All Is Well In Camazotz
Chapter 10: Devil’s Backbone
Pairing: Henry Creel/Reader | Rating: E | Word Count: 3994
Read on AO3 | Previous Chapter | Masterlist
Summary: Henry’s been up in the attic almost every night and you finally find out why.
Warnings: canon typical disturbing themes, hurt/comfort, mentions of blood and scars.
A/N: trust the process with the timeline. Also did you know NASA invented the TASER in the 1970s? The more you know.
July 18th 1984
You changed into your nightgown and waited for Henry to come to bed. After ten minutes you already knew that wasn’t going to happen. Annoyed, you put on your robe and went down the hall to find his study empty. You huffed and went up the other set of stairs. He was where you thought he’d be- the attic. This attic was strange; instead of a hatch, there were stairs that led to a doorway. You found him hunched over a large table in the center of the room with his back to you. He was still in the white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and gray pants from yesterday. The noise of a pen on paper reached your ears.
“Yes dear?” He said, not turning to look at you.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing. Go to bed; I’ll be down in a minute.”
You sighed heavily. “We both know that’s not true.”
He was guarded about what he’d been doing the past two weeks. Every other night or so he would be in his study or the attic working on something. He dodged your questions, giving you half answers or none at all. You let it go for the most part. However, nosiness finally got the better of you and you moved towards him.
Threw his hand back, blocking you at the doorway.
“Henry!”
“What!” He yelled and half turned to face you. His hair was messy, like he ran his hands through it repeatedly. “Go to bed without me.”
“What is that?”
You tried to look around him. Whatever it was, it was large. A paper? He stared at you for a moment. Something in the back of your mind whispered. He relaxed and you felt the barrier around you disappear.
“I’m building something.” He said much softer and turned back to the table.
“Like a model?”
You took a cautious step forward. When he didn’t stop you again, you walked over to him. On the table was a map; a large one. He had a pen in his hand and you noted the large lines inked around parts of the map.
“Is this Hawkins?”
“Yes,” he looked over at the map. “I’m building tunnels.”
“Tunnels?”
“Tunnels. Underground.” He leaned over and inked a line further along.
“Baby, that’s normally where tunnels are.” He shot you a look. “How are you building them?”
“The connection,” he kept drawing, now going around Lover’s Lake. “I’m building them using the connection.”
You had no idea what that meant. He didn’t seem to be in the mood to tell you.
“Okay but why?”
You swore you heard a whisper. You looked around the room but saw nothing.
“The tunnels will make it easy for the Tall Ones to move about unnoticed. Or the crawlers; the eggs should hatch by October. They grow fast.” You felt a chill run over you. He moved around the table to scribble more. “Brenner is still there. They say he’s gone, but they’re lying. Owens is in charge as a front.”
You just watched Henry for a moment. He talked like Brenner was gone.
“How do you know that?” You finally asked.
“The connection,” he repeated, not looking at you. “They’ve been taking William to see Owens.” He scowled. “That bastard knows where Brenner is, I just have to be able to get to him.”
“And the tunnels will help?”
“Yes. Spreading the gates.” He stilled, and dropped the pen. It was like he came out of a trance. He sighed heavily. “I have to channel when William is asleep. He makes them. I just tell him where to go.”
He rubbed his eyes from under his glasses. Your stomach sank at the dried blood on the back of his hand and around his nose. You quickly schooled your features while he adjusted his glasses, but his eyes dropped to how you had your arms crossed tight against your chest.
“You’re worried.”
“Confused,” you deflected. “You’re building tunnels in Hawkins while William is asleep?”
“Correct.”
A beat of silence passed between you.
You sighed. “Henry, what the fuck?”
He just stared again. There was a strange look in his eyes that gave you the chills again.
“William is still connected. Dormant. He’s our anchor to the real world. When he sleeps, we get information. Where do you think your new books come from? The movies, the music? All of it comes from the connection.”
Henry blinked several times and his body language changed to something more relaxed.
He added. “I learned he calls the Tall Ones ‘Demagorgons’.” He made a face. “What kind of stupid name is that?”
You thought it was an improvement over “tall ones” but you kept your mouth shut.
“He also calls The Shadow a ‘mind flayer’,” he waved hand and wiggled his finger for effect. “Whatever the hell that means.”
You sighed again.
“Can you come to bed or are you going to stay up here?”
“I’m staying.” He studied the map again, looking for something. “Go to bed. He’ll sleep again soon.”
You didn’t want to; you hated going to bed alone. You also didn’t like leaving Henry up in the attic. Something about this made you anxious.
“How many more nights before this is done?”
