found a way to avoid any sort of social connection outside of the obligations required to maintain social status. Not that social status truly mattered to him. Lord Henry had set his mind to never marrying, never producing an heir, and letting his family’s horrid namesake become just another footprint in the meaningless tracks of mankind.

That is, until he met you. When you’d approached him during a promenade, Lord Henry had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. With your lace and bows, the senseless frills on your parasol and gloves, you were the perfect picture of a Duke’s wife. Not his wife, of course. That idea would be ridiculous, no matter how his stomach had turned when you smiled at him. He simply scowled, turning his gaze back to the book he had been reading as he leaned against the trunk of the thickly branched tree.

“Goodness, that must count for an accomplishment of some sort,” you had smiled at him. The Duke had wanted to continue ignoring you in the hopes that you would understand his disinterest in all things social, but your comment had left him confused. Still, he only looked up at you with a quirked eyebrow.

“Of course, I mean the quickness with which you have shown your disinterest,” you continued, not that he had asked for clarification anyway. When you noticed how you had disarmed him with just a single comment, you smiled behind your fan. He huffed at you.

When he made no further attempt to continue your conversation, you shrugged your shoulders and leaned on the other side of the tree. Ignoring the odd sense of disappointment he felt building within him, Lord Henry returned to his book, though he found it increasingly more difficult to focus on the text.

“It is so unbearably warm today, isn’t it, my Lord?”

Lord Henry glanced over at you, fanning yourself as you closed your parasol. He found his thoughts wandering as his gaze caught on the tops of your breasts, now visible as you bent to  rest the parasol against a thick tree root jutting up from the ground. Though, certainly, the flush forming on his cheeks was due to the damn heat.

When you looked up at him through your lashes, your face the sheer image of both innocence and cunning, the Duke found that his heartbeat had quickened, breaths catching in his chest.

“Yes. It- it is quite unfortunate weather.”

You smiled, victorious in your attempts to pull a conversion from him. You didn’t give him a chance to retreat, “Though all is better with fortunate company.” Lord Henry found himself caught off guard by you again.

“Perhaps.” Again, his chest warmed at the smile you gave him. “Though,” he could see the beat of tension in your eyes, waiting for the building rain cloud of his kindness to burst into the downpour of cruelty he was sure you had heard rumors of. “I suppose your company is more fortunate for my sake than yours.”

Though he’d eventually have to find a way to scare you off, find a time to ensure to you that marriage and children with him were not a possibility that he could allow, the young Duke could allow himself a moment of happiness.

Still, as much as Lord Henry had tried to avoid it, the storm had come for him eventually. After a season of blatant teasing, chess-like social maneuvers, stolen moments in hidden gardens, you had truly and fully stolen his heart. He could ignore his feelings no longer. When you missed a pivotal ball, one where he was planning to tell you the unfortunate nature of your futures together, he found himself more devastated than relieved. Even if the night had meant the potential end of your involvement, and all happiness in his life for that matter, he found himself missing your company, regardless of the fact that it might have ended in screaming and tears.

The very next morning, when your mother opened the front door to welcome any suitors, she thought someone had brought a garden to her doorstep, until Lord Henry peeked his head around some flowers, asking to see you.

You had been feeling ill, a mere headache rather than the deadly disease the Duke had prepared to care for. Regardless, Lord Henry had brought you everything he could think of that might help an ailing woman: your favorite sweets, tall stacks of books in every genre, blankets, fresh produce, and what seemed to be all of the flowers in the country. It had taken all of your family’s servants to bring his endless gifts into the house, and you still had enough to give them all a chosen share.

After spending the day watching over you like a restless mother hen, your mother had finally pried him off of you only with the promise to let him see you the next day.

Needless to say, the next day brought a formal proposal, with even more luxuries than you could imagine. Before even the first autumn leaf fell, you were married.

Henry, he’d finally convinced you to drop formalities, had been living in blissful ignorance. Sure, he was aware that the King was ill and that rumors of war had started to float among the peers. He knew that war brought hardship upon all citizens, even those outside of the service or those with titles. Henry knew that the decrease in food was a warning sign, and the dwindling number of available servants was nothing to ignore.

Still, he’d never in his life imagined that the war would come for him as it did.

You’d been on a walk in the town, eagerly avoiding all peers. You had grown tired of the endless talk of heirs and “helpful tips” on becoming with child. You didn’t need to say how draining the conversations were, Henry could see in your eyes the discomfort when explaining his disinterest in parenting and hearing the coos of pity from other peer’s wives.

When couples and groups of friends started whispering at the sight of you both, he originally thought nothing of it except anger. He knew rumors had started to spread, but the gall to openly shame the both of you for what was entirely his decision. Henry had half a mind to make a scene when one of his closer friends had approached you both.

Quickly, Henry had realized that he had missed a vital piece of information about himself that apparently everyone else in society had learned: he had been called to fight for the King’s cause abroad.

When Henry came back from the war, he was a changed man. You thought you understood, war changes everything, yet war never changes. While Henry had never been a social man, he had been a social butterfly compared to him now. He rarely went into society, only grimacing his way through town if you dared to leave the estate, which he rarely allowed either. He stared out of the window for hours, talking to someone who didn’t exist. If you thought him obsessive before, he never let you leave his line of sight, following you from room to room like a shadow. He’d mutter in his sleep and hold you close, like he was afraid you would be wrenched from his grip.

When you fell ill, one would have thought he was already in mourning. He never left your bedside, only wandering feet away to use the restroom or when the servants made him leave to help you. He ignored letters asking to visit or asking for his presence in society. Henry lost much of his weight from a lack of appetite, becoming a skeleton of a man. When you think about it, he hadn’t seemed to eat much at all after the war, though you always chalked that up to a soldier’s meager diet. His fictitious conversations grew, enough that you almost felt that you could hear another person’s presence when it was just the two of you in the room. The whispers and visions of shadows in the dark didn’t help ease your fever, and Henry’s need to keep the windows and blinds closed made the room stifling and horrible for your growing cough.

Though it wasn’t a surprise, Henry was devastated nonetheless when you passed. It took three different doctors telling him the news to finally seem to believe it. Even when the coroner came, Henry looked as though he still expected for you to sit up in the bed and proclaim a victorious prank.

Slowly, the estate became like a museum, a permanent gallery of your life together. He sent away all the servants. Sheets covered the furniture and artwork, save the portrait of you still over the mantle in the main living room. The years pass, and Henry becomes something of a ghost story, a tale parents tell their misbehaving children in quiet whispers at night, hoping to scare them into compliance.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Henry moves abroad, hearing questions about his growing age and what should be his nearing death. No matter, the States are a wonderful place for an anonymous benefactor to be well-received.

Luckily for him, a wealthy couple miraculously decides to move to the country, leaving their land for him to purchase. Many of the nearby ranchers come to him offering help or work, but Henry turns them away. They take him as an idiot who imagines himself the new Rockefeller, pulling an industry up from his bootstraps.

Women hear of his fortune, trotting after him in their heels with their skirts in hand as he mindlessly passes them on the way to town. When he goes to climb back into his carriage to retreat home, they offer to keep him company. Henry grimaces and snaps the reins without looking to see if the women have let go of the handles. He’s long gone by the time a young woman comes to help her up from the dirt.

Once, a young lady makes the horrible mistake of asking him where his wife is. A handsome man like you must be able to get any girl he wishes, she reasons. I’m surprised your wife lets you out into the town alone, doesn’t she know-

Henry had never hit a woman before, and in his mind, he still hasn’t. She wasn’t a woman, she was a monster. How dare she speak so little of you, when you will always be leagues above the most perfect woman in any society. He’s so enraged, he doesn’t see the striking woman stomping towards him as he mounts his horse.

He stops coming to town after that. Whispers grow, how is he sustaining himself? When animals start going missing and cattle wind up dead in the morning, pints of blood drained from their bodies, Henry moves again.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The war is over, and the town is alive. Bars all across the city give out beer and booze by the gallon. No one thinks twice about a bill. How can you charge for happiness on the greatest day in the greatest nation?

Henry sits alone, drowning himself in the most expensive liquor he can buy, not that it would come close to hurting his finances. Normally, he would shy away from large crowds, but his supplies have thinned, and he needs to sate his appetite. As much as he tries to avoid being seen as much as he can, he needs to create more of a presence. A gang of rulebreakers have been snooping around his house, itching for a window to break or a trellis to climb. Since one three of the rugrats have gone missing, Henry needs to put on a friendly face and throw off any questions.

“Hey there, dreamboat. What’ya think about cuttin’ a rug?”

Henry wouldn’t have even glanced over if something about the voice wasn’t… oddly familiar. A voice he knows better than his own, a voice that has been replaying in his memories and his nightmares for decades.

His gaze snaps over, eyes wide like a rabid animal. It’s- you. He knows, it can’t possibly be you, you’ve been gone for nearly 120 years, but it is. The woman in front of him is an exact replica of you.

“(Y/N)? Is that… really you?”

You blink at him, smile wavering a little bit. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

Henry doesn’t respond, still staring at you. He’s scared to move, scared to breath, in fear of scaring away this illusion. He mutters to It, “Is this real, or is this another punishment?”

Your smile starts to drop completely off of your face. “Seems you’re a little bit sauced, huh? Well, I don’t want to be a pain in the neck, then-”

You turn to leave, to leave him, and Henry panics. Quickly, his hand shoots out, wrapping around your bicep. You stumble a little, unexpecting the spontaneous movement.

“No, no, don’t go-”

“Please, sir, I’m not-”

Henry pulls you closer, ignorant to the way you struggle against him and attempt to dig your heels into the bar floor. “I can’t believe it’s you. I’ve missed you so much, my darling-”

Your chest is heaving. Henry can hear your heart pounding in your chest like a little rabbit, and god, it makes him dizzy. “Now, listen, I don’t want to have to-”

Henry isn’t listening to a word you say, much more focused on the sound of your voice and the warmth of your skin. It has never liked warmth, but he thinks he can ignore It just long enough to-

You slap him across the face. The entire bar seems to go silent. Henry stares at the wall, feeling the tingling feeling spread across his cheek. Slowly, he raises his hand to touch his face, caressing the spot where your palm touched his skin.

When he looks back at you, tears are welling in your eyes. He can see the fear, the sweet delicious fear, making your pupils grow wide. Your shoulders are raising quickly, panting from adrenaline. He can practically taste the rich blood pumping through your heart and veins. He’s delirious, high from the feeling of your skin touching his and the sound of your voice in his ears. Oh, how long he has waited for this day, how hard he had begged It to bring you back to him.

Another man comes up to you, gently taking you into his arms, rubbing your shoulders as you sob into his shirt. How dare another man touch you? Henry goes to move forward, but a gang of men pull him back, roughly pushing him back into his chair.

He barely shrugs them off, declaring that he’s leaving, though not without the full intention to whisk you away.

Though you’re difficult to hear over the sound of the band picking up again, Henry hears your voice again as a bartender pushes him out the door.

“I’m fine now. Everything is better with good company.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

It’s no surprise that between the growing numbers of missing persons and the rumors surrounding him that Henry was forced to move yet again. This time, he chooses a small, rural town. News may travel fast in a small town, but a few sheep going missing can easily be blamed on coyotes in the woods.

In an old townhouse in the middle of the woods on the outskirts of town, it’s easy to stay hidden. With a “Beware of dogs” sign in the window and a tall metal fence, any trouble making teens are hesitant to egg his front door. After rumors, which Henry started himself, of the man in the old house being the spirit of a long dead carpenter still looking to whet the blade of his axe, most people have the right mind to take the back roads avoiding his house. With the deed signed by a young man mourning the fictional grandparents who owned the house, Henry plans to be long gone before the bank will start reconsidering.

Until he sees you. He’s sure this time. He knows your smile like a second language, your laugh as familiar as his own heartbeat, even if it’s slowed over time. He sees you, naive little thing, in his garden one day. You’re looking around like you’re expecting a wolf to come out of the bushes at any moment as you creep towards the broken window on the first floor. He can hear the chuckles coming from the younger boys who think they’re well hidden behind the tree trunks as they spur you on towards the windowsill.

You’re careful as you climb into the living room, flinching when one of your feet lands on a creaking floorboard. He can hear the jump in your heartrate, though it’s already beating like a snare drum. When you lean down to pick up the baseball laying on the floor, you notice the shadow engulfing your own. You squeak, a wonderful sound, and turn around to face him.

“The fence is to deter trespassing, not encourage climbing, I’ll have you know.”

You look like you might faint. Forgive him, but he almost hopes you do.

“I- I’m so sorry! I-just-” You’re scrambling over your own feet as you shuffle backwards with Henry creeping towards you. “I’m babysitting these boys, and- and they’re stupid, and I told them not to, but-”

You yelp when your foot snags a bump in the rug, tripping you. You close your eyes, bracing for the impact as you fall towards the floor. Instead, cold arms wrap around your body, holding you up. When you gather the courage to squint, your breath catches in your throat.

Henry is holding you, gazing into your eyes with utmost love and adoration. You stare into his eyes, mouth open in shock.

“Continue, darling. But what?”

You swallow thickly, too stunned to pry yourself from his arms. “But they shot a baseball through your window with a sling-shot-” A voice from outside the window yells wrist-rocket! “And since it’s Lucas’s girlfriend’s step-brother’s ball that his mother gave him, and I think Billy would genuinely kill me if-”

Henry stops listening at the mention of someone hurting you. “Well, we certainly can’t have that.” He releases you from his arms, and quicker than should be possible, places the baseball into your hands.

You blink, looking from him to the ball. “Uh, thanks.” Henry nods at you. “I’ll… uh, just be… leaving then.” You start to walk towards the window, but Henry stops you.

“Please, use the front door. I’d hate to risk you cutting yourself on the broken glass.” Truly, he would. He’s not sure he could contain himself if he caught the scent of even a drop of your blood, and he would hate to spoil the mood so quickly. When he finally eats, he wants to cherish every delightful moment of it.

You smile, god how he missed your smile, slowly crossing over to the front door. Once the door is open, you quickly run back through the open gate, you’re sure you checked if it was open before climbing over the least-rusted section. A gang of younger children chase after you, laughing as you scold them.

Now about this “Billy” character…

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

After his glimpse of you, Henry can’t seem to get enough. Though he doesn’t need sleep anymore, his days and nights seem never-ending now, he thinks of you late into the darkness, mind still lingering on you as the sun starts to rise. His hunger, though recently satiated, has slowly started to creep in. He avoids feeding as long as he can, returning to the boy in the cellar when he starts to feel that itching again and again. Eventually, the boy can’t supply any more, so Henry is forced to consider other methods.

He’s hesitant to venture into town, especially with the people so aware of their surroundings. He hadn’t expected the boy to raise such a fuss, merely some outsider with little town involvement. Perhaps it hadn’t helped that his disappearance came so soon after the other young man. Still, the posters and the growing number of “good samaritans” looking for the boy have him wary.

Henry is nearly considering returning him, though his family would likely realize the difference quickly when the boy stops eating, sleeping, refusing to leave the house in the humid summers. He hadn’t meant to turn the boy, but It had called to him, asking him to feed more than he would usually dare. When the boy, having had enough of Henry’s power to remain unconscious for many more days, had weakly turned his head to protest, Henry had stumbled away in fear.  Even now, as It calls to him, ordering him to return to the cellar where the boy endlessly pounds at the door, reminding him of his duty as the boy’s master to help him with the transition, Henry cannot force himself to see the boy. He knows, without someone to help him the transition will be painful. Still, in fear and shame, Henry can’t face him.

He’s grateful when the boy’s shouting finally ends. A moment of peace.

Then-

Knock, knock, knock. Henry nearly jumps out of his skin. With the boy’s noise, he hadn’t heard anyone approach the house. Slowly, he creeps towards the front door, staying in the small afternoon shadows of the drapes.

“Hello?”

God, he loves your voice. You make him feel new again, like the high he’s still chasing from his first feed. Still, he can’t risk the boy scaring you away. He goes to the cellar door first, to convince the boy to stay quiet.

“Oh my god, Will, is that really you?” Your voice is wavering, like you might be crying.

Henry stops, whirling towards the door. Through the glass panes, he can see two shadows. No, he couldn’t-

“Yeah,” the boy croaks. His voice is hoarse from screaming. “It’s me.”

Henry races towards the door. The boy must be hungry, it’s been days since he turned. And without Henry to help him, there is no way he could resist-

“Will, what happened-”

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N).” Henry’s almost at the door. He doesn’t even take the time to admire your name, the way it sounds on the boy’s lips. Just hold on a little longer, dear.

“What? I don’t-” Your sentence is cut off with a scream.

Henry yanks the door open with such a force that the wood groans and splinters. He grabs the boy by his shirt collar, throwing him back without a care for where he lands. If he’s hurt you-

“Oh my god, what the f-”

The boy starts to claw his way up from the dirt, racing towards you like a feral animal. If only Henry had more courage, the boy would be tempered by now.

Henry holds you, scanning your body quickly. There’s a small trail of blood, calm yourself man, but not enough to do any damage, maybe just enough to cause some dizziness.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’ll be-”

The boy tackles Henry, and the two roll, twigs scraping at their arms. Henry is still stronger, more well adjusted, and he throws the boy off of him quickly.

Henry makes his way back to you, covering you with his body. You’re trembling, eyes wide with fear and tears. The boy turns towards you, but Henry is more focused on making sure that you are okay.

The boy starts to run to you. Henry knows what he needs to do, but he can barely bring himself to do it. Still, if he doesn’t, the boy will, and the boy can’t control himself.

“I’m sorry, darling.” He bites into your neck, trying as hard as he can to bite on your previous wound. You go limp quickly; he’s well-practiced.

Henry turns to the boy. “Now. You.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

You feel your whole body ache before you really open your eyes. You’re groggy, and the heavy feeling in your limbs isn’t helping as you rub the sleep from the corners of your eyes. It’s dark, and despite your tiredness, you feel like you’ve been asleep for years.

You groan and look around, trying to take in as much of your surroundings as you can in the dark. You’re on a sofa, and a nice one at that, so definitely not your own. Despite your mind feeling like walking in mud, you distantly recognize the room, though you don’t know how.

From beyond the room, you can hear voices yelling. It’s two men arguing, you can barely make out their sentences. Must be Will and that one guy. As the fog in your mind fades, you see the room more clearly. The whole room, a living room, is covered in dust, and the fireplace is grey after years without use. The furniture is definitely vintage, and it looks straight out of your mom’s soap operas.

When you sit up, a spring in the sofa squeaks, and the voices stop. Fuck. You hold your breath, hoping they credit the noise to just the nature of an older house.

“(Y/N)? Darling, is that you?” It’s the man again. How does he know my name? And why is he being so fucking weird? Calling me darling, trying to hold me. Oh god, and I was unconsci-

“(Y/N), we can hear you breathing, we know you’re awake,” Will shouts. Damn, he’s never really been the aggressive type. Perhaps the days he was missing have changed him.

You exhale slowly, trying to level your heart rate. You slowly stand up and walk over to the door. When you crack the door open, the men both turn to look at you. Will quickly looks away and grits his teeth, but the other man… he’s staring at you, full force. No one has ever looked at you quite like that–like he wants to devour you whole.

