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The first dinner after Vecna was defeated (defeated, not dead, much to Eleven's friends' dismay) went by rather quieter than one would've expected, especially when Eleven and her friends had just secured a victory, saved Hawkins and freed the town of Vecna's curse. Probably because even thought they'd won, they'd also lost so much.
At least, Eleven supposed, she still had her family: Hopper, Joyce, Will and Jonathan. And she sill had Mike, Lucas, Dustin, Nancy, Steve and Robin.
And Max... Eleven unconsciously tightened the grip of the fork in her hand. The food in her mouth suddenly turned tasteless. Max was alive, yes, she was alive, her heart was beating still. But...
Eleven quickly wiped away the tear in her eyes before it had the chance to roll down her cheek, hoping no one noticed that.
They had lost so much.
"Why didn't you finish it?" Will had asked, just an hour ago, after Vecna was defeated and they returned home from the Upside Down.
"What?"
"Henry. Why didn't you kill him?" Will seemed upset, but also confused, which was understandable. Because if Eleven were to be honest, a part of her wished she could... do it: finish him. She had made sure Henry couldn't hurt anybody ever again, yes, but she didn't kill him. She couldn't kill him. No, Eleven could have killed him. He was at her mercy after the battle ended, particularly lying on the floor by her feet, coughing up blood, skin covered in cuts and bruises, injured and defenseless. It would have taken one twist of Eleven's hand, literally, to break his neck and end him for good.
But Eleven, against her own better judgement, chose to spare his life in the very last minute, when she already had her hand raised and aimed towards him. She lowered the hand, and the surprise on Henry's face (that came after the fear in his eyes: the fear — at the thoughts of this being his final moment — so clear even though he'd obviously tried to hide it) mirrored the shock on her friends' faces. She didn't kill him.
"He... won't hurt anyone again," she'd said, as a response to Will's question, the same thing she'd said to Mike and to Steve, when they left the Upside Down and Henry was still breathing.
Though, even right now, Eleven couldn't shake the thoughts out of her head: if sparing Henry's life was a mistake.
Killing him wouldn't bring those whose lives were taken by him back, and Eleven knew that. (Maybe that was one of the reasons, besides the memories she shared with Henry when they were friends, why she didn't do it.) Killing him would perhaps satisfy Eleven's friends. It might even satisfy Eleven, too, for what Henry did to Max. And Eleven might have just done it, just to avenge Max, but Henry... Henry was also her friend. Once.
Killing him wouldn't bring Max, or anybody else, back.
Eleven ended up leaving the dinning table early, when her plate was only half empty. Joyce didn't ask questions, and Hopper didn't stop her. Will and Jonathan were silent, too. They understood. (They may not have understood Eleven's decision not to kill Henry, but they understood how hard all of this was, not just for Eleven but for all of them.)
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Eleven decided to retract to her room. It was, after all, late into the night.
She would sleep, and she would stop thinking about blood and deaths, about the Upside Down, about Henry. She would stop thinking about Henry.
Eleven realized stopping thinking about Henry was going to be a bit of a problem, when she walked into her room and saw the man — whom she'd just allowed to live, let go, hoped she would never meet again — huddle there: in the corner of her room.
Yes, this was... going to be a bit of a problem.
Eleven was about to shout, alert her family. Sparing him was a mistake. You should've listened to your friends and killed him, Eleven. Henry, before Eleven could shout, cut her off with an alarmed, "Don't."
It did hush Eleven. And Eleven was partly surprised that she... listened. Not because Henry was intimidating (Henry was no where near being intimidating, with various wounds scattered all over his battled Vecna skin, looking pathetically helpless) but because he sounded genuinely desperate, scared even.
Eleven looked at him. He was half lying, half sitting on the floor. His back and shoulder rested against the wall for support, in order to keep his body somewhat upright.
"Don't..." Henry kept his gaze on Eleven. "I'm not... here for a fight. Your friends are not in danger." His voice sounded weak, like the state of his body. And Eleven could tell it took a lot of effort for him to speak, like a single word sent a great degree of pain throughout his veins, making him gasp and cough, which in result only led to more pain.
"Why are you here?" Eleven asked, voice firm. He couldn't hurt her. His power was no more, after the gate was closed, and he was only a man.
