To the World's Edge
Dracula!Henry x Reincarnated! Wife! Reader
Summary: When It had offered him the world, Henry had assumed certain terms of his agreement. Now, Henry has been searching for his darling bride in every country, in every century, in every companion. And rest assured, now that he has found you, he never plans on going without you again.
cw: main character (you) death, mentions of war, mentions of physical violence (not aimed towards reader), alcohol, mentions of pregnancy/hinting at infertility, blood, vampirism, kidnapping, background byler, Mike is oblivious
words: 5.9k
a/n: me posting is like seeing a deer in the woods, if i focus too much on writing, all my motivation is gone in the wind at the first twig snap
Duke Henry Creel had never been a social butterfly. Preferring to stand on the sides of ballrooms, sipping from his glass and occasionally grimacing at the shy debutantes and mothers eager to be rid of their daughters, the young Lord had gained a reputation for being inhospitable. Season after season, Lord Henry had found a way to avoid any sort of social connection outside of the obligations required to maintain social status. Not that social status truly mattered to him. Lord Henry had set his mind to never marrying, never producing an heir, and letting his family’s horrid namesake become just another footprint in the meaningless tracks of mankind.
That is, until he met you. When you’d approached him during a promenade, Lord Henry had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. With your lace and bows, the senseless frills on your parasol and gloves, you were the perfect picture of a Duke’s wife. Not his wife, of course. That idea would be ridiculous, no matter how his stomach had turned when you smiled at him. He simply scowled, turning his gaze back to the book he had been reading as he leaned against the trunk of the thickly branched tree.
“Goodness, that must count for an accomplishment of some sort,” you had smiled at him. The Duke had wanted to continue ignoring you in the hopes that you would understand his disinterest in all things social, but your comment had left him confused. Still, he only looked up at you with a quirked eyebrow.
“Of course, I mean the quickness with which you have shown your disinterest,” you continued, not that he had asked for clarification anyway. When you noticed how you had disarmed him with just a single comment, you smiled behind your fan. He huffed at you.
When he made no further attempt to continue your conversation, you shrugged your shoulders and leaned on the other side of the tree. Ignoring the odd sense of disappointment he felt building within him, Lord Henry returned to his book, though he found it increasingly more difficult to focus on the text.
“It is so unbearably warm today, isn’t it, my Lord?”
Lord Henry glanced over at you, fanning yourself as you closed your parasol. He found his thoughts wandering as his gaze caught on the tops of your breasts, now visible as you bent to rest the parasol against a thick tree root jutting up from the ground. Though, certainly, the flush forming on his cheeks was due to the damn heat.
When you looked up at him through your lashes, your face the sheer image of both innocence and cunning, the Duke found that his heartbeat had quickened, breaths catching in his chest.
“Yes. It- it is quite unfortunate weather.”
You smiled, victorious in your attempts to pull a conversion from him. You didn’t give him a chance to retreat, “Though all is better with fortunate company.” Lord Henry found himself caught off guard by you again.
“Perhaps.” Again, his chest warmed at the smile you gave him. “Though,” he could see the beat of tension in your eyes, waiting for the building rain cloud of his kindness to burst into the downpour of cruelty he was sure you had heard rumors of. “I suppose your company is more fortunate for my sake than yours.”
Though he’d eventually have to find a way to scare you off, find a time to ensure to you that marriage and children with him were not a possibility that he could allow, the young Duke could allow himself a moment of happiness.
Still, as much as Lord Henry had tried to avoid it, the storm had come for him eventually. After a season of blatant teasing, chess-like social maneuvers, stolen moments in hidden gardens, you had truly and fully stolen his heart. He could ignore his feelings no longer. When you missed a pivotal ball, one where he was planning to tell you the unfortunate nature of your futures together, he found himself more devastated than relieved. Even if the night had meant the potential end of your involvement, and all happiness in his life for that matter, he found himself missing your company, regardless of the fact that it might have ended in screaming and tears.
The very next morning, when your mother opened the front door to welcome any suitors, she thought someone had brought a garden to her doorstep, until Lord Henry peeked his head around some flowers, asking to see you.