Even as you creep into the room, you keep your distance, slowly circling towards Will while avoiding the man. Will still won’t look at you, odd for the kind, nerdy boy you’re used to. Though that isn’t the only difference. He looks like he grew up overnight. The boy that went missing a few days ago is nearly a stranger to the almost-man standing in front of you. Though, with the same bowl cut, even though he desperately needs a shower, the same mole above his lip, you can’t second-guess yourself. Under the broad shoulders and the newfound height, Mike is going to lose it, it’s still Will.

“(Y/N), it’s okay. I won’t b-” The man kind of chokes on a joke, one that seems to only make sense to himself. “It’s okay.” He’s still staring at you, his pupils blown wide. Is he high? Is he some kind of, like, user?

“Will, are you-” You slowly stalk closer to him. “Are you okay? I mean, you’ve been gone for like, days. Your mom is going nuts, and Jonathan thought you were dead, I mean, I swear I heard about a body, and Mike-” Will’s attention finally snaps back to you.

“Mike? What about Mike-” Will starts to rush towards you, but the man holds him back.

“Don’t touch him!” You snap at the same moment that Will growls, actually fucking growls, at the man, like some kind of rabid dog. Ignoring the shock and horror in the man’s eyes, you grab Will’s arm and pull him to you. “Will, let’s get out of here,” you whisper, turning to pull him towards the door. When he doesn’t move, you quickly look back at him.

“Will, come on.” He grits his teeth and swallows, still staring at the man. They look like they’re in some kind of silent argument. “Will, seriously, we need to-”

“(Y/N), we’re not leaving.” Will finally looks down at you, okay, he was not this tall a week ago, a sense of finality in his eyes.

“What are you talking about? Yes, we are.”

Will breathes a deep sigh, and gently puts his hand on your arm. “(Y/N), I’m sorry, but-”

“No! I- I don’t know what is going on, but we have to get out of here!” Will opens his mouth, but you cut him off. “And I am not leaving without you!”

“You’re not leaving at all.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Henry growls out the words, stepping closer to you, ignoring how you quickly step away.

“Okay, fuck you. Yes, we are. Will-” You’re starting to frantically pull at Will’s arm.

“(Y/N), I don’t want to hurt you.” Will grabs your hand pulling at his wrist.

“I don’t understand, what are you talking about?” Tears are starting to form at the corners of your eyes. You’re so beautiful, even when you cry.

“You’re staying here,” Henry says, still stalking towards you like a wolf hunting a rabbit. Your heart is beating like one too.

“No, no- We’re- we’re leaving.” Henry is almost in arm’s reach of you. “No, get away from me. Will, seriously- let me- let me go.” Henry is behind you now, caging you in between him and Will.

You still as Henry gently puts his hands on your biceps, but he can still hear the way your heart pounds in your chest and your body starts to shudder with silent sobs.

You’re still silent as he turns you to face him. The boy turns to look out of the front window, thankfully giving Henry the little privacy the moment allows him.

“Darling, you must stay here.” Henry ignores the quiet refusals you start to give him, instead reaching up to brush a tear from your cheek. You flinch away from his hand, but you don’t pull from his arms, a small grace. “I’m afraid I’ve lost you too many times to let you slip away now.”

“I don’t- I don’t understand.” You cry, refusing to look at him.

“You don’t need to.” You give a half-hearted, humorless chuckle. It still sounds delightful to him.

The boy coughs. “Hey, um-”

“Master-” Henry corrects.

“Yeah, I’m not calling you that. Anyway, I’ll be back,” the boy calls as he stalks to the front door.

You turn to look at him, starting to pull from Henry’s arms. “Wait, no, don’t leave me here! Where are you going?”

The boy turns and looks at you, though it’s more like he looks over you to look at him. “It’s only fair. If you get to keep her,” You start to squirm again, “I get to keep him.” He turns and walks through the splintered doorframe, that will complicate things, and he’s gone in the dark shadows of the night.

Henry clicks his tongue and looks back at you. You’re panting, obviously frantic from the boy’s words. He’ll have to talk to him about subtlety, especially if Will is to take over hunting.

“I suppose I should explain.”

By the time he finishes, telling you about, well, you, and the courtship, the war, your death, and the many, many years he spent without you, you’re entirely silent. You don’t say anything for a while, turning from your spot next to him on the sofa to look down at the rug. Though he’d never want to submit you to It, he wishes he knew what thoughts were running through your mind as you picked at the threads on the sofa arm.

Finally, finally, you turn to him. “Is this… like… some kind of, weird, sex… thing?”

He chokes a little. “W-What? No- No, it’s-” He can’t seem to find the right words. 

“I mean, I’m not trying to shame you, but like, you’re not serious, right?” You’re looking at him with a slight grimace, like he’s some kind of pitiful animal, only one you can’t help feeling sorry for despite your disgust.

“Of course, I’m serious!” Henry is appalled. He’s laid his very soul bare at your feet, and you’ve practically spit on him.

Worse, you laugh, actually laugh, at him, “Well, you can’t seriously think I’m going to go along with this! I mean, really?” When Henry doesn’t laugh with you, your chuckles fade. “Really?? No- what? No, I’m not your dead wife reincarnated, are you insane? And I’m definitely not staying here with you,” you stand from the sofa.

Henry stands with you. “Of course you are. I’m not losing you again.”

“Okay, fuck you-”

“(Y/N)?” A young man shouts from the entry. Henry was too distracted to hear the footsteps or smell the boy as he returned.

Your head whips to the door. “Mike? Is that you?” You rush to the entry, Henry hot on your heels. When you reach the front door, you embrace the young man on the doorstep. Will looks at Henry over your head, a slight smile on his lips.

So, this is who you left for. Henry raises an eyebrow.

Will schools his face, a challenge in his eyes. Is that going to be a problem?

Henry looks at the way you look at Mike, at the way you hold his face in your hands and check him for injuries like a worried mother hen.

Henry looks back at Will. No. For now. But this warrants discussion.

Will smiles, his eyes still harsh. Hell no. But thanks anyway.

The boy turns, pulling the young man under his arm, subtly laying claim. Bastard child. I should’ve just drained him completely-

“Mike, are you nuts?” You are trying to grab him from Will’s arms, but that is about as likely as pulling meat from a ravenous dog.

“(Y/N), dude, this is insane,” the young man, Mike, pants with a smile on his face.

“I know-”

“I mean, I always guessed there was strange shit in Hawkins, but vampires?”

“Right! This is-”

“Awesome!” 

You stop, the word horrible dying on your lips. Slowly, your shoulders fall. Mike rattles on about monsters, turning to Will and prattling about magic as your demeanor shifts.

Henry walks up behind you, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder. This time, you don’t flinch.

“How about we get you settled, hm?” You barely nod as he leads you into another room. You’re still empty eyed despite his conversation about bedrooms and clothes and buying anything you would hope for to help pass the time. When he shows you to a room, one he made sure still had a sturdy door and thick window panes, you sit on the edge of the bed.

Sure, he wishes it hadn’t happened this way. He’d love to hear your voice, to have you speak to him with the friendliness you share with Will and Mike. Henry knows you are opinionated, oh and how opinionated you are, and it kills him to see you so… empty.

Still, fear can turn to love. And despite how long he’s waited to see you, to hold you, to feel you again, he has all the time in the world to wait for you to see him too. As you once said, all’s better with good company.

Temperament: Dobermans tend to be energetic working dogs.

“Come on, one more round, I’ll go easy this time.”

The children all pant as they lay haphazardly on the arms and backs of the couches.

“I swear! I’ll even give you guys a head start!”

“Mrs. Whatsit, we’re tiiiiireeeed,” little Holly sings, hanging upside down off the couch cushion. Yeah, that’ll help you rest.

You huff. “We’ve only played a couple…” The kids all look up at you with slanted eyes. “Okay, so ten. We’ve played ten rounds of tag, but come one! You guys need to win at least once!”

When they don’t move from the couches, you whine a little. “What if I’m blindfolded? Ooh! Or what if there’s teams!”

The kids all start to slowly stand, wandering to the kitchen for snacks and refueling.

Henry watches as the kids gulp down juice and nearly swallow sandwiches whole. Even with how little he feels for the children, they are merely vessels after all, he can’t help but be a little amused by the situation.

You see the slight smirk on his face, and you turn on him. “Henry, make them play one more.” You’re trying to look intimidating, giving him what he thinks is supposed to be an angry glare, but it’s hard to take your strongest anger seriously while he’s constantly holding his back.

“Darling, I can’t make them-”

You groan, a mix of a scoff and something like a growl, and roll your eyes. “Sure you can! Just say, ‘Kids, go play with my wife. She needs entertainment. You are children, you should have endless energy-” Henry is chuckling at every sentence, barely stifling his laughter when you pout at him.

Henry looks over at the group of children, wordlessly begging him not to sentence them to more physical activity. He says, monotone and straight-faced, “Kids, go play with my wife. She needs entertain-”

“No! You have to say it like you mean it,” you groan at him. The kids are smiling now, energy slowly restoring and evil little thoughts brewing. 

“Well, my love, that’s a tall order-” Henry nearly falls into you. His head whips around, eyes wide with shock. You can barely see around him, his tall frame and his broad shoulders in your outstretched arms blocking your vision, but the giggling you hear tells you everything you need to know.

“You’re It,” one of the kids laughs. The kids all stand around you both, obviously proud of the fact that they’ve caught Mr. Whatsit off guard.

You’re both silent, looking around at the kids in shock. Slowly, a joyless grin spreads across Henry’s face. The kids all stop laughing, suddenly realizing what they’ve done.

Henry turns and looks at you, still smiling like a madman.

“H-Henry, now wait-”

“I’ll give you a headstart.”

“Henry, please-”

“Ten. Nine. Eight-”

He doesn’t make it to zero before you and the children scramble to get out of the room, all darting in different directions as Henry starts to chase after you.

Physicality: As working dogs, dobermans tend to become restless easily, needing much mental stimulation.

“No.” It was a firm, unyielding syllable. Henry sighs.

“Darling, you can’t-”

Your eyebrows are nearly at your hairline. You look at him through the mirror in front of you, smoothing the ruffles of your black checkered dress. “Can’t? Can’t what? Leave my own home?”

Henry scowls a little, looking down at your reflection while he holds your shoulders. If you weren’t in such a sour mood, you would make him take a good family portrait. “It isn’t safe, darling. The monsters-”

You pull yourself out of his grip. Your hair lifts a little as you spin to face him. If you weren’t so stubborn, and if he didn’t think it would get him in trouble, Henry would run his hands through your curls. “Henry, I am a grown woman. You leave this house alone; I see no reason why I cannot do the same.” When he opens his mouth, you continue, “Besides. I wasn’t asking for permission, I was making you aware of my plans. I am going for a walk. If you don’t like it, you can come with me.”

Henry grits his teeth, brain working overtime to find some reason to convince you to stay.

“What about the children?” Henry softens his face, raising a hand towards the door, through which you can hear the gaggle of kids likely tracking mud across your nice rugs.

“They’re kids, not babies. They can handle an hour by themselves. They probably won’t even notice we’re gone,” you chuckle. You cross him and go to the dresser, taking some time to fix any stray strands of hair and check your complexion. 

“Well, what about-”

“What if you just trust me?” Henry stills, seeing your glare. He’s silent for a moment, a moment too long. You huff and practically stomp to the door. 

As your hand curls around the handle, Henry softly grips your wrist. You freeze. You want to be angry. You want to whirl around and yell at him. To scream, and fight, and throw things. You want to get out of this stuffy house. You want to do something.

But when you turn to look at him, his eyes wet and full, his lip caught between his teeth, his chest heaving, you can’t.

“Henry-”

“I can’t.” You stop short. “...I can’t.”

You nod and take a breath. Raising a hand to his cheek, you tenderly wipe the tear threatening to roll down his cheek. You’ve never seen him this… this. “You can’t what?”

Henry takes a staggering breath. For a moment, he looks no older than the children downstairs. “I can’t let you go.” Before you can get angry again, he continues, “I can’t lose you too.”

Silence. Slowly, you nod and embrace him. Henry holds your head to his chest like he’s scared something will take you from him. You rub your hands over his spine, drawing circles on his shoulder blades. His hand around your lower back is crushing you to him, making it difficult to breathe, but you know he needs this.

You stay in his embrace, not quite sure who is holding who, until he releases you. Henry looks away, refusing to make eye contact. You wring your hands, picking at the skin around your fingernails and chewing the inside of your cheeks.

“I’ll-”

“Maybe we-”

Henry stops, snapping his gaze to yours. You nod to him, letting him speak first. He inhales, “Perhaps… we…” He seems to lose his focus, eyes darting up as he fades deep into thought. “What about a compromise? Maybe, a garden?”

He looks down at you, eager to soothe your anger. Smiling, you lick your lips and look up at him. You stand on your tiptoes, take his face in your hands, and give him a light kiss on his cheek.

“A garden sounds wonderful.”

Social and familial nature: Dobermans, famous watch dogs, warm to strangers, but slowly, closely guarding their own.

Henry was never one to truly be afraid since he knows he will always have the upper hand. That being said, his heart was beating out of his chest when he approached you.

“I just wanted to-”

“No.” It was simple, blunt, final. Henry stops, eyebrows knitting together. 

“I didn’t even-”

“Not interested.” You didn’t even look up from your book. Good for Henry’s sake, otherwise you would have seen the wide-eyed stare he was giving you. God, the gall you had. He’d never had anyone be so blunt with him, so rude. Aside from your typical high school bully, no one had ever been so curt, disregarding him as if he was just any other future Hawkins High dropout.

How dare you treat him so… mundanely? He’d left in a hurry, not that you’d given him a second glance.

It had taken weeks to get your attention. He’d tried approaching you after class, thinking maybe you were just deep in thought when he’d attempted conversation in the library. You’d walked straight by him, to the enjoyment of the jocks right behind you. He tried leaving notes in your locker. You threw them away without even looking at them. He even left flowers on your doorstep, feeling entirely too much like his father. You cut off the blooms and put the thorns in a vase.

It was the bird that caught your attention, or more specifically, its skull. In entirely uncharacteristic behavior, he hadn’t been the one to kill it, finding its perfectly preserved skull in the woods behind his house. It would get your attention one way or the other, he had thought as he snuck it into your locker with a small note. If you wouldn’t accept his admiration, he would learn to accept your hatred.

He shouldn’t have been surprised that it entranced you. You had come up to him, immediately, at lunch.

“So you too have an interest in the odd and occult?”

He had just looked at you, mouth open and eyes wide. Henry was really just happy to hear you talk to him rather than near him.

You rolled your eyes. “Or you just wanted to play a prank on the freak. Right. Good one.”

You started to turn and walk away, and-

“No! I-” You and Henry both looked down to where his hand rested on your wrist, your dark nail polish complimenting his pale skin. “Yes. I am quite interested in odd things.”

You looked from your wrist to his eyes, silent.

Henry scrambled for words, “Not that I mean you! Of course, I am interested in you, but I don’t think you’re odd, well-”

You smile at him. “I got it.” He stops, slowly nodding.

You set your lunch bag down, a paper bag with various drawings of ravens and bones that you must have scribbled when bored during class.

“My name is (Y/N), by the way.”

“I know.”

“Good. Seems you also know which locker is mine, where I live, and that rose bushes are my favorite.” Henry blinked at you, unused to such openness from girls his age. Was this the point where he apologized for… basically stalking you?

“I’m s-”

One of the jocks, Something Harrington, throws a wadded up ball of paper trash at Henry’s head. Nothing necessarily unusual, other than when you huff, opening up Henry’s carton of milk and throwing it directly at Harrington’s face.

“Harrington, you miserable little snob, how ‘bout you go back to licking your dad’s boots,” you shout across the lunchroom, ignoring the small chuckles and stares you get. You look right back to Henry, all anger gone from your face. “So, this Saturday, seven-thirty? I think the theater’s playing 1984. Should be good.”

Henry knew then that he would always be yours.

Temperament: Golden retrievers tend to be energetic and extremely eager to please.

“So, basically… you hate me.”

“I did not say that-”

“You hate me, and you want me to die.”

“(Y/N), you are being ridiculous. We cannot-”

“But Heeeeeeenryyyy, look at it!”

Henry sighs, looking down at the poor rabbit that you somehow managed to catch. Despite your calming tone, the hare looks like its heart may hop out of its chest at any moment. You pet it, pulling its ears down tightly against its skull, and you lift the rabbit up to look Henry in the eye.

Henry looks back and forth between you and the rabbit, still unconvinced. Though speaking to animals isn’t one of the many gifts at his disposal, he can see the fear in the rabbit’s eyes, see the stress in the way it kicks its hind legs at your hands around its middle.

“(Y/N), I am looking at it. It looks-”

“If you aren’t about to say ‘adorable and like it wants to come live with us,’ then-”

“It most certainly does not want to come live with us.” You pout, about to turn the rabbit into your chest, but Henry knows you better than that. He carefully lifts the poor animal out of your clutches. For a moment, he and the hare look at each other, both extremely aware of their own natures.

Though every primal urge in his body desires to strangle the creature, to smear its blood across the front door and see the fear in the children’s eyes, Henry takes a deep breath and releases the rabbit into the woods. Henry forces himself to look at you rather than watch the rabbit race into the bushes, though the sight in front of him is not far better.

Your bottom lip is pushed out, slightly shaking. You’re not really crying, he knows that you’re just pulling his leg to make him feel guilty, but damn you, it works. Henry looks away as he turns your shoulders. He leads you back into the house with a firm hand on your lower back.

“Darling, I love you very much. Please do not make me do that again,” he sighs.

You huff, then immediately, “Fine. But just because of that, I love you more.”

Henry smiles, internally rolling his eyes. He’ll let you win this one, for showing you how much he truly loves you, how deeply his need for you goes, would likely do more harm than good.

Physicality: Golden retrievers require less frequent yet more intense maintenance than other breeds.

“Darling, where are you,” Henry calls, his tone nearly singing.

The trees flash by him. The peaks through the thick curtain of branches, occasionally getting in his eyes.

“Sweetheart,” he pants, slowing to a stop when the woods open up for a minute to reveal a small clearing. “As much fun as this has been, it needs to stop.”

Henry scans the clearing, looking for any sign of human presence. A twig snaps to his left, and he snaps to attention. Henry has to remind himself not to jump at the first sign of life. He needs to wait, to let his prey grow careless.

And you do. After a few moments of silently scouring the clearing, methodically searching the treeline for a glimpse of you, he sees it. There. A flash of your hair in the wind. He creeps closer, his heart pounding in his ears.

He’s nearly upon you when he hears giggles behind him.

Whirling around, he laughs with you, though his is far more dark, more sinister.

“Darling, I’m beginning to lose my patience,” he sings. Henry can feel the blood rushing in his veins, the craving to pounce and sink his teeth in. He can hear its whispers, the dark musings wondering how your flesh would taste, and not in the way Henry typically prefers. It wants to tear into you, to ruin you.

Henry is starting to lose control. He can barely hear his own breath over its desires. He can barely-

“Got you!”

Henry tumbles to the forest floor, the wind leaving his lungs. In a moment, he’s back in control, having rolled on top of you, pining you to the ground.

