Chapter Text
Victor Frankenstein lived in a stone tower, and that probably wasn’t even the weirdest thing about him. It was, however, the one thing Henry never saw coming.
The tower looked cold- Victor complained of a chill in 80-degree weather. It was at least an hour’s drive from the nearest town- while he’d never liked people, Victor hadn’t lived alone before and hadn’t seemed precisely thrilled at the idea when Henry last saw him 3 years ago. He’d never learned to cook and was constantly forgetting basic tasks like eating and washing; Henry loved the man, but he just hadn’t seemed ready to live on his own.
Yet he’d survived. He sounded good, happy, even, when he’d called Henry and asked him to visit. It wasn’t as if Henry hadn’t wanted to before, but university was so demanding and a 2-day drive from the secluded tower.
But he’d made it. The metal knocker was cold in his hand as he beat on the massive double doors, the sound echoing through his skull. Victor had good taste, he had to admit: both of them had always harbored a love of all things dramatic.
Just as he began to wonder how, exactly, the skinny little man he remembered was going to open the gargantuan doors, one of them slid open with marked ease. And it was not Victor who stood behind it.
Henry’s eyes trailed upwards, widening as it began to sink in exactly how tall the figure was. Henry considered himself a tall man, but he felt more like a child as he gazed at the person, who had at least 2 feet over him. Its features were obscured by a grey hoodie, but even that couldn’t hide the oversized yellow eyes that stared down at him, framed by blonde hair that escaped the hood.
“...hi?” He brought a hand up for a small wave. The creature blinked owlishly and looked over its shoulder.
“Dad!” It called, voice feminine and deep. “I think your visitor is here!”
Henry flinched at the loud voice- the cadence was off, too light and cheery for such a mature sound. A child’s enunciation but a grown woman’s vocal cords.
And all that aside- had it said Dad ? As if it wasn’t strange enough that there was someone else in Victor’s house- an 8-foot tall someone with practically glowing eyes.
Henry tried to peer around the figure into the tower, but it was dark inside and all he could make out was another figure, just as tall, with the same shining eyes. He shuddered and averted his eyes, looking instead at the crumbling mortar that held the roughly-hewn stone bricks in place.
The figure stepped back and Henry looked up, his face lifting instantly when he saw his childhood best friend, a matching grin on Victor’s pale face.
“Henry!” He exclaimed, catching the man in a firm hug. Henry returned it, pleased to feel that Victor had gained weight since they’d last met, no longer the skeletal boy that he’d known.
“Come inside,” Victor said, waving for Henry to follow him in. With a quick glance at the two towering figures, he did, blinking hard as his eyes tried to adjust to the gloom.
The door closed behind him and Henry found himself making a split-second of eye contact with the first creature before it looked away.
“I don’t mean to be intrusive,” Henry said, setting a hand on Victor’s shoulder. “But who are your other guests?”
Victor grinned. He hadn’t smiled so much when they’d been in school together, despite all of Henry’s best efforts.
“Those are my children!” Victor said proudly, gesturing to them with a grand sweep of his arm. “My daughter, Talitha, got the door for you. Lazarus, my son, is a little shyer.”
Mirroring Henry’s previous action, Talitha gave a small wave, but Lazarus just stood a little behind her, staring at Henry through a curtain of shoulder-length black hair. If Henry strained his eyes, he thought he could see white streaks peppered throughout.
“I thought you didn’t…” Henry stopped himself, biting his tongue. Now wasn’t the time.
“You thought I didn’t want children?” Victor said, beginning up the spiral staircase. It hugged the wall, circling around the two excessively large beds in the middle of the room. Henry followed him, wishing he’d known better and kept his mouth shut. Victor knew him too well and the second Henry had begun to speak, Victor had known the whole question. “You’re right, I suppose. I don’t want biological children, nor have I ever, just as I have never wanted to marry. But this tower seemed rather lonely with just me in it.”
Henry fussed with his bangs. He’d barely managed to squeeze in a visit with Victor- obviously, he wouldn’t have been able to come and live with him. Victor knew that and hadn’t asked. It made sense, Henry told himself. There was no reason to feel slighted.
“My necromancy has come a long way,” Victor went on. “And I’m sure you remember my childhood interest in anatomy. I blessed my progeny with two traits I have been ever envious of: height and health. The world can be so dangerous, you know, so I made my children strong and durable so they’d be safe just as a mother crocodile gifts her children with a thick epidermal exoskeleton. Not to mention, their prodigious size is quite useful in so large a house.”
The image of Victor, eyes bloodshot and clothes bloodstained, stitching together bodies in the middle of the night flashed before Henry’s eyes and he steadied himself against the wall. That, at the very least, was expected behavior from Victor. What childhood best friend didn’t have a body-snatching streak, after all?
They reached the second floor, which consisted of a surprisingly homely kitchen and living room. There were windows, unlike on the bottom floor, and in the newfound light, Henry could see that Victor’s fashion sense hadn’t improved.
“Socks and sandals?” He chuckled as if Victor hadn’t just confessed to profaning countless bodies for whatever unholy rituals he was into now.
Victor smiled and rolled his eyes fondly. “Yes, yes, socks and sandals. Not that you seem to have too much room to judge- you’ve still got your cargo shorts.”
“Cargo shorts are practical ,” Henry said, sticking his hands into two of the many pockets with faux indignance. “I can carry at least 5 books in these. And that isn’t even counting pocket-sized editions.”
Victor smiled and sat on the oversized couch. “I take it your wordsmithing is going well.”
Henry sat next to him. “Yeah. My professors are all pretty good this year. It’s fun, too. I’ve made a lot of friends.”
“I’m glad. I’d like to apologize for the way I acted in my youth- I don’t suppose I made it easy for you to have very many friends. I was always scared that I’d lose you, but that must have hurt you.”
Henry made a small noise in the back of his throat. Victor had been difficult in their youth, but he’d been Victor . Blindingly brilliant yet astoundingly incompetent, loveable yet aloof Victor he’d known his whole life. That Victor never would have apologized.
“It’s alright,” Henry said softly. “I mean, it wasn’t alright , but I forgive you. We were just kids, and you were going through a lot.”
“Still,” Victor said. “I know I wasn’t an easy person to be around. Thank you for being my friend.”
Henry laughed a little. “You know I love you anyway. And it’s a two-way street- thank you for being my friend.”
A serene silence slipped between them. It was nice to have Victor apologize. It was nice that he smiled now, that he wasn’t living alone and was even wearing clean clothes. It just would’ve been nice if the 18 years of Henry’s friendship had done that, not the 3 years of his absence.
“So,” Henry said eventually, looking at the small but well-stocked kitchen. “When did you learn to cook?”
Victor shrugged. “A few months after I moved in. There aren’t any restaurants nearby, and, contrary to what you always said, I did have enough sense within me to keep myself from starvation. It was close, though.”
Henry grimaced, recalling the state he used to find Victor in if he was unable to check up on him for several days.
“I’d say I’m a fairly accomplished chef, now,” Victor went on. “Although you might want Talitha and Lazarus’s opinions on that. Or I suppose I could just make dinner tonight- you did say you were staying until tomorrow morning? What kind of food do you like? I must say, I can cook a wide variety.”
How many times had Henry tried to teach him to cook? How many times had he gotten the same blank-eyed look and half-hearted attempt?
“Thai,” Henry said, but he felt like screaming.