You had been feeling ill, a mere headache rather than the deadly disease the Duke had prepared to care for. Regardless, Lord Henry had brought you everything he could think of that might help an ailing woman: your favorite sweets, tall stacks of books in every genre, blankets, fresh produce, and what seemed to be all of the flowers in the country. It had taken all of your family’s servants to bring his endless gifts into the house, and you still had enough to give them all a chosen share.
After spending the day watching over you like a restless mother hen, your mother had finally pried him off of you only with the promise to let him see you the next day.
Needless to say, the next day brought a formal proposal, with even more luxuries than you could imagine. Before even the first autumn leaf fell, you were married.
Henry, he’d finally convinced you to drop formalities, had been living in blissful ignorance. Sure, he was aware that the King was ill and that rumors of war had started to float among the peers. He knew that war brought hardship upon all citizens, even those outside of the service or those with titles. Henry knew that the decrease in food was a warning sign, and the dwindling number of available servants was nothing to ignore.
Still, he’d never in his life imagined that the war would come for him as it did.
You’d been on a walk in the town, eagerly avoiding all peers. You had grown tired of the endless talk of heirs and “helpful tips” on becoming with child. You didn’t need to say how draining the conversations were, Henry could see in your eyes the discomfort when explaining his disinterest in parenting and hearing the coos of pity from other peer’s wives.
When couples and groups of friends started whispering at the sight of you both, he originally thought nothing of it except anger. He knew rumors had started to spread, but the gall to openly shame the both of you for what was entirely his decision. Henry had half a mind to make a scene when one of his closer friends had approached you both.
Quickly, Henry had realized that he had missed a vital piece of information about himself that apparently everyone else in society had learned: he had been called to fight for the King’s cause abroad.
When Henry came back from the war, he was a changed man. You thought you understood, war changes everything, yet war never changes. While Henry had never been a social man, he had been a social butterfly compared to him now. He rarely went into society, only grimacing his way through town if you dared to leave the estate, which he rarely allowed either. He stared out of the window for hours, talking to someone who didn’t exist. If you thought him obsessive before, he never let you leave his line of sight, following you from room to room like a shadow. He’d mutter in his sleep and hold you close, like he was afraid you would be wrenched from his grip.
When you fell ill, one would have thought he was already in mourning. He never left your bedside, only wandering feet away to use the restroom or when the servants made him leave to help you. He ignored letters asking to visit or asking for his presence in society. Henry lost much of his weight from a lack of appetite, becoming a skeleton of a man. When you think about it, he hadn’t seemed to eat much at all after the war, though you always chalked that up to a soldier’s meager diet. His fictitious conversations grew, enough that you almost felt that you could hear another person’s presence when it was just the two of you in the room. The whispers and visions of shadows in the dark didn’t help ease your fever, and Henry’s need to keep the windows and blinds closed made the room stifling and horrible for your growing cough.
Though it wasn’t a surprise, Henry was devastated nonetheless when you passed. It took three different doctors telling him the news to finally seem to believe it. Even when the coroner came, Henry looked as though he still expected for you to sit up in the bed and proclaim a victorious prank.
Slowly, the estate became like a museum, a permanent gallery of your life together. He sent away all the servants. Sheets covered the furniture and artwork, save the portrait of you still over the mantle in the main living room. The years pass, and Henry becomes something of a ghost story, a tale parents tell their misbehaving children in quiet whispers at night, hoping to scare them into compliance.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Henry moves abroad, hearing questions about his growing age and what should be his nearing death. No matter, the States are a wonderful place for an anonymous benefactor to be well-received.
Luckily for him, a wealthy couple miraculously decides to move to the country, leaving their land for him to purchase. Many of the nearby ranchers come to him offering help or work, but Henry turns them away. They take him as an idiot who imagines himself the new Rockefeller, pulling an industry up from his bootstraps.
