#henry dean

[angelwings-onfire]

| CW: mention if injury, fresh wounds, blood, violence

| @flowersarefreetherapy

—————————

Henry

“Get it off!”

“It’s not that simple!”

My heart was racing. Victoria had quickly cleaned my forehead then had left to get medicine. Leaving me and Andrew alone. He had carefully unwrapped my hands, exposing raw skin and wounds leaking blood and puss. A few small pieces of tar has dried on the skin.

“It’s will pull the skin off with it.” Andrew rung out a towel which was covered in blood.

“I know that.” I hated that I was still crying. I didn’t know if it was from the extreme pain or the trauma of the experience. “So just do it.”

He frowned, kneeling in front of me to inspect the skin. The burns were covering both hands a small part of my wrists. I tried taking deep breaths to distract myself from the pain.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Collins on the ground. Tar covering his skin. His body writhing in pain. His grip on my hands as I tried to pull the tar off of him. I didn’t even feel the pain until he had stopped moving.

“Hey,” Andrew snapped his finger in front of my face. His eyes were filled with concern, and for once he wasn’t glaring.

“Please, Andrew, just get it off.” My voice shook.

“Henry… I think we should get a doctor.”

I shook my head, “no.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” He whispered, looking up from where he was sitting in front of me on the floor.

“No doctor is going to help me, I’m a redcoat.”

He nodded once, “okay, then you need to tell me what to do.”

“Why?”

“You wanted to be a damn doctor, you should know something!” He grabbed a fresh bandage.

My head spun. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Well it needs to come off, it’s trapping dirt in between it and your skin.”

“The skin that’s going to come off anyways?”

“Shut up.” He stood, adjusting his grip on the bandage in his hands like that would do something.

“Just grab it and pull it off.”

“Quickly or slowly?” His fingers settle on a small piece of tar on my wrist.

“Quickly.” I nodded once, preparing myself for the pain.

I was not prepared.

I heard the sound of my skin ripping, and blood immediately pooled in the raw flesh left behind. He quickly wrapped it in the clean cloth, tying it off.

“One more.” He muttered, carefully rotating my other hand to see the palm. A long piece of tar sat on the fleshy area directly below my thumb. Tears welled in my eyes as I looked at it.

“Ready?” He whispered.

I let his gaze, nodding once. This time I cried out as my skin tore. This one had been worse. I doubled over, pain and tears blurring my vision. Andrew knelt down and started carefully wrapping my hand. He adjusted himself so I could rest my forehead on his shoulder, which I did.

And I cried. I cried from the pain. I cried for Collins. I cried for the unrest here. I cried for this life i never wanted.

After a long time, I looked down at both of my hands. White bandages stained with blood already.

“Henry,” his hand gently cupped my face as he pulled away. “Tori will be back soon with the medicine. You’ll be okay.”

I nodded, trying to steady my breathing.

“But in the meantime, I’m here.” He smiled sadly.

Deep down in me, something settled. An unrest that had been churning in me for weeks. With him, I felt safe.

[mademoiselleclipon]

Henry Dean

[incorrectdarktower]

Henry Dean: Guess what I'm doing tomorrow?

Eddie Dean: Becoming a productive member of society?

Henry Dean: Eddie. Come on.

[stephenkingsbooks]

Flip-flop, hippety-hop, offa your rocker and over the top, life's a fiction and the world's a lie, so put on some Creedence and let's get high.

Henry Dean; Great Sage and Eminent Junkie

[angelwings-onfire]

| CW: mention of death, extreme violence, historical torture, emotional whump

| @flowersarefreetherapy

——————————

Andrew

Two months. Two months of working my ass off every night and helping my Ma during the day. Two months of watching Victoria become a star with the redcoats; I didn’t understand why she interacted with them, but she did and they loved her. Two months of barely interacting with Henry.

I only see Pa once or twice a week; he barely comes home these days. The colonies are full of unrest and more British soldiers come with every ship.