You giggle and smile up at him. “God, isn’t that a rush?”

Henry pants and slowly smiles at you. “Yes, quite. Now, let’s get home.”

Social and familial nature: The picture of a family dog, golden retrievers are very affectionate, good with children, and open to strangers. 

“Now, children, remember! Stranger danger!” You look at the group of children in front of you, eyes glazed and shoulders sagging from listening to another one of your lectures on safety. 

Noticing a pause in your soapboxing, the children all shout, “We know, Mrs. Whatsit!” You sigh, with a smile on your face. You really can’t be mad at them, you know how it felt to sit and listen to adults talk while visions of your toys and snacks mocked you. You turn and sit next to Henry on the couch, leaning into his slender yet firm frame.

“I mean, really, I’m just trying to stop them from hopping into a strange man’s car and letting him take them home.”

Henry chuckles. “Darling, they’re already in the strange man’s home.”

You stiffen for a moment before laughing. You roll over, laying your head in his lap and dangling your legs over the arm of the couch. “Good grief, we’re going to be on the news, aren’t we?”

Henry smiles down at you, brushing the stray strands of hair from your face. “One day or another, I’m sure.” He leans down, giving you a kiss on the tip of your nose. How unaware you are, of his true form, of his dark past and worse future.

“Oh well,” you shrug. “Our mugshots ‘ll look great. We’ll have a real Bonnie and Clyde look going on.”

It had all started with a bad pair of shoes and a drink carrier. A recent Purdue graduate, you were looking for somewhere a little more quiet to settle down in. Hawkins wasn’t your first choice, but the real estate was so cheap, you could afford a down payment on a nice house even with your meager savings. With your criminal justice degree from a nice college, you thought getting a job at the Hawkins Police Department would be a breeze. And it was… until you realized that the job title was actually Assistant to the Detective.

But you had to start somewhere! So every morning, you’re at the office, bright and early with coffee, pastries, and a smile. You make the copies, answer the phone, file the paperwork. When Detective Richards needs you to fax something, shouting a name (not your name as he never bothered to learn it) out into the hallway, even though your desk is right outside your door with a nameplate on it.

It was one rainy fall day when it all began. You were running late for the first time since you started in July. You’d forgotten your laundry in the dryer, so your blouse was wrinkled. In an attempt to save time, you tried to do your makeup while driving, leaving you with a bit too harsh of blush and a lipstick stain under your lower lip. Grabbing your purse from the passenger seat and the drink carrier of coffee, you tucked the paper back of donuts under your elbow. You slammed the car door shut with your hip, running into the office to avoid the downpour. Inside, you wiped your shoes on the rug, smoothed your hair with your hand, nearly hitting yourself with your purse, and smiled at the receptionist.

“Hi, sorry I’m-”

The door opens behind you, hitting you on the backside and offsetting your balance. If it weren’t for your well-worn work heels, you could’ve righted your ankles and staggered away to your desk. But your shoes weren’t even good quality when you bought them from the thrift, the straps loose and heel wobbly to begin with. So, instead, you fall to the floor, landing directly on the drink carrier of steaming coffee, crushing the donuts under your hip, and tossing all of the contents from your purse across the dirty office floor.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry, sweetheart, lemme help you with that,” you hear the gruff voice of the Chief of Police slur. Of course, he’s hung over again. You groan and sit up, assessing the damage.

“It’s fine, sir, I can handle it,” you mumble, taking the napkins from the paper bag and blotting the coffee from the floor, ignoring the stains on your blouse for now. The one day I pick a white top. The Chief walks over you and the pool of liquid on the floor, and he starts putting your items back in your purse. You look up just in time to see him gingerly lift the square gold wrapper from the floor. Oh, dear god. “I can get it,” you squeak. He glances over at you, an amused smirk on his face as he silently puts the condom in your purse and hands your bag to you.

“Might want to keep a better grip on this,” he chuckles. You blush, almost wishing you could say, Might want to keep your eyes open, but you need your paycheck a little too much to risk it. He steps around you, though the back of his boot hits the puddle of coffee, splashing it up on your face. You can hear the men in the other room start laughing with each other when he walks in, probably talking about their late nights and early morning escapades.

You sigh. It’s going to be a long day.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

As expected, the day drags on. You go home on your lunch break to change and clean yourself up. Lunch is a quick sandwich and an apple that you eat in your car in the parking lot. Even though most of the employees eat in the break room, you’d rather die than have to sit in the small room with the cops while they talk about their various hookups and recent arrests. Sure, it’s awkward watching them all walk out the front door and around the side of the building to get a quick fix. Really, who’s going to come arrest them? Most of them are curt, if they aren’t pretending like neither of you see each other. A short nod and tight smile as they walk to their cars or pull out their lighters. I suppose everyone has their vices. Though you hope your coworkers aren’t as aware of yours as you are theirs.

The rest of the day is never ending, at least until thirty minutes before you leave. Of course, you should work until the last minute left on the clock, but it’s Friday. It’s rainy, so you assume that means all the criminals are in their homes rather than robbing banks or stealing purses. It’s also, like, nearing five. The sun is still up, and you devour the daylight before winter brings midnight at six o’clock. Anyone in their right mind is packing up, heading home, curling up under a nice blanket, and acting on their best behavior, just as you plan to do.

Until you’re getting your car keys out of your purse and a shadow looms over your desk. You barely look up, still digging through your bag as you recite your usual, “If you put it on my desk, I’ll get to it Monday.” You hear the person huff, and you’ve finally found the carabiner of keys. Looking up, you nearly drop them back into your mess of a purse. “Oh! Um, sorry, sir,” you fumble to clear the stacks of paper on your desk, hoping the Chief doesn’t think you’re a disaster. You’re scrambling to put your pens back into the empty mug on your desk when he puts a hand out to stop you.

“Relax, (L/N).” Chief digs a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, putting one in his mouth as he talks to you. “I’m not putting you t’ work.” You breathe a sigh of relief, glad to avoid overtime right before the weekend. I mean, really, I’m not a secretary, and I barely do anything except sort paperwork all day. “I was just gonna say…” He takes a drag of the now lit cigarette, looking away from you when he blows the smoke out. His lip pulls at the corner, and he huffs. “My bad about… you know. Can I… make it up to you?” When the chief looks back at you, he almost drops the cigarette in between his fingers. You’re just staring at him, mouth open and eyebrows so high, it looks painful.

When he raises his own brows at you, you realize he’s waiting for an answer. “Oh, don’t, um, don’t worry about it, sir!” Quickly, you wipe the shock from your face, plastering on your best service smile. He actually, kind of, apologized. “It’s no big deal. Could’ve happened to anyone!”

He nods, putting the cigarette back up to his lips. When the chief closes his eyes for a second, you look down at your desk with wide eyes. Oh my god, stop acting like an idiot.

For fear of seeming ungrateful, you cough out, “But! Um, thank you, sir!”

He grunts, looking over at you again, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah? For what? Ruining your day?” The chief rolls his eyes before snuffing out his cigarette on the edge of your desk. Geesh, at least use a tray.

Trying not to let it bother you, or at least not to let it show, you smile. “For offering. I mean, seriously, don’t worry about it, sir. But I don’t think any of the other guys would ever worry about making it up to me,” you chuckle a little, imagining Richards even getting your name right, much less apologizing to you about something. He’d probably rather eat a pair of jeans. You look up at the chief, seeing the clock hit five right behind him. “Oh, closing time!”

You stand up, grabbing your purse from your desk and pulling it over your arm. “I’ll see you on Monday! Have a great weekend,” you say over your shoulder, waving at him as you leave the building. He gives you a nod, lips pulled tight as he puts his hat back on and heads back to his office.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Come Monday, there’s a paper box on your desk when you open the door. You made sure you weren’t late, never again, and you didn't see anyone else’s car in the parking lot. You put down your purse and take off your coat. Winter wasn’t here yet, but its luggage had arrived. You open the box to see fresh donuts and a note.

“Coffee’s in the break room. Consider us even.”

You smile, setting the notes aside and taking stock. A dozen donuts, twice as many as you normally get the office. They can share a donut or buy their own, is your motto. The box is assorted, some plain glazed, others covered in icing and sprinkles, and some specialty. You smile, grab your favorite from the box and place it on a napkin on your desk. You’d skipped breakfast this morning to save time, so the pastry was a welcome surprise. Even though he said you were even, you’ll have to do something to thank the Chief.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

With winter on its way, the days seem to slur together. Arriving in the early morning light, leaving at sunset, you feel like a vampire. The cold certainly doesn’t help. The officers are grouchy, tired of sitting in freezing patrol cars and standing in the biting wind to write tickets. If it weren’t for the Chief pressing down on them to stay alert, you think the officers would go into hibernation until April.

The motivation to get back inside has them coming to the office often, dropping off stack after stack of files for you to sort through. Parking tickets, expired registrations, rolling stops. Anything that gets them back in the car quickly.

You file it all. You help the people pay their fees, smiling and nodding at them as they curse at you. When a newly licensed teenager gets ticketed over for speeding, you hand him a tissue while he cries at your desk.

It’s not much, but it pays the bills and it keeps you busy. Of course, not too busy to keep an eye on the paper for a better job.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Winter has finally arrived when your car breaks down. You knew it was going to happen. You’d been pushing off scheduling maintenance, telling yourself you’d do it on the next payday. It was still dark out, dark enough to have your headlights on. You were coasting down a field-lined road, heartily ignoring the thunking sound coming from the hood, if it isn’t smoking then it’s fine, when the engine sputtered. Luckily the road was empty enough that you could slide to a stop on the shoulder, parking and dropping your head down onto the steering wheel.

After giving yourself enough time to pout, scream into your hands, and glare at your dashboard, you grabbed your purse from the passenger seat, set your hazards on, and headed to the trunk. Growing up in Indiana, you were well prepared for winter car troubles. With a blanket in the back seat for broken heat, a shovel in the trunk for stuck tires, a box of food/water bottles for waiting, and an emergency flashlight to flag down passerby's, your car was a gas mask away from a bomb shelter on wheels.

You curled up in the blanket in the back seat, keeping watch out the windows for any other early birds on their commutes. After about five minutes, long enough for you to start wondering if you should just get out and walk the rest of the way to work, you see headlights in the distance. Thank god.

The car slows down next to you, headlines making you squint as the person stops.

You’re about to get out to thank the person when you stop. Is that… the chief?

He snaps you out of your thoughts with a tap of his knuckles to your window. His words are muffled from the glass and the wind, but you know he’s asking if you’re alright.

You open the door, awkwardly pulling the blanket off of you and climbing out of the backseat. He watches you like a newborn deer learning to walk, eyes full of concern and amusement. When you wobble on the icy road, he braces his arms out to catch you, only putting his hands back into his pockets when you grab the car door and smile.

“Car trouble?” He smirks, words making puffs of steam in the winter air. You give him a tight lipped smile, unamused with his obvious sarcasm.

“Yeah, seems I’m due for a tune up,” you sigh, rubbing your hands together and turning to the car. While you’re running your hands through your hair and worrying about mechanic bills, Hopper is enjoying the view. With one hand wrapped around your middle and the other rubbing your neck, you look over your shoulder and smile at him. Chewing your bottom lip, you ask, “Would you mind taking a look under my hood?”

That wipes the smirk clean off his face. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him caught off guard. Wiping around to face him, you panic, “What? Is something wrong?” He shakes his head, though he looks like you just asked him something crazy, like if he wanted to go hunt aliens. He goes to the front of your car, lifting the hood up and peeking his head in.

After a minute or two of grumbling to himself, he looks up at you. “Yeah, your engine is shot, kid.” He’s mentally kicking himself; kid probably isn’t a great nickname for someone you’ve been thinking about fu-

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. You blush when you realize you’re swearing in front of your supervisor. “Well, then, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, sir, do you think I could ride with you?” You don’t want to impose, and you do not want the Chief of Police to think of you as some scatterbrained, mindless kid.

Hopper smiles, letting the hood slip from his fingers and slam shut. His heart skips a beat when you jump at the sound. He rounds your car and opens his truck door for you, “It’s no trouble at all, love to give you a ride.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The Chief is more than kind, setting you up with a local tow truck and mechanic. When he sees you start looking at your checkbook, he simply smiles and tells you not to worry about it. He knows a guy, and he’ll take care of it. You’re hesitant to let him, that seems like an awful lot, but he won’t take no for an answer, insisting that he’s just looking out for you.

You smile at him, and you make sure to thank him multiple times. Mentally, you think of the donuts and the unspoken scoreboard you’ve been keeping. You’ll have to do something really special to make it up to him. Your mom would suggest a casserole and some kind of dessert, but you’ve never been a good cook. Obviously, money isn’t an option, so a cash and card is off the table. Maybe something hand made?

When Hopper comes to work the next day to see a small package, wrapped in newspaper and twine, he wants to throw it at the wall. He wants to unwrap it, taking time to run his fingers over where yours carefully folded the paper. He wants to rip the beautiful packaging to shreds with his teeth.

Hopper opens the package in a quick tear, groaning at the gift inside. You made him a goddamn scarf. The blue stitches are wobbly, obviously handmade. When he lifts the scarf out of the packaging, a note falls out.

“Coffee and lunch are in the break room. Now, we’re even. :)”

He wants to rip the handle off of the door when he sees a to-go bag from his favorite sandwich joint in town on the table.

Despite the cackling hyenas at the morning briefing, he wears the scarf with pride.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

That night, Hopper gets the most drunk he’s been in a while. Probably since Joyce left, and since… But he’s not thinking about that. He’s thinking about you. God, he feels like such a sick pervert. I mean, he’s old enough to be your dad. Still, the way you smile at him. The way you blush and start talking all frantic. Fuck, if you’d have known what he was thinking when he saw that rubber in your purse all those months ago, you’d have complained to HR. If you knew what he did with the scarf you made him, you’d probably quit on the spot. He feels like a lion playing with an antelope.

He knows he should stop. You’re too young for him. Too good for him. And, for fuck’s sake, he’s the goddam Chief of Police. Shouldn’t he be better than this? A pillar of light for the community, or whatever the mayor called him, a year ago when-

He downs the rest of his scotch, quickly ordering another from the bartender, slamming cash down when the man has the nerve to look skeptical. When the bartender finishes pouring, Hopper starts swallowing the new scotch in thick gulps.

“Jeez, long week,” Murray questions and laughs from the stool next to him. “Isn’t life all sunshine and daisies for the wonderful Hawkins Chief of Police,” he chuckles, sipping his vodka cran, smiling to himself.

Hopper grunts something, though it comes out a more mumble. 

Murray leans forward, eyebrows raised in excitement. “I know that look. You bastard, you’re dating again!” He laughs and claps his hands. Resting his elbows on the bar, he leans forward, curling his hands under his chin like a teenage girl preparing for gossip. “Who’s the lucky lady,” he bats his eyelashes at Hopper.

Hopper groans, “There is no lucky lady, you’re nuts,” but Murray knows him far too well to fall for Hopper’s deflection.

“Eh, sure, but that’s besides the point. I mean, look at you,” he throws his hands out like he’s presenting Hopper as a gameshow prize. “You’re here, downing drinks like they’re Russians, and, more importantly, you haven’t told me to fuck off yet, which means you need me for something.” Murray sits back in the bar stool, grinning like a fool and nodding his head.

“Okay, fine.” Hopper looks away from him, biting the inside of his cheek. “What do you know about…”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

That night, you wake with a start. Looking over at the alarm clock on your nightstand, you see 1:07 blinking at you in red lights. Rubbing your eyes, you roll over, pulling your comforter closer to your face. Fuck, it’s cold.

You’ve nearly fallen back asleep when you hear it. Creaking, just like the floorboards of your back porch, and coming from the backyard too. Sitting straight up, your vision is sharp. Is someone breaking into my house? You almost laugh to yourself. The poor robber wouldn’t have much to steal. Slowly, you slip out from under your warm covers, pulling the worn sleeves of your Boilermaker sweatshirt over your wrists.

The robber wouldn’t have much to steal, which means you have nothing to lose, you remind yourself as you grab your old softball bat from by the bedroom door. You make sure to keep your body out of sight from the windows, ducking under the sills and quickly darting through doorways. By the time you’re peeking through the small glass pane on the back door, you can barely hear over your pounding heartbeat.

But you scoff when you finally find the courage to look outside. The backyard is empty, still just grass and woods. Probably just a raccoon or something. Really, who would really try to break into your house? You live in a perfectly nice neighborhood, with houses close enough to yours that they would hear the intruder, and your car is in the driveway (still broken down, but no small criminal would know that).

Rolling your eyes and internally mocking yourself, you walk back to your bedroom, letting the bat drop onto the rug under your bed. When a shadow crosses your window later that night, you tell yourself it’s just the wind moving the branches on the trees.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

It’s another month before you really start to think something is wrong. You’ve been sleeping poorly nearly every night, blaming the bags under your eyes on the neighbor’s dog and too much caffeine, but the creeping feeling that sinks in your chest each night makes you second guess yourself.

Refusing to let it affect your work, you layer your concealer and plaster on your best smile. If no one looks too close, which no one ever does, they’d think nothing was wrong at all. And nothing is wrong, per say, just… weird. You’ve been missing things lately. It’s probably that your washer needs to be replaced. And to organize your dresser. And to clean out your purse. It’s all just one big coincidence, and you really don’t need to worry yourself so much over nothing.

But then, after a classic Indiana fool’s fall, the snow comes back twofold. The white flakes dust your windows and cling to the ground. You’ve luckily gotten your car fixed, but scraping the windshield each morning is a chore.

It’s so dark in the mornings when you’re cleaning off the thin layer of ice on your windows that you almost don’t notice them. The footsteps in the snow. At first, you don’t think much of it. It’s been a day or two since the last snowfall, they’re probably leftover footprints from after work last night. But as you walk around the car, dusting off your mirrors and debating how much of your windshield needs to be clean for you to drive anyway, you step in one of the footprints. It easily envelopes your entire foot, with inches to spare. And those tread marks aren’t like the bottoms of your winter boots in the slightest. Maybe the mailman stopped by? But you hadn’t received any packages, at least not that you had seen on the porch. Reminding yourself to look for mail when you got home, you raced to work, allowing the busy day to clear your mind of any sole-shaped concerns.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The holidays lighten your nerves. Even with no family in Hawkins, you manage to find some Christmas cheer. You call your parents, smile brightening when they put your younger siblings on the phone. How can you be so anxious while listening to their jumbled words and frantic rambling about what type of cookies to leave out for Santa and if chocolate milk is okay. It may not be as comforting as a trip home, but you’ve barely been able to take any time off with the Chief breathing down everyone’s neck. Something about “staying sharp,” and “the November curse”? Though you aren’t quite sure what he’s talking about, November was actually a perfectly boring month for the Department, you’re certainly not going to be the one caught slacking.

When you return to the office on the 28th, glad for the four day weekend, you’re pleasantly surprised to see a gift on your desk. The box is horribly wrapped, a mess of paper and tape, and it’s a miracle that the bow is still attached at all, but you appreciate the thought more than anything. At least, until you see what’s inside.

It’s a mug filled with at least a dozen different types of tea bags.

“Sweet dreams. And maybe try less coffee?”