Women hear of his fortune, trotting after him in their heels with their skirts in hand as he mindlessly passes them on the way to town. When he goes to climb back into his carriage to retreat home, they offer to keep him company. Henry grimaces and snaps the reins without looking to see if the women have let go of the handles. He’s long gone by the time a young woman comes to help her up from the dirt.
Once, a young lady makes the horrible mistake of asking him where his wife is. A handsome man like you must be able to get any girl he wishes, she reasons. I’m surprised your wife lets you out into the town alone, doesn’t she know-
Henry had never hit a woman before, and in his mind, he still hasn’t. She wasn’t a woman, she was a monster. How dare she speak so little of you, when you will always be leagues above the most perfect woman in any society. He’s so enraged, he doesn’t see the striking woman stomping towards him as he mounts his horse.
He stops coming to town after that. Whispers grow, how is he sustaining himself? When animals start going missing and cattle wind up dead in the morning, pints of blood drained from their bodies, Henry moves again.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The war is over, and the town is alive. Bars all across the city give out beer and booze by the gallon. No one thinks twice about a bill. How can you charge for happiness on the greatest day in the greatest nation?
Henry sits alone, drowning himself in the most expensive liquor he can buy, not that it would come close to hurting his finances. Normally, he would shy away from large crowds, but his supplies have thinned, and he needs to sate his appetite. As much as he tries to avoid being seen as much as he can, he needs to create more of a presence. A gang of rulebreakers have been snooping around his house, itching for a window to break or a trellis to climb. Since one three of the rugrats have gone missing, Henry needs to put on a friendly face and throw off any questions.
“Hey there, dreamboat. What’ya think about cuttin’ a rug?”
Henry wouldn’t have even glanced over if something about the voice wasn’t… oddly familiar. A voice he knows better than his own, a voice that has been replaying in his memories and his nightmares for decades.
His gaze snaps over, eyes wide like a rabid animal. It’s- you. He knows, it can’t possibly be you, you’ve been gone for nearly 120 years, but it is. The woman in front of him is an exact replica of you.
“(Y/N)? Is that… really you?”
You blink at him, smile wavering a little bit. “I’m sorry, have we met?”
Henry doesn’t respond, still staring at you. He’s scared to move, scared to breath, in fear of scaring away this illusion. He mutters to It, “Is this real, or is this another punishment?”
Your smile starts to drop completely off of your face. “Seems you’re a little bit sauced, huh? Well, I don’t want to be a pain in the neck, then-”
You turn to leave, to leave him, and Henry panics. Quickly, his hand shoots out, wrapping around your bicep. You stumble a little, unexpecting the spontaneous movement.
“No, no, don’t go-”
“Please, sir, I’m not-”
Henry pulls you closer, ignorant to the way you struggle against him and attempt to dig your heels into the bar floor. “I can’t believe it’s you. I’ve missed you so much, my darling-”
Your chest is heaving. Henry can hear your heart pounding in your chest like a little rabbit, and god, it makes him dizzy. “Now, listen, I don’t want to have to-”
Henry isn’t listening to a word you say, much more focused on the sound of your voice and the warmth of your skin. It has never liked warmth, but he thinks he can ignore It just long enough to-
You slap him across the face. The entire bar seems to go silent. Henry stares at the wall, feeling the tingling feeling spread across his cheek. Slowly, he raises his hand to touch his face, caressing the spot where your palm touched his skin.
When he looks back at you, tears are welling in your eyes. He can see the fear, the sweet delicious fear, making your pupils grow wide. Your shoulders are raising quickly, panting from adrenaline. He can practically taste the rich blood pumping through your heart and veins. He’s delirious, high from the feeling of your skin touching his and the sound of your voice in his ears. Oh, how long he has waited for this day, how hard he had begged It to bring you back to him.
Another man comes up to you, gently taking you into his arms, rubbing your shoulders as you sob into his shirt. How dare another man touch you? Henry goes to move forward, but a gang of men pull him back, roughly pushing him back into his chair.
He barely shrugs them off, declaring that he’s leaving, though not without the full intention to whisk you away.
Though you’re difficult to hear over the sound of the band picking up again, Henry hears your voice again as a bartender pushes him out the door.
