Work Text:
Henry has always been inconstant, a shifter, even before he re-remembered his ability to become various creatures. Mercedes has gently teased him about it sometimes, how differently he behaves at work compared to with their friends, the Doodlers parents association, or at home with the boys.
It’s not like a chameleon, the shifts feel deeper than skin. He will not think of himself as clay, molded this way and that, and he is not merely glass, reflecting back the world while retaining an empty transparency. Henry feels more like quartz. Pure quartz is colourless, transparent, but differentiates into colours from impurities in its structure. He takes in parts of those around him, shifting molecular orbitals into spectral transitions. The changes feel real, solid, not a temporary trick of the light but a shift in being. Perhaps it has been a survival strategy; coming out of the woods with only hazy memories and no true idea of who he was, it was easier to draw from those around him. He may not be pure but at least he is something.
When they first arrive in the Forgotten Realms, Henry has no idea who to be. The other dads are all so different and the boys are missing and gosh darn it Darryl really does grind his gears with his macho posturing. But the weeks pass and Henry finds out so much more about himself and the other dads than he could have anticipated, and parts of who he is here begin to feel more solid. One part of him, however, remains amorphous as ever.
It has always been that the more intimate the setting, the stronger his fluid, shifting, feeling gets. Darryl remarked once that he doesn’t understand how Henry doesn’t get jealous, or feel guilty, being open in his marriage with Mercedes. But the fact is, Henry simply isn’t the same with Mercedes as he is with anyone else. He’s the lion to her lioness. When Gina and Greg and Jane and Kirk join the mix he is playful, flirtatious, part of a team. In hotel rooms after geology conference mixers he’s confident, in charge. A dozen different Henries in a dozen different embraces.
He doesn’t expect to be exploring this side of himself in Faerûn, but when the opportunity arises one night and Glenn slides a suggestive hand onto his thigh, Henry’s curiosity (and horniness) gets the better of him. With Glenn it’s an itch, a burn, an ache that cannot be sated. There’s no vulnerability; Glenn isn’t ready for that, and Henry isn’t sure he wants it either. They settle for dirty kisses and gropes in dark tavern corridors and the backseat of the Odyssey, a joint passed between lips by late night campfires underneath a whole new universe of stars. It’s fun, and a release for some of the pressure constantly simmering under Henry’s skin. With Glenn he’s loose, snarky, matching Glenn’s bravado with his own confident swagger.
Darryl doesn’t like how Henry is with Glenn, that much is obvious. What isn’t obvious to Henry at first is why. Darryl himself seems oblivious to the cold shift in his own manner when encountering Henry fresh from a tumble in the grass while collecting firewood, or after a long night in twin tavern rooms.
It’s Glenn who works it out first. Of course, being Glenn, he doesn’t say anything, just starts manipulating the situation to his own inscrutable end.
“What are you doing?” Henry hisses after Darryl once again barely misses catching them when Glenn corners him against a tree near camp, ”is this some kind of ‘caught in the act’ fantasy you’re trying to explore? I really think it would be better for group dynamics if we kept what’s between us on the down-low.”
Glenn shrugs, “I’m just curious what he’ll do. Darryl’s clearly aware of what’s going on, haven’t you noticed how crabby he’s been?”
“There’s plenty for us all to be cranky about, we’re in a pretty high stress situation, and Darryl has the whole eating-Grant’s-skin thing to worry about. He can be a little uninformed about some of these things but that’s no reason to bait him. We need to work together as a team.”
Glenn ruffles Henry’s hair, “okay man, chill. I’ll let you both keep being idiots then,” he walks away before Henry can ask what that’s supposed to mean.
As if by some unspoken agreement, the frequency of their trysts lessens after that. Henry notices a corresponding subtle shift in Darryl, a softening of some of the tension in his shoulders and a lightening of his mood, even as they get closer to Meadowshade and to Grant. Henry wants to confront him but lacks the words, and the grasp of what exactly is going on, to do so.
Besides, he has to admit that he’s enjoying their dynamic right now and isn’t keen to disrupt it. As tiring as Darryl’s constant sports metaphors can be, part of a team is exactly how Henry feels with him. It’s in some ways similar to how he feels with Mercedes, a kind of partnership, with give and take, a shared vision. He doesn’t find himself becoming more like Darryl, but rather shifting to complement him; he’s calm for Darryl’s intensity, flexible for his meticulous planning, and curious for his wariness.
But still there remains this tension, the unformed question that pricks at Henry like an irritant in an oyster, eventually settling into the background, almost forgotten but not quite, like a mineralized pearl. His thoughts brush up against it when he’s sitting in the passenger seat at dawn while Ron and Glenn snore in the back, relishing in the companionable silence, the golden light shining on Darryl’s face and reflecting off his sunglasses. When they find a stream and clean off for the first time in weeks, hooting and hollering and splashing like kids, then lay out on the riverbank to dry off, Darryl’s carefree smile wiping a decade off his face. When they’re out scouting and he catches Darryl’s wistful glances out of the corner of his eye, but can’t quite glean their meaning.
