Archive of Our Own

The day passed by uneventfully. Or, as uneventfully as it could have. Henry's emotions felt like they'd been switched off ever since his talk with Peter. Even his thoughts were nothing but grey static, and he couldn't focus in any of his classes. He went through the motions, drifting from class to class. He'd gotten snapped at a few times, but he barely responded to the teacher besides looking up at them exhaustedly. He didn't even feel hungry anymore. He simply kept his earphones in and put his head in his arms, waiting for the day to end so he could go home.

For the first time, Henry felt almost excited to go home. His parents were afraid that someone might find out that they weren't feeding him enough? Might find out about the hitting and the bruises? Well, what if he made sure someone found out?

On the way home, Henry planned his next course of action. Mum had always been careful to only hit Henry at home, behind closed doors. For him to get her to snap and strike him in public, he'd have to pull on every ounce of willpower and strength he had to deliberately be horrid, knowing the consequences.

This turned out to be harder than he thought. That weekend, Mum and Peter wanted to go shopping, and since Dad was trying to get some work done at home, they had to bring Henry with them. It was his chance!

Yet, every time he toppled a nicely-folded pile of shirts, he'd turn around to see his Mum glaring at him, and his blood would go cold as past injuries throbbed. He fought through the terror even when his mouth had gone dry and his breathing was quick and shallow, and continued to force himself to misbehave. Now that he'd started it, he had to see it through. He needed her to hit him when others could see, so they'd call the police for him. He knew that if he called them himself, they wouldn't believe him. He needed someone else to vouch for him.

"Mum I want a toy," Henry demanded in a soft voice, tugging on her sleeve.

Mum knocked his hand away and glared. "Henry, stop being horrid. I mean it."

Henry didn't doubt that she did mean it. Pushing back the urge to cry, he stamped his foot and insisted, "You never get me any new toys! You get Peter whatever he wants, but not me!" He gestured toward his wormy brother, who had a new book clutched in his arms and was staring up at Henry with wide, guilty eyes.

Henry could feel a few onlookers' eyes on them, and he made himself glare up at his Mum challengingly. This was it.

Mum's eyes glittered with fury, and sure enough, she raised her hand. Henry winced but forced himself to stand rooted to the spot, hands tightening at his sides and bracing himself for the strike even though he couldn't meet her eyes anymore. He glanced at one of the onlookers, making sure they were watching. 

Hand still raised, Mum followed his quick glance, and her angry expression masked itself with cold indifference. She gestured with her raised hand, as if that had been the reason to lift it in the first place, and ordered, "Henry, go to the car. Peter and I will finish our shopping alone."

"I can't!" Henry argued, panicking. He needed to make her snap or to make someone realise the danger he was in. "Being left alone in a car is dangerous, Mum! Do you want me to die from the heat?!"

"Stop being dramatic, Henry."

"No! You want to hurt me! You want me to go sit in a car by myself for a few hours so you can buy Peter all the toys he wants, while I suffocate to death waitin-!"

Mum grabbed him by the arm and hauled him toward the exit without a word. Peter had to scurry after them, leaving his book and all the clothes they'd planned on buying right where it was in the trolley.

As Henry was being dragged out, his stomach churned with horror and he looked back at the onlookers, all of whom were watching him in bewilderment, like they weren't sure if they wanted to get involved. Henry tried to pull away, yanking on his arm to loosen his Mum's grip. "No, no!" He let his legs go out, trying to at least slow her down. "Help! Someone, help me!"

The onlookers only seemed even more uncomfortable, glancing around at each other. Henry's Mum was apologising to them as she dragged him away. "I'm sorry, he's just acting up because he wants toys, he's fine, I'm sorry," and despite Henry's squirming, her steps barely faltered and her grip only tightened on his arm.

Seemingly placated, the bystanders had begun to disperse, now that the tantrum child was being taken away. With cold understanding, Henry realised that none of them were going to help. If anything, one or two even seemed disappointed that Mum hadn't slapped him for acting up.

Did he deserve this after all? This whole time he'd been saying how unfair it was, but after seeing the strangers' discomfort and irritation with him, and how they didn't seem to care what happened to him, he began to wonder if he somehow really did deserve it. He was hauled out of the store and to the car, where he was roughly shoved inside. People saw, but no one did anything.

That made Henry feel physically ill. How many people had seen that? How many saw the way Mum almost hit him? At least seven. How many saw him get manhandled out of the store and thrown into the car? At least another three. Ten people. And no one did a thing.

His breathing was coming harder and he was struggling to see the headrest in front of him. Blindly, he attempted to shove past Peter when he opened his door, but his Mum had been ready for him to try and make an escape, and he had a fistful of hair grabbed and yanked. He squealed as he was dragged backward by the scalp and thrown back into his seat.

"You stay put," she hissed. "Peter sweetums, did he hurt you?"