“I’m fine now. Everything is better with good company.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
It’s no surprise that between the growing numbers of missing persons and the rumors surrounding him that Henry was forced to move yet again. This time, he chooses a small, rural town. News may travel fast in a small town, but a few sheep going missing can easily be blamed on coyotes in the woods.
In an old townhouse in the middle of the woods on the outskirts of town, it’s easy to stay hidden. With a “Beware of dogs” sign in the window and a tall metal fence, any trouble making teens are hesitant to egg his front door. After rumors, which Henry started himself, of the man in the old house being the spirit of a long dead carpenter still looking to whet the blade of his axe, most people have the right mind to take the back roads avoiding his house. With the deed signed by a young man mourning the fictional grandparents who owned the house, Henry plans to be long gone before the bank will start reconsidering.
Until he sees you. He’s sure this time. He knows your smile like a second language, your laugh as familiar as his own heartbeat, even if it’s slowed over time. He sees you, naive little thing, in his garden one day. You’re looking around like you’re expecting a wolf to come out of the bushes at any moment as you creep towards the broken window on the first floor. He can hear the chuckles coming from the younger boys who think they’re well hidden behind the tree trunks as they spur you on towards the windowsill.
You’re careful as you climb into the living room, flinching when one of your feet lands on a creaking floorboard. He can hear the jump in your heartrate, though it’s already beating like a snare drum. When you lean down to pick up the baseball laying on the floor, you notice the shadow engulfing your own. You squeak, a wonderful sound, and turn around to face him.
“The fence is to deter trespassing, not encourage climbing, I’ll have you know.”
You look like you might faint. Forgive him, but he almost hopes you do.
“I- I’m so sorry! I-just-” You’re scrambling over your own feet as you shuffle backwards with Henry creeping towards you. “I’m babysitting these boys, and- and they’re stupid, and I told them not to, but-”
You yelp when your foot snags a bump in the rug, tripping you. You close your eyes, bracing for the impact as you fall towards the floor. Instead, cold arms wrap around your body, holding you up. When you gather the courage to squint, your breath catches in your throat.
Henry is holding you, gazing into your eyes with utmost love and adoration. You stare into his eyes, mouth open in shock.
“Continue, darling. But what?”
You swallow thickly, too stunned to pry yourself from his arms. “But they shot a baseball through your window with a sling-shot-” A voice from outside the window yells wrist-rocket! “And since it’s Lucas’s girlfriend’s step-brother’s ball that his mother gave him, and I think Billy would genuinely kill me if-”
Henry stops listening at the mention of someone hurting you. “Well, we certainly can’t have that.” He releases you from his arms, and quicker than should be possible, places the baseball into your hands.
You blink, looking from him to the ball. “Uh, thanks.” Henry nods at you. “I’ll… uh, just be… leaving then.” You start to walk towards the window, but Henry stops you.
“Please, use the front door. I’d hate to risk you cutting yourself on the broken glass.” Truly, he would. He’s not sure he could contain himself if he caught the scent of even a drop of your blood, and he would hate to spoil the mood so quickly. When he finally eats, he wants to cherish every delightful moment of it.
You smile, god how he missed your smile, slowly crossing over to the front door. Once the door is open, you quickly run back through the open gate, you’re sure you checked if it was open before climbing over the least-rusted section. A gang of younger children chase after you, laughing as you scold them.
Now about this “Billy” character…
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
After his glimpse of you, Henry can’t seem to get enough. Though he doesn’t need sleep anymore, his days and nights seem never-ending now, he thinks of you late into the darkness, mind still lingering on you as the sun starts to rise. His hunger, though recently satiated, has slowly started to creep in. He avoids feeding as long as he can, returning to the boy in the cellar when he starts to feel that itching again and again. Eventually, the boy can’t supply any more, so Henry is forced to consider other methods.
He’s hesitant to venture into town, especially with the people so aware of their surroundings. He hadn’t expected the boy to raise such a fuss, merely some outsider with little town involvement. Perhaps it hadn’t helped that his disappearance came so soon after the other young man. Still, the posters and the growing number of “good samaritans” looking for the boy have him wary.
