Chapter Text
Henry had always been worried that being known would make people treat him differently.
Like he'd be pitied.
Looked at like 'the abused kid'.
But since Jean and Ralph found out the worst of it all, they hadn't been weird with him at all.
Jean was still helicopter parenting him about his injuries, but that was expected of him. And Ralph still looked at Henry with his trying-not-to-cry face, but Henry couldn't blame him when the reason he wanted to cry was still very visible.
But aside from that, they were just existing with him.
Like he wasn't 'Henry, the abused kid'.
Like he was just Henry.
Jean had been a bit more pushy with food ever since he found out Henry was barred from meals sometimes, and every time he left a room that had the door open beforehand, he was very careful not to close it behind him. He didn't want Henry to ever feel like he was being locked in a room again.
But it was for the best.
He was being treated with consideration.
Henry kinda liked it.
He was allowed more screen time now, and his head hurt significantly less. His body wasn't hurting as much now either. Even though Jean insisted that Henry still needed rest and recuperation because he wasn't fully okay yet, and wouldn't be for a while, Henry still had more freedom again.
The restrictions never felt controlling at Ralph's house.
Simply like care.
Henry and Ralph a lot of time messing around with instruments, even though Henry wasn't capable of doing much physical work himself. And he had to make sure none of the instruments were too loud.
Or playing video games.
Henry was significantly worse at playing video games, but there was no bad blood over it.
In fact, it made Ralph start teasing Henry, and Henry would argue back. And it was the closest they had to being normal in while.
Ralph finally saw his best friend being himself again.
It almost made Ralph want to cry again.
Their time together was becoming more and more precious.
Because Ralph was aware of how much Henry needed safe moments now.
They watched movies together, made a mess of the kitchen whilst trying to bake together, and mostly just lazed about and did absolutely nothing together. But the fact that they had each other whilst doing nothing together was what made Henry feel so safe.
He could relax.
It felt like he could finally breathe.
He'd forgotten how nice it felt to be able to breathe.
Ralph was still updating him with what happened in school whilst he was gone. People were still wondering where Henry was, and Ralph had to keep telling people he'd come down with a really bad sickness. It made Ralph feel on edge, especially because teachers were starting to wonder where he was.
But most people believed him.
Their friends were a bit curious as to why Henry hadn't spoken to any of them, but it wasn't that strange for Henry to have no contact at all.
He had his phone taken a lot.
People weren't obsessing over Henry nearly as much, but the sneakily recorded video of him beating the guy up was still going around. Still talked about, just less obsessively.
Henry was feeling a bit of fomo.
But it was better than coming into school and having everyone question why his face looked like that.
Henry hadn't been doing any schoolwork, because Jean was insistent that he still needed to relax and that the work wasn't going anywhere. And Henry accepted it, because at least he was finally getting to relax the way little kid Henry would've loved to have done.
Younger Henry would've killed to be off school, always at Ralph's, doing nothing but having fun.
Seeing himself in the mirror still made him uncomfortable, but he'd learned to stop looking at them.
He was taking care of himself again too, even though looking at his body made him want to throw up. He had to wash himself practically blind, with the way he avoided actually looking at his body.
And it did hurt to try and move around in the shower, especially because of his ribs, but it was getting easier.
He had dealt with bruised ribs before.
Not this bad, but it wasn't completely foreign.
Before he knew it, he was laughing until his chest hurt, talking more because his throat was getting better. He'd been trying all the home remedies that Jean could come up with, and it was helping. Even if the dark ring of bruises still brought him unease to look at, it was getting better physically.
And Ralph was really happy.
Really happy to have his best friend back.
"So, movies?"
"Not too many, or Jean will get mad at me."
"He'll tuck you into bed himself."
Henry laughed, even though being tucked into bed didn't seem that bad at all.
"Can't have that, can we?"
"Not at all. So what are we watching?"
Henry leaned against the sofa, finding the perfect position to sit in. He usually changed the way he sat many times, incapable of sitting like a regular person, because he wasn't good at sitting still, but being injured so heavily meant he had to find one perfect way to sit and not move at all after.
Inevitably, he'd probably move again.
"You pick." Henry said. "I have no idea. Just no horror. I don't think my body can handle jumpscares right now. I might burst a lung."
Ralph laughed.
The dark humour jokes were starting to upset him less.
Hell, Henry was probably going to make more now that Ralph knew.
"Rerun of Fast and Furious?"
"Bet."
"You boys will not be doing a rerun of ten movies in one sitting." Jean said, practically appearing from thin air. "You will watch two movies at the very most, and then Henry will go to sleep. The movies aren't going anywhere."
"Buzzkill."
"Henry."
Henry smiled, but then the sternness made him instinctively worry for a moment.
"Sorry. Two movies."
Jean frowned, sadness in his eyes.
"You don't need to apologise. I'm just trying to make sure you're healthy. Don't refrain from making little jokes, alright?"
"Alright."
And so, the two boys watched exactly two films before falling asleep on the sofa.