“Depends.” He picked up the pen again and hunched over to draw more tunnels. “Half are done. Ten more nights if he sleeps through the night and I push hard enough.”
Something whispered in the back of your mind again. “Henry?”
“What?” He lifted his head to glare at you.
“Do you want me to help you?”
His eyes unfocused for half a second and his face twitched; just in his brows and eyes but enough you noticed. Fresh blood dripped from his nose.
“She’s not strong enough.” You couldn’t if he was saying that to you or himself. He shook his head. “No, go to bed. Now.” You apparently didn’t move fast enough because he yelled it again. “Now!”
You left quickly, heart pounding as you went down the stairs and to the bedroom. Something in the back of your mind urged you to go back upstairs. You could help Henry; you were stronger than he thought. You could handle it.
But he told you no.
“Sweetheart,” Henry’s voice purred in your head. “Come back upstairs.”
Chills ran over your whole body. Something wasn’t right. You knew you needed to stay in the bedroom but your feet carried you out into the hallway. Henry was at the top of the stairs.
“I changed my mind.” You crept closer- blood stained both his nostrils now. “You still want to help, don’t you dear?”
You did. You went up the stairs and stopped in front of Henry. He smiled at you strangely.
“Pretty girl,” he murmured, looking you over. “You want to be useful.” You nodded.
He took your hand and led you to the table. An itch in the back of your mind pestered you to turn around. You ignored it. Henry picked up the pen again and looked over at you.
“You’re going to help us channel.” He interlocked his fingers with yours. “Don’t be scared; I’m right here.”
“Okay.”
You looked down at the map then your vision was covered with dirt. It was everywhere- above you, below you, you could smell it and you could almost taste it. A force shoved it forward, pushing it and destroying it. It kept going, never ending. Searching to connect to the gate. Searching for Eleven.
Eleven?
A sharp pain shot through your body, that made you cry out. You aren’t here to ask questions, something hissed in your head. You focused back on the dirt until your head hurt and you felt weak. You needed to stop.
Henry?
Your head hurt so badly. You couldn’t breathe.
Henry!
Your eyes flew open and you gasped. Your legs gave out. The only reason you didn’t completely hit the floor was because Henry caught you. You couldn’t stand; he knelt down with you, holding you tight to him. You were both shaking and breathing heavily.
“You’re okay. You’re okay.” He whispered, cradling your head against his chest. You had a feeling he said it more for himself than for your benefit. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
You tasted blood. You brought your hand up to your face and felt it all over your face; not just your nose and mouth, but on your cheeks as well. You sat up; Henry didn’t seem willing to let you go at first but he helped you. His face crumpled when he looked down at you. You could see blood on his shirt from where your face was.
“I told him you weren’t strong enough.” He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped your face gently. “I shouldn’t have let you try. I shouldn’t have. I should have pushed back. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” It wasn’t. So much blood stained his handkerchief and you were so tired. “I’ll go lay down.”
After trying and failing to stand on your own, Henry picked you up and carried you to bed. He sat you down and helped you take off your robe. He then asked you to wait for him to wet a towel in the bathroom. When he came back, he wiped your face and neck again removing what was left of the blood. When he was done, he cradled the back of your head with his hand, leaning to look you in the eyes.
“Do not go back up the stairs. Do you understand?” You nodded. He visibly relaxed and kissed your forehead. “Don’t look for me until this is done. No matter what.”
He helped you lay down and covered you with the blankets.
“Henry?” He stilled, still leaning over you. “Can you stay? Until I go to sleep?”
He seemed conflicted about your request. You thought he’d leave; you were a grown woman, he didn’t need to stay with you. Instead he knelt down on the floor and rested his arms on the side of the bed.
“Thank you,” you murmured.
He held your hand until you fell asleep and was gone when you awoke.
You didn’t see Henry again for two weeks.
At first you heard footsteps and indistinguishable words being said upstairs when you were in the hallway and in the bedroom. Sometimes you’d hear a voice that sounded like Henry saying your name inside your head. He’d say it so lovingly, begging you to join him. When you ignored him, he would say things you knew the real Henry would never say to you. At least you hoped he’d never say them to you.
After a few days the voices stopped. Henry stayed upstairs.
Some days you had the urge to go check on him. Your feet carried you to the base of the stairs and you’d have to force yourself to turn around. Sometimes you would stand there listening for proof that Henry was still alive. You normally left when you heard muttering or footsteps.
You started staying on the first floor to keep yourself from checking on him. Just when you thought you would go crazy from the waiting, you heard footsteps on the stairs from the attic. You ran to the staircase and got halfway up when you stopped.
