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Henry knew Papa prior to the day his mother forced him to kill her and Alice. He wasn't always Papa to him, at least not when they first met.
He was Doctor Brenner, and Henry first met him after he first moved to Hawkins, when his mother took him to the Lab to see what, exactly, was wrong with him.
Henry resented Doctor Brenner ever since the moment he tilted Henry's chin up with his finger during their first session, as though Henry wasn't a person but rather a lab rat Brenner couldn't wait to cut open and see what was inside. Henry's mother was next to him. But she, Virginia, didn't tell Brenner to stop. She didn't tell him to stop making her son uncomfortable. Henry noted that down in his mind.
He noted down, how Virginia wasn't bothered when he flinched the second Doctor Brenner placed a hand on his shoulder and told him, "you and I are going to have a great time together. I will fix you." She didn't tell Brenner to back off when Henry cried as a needle was being injected into his vein, with two orderlies cladding in all while holding him in place. And she certainly was fine with allowing Henry to be drugged out of his mind every time she took him here to see these people, Doctor Brenner.
In the end Henry did what he had to do, what his mother made him do.
He must admit, looking back, he realized it was... reckless. He didn't have a real plan. He was so desperate to get out of his fate — knowing Virginia was selling him to Doctor Brenner — that he didn't think what'd happen to him next. Sure, he could frame his father for the murders, but how could he run away from Brenner...
He... couldn't. He didn't. In the end Henry woke from his coma only to find himself in the clutches of the very same man who he tried so desperately to run from.
Doctor Brenner hovered tall over the hospital bed, over Henry, and smiled. "Welcome back, sleepyhead," his voice echoed in Henry's ears, it sounded far away and yet it was too loud. "Please, son, from now on, do call me... Papa."
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If Henry had to guess, he'd say Papa's plan was to break him down. So that he could control him. Use him like a puppet.
Henry wasn't going to give him that. He wasn't going to break. He could endure hours of being strapped down to a table where his body was being cut and jabbed and prodded and studied by dozens of hands that weren't gentle. He could go days of being interrogated in a too-bright windowless room where he wasn't allowed to sleep or eat or drink water or close his eyes. He wasn't a stranger to pain and fear.
But in the end he could only take so much before it became too much. He was only a child, after all. A prisoner and a murderer who happened to also be a terrified little boy.
"Why did you do it?" Papa asked. His voice lacked any and all emotions, but it sent shivers down Henry's spine nonetheless.
Henry was on his knees in front of him, a shock collar fastened tightly around his throat. Papa's shadow swallowed him whole. He couldn't stop himself from trembling in fear. (And Henry hated himself for showing such a clear sign of weakness.)
"Because she was sending me away. To you." He forced himself to look up and meet Papa's eyes. Hatred burnt brightly in his voice.
"Wrong." Papa, with a slight hint of disappointment on his face, turned up the voltage of the shock collar until Henry was writhing on the floor. Blood trickling down his nose, his ears.
(Henry thought he was going to die. And there was a flash of hope that washed over him, just for a split second where he dared let himself hope that this was going to be over.)
"Why did you do it?" Papa repeated the question. "Why did you kill your mother and your sister, Henry?"
(It wasn't going to be over. He couldn't escape this. Papa wouldn't let him go. There was no hope, no escape.)
"Because... I'm a monster," Henry corrected himself when he could, between his panting and trying to catch his breath, when the juice wasn't currently sending him into violent waves of convulsion.
"Good boy," Papa knelt down, running his fingers through Henry's hair, as Henry lied half conscious on the ground.
Henry didn't remember how he ended up back in his cell after that. He figured either Papa carried him here, or he was dragged back here by the orderlies. His mind was foggy, with the aftershock of the electricity still running in his veins.
But he partly remembered a nurse giving him a muscle relaxant to help stop the convulsions and any further damage to his body. He tried taking in his surroundings as best as his mind would allow him; he was lying on his back on his bed in his cell. His body felt weak and he was in too much pain to move. But at least it was over. No, it wasn't over over, but it was over for now. Just for the night.
Even if in the end he did break...
Henry closed his eyes, and didn't care that he was crying. At least, just this time, he could let himself cry, because it was easier than keeping pretending to be invincible.
He was hurt and he was scared. He'd always been so scared.
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He wasn't a test subject anymore, at least not an active one.
Papa had made him an orderly once he realized it was better this way. He had other kids, other test subjects, to replace Henry with. And while he chose to keep Henry alive in case he found a way for Henry to be useful to him again, he made sure Henry's powers were out of reach. From Henry.
And while Henry thought he'd prefer death, he was somewhat relieved he was no longer the subject of Papa's abuse.
Being an orderly was easy. If he minded his business and did what he was told like an obedient little goon, he could... avoid being hurt. And Henry was doing just that; being good.
It... terrified him, how badly he needed to be good for Papa. But it was the only way for him to not get hurt.
He watched the others get hurt instead, and while it was triggering, it at least wasn't him writhing on the floor with the shock collar around his throat.
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Henry used to think he wasn't capable of empathy.
He never felt bad when someone got hurt. In his belief, they deserved it in some way. In some way, they all had it coming; the animals he'd killed, his mother, his sister. He never felt bad for any of them.
But Henry could feel his chest closing in on itself, an invisible force squeezing his lungs and making it difficult to breathe when he watched Two with the shock collar around his neck. Henry never liked Two; Two reminded him of one of those bullies who always picked on Henry when he went to school, before the Lab. Seeing Two drop to the floor like a rock before he convulsed there helplessly should be satisfying, to say the least. Henry took no joy in witnessing Two's punishment.
