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Henry stared through the kitchen window, his untouched mug of tea still steaming between his palms. The watery glow of the moon filtered through the Byers’ kitchen. The house was cramped already, even more so with him there, but Henry found he didn’t mind. It was cozy, a welcome change from the empty echoing halls he had always known.
All alone in the dead of night, his thoughts wandered, as they had so many times that week, to his sister. He was relieved she was alive, and in the competent hands of the police chief, but he couldn’t help worrying for her. El’s trust was not easily won, and her past experiences with authority figures weren’t exactly pleasant ones. Hopper was a good man, and he cared in his own way, but El was still so young, Henry doubted if she would realize that. He knew her well enough to know that if she didn’t take to Hop, it would be a miserable situation for both of them. A vain part of him said it would all be okay if only he was there, but he wasn’t. It was too dangerous, Henry knew that. They were both still wanted, now more than ever. The best thing he could do to protect his sister was to not draw attention to himself, and by extent her. But Henry couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling of uncertainty at when he would see her again. They had spent the last two years together, them two against the world, and now El was just… gone.
In his sister’s absence, Henry felt more alone than he had in almost two years. That aching pit of loneliness in his chest had almost felt like a distant memory ever since he and El had made a break from that wretched prison, but now it was as though it had never gone away. The feeling was all too familiar. It was something he had grown accustomed to since such an age as no child should ever have to. Henry was five when he learned he was different. When the other children started teasing and excluding him, when his mother’s gentle eye turned into a scrutinous glare. When Henry discovered he was broken, irreparable, an outcast of society and a stain on his family’s spotless reputation.
Henry was seven when the Shadow took him. Seven when he first killed a man. Only seven years old, when the life he could have had was ripped away from him in an instant. When his conscience was permanently disfigured almost beyond recognition. That scared seven year old boy could have been anyone, but he was not the man who stood awake now in this silent, sleeping house that was not his own. What Henry Creel should have been and what Henry Creel was were barely congruent concepts, incomparable, separate in everything but name.
Henry was thirty when he was finally free. When El had figured out how to kill the Shadow. It was one of the greatest pains he had ever experienced, the burning, greater than the bullet through his palm, or Brenner’s tortures. It left him weak, raw, and, as much as he despised it, hollow. As though a part of him he hadn’t realized was crucial was suddenly stripped away. Henry hated the Shadow with every fiber of his being, but it had held him for so long, weaving its way into every crevice of his mind, clenching its cold fist around his heart, unraveling his very soul, that the lack of it felt unnatural. He had grown used to its absence, slowly, nearly forgotten what it felt to be a cold, dead husk of a man. But even still, as much as it had relinquished its grasp on him, it never really left. It lived now in the darkest parts of his soul, in the form of the memories of all the bodies. The Shadow was no longer a part of Henry, but what it made him was something he couldn’t escape.
And as alone as Henry now felt, he knew he wasn’t. El was still alive and well, looking out for him from wherever she was. And he had the Byers now, he told himself, over and over. They had been kind to take him in. But what was that, other than common courtesy? He had nowhere else to go. He wasn’t really alone, not like he had been before. It only felt that way. But that was the Shadow speaking. Henry did his best to push those thoughts down. He brought his mug to his lips just for something to do.
The gentle thump of socked feet on the hardwood floor pulled Henry from his revere. Slowly, he dragged his gaze from the window. Around the corner, half hidden, a tiny figure stood frozen, as though he thought if he were still enough, he might avoid detection. Admittedly, it nearly worked. Had Henry not been wearing his glasses, he would have missed the boy entirely. Despite his melancholic state, he smiled. “I can see you, Will.”
The boy inched out from his hiding place, eyeing his feet. The two of them had hardly spoken a word to each other, but Henry could already tell he liked Will. He reminded him of himself at that age, although sorely lacking in the area of demonic possession. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?” Henry questioned half jokingly, but the way the boy shuffled nervously, fidgeted with the hems of his sleeves, conveyed something more serious. “Did something happen?”