While it’s no secret to anyone in the office that you drink about two or three cups per day, minimum, you’re positive no one has mentioned your lack of sleep. Perhaps you forgot to cover a yawn one day? Or maybe Jan has noticed the way you nearly rub your eyes out of their sockets each morning. Regardless, you make a note to yourself to keep an eye on your morning behavior.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

When the note arrives, you’re shell-shocked. With spring came sunny days, melting the snow and your nerves with every passing week. You hadn’t thought of the shadows or footprints in nearly months. Ever since you started drinking tea before bed, you’ve been sleeping much better as well. You were fit as a fiddle, and life had seemed to be on the uptick for you. Until-

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get the hell out of Hawkins. And stay the fuck away from Jim. - J”

At first, you nearly threw it away. It’s obviously some teenager, probably a jealous girlfriend trying to scare away her competition, who just happened to have the wrong address. But when you’re tossing the envelope into the trash, you see the postage.

It has your name on it. Not “Resident” or some other generic name that someone would put on a mailing list. Your exact first and last name, correct spelling and all. Whoever sent this meant for you to get it. You devour the envelope for any other clues as to who may be sending you vague threats in the mail, but there is no return address, only yours and the stamp. It’s not a local stamp, just a picture of some ducks with- New York?? Double checking, you saw it right the first time. There, in bold white lettering, the stamp has New York written on it.

Your hands are shaking so badly that you almost crumble the note entirely as you attempt to cram the paper into your purse. If there’s anyone that would know what to do about weird mail, it would have to be the police, right?

That’s what you hoped, but after the guys nearly laugh you out of the office, you wish you’d never even considered it.

“Honey, it’s obviously a scam or something,” Detective Richards chuckles over his coffee mug. “Besides, why would someone want to threaten a small town secretary anyway?”

Holding yourself back from knocking his hot coffee right into his lap, you smile and nod. “Of course, what was I thinking?” You laugh it off, walking to the door with the note squeezed in your fist.

The men laugh even harder. You don’t get what was so funny, you were being serious, until Officer Clark scoffs, “I’m surprised you think anything at all.”

The note is nearly unidentifiable as you leave the hyenas to their fun in the break room.

After a few minutes of crying in the bathroom, you hear a knock on the door.

Sniffling, you try to steady your voice as you whine, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

You can see the shadow of the person’s feet through the crack under the single bathroom door. They shift their weight back and forth, almost hesitant to leave. That or they really have to piss.

A minute later, the person knocks again. You sigh, wiping the tears from under your cheeks and straightening yourself in the mirror. Throwing the note in the trash along with your paper towel, you grit your teeth. When you open the bathroom door, taking all the patience you have left not to curse at the person, you panic when you see the Chief.

“Oh, um, sorry, I- didn’t know you were waiting.” You start to rush to your desk, thoroughly mortified by the idea that the Hawkins Chief of Police, one of the most important men in town, may have heard you crying in the department bathroom, when he grabs your bicep. You both pause. You look down at his grip on your arm, and he looks down at his hand as if it moved of its own accord.

Slowly, he releases your arm, putting his hands into his pockets. You’re still looking at him, waiting for him to say something to explain why he stopped you.

“I, um, wanted to apologize for the guys.” He looks away and sighs. If you weren’t so humiliated, you would have appreciated the kindness he was offering, but you were beyond an apology. At this point, you wanted to forget that you ever mentioned the stupid note to anyone and continue to put hours in at a job where obviously no one considered you other than when the coffee pot ran empty.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” you mumble, turning to escape.

“It’s not fine,” he almost seems to growl. You look back at him, not even bothering to smile or pretend to be in a good mood. The Chief seems to notice, frowning at your expression.

Stop making waves. Just keep punching in hours until you hear back from the P.I.

You plaster on your usual smile and attempt to make your voice sound cheery when you reply, “You don’t need to apologize for them. It’s not like I’ll think about it too much anyway.”

He doesn’t have a response to that, so he watches you trudge back to your desk, waiting until five o’clock when you can retreat home.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

He’d seen you approach them about it. His office shared a wall with the main office and break room, so he’d heard every word as clear as day. He’d heard every slight tremor in your voice, he could practically hear the way he imagined your bottom lip was quivering. It had taken all of him to let you finish talking, you had gone to them and not him after all, as much as that hurt him.

You had no reason to go to him. Other than a couple kind words, that ride to work, the mug he still hadn’t seen you use, you largely acted like he didn’t exist. Unless he was walking through the office or purposefully seeking out your attention, you probably didn’t think of him at all.

But he sure thought of you. It killed him to hear them laugh at you. To act like you were just some kid, scared of imaginary monsters under the bed. When he saw you storm from the break room to the bathroom, he had to remind himself not to chase after you. Not to go into the break room and tear them all a new one.

Instead, he waited for you to leave, hoping to pretend to catch you on his way to the water cooler. But after a minute, and then two, he couldn’t help himself.

So, he walked down to the bathroom, pretending that he had to take a leak, and knocked on the door. His heart dropped when he heard you sniffling, trying to cover the sound of your sobs. When you deflected his apology, he couldn’t help the anger in him. Here he was, stepping outside of his comfort zone to actually apologize, and you thought you were too good for it. Well, fuck him for trying to be a good person. He’s just trying to make sure you’re okay, he tells himself as he walks into the bathroom. Any good boss would want to check on their employees, he thinks as he digs through the trashcan. And isn’t it his job to look out for the community, he wonders as he finds the note.

After he reads it, he doesn’t care about morality or good leadership. All he cares about is making sure that you don’t go searching for more answers.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Week by week, the notes don’t stop coming.

“You need to leave, as soon as you can. - J”

“You don’t know what you’re getting into. - J.”

“If it’s a money problem, I can help. - J.B.”

“Hey, not trying to scare you or anything, but you should really consider moving. - W”

The last one gives you pause. Every single letter had been signed by some variant of J/J.B. There had been nothing from a W before. Still, like every note before it, you threw it away, hoping it would be the last.

But it wasn’t.

“I know you don’t believe us, (Y/N), but we’re really trying to look out for you. There may be no reason for you to trust us, but there are one million reasons not to trust him. We can’t explain like this, but please, if you aren’t willing to leave Hawkins, at least leave the P.D. For your own sake. - With hope, Will, Jonathan, and Joyce”

You’re absolutely sick to your stomach. You can’t ignore it any longer. Can’t blame it on scammers or teenage pranks. But you still can’t trust the officers. They’d laugh you out of Hawkins before these criminals could take you out themselves.

So you turn to the most understanding person you know, the Chief of Police.

· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

As you sit in one of his office chairs, looking uncomfortable and nervous to be sitting in front of him, Hopper wants to devour you. Until, of course, you slide the note across his desk, and his stomach flips.

That fucking bitch. He should’ve known better. Of course, Joyce would keep her tabs on him. Did he really think that psychotic woman would ever let him have a glimpse of happiness? No, she would never let him have even an ounce of joy in his life. Not that he truly believed he deserved it, but depriving himself of life’s pleasures was his choice to make, not hers. Especially after she had the nerve to leave him. And now she wants to meddle in his life? Absolutely fucking not.

“I’m not really sure what I’m lookin’ at here,” he lies, shrugging his shoulders as he slides the note back to you. Inhaling his cigarette, he looks at you out of the corner of his eye.

You sigh, slumping down into the chair. “I- I don’t really know either, to be completely honest, sir.”

He wants to be honest and tell you that every time you call him sir, he feels it in his chest and in his-

“Did you ask the post office where it’s coming from?” He knows exactly where it’s coming from, but he’s still surprised Joyce had the cleverness to omit her return address. As if he doesn’t keep tabs on her as well.

“Well, no, but-” He sighs, releasing the smoke from his lungs, thoroughly enjoying the way your lips purse. Of course you aren’t a smoker. You’ve always seemed so pure.

“I’d just keep throwin’ ‘em out. If they wanna’ waste their money on stamps, let ‘em,” he interrupts, leaning back in his chair. You breathe deeply, obviously unhappy with his response.

You nod, more to yourself than to him, and slowly stand from the chair. You’re silent as you walk to his office door. Hand on the doorknob, you softly say, “Thank you for the advice, sir.”

Before you can turn the handle, he calls your name. Savouring the way you turn to look at him over your shoulder, eyebrows pinched and eyes hopeful, like he might offer you some kind of relief from this obvious anxiety.

“While we’re already talkin’, if the pay was an issue, we could always discuss a raise,” he says instead. God, he relishes the way your eyes widen and your cheeks flush, like you’re a rabbit caught in a trap. He hides his smirk behind his hand as he brings his cigarette up to his lips.

“I- I’m sorry?” If only you knew what your shy nature did to him.

“I said, if the matter of your salary was making you unhappy here,” Hopper makes sure to say as formally as possible, “Then we could always renegotiate the benefits of your position.”

You look away from him, forehead creasing as you rethink your conversations. Of course, you hadn’t mentioned anything about unhappiness to him, but a little bird had shown him your applications to local private investigators and attorney offices. As if he was going to let you quit.

Before you can say anything, he sweetens the pot. “We can discuss your contract over dinner. I’ll pick you up at 8. Dismissed.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

You’re still confused as to how he knew you were unhappy at Hawkins P.D., but you get dressed anyway. Smoothing the wrinkles from your nicest outfit, you check your appearance in the mirror. You’d never negotiated your paycheck before, much less renegotiated it with the highest ranked employee, so you hope you’ve dressed appropriately. Wearing more makeup than you’re used to, you almost don’t recognize your reflection. God, I look like my mom. Speaking of, I should probably call her…

You’ll have to try to remember tomorrow, you can see headlights of a car turning into your driveway. You grab your purse and sling a coat over your arm in case the weather turns, and knowing Indiana, only God knows what that could bring.

You’re getting ready to go out to the porch, wanting to avoid keeping the Chief waiting on you, when the doorbell rings. What the hell? How did he get up here so fast? You shake your head, plaster on a smile, and open the door.

The Chief is leaning against your doorframe, one arm above his head while the other rests in his pocket. If he weren’t your boss and it wasn’t unprofessional, you might have thought he looked good, attractive even. But he was your boss and it is unprofessional, so you do not think of how hot he looks in a nice collared shirt and pressed pants. You definitely do not think of how good his cologne smells, like woody earth and musk. You certainly don’t think about how he looms over you, making you feel small.

You’ve been staring at him, mouth slightly open and face flushed. Dear god, I hope he didn’t notice that.

He noticed. He hopes you don’t notice how your attention has affected him. Shoving his other hand into his pocket, he flashes a smile at you. “Well, you clean up nice,” he whistles. What was that about professionalism? “Well, let’s hit the road, no point standin’ here staring at each other.”

The night goes well. You’d dressed nice, at least nicer than your normal work clothes, but definitely not as nice as Enzo’s calls for. Yeah. Enzo’s. You were nauseous as the Chief pulled up to the restaurant, coming around the truck to open your door. You’d never been to a restaurant this fancy in your entire life. Most of your birthdays, holidays, even your celebratory graduation dinner had been at places you could wear a t-shirt to, like Olive Garden or Pizza King. You’d never been to a place with a coat check or a valet, never a live band.

Despite feeling like a dog given chocolate before a trip to the vet, you quickly warmed up. The Chief, who insisted that you call him Jim or Hopper, had ordered wine and somehow managed to get three glasses in you, even though you typically aren’t much of a drinker. With shared stories, how you came to Hawkins and why you didn’t move home, how he became the Chief and crazy arrests he’s made, you open up, laughing and smiling through the entire dinner.

It’s only when you’re getting back into his truck, stumbling on your high heels and giggling when he puts a hand on the small of your back to help you into the seat, that you realize you didn’t even discuss your salary at all. Somehow, the main topic of conversation had slipped away from you.

When Mr. Hopper climbs into the driver’s seat, he notices you chuckling to yourself as you lean your head against the window. He smiles, chuckling to himself as well, as he leans on his door and looks at you.

“What are you laughin’ at, huh?”

You snicker a little before turning your head, enjoying the blood rush you get when your vision spins a little. You’re trying to calm your laughter when you say, “We didn’t even talk about work. Or! Me getting more money!” The car window is cool against your warm skin. 

Hopper laughs a little at your bluntness, putting his hands on the steering wheel and rolling his eyes. “Don’t worry about that too much, sweetheart, I think it’ll all work out just fine.” You don’t see the grin on his face, you’re too busy nodding off against the car door. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Your head is pounding when you wake up. The room is a little too bright, your vision a little fuzzy. Somehow even the dead silence of your bedroom seems too loud. I’m gonna have to call in sick. You try to pull the covers over your head to roll over, but your wrist won’t move.

Groggily, you sit up a little. You’re still in your clothes from yesterday, minus your heels and your jewelry. Must’ve been a late night. Hope I didn’t do anything too embarrassing. You look over at your wrist, assuming you just slept on it wrong and your arm fell asleep.

Your already turning stomach does a flip. Are those-

“Yeah, they’re handcuffs.”

Your head snaps to the doorway, and you realize you really don’t know what’s going on at all. You’re not in your bedroom, not even in your house. Mr. Hopper is standing in the doorway with a bowl of soup and a glass of water.

“Uh, Mr. Hopper-”

“Hopper’s fine,” he interrupts, giving you a tight lipped smile.

You swallow and start again, “H-Hopper, why… why am I handcuffed to the bed?”

He looks at them, almost like he’s just as surprised to see your hand bound to the rails of the headboard. “Had to make sure you stayed where I left you.” He sits in a chair by the bed, setting the glass of water on the night stand and dipping the spoon into the bowl.

“Right,” you chuckle, like this is a game you haven’t learned the rules of. “And… why is that?”

Hopper stops, tilting his head at you. He lets the filled spoon drop back into the bowl. Setting it down onto the nightstand, he leans back in the chair. “Well, I tried just locking the door, but Jane figured that one out. I mean, you aren’t like her, but still.” He smiles, “Better safe than sorry.”

You blink. Is this some kind of joke? “Jane? Your… daughter, Jane?” He nearly flinches at the way you say her name.

“Yeah. That Jane.” He dips the spoon back into the bowl, slowly lifting it. “She didn’t seem to get it.” Hopper lifts the spoon to your mouth, watching you with the eyes of a hawk as he makes sure you swallow the soup. It’s your favorite, not that it helps calm your nerves any. “I tried. Over. And over. And over again to tell her, to show her how bad it is. How bad it can be.” He lifts the spoon again, and you swallow down the soup, even though your appetite is gone. “Every time, she thought she knew better. That she could fight her way out of everything.”

He drops the soup into the bowl, and you silently sigh in relief. Until he mumbles, “But she couldn’t.” He sets the soup on the nightstand, switching it for the glass of water.

Hopper lifts the glass to your lips, and you don’t dare try to take it from him. “And Joyce…" Where have I heard that name before? "Well, she didn’t even try fighting. One sign of tension, and she was gone.” He watches your throat bob as you drink the water. He licks his lips, “No shock she picked up and left when shit hit the fan.”

He chuckles a little, “And then, she tries to come back.” Hopper doesn’t notice the way you’re struggling to keep up with the water, slow drops trickling down the corners of your mouth. “No, she couldn’t just leave me alone, she had to try to take you down too.”  The letters. You’re starting to sputter a little, the trickles becoming thick drops on your lap.

“And then you get the stupid idea to go to Murray.” You’re panicking. He’s going to kill me. “Like I wouldn’t know. As if I don’t know everything that you’ve been doing. As if you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

He finally looks back at you, realizing what he’s done with the water, and he quickly takes the glass from you. You spit some of the water. It splashes down, drenching the comforter over your legs. Hopper’s eyes are wide in shock. While you’re panting, gulping down as much air as you can, he sighs and looks away. Hopper already knows. He destroys everything, and of course that includes you. He looks back at you as you stare at him, fear obvious in your eyes. But god, does he love the innocent look you give him. Like a deer in the headlights. You know what’s coming, and you know you can’t stop it. And doesn’t he deserve it? Doesn’t he deserve a little happiness after all the shit he’s been through?

Hopper takes a breath and straightens himself out. He stands up, grabbing the dishes and goes to the door. He stops in the doorway and turns to you.

“There’s three rules, but you shouldn’t have to worry about the third too much.”

You’re still staring at him, silent.

He continues, “One: keep the curtains closed. This cabin’s in the middle of fucking no where, but there’s no point drawing unnecessary attention. You’ll only catch the bad men in these woods.” He goes out of the room and you hear clinking, likely him putting the dishes in the sink.

Hopper comes back into the room with a towel. “Two: you only answer the door for my knock.” He unlocks the cuff attached to the bed and locks it around your other wrist. You’re too numb to struggle anyway. “There’s a tripwire around this place, so you’d know if anyone else was coming.”

Hopper helps you stand, relishing the way you fall on your unsteady legs into him. When he lifts you up, he smiles at you. Brushing a stray strand of hair from your smudged lipstick, he finishes, “Three: never leave this house without me.”

You gulp, looking down at the floor. Hopper doesn’t care. If you want to play hard to get, he’ll play hard to leave. When you walk by the window, you see the sun high in the sky.

“What about work,” you rush to say. Surely Jan will notice I’m out today.

Hopper smiles. “Got that taken care of. Told the guys you quit, couldn’t handle their jokes.” Your heart sinks. “And don’t worry, I got some stuff from your house until we can put it on the market.”

He leads you into a small bathroom, guiding you to an already full bathtub, the sides of the tub lined with your usual products. Hopper sets the towel down on the counter and turns. Thank god, he’s not gonna-

“Oh, one more thing.” Hopper glances back at you, looking you up and down as he says, “Keep the door open. Three inches.”

Henry Creel has been calculating since before he can remember. He was always regarded as an odd and standoff child, and now that child has become a cold and conniving man. From the moment that he was blessed, from the very second that the smooth rock touched his palm, Henry Creel had been the mastermind behind every single event in his life.

It was no coincidence that his family started to see horrifying visions from the dark and twisted corners of their minds. His father, a normally quiet army man, had been shaken to his core when he saw the fireplace that night. His mother, nice enough despite her dimwittedness, had cried when the widows came out of the dark. His poor foolish sister was hysterical when the animals started to appear. And Henry? Henry was content to watch it all, straight-faced and unphased.

And he had almost perfected it. He had set the plans in motion. He had killed his mother and his sister. Though he took little pleasure in their deaths, he savoured the terror from his father. Until he pushed himself past his previously unknown limits and sent himself into a coma. It was not happy about that, not at all.

But after the punishment and the change of plans, Henry Creel was determined to follow every directive to the letter. He would not fail again, and he would not lose sight of what truly mattered. He would plan every day, every hour, every second until he was successful. And then he would-

And then you arrived. A new transfer from a psychiatric hospital, you were eager to prove your worth. Always punctual. Always palatable. Always parroting his every move. He’d made sure to tell you that he wasn’t a doctor, simply an orderly. Just there to make sure none of the children hurt each other or were hurt.

Still, you followed him with your clipboard, jotting down notes of his actions. You had no idea how difficult you made it for Henry to enact his plans with you trailing behind him, watching his every move.

He’d even tried scaring you away. Turning around to face you when you two were finally alone in one of the maze-like halls, he practically snarled at you.

“If you don’t find someone else to haunt, I will make your life a living hell,” he had gritted out through his teeth, smiling at you in an attempt to show off his canines.