Every once in a while Henry gets a letter which leaves him in a sour mood. We talk in passing but never more.

It was a warm summers evening. Ma was out in town with a lady she knew; they were shopping for material of some kind. Victoria bustled around the kitchen, cooking dinner. I sat at the table, buried in books about shipping routes.

“Andrew, come help clean these potatoes.” Victoria’s voice broke my thoughts. I pushed myself from the table and into the kitchen. I took the small brush with bristles and started scrubbing the potatoes. We worked in silence for a few minutes.

“When is Ma coming back?” I glanced over my shoulder at her.

She shrugged, her long curly hair falling over her shoulders, “she didn’t say.”

I nodded once.

“When is Henry and officer Daltry coming back? Will they be here for dinner?” She stood beside me, cleaning a dish.

“Don’t know.” I scrubbed the potato harder.

“Are you going to avoid him forever?”

“We’re not friends, Tori. I don’t want to be his friend.” I glared at her.

“Whatever you say,” she laughed as she walked back to the sink.

I shook my head. We weren’t friends. We hardly talked. Even though I thought of him constantly, and the feeling of his hands on my skin and his lips on mine. We were just friends.

We worked in silence. Once I finished the potatoes, I cut them into chunks to cook.

Then I heard the yelling from outside. People were always yelling, so at first I ignored it. Then it got louder and I recognized the voices. They were the voices of redcoat’s who Henry was with frequently. As the sounds passed the door, I went back to work.

Victoria looked at me and I shrugged. It was none of our business. Just as we were getting back into the process of making the food, the front door burst open. I looked up to see Henry stumble in, slamming the door behind him. His uniform was disheveled and he didn’t have his rifle. A cut across his forehead was covered in dried blood. Both his hands were wrapped in white material.

He sank to the floor, sobs racking his body.

“What the hell happened?” I rushed over, kneeling down in front of him. He pushed his hands into his face, crying harder. Victoria knelt down on his other side, looking at his forehead and then the bandages snaking up his arms.

“I’ll get medicine and clean water.” She rushed off. I didn’t have time to respond to her.

“Henry.” I put my hands on his knees, trying to get him to talk to me. His pants were muddy, and I noticed a few chicken feathers on them.

Hell no…. I know what happened.

“Henry, how badly are you hurt?” I gently grabbed his upper arms and moved his hands away from his face. I didn’t know how far up his arms the bandages went.

Dirt and blood mixed with tears on his face.

“Tell me what happened.” I held his gaze.

He took many deep, shaky breaths, “Andrew, they, they…” his chin quivered, and i felt my heart break a little.

“The feathers,” I motioned to his pants.

He shook his head, more tears flowing, “he was just a kid.”

I hung my head, “who did it?”

“A…a group by the docks. As we were passing, they, they grabbed him and dragged him away.” He looked away from me, “we ran after them but they had already poured the tar.”

I fell back on my heels, shaking my head.

“Daltry and Vills shot two of the men,” he took a deep breath, fighting to speak clearly through the sobs. “The other three ran, ran off.”

“Who was it?” My voice was low.

“Collins.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I tried to get it off his, his face. But it was too late. He screamed and screamed,” he hung his head and I scooted forward, pulling him into my arms. I was careful not to touch his hands. I cradled his head as he cried into my chest.

“Then he stopped crying and the alley was quiet. I was holding his hand. I really tried to help him.”

“I know.” I saw Victoria by the table, getting things ready.

“I told them, told them to go after the other men, but Daltry stopped to wrap my hands. Then he, he sent me home.”

“Aye.” I pulled back. “We need to clean your cut and see your hands.”

“Daltry, he got most of it off.”

“There will still be burns.” I helped him stand. I gently led him over to the table, where he sat. Victoria immediately started cleaning the cut on his forehead, but she stopped to press a kiss into his forehead.

“You’re safe now.” She cupped his face. Something she had done to me time and time again when I was hurt.