Henry looked worse for wear. His shirt was unbuttoned and hung loose on him. It still had your blood stained on it along with blood you knew came from him. The collar of his undershirt was stretched, like he’d tugged on it constantly. His nostrils, upper lip, and hands were stained red; his under eyes were deep purple. He stared at you for a moment then went into the bedroom without a word. You ran up to join him. He was trying to take his shirt off when you came in.
“Let me help.” He jumped at the sound of your voice. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” He stumbled back from you. Even his voice sounded rough. “I just need to sleep.”
“Will you get in the bath?” You went to the bathroom door to gauge his reaction. He thought for a moment and nodded. “I’ll start it.”
You started the water while he undressed. His movements were so sluggish, you went to help him but he shooed you away. With a heavy sigh you laid out fresh clothes and grabbed towels. He cursed loudly right when you came back into the bathroom. He was in the bath and turned off the water. He glanced over and saw the startled look on your face.
“The water is hot.”
You thought that odd considering you checked it when you started it and made it less warmer than you personally liked it.
“Do I need to run it again?” You asked, setting the towels down.
“No,” he sighed and slumped back against the end of the tub. “This is fine. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”
You took a wash cloth and walked over to kneel on the bath mat. You slipped off your flannel shirt, leaving on just your blue tank top so you wouldn’t get the sleeves wet.
“Can I?” You asked.
“You don’t have to,” he whispered while you wet and soaped up the cloth. His eyes were already drooping closed.
“Well, I am. Deal with it.” You teased him.
He grumbled something you didn’t understand. You started with his arm first. You scrubbed the blood off his hand and under his nails. It was when you went up his arm to his chest that you stilled. Scars that weren’t there before littered his body. You lowered his arm back into the water. They were on his arms and legs. Some were angry pink, shaped like tree branches. Some looked like healed burn marks. Others looked deep, like the ones on his stomach. Even under water you could see puncture wounds that healed over poorly.
“Henry?” He hummed but didn’t open his eyes. You inhaled sharply at the scarring on his face. You second guessed yourself; there was a reason he hid them. “Nothing. Lift your other arm.”
He didn’t. “You can see them, can’t you?”
“What?”
“The scars.” He opened his eyes. Your stomach flipped on itself seeing one eye pure white. He looked down at himself and sighed heavily. “I normally hide them.”
“Oh.” You took his arm out of the water yourself and started with his fingers.
“My eye must be showing too.” He held up his right hand, and moved it. You assumed to check whether he could see it or not.
“It is.” You didn’t look at him, focusing intensely on his blood coated nails. You gently asked, “Is that what the glasses are for?”
“Yes.” He sighed and lowered his hand back into the water “I can’t fully fix it. I split my vision and use the glasses to correct the rest.”
You stopped scrubbing for a moment. You still didn’t look him in the eyes, opting to stare at the wall of the tub.
“Would you want me to heal it?”
He didn’t respond. You finally looked over at him; he studied you for a moment.
“Maybe one day,” he replied.
There was a heavy silence between you while you finished his arm. When you leaned back, he pointed to one on his leg. It was a tree branch shaped; he lifted it out of the water to show you. He explained those and the burns came from when Eleven sent him away. Something like lightning struck him several times. You moved on while he talked, forcing him to sit up to wash his back.
“The ones on my stomach are from the lab.” You stilled then pulled back. He gave you a sheepish look. “They tested something called a TASER. They used it twice before Papa had them go back to the cattle prods.” He scoffed. “He considered it inhumane.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
You blinked several times and replied, “You always grab my hand when I touch your stomach.”
“Yes. I do.” He saw the look on your face and added, “Don’t.
You nodded. You swallowed your feelings and asked, “Um, do you want me to wash your hair?”
He let out a laugh. “I’m surprised it’s still there.” You didn’t laugh with him. “You don’t have to do this. I’m not a child.”
“No, you aren’t. But I want to. You’re almost done anyway.”
You went back to washing him, mindful of the scarring as you went. He nodded off even with you moving him around and wiping the blood off his face. You finally drained the tub and rinsed him but he refused to move when you told him to stand.
“I can stay here.” He said with his eyes closed.
“You’ll get cold.”
“I like it cold.”
You huffed and stood. “Out of the tub, now!”
“Do not fuss at me.” He opened his eyes and crinkled his nose at you. You put your hands on your hips and he groaned. “Fine.”
You grabbed the towel off the counter while he got out of the bath. The scars are more visible out of the water. He noticed you staring and took the towel.
“They’ll go away when I have my energy back.” He muttered, drying himself off.
“You don’t have to hide them.” From me, went unspoken.
“I know.” He said solemnly. “I want to.”
You followed him out to the bedroom and he grumbled when you started to dress him.