You had stared at him, eyebrows raised. He was almost proud of himself, he hadn’t tried to intimidate anyone in years-

You laughed. You laughed. If it weren’t for the chip in him, he was sure he would’ve snapped your neck right then. His mouth dropped open, and he stared at you in absolute shock. Who was this woman that was so unafraid of him? That was so unworried about his blatant threat?

You brushed the small tears from the corners of your eyes and smiled at him. “I was wondering when you’d talk to me, but I definitely wasn’t expecting that,” you chuckled. Henry was a painting of confusion. You continued, “Didn’t Dr. Brenner tell you? I’m supposed to follow you, specifically, until my training is complete. He was very clear about it.” You look at him as if this is something he should be aware of, as if you believe him to ever be a part of Dr. Brenner’s thoughts, much less his orders.

Rolling his eyes, he turns and keeps walking down the hallway, attempting to ignore the click of your heels right behind him.

── ・⸝⸝  ⟢  ⸝⸝・ ──

Henry had tried to get rid of you for weeks. He tried scaring you even more, breaking objects and threatening you and your family. You looked at him like this was some kind of initiation ritual you were unaware of. He tried politely convincing you to leave. While you seemed to enjoy the fake conversations he initiated, you were insistent that you could not leave until Dr. Brenner allowed you. Henry even tried to seduce you, hoping that maybe the passion could increase your willingness to part from him.

He had you cornered in a closet, his hands on either side of your head while he caged you against the wall. He was slowly leaning toward you, anticipation growing as you saw your head tilt up. He was nearly there when you put a hand on his chest.

Pushing him away, you frowned. “Mr. Ballard, as much as I wish that I could do this, don’t get me wrong, it would be entirely unprofessional and unethical of me to take advantage of you like this.”

He stopped, yet again entirely confounded by you. “You… take advantage… of me?”

“Well, yes, it would be wrong of me to abuse my position as your supervisor to allow you to enter a physical relationship with me. Though I imagine it would be quite pleasant for the both of us-”

“My supervisor,” he nearly yells. “You’ve been watching me! Doing everything I do! I am your supervisor!” Henry is aware of how he sounds, like a child throwing a fit, but he can’t help it. After weeks of frustration, of confusion, of attempting to understand your thoughts, he is entirely exhausted. If only the chip weren’t present, he could just look inside you, explore the depths of your mind, and know how to release himself for your binds.

You look at him, a weak smile on your face and confusion in your eyes. “No, I’ve been evaluating you. I’m training for Dr. Brenner, to help him and Dr. Kay with their experiments and testing. Part of my training involves supervising orderlies and understanding the basics of how this facility operates.” You sound like you’re describing something of basic comprehension to a toddler.

Henry is appalled. No wonder you laughed at him. No wonder you wouldn’t leave. No wonder Brenner found you perfect to spy on him. You were cut and dry. Clinical. Immovable.

But this immovable object has found its unstoppable force. If he cannot convince you to leave, he will convince you to stay.

── ・⸝⸝  ⟢  ⸝⸝・ ──

Another week passes, and Henry is glad to see you wearing down. He has been working in record time. Tasks that he would normally draw out have been completed in minutes. He walks quickly, ignoring the way that you struggle to keep pace with him. He speaks without elaboration, giving you no time to ask for clarification between tasks. If he cannot convince you to leave him, he will convince Brenner to take you away.

Henry almost lets himself breathe when you don’t come in, another orderly telling him that you’ve called in sick. He’s smiling to himself as he walks down the hallways. He’s content while watching the children. He’s… scowling when he finishes his charts. He’s blatantly glaring at the others when he walks to the restroom.

What is wrong with him? Henry has finally gotten what he has wanted all these weeks, a moment away from you breathing down his neck. Yet… he can hardly focus on his planning, instead focusing on how silent the halls have become without you telling him the minute details of your daily life. He never noticed how bored the children were before you arrived. His penmanship even seems more dismal without your neat handwriting and drawn smiley faces next to his words. He didn’t think he would ever admit it, but he even misses the way you would chide him for taking too many breaks.

Henry ignores the feeling. After many years with only the children, he is just missing the joy of adult companionship, to have an equal match to share his thoughts with. Though, he never considered the others an equal match-

Henry ignores the feeling. It whispers in his ears, reminding him of the plans, of the rewards. It reminds him of his place, of his blessings. It warns him how he used to feel before it.

Henry ignores the way his heart jumps when he sees you the next day, even with the slight tinge of concern that passes through him when he sees your red nose and dark eyes. Of course, he gives you a handkerchief out of desperation, he’s tired of hearing your sniffling, no other reason. He gives you his pudding cup at lunch to make you less wary of him. He definitely does not notice the way you smile at him as you scoop out the last bits of the chocolate dessert. Henry most certainly does not ask the cafeteria staff to keep chocolate pudding on rotation.

When he is lying on his cot that night, the room empty except for him and it, Henry, for the first time in his life, doesn’t plan. Instead, he wonders if you’re watching the newest episode of your favorite show, it would normally air tonight. Henry wonders if you’re feeling better, if the medicine he saw you taking when you thought he wasn’t looking was helping. He wonders if you’re thinking of him too.

It snarls at him. It is unhappy with his lack of focus. They are so close to succeeding, to convincing the girl to help them. All they need is a few more days and a plan, it reminds him.

For the first time in his life, Henry ignores it. If it is so great, it can make the plan. He can complete tasks, it knows that. Henry reminds it, it needs him just as much as he needs it. And if it wants him to work with it, it will need to find a way to keep Henry involved, encouraged.

And what better way to motivate him than a reward? An example of what their success will look like. And what better prize than you, forever by his side, following him through eternity?

Pushing your way in between the two of them, you are a wall in front of the children. The other kids look around, realizing that they're back in the house. "It's- It's her! The monster!" Max scowls, attempting to move forward towards Holly until you block her, matching her scowl with one of your own. You may not have been able to help them earlier, but you can surely protect them now. You're about to scream for Henry to help you when Max throws her hands up, as if to show you she's harmless.

"No! I am not the monster!" Max stands up straight, looking you directly in the eyes. "And I can prove it."

──── ⌢ ✦ ⌢ ────

You watched, standing with Max and Kali in front of the children, as Henry walks back through the window into the house. He creeps forward, looking directly into the dining room before turning sharply towards Eleven, eyes bloodshot.

If he were a wolf in sheep's clothing before, now he is a starved wolf set loose. Rabid and ready to kill.

He snaps out his hand, and Eleven comes floating towards him.

"Where are they?" Henry slowly starts to uncuff the sleeves of his shirt, rolling it up to the elbow.

Eleven is stone cold, unafraid. She might be the only one. "With Max. Safe."

Suddenly, Henry's arm is... gone. Twisted into some kind of vine-like limb. The limb races forward and snares Eleven by the throat. When she starts to choke, you can feel one of the children gently grab your hand. You squeeze it tightly, though you're just as thankful for someone to hold as well.

"Where. Are. They?" Henry's grip on her throat tightens with every word.

"I told you," Eleven sputters. "With Max. Far from here. You can't believe it, can you? That they would ever see through your lies?"

He quickly glances over the dining room. You can hear the simultaneous breath in the room. One of the children whispers, "Why can't he see us?"

Kali smiles at the group. "Because Mr. Whatsit isn't the only one with powers." She nods her head towards the scene unfolding before you, and upon closer inspection, you can see a faint shimmer around the doorway between the dining room and the hallway. You knew that she was going to hide you from Henry somehow, to show you how "monstrous" he truly was, but when she and Max had made no movement to leave the house, it left you uneasy.

Now, seeing Henry's arm lifting from Eleven, somehow leaving her still suspended in mid-air, creeping over her face as he sneered at her, your nerves were no better. But I have to be strong. For the kids.

"That's why you take children. Because you think they have weak minds." The children crumble like leaves underfoot until Eleven continues, "But they're smarter than you think." You look down to see their little heads nodding at each other. Though they are scared, though they are ashamed, they are still courageous.

"And you?" Henry smiles, mocking her. "Are you smart? You let yourself get caught. And in here... I will find all the answers I need." Eleven cries out in pain as his hand looms over her face, long nails pointed at her eyes.

Max mutters something, something you wish she hadn't said in front of the children, but they're too busy gasping and looking away from the horror to notice her cursing.

Your heart stops for a moment. "It's him. He's the Black Thing." You try to stay strong, to pretend that you knew all along, but you feel a tear slip down your cheek.

It was all pretend? All those quick glances, those shared moments, they were fake? Who- who is he? Oh, god, we-

Henry's hand is shadowing Eleven's face. His eyes roll back, and she shudders before falling to the ground. You don't have enough time to process the betrayal before Max is pulling you by the arm. "We need to leave. Now."

She's almost got you out the door, when you wrench your arm free. "No, I-" She looks at you with wide eyes and an open mouth. "You go. Keep an eye on them. I'll stay with Kali and help him stall."

She doesn't say anything, doesn't try to stop you. She simply nods and turns to race after the kids.

She's barely left the house when Henry turns to you and thrusts his power towards the dining room. You and Kali hit the back wall with a thud, shooting sparks of pain up your spine and head. Good grief, will people lay off the head injuries?

You stand up before Kali, and Henry zeroes in on you. "(Y/N), darling, what happened to the children?"

In a flash, it comes back to you.

Though my name isn't Harry, unfortunately, it's Henry. Henry Whatsit. You had met in the park. He seemed to appear and disappear into thin air.

Perhaps we could discuss The Lord of the Flies next. My favorite book, a lucky guess. It wasn't a lucky guess. He had seen it in your mind.

How did you know I'm a teacher? Because he had seen you then too.

We didn't walk by the playground, Henry. Because he had lied to you.

When Henry sees the recognition in your eyes, the fear flashing across your face, he smiles. "Et tu, (Y/N)?"

You're barely focusing your vision and gaining your footing when he yanks your arm, dragging you up to his eye level. "Just tell me where they went, (Y/N), and it can all go back to normal. It can be wonderful again."

"I-I don't know where they went," you lie. When you look up, you see Kali edging closer to him over his shoulder. Eleven has stood and is about to send him flying.

In what seems like slow motion, you see Henry start to turn his head. You panic, hoping to distract him, and you pull his face over towards you, and you do what you can to keep his attention on you for just a minute longer.

You kiss him.

Your lips are burning, like the heat of the moment is searing you. Henry is taken by surprise, eyes widening, before melting a little into the kiss. Into you and your lips against his. He forgets himself for just a moment. Just long enough for Eleven to throw him against the dining room table. Just long enough for Kali to climb next to him. Long enough for her to slam her knife down into his chest.

You look away, hoping to avoid seeing any more violence than you already have, but your heart sinks at the thud the knife makes. Snapping back to attention, you see Kali and Eleven staring in shock at the knife wedged in the groove of the table.

Henry is gone.

And you can't help the current of relief that rushes through you.

──── ⌢ ✦ ⌢ ────

When you and the two girls catch up to the rest of the group, you can't hide the disappointment on your face. They haven't gotten very far away. While Eleven explains Henry's disappearance to Max, you try to get a head count of the kids. 1, 2, 3... Derek, come on!

You run back to the group, putting one of Derek's arms over your shoulder while Holly grabs the other, hauling him through the woods to the cave. We're almost there, just a little further-

Holly glances behind you before dropping Derek. You and he both fall to the ground, scraping your knees and your palm.

You can't help yourself, you snap, "What?" Holly turns to look at you and points behind her.

"They're gone!"

She's right. Max, Kali, Eleven. They've all vanished into thin air, just like Henry. The kids stop, looking at each other. Without a clear leader, they aren't quite sure what to do. Within seconds, their plan has derailed, and all hell has broken loose. Derek is waving his arms. Mary looks like she's going to faint. One of the kids is just screaming, "Oh my god, we're going to die," over and over.

But you've gotten used to telling kids what to do. You have to if you're going to survive middle schoolers. "Hey!" The kids stop their chattering and look at you. "I didn't just get thrown at a wall to buy time for you guys to sit here and wait for Henry to catch us. Let's go." You walk through the crowd, headed for the cave. After a minute, you turn around to see the kids still staring at you.

Holly nods her head at you, a grin slowly forming on her face. "You heard her! We keep to the plan! Get to the cave. The Black Thing can't hurt us there." She pushes through the crowd of other kids and walks past you, pointing her hand like a tour guide, "Follow me, keep quiet, and stay close. Let's go!" The kids waiver for a minute until Holly's harsh, "Come on!," pulls them to their senses.

With Holly guiding and you following in the rear to watch the kid's backs, you make quick time to the cave. You can see the rock formation through the trees when you notice Derek, starting to slow down.

"Derek, not again! Come on, we have to keep running." With your heeled feet and dizziness, you understand Derek when he sits down for a minute on a fallen tree. "No, we have to keep going, Derek!"

Holly and the rest of the kids have made it to the cave. You let out a breath before you see Holly running back to you and Derek. "No, Holly! Get to safety, I can take care of this!"

Holly turns and pins you with her glare. "Honestly, (Y/N), I think I'm the best to handle this right now. The others need you, so go."

Your entire body singes with embarrassment, but you know arguing with her will take up more of what little time you have left before Henry reappears. Biting your lip, you squeeze her shoulder, gritting out, "Fine. But you better be right behind me."

Tearing out of the forest, you push yourself through the small divide forming the entrance to the cave Holly described. The others are inside, and when you enter, they turn to you quickly, obviously fearing whoever may have come running in.

"It's just me. Don't be scared." The kids breath a sigh of relief. Some of them notice that you're alone, taking comfort in that fact, but others realize the pair missing from the group. "Holly's helping Derek. She's right behind me, it'll be fine."

You see the rainbow print of Derek's shirt as he screams. Racing to him, you see Holly grabbing at the sandy ground while Henry uses his vines to drag her backwards.

Derek lunges forward. He grabs Holly's hands, using the full force his body can give to pull her back. You hold the top of his arm, making sure he won't fall. When Henry sees you behind Derek, his grip loosens, and Derek yanks Holly forward.

For a second, Derek is the bravest boy in the world. "Suck my fat one!" And he's back.

"Derek, get in here," you drag him by the shirt collar, holding Holly up with an arm around her waist. The kids all stand, huddled inside the cave, slender arms wrapped around their little bodies. You can't help but feel like a mother hen, watching over her ducklings.

You sit on a nearby rock. The kids catch their breath and talk to each other in hushed voices. Even though Holly explained that Henry won't ever the cave, that everything here is a false recreation of past memories, you can tell they're worried that he will find them and punish them.

"(Y/N), darling, come out of the cave, please," you hear Henry's voice through the rocks. You stiffen and look out at the kids, but they're looking at you all the same. Wide eyed and folded in on themselves, they watch to see what you'll do next. "Please, (Y/N), just bring me the children." He's panting, voice rough and gritty.

You stay silent, bringing a finger up to your lips. The kids suck in a collective breath.

"(Y/N), please don't make me come in there." You creep over to the entrance. You nearly jump out of your skin when your heel crunches a chunk of sand underneath you.

"(Y/N), it doesn't have to be this way." Slowly tilting your head, you see Henry limping into the cave. His eyes are wide, enraged. Every few steps, his hand flies up to his stomach like someone has struck him. "Please, darling, let me make everything right."

"Shit!" You turn and run back to the kids. "He's here. Henry's in the cave!" Holly jumps up. Mary, her star general, starts corralling the kids out of the opening in the cave into the vast desert outside.

Just as the last of the kids are climbing out to follow Holly, Henry makes it inside the cave. Your chest rises and falls in quick pants as you stand in front of him, guarding the exit.

"(Y/N), move.," Henry says through gritted teeth. You can feel your lip start to tremble as he staggers towards you. "(Y/N), I have no patience for this. Move or I will move you."

He'll get the kids. You stand straight, forcing your lip to stop quivering. "Do it."

Henry stops and looks at you. Though he's a changed man, you see the pain hiding just below the surface. While he was confident in his success this morning, there is nothing left but fear. "(Y/N), I will hurt you if I have to." He swallows thickly.

He'll hurt them. Bracing for the inevitable, you won't show him you're scared. "I know." Henry's eyes flash with something, something that looks a little too close to regret for your liking. "But I don't think you want to." You can't help but feel his pain with him.

Henry stares at you, eyes glancing back and forth between you and the desert behind you. He swallows, his hands flexing at his sides.

You see his hesitancy and continue. Slowly walking towards him, you speak to him like a wounded animal, trying to convince him to let you help him. "I don't think you like hurting people." His breathing quickens. You're so close that you can see the veins in his eyes. Feel the short puffs of air he exhales. "I think you do it because you feel you have to." Why, I couldn't tell you.

A single tear runs down his cheek, and you raise your hand to brush it away. But Henry catches your wrist in his palm. You freeze, waiting for him to twist or pull or hurt you. But he just stares at you, eyes watering and lips quivering.

"You're right," he whispers. He rubs his thumb along the veins on the inside of your wrist. "I don't want to." He looks you in the eye, swallowing again. He raises his other hand to your temples, "But I do have to."

He presses his thumb into your temple, and you can feel your body slump as you lose consciousness.

──── ⌢ ✦ ⌢ ────

When you come to, you're lying in the dirt. Though you don't really know where you are, how you got there, where Henry is, or what has happened, so really I don't know anything at all, you're glad the area is dark enough not to trigger your unadjusted eyes. With your vision slowly coming to you, fading in and out, you do what you can, and you crawl through the dirt. The kids.

Fumbling your way through the dim lighting, using your hands to feel the bends and curves in the walls of what seems to be a tunnel, you slowly squint your eyes until you can finally see. You're on the ground in some kind of mine shaft. You can see the glow of a light source around the corner up ahead. A man is speaking, though it isn't Henry.

Slowly standing, you unclasp the buckle on your heel, wobbling down the small stretch of path while holding it like a baseball bat.

You feel like a character from Scooby Doo as you lean your head around the corner. Henry is standing, holding Holly's fire poker, shaking. A man is lying on the ground in front of him, one arm wrapped around a briefcase, the other holding a gun directly at Henry.

Quietly, as not to scare the armed stranger, you walk up to Henry, making sure to stay out of the man's line of sight. You try to gauge the situation, but nothing makes sense. Who is this man? Why is Henry so scared? Where is Holly? Or any of the children, for that matter?

Henry doesn't even notice you walking toward him, not even when you are close enough to see the cuts on his face and the blood on his hand. Quickly risking it, you peek around him at the man, keeping your heeled ammunition hidden. He's shaking, bloodied. Holly is nearby, limp on the ground. In between Henry and the man is a little boy, a boy scout. Who the hell is that?

The man is hysterical. "They- they sent you! They sent you," he trails off into manic mumbles as the boy scout tiptoes closer to him, hands in the air.

"You're just confused. You need a doctor." The boy scout's voice is steady, though his shaking hands betray him.

You see the man panic when the scout is close enough to jump on him. You see the flash in his eyes. Before you can scream to warn the boy, the man shoots. You jump, dropping your shoe in the dirt.

The boy scout's hand flies out to his side, Henry's hand mirroring it. They both pant and shake as they bring their hand in front of them. The boy scout trembles at the dark red blood trickling down his palm. For being unwounded, Henry looks just as terrified.