Jean found them both asleep, and even though he knew it would be better for Henry's body to be asleep in an actual bed, he couldn't bring it in himself to disturb him. Instead, he checked over to make sure Henry wasn't sleeping in a position that could worsen his injuries in any way, and then draped a blanket over the two of them.
At least Henry was becoming comfortable enough to fall asleep unintentionally.
His comfort was of utmost importance to Jean.
Somewhere along the second week, Henry found himself disturbed by a nightmare.
He'd been sleeping just fine alone in the guest room, undisturbed, no paranoia or fear. He didn't have to toss and turn to fall asleep, and didn't wake up to the sound of someone screaming in his face, or tumbling against the house. In fact, before he slept, he would just relish in the complete silence of Ralph's house.
And then, one night, he woke up and felt the most dread he'd felt in a while.
He woke up, his body covered in a cold sweat, and his chest was screaming. He was breathing so heavily that his lungs were burning, his ribs aching, and his throat felt like it was hoarse, the same way it did right after he'd been strangled. And the worst part was he had no idea where he was, so he thought he was at home.
He felt like he was on fire, completely overwhelmed with fear, and then something clicked.
The walls were white, not yellow.
The floor was grey wood, not covered with purple carpet.
The curtains were grey too, not green.
He wasn't in his room.
He wasn't at home.
There was no one that could come and hurt him. No one that would walk into his room, breath reeking of alcohol, to scream at him and hit him and make him feel like he was dying. He was somewhere safe, with people who cared about him and actually made him feel loved, protected, safe.
He was safe.
Despite that, it took a while for Henry to calm down.
To remind himself that even though he could see proof that he wasn't in his room, he wasn't going to be hurt.
He had to think about the nightmare as just a nightmare. Yes, it had happened, and it was real, but it wasn't going to happen again. No one was going to bash his head into a table until it bled, or strangle him to the point of near-consciousness. No one was going to violently beat him at Ralph's house.
He was safe.
Henry found himself lying back down, his breaths starting to become regular again, the burning feeling in his body starting to dissipate. He listened to the silence of the house, ignoring the phantom footsteps that he heard, and reminded himself that he was safe.
And then he slowly reached over to grab his phone, checking his messages for the first time in a while.
He'd forgotten about his phone for the first few days, and then when he remembered it existed, he decided not to check it at all. He cleared his notifications from the home screen, and then when he next went on his phone he just scrolled through his feed and laughed at videos instead of checking his messages.
He didn't want to have to deal with real world consequences of what happened.
It was three in the morning, and Henry wasn't sure if he'd be able to go back to sleep.
So he finally checked his messages, and saw nothing from his parents.
As expected.
No missed calls either.
But there was a text from Peter.
A text from last Tuesday, a few hours after Henry had fought with their parents.
Why did you hit mum?
Henry felt unwell.
He'd been wondering what Peter knew, wondering what their parents told him. Wondering if Peter would hate him even more than he already did because of it. Wondering if Peter would believe their parents - which was a stupid thing to wonder. In no world would Peter ever believe Henry over their parents.
It wasn't like Henry gave him his side of the story to believe anyway.
It was an accident.
But he still did it. And that was all Peter would ever see.
Henry stared at his response for a little longer, before deciding against it. So he deleted the text before he could send it.
She was hurting me.
And that one, he really wished he could send. He really wished he could tell his brother the truth, so maybe Peter wouldn't see him as a villain for once. So maybe Peter would actually love him.
But Henry's love for his family had always been one-sided.
Peter was no exception.
There was no way to explain to his eleven year old brother that their parents were beating the living shit out of him, which was why Henry accidentally punched his mum in the face. And then proceeded to very intentionally hit kick his dad in the leg so that he could get away from the violence.
So he simply didn't.
He just deleted his second response and put his phone down.
Maybe it would be easier not to reply at all.
Henry fell asleep shortly after, a strange feeling of emptiness in his chest. And the next morning, he didn't tell anyone about the nightmare he had, not wanting to worry anyone. Instead, he acted completely normal.
And if he held his breath when he heard the cabinet close just a little too loudly, no one noticed.
And if he immediately panicked and cowered into himself whilst spewing apologies when he accidentally knocked over a glass because he was on edge, no one shouted at him. No one hit him over it, and no one made him feel worthless for making a simple mistake.
Instead, Jean just cleaned it up and told Henry that it was nothing.
That mistakes happen.
That it was okay, and he wasn't going to be in any trouble for it.
And if Ralph looked at him with that trying-not-to-cry face over it, Henry pretended it didn't happen at all.
Instead, Ralph told him that nothing bad was going to happen to him in his house.
The problem was, Henry believed it.
His nervous system didn't.
And then when Henry was back in his room, he got another text.
Did you really hit mum?
This time, Henry was confused.
Peter must've noticed Henry finally read the message, but left it unanswered.
Henry wondered, was Peter actually on his side?
Or did he just want a response from him?