“Since when do I wear anything to bed,” he huffed, putting on the soft pants you forced into his hands.
“It’s about being comfortable, but you don’t have to wear them if you don’t want to.”
He rubbed his hands over them once he got them on. “They’re fine.”
You stood in front of him with a tan knit sweater- your favorite of his. It was the softest one he owned. You held the neck open and he ducked down to let you put it over his head. He shivered when you let go.
“Is this okay?”
He nodded, putting his arms through. He ran his hands several times over the fabric, humming each time he did it. You went around him and pulled back the blanket. When he got on the bed, you made sure to tug the pants legs down so they weren’t bunched. You pulled the blanket back over him.
“There. Cozy.” You straightened up and he grabbed your wrist gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know.” He stared at the wall. “Would you,” he paused. “Nevermind.”
“What is it?”
“I wanted you to get something for me.” He whispered. You waited. He added, “it’s stupid.”
“It probably isn’t.”
He flushed. “You’ll think I’m weak.”
“Baby just tell me.” What could he want that was so embarrassing? “What do you need?”
He closed his eyes as if looking at you made it harder.
“There’s a bear in my room. My real room. Will you get it?”
That wasn’t the request you expected. Though taken aback, you tried to not show it.
“Of course.”
He let you go. You went into the hall and into Henry’s old room. You never went in fully before outside of that one time when he brought William in. It was every bit a young boy’s room frozen in time. You saw the bear on the dresser. It looked well loved. You picked it up and turned it over in your hands. It was soft, a little worn but in good shape; you hugged it without thinking. You could see why Henry wanted it.
What happened upstairs? You thought, still holding it tight.
After a moment, you left the room still holding it close. In the bedroom Henry looked like he was sleeping. You went up to him slowly and stopped.
“Hey,” you whispered to see if he’d respond. He opened his eyes. “I have it.”
“Thank you.” He took it from you and hugged it tight.
“Can I lay down with you?”
“Please.” He whispered.
You shimmied off your pants, leaving you in your tank top and underwear. You got in on your side of the bed and scooted close to him. You put your arm under his and one of your legs between his own to squeeze up against him. You tried not to think about how cold he felt.
You finally went to sleep after avoiding it for two weeks. Knowing Henry was now safe in bed with you helped you relax. Then you had your first dream since you’d been in this world with Henry.
You are standing in pitch black. The ground beneath your feet is fluid, like water but somehow sturdy.
Hello dear.
You turn; Henry stands to your left. Chills wash over you. That’s not Henry.
I’ve been waiting to speak with you.
He steps forward and the dream changes. You’re in an office. Brenner’s office. You’re in the seat in front of his desk and Brenner sits in front of you. He’s frowning. This was the day he moved you.
“You do know Henry doesn’t actually love you?” Your stomach churns. “He’s using you. You mean nothing to him.”
“That’s not true.” You say softly.
“Oh it is. He’s not capable of love.” You shake your head and he keeps going. “He’s never loved you and never will. Do you know he only fucks you because he has to?”
“Shut up.”
“He does it to keep you docile. Complacent. You fall for it every time. You even let him fuck you on the clock at the lab, like a whore. Timothy said you looked like a slut who’d beg for dick and he was correct.”
Tears well in your eyes.
“Pathetic. You’re a disappointment to everyone. To me. To Henry.”
“You lie!” You stand out of your chair. “He waited for me. He loves me.”
“Has he said it? The closest to love he’s ever been was with someone else, not you. But you know that.” Brenner gave you a condescending grin. “You know because you see it in his eyes when he talks about her. A pity you’re such a poor substitute for the real thing.”
“Shut up!” You scream and the lights flicker.
Brenner stood. “You are nothing but a weak, slutty pest.” Brenner shifted into Henry. You felt your neck tighten, like a hand was around it. “I was promised someone useful, someone strong. So until you can be that, stay out of our way. I can’t afford a weak bitch like you ruining everything I have built.”
You woke up. You were still curled up against Henry in bed. You let your heart calm down and you slowly removed yourself from around him. You got off the bed and crept around to check on him. He looked peaceful; you let him be and went downstairs. He didn’t get back up until the next afternoon. He came downstairs still in the sweater and pants you put him in. His hair was messy but he looked rested. The scars were gone; his eye was normal again. He acted like nothing happened when he greeted you.
“Henry?” You brought him a cup of coffee. He hummed in response.“What happened in the attic?”
He went very still and he frowned. “I finished the tunnels if that’s what you're asking.” He was very curt with his response. “That’s all you need to worry about.”
You didn’t miss the underlying warning to not press further.
”Of course.” You replied.
You went and made your own coffee. The tension in the room would ease eventually. It always did.
Next Chapter