Watching Darryl’s casual response to Grant and his adorably obvious crush on Yeet only serves to send Henry’s thoughts spinning still faster (If it’s not the fact that both he and Glenn identify as men, then what?).
Then they kill the Library. And return to Neverwinter. And the Pyramid. And his easy fellowship with Darryl is shattered in the space of a few shouted words. But before he can even dwell on it, Henry is facing the prospect of a world where Mercedes is gone and he has to try and sort out the mess of his life without her. He looks at the shell shocked men around him: Ron’s disbelief, Glenn’s panic, and stops dead at the broken look on Darryl’s face as he slips Carol’s letter into his pocket without sharing her words with them. Petty misunderstandings pale in comparison.
Travelling with the Mad Dogs towards Ravenloft, Henry feels ready to jump out of his own skin. They’ve made camp for the night and he lies on his back in the tent that Doug organized for him, staring up at the roof canvas and willing his mind to quiet. After an hour of breathing exercises and mantras he gives up and heads outside.
It’s a clear night, and a weak silvery light illuminates the concentric circles of tents surrounding a central fire pit. The fire has burned down to embers, and only a small bald man remains at its edge, warming his bare legs.
“Hey Ron,” he approaches cautiously. Henry and Ron are a dangerous combination when they’re left alone. Like a pair of stars locked in a binary orbit, gravitationally distorting one another in a vicious anxiety spiral, matter blowing off into the void, threatening to explode into a nova that destroys them both.
“Oh, hey Henry.”
“How are you doing?”
“I’m planning what manly thing I’m going to say to Terry when I see him tomorrow. I was thinking maybe ‘hi Terry, it’s me Ron, your step dad who stepped up, and I’m here to save you,’“ Ron nods fiercely.
“That sounds good,” Henry’s stomach clenches at the thought of seeing his boys. He’s been so focused on getting back to them that he hasn’t even considered what he’ll say. Especially after the mess with the Lord of Chaos, and the Doodler. Perhaps he hasn’t wanted to think about it. Gosh, how can he even be thinking about things like that at a time like this? He should just worry about them being safe, never mind that they’re so out of control they nearly caused the end of this world, just because Henry can’t fricking-
“Uh, have you seen Darryl?” That’s all he needs, a little perspective, Darryl’s steady and determined presence.
“He said he was gonna sleep in the Odyssey.”
Henry chuckles, “of course he did. Good night Ron.”
“Night Henry.”
He walks towards where they parked the minivan, Ron’s quiet muttering replaced by the sounds of nocturnal creatures in the nearby trees. Henry could cast a spell and understand, but decides to leave them to their own business and instead enjoy their quiet scratching and chattering from the darkness above him.
The Odyssey is dark but Henry can make out Darryl’s large silhouette in the front seat as he gets closer. He stops a few yards from the door when he notices that Darryl’s head is bowed, not in sleep but in prayer. The tension that he’s been carrying around him since Grant disappeared appears loosened, as he silently mouths words, his hands clasped together on the steering wheel.
Henry stares in silence for a few minutes, trying to decipher the rush of feelings the scene inspires in him. Mostly he feels envy, he envies Darryl this level of peace alone with his own thoughts. That despite the pain his faith clearly brings him at times, it can afford him solace now amidst all this fear and chaos. Henry stumbles backwards and slips away as quickly and quietly as possible.
Glenn’s tent flap is open, a beckoning wedge of light shining out onto the dark ground.
He cautiously pushes inside and finds Glenn sprawled out under a blanket. He has removed his shirt and is rubbing lotion into his hands. Henry’s breath catches in his throat.
"Henry,” Glenn looks up and smirks, “thought I might see you tonight.”
“Shut up,” he’s across the tent and straddling Glenn in seconds, relishing in the searing heat of his mouth and the strong arms wrapping around his shoulders. No words, no thoughts, just actions. It’s not a solution, not really, but it’s something.
He and Glenn have never been ones for mornings after, so Henry feels no remorse quietly untangling himself and crawling out of the tent as he hears the first sounds of the new day. He fastens the flap behind him as quietly as he can and runs straight into Darryl, who stops dead at the sight of his disheveled hair and burning cheeks.
“Oh! Morning Darryl, you’re up early,” this Henry isn’t anyone, a fake mirage of cheerfulness pulled on like a protective cloak against the morning chill in Darryl’s eyes.
“Yeah, you know, big day ahead,” he won’t look at Henry, turns and begins to walk towards the nearby stream.
Wincing at the crusty feeling between his legs, Henry trots to keep up with his large strides.
“Sleep well?”
A grunt.
“Looks like it’ll be a nice day. Good weather for driving into battle against mysterious hooded figures I guess.”
Another grunt. Darryl has reached the bank and wades out into the water. He has taken off his shirt but his shorts remain firmly on.
Noticing this, Henry feels the first stirrings of annoyance, (really? After all that they’ve been through?). He takes off his clothes and leaves them in a neat folded pile beside Darryl’s crumpled shirt. The icy water drills into him as he steps out into the swiftly flowing current.