He... didn't know why, but he saw himself there, almost like looking straight into the mirror. He wasn't a test subject anymore, Papa wasn't punishing him. But it used to be Henry in that place, precisely writhing on the floor from the shock firing through his system.
Two deserved it for hurting Eleven, and Henry wasn't feeling bad for him. Though that didn't explain the panic starting to build inside his chest. He was somewhat grateful no one's attention was on him here.
No one was watching him here. No one saw the horror on his face. If he could... force himself to stay standing still and control his breathing as to not draw in any unwanted attention.
The last thing Henry wanted was for anybody to see the tears welling up in his eyes as he watched the pain Two was going through.
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Henry knew the risk he was taking when he helped Eleven during her practice session.
Papa had given him a direct order; under no circumstance was he allowed to get close to a test subject, precisely Eleven. Because Henry knew Papa could tell Eleven was special to him; she was like Henry in a sense that they both didn't belong. Different. And Henry could tell Papa knew he picked up on that fact.
At first Henry wasn't trying to get close to Eleven, simply because he didn't care about her or about any of the kids. But Eleven was... different. Eleven was like him, and for some reason Henry couldn't stay away from her.
He never knew what friendship was, never had one. Until he met Eleven.
Helping her was a risk. Helping her in front of Papa when even a greater risk, but Eleven was struggling, and Henry remembered his younger self struggling the exact same way Eleven was right now, and how his poor doing resulted in another punishment that day.
Henry never felt the need to help another person before. It confused him that he wanted to help Eleven. It terrified him that he was deliberately putting himself at risk by helping her.
Eleven needed him. She needed his help. Though Henry could already tell what was going to happen to him when the day was over by the way Papa glanced at him.
He wasn't wrong, it turned out.
And he was proven right in one of the most painful ways imaginable; forced on his knees while two guards kept shocking him with electric cattle prods.
He was only allowed a few seconds to catch his breath and to gasp out a breathless, fearful please before they electrocuted him again. The burns on his chest from the juice that he was certain would scar. Henry lost track of how long he'd been subjected to the punishment, but at some point he was starting to believe (again) that this might be it, if they kept going.
It was both terrifying and promising, how Henry thought his heart could actually stop whenever they thrusted the end of the prod against his chest and how each time he could feel himself drifting further and further away until he was more lying limply there with body that only twisted when the shock hit than he was a living man that pleaded and cried.
He wasn't sure when it was over, or if he would survive it (he always did, somehow Papa always made sure he survived it), when he was dragged along the floor by two guards back to his cell. It was a blurred haze, with him only being half conscious.
By the time Henry was somewhat more aware of his surroundings, he found himself back on his bed in his cell. With Papa sitting on the edge of the bed with him.
Henry blinked. He still couldn't move to sit up yet, and he knew better than to try moving too soon. Papa looked at him, and while Papa was the one green lighting the abuse, there was kindness in Papa's eyes. There always was. It was false, Henry knew that, but in time like this, he desperately needed it like a wounded child needing its mother.
"Welcome back, sleepyhead," Papa said. He reached out and ran a hand through Henry's hair. His touch was soft and gentle, and Henry couldn't help reflexively leaning into it, seeking more of the comfort and knowing too well it was never real.
"You know I never wanted to hurt you, right?" Papa went on, still gently playing with Henry's hair like a father giving affection to his son.
"I wasn't being good," Henry said when he could find his voice again, even though it was only above a faint whisper, weak and hoarse and barely audible.
"No, you weren't." Papa shook his head slowly, his voice was soft and kind still. "You were befriending Eleven. That could... jeopardize the whole thing, Henry. I thought I made myself clear."
"You... did."
"I did, and yet you didn't... you didn't listen," there was disappointment in Papa's voice. Somehow it hurt more than the shock. "Everything I do is for you and your own good, and I need you to understand that."
Henry nodded. "I can be good. I will... be good," the need for Papa to believe it, it was clear in Henry's voice, no matter how quiet or weak it was, it was clear in the way Henry looked up at him from where he lied on his back.
He never wanted to prove himself to Papa, simply because Henry hated Papa, but at some point during the past decade he was kept a prisoner here, he supposed he may have unconsciously surrendered. His life here was hard, but it was somewhat easier if he could just... stop fighting.
Henry closed his eyes and leaned his face against the palm of Papa's hand when Papa cupped his face. "I can be good," he murmured again, feeling Papa cradling his scalp next, and he needed that, the comfort. "I'll be good."
"I know, son," Papa cooed, "I know."
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Henry — as an undead creature known by Eleven's friends as Vecna — stood tall on the hill as he watched Hawkins fall, blood red sky, dark particles and ashes filled the toxic air.
They couldn't stop him. Papa couldn't stop him. Eleven couldn't stop him.
His life at the Lab under Papa's thumb seemed like a lifetime ago, but Henry remembered; all the pain Papa put him through. Eleven's betrayal. He remembered it all, and even if he tried convincing himself that it couldn't haunt him anymore...
What he was was a violent, grotesque monster now. That scared little boy he once was was gone.
Was he, though?
Henry took a deep breath, taking in the sight in front of him. His work.
Growing up, he always kept telling himself; instead of a victim, he was a predator.
Maybe if he told himself that often enough, he could finally believe it one day.