Henry was silent at the question, though he did avert his head, eyes suddenly found the ground beneath his injured body.
From there, it wasn't difficult for Eleven to begin to put two and two together: Henry was here, after she spared his life. But the thing was, he was already on the verge of death back in the Upside Down, Eleven just... didn't kill him, so it didn't mean survival for Henry was guaranteed, if he were to be on his own, out there.
The Creel House was destroyed, thus no shelter for him to hide and lick his wounds. And even if Henry managed to somehow find another shelter, without stumping upon a predator that would undoubtedly kill him first, those wounds would need a proper care. He was utterly on his own, also... everybody else wanted him dead.
Even though Eleven was an enemy, she was the one who spared him. The only person Henry had left, whether or not he liked it.
She closed the door then. Eleven stood where she was, looking, examining him.
"I didn't..." Henry trailed off eventually. He still wouldn't look at her, like the shame was too heavy for him to look up and meet her eyes. "Didn't know where else to go," he finished, and Eleven didn't remember Henry looking so small, even if he was now an Upside Down monster: Vecna.
(No, not a monster. Eleven meant it when she told him that. 'Papa is the monster. Not you.')
"Henry, I..." You what? Eleven, for some unknown reason, couldn't bring herself into finishing that sentence.
She could kick him out right now, but that would mean sending him to his slow but inevitable death. It would even have been more merciful, if Eleven were to kill him right here, put him out of his misery.
Henry looked at Eleven again, and it was the same look in his eyes that had frozen Eleven back then, in the Upside Down, when she was about to put an end to him. There was fear there, in his eyes. After the battle, Henry feared Eleven was going to kill him. Right now, in her room, he feared she was going to make him leave.
I didn't know where else to go. Eleven could only imagine how badly it must've hurt Henry's pride, to say that aloud. How he must truly be desperate, if he came crawling to her for help like this. He must... know he wouldn't make it out there on his own.
I guess you didn't think this was a possibility: you finding yourself in this situation, when you spared his life, did you?
Because... no, Eleven didn't think being responsible for Henry after his defeat was a possibility. She'd expected to never see or hear from him again, but Eleven supposed she should have known this was, after all, a possibility. She was, after all, the only person that didn't want to outright kill him on sight, and they were friends once, a very long time ago.
They were enemies now, yes, but Henry had no one else.
What are you going to do now?
Eleven realized that was the question: what she was doing now that she had Henry — Vecna — in her room. It would've been easier, if Henry was here for a fight, because then Eleven would know what to do: she'd fight him and she'd win. But Henry was not here for a fight. Henry was here, begging for Eleven not to make him leave, and for her to... help him. And that... Eleven didn't know what to do.
(It wasn't a trick either. Eleven knew that because he was in no physical condition to pull anything funny. He really needed help.)
Yes, Eleven thought to herself, Hopper is going to hate this.
If he knows... Keyword being: if.
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Eleven ended up moving Henry from the floor and to her bed, which was a struggle. Because while Henry didn't protest against being manhandled (it probably had something to do with the fact he couldn't), he was still heavier. Somehow he was bigger, as who he was now (Vecna), than who he used to be when he was still an orderly, a human.
But Henry was still a human, even... like this, at least to Eleven. And even if Eleven didn't verbally tell him that.
She helped him to her bed, considering the soft, warm mattress would be more comfortable than the hard and cold floor. Eleven tried not to think about how bizarre her night suddenly turned, how she'd defeated and decided to spare him during daytime, only for him to come asking for her help when nighttime came.
"I wouldn't mind the floor," Henry said, when the awkwardness and the silence were becoming too overwhelming for them both.
"I'm not letting you sleep on the floor, Henry," the words came out quicker, easier, more natural than Eleven expected, and it nearly caught her off guard. Why do you still care about him, Eleven?
She wasn't certain if the way her words seemed to surprise Henry too was making things... less awkward.
"I'll get blood all over your sheet."
"So you'd rather get them all over my floor instead? You already did, actually."
"It's easier to clean up blood from the floor than it is from one's bedsheet. Not to mention the trouble of washing this afterward, or dumping it in the trash can altogether, without raising suspicions from your persons, Hopper and Joyce, as to why it's stained with red."