Henry is nearly considering returning him, though his family would likely realize the difference quickly when the boy stops eating, sleeping, refusing to leave the house in the humid summers. He hadn’t meant to turn the boy, but It had called to him, asking him to feed more than he would usually dare. When the boy, having had enough of Henry’s power to remain unconscious for many more days, had weakly turned his head to protest, Henry had stumbled away in fear. Even now, as It calls to him, ordering him to return to the cellar where the boy endlessly pounds at the door, reminding him of his duty as the boy’s master to help him with the transition, Henry cannot force himself to see the boy. He knows, without someone to help him the transition will be painful. Still, in fear and shame, Henry can’t face him.
He’s grateful when the boy’s shouting finally ends. A moment of peace.
Then-
Knock, knock, knock. Henry nearly jumps out of his skin. With the boy’s noise, he hadn’t heard anyone approach the house. Slowly, he creeps towards the front door, staying in the small afternoon shadows of the drapes.
“Hello?”
God, he loves your voice. You make him feel new again, like the high he’s still chasing from his first feed. Still, he can’t risk the boy scaring you away. He goes to the cellar door first, to convince the boy to stay quiet.
“Oh my god, Will, is that really you?” Your voice is wavering, like you might be crying.
Henry stops, whirling towards the door. Through the glass panes, he can see two shadows. No, he couldn’t-
“Yeah,” the boy croaks. His voice is hoarse from screaming. “It’s me.”
Henry races towards the door. The boy must be hungry, it’s been days since he turned. And without Henry to help him, there is no way he could resist-
“Will, what happened-”
“I’m so sorry, (Y/N).” Henry’s almost at the door. He doesn’t even take the time to admire your name, the way it sounds on the boy’s lips. Just hold on a little longer, dear.
“What? I don’t-” Your sentence is cut off with a scream.
Henry yanks the door open with such a force that the wood groans and splinters. He grabs the boy by his shirt collar, throwing him back without a care for where he lands. If he’s hurt you-
“Oh my god, what the f-”
The boy starts to claw his way up from the dirt, racing towards you like a feral animal. If only Henry had more courage, the boy would be tempered by now.
Henry holds you, scanning your body quickly. There’s a small trail of blood, calm yourself man, but not enough to do any damage, maybe just enough to cause some dizziness.
“Shh, it’s okay, it’ll be-”
The boy tackles Henry, and the two roll, twigs scraping at their arms. Henry is still stronger, more well adjusted, and he throws the boy off of him quickly.
Henry makes his way back to you, covering you with his body. You’re trembling, eyes wide with fear and tears. The boy turns towards you, but Henry is more focused on making sure that you are okay.
The boy starts to run to you. Henry knows what he needs to do, but he can barely bring himself to do it. Still, if he doesn’t, the boy will, and the boy can’t control himself.
“I’m sorry, darling.” He bites into your neck, trying as hard as he can to bite on your previous wound. You go limp quickly; he’s well-practiced.
Henry turns to the boy. “Now. You.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
You feel your whole body ache before you really open your eyes. You’re groggy, and the heavy feeling in your limbs isn’t helping as you rub the sleep from the corners of your eyes. It’s dark, and despite your tiredness, you feel like you’ve been asleep for years.
You groan and look around, trying to take in as much of your surroundings as you can in the dark. You’re on a sofa, and a nice one at that, so definitely not your own. Despite your mind feeling like walking in mud, you distantly recognize the room, though you don’t know how.
From beyond the room, you can hear voices yelling. It’s two men arguing, you can barely make out their sentences. Must be Will and that one guy. As the fog in your mind fades, you see the room more clearly. The whole room, a living room, is covered in dust, and the fireplace is grey after years without use. The furniture is definitely vintage, and it looks straight out of your mom’s soap operas.
When you sit up, a spring in the sofa squeaks, and the voices stop. Fuck. You hold your breath, hoping they credit the noise to just the nature of an older house.
