SYNOPSIS: Free from the Mind-Flayer's control, Henry Creel is left a hollow, helpless shell of a man, resigning himself to a lifetime of self-abandonment and grief over a life so cruelly denied from him - until a new arrival into Hawkins takes a chance on him, the man everyone else has already given up on.
(alternative universe following on from st5 where henry survives the death of the mindflayer)
CONTAINS: henry creel x f!reader, use of Y/N, slow burn, eventual romance, age gap (45 + 25), mental health/illness/dark themes, murder, lowkey making this up as i go along so ill add as i continue LOL
NOTES: ty for all the love on chapter one :) im still kinda learning as i go so any feedback/suggestions would be appreciated!
SONG: Someone Was Listening - dodie
âOpen the door, how do I know? Stillness means end or is danger just slow? I do not trust you, donât trust myself. But someone was listening when I called for help.â
The days unfolded one by one, time seemed to move slower in Hawkins like the whole town was permanently programmed on slow-mo. It was heavier there, lazier. The mountain of boxes that had once cluttered the already snug space slowly dwindled down, the cardboard neatly folded up and tucked nearly in the corner, while the contents had been meticulously placed with a mix of quiet, deliberate care. Trinkets cluttered the mantle, family photos hung as a reminder of a life well lived. Plants sitting lazily in the glow of the morning Hawkins light, spilling out the corner of the curtains - freshly watered and gently sparkling in the sun. The place was finally starting to look like hers. Starting to feel like hers.
Y/N pottered about the house, clutching her mug of tea and absorbing the slow morning on Morehead Street. She drifted towards the front window, further nudging the curtains open - squinting slightly as the sunbeams burst into the living room. She shuffled closer to the window to take in her surroundings once again. Helenâs garden came into view first, tangling with an array of bright cheerful colours. Y/N found herself pondering about how she could even upkeep something like that, something so beautiful. Y/N could barely keep the handful of house plants she owned alive, let alone a whole flower garden bursting at the seams.
Her gaze slid over to the house next door, a similarly built home with grey panelling and the same classic white trim. Out on the front porch, two young boys buzzed about playing some chaotic version of their own ball game. One blonde, and the other with a burst of fiery orange hair. They couldn't have been older than 8 and 10, brothers, she assumed â although she hadn't really had a chance to get to know the rest of the neighbours yet.
Her attention then directed itself back to the Creel house.
The hairs on the back of her neck rose, her grip on the mug tightening until her knuckles glowed with a strained white tint as the memory of her previous conversation with Helen echoed in her mind. They say it wasnât Victor who did it. They say it was Henry...
Y/N sighed, taking an unsure sip of her tea. The warmth doing little to comfort her. Her mind weighed heavy with the knowledge of what had happened in that house. The last few days of mindless unpacking had left far too much space in her brain for thinking, she caught her mind racing about the mysterious Henry Creel on several occasions â desperate to crack the mystery of the Creel murders. Every time, she scolded herself and made a feeble attempt to shrug it off, but she was struggling to fight her deeply rooted intrigue.
She paused, feeling the cogs in her mind churning as a decision clicked into place.
She was going over there.
What was the worst that could happen?
Y/N recalled what Helen had mentioned to her a few days ago, about they âdonât often get new neighbours.ââ If she was going to live next door to the infamous murder house, she might as well get on his good side at least.
She couldn't just turn up, though. Empty-handed and bombarding him with questions? No. That would seem too... threatening. Too bold. She didnât want to press too hard and scare him off. Sheâd seen him staring at her yesterday from afar, a warning, maybe. Or maybe he just doesn't like new people, either way it sat heavy on her chest.
Y/N shifted her weight, still stood at the window fixated on the Creel house. Her mind scrambling to find an excuse to turn up there.
... a peace offering, maybe?
What would a stereotypical neighbour do?
I mean, thatâs what they do in TV shows, right? Turn up with a plate of cookies and an artificially sweet smile?
Not that she was the best baker by any means, in fact, she was the kind of person who could set fire to her kitchen just by boiling a pot of water. But it was the thought that counted, she thought.
It was decided.
Y/N pushed herself away from the window, setting her now almost cold tea-filled mug down on the table, making her way into the kitchen. She rifled through the newly filled cupboards with groceries she had bought the day before.
... Shit. I donât have sugar.
She stood back, with a defeated sigh.
âWell there goes that idea.â she muttered under her breath, shoulders shrugging in defeat. She lingered for a moment, face twitching as she tried to come up with a new plan, when her eyes landed on a crinkled plastic bag on the far end of the worktop. The cookies sheâd bought from the store yesterday.
Y/N crossed the small kitchen in a few quick steps and grabbed the bag, turning the packet over in her hands
â...is it cheating to pass them off as my own?â she pondered out loud.