"Henry,"
Henry looked at her. At least he shut up.
"I'm not letting you sleep on the floor," Eleven repeated, more firmly this time. She... stopped thinking about the Why: why she cared. (To think about the Why would only make things more complicated, and Eleven couldn't afford that right now, not when things were already very complicated as it were.)
There was a little moment of silence, Eleven particularly tucking the Vecna in.
"Thank you," Henry said eventually, breaking that silence, without meeting Eleven's eyes. (The shame was clearly still there, as persistent as ever.)
Eleven didn't say anything back, but she was adjusting the blanket around his shoulders.
And if the way he thanked her sounded precisely like how he sounded when he thanked her, many years ago, after she helped remove the Soteria from his neck, Eleven didn't make any comment about it.
And even if it — that simple thank you from Henry — brought back memories that made Eleven feel a type of pain, she didn't know existed, somewhere in her chest, the pain of thinking about what they had: their friendship, what they could've had, if that fight never happened, if she waited like how she was asked, Eleven... tried to ignore it altogether.
Henry must know this was the right time to come to her, and wait for her in her room, when she'd be alone. He must know her friends would absolutely not agree to letting Eleven give him a shelter, let alone nursing him back to health.
(But Eleven wasn't... nursing him back to health. She'd let him stay the night, and when the next sunrise came she'd let him be on his way. Eleven told herself that, as she took the couch: just for one night. For... old times' sake.)
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The first thing Eleven did when the next sunrise came wasn't let Henry be on his way.
"What happened?" Hopper asked, a hint of concern in his voice. "Are you hurt?"
It took about several seconds, but then it clicked: Eleven realized she was holding a box of first aid kit in her arms, when she was on her way back to her room and Hopper happened to run into her.
"No," she said, before she could think.
"Then who are these for?"
"Me..."
You're busted. But it wasn't like Eleven could tell him who the aid kit was for, anyway.
"But you said you weren't hurt?"
"I'm not. I mean..." Think fast, El. You're only raising suspicion. Wouldn't want your dad to find out you've been hiding a man, responsible for the various deaths around Hawkins, in your room, would you? "It's just a few scratches," she added eventually, after a pause she hoped wasn't too long.
Hopper narrowed his eyes at her. Eleven held her ground, trying to play it cool as to not make herself seem more suspicious. "You didn't tell me you were hurt. That Vecna bastard, did he —"
"It's just a few scratches. I am fine," Eleven said. For a horribly moment she thought, 'he knows', but no, Hopper didn't know about Vecna being in her room. He was merely referring to the battle yesterday. Eleven would only give herself away by acting suspicious.
Hopper continued looked (examining) at her for another moment, before he sighed and said, "If you need anything —"
"I'll let you know," Eleven smiled, and if it looked just a little bit too forced...
Hopper slowly nodded. He almost looked like he suspected something was off, but after another moment of silence he only said, "Breakfast will be ready soon."
"Okay," Eleven nodded back. Act natural. Then, when she realized Hopper was blocking the way, "Can I... go to my room now?"
"Yeah, yeah, of course," Hopper moved out of her way. He looked... like he suspected something was off, but at the same time, he didn't have any actual ground to work on that suspicion. Eleven wasn't one of those kids that were always up to no good, and he trusted her. In the end, Hopper didn't ask any further question. He supposed the war they'd all just been through was enough an explanation, if Eleven acted a little weird.
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Henry was still asleep in Eleven's bed when Eleven returned to her room. She didn't peg him for a sleepyhead or a heavy sleeper. She would've even thought he would be on high alert, while in an enemy's territory — especially when he was hurt — but Henry looked, to her surprise, almost peaceful, like this.
Maybe it had something to do with how hurt he was, that rendered him in such deep a sleep, or maybe, just maybe, Henry did trust her still.
He must've trusted you enough that he came to you when he was helpless and on the verge of death... even after what happened.
Eleven wasn't sure how she was supposed to feel about that, so she took the liberty of tending to Henry's wounds herself. Eleven supposed it'd somehow be easier when he was still sleeping. Or dead. The thought crossed Eleven's mind for a split second. But no, he wasn't dead. Henry was still breathing, which was... a relief. Though Eleven would simple stop worrying about the Why's: why she was helping him, why she was relived to know he was alive. Those were only going to make things more complicated, and Eleven couldn't have that, not right now.