“(Y/N)? Darling, is that you?” It’s the man again. How does he know my name? And why is he being so fucking weird? Calling me darling, trying to hold me. Oh god, and I was unconsci-
“(Y/N), we can hear you breathing, we know you’re awake,” Will shouts. Damn, he’s never really been the aggressive type. Perhaps the days he was missing have changed him.
You exhale slowly, trying to level your heart rate. You slowly stand up and walk over to the door. When you crack the door open, the men both turn to look at you. Will quickly looks away and grits his teeth, but the other man… he’s staring at you, full force. No one has ever looked at you quite like that–like he wants to devour you whole.
Even as you creep into the room, you keep your distance, slowly circling towards Will while avoiding the man. Will still won’t look at you, odd for the kind, nerdy boy you’re used to. Though that isn’t the only difference. He looks like he grew up overnight. The boy that went missing a few days ago is nearly a stranger to the almost-man standing in front of you. Though, with the same bowl cut, even though he desperately needs a shower, the same mole above his lip, you can’t second-guess yourself. Under the broad shoulders and the newfound height, Mike is going to lose it, it’s still Will.
“(Y/N), it’s okay. I won’t b-” The man kind of chokes on a joke, one that seems to only make sense to himself. “It’s okay.” He’s still staring at you, his pupils blown wide. Is he high? Is he some kind of, like, user?
“Will, are you-” You slowly stalk closer to him. “Are you okay? I mean, you’ve been gone for like, days. Your mom is going nuts, and Jonathan thought you were dead, I mean, I swear I heard about a body, and Mike-” Will’s attention finally snaps back to you.
“Mike? What about Mike-” Will starts to rush towards you, but the man holds him back.
“Don’t touch him!” You snap at the same moment that Will growls, actually fucking growls, at the man, like some kind of rabid dog. Ignoring the shock and horror in the man’s eyes, you grab Will’s arm and pull him to you. “Will, let’s get out of here,” you whisper, turning to pull him towards the door. When he doesn’t move, you quickly look back at him.
“Will, come on.” He grits his teeth and swallows, still staring at the man. They look like they’re in some kind of silent argument. “Will, seriously, we need to-”
“(Y/N), we’re not leaving.” Will finally looks down at you, okay, he was not this tall a week ago, a sense of finality in his eyes.
“What are you talking about? Yes, we are.”
Will breathes a deep sigh, and gently puts his hand on your arm. “(Y/N), I’m sorry, but-”
“No! I- I don’t know what is going on, but we have to get out of here!” Will opens his mouth, but you cut him off. “And I am not leaving without you!”
“You’re not leaving at all.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Henry growls out the words, stepping closer to you, ignoring how you quickly step away.
“Okay, fuck you. Yes, we are. Will-” You’re starting to frantically pull at Will’s arm.
“(Y/N), I don’t want to hurt you.” Will grabs your hand pulling at his wrist.
“I don’t understand, what are you talking about?” Tears are starting to form at the corners of your eyes. You’re so beautiful, even when you cry.
“You’re staying here,” Henry says, still stalking towards you like a wolf hunting a rabbit. Your heart is beating like one too.
“No, no- We’re- we’re leaving.” Henry is almost in arm’s reach of you. “No, get away from me. Will, seriously- let me- let me go.” Henry is behind you now, caging you in between him and Will.
You still as Henry gently puts his hands on your biceps, but he can still hear the way your heart pounds in your chest and your body starts to shudder with silent sobs.
You’re still silent as he turns you to face him. The boy turns to look out of the front window, thankfully giving Henry the little privacy the moment allows him.
“Darling, you must stay here.” Henry ignores the quiet refusals you start to give him, instead reaching up to brush a tear from your cheek. You flinch away from his hand, but you don’t pull from his arms, a small grace. “I’m afraid I’ve lost you too many times to let you slip away now.”
“I don’t- I don’t understand.” You cry, refusing to look at him.
“You don’t need to.” You give a half-hearted, humorless chuckle. It still sounds delightful to him.