Darryl has turned away and is scooping handfuls of water with cupped hands and haphazardly tossing them onto himself.
“Shall I get your back there?”
“I’m alright.”
“Look Darryl, are you mad at me or something? I’m sorry about the harsh words before we went into the pyramid, it was a pretty high stress situation for all of us. But it’s good to talk these things throu-“
“I said I’m alright!” Darryl begins to wade determinedly back towards the bank, “why don’t you pester Glenn,” it’s muttered under his breath but Henry still catches it over the splashing water.
“Glenn? Is that what this mood is about?”
Darryl’s shoulders tense, “it’s nothing, there’s no mood.”
“Oh don’t give me that,” Henry has had enough, he splashes after Darryl and meets him at the edge of the water, “you’re cranky because you saw me coming out of Glenn’s tent. Just like you’ve always got an attitude after you notice Glenn and I’ve...”
Darryl turns, his shirt balled up in his hands, “what? After Glenn and you have what?”
“Partaken in some stress relieving physical activity as two consenting adults; is there anything wrong with that?”
“No.”
“Then why are you acting like a moody toddler about it?” Henry is still in Glenn mode, ready to push and prod.
“I don’t know,” it comes out sounding frustrated, and a little hurt. Darryl’s eyes still won’t meet Henry’s, but he can’t seem to be able to draw his gaze away from his body: his chest and stomach and...
“Darryl,” Henry feels himself blush at the thought, “are you jealous, of me and Glenn?”
“What? No,” Darryl hurriedly turns away, pulling his shirt on over his still damp chest.
He goes to leave but Henry reaches out and grabs his arm, “wait. I am sorry if my being with Glenn has hurt you in some way. You asked me weeks ago how I am able to be open in my marriage with Mercedes without feeling guilty. It’s like I said then; I feel I’m a different person when I’m with her, or Glenn or,” (hell, in for a penny) “if I were with you.”
Darryl freezes, a flush blossoming on the back of his neck, “you’ve thought about it?”
“Yes I have. Have you?”
Darryl collapses onto a nearby log and puts his head in his hands.
Henry hurriedly puts on his clothes and joins him, close but not touching, “Darryl?”
The shaking body beside him responds with something that sounds halfway between a sob and a grunt.
“Do you want to talk to me?”
“I’m so selfish,” the first time he says it, it’s muffled by his hands and Henry doesn’t understand him, but he repeats himself as he slowly lifts his tear-streaked face from his palms.
Henry keeps his face in the most neutral expression he can muster and simply waits. He feels the urge to be a protector, to defend this man so used to defending others. But, just like when handling a quivering bird, he knows that he needs to be gentle, no sudden movements.
“Our sons have been stolen by some nut jobs in purple robes, I managed to avoid eating Grant’s skin but I’ve probably given him trauma for life, I’ve lost Carol in one timeline and I’m losing her in this one too. But all I could think about last night was how you were in there with Glenn and how I wished it was me you were with,” Darryl’s eyes are fixed on his hands, which are clinging on to his knees so tight that his knuckles are white.
Henry’s heart rate spikes at this admission; he fights to keep his tone calm and supportive, “that doesn’t sound selfish to me. For one, I’m flattered, especially that you didn’t kick me out of this fantasy tent of yours and go for Glenn,” Darryl lets out a wet chuckle, “but seriously Darryl, it’s not selfish to have fantasies, desires, they’re perfectly natural and normal. We can’t always control how we feel, who we’re attracted to. It doesn’t have to mean anything. It may be that these feelings are just a response to the stress you’re under.”
“No,” Darryl’s red-rimmed eyes meet his gaze for the first time since his admission, “it’s more than that,” and then his lips are on Henry’s. It’s a gentle and chaste brushing of lips, and it takes all of Henry’s resolve not to dive in and recapture Darryl’s lips as he pulls back, his breathing a rapid panting rhythm.
“It could never just be stress relief for me,” Darryl’s sad smile breaks Henry’s heart a little, “but I can’t. Not now. I need to have our boys safe, and know where I stand with Carol.”
“I understand.”
“It’s funny, you talk about feeling like a different person. I feel more like myself with you than I’ve felt in years. I don’t even know how it happened, but over time I started hiding parts of myself, like line dancing and the Chelsea boys, and it got easier to just not bother people with it. But something about you makes me want to, I don’t know, bare my soul. I know that doesn’t make sense, it doesn’t make sense to me either. But I can’t- I can’t lose you.”
“You won’t.”
“Where does this leave us?”
“I’ll settle for being your best friend.”
“Best friend? I like the sound of that.”
They sit together for a while. The sun rises into the sky and Darryl’s breathing calms into its usual rhythm.
Henry places a hand gently onto Darryl’s knee, “shall we head back?”
“Yeah. How about a troop rallying breakfast? There are some mushrooms growing by the Odyssey with your name on ‘em.”
They turn towards camp, shoulder to shoulder, and Henry feels another part of himself click into place. He tries to hold on to this sense of hope, fierce protectiveness and love as his thoughts turn to Ravenloft and the big journey ahead of them, “that sounds great.”