She stared at them for a moment, before shrugging.
âEh, fuck it. A little white lie never hurt anybody.â
She tore the bag open and started neatly arranging the cookies onto a round, white plate. Attempting to sell the facade of homemade goods.
Now she just had to actually give them to him...
A tight ball of anxiety grew in her chest as she reached for her beaten-up sneakers in the hallway, shoving them on and grabbing the first jacket she could find. Trailing back to the kitchen, eyes locked on the plate of cookies waiting for her on the counter. A simple act of kindness. Unassuming. Yet heavy with expectation. She slid her hands under the cool ceramic, gripping on with a slight tremor as she lifted it.
âOkay...â she breathed, more exhale than an actual word.
âHere goes nothing.â
***
Y/N blinked, and found herself standing at the front door of Henry Creelâs house, plate balanced in one hand, and the other suspended in the air as she attempted to muster up the courage to knock. The large wooden door towered over her, almost like it was a threat. The door held a mesmerising pane of frosted stained glass, revoking any clear sight into the house. Intentional, maybe?
Was she seriously about to do this? Knock on the door of a man who had potentially murdered his entire family and gotten away with it?
Y/N pushed the thoughts out, a burning sensation of shame overcoming her. This was a man who had already been through the unimaginable, and then had terrible rumours stapled to his name on top of it.
Y/N forced her hand to move, and gently knocked three times.
Knock...
Knock...
...Knock
The echo of the last knock rung in her ears, she couldn't go back now.
She waited for Henry to come to the door, but nothing happened. The space behind the door remained empty. Maybe he didnt hear her?
Reluctantly, she knocked again.. A little more erratic than the previous, giving two quick raps.
She waited again, the pit in her stomach growing heavier, almost swallowing her whole.
A faint shuffling from somewhere deep within the house, slowly making its way towards the door.
The familiar silhouette came into view from behind the stained glass, his shape muffled. The details of his face were again difficult to make out as they blurred into each other in accordance with the colourful stained glass.
The man did not open the door, he just stood there. A still and watchful presence, like a ghost.
âH-hello?â Y/n stumbled, the singular word catching in her throat. She hadnât expected a glowing welcome, exactly. But she was taken aback by the lack of interaction.
The blurred figure remained motionless, but she could again feel the burning sensation of his stare. A heavy, unblinking weight.
âMy name is Y/N, I uh... just moved in across the street. I-â still stumbling, forcing an awkward chuckle attempting to sound friendly, âI brought you cookies... homemade!â
âI thought Iâd, you know... be a decent neighbour and introduce myself with style, I guess...â she finished lamely, the end of the sentence trailing off and melting into the thick silence between them.
Seconds ticked in the stillness, air thick with anticipation. Just as Y/N started to wonder if he was ever going to answer at all, a deep voice cut through door.
âYou shouldnât have come here.â
The sudden response caught her off guard, her body tensing up. Her mouth opened on instinct to respond, but was interrupted by a sharp click from the other side of the door as the latch released and the heavy wood swung inward.
He was taller up close, more commanding, His presence looming over her, making the house behind him feel even darker. Honey blonde hair sat proudly in place, his soft waves feeling slightly contradictory to his intimidating nature. Round brown glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, drawing attention to his mesmerisingly blue eyes. He wore a beige. buttoned up shirt, tucked crisply into his warm brown trousers, with a matching waistcoat buttoned all the way; pocket watch proudly hanging from his left pocket, and a deep red tie knotted with pride. It was... controlled. Perfect. Surprising for a man who was the local hermit.
Y/N took him in, gaze flickering from his face, to his clothes, and back again to his stone-cold stare. There was something unreadable in his presentation, like he was studying her.
âYou donât have to pretend to be polite.â Henry said, his voice quiet but with an edge of undeniable coldness.
âI-Iâm not pretending to be anythingâ Y/N said in reply, her words tumbling out as she gave a slight defensive shake of her head.
Henryâs posture stiffened, his jaw tightening and a shadow of irritation flashing across his face.
âI donât do visitors.â He said finally.
âYeah, I gathered that fairly quickly...â Y/N blurted before she could catch herself
An instant look of regret flashed across her face.
Henry didnât take that lightly.
The door slammed in her face, the sudden bang making her entire body flinch.
âWait!â She frantically knocked on the door, âIâm sorry, I didnât mean to offend you... I-â
She drew in a sharp breath, mustering up the courage to admit the reason why she was really there.
âLook, I know what they all say about youâ she admitted, voice dropping a little, âAnd I still came over...â
For a moment, all she could hear was the dull, frantic thud of her own heartbeat as her words hung in the air. Her stomach jolting with anticipation.