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When Henry woke, he woke up slow at first, before his brain had time to catch up with all that'd happened. And when it did, he flinched. There was fear in his eyes (it reminded Eleven of a child: hurt and scared), but Eleven was there and Eleven told him, "It's okay. Henry, it's okay. I'm here. Nothing's gonna hurt you."
And that calmed Henry down.
He looked at her, then down at himself. His body was covered in large white gauzes, one particular bandage went around his torso where the deep, rather-concerning slash was. (Henry didn't know who gave it to him, or how it happened, if he were to be honest. It was a messy fight with Eleven and Eleven's friends, but it — the cut — was one of the main reasons why he was here, under Eleven's care.)
Henry looked at her again. This time there was confusion in his eyes, like it was so hard to believe that Eleven took care of his wounds for him.
(It was, in fact, hard to believe, even for Eleven herself.)
Henry looked more confused when Eleven picked up a glass of water on the nightstand and held the straw at his lips. Her other hand helped guide his head off the pillow, so he wouldn't choke on it.
Henry could turn her down, sure. He needed her help, but to accept her help this much would mean accepting his own defeat, accepting he was completely and utterly at her mercy. (He was, and he knew it, whether or not Henry wanted to accept it didn't really matter, when nothing would change the fact he was depending on Eleven.)
He was still hurt, and he was so very exhausted. And if he were to be honest with himself, this was the first time, since Henry was a child, before the deaths of Alice and Virginia Creel (his own works), he really felt... safe. And it was when he was truly defenseless at the mercy of his archenemy.
He wordlessly drunk from the straw, as Eleven held the glass. The water felt cold and nice in his throat, thus his cautious gulp soon turned into eager swallow.
This: having a place to take shelter, a bed to sleep in without having to wake up every so often, paranoid if someone would sneak up on him and hurt him in his most vulnerable state, and clean water, it felt nice. It almost felt like home, if Henry knew what that was.
"I brought Eggo," Eleven said, after the glass was empty and she placed it back on the nightstand.
The confusion on Henry's face must've given it away.
"You do know what Eggo is, correct?" she asked. Henry just looked at her.
(Eleven couldn't believe Henry never had an Eggo. But she guessed she shouldn't really be that surprised, for she was only introduced to it after she escaped the lab. Henry spent the majority of his childhood, as well as his adulthood, locked behind the high gates, then he was... sent straight to the Upside Down, though Eleven was trying not to dwell too much on that day.)
"Here's an Eggo," Eleven proudly picked up the plate (Henry didn't notice it until now) from behind her, and offered it to Henry, after she helped him up into sitting.
Henry supposed he could try and be stubborn, for the sake of his pride and dignity, if there was any left at all. I do not want your food, sure, but the problem, was that he needed Eleven's offering, if he ever wanted to heal. And he was... hungry.
Food was scarce, when it was just him against the world, precisely when he was a lone traveler in a realm unspoiled by mankind. Though Henry had somehow adapted to his new skin: monstrous and inhuman, to the point where hunger was no longer something that bothered him too much. He ate only enough to survive, but he was never able to eat enough to satisfy his hunger. And so he just... learned to push that hunger to the back of his mind. Sometimes he didn't remember when the last time he ate something was, but that never bothered him too much, at least not anymore.
The food — Eggo — in the plate Eleven was giving him smelt good. Henry could tell it was still warm, fresh out of the kitchen, and it made him hungry. He... didn't remember when the last time he ate was, though he did remember he hadn't had actual food ever since his days as an orderly at Hawkins Lab, which felt like a lifetime ago.
In the end, Henry swallowed down what was left of his pride and wordlessly accepted Eleven's offer.
Eleven sat there as Henry ate his first Eggo. For some reason, the silence was less awkward than it was last night.
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"Who did this to you?" Eleven asked one day, or, to be precise, it was the fourth day of Henry secretly living under Hopper's roof, unbeknown to Hopper, and Joyce, and Will, and every single one of her friends.