“Just…” Will muttered to the ground. “Just a nightmare. It’s nothing. I just… wanted to get water.”
Henry made no reply, but immediately set his mug down and set about getting the boy a glass. Something about him reminded Henry so much of himself as a child, and overcame him with a desire to protect this boy he barely knew. Perhaps he just didn’t want to see Will suffer as he had.
Cautiously, Will reached for the glass Henry extended towards him. He looked torn between entering the kitchen and returning to his room, the result leaving him rooted to the floor. Henry sighed. The boy’s very presence tugged at his heart in a way he couldn't explain. “Would you like to talk about your nightmare?” he asked. Will shook his head, but, after a moment, carefully stepped forward, joining Henry by the window. He hoisted himself onto the countertop. “Mom doesn't like when I sit on the counter,” his tone still shy, but the beginnings of an impish smile tugged reluctantly at his lips.
“I won't tell,” Henry assured him with as much solemness as he could muster. Will allowed himself to grin. This felt like the beginning of something. Henry hoped it was.
“How long have you been up?” Will asked.
“I haven't slept,” Henry admitted.
“Oh.” Will’s brow furrowed, his forehead creasing in a way that made him look older. Henry found it comically endearing. “Why not?”
The question took Henry by surprise. Why hadn't he slept? Henry didn't think he'd ever been asked such a thing before.
“I… don't sleep much.”
Will hummed. “Like insomnia?”
Henry considered. “I’m not sure.”
“That’s what my mom has,” Will said. “She takes these pills so she can sleep.”
“I see.” Henry paused. Something inside him wanted to tell this wise little boy everything. He knew he would understand in some way. But he wasn’t quite sure how to go about discussing such things with a child. So he began with, “I don't believe my problem is medical, though.”
Will wrinkled his brows again. “Then what is it?” And then, catching himself, added shyly, “Sorry if that's too personal.”
“It’s alright,” Henry assured him. “There's nothing wrong with being curious.” He sighed. “I think my troubles are… fear based, more than anything.”
“Like, a phobia? Like spiders or something?”
“Not quite.” He gave Will a half smile, even though he didn't feel much like smiling. “I… used to have nightmares too, as a child. Often, I still do.”
“Are you afraid of the nightmares?” Will asked.
Henry considered this. “In part, yes. But it’s more a fear of where the nightmares come from.” He paused, took a deep breath. “Do you remember the monster that took you?” Will nodded, a far out expression glazing his eyes. “It… isn't the only one. There are more monsters. Like the Demogorgon, and others. One of them took me, too.” A soft ‘oh’ escaped Will’s lips. Henry went on.
“I was younger than you are now, only seven years old. But that monster doesn’t simply kidnap. It lives here.” He tapped his forefinger to his temple. “It enslaved my mind, controlled my body, used me to carry out its will. That monster is what gave me my…” he gave a dry, humorless laugh. “Gifts. I did… horrible things. Unspeakable things.”
“Did you kill?” Will breathed, eyes wide.
“Yes.” Henry turned his eyes upon the child. His face was a mixture of wonder and terror. “I-” Henry looked away. His throat felt tight. He didn’t know how many of those feelings his eyes betrayed, but he didn't want Will to see them. “Many people. I try to comfort myself with the fact that I feel remorse for it, but it doesn’t change what my hands have done. I do my best not to think about it, but that often becomes difficult at night. The monster is gone now, thankfully. Even so, I still fear it. I fear the thought of it, I fear its return, but, more than that, I fear myself. It used me, yes, but sometimes I feel as though… maybe I let it. And that possibility… it scares me.”
“But… it wasn't your fault,” Will cut in. Henry didn't respond. He didn't look at him.
“It used you,” the boy insisted, more firmly now. “I mean, I didn't have a choice when the Demo took me, and you didn't have a choice when that monster took you, either. Or, took your mind. You were just a kid like me.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple, Will. I have other things to be guilty for.”
“But have you ever considered that maybe you don't?”
“…What?” Henry didn't understand. Clearly neither did Will.