Peter couldn't look at her but he shook his head. "No, I'm okay, Mum,"

"Good." Mum started the car and glared at Henry in the rear mirror. "You horrid child, I cannot believe you." She was more aggressive than necessary as she pulled out of the parking lot and sped off onto the motorway, fingers gripping the wheel so tightly that she was shaking with barely-concealed fury. "All I wanted was a nice outing with my son, is that too much to ask? I would have left you at home while we went out, but I know how you are and I wasn't going to put your father through that." She swerved to cut off a driver and continued, "So I brought you with us, and this is how you behave? I was getting both you and Peter new clothes, and since Peter had been behaving, a book too. What had you done to deserve anything else? You're destructive and manipulative and I should have KNOWN better than to take you out with me! You bloody HORRID, UNGRATEFUL BRAT!"

She continued her tirade the entire ride home, only growing in volume. Henry curled up on the seat, hugging his knees and hiding his face, giving up and accepting his fate. He'd messed up. He'd messed up big time, and now he was going to get it. He'd had one chance to get help, and now it was gone and Mum was absolutely furious. He knew he'd never get another chance. The defeat weighed on his shoulders and crushed his lungs, and his sleeves were wet with tears.

When the car stopped, Henry refused to move, terrified of going into that house. If he went in, he realised with a miserable feeling that he wasn't sure how he'd come back out. Broken, bloodied - or maybe in a body bag.

A broken sob tore free when he heard Peter leave the car, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he was dragged out as well.

Sure enough, his door opened and his hair was grabbed once more, making him cry out as he stumbled out of the car to follow his Mum's pulling. Tears were freely streaming down his face by this point, and he tried to dig his heels into the grass. "No Mum, please! Please please, Mummy, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, I'll never do it again, I'm sorry, please!"

She ignored him and only tightened her grip in his hair, which sent his cries a pitch higher as he sobbed. He instinctively grabbed onto her wrist, but he knew better than to try and claw at it. There was no use trying to get free, and it would only upset her further.

As he was marched toward the door, Henry thought he saw Margaret's curtains flutter slightly, as if she was looking out the window, but the tears in his eyes made it too difficult to focus any more than that.

Before he knew it, the door was unlocked and he was thrown inside, nearly losing his balance and only managing to stay upright by catching himself on the bannisters. He whirled around while gripping the bannisters tightly, keeping his head low. "Mummy, please," he whimpered brokenly, shaking his head. She advanced on him, and he couldn't look her in the face.

"Peter, go to your room. We can go shopping another day. Without your brother to ruin everything like he always does." Peter hesitated, but he eventually turned and hurried up the stairs, closing his door and leaving Henry to face his Mum alone.

Henry expected the slap, but it still stung like hell, and he shrunk down against the railing while pressing his shoulder into the red mark. There was nothing he could say to make it better. He knew what he was doing at the store, and he knew the consequences of failing. He had just thought that it wouldn't fail. But now he was alone with her, and she was furious. She had been yelling as soon as the door closed, but Henry couldn't hear anything over the blood and fear roaring in his ears. "I'm sorry," he begged, knowing it wouldn't be good enough.

She didn't even bother responding to him and continued her tirade, prompting Henry's Dad to peer out from the kitchen.

"What's going on?" He asked in bewilderment, taking it in.

"Your son caused a scene at I'm A Lady and completely embarrassed me in front of the entire store! Peter and I had to leave without even finishing our shopping!"

"Henry…" Dad groaned, pinching his eyes. "I just needed a couple hours to get everything done, you couldn't behave yourself for two hours?"

Guilt knotted his stomach and Henry felt the last threads of hope snap. Even his Dad was upset with him - there was no way he'd stand up for him now.

"Simon, where'd we put that door lock?"

"I er… I think it's in the basement."

"Could you get it for me? I'm sick and tired of him, the horrid brat."

Dad gave Henry a long look, and Henry could feel the disappointment in his stare even without looking at him. Then he was stepping past Henry to go down into the basement. Henry didn't even have a chance to brace himself as his Mum smacked him again with the back of her hand, her knuckles leaving a line of extra-painful spots on his cheekbone. Henry whined but didn't argue. He knew he deserved this.

Mum smacked him again and again, knocking his head into the bannister repeatedly until he was seeing stars. "Mum, Mum, please! My head-!" Eventually he had to let go of the bannister and shield his head the best he could, his cries crumbling into nonsensical babbling.

All at once, "You worthless wretch, get out of my sight."

Henry didn't need to be told twice. He fought past the nausea and staggered to his feet, making sure to keep his eyes down so he wouldn't risk upsetting her, and dashed upstairs as quickly as he could, nearly tripping over his own feet in his rush. He ran into his room and slammed the door, immediately going to his bed and hiding under the covers.

His body hurt, but mostly the pain was in his skull. He tenderly touched