(They thought Henry was... somewhere, out there on his own. Maybe he managed to survive the wounds, or maybe he was dead and rotting alone. It wouldn't matter, because Eleven had, for lake of a better word, robbed him of all his power. He couldn't pry into a person's mind and kill them anymore. So he was dead to them regardless. What they didn't know, was that Henry crawled back to Eleven, and Eleven pitted him enough she decided to take him in. Eleven didn't mean to keep this a secret, though she knew her friends would never agree with her choice, for Eleven herself still had a hard time trying to understand her own decision. Will and the rest had voiced their protest, when Eleven spared Henry's life in the Upside Down, loud enough. She didn't want to... find out what would be their reactions, if they knew Eleven also gave Henry a shelter that was her own room. At least, Hopper didn't require Eleven to keep the door open three inches anymore, said she was 'old enough', and if it felt like she was betraying Hopper's trust, Eleven tried not to think about that too much.)
Henry turned to look at Eleven. He sat there, on her bed, letting her clean his wounds. They still needed to be cleaned daily. Though there was one that was older than the rest, a cut on the side of his neck. Eleven could tell Henry didn't get that from the battle that'd earned him his defeat.
And while Eleven had been telling herself she wouldn't care how he got it, the question left her mouth nonetheless, after Eleven had been keeping it to herself for days.
There was... a hint of regret on Henry's face, almost like he wished Eleven didn't ask him that. For a moment Eleven considered telling him it didn't matter, when Henry beat her to it, "Max," he said, after a pause.
Eleven's hands came to an abrupt stop. She wasn't expecting... that.
"She is a fighter," Henry added. If he still had his power, he would've shown Eleven what happened days prior to the last battle, his defeat, even if it would've wounded his pride even more: him and Max alone in his mindscape. Henry had her. He had her, but then Max managed to free herself from the vines, get her hand on a shard of broken glass, then cut him with it.
Henry looked at Eleven now. He wondered if this was the last straw, if Eleven would make him leave now, but Eleven, after wiping away her tears before they had a chance to fall, went back to cleaning his wound.
"I know you have questions," Henry said. He probably should keep his mouth shut at this point, and considered the fact Eleven didn't kick him out on the spot a blessing. "About Max."
Eleven's hands stopped again. She looked at him, there was pain in her eyes, but there was also anger. Henry had hurt Max, and that was a crime Eleven wasn't certain if she could ever forgive him. Or maybe Eleven's anger was directed towards herself more than it was directed towards Henry, because Eleven was deliberately caring for the man who'd hurt her friend so cruelly.
Henry may have been her friend, once. But Max was her best friend.
And here you are, tending to the wound he got from when he was trying to kill your best friend. Here you are, giving shelter and looking after the man who's hurt and put your best friend in a coma in which she might never wake up from.
"Is she in there?" Eleven asked.
"No," Henry said. "No one is anymore. I am not holding your friend a prisoner in my mind." It wasn't a lie. After Eleven defeated him, Henry lost not only his power, but also the souls of those who he'd killed. They were with him once, but not... not anymore. Henry was on his own, until he came crawling to Eleven.
"I cannot find her," Eleven said, then she stopped, like she wished she didn't say it and revealed to Henry her own struggle, her pain.
I can't find Max. I can't find her and I don't know what to do anymore. Every time I try reaching for her, all I see is darkness.
"You do not have to believe me," Henry said, "but if I could, I would... love to help." As a way to thank you for not letting me die. Henry didn't say the latter aloud.
"You've done enough," Eleven said a bit harshly, an evidence of anger clear in her voice. Then came a sign of regret. "I'm sorry," she added, voice softened, before she resumed her cleaning his wound, the one inflicted by Max.
"You don't have to be sorry," Henry said. He wouldn't outright admit she was right, wouldn't outright apologize, but this was the closest Henry could get to these two things.
They returned to silence then. Eleven taking care of his wounds, and Henry letting her.
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"Why am I still here, Eleven?" Henry decided to ask after a week went by. No one besides Eleven was aware of his presence here, though Eleven assumed Hopper might suspect she brought in a stray, for how she always sneaked food into her room, even after she already ate.
"You came to me for a shelter," Eleven said.