The boy creeps closer, and his movement allows you to see the rock in his hand. He slams the rock down onto the mans head. Again. And again. And again. Henry falls to his knees on the floor. The scout doesn't stop until his face is splattered with blood and his arms are shaking. Dropping the rock to the ground, you hear the boy start to cry, sobs wracking his small body.

Henry is still silent, watching the scene in front of him unfold as the boy opens the briefcase to find a small rock. It dissolves in the boy's hand, and you can see his palm darken.

The man gasps for air, sputtering, "You... must resist- it. It will- consume you... It will- consume all." The boy is still watching his palm in horror, panting.

Henry is in tears. You walk forward, about to rest your palm on his shoulder, when he says, "Leave me alone."

You pause, hand resting mere inches in the air above him.

"He-" He doesn't let you speak.

"I said leave me alone!" The rocks around you shake. Dust falls through the cracks in the tunnel above you.

Henry doesn't notice. "No, it showed me the truth. It showed me that the world is broken." You walk around him, kneeling in front of him in the dirt. He makes no motion that would show you that he sees you at all.

"It showed me that man is broken!" Henry's entire body is shaking. You take in his face, the wound on his cheek much deeper than you had seen from behind him. His eyes are wide, red, rimmed with tears. He's pale, or at least paler than normal. He seems to be looking through you rather than at you, like he doesn't see you in front of him at all.

"It has never... controlled me." It's like he's talking on the phone; you only get his side of the conversation. Left to fill in the blanks, you look around you in hope for a clue as to what he's talking about.

Suddenly, like he was prompted by the person on the other line, he looks at you, actually at you, this time. He whimpers, eyebrows pulling tight and face reddening. "No, no, it wouldn't."

You're glad you finally have his attention. "Henry? Are you okay?" He stays silent. You lean closer to him. "Henry, what's going on?" Still, nothing. You grab his hand from his lap, gripping it tightly in an attempt to ground him. "Henry! Talk to me!"

"No!" The walls shake again. You glance around, worried the tunnel will fall down on top of you. "I wouldn't- I wouldn't let it!" He's frantic now. "It needs me! I- I need it! We are..." He trails off, looking down at your hands joined together.

I don't know how to help you, you almost want to say to him. Instead, you give his hand a squeeze, hoping it will say for you all the words you wish you had the confidence to tell him. I'm sorry for your pain. I'm scared you might be the cause of mine. I'm scared that I'm not actually scared of you at all.

He looks up at you. Weakly smiling, he squeezes your hand back. Around you, the walls start to violently shake, much harsher than before. As if waking up, Henry looks up at you.

"The children," you both gasp at the same time. Standing, you run to the end of the corridor, finding them all trying to fit themselves through a tiny hole in a pile of rocks. Well, there's no way I'm making it through there. Much less Henry.

You run back to Henry, who has pulled Holly into his lap. He's frantically wiping the blood from her face with his handkerchief. You grab his hand and pull the cloth from his grip. Taking over for him, you gently wipe at Holly's cheeks, rubbing her back like a newborn puppy you need to breath.

"I didn't- I mean I did, but-" Henry takes a staggering breath. "I knew what I was doing, and I meant to, but I didn't think-"

You shush him. "We don't need to talk about it now." Now, you need Holly to wake up.

Henry runs his shaking palms through his hair. "They won't let me live. I've done too much."

That shocks you. You turn to look at him. "What are you talking about? Who is they?" He looks at you, fresh tears in his eyes.

"I never meant to hurt you," his hand cups your cheek. He thumbs the blood on your temple, "I thought I could keep you safe. From me- from it." He pulls his hand away and looks down at his palm.

"Henry, I don't understand, what-"

"(Y/N), I'm so sorry." You close your mouth, knowing he needs to let loose all the words that seem to have been trapped within him for far too long. "I- You were right. I don't like hurting people. But I like pleasing them, I liked pleasing it. I liked feeling needed. It... made me more. Made me special." He looks over at the boy scout, still crying on the floor with the briefcase, clutching his temples. Holly said these were all memories... I assumed she meant hers.

He looks down at Holly in your arms. "And look what I did with that power."

"Henry, whatever it is, whatever it forced you to do, it isn't your fault. You were just a child."

He looks up at you, smiling weakly despite the tears on his face. "Guilt doesn't absolve my crimes."

You take his hand. 'No, it doesn't." He looks away. "But forgiveness does. We'll figure this out." Lifting the back of his palm to your lips, you gently kiss his hand. You may not understand him or what he needs, but you know the beginnings of what you're feeling.

Henry sighs. "I'm afraid you may be the only one who can forgive. Regardless, thank you."

You look at him. Despite the lies, the kidnapping, the manipulation, the violence, wow he really did a lot of damage, you can't help but feel sorry for him. He was a child. A child given immense power beyond his endless imagination. A child told they were undefeatable. And a child expected to return that gift tenfold for fear of unimaginable pain and suffering. How could you blame him for his compliance? For finding a way to survive the fear?

"Henry, I-"

Suddenly, he's gone. The mineshaft is gone. You look down, but Holly isn't in your arms. You look up, and some kind of fleshy tube is connected to you, your arms encased in a cocoon of sorts. A man rips the tube from your mouth and tears a hole in the casing around you. You fall, limp, into his arms, sputtering.

"It's okay, I've got you," the man shushes, helping you to the ground. You keep coughing as he pats your back, holding you to his chest as you both lie on the floor. "You've got to get it out."

In one final cough, you vomit, though only a thick black smoke comes out. You pant and take in your surroundings. You're in some kind of cave, full of rocks and more of the weird flesh pillars you were encased in. Some of the children lie on the ground, in the arms of strangers just like you. Others are still cocooned in the wall, waiting for their rescue.

You turn back to the young man holding you. His face is a lot closer to yours than you initially thought it would be, and you both jump back a little.

He chuckles, smile brightening his face. "Hi, I'm-"

You push yourself away from him. Standing, you scowl at him, "Wasting time on me. The kids need help."

Turning, you don't see the awestruck face the man gives you. You, on the other hand, do see him, or at least what you assume is him.

He's been pierced on one of the rocks, sharp point jutting through his chest. His head hangs back, and his arms are dangling limp. You run to him, shouting his name, but a girl- Eleven?- stops you.

"He's dead," she says, straight faced. You look at her in shock.

"W-What? No, no, he's-," you try to push yourself out of her arms, but she's a lot stronger than she looks. "He can't be-"

"Don't worry, I made sure I killed him," Eleven nods at you, like this should be some kind of reassurance.

"No, you don't understand. It wasn't his fault, he-" A woman nearby comes to you. She takes you from Eleven's arms, holding you as you start to cry.

"I know. I know, honey." She pats your back before pulling out of the hug to look at you. "I knew him too."

You wipe at one of the tears on your face, thoroughly overwhelmed. "Then why? He's innocent! He was just a child!" She grimaces and nods at you, solemn.

"We couldn't take any chances. To kill it, we had to kill him too." You sob at the bluntness of her words.

The woman shushes you again, letting you cry into her shoulder. You don't hear him cry for you.

──── ⌢ ✦ ⌢ ────

It's been eighteen months since that day.

You still teach at Hawkins Middle School. Unfortunately, your supervisor didn't take "an interdimensional being using a young man that the town thought died over a decade ago as a vessel kidnapped me and wiped my memory before forcing me to play mother to a bunch of children that it also kidnapped to use as channels for ending the world" as a sufficient reason for missing a week of work in the middle of the semester. So, just your luck, you have to redo your student teaching, and where else to do it? Your lease goes until June anyway...

You don't speak to your "saviors." Even though they tried to explain what happened, tried to explain why, you can't stomach it. It's easier for you to pretend that nothing happened than admit that something did. They try to connect, attempt to make small talk in the grocery store aisles, but you shake your head at them as you walk away.

Instead, you go to work. Holly and the others have moved to the middle school now. Though none of them want to mention it either, you see the understanding in their eyes when you stutter over chapters from A Wrinkle in Time. After a class full of wet eyes and odd looks from the other kids, you scrap that lesson. Tom Sawyer it is. Can't go wrong with a classic.

You donate your Agatha Christie collection. As you're leaving the Goodwill, you hear a young girl exclaim, "And Then There Were None! This one's ancient!" You smile, hoping it will treat her better than it did you. Maybe your illustrated version of The Lord of the Flies will get a better view that its recently acquired dust.

You still take walks in the park, though no longer at night, and especially not with strange men. You certainly don't get drinks with them either.

But even though you've tried to move on, to forget and start new, you can't help it. You can't help the creeping feeling you get late at night when your apartment is quiet. You can't help the odd sense that someone is watching you those rainy days when you're curled up on the couch with a good book. You can't help the shadows you see in the corners of your eyes when you're walking in the park.

Shadows of a man in a brown suit.

a/n: idk why finishing this is actually kinda sad. like, obviously i'm going to continue writing, and this isn't even really that great, but like... i enjoyed this. and i hope you did too.

Bows!

Take five

"As much as I have tried to explain to Holly the horrible events and manipulation that she has endured, she simply does not believe me," Henry sighs. "She truly believes that I am attempting to hurt you all, and her mind will not be changed." He runs his hand over his face, suddenly peaking through his fingers. "At least... not by me."

The children look around at each other, catching a whiff of his plan. Mary steps forward, "We'll talk to her, Mr. Whatsit! We'll help you convince her!" She nods at the other girls around her who step forward to take her hand. For as young as they are, these kids sure are brave. A lot braver than I was. Than I am.

Henry smiles under his hand, looking for a moment like a wolf in sheep's clothing. The moment passes before any of the children notice, and you shake your head to rid yourself of the thought. Henry nods at all of them, solemn.

"I think that would be best. For now, we will let Holly rest, and when she wakes, we, and by we I mean you wonderful children, will attempt to enlighten her to her poor judgement." The children nod at him, little soldiers falling in line. They leave the room to talk in the hall, though one boy has to pull Derek along. Poor Derek, he just wants to go home. The children start to chant, "Back to the light! Back to the Light!" as Mary assigns roles to the group: one to console, one to confront, one to counter. A well-oiled machine. Forget fashion, Mary. You'd be a wonderful admiral.

"I could-" Henry snaps up to look at you, almost like he forget you were here. "I could wait for her. To wake up. I'm sure one face won't scare her as much as a dozen."

Henry nods at you, smiling. "Thank you, dear. That would be perfect." He holds your arms and brings his lips to your forehead. His touch is burning, despite how cold his skin is. When he leans back to look in your eyes, you catch yourself staring at him, and from the small smirk that forms on his face, he's caught you too. You blush, looking anywhere, no don't look at his lips, until he catches your chin.

"I hope my poor wife isn't feeling too neglected after all of today's excitement," he whispers. With one hand cradling your face and the other resting on your hip, you feel like he's burned the oxygen from your lungs.

You blush and smile at him. Hoping to come across as confident, not the shaking mess you truly feel like, you put your hands on his sturdy chest. "No worries, I know you've had some bumps in the road. This afternoon was difficult."

At the mention of earlier, Henry's grip on your waist tightens, causing you to yelp. He looks back at you, though his gaze has hardened. "I'm sorry about that, dear. It won't happen again." You can't tell if he means the pinch or the way his tears painted your skirt a few hours ago, but the way he moves his other hand from your face to match his other on your waist gives you a hint. "In fact, tonight should solve all of our problems." He smiles, and you can't help but smile with him.

Seeing the smile forming on your face, Henry brightens. He tightens his grip on your waist, careful this time not to hurt you, and in a brief moment, he seems like a different man all together. He lifts you, laughing a little at the squeak that escapes you, though you quickly join him in giggling as he spins you around him.

Gently setting you back on the ground, he pulls you to his chest for a hug, wrapping his arms around you. "Tonight will fix everything," he sighs, squeezing you tightly.

──── ⌢ ✦ ⌢ ────

After Henry leaves you with a burning blush across your cheeks, asking you to let him and the other children know when Holly wakes up, you pull a chair to her bedside. It takes a while for her thick lashes to start fluttering, long enough for you to pull her hand into yours and to brush the stray hairs off of her face. When she finally comes to, she sits up sharply and gasps for air.

You jolt out of your seat, half asleep from the long wait, and try to settle her back into the bed.

"Ms. (Y/N)! Oh my gosh," Holly is hysterical. She ignores your shushing, climbing onto her knees on top of the bed, holding your shoulders. "We've got to get out of here!"

"Holly, sweetheart, just lie down, everything-"

"No! We need to leave! Now, (Y/N), now," she shakes your shoulders back and forth, screaming so fiercely that spit flies from her mouth.

"Holly! That is enough-"

Before you can finish scolding her, the rest of the children burst into the room. In a blur of welcomes and hugs, Holly has been overtaken by the masses.

You think to peak out into the hall and call for Henry, but Holly stops you.

"Where is he," she growls. Though you hadn't seen her much in the little time you remembered here, you knew this behavior was out of character for the girl. She was no longer the quiet, whimsy-filled little girl that you saw dancing to the music in the living room yesterday. Overnight, she seemed to have aged years.

"Mr. Whatsit? He's downstairs." The children all start to crowd her again as Holly tries to push through to the door. "He's been so worried! So worried about you!"

"No, he hasn't. Mr. Whatsit- he's not who he says he is," Holly pushes the group away. Looking into their eyes, you can feel the fear coming from her, "He didn't really save us."

You sigh. "We know, honey." Her eyes dart to you, hopeful. "Mr. Whatsit has told us what that monster had manipulated you into-"

"No! That's not true! He-" Holly turns to grab onto your skirt, frantic.

Mary, tired of her best friend latching onto you and not her, huffs. "The other girl? Max? She's not human, Holly. She's a monster! She... twisted your mind!" Holly shakes her head, gripping the hem of your dress so tightly that her knuckles turn white.

"No, she's a friend! She's- she's helping us!" Holly is crying now, thick tears rushing down her cheeks and snot dripping from her nose. "She's helping us get home. Back to our families! We're all trapped here, in Mr. Whatsit's mind!"

She stands on the bed, throwing her arms around her, "None of this- none of what you see is real!"

The children all go silent. Holly looks around at each of you, making eye contact with you as she cries, "Come on! (Y/N)! You have to believe me!" She drops down to her knees on the bed. Her sobs shake her small body as she cries, "Please! You have to believe me. You have to believe me!"

The rest of the children stand in shock. They were expecting to use their friendship, the gifts Henry had told them about, to easily change Holly's mind. They weren't expecting her to trust someone else's word over theirs.

Holly's sobs start to slow when she glances up quickly. "Derek! Derek, tell them!" Derek is a deer in the headlights. When the other children turn to look at him with confusion, poor Derek simply shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders. Holly rushes off of the bed to grab him. Poor boy, he's just as confused as we are. "Tell them, Derek! TELL THEM!"

Derek chokes a little and looks at when he says, "They're right, Holly. Max... lied to us."

Holly deflates. Slowly, she turns to look into the vanity. Her lips are trembling. Uttering her apologies and her shame, you and the children come to her side, making sure she knows she isn't to blame for the monster's tricks.

You're too busy consoling her to notice her looking at the radio. You don't notice the way her eyes seem to spark with an idea. You don't see her grab the radio until it is slamming into the side of your forehead, knocking you to the floor.

"Holly!" She throws herself at Mary, and then Josh, before running from the room.

You get up from the floor, holding your head and groaning, as the children chase after her. Gripping the edge of the vanity, you get back to your feet in time to hear a boy yell, "Bitch! Get her!"

No, no, wait-

"Wait," you gasp, walking to the hall as quickly as you can. Hot blood from the wound starts to slick your fingers, leaving a dotted trail on the hardwood behind you. You make it to the banister of the stairs.

"Children, wait, no-" You gasp at the scene before you. Two of the children are holding Holly's arms while one uses her beaded necklace to choke her. Oh Jesus Christ! "Stop it! Stop it now," you scream.

You start to walk towards the stairs, heels wobbling underneath you from fear and lightheadedness. "Henry! Henry, come quick! They're-"

The beads on Holly's necklace snap, sending her flying down the stairs as the children holding her fall backwards. "Holly!"

You lurch forward for her, scrambling on your hands and knees down the stairs to hold her. Her head is bleeding and torn where she hit the ground. Her neck is red from the tension, and you're sure she'll be bruised come morning. Sobbing, you pull her limp body into your lap, ignoring the stain her blood will leave on your dress.

You hear Henry's footsteps slowly coming towards you and the children. He's silent. You turn to look at him, expecting him to be beside himself with anger. How could they hurt her like this? Henry doesn't even seem angry. In fact, he looks almost proud of the children. He swallows, thickly, and turns to the crowd.

"I see she wasn't willing to believe you." The children say nothing, in shock. You gape at him, rage boiling inside of you. You're about to berate him for allowing this to happen when he turns to you.

"Mrs. Whatsit, could you take Holly to the dining room, please?"

Your breath catches in your throat. "W-What?"

Henry looks at you, raising his eyebrows as if you've asked him what color a cherry is. Red, like the blood dripping down Holly's forehead.

"Could you please take Holly to the dining room," he says, no longer a question. When you still don't rise from the floor, he smiles at you, though his grin looks more like a wolf baring its teeth. "Now, Mrs. Whatsit?"

Swallowing your fear and your anger, you nod at the floor. Holly is a ragdoll in your arms, and the blood on your hands paints her beautiful dress as you carry her to the chair at the end of the table. You set her down, arranging her skirt underneath her and fixing her pigtails. With a quick press of your lips to her temple, you hope you can hear your whispered, "I'm sorry, my poor girl."

The children won't look you in the eyes when you walk back to the bottom of the stairs. They don't need to. They can still feel your anger and disappointment burning holes into each of them. You turn to Henry, quick to show your anger with his lack of response as well.

He slips you a small smile, as if he were caught with his hand in the cookie jar, not like he had witnessed cruelty and said nothing. You say nothing to him, exhaling sharply through your nose and pushes past the lot of them to go upstairs.

──── ⌢ ✦ ⌢ ────

Even though you can tell they are trying to keep their sordid plans secret, you can hear bits and pieces of what Henry tells the children. "...will go on," and "can't wait," ring up the stairs as his voice gets away from him before he quiets again.

You say nothing as you pace the bedroom. How can tonight go on?

After a few minutes, you hear the rooms below you go silent, though you doubt that means they will stay that way.

When the bedroom door opens, you turn on Henry.

"I can't believe you. I understand wanting to help these children. I understand being hurt that Holly believed one of the monsters, but this? To allow them to hurt her like that? To see her there and continue about your day as if nothing has happened?" You pace back and forth in the room, turning to point at him throughout your speech.

Henry stands in front of you, a man unmoved by your anger. Waiting for you to stop talking, he looks at you with knitted brows and a shocked expression.

"Don't look at me like that. You didn't see it. It was like The Lord of the Flies in there! They were animals!" Henry still says nothing. You huff, "They threw her down the stairs, Henry," you plead with him, looking into his eyes.

"And she hurt you as well, it would seem." Ignoring the way you try to wriggle away from him, Henry pulls you close to him. With a firm grip on your arm, he brushes some of the hair away from your nearly dry wound. He gives you a pointed look as he shows you the thin layer of blood on his fingertips.