He nodded once, looking at me with tears in his eyes, “please stay?” His voice was barely audible.

“I’m not going anywhere.” I glanced at my sister, who quickly brushed a tear away before Henry could see. I knew she cared for him as a brother.

Fury burned in me, but I pushed it aside. I would hunt down those men later. For now, Henry needed me. And I’d be here for him.

[angelwings-onfire]

| @flowersarefreetherapy

———————

Andrew

I didn’t flinch every time the string pulled against my skin. His hands were stained from my blood. My head hurt and I knew I needed to rest, but I couldn’t. I had to work and I had to provide for my family.

As soon as he tied the knot in the string, I went to stand, but he pushed me back into the chair.

“Absolutely not. I still need to cover it.”

“It’s fine.” I tried pushing past him but he wouldn’t let me.

I gave up, slumping in the chair in protest. He shook his head, smiling.

“That’s a nasty wound you have.”

I jumped. Henry laughed at my skittishness. I slapped his arm.

Daltry stood in the doorway, removing his jacket and musket.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, I assumed you would’ve heard the door open.”

“Everything’s muddy.” I muttered, folding my arms, only to have my shoulder and chest flare in pain.

Henry kept grinning as he bandaged the wound, wrapping the dressings around my shoulder. Daltry looked over his shoulder at me and the wound, nodding once.

“Good job, son.” He patted Henry’s back before exiting upstairs. Henry worked quietly, tying off the bandage.

“All done.” He stepped back to admire his work. I felt like a piece of art from the way they were he kept staring at me.

“Can I go?”

“Not yet.” He grabbed a chair and sat in front of me.

“What now?” I rolled my eyes, grabbing my bloodied shirt from the table and pulling it on, despite my shoulders protest.

“We can’t go on ignoring it.”

“We can, actually.” I folded my arms.

Something shifted in his eyes, “fine.”

I was surprised that he gave up so quick. He shrugged, standing and grabbing his things.

“What the hell are you doing?” I stood.

“What you want,” he stopped, looking at me. “You want us to hate each other and ignore each other.”

“I never said that.” I scoffed.

“But your actions said it.”

I sighed, running a hand down my face. This damn redcoat.

“We just… can’t be more than friends.” my voice was low.

He nodded once, “friends it is.”

“Friends it is.” I held out my hand, and he shook it.

He went up the stairs, leaving me with a sinking feeling in my stomach.

[angelwings-onfire]

| CW: mention of injury and blood

| @flowersarefreetherapy

Henry

“I told you,” I huffed as I pulled him up. “To stay awake.”

“Well, forgive me for passing out from blood loss.” He tried to push me away but he tripped and almost fell.

I helped him sit on a chair at the table. Sweat had broken out across his forehead.

“So you just slept on the couch all night while you bled?” I grabbed bandages from my small medicine bag.

“Aye.” He glared at me. I had come to realize he always glared. His gaze softened as he leaned back, resting his head on the back of the chair. “I’m so tired…”

“Don’t fall asleep.” Nervousness crept up in my throat.

“I think… I think I’m just gonna rest my eyes.” His eyes were already shut.

“Andrew.” I shook his shoulder. He slapped my hand away.

“That hurts!”

“You need to stay awake. Your body is exhausted from blood loss.”

“I’ve had injuries like this before.” He grimaced as I unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it off. “It’ll heal fine.”

“You’ve been injured like this before?” I frowned, examining the deep wound in the flesh under his collarbone.

“Aye.”

“You colonists bewilder me.”

He scoffed, “you act like you damn redcoats aren’t any better.”

I shook my head at him, “I need to clean it.”

He opened his mouth in mockery, “I would’ve never thought of that.”

“Listen,” I leaned down so I was at eye level with him. “I understand you hate me and want to forget what happened between us. But this has to be cleaned and dressed. Then we can go back to hating each other.”