"When I was hurt. I am... fine now."
"Where will you go then?" she asked. "Your house is... gone," there was almost sadness there, in Eleven's voice. It confused Henry, because why would she care? But a lot of Eleven's actions as of late confused him: from her deciding against killing him, to her taking him in and nursing him back to health.
"That is none of your concern."
"You don't have anywhere else to go, do you?" it wasn't even an accusation. It was... just a simple fact, obvious enough.
His house, the Creel House, was the only place Henry knew, and even if he hated it, he... didn't have anywhere else to be. And now that it was destroyed after the earthquake...
"You can stay," Eleven added, and it surprised both Henry and herself.
"Your friends will not like this."
"They don't know."
"You cannot keep me a secret from them forever, Eleven."
"Then I will... find a way to deal with them."
"Eleven,"
Eleven looked at him. Henry was already looking at her. He was... clearly not who he used to be, when he was an orderly, Eleven's Friendly Orderly who always helped her at the lab, the skin he wore, that was Eleven's own doing, after she banished him to the Upside Down.
But the truth was, Eleven didn't know about the Upside Down when she first defeated him that day, after the massacre at Hawkins Lab. She had thought... Eleven had thought she killed him. She'd thought that she killed her only friend. Except Henry, against all odds, survived.
Who Henry was now, was... her responsibility. She knew Mike would beg to differ: he would say Henry got what he deserved, which was probably right. But Henry's crimes and his many wrongdoings still weren't enough to erase the kindness he once gave her.
What Henry was now, was a monster in a lot of people's eyes, in her friends' eyes. But for Eleven, she looked at him and still saw the same familiar face of the Friendly Orderly, her... first friend. The look Henry was giving her right now reminded Eleven precisely of that man: sweet and caring.
(Maybe that was what stopped her from killing him after his second defeat. She had thought she killed him once, and it pained her. He survived, and Eleven wouldn't — couldn't — live with the belief that she'd killed him again, no matter what he did.)
"Why didn't you finish it?" Henry's voice brought Eleven out of her little trance.
She blinked, and mouthed a quiet, "What?"
"In the Upside Down. Why didn't you finish it? Why am I still... alive?" Henry, to Eleven's surprise, sounded painfully like the Friendly Orderly: somewhat vulnerable, with a hint of pain and confusion in his voice.
"You were... you were my friend," Eleven said.
"After what I did to you..."
"You did bad things, Henry. But you were... lost, and you thought you were doing the right things."
"Or perhaps I am just a monster."
"You are not a monster."
"Even like this?" there ought to be anger in his voice, there was only sadness. Henry was aware that what he'd become was... grotesque to society's standard.
"Henry," Eleven said, looking him in the eyes, "Papa hurt you, but he's not the only one who hurt you. I hurt you, too. I turned you into this. But you were... you were never a monster. You are not a monster to me."
Henry averted his eyes then. The first time he did that a week ago there was shame on his face. This time there was... something else entirely.
"Why did you come to me?" Eleven asked, after a brief pause, which caused Henry to look at her again. "I know you said you didn't know where else to go, but there was more than that, wasn't it?"
"You are right," Henry said, after a breath or two of silence. "I did not lie when I told you I didn't... know where else to do, but there was... more than just that. You've always been smart, Eleven... I came to you you were my friend. Once."
You were my first and only friend.
"I'm sorry," Eleven said.
"For what?"
"For what's happened between us. For what's become of us."
"That day, at the lab, do you wish things ended differently?" he asked.
"I wish you didn't kill any of those kids."
"I wish you waited," there was a faint hint of smile on Henry's face. It was... a sad smile, but still a genuine smile nonetheless.
"Thank you," he added, and there it was again: Henry sounded precisely like the Friendly Orderly, Eleven's friend.
Can we try again? Eleven wanted to ask. Start over. Maybe we can be friends again. Something stopped her, and the words were caged behind her teeth.
Thought Eleven did move closer to Henry. They sat on the couch in her room. Some random show was airing on the TV in front of them, Eleven didn't really care what it was, and neither did Henry.
But this, as crazy as it was, felt nice: for her and Henry to just... be here together, and maybe they could have that second chance at being friends again.
Or if it was too surreal, they could at least try.