"That's- that's not the point." Sure, Holly had hurt you. She had pretended to be consoled while planning your pain. But she was hurt too. Not just physically, but you could tell that her perceived betrayal from the other children had seared her to the core. "She's just a child."

"So are the others, and it isn't fair to the rest of them to allow Holly to turn this house into a war ground." Henry takes a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes the blood onto it. Ever the gentleman, he guides you to sit on the bed as he carefully wipes the blood from your brows. "And I will not allow her to hurt you unpunished."

You sigh. You know that, at some level, he is right. It would be unfair to the other eleven to allow one child to misbehave without repercussions, especially when it comes to such violence. Still, the repercussions should extend to the other eleven as well.

"I know," Henry solemnly smiles at you. When you look at him, he continues, "I can read it in your eyes. Don't worry, the others will have consequences as well."

You nod your head, letting his words sink in. Thank goodness, he's not some kind of-

"Tomorrow."

You stop. You almost believe you didn't hear him correctly. "Tomorrow?"

Henry's smile widens. "Tomorrow. We can't let all of our hard work and plans go to waste due to the failure of one part."

"One... part? She's a child, Henry, not some gear in a machine." Henry's jaw ticks, his smile strained.

"Of course, but the plans must continue regardless."

"Henry, you can't be serious? If not punish the children today, then why not move the plans to tomorrow?"

Henry stands, scoffing. "(Y/N), don't be ridiculous. We've come this far. We will act tonight." You follow his movements with your eyes, silently gaping at him. "In fact, I think it is ideal to act sooner rather than later. Best not to give the children too much time to worry." He nods to himself, walking over to the door.

"No, Henry, you can't. Holly is hurt, the others are too vigorous. They need to settle for a minute. Calm down."

Henry looks at you, stopping when his hand is on the doorknob. "No. We will act now. We will give them no time to prepare."

"Them? The children need to rest, Henry-" You start to walk toward him, but he doesn't hear you.

"I'm sorry about this, (Y/N), but the show must go on." Henry looks at you, insincerely apologetic, as he closes the door.

You turn the handle, but the door doesn't budge. Locked. Henry's footsteps fade into the distance as you jerk the handle, eventually trying to drive your shoulder through the door itself. The door remains in place.

──── ⌢ ✦ ⌢ ────

A minute passes, then two. Henry doesn't respond to your cries. You press your ear to the floorboards, hoping to gain some insight into what is happening, but the house is eerily silent.

A half an hour passes, and you've given up on calling for help. Laying on the floor, energy depleted, helpless, your body starts to shake. Or rather, the entire room starts to shake.

Sitting straight up, you notice the trinkets on the shelves around you vibrating. When one of the pictures falls off of the wall, shattering the frame and the glass, the wheels in your mind start turning.

If the children can be brave, so can I, you think while wrapping one of Henry's shirts around your hand. You close your eyes and brace for the pain as you thrust your fist through the window. Shock and adrenaline course through you when you feel the window pane give. Nearly tumbling through the window, you gasp a breath of fresh air.

Looking down, you're nearly sick at the sight of the ground from the second floor window, until... The trellis!

One foot over the other, you carefully climb down, watching your hands for any stray thorns from the vines creeping up the side of the house. The house is still shaking, though the quivering has lessened and slowed, making your descent even more difficult.

When your feet hit the ground, you pant and smile. Barely taking time to celebrate, you run to the front door, pushing it open. You take no time to close it, the doorknob slamming into the wall as you run to the dining room.

But you're too late.

Henry sits at the head of the table, hands linked with the children circled around the dining room. Their heads are tipped back, eyes rolled so far back that you can't see any of their color.

You run to Henry, pulling on his arm. "Henry, henry, wake up!"

His eyelids flutter, but he makes no movement. You can hear him muttering under his breath, but otherwise, he makes no sound.

"Henry, please," you tug on his arm. When he still doesn't budge, you rush to each child. Calling their name, pulling them from their chairs, holding their small faces in your hands.

By the time you make it to Holly, you're hysterical. Her face is pale, from the blood loss or whatever Henry is doing with them, you don't know.

But it doesn't matter. You have no effect on the children. Giving in to both exhaustion and letting yourself be overcome with emotion, you sink to the floor by Henry's chair.

Resting your head on his knee, you cry. And cry.

At least until you see a blur of movement and are pushed to the floor as Henry is thrown from his chair through the window.

a/n: guys its been a long couple of days. found out i missed the deadline on my practicum that i need to graduate (and also kinda get a job), managed to submit it, accidentally slept for 3 hours, then couldn't sleep at all last night. luckily i have a lot more free time today, so i plan on catching up on work and writing.

Next Scene...

Take Five...

The children sat on the rug in front of you and Henry on the couch as he explained the situation to them, at least as much as one could explain a horrible world of darkness to a group of children without scaring them. Luckily, most of them had read a similar book, A Wrinkle in Time, and the situation was similar to the plot of the book.

"Which brings me to why I chose you," Henry explains, pacing in front of you all. "You are not like other children. Like Meg, you are special. You have dormant powers, in here." He taps his temple, continuing, "And I believe we can awaken these powers. Channel our energy and draw this new world to ours. And as the light... reaches the darkness... the light will expel the darkness. Your loved ones will be saved, and you will be heroes."

The children breathe in his every world, hanging on his every breath. It's no surprise, you would've been astounded at their age to discover you had some kind of superpowers. Like the Darling children, taken from their beds in the night to follow Peter Pan to Neverland, they are in a new world entirely. The room almost seems to shimmer with their hope and excitement.

Until Holly raises her hand. "Are you going to leave again? To bring more, uh, special kids here?" It almost seems like she hopes he will. Henry turns to face the wall, leaving only you to see him frown.

"Poor Holly. She was the first to arrive here. And she was left all alone, at least until Mrs. Whatsit came home," he smiles at you before turning to face the children. "Don't worry, Holly, I don't plan on leaving any of you alone, ever again."

After finishing his discussion of plans with the children, he excuses them to play and rest. Almost immediately, the house is filled with laughter, piano playing, games, movies, even football throwing in the hall. When Henry catches you chewing your lip when one of the boys almost stumbles into an antique vase when "going long," he simply chuckles and asks the boys to mind their surroundings, though he doesn't seem to truly mean it.

Holly hadn't said much since the other kids arrived, keeping to her room with Mary. You'd suggested to Henry that you should keep an eye on her for fear of her social isolation, but Henry seemed content to let the girl do as she pleased.

"She has everything she could ever desire here, but it is up to her to choose it for herself, darling," Henry sighed as you both sat on the couch in the living room, watching the children chase each other around the halls. You cringed when you saw Derek walking through the carpeted rooms with a plate of desserts. Not what I had in mind when Henry said I didn't need to make lunch.

"I guess, you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink," you agreed, leaning your head to rest on his shoulder. Maybe she just needed time to adjust to the change a full house brought. Maybe she feels a little ignored now that you and Henry's attention had to be shared amongst the dozen. You sit for a minute or two, still deep in thought, before you stand. Henry looks at your sudden movement with surprise. "I know she can make her own choices, but I still think I should check on her. She's just a kid, after all," you say as you walk away, your back turned before you can see Henry's scowl.

Walking up the stairs, you notice how quiet it gets as you get closer to Holly's room. You push the door open with a soft hello, only to see Mary holding a dress up to her body in front of the mirror. She turns when she sees your reflection behind her.

"Ms. (L/N), do you think this looks okay? I tried to ask Holly, but she went to go look for someone, and I think she got distracted cause it's been a little while." She turns back to the mirror, "I mean, it's green, which normally doesn't work for me, but Holly's already taken blue, and everyone knows you shouldn't mix pink glasses and a pink dress, and-" She continues listing potential faux pas as you fumble to follow her words.

"Wait, wait, Mary, slow down," you huff. The girl turns to look at you with expectant eyes. "Firstly, it's Mrs. Whatsit, not (L/N), I don't know where you and Holly got that from." Mary purses her lips. Hoping to avoid embarrassing her, you continue, "Secondly, you can wear whatever dress you like best, dear. Pink, purple, blue, it doesn't matter. In fact, I think the green suits you just fine!" Mary turns back to the mirror, holding the dress up and fixing the skirts. "Mary, how long ago did Holly go downstairs? I was just down in the living room, and I haven't seen her with any of the other children."

Mary blinks at you from the mirror for a second. "Sorry, I guess. It's just, my brother is in middle school, and he told me about this weird teaching aide in his English class. Anyway, I think I'll pick the-"

"Mary, what does that have to do with Holly?"

"It doesn't. It has to do with you. Aren't you Ms. (L/N)? I swear he pointed you out at the grocery store once, you were looking at the cereal, and you were wearing this awful sweater. I mean, orange? With your complexion? Anyways, about the dress-"

"I'm sorry, Mary, I think you have me mixed up with someone else. Henry and I have lived here for quite some time." Mary squints at you. Seeing your chance now that the girl has gone quiet, you quickly add, "Anyways, I came up here to check on Holly, so I'm sorry to leave you, but I'm going to go make sure she found whatever she was looking for downstairs, alright?" You turn and rush to the door, hoping to avoid spurring on Mary's endless train of thought.

"Oh, okay. Holly's probably just caught up with Debbie. That girl never knows when to show up. See you later, Ms. (L/N)- uh Mrs. What-"

You close the door before Mary can finish. You're one to talk about Chatty Kathy's, Mary.

Walking down the stairs, keeping a death grip on the banister when a boy and girl run past you, you spot Henry in front of the window watching some of the children play in the park across the street. You school your face and put your hand on his bicep. Slowly looking over, Henry takes one glance at you, and the smile on his face drops.

"What's wrong," he asks sharply. You inhale, hoping to avoid needlessly worrying the children, but it seems you've already caught the attention of a boy watching a movie on the carpet nearby. You pull Henry into the entryway, his eyes not leaving yours for a second.

"Well, um, nothing is wrong, per say, but Mary said she hasn't seen-"

Before you can finish your sentence, the door opens and some of the children run in, panting. Forgetting the previous conversation, you turn to them.

"Shh, breathe, breathe. In and out, it's okay. Tell us what's wrong," you soothe, running your hands over one's arm as you lean down towards the other.

"D-Derek! He's- he's," "the woods," "we tried to stop him!" The kids practically finish each other's sentences through their panting. You glance over your shoulder and see Henry standing stick straight, glaring down at the children.

Moving to block their field of vision, you shush the children and usher them into the living room. "I'm sure he'll be fine, you don't need to worry. Mr. Whatsit will take care of it, it will all be alright," you guide the children to sit on the couch. By the time you turn to finish telling Henry about Holly, the door is open, and Henry is gone.

──── ⌢ ✦ ⌢ ────

Henry is gone for a while. You've searched his office for the copy of A Wrinkle in Time that he showed the children, hoping to read a chapter or two to the children to keep them occupied, but his office is bare. Except for a wood desk, some books about spiders and their behaviors, and a copy of the British play Gaslighting, the room looks like it's been uninhabited.

Eventually, you decide to simply entertain the children yourself. Without a second passing after suggesting a game of tag, the kids are laughing and running away from you as you giggle and pretend they're too fast for you to catch. After a half an hour of quickly tagging child after child, they decide the game is unfair.

"Well, if it's so unfair, what do you suggest," you giggle to the children as you all lay on various couches, panting from running from room to room. Like untrained dogs, the kids turn on you immediately. "Wait, wait, you have to let me get up first," you scramble to your feet as the children chase after you. You start to catch your heel in the rug, and you barely have enough time to fling your hands in front of you before you're on the ground. The real ground.

You look up, but the house is gone. You're scrambling down a brick sidewalk. It's cold and dark, and your hands are scraped. You look around in a panic, but nothing is familiar. You can hear a voice shouting in the distance. Is that Henry? You find your footing and start to run, but no matter how fast you move, you can't seem to escape the yelling behind you.

You pant, pushing as hard as your muscles will allow. You blink, and the vision has passed. You're back home, standing by the back door in the kitchen. Shaking, you take your hand off of the doorknob and look around you.

The kitchen is empty, except for the plates of sandwiches and snacks set out for the children. The only sound is your heavy panting and your heartbeat reverberating in your ears.

Slowly, you walk over to the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, peaking your head around the corner. Good, the children didn't see... whatever that was.

Just as you're about to call for a time out, someone behind you screams as they tackle your back.

Your vision blurs as you near the floor, flashing between images of the hardwood beneath you and some kind of gooey, red tear. When you turn, one of the children is on your hip, with the rest standing over you, laughing as they shout "We got you!"

For a moment, you think oh thank god, it was just some kind of hallucination, before the children all change into some kind of... animal. Its flesh is slick and sheer. Its arms are long and slender and covered in blood. You scramble backwards across the ground, the once-hardwood floor now feels like rough concrete under your palms. You can barely convince yourself to keep looking as its head lifts up and- dear god.

Someone grabs you. You scream, fighting their iron grip on your arm as they lift you from the floor. You're still wriggling in an attempt to wrench free when the person pulls you to their chest, brushing your sweat-slicked hair from your forehead.

"Darling, darling, I'm here. I'm here," Henry shushes you. "I'm here now, you're okay." He pulls your shaking form closer to him, wrapping his arm around your waist. You can see through thick tears and wet lashes that the children are standing in a huddled group, watching your episode in fear. Derek stands along the far wall, looking like he's seen a ghost.

"I- It was- there was something there."

"I know, just breathe, honey." Henry pushes your head into his chest, rubbing circles on your shoulder and waist. "It's over now, dear."

"It was trying to- I couldn't-"

"I know. It was one of the monsters." The children gasp, some of them grabbing the hands of the child next to them. "Unfortunately, it would seem that they have found ways to distract me, making this house a clear target."

Henry looks over your shoulder at his audience, pushing your hair back into place. "To make matters worse, one of the monsters has manipulated our dear Holly, convincing her to go to the woods with it."

You stiffen, looking into his eyes. Holly is in the woods? Mary, the poor girl, audibly sobs. One of the other girls, that must be Debbie, holds her as another girl rubs her back.

Henry guides you two to the couch, helping you sit next to him. The children sit in front of you, just as they had that morning, though Derek is now further from the group. "The monster, who disguised itself as a redheaded girl named Max, manipulated Holly into thinking that I-," he chokes a little on the word, gripping your knee a little tighter, "that I am the real monster, and that I plan on hurting you all."

The children all protest, but Henry seems inconsolable, his ego shattered. You rub his palm over your knee, smiling softly at him when he turns to you.

"I know. I know. I've done nothing but try to make this place a safe haven for you children, but poor Holly was easily convinced," he shakes his head, hanging it like a man resolved in defeat.

"Is she going to be alright," Mary chokes out. Her cheeks are red, and she looks faint. Poor thing, she must be terrified. Henry smiles at her, a caregiver about to inform a child of a lost pet.

"She is with the monster in its lair as of now, but don't worry. I plan on removing her from that cave as soon as possible. I just had to take care of other matters first," Henry looks pointedly at Derek. Some of the children, the ones who had reported him to Henry, look at Derek with disapproval. Obviously, if it weren't for Derek's carelessness, Holly may have been saved. "But I plan on leaving to collect her as soon as I right things here in the home, as sure as I can make sure that everyone will be safe," he adds, glancing at you. If it weren't for me, Holly may have been saved. "I know that it will be hard to distract yourselves, but please, try to find it within you all to continue your playing and joyfulness while I make plans. I would hate for Holly's poor judgement in character to ruin your excitement for tomorrow."

The children aren't convinced, but they don't disobey Mr. Whatsit. Slowly walking to the other rooms, whispering to each other and holding friend's shoulders, they leave you and Henry in the living room.

Sighing, Henry lifts his hand from yours to run his fingers through his hair. You're silent, gauging his mood. He was irate when he left, and it seems that tensions have only risen.

When he slumps forward to rest his elbows on his knees, you feel something within you tug toward him. God, he looks devastated. Softly, placing your palm delicately on his back, you whisper, "it isn't your fault."

Henry stiffens entirely, like you insulted him. When he doesn't say anything, you rush to add, "Holly. And the monsters. And... me." He slowly looks over at you, never lifting his head. "I guess, I'm just... It's not your fault. Everything that's happened. I know you've only ever meant well."

You should really stop rambling and let him tell you what he feels, what his plans are, what exactly happened when he went to find Derek, but you can't help but try to fill the silence. Like watching a child fall off a swing and scrape their knee, you feel the need to care for him. To pick him up and wipe his tears. To heal his wound. To never let him hurt like this again.

But some wounds can't be healed with kind words and antiseptic. Some wounds are too deep.

And some wounds aren't allowed to heal. We keep them fresh, a reminder to ourselves that it happened. Evidence for a trial that will never come. A punishment for allowing ourselves to get hurt in the first place.

Henry doesn't say anything. He simply hangs his head again. You look at him, sitting in harmonious silence. For a moment, you see beyond him. He isn't Mr. Whatsit. He isn't even Henry. He's scared. He's scared, and worried, and he feels alone. Whatever happened in the woods with Derek and Holly, it's haunting him.

So you do what you can when words won't heal him. You pull his head into your lap, and you brush your fingers through his hair. Still silent, you can feel wet drops hit your skirt under his head, his body shaking.

Neither of you say anything. Neither of you need to.

You simply brush the hair from his forehead, rub the tension from between his brows, sweep your fingers down his arm.

When it seems to pass, when the shaking has stopped and your skirt has dried, Henry pushes himself up to sit. He doesn't look at you. His head is hanging, but he is renewed. You can see the fight behind his eyes, even as he stares at the rug.

"Whatever I can do, I'll do it."

He slowly turns his head to look over at you with bloodshot eyes. He takes in your words, nodding. His mouth opens, but he still doesn't respond. Henry almost seems to argue with himself on what to say to you.

Finally, when it seems one side has won, he looks away and says, "please just watch over the other children. Don't let any of them outside again, even to the park." He pushes his hands on his knees to stand, walking towards the front door.

It wasn't what you had meant. He knew. But Mr. Whatsit had great plans, though temporarily changed by insolent Holly Wheeler, and even you couldn't change them.

Before he can leave and you can think better of it, you grasp his hand.

"Thank you." When he looks back at you, confused, you cough, "For helping me. For saving me."

He looks away from you. Whatever had passed in the living room, all his vulnerability has gone now. "Don't thank me quite yet."

a/n: guys i swear i'm fine. also... um??? was not expecting people to actually like this?? like ACTUALLY like it and not just give me the "that's great, sweetie" that i typically get irl. anyways, thank you so much for all the love, you have no idea how much the attention means to me, and how much inspiration i now have.

edit: fixed some continuity stuff that i forgot to delete when reworking, should all be good now

Next Scene...

Take Five...

After a few minutes of getting used to your surroundings, boredom starts to sink in. A quick glance out of the curtained window shows a small playground across the street and woods surrounding the property but no neighbors or other houses in sight. Even though Henry suggested rest, a walk sounds nice, and the weather looks pleasant enough for a small trip down the road before evening time.

Softly padding down the hallway and stairs, making sure to grip the banister extra tightly and watch your footing, you reach the main level of the house. In theme with the bedroom, you look around at the Victorian-style house. If you thought a bookstore was cozy, this house was heaven. Behind a closed door, you can hear a little girl's voice as a radio plays some kind of pop music.