“Have you ever considered that maybe you don't have anything to be guilty for? I mean, I know I don’t know you very well, but I can't imagine you killing people willingly. Like, what, just for fun? Do you seriously think you wanted that?”
Henry was… stunned. He didn't know what to say, what to think. He had spent almost his entire life thinking of himself as a monster, and here was this child he had met a grand total of two weeks ago, barely spoken three words to, insisting the exact opposite. “I… don't know.”
Will shrugged. “It makes sense why you're scared, and why you feel that way. I just don’t think you're the monster, that’s all.
Henry gave the boy a sad smile. “Thank you, Will.”
A heavy, contemplative silence fell over them. They both sipped their drinks and stared out at the stars, considering what the other had said. After a minute or so, Will spoke.
“It was the Demo.”
“Hm?”
“My nightmare. It was about the Demo, the Upside Down, everything. That’s what it usually is, or some kind of variation of it. I just relive it, almost every night.”
“I’m very sorry,” Henry said sincerely. “Are you still afraid?”
“Not so much now,” Will answered. “Talking to you helped.”
“I’m glad. I was afraid telling you about the other monsters made it worse.”
“I mean, it sorta did, but I'm okay now,” Will said nonchalantly. Henry was unsure whether to believe him or not.
“If it helps,” he added, “I'm still very much afraid.”
Will made a strange sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “It’s nice to have someone who gets it, though.”
“Yes,” Henry agreed. “It is.”
Will offered a friendly smile, but it cracked into a wide yawn be tried unsuccessfully to stifle behind his hand. Henry glanced at the wall clock. Nearly 3:00 in the morning. “Perhaps you should try and get some rest,” he addressed Will. All of a sudden, all the boy’s prior sheepishness returned. He looked down at his hands fidgeting in his lap.
“I, um… I don't know if I can.”
“Do you think you’ll have another nightmare?” Henry asked.
“Maybe. I just… I'm still sorta scared,” he mumbled.
Henry gazed at him softly. For all his wisdom, he had almost forgotten he was still a little boy. “I see. Can I do anything to help you?”
“Um…” Will hesitated. He looked as though be had a thought on the tip of his tongue, but was unsure whether or not to voice it. “Could I, uh…” His voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “Could I maybe sleep out here with you?” he rushed.
Henry's heart stuttered. This boy was so pure, so gentle hearted. Henry felt his pain keenly. He remembered what it was like to be eleven years old, suffering cruel supernatural tortures, fighting with all his might to keep the monsters at bay. He understood Will completely, and he wanted to do everything in his power to prevent him from suffering as he had. “Of course, Will.”
“I just… don't wanna be alone,” Will added, as if to justify himself.
“I understand,” Henry said, because he did. He was already pouring the dregs of his cold tea down the drain. Will followed suit, and trailed behind Henry to the sofa that bad served as his bed the last two weeks. Once there, Will hesitated, eyeing it with an air of embarrassment. “You can lay down,” Henry encouraged.
“But-”
“I can sleep sitting up,” Henry cut in before Will could begin feeling awkward. ‘And there’s plenty of room besides.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Will allowed himself to find a sleeping position with his head facing toward Henry. Henry reached out, draping the blanket over the boy. A small smile played on Will’s lips. Henry settled himself in, finding if surprisingly easy to become comfortable in an upright position. Will said nothing more. His whole body seemed to sag with exhaustion. He looked moments from sleep. Laying there now, all the fear drained from his features, replaced by comfortable tiredness. He seemed at peace as soon as he lay down beside Henry, as though his presence were comforting in some way. Henry savored this notion as his own brain numbed, for the first time in so, so long, with heavy relaxation. He looked down at Will again, and was overcome with a sudden impulse to reach out to him. Usually he would have hesitated, but in his half-daze of exhaustion, he allowed his hand to drift to the boy’s head. His fingers laced into the soft hair with ease.
Will gave another sleepy smile. With his last remaining energy, he whispered a single word.
“Friends?”
Henry’s eyes fluttered shut. “Friends,” he murmured.