The door creaked open once again, a fraction, just enough for Henryâs face to be visible through the narrow crack.
A single word, soft, but somehow holding so much power.
âMaybe I just want you to know Iâm not scared of you.â she said feebly, blinking rapidly as she looked up at him with wide, uncertain eyes.
Something in Henryâs face shifted, the first twinge of emotion Y/N had seen; his stone set features loosened by a fraction of a twitch at the corner of his eye, An emotion slipping through a crack that he hadnt meant to leave open, he probably didn't even realise it was there.
âYou should be.â His voice still soft, but blunt. âThat would be the smart thing to do.â
Y/N tilted her head, âMaybe whatâs smart isnât always whatâs best.â
Henry remained silent, still looking at her through the crack, studying her. Heat crept up Y/Ns neck the longer he burned into her soul, but under the weight of his stare came a sense of... loneliness in his eyes. Instead of just being afraid of him, she found herself feeling... sorry for him.
âI donât think youâre a monster.â Her voice gentle, âThatâs all I wanted to say.â
She looked down at the plate of cookies, suddenly aware of how ridiculous she must look just standing there, she forced herself to look back up at him.
âAt least take these,â an awkward, but thin laugh escaped her. âDonât make me do the walk of shame back to mine...â
Henry stood, considering for a moment. Then, the door widened, the gap opening up just enough for Henry to emerge over the threshold - steps heavy and with caution.
He reached out for the plate, his fingers brushing against Y/Nâs for a brief moment in the exchange as his hands wrapped around the ceramic. It was barely a touch, but sent a jolt through Y/N all the same. A stark reminder that he was real, he was human.
Henry stood back once again, and stepped back into the shadow of the hallway. He gave out a small nod, a small curve forming in the corner of his mouth, before something inside him decided to shut it down, smoothing his face back into the same stone-cold stare.
Then, without another word, the door closed again. The muffled sounds of footsteps moving away from the door as he sunk back into the house.
Y/N was again met with the now too familiar grain of the wooden door. She released a long breath that she didnt realise she had been holding, as a soft ache settled in her stomach. The brief crack in his armour lingered in her mind, a glimmer of humanity breaking through his closely guarded shield. She felt⌠satisfied. Sure, it didnât go nearly as she had expected it to, in fact she had even more questions than before.
What even happened that night? Where did Henry go? How could someone just vanish off the face of the earth for 28 years?
It didnât make sense. Any of it. But still, she broke through, albeit slightly. For a man who supposedly never spoke to anybody, it was a win.
Y/N forced herself to move from the spot she had been frozen to, turning her back on the door and making her way down Creelâs porch steps and back out onto the cobbled street, walking back to her own home. She shoved her hands into the warmth of her jacket pocket, the cold air now prickling at her skin as she forgot how chilled she was, until now. Henry had made her forget about the weather entirely.
By the time she reached the front of her house, her curiosity continued to tug at her. It was small at first, a little twinge in her mind. But it grew larger. Louder. Harder to resist. Until she couldnât anymore.
The house stood solemn. Still. Towering over the tiny street, with its windows seeming to drink every last ounce of light and convert it into endless darkness. The place almost felt... alive. She could almost hear it breathing.
His figure was dark and out of focus, but still undeniably him. Henry. Looming in one of the upstairs windows, staring down at her on the street.
Y/Nâs breath caught in her throat, how long had he been watching?
For a few moments they stared back at each other, like some stupid silent western standoff youâd only see in the movies.
He wasnât going to be the one to break the contact, she could feel it. She had to.
She offered a small nod, a slight dip of her chin. More of an acknowledgement than anything.
Then she forced herself to turn back around and walk the last few steps to her front door, feeling Henryâs burning glance on the back of her neck. Suddenly desperate to get inside - her fingers, trembling and clumsy, fumbled in her pocket for her keys, battling to slot the cold metal into the hole.
The key finally slotted in, releasing the lock with a small click.
She couldn't help herself, she glanced back one last time.
She pushed her door open, and stepped into her house. The familiar scent of soil and leaves mingled with the lingering aroma of the sweet vanilla candle she was burning the night before, it did little to smooth the touch left by Henry. On the kitchen counter, laid a scattering of cookie crumbs she had neglected to clean before leaving the house. Proof she hasnât imagined any of it.
A plate of store-bought cookies dressed up in a white lie wasnât much, but it was something to remind Henry that there was humanity still out there she hoped. An offering for the man everybody has already judged.
Y/N made her way towards the sofa, sinking down into the plush cushions, heartbeat finally beginning to slow, mind starting to clear â but the thought of him came creeping back.
Sheâd seen the monster up close.
But he didnât look like one at all.
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