The boy coughs. “Hey, um-”
“Master-” Henry corrects.
“Yeah, I’m not calling you that. Anyway, I’ll be back,” the boy calls as he stalks to the front door.
You turn to look at him, starting to pull from Henry’s arms. “Wait, no, don’t leave me here! Where are you going?”
The boy turns and looks at you, though it’s more like he looks over you to look at him. “It’s only fair. If you get to keep her,” You start to squirm again, “I get to keep him.” He turns and walks through the splintered doorframe, that will complicate things, and he’s gone in the dark shadows of the night.
Henry clicks his tongue and looks back at you. You’re panting, obviously frantic from the boy’s words. He’ll have to talk to him about subtlety, especially if Will is to take over hunting.
“I suppose I should explain.”
By the time he finishes, telling you about, well, you, and the courtship, the war, your death, and the many, many years he spent without you, you’re entirely silent. You don’t say anything for a while, turning from your spot next to him on the sofa to look down at the rug. Though he’d never want to submit you to It, he wishes he knew what thoughts were running through your mind as you picked at the threads on the sofa arm.
Finally, finally, you turn to him. “Is this… like… some kind of, weird, sex… thing?”
He chokes a little. “W-What? No- No, it’s-” He can’t seem to find the right words.
“I mean, I’m not trying to shame you, but like, you’re not serious, right?” You’re looking at him with a slight grimace, like he’s some kind of pitiful animal, only one you can’t help feeling sorry for despite your disgust.
“Of course, I’m serious!” Henry is appalled. He’s laid his very soul bare at your feet, and you’ve practically spit on him.
Worse, you laugh, actually laugh, at him, “Well, you can’t seriously think I’m going to go along with this! I mean, really?” When Henry doesn’t laugh with you, your chuckles fade. “Really?? No- what? No, I’m not your dead wife reincarnated, are you insane? And I’m definitely not staying here with you,” you stand from the sofa.
Henry stands with you. “Of course you are. I’m not losing you again.”
“Okay, fuck you-”
“(Y/N)?” A young man shouts from the entry. Henry was too distracted to hear the footsteps or smell the boy as he returned.
Your head whips to the door. “Mike? Is that you?” You rush to the entry, Henry hot on your heels. When you reach the front door, you embrace the young man on the doorstep. Will looks at Henry over your head, a slight smile on his lips.
So, this is who you left for. Henry raises an eyebrow.
Will schools his face, a challenge in his eyes. Is that going to be a problem?
Henry looks at the way you look at Mike, at the way you hold his face in your hands and check him for injuries like a worried mother hen.
Henry looks back at Will. No. For now. But this warrants discussion.
Will smiles, his eyes still harsh. Hell no. But thanks anyway.
The boy turns, pulling the young man under his arm, subtly laying claim. Bastard child. I should’ve just drained him completely-
“Mike, are you nuts?” You are trying to grab him from Will’s arms, but that is about as likely as pulling meat from a ravenous dog.
“(Y/N), dude, this is insane,” the young man, Mike, pants with a smile on his face.
“I know-”
“I mean, I always guessed there was strange shit in Hawkins, but vampires?”
“Right! This is-”
“Awesome!”
You stop, the word horrible dying on your lips. Slowly, your shoulders fall. Mike rattles on about monsters, turning to Will and prattling about magic as your demeanor shifts.
Henry walks up behind you, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder. This time, you don’t flinch.
“How about we get you settled, hm?” You barely nod as he leads you into another room. You’re still empty eyed despite his conversation about bedrooms and clothes and buying anything you would hope for to help pass the time. When he shows you to a room, one he made sure still had a sturdy door and thick window panes, you sit on the edge of the bed.
Sure, he wishes it hadn’t happened this way. He’d love to hear your voice, to have you speak to him with the friendliness you share with Will and Mike. Henry knows you are opinionated, oh and how opinionated you are, and it kills him to see you so… empty.
Still, fear can turn to love. And despite how long he’s waited to see you, to hold you, to feel you again, he has all the time in the world to wait for you to see him too. As you once said, all’s better with good company.