You slowly push the door open. You don't want to startle whoever is having fun, nothing worse than realizing you've been watched when you thought you were alone. The little girl, this must be Holly, turns at the sound of the door creaking.

"Miss (L/N)! You're okay!" She runs to you and wraps her arms around your waist, squeezing you tightly in her grip. Recovering from the initial shock of her affection, you put one hand on the back of her head and hold her to your body.

"Of course I'm okay, honey! It was just a slip on the stairs," you smile down at her. Your brows knit together as you think over her words, "No need to be embarrassed about it, I'm horrible with names too, but it's Mrs. Whatsit, honey, though you don't need to be so formal. (Y/N) works just fine," you reassure her. You remember the embarrassment of calling someone the wrong name at her age. At least she didn't call me 'Mom.'

Holly pauses, pulling away from your hug. She looks deep into your eyes. She seems to search your face for something, but she slowly nods when she realizes whatever she's looking for isn't there. "Right. Mrs. Whatsit. A slip on the stairs." Holly looks down at the floor. You can tell she's embarrassed, or maybe nervous, regardless of your reassurance.

"I'm feeling much better now, especially since Henry brought me lunch. I was actually thinking of taking a little walk outside, would you care to join me?" Holly's attention snaps back to you when you mention leaving the house. She squints at you, almost like she's trying to figure out if you actually said something to her. Her eyes widen, and she slowly smiles.

"Yeah, a walk sounds great! I know just where we can-"

"(Y/N), I didn't hear you come downstairs. You should be resting," you hear Henry say behind you. Holly freezes as you look over your shoulder.

Henry stands in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, looking at the both of you carefully. Neither of you had heard him walk in, almost like he had appeared there from thin air. He glances back and forth at you and Holly before walking towards you and gently holding your arms.

"I don't want you rushing your recovery, dear," Henry smiles at you. "Besides, you both know the woods outside aren't safe for exploring." Henry glances over your shoulder to Holly, who has stayed frozen in place. Did I miss something? Why are they acting so weird?

"Of course, I must have forgotten," you mumble to yourself. "Maybe a nice day inside would be good instead." You turn to Holly, hoping to ease the tension obvious in her body. "What do you think, honey? Maybe there's a game we can play or some books to read? Oh! Have you had lunch? I know it's nearly dinner, but do you need a snack?" As you list options to fill your time, you can feel Holly's anticipation growing. Frowning, you look at Holly, still unresponsive. "Holly, are you okay? If you want to keep playing by yourself, that's more than fine as well. You won't hurt my feelings if you want to finish your dancing!"

She looks at you confused. "My... dancing? Oh! Yes, the music! Yes, I was... dancing!" She smiles and nods quickly. "Yeah, I think that's what I want to do. Keep... dancing." She turns to the radio and grabs a piece of paper near it, shoving it into the small bag at her hip before pushing play on the top of the stereo.

You turn to Henry, amused. "Well, I think we should probably leave her be then," you say, brushing past him as he closes the door behind the both of you.

When you've reached the living room, you glance around. For such a large house, it's so eerily quiet... like a movie on mute. The dining room is set for a large company, and the bedrooms you saw on the way downstairs all had beds made and prepared for guests, likely in preparation for the "others" that Henry had mentioned before your nap.

"I don't want to distract you from your work, Henry, I know you had a lot to finish before dinner." Glancing toward the door to the kitchen, you wonder if dinner is something you would normally prepare. What do I normally make for dinner? What did we have last night?

"No worries, all has gone according to plan. In fact, we should be expecting some new arrivals soon. Not as many as I was expecting, but still a successful number," Henry grins at you, sitting on a settee in the dining room. With the sly smile on his face and his casual posture on the plush cushions, you can't help but blush.

Attempting to focus on his words, you stutter, "N-new arrivals? Are they the "others" you mentioned earlier?" Smoothing the layers of your dress, you carefully sit next to him. With his arms on the back of the settee, he tenderly brushes circles into your shoulder, deepening the blush forming on your cheeks. You can see his confidence growing when he notices the redness coloring your face. Why does this feel so... He's my husband, right?

"Yes, we should be expecting three more children today, with more to come later. They're staying with us until their parents can move to town," Henry's hand slips from your shoulder down to your waist, pulling you closer to him. He smirks at the little gasp that comes out of your mouth. "Like I reminded Holly a minute ago, the outside world has been quite dangerous lately. Monsters, darkness, truly horrible. If it weren't for this house, I'm afraid they would all be left alone, scared and vulnerable."

"Right, of course," you smile, too embarrassed to say that none of this seemed to ring a bell with you in the slightest. "It's a good thing we have so much space available; I'd hate to have to leave any children behind." Henry smiles at you, obviously appreciative of your willingness to go along with him. I mean, how does he expect me to focus when he's looking at me like that, anyway?

"It's truly admirable how much you care. Your kindness is what drew me to you after all." His other hand comes to rest on the top of your thigh. Even through the thick layers of your dress, you can feel the heat from his palm. "That and your incredible intellect and beauty, of course," Henry adds. Dear god, is it boiling in here? Like a lion stalking its prey, you can feel the way he seems to hunger your nervousness. "But you don't need to worry, dear. Though they may just be children, I will always help those willing to admit their vulnerability, their need."

You cough and turn your head towards the dining room, but Henry is quick to move his hand from your shoulder to your chin, turning you back towards him. Your breath catches in your throat when his thumb gently pulls your bottom lip down. He leans forward, so close you can smell the sandalwood and musk of his cologne and feel the warmth of his every exhale.

As he tilts your face towards his, sliding his hand from your lip to the nape of your cheek, Henry whispers, "You don't have to shy away from me, my love. Let me help you with your needs as well."

His lips are nearly brushing yours, palm trailing towards the hem of your dress, when the doorbell rings. Your face snaps towards the door as Henry curses under his breath.

"Forgive me, it seems I've forgotten myself," he groans, pushing his hands on his knees to stand. He turns to face you, though Henry seems to purposefully avoid eye contact, "I'll answer the door. Would you mind preparing something for the children? I'm sure they're a bit peckish from their travels."

Your mind is still racing, looking up at him through your lashes. "Oh, of course. Dinner. I'll... I'll get right on that," you almost pant. Jesus, woman, get a grip. You smooth down your dress skirts and check your hair, even though it's still perfectly curled away. Blushing, you stand to enter the kitchen as Henry walks towards the door.

The kitchen, of course, is just as beautiful as the rest of the house, though it's intricacy is a little lost on your wandering mind. As you search the room for utensils and cutting boards, you barely remember what is in each cabinet by the time they shut. Finding a cookbook, you flip through the pages, finally finding your train of thought.

Thumbing through the pages, the day's oddness only grows. Jello salad? Spam? Good grief, how many casserole recipes does one cookbook need? You look on the counter for another cookbook, but the recipes aren't too different. Ew, I am not serving these children tuna mousse. How old is this thing? Eventually, you give up on the ancient cookbooks, I'll ask Henry later if he has any cookbooks from the last decade. Settling on a simple beef stroganoff, you can hear Henry welcoming the children as you start boiling water. Hopefully they settle in as well as Holly has.

a/n: hopefully this meets your expectations, i was not expecting people to actually like the first chapter. also forgive me if this isn't entirely correct to the Creel House/season 5 timeline. i did my best.

Next Scene...

Take Five

──── ⌢ ✦ ⌢ ────

You were an easy target. A newcomer to Hawkins, only here as a college teaching aid for one of the middle school English classes, you were a stranger to most of the town. Only stopping at the grocery long enough to grab some microwave meals and some milk for your cereal, most of the parents thought you standoff-ish. After a class period spent pouring over Barrie's Peter Pan, the kids were entirely convinced you were some kind of crazy cat lady (even though you didn't own any pets). Along with your tragically empty love life, it was all to easy for Henry to infiltrate your life, and your mind along with it.

You were reading And Then There Were None on a park bench when you first saw him, though he had been watching you nearly all day. In his brown vest and dress pants, reading the newspaper on a nearby bench, he looked like he had stepped directly off of your page. A man with such taste, and the confidence in his posture, was surely out of your league, if not married. Besides, you had to refresh your memory on this chapter before writing your class's quiz tomorrow.

"It's a shame she passed away."

Your head snaps up to the tall man in front of you. You hadn't noticed him walking towards you.

"I- I'm sorry?" Mentally, you were kicking yourself for stumbling over your words. What a great first impression, now you definitely have no shot.

"Agatha Christie. She passed away a couple years ago," the man says, pointing at your book and smiling coyly when you look at the cover with him. "It's a real shame; I always loved her books."

You awkwardly smile at him, "Oh yeah! Sorry, I tend to get lost in my own little world sometimes, you know?." At your remark, something sparkles in his eyes. Okay, maybe I'm not a total idiot.

"Oh, trust me, I understand what you mean entirely. May I sit?," he gestures to the bench.

You stare at him for a minute, lost in the sound of his chuckle and the sight of his eyes. "Oh! Oh, yeah, sure!" You move over on the bench to let him sit down. He takes his hat off and relaxes next to you.

For a minute, you both are completely silent. He leans his head back on the seat, enjoying the crisp fall air.

"Um, I bet I can guess which of her books is your favorite! The Man in the Brown Suit, right," you smile nervously, playing with the hem of your shirt. Stupid, stupid, stupid. That book came out like 60 years ago, I bet he's never even-

"Mm, that is a good one," the man smiles, his eyes still closed. He turns and looks at you with his head titled back. "Though my name isn't Harry, unfortunately, it's Henry. Henry Whatsit."

"Whatsit? That's not actually your last name," you laugh. When he doesn't laugh with you, you stop and cough. "Sorry, I just don't think I've ever heard that one before, outside of like... is it A Wrinkle in Time? I think that one has a Mrs. Whatsit in it, but it's been a little while since I've read that one, probably at least a good couple of years." The man, Henry, smiles when you mention the book, noticing the way you almost seem to get lost in a daydream just at the thought of a story.

"Yes. It's exactly like in A Wrinkle in Time actually. So you like fantasy along with mystery? A woman after my own taste, it would seem," Henry grins at you like a Cheshire cat, his eyes sharpening when he sees the blush forming across your cheeks. Suddenly, he sits up straight and pulls a pocket watch from his vest. "I'm afraid I have to go. There's somewhere I have to be, but would you like to take an evening walk with me tonight and talk more about your impeccable literary interests? Perhaps we could discuss The Lord of the Flies next." He stands and puts the watch back into his pocket. With his hat back on his head, he turns to face you.

"I'm not in the habit of taking walks with men I've just met, but I'll never turn down a chance to talk about my favorite book. A lucky guess, by the way," you put your long forgotten book in your bag, looking down at your own watch, though no one is around when you look up. Strange.

──── ⌢ ✦ ⌢ ────

When you arrive for your walk with Henry, he's already taken off his jacket and offered it to you. He reassures you that you'll likely need it more than he will since the cold is obviously bothering you more than him. When you ask how he knew you were cold, he replies simply with, "Just a hunch," though you quickly use the compact in your purse to see if your nose is running or red. I wasn't even shivering... that much.

The walk with Henry is entirely pleasant, if it weren't for the other town residents. They cast you sidelong glances, muttering and laughing to themselves as soon as they pass you both. One family even grabs their children a little closer to them and rush along at the sight of you. The longer you walk, the more unnerved you become, though Henry appears entirely unphased, walking and chatting about books as if the rest of the world didn't exist to him.

After a half an hour, you huff and turn to him. "Doesn't this bother you?" He stops a few steps away from you and turns around to look at you with obvious confusion. "The glances, the laughing? Everyone keeps staring at us." At that he chuckles.

"(Y/N), the world is unfortunately full of more ordinary people than not. It's no surprise that they feel threatened when they realize they aren't as high up in the order of things as they believe they are. Like Lord of the Flies, natural selection will always reign supreme. The weak will eventually take themselves out, so why worry about doing it for them?" He continues to walk ahead of you, as if he didn't entirely shock you with his response.

The rest of the walk isn't nearly as pleasant. The sky grows darker, the air colder, making you pull his coat jacket a little tighter around your shoulders and filling your nose with his cologne. Soon, you start to encounter less and less people, until suddenly you realize that you and Henry are the only people left on the street. You've somehow wandered into a shadier part of town, where you'd normally be clutching your purse to your chest and hoping that you'd miraculously remember those gym classes you spent under the bleachers. How did I let it get this late? Just as you're about to suggest turning in for the night, you do have papers to grade a TV-dinner-for-one to microwave, Henry tenderly grasps the curve of your arm.

"How about a drink?" When he notices the protests about to escape your lips, he adds, "Just a glass of wine or two." Without waiting for your response, Henry pulls you into a bar. A quick glance around doesn't ease your nerves, but the glass of wine the bartender serves certainly helps. It's not the house best, not even close, but it takes the edge off. You slowly sip your glass, letting Henry lead the conversation. When you get off your chair to excuse yourself to the restroom, you sway. Henry catches you by the waist just as your hands slam down onto the counter, catching the attention of the stranger next to you. I didn't even have that much?

"Let's get you home, I think you've had enough."

Henry guides you towards the exit, helping you along as you stumble and use the walls to catch you. Gross, I definitely need a shower after this. After walking a short distance, you realize you hadn't even told Henry where to go, though you suppose he must have guessed that you didn't live near this part of town. After a bit longer, you realize you aren't walking towards your house at all.

"H-Henry? Where are we going?

"Home, (Y/N), I said that. You need to rest this off, especially if you're going to be in any shape to teach tomorrow."

The air crackles like lightning between the two of you as you stumble out of his grip. He looks at you like a cherished pet gone rabid. The alcohol fogs your brain, making it harder for your words to come out straight. The wine must have been stronger than I thought.

"What? This- This isn't the way to my house. Wait, and how do you know I'm a teacher? I don't think I mentioned that, did I," you look down at the ground, trying to remember your conversations as the night seems to slip through your mind like water through a sieve.

"(Y/N), honey, you told me that this afternoon, remember? You mentioned grading papers and how you thought you saw a student of yours on the playground." Henry walks towards you, like a parent trying to calm a hysterical child. His hands have almost reached you when you step back harshly.

"We didn't walk by the playground, Henry."

He stops short. You look deep into his eyes, your short breathes the only sound either of you make. While the fall air cools the liquid blanket on your cheeks, the chilling breezes make your nose and lungs tingle. After what seems like both hours and seconds due to the nerves and the alcohol, Henry sighs.

"I should've known you were a bit too smart for that one. I suppose it's my fault for going after the intelligent type, but one can always learn from their mistakes." All the friendliness seems to drip off of Henry like rain. With a straight face and sharp eyes, Henry starts to walk towards you.

Run.

You start to walk backwards, fumbling. Henry's eyes widen, and his jaw ticks.

"(Y/N), darling. Don't make this difficult."

Go.

You turn to run and trip over a lip in the brick sidewalk. Scrambling your hands along the ground, you nearly claw across it like a feral animal.

Away. Now.

You can hear Henry's footsteps pounding behind you as you catch your footing. Soon, the footsteps fade away. You run for a couple more blocks, just in case. After a quick turn to look behind you, you're sure. He's gone. You pant for a minute before taking in your surroundings. It's hard to see now that the sun has fully set, but you vaguely recognize the streets around you.

Eventually, the streets turn to stores, which turn to block that you remember. All those lunchtime walks looking for a bookstore or library have finally paid off. In the distance, you see a streetlight over a pay phone. You run and dig through your purse for a spare quarter. I've never been so glad I'm disorganized. You reach the payphone, shoving the quarter into the slot, cursing when you almost drop it. The dial tone rings, and you stop.

You don't know who to call. What would the police do? No crime has been committed, and you doubt the cops would trust the word of the crazy college kid who had too much to drink compared to an obviously well-off man. You don't really have any friends at work... Mr. Clarke! He'd always been nice to you, nice enough to give you his phone number and say he'd help you around town if need be, anyway. You're sure this isn't what he had in mind when he said to give him a call if you had a question, but what did you care?

Punching in the number, you glance around you to make sure Henry hadn't caught up. The phone rings... and rings... and rings. Pick up.

A weird groaning starts to sound from the ground underneath you, but you're too frantic to notice. C'mon, pick up!

Just as you're about to give up and go bang on someone's front door, the call connects. It's a shame that you don't get to hear it, since the ground underneath you has quite literally opened up and swallowed you whole, leaving the pay phone hanging from it's cord as Mr. Clarke tells a woman in the background that it must have been a scam caller.

──── ⌢ ✦ ⌢ ────

When you wake up, your head is pounding. You sit up with a groan. When you look around, you don't recognize the bed underneath you, much less the room it's in. As you try to brush your hair out of your face, you feel the stiff texture of hairspray. Swinging your feet off the bed, you pad over to the vanity nearby.

You look completely different. Hair perfectly curled and pinned up. A vintage style dress hangs down to your knees. Your lipstick looks miraculously good for having just gotten up from bed. Are you... wearing kitten heels? God, I look like ... someone... but I can't remember who... Your headache turns from pounding to piercing, your hands flying to your temples as the door opens.

"I'm glad to see you're awake. I thought you'd sleep the whole day away," the man, I know I've seen him somewhere, says from the doorway. As you start to mumble to yourself, the man leads you back to the bed.

"Where- where am I? How... did I get here?" You look around you, trying to find some small detail to jog your memory as the man, Henry?, shushes you.

"Don't worry yourself, darling. Everything will be alright. You hit your head last night, and it seems you've gotten everything all mixed up, but I'm sure it will sort itself out soon." Henry smooths your hands away from your face, holding them together in your lap.

"I... hit my head? When? How? Where-"

"Shh... it'll be okay. It was just a little slip on the stairs. I've told you time and time again to make sure you're paying attention when you're walking on them, but you've just always got your nose in a book, don't you, honey?" Henry chuckles at you, tapping his finger on your nose. As he rubs his thumb over the back of your hand, you can feel your panic melting away.

"Yes... the stairs... I was reading..." You catch distant memories of flipping pages, foggy visions of him chasing towards you as you lie on the ground.

"Just try to rest up. I'll bring you some lunch here in a moment, and I'll let Holly in to see you. She's been so worried sick since I carried you up here," Henry chuckles. You nod, though you don't really hear much of what he's saying, too lost in trying to sort out the tangled memories.

"Right... lunch. That- that sounds good." You breathe deeply, saying the words more to yourself than to Henry. As he turns to go out the door, you stop him. "Wait- Holly? Who is Holly?"

Henry smiles and tilts his head at you, almost like someone looking at a newborn puppy yawning. "Holly? The little girl that's been staying with us until her parents can come here? You really don't remember?" His words mean nothing to you. "That little spill on the steps must have done more than I thought," he sighs. "Just rest, I can't have my darling bride under the weather when the others arrive."

"Right... Holly. The others. Your- bride?" Even as your questions arise, you feel the energy slipping from your body. You unwillingly yawn between words, your body slumping as if you hadn't spent the whole morning, and apparently night, in bed. Henry smiles at you from the door.

"Sleep well, darling, it'll all come together soon."

a/n: I was not expecting this to be as well received as it has been?? but also thank you all for the love you've given this already, i'm excited to see what you think of the rest of it!

Next Scene...

Take five