Henry had so many questions, so many things he wanted to ask Peter, but he couldn't. Peter was an eleven year old boy who had been shielded from all the darker truths to their house, protected from all the violence caused by their parents, so Henry couldn't ask anything. He couldn't get anything from his sheltered brother.
Especially not if it caused Peter to start questioning things.
Henry couldn't ruin the perfect world Peter lived in.
There was no reason to taint it with the horridness that Henry experienced.
Yeah.
He sent back.
And an hour later, when Peter had read the message, started typing and didn't respond, Henry followed up with another message.
I'm sorry.
Henry tried to keep the texts from Peter out of his head.
He'd continued his rerun of movies with Ralph, fallen asleep on the sofa again, and had no nightmares. He played a few games, messed around with some more instruments, and even found himself able to play piano if he was very slow and careful, and was standing above the piano so he didn't need to raise his arms.
And then Peter sent another text.
Are you coming home?
Henry ignored that one too.
He didn't want to go back to a place that never felt like home.
Ralph's house was starting to feel like home. Jean took care of him like Henry was his son, and Ralph and Henry got to have infinite sleepovers. They got to watch movies, play video games, mess around with instruments, and just be in each other's presence.
Being at Ralph's was home.
Even though no one talked about Henry's future, it almost felt like there was an unspoken agreement that Henry would just stay at Ralph's house indefinitely.
There was nowhere for him to go, and no need for him to leave anyway.
Even though he was sure it'd be easy to just type, no, to Peter and call it a day, Henry didn't say anything. Henry didn't want Peter to think about him, and maybe if he just didn't reply, then Peter would stop texting and give up.
That was for the best.
He was never good for Peter.
So he didn't reply.
He kept laughing with Ralph.
Kept letting Jean fuss over him as if he was Henry's parent.
He let himself become absorbed with the happiness that he found in Ralph's house.
"Any requests for dinner tonight?"
Henry and Ralph looked at each other, both of their mouths stuffed with Jean's amazing fluffy pancakes. They usually ate whatever Jean made, because they were growing teenage boys and any sustenance was really all they needed.
Neither of them were picky.
Henry had been very careful, always asking for things that weren't difficult to make, not wanting to be a hassle even though Jean was willing to do whatever Henry wanted. Especially when it came to food, because feeding Henry was a big priority now that he knew about Henry's suffering.
But this time, he decided to ask for something that required a little more effort.
"Can you make lasagna?"
"Oh my god, yes." Ralph joined in. "Lasagna. With garlic bread. That's fucking delicious."
Jean smiled.
"Language."
But there was no real anger to it.
"Sorry, Jeanie." Ralph smiled back. "Is that a yes?"
Henry had always liked lasagna. Despite his family being the worst people in the world usually, Henry always cherished family dinners where they had lasagna. His dad would complain he ate too messily, and his mum would tell him not to eat so quickly, but he would do it anyway because he loved lasagna.
That was before everything seemed so wrong.
Back when being lectured was just a lecture.
No follow up hitting.
"Absolutely. I'll make the finest lasagna from scratch."
"Jeanie, you're like.. oh my god, you're like a genie." Ralph laughed. "How have I never made that joke?"
"You made it a lot when you were little."
"I did?"
"Yes." Jean rolled his eyes affectionately. "Come on, you're gonna be late for school."
"When am I gonna be able to go back to school?"
"Soon, maybe. Your face is starting to look better. But you will be avoiding physical activity at all cost. I'll write a note for you and you, because I know you well enough Henry, can forge your mum's signature on it so no one asks questions."
"I've never forged my mother's signature, Jean."
Jean gave Henry a blank look, making both Henry and Ralph laugh childishly.
Being there was really starting to feel like home.
After Ralph went to school, Henry watched a few movies, and then after lunch he tried to help Jean in the kitchen. But he was told off several times because it was too much physical activity, and was then given permission to do the most basic and non-strenuous tasks to help make the lasagna.
And Henry talked Jean's ear off, because his throat was getting better.
Until it hurt a little, and then Jean changed Henry's job to slowly sipping a safely warm mug of hot chocolate to soothe him. And absolutely no talking in between.
By the time they were done making the lasagna, Ralph was finally home.
"Hey, Ralph." Henry called out. "Come here, we made the lasagna. It smells awesome, I can't wait to try it. I wanted to try some now but Jean told me we had to wait until dinner so we could all eat together."
Ralph walked into the kitchen slowly, unusually quiet.
"Aren't you gonna say anything about the delicious smell?"
Ralph put his bag down on the floor, looking at Henry with a weird expression.
"What's wrong?"
Ralph didn't say anything for a moment, chewing the inside of his cheek nervously.
"Ralph, mate, you're scaring me. Say something."
Ralph took a deep breath, running his hands through his hair. "Henry.."
Henry looked at Jean, who was also becoming worried.
"Ralph, what's going on?"
"The police came to school today."
Henry felt like a pit was in his stomach, his breath stuttering.
"Henry, they're looking for you."