He rolled his eyes, the light reflecting off of his golden hair. Frustration was built in me, ready to explode. I didn’t hate him. But part of him hated me. Maybe just because i was a redcoat. Maybe because he felt as if he needed someone to take his anger out on.

Either way, I couldn’t leave him alone to bleed and get sick from an infection. I pulled medicine and a string and needle out of the small bag.

“I don’t hate you.”

His voice was so low I had barely heard it.

I nodded once. We didn’t have time to have that conversation right now.

I slowly started cleaning the wound. I wanted to ask how he was attacked, or more details. But I knew he would get mad.

I just wished he would let me in.

[angelwings-onfire]

| CW: mention of blood and injury

| @flowersarefreetherapy

————————

Andrew

“You look tired.”

My stomached flipped. I looked up from my meal at the redcoat. He stood awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs. It was quiet in the house; Ma and Victoria were out in town. I had just woken up from a late night at the docks.

“Aye, I am.” I shoved a piece of dry bread into my mouth to distract myself.

“Andrew, can we talk please?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” I glared at him.

He came forward and sat down on the chair opposite to me.

“But there is.”

“It was a mistake.” I folded my arms and leaned back in the chair.

“We both know it wasn’t.” His eyes softened as they met mine. His eyes that sparkles brighter than the sun.

“We can’t do this, Henry.” I bit back emotion.

“We can try.”

“If they catch us, they’ll kill us.” I whispered.

He nodded, “so we leave and go somewhere they can’t find us.”

“No.” I shook my head, “I will not leave my family. And you’re going to go back to England when this all ends.”

“I could stay.”

“Henry, no.” I stood, taking the dish to the kitchen. I heard him follow me.

“Your cheek healed well.” He leaned against the counter behind me.

“Aye,” after a moment I added, “thank you.”

He nodded, slowly turning and walking away.

I pushed the hurt down; I would not allow myself to lower my guard for him.

Andrew

I stumbled into the house. After a long night of work, followed by a fight outside the tavern, I was exhausted.

I could feel the blood drop down my chest but I told myself I’d take care of it tomorrow. I needed sleep. Pulling my shoes off, i made my way further into the dark house. I never made it up the stairs; instead, I fell onto the couch and was asleep in an instant.

Someone shook my shoulder. I didn’t want to wake up. My eyes were too heavy and my mind was still foggy. Then they shook my shoulder again and I felt pain spread across my chest. I sat up, shoving the person away. Instinctively, I reached for my knife, only to remember I had lost it in the fight last night.

I groaned when I saw Henry standing there, looking concerned. I rolled onto my side, trying to block out the light from the window.

The window. Daylight.

“Damn it!” I sat up, looking around. The house was quiet. I could hear the bustle of the city outside. Henry folded his arms, raising his eyebrow.

“Where…?” I grimaced, my shoulder on fire.

“Shopping, in town.” He nodded towards the door. “It was almost impossible to convince your family and William to let me stay with you.”

I nodded, pressing my palms into my eyes. My head throbbed. My shoulder flamed with what I could tell was infection.

“What the hell happed?” He sat next to me.

“Drunken fight.” I slowly moved my arm in a circle to assess the damage.

“With?”

I glared at him, “some men outside a tavern.”

“And they what, stabbed you? Shot you?”

“Stabbed me. With a broken piece of glass.”

“Andrew, you could’ve bled out.”

“It’s a small wound.” I lied.

He rolled his eyes. “I’m cleaning it and you’re resting today.”

“Why are you always acting like a doctor?” I leaned back, resting my throbbing head and closing my eyes.

“I was going to be a doctor.” His voice was low.

“Then why are you here?” I could feel myself slowly slipping back into sleep.

“My parents had a different plan.”

I felt the weight shift as he stood, and I felt his hand pat my knee twice, “stay awake. I’ll be back.”

“Hmm.” I nodded, listening to his footsteps retreat.

Then sleep welcomed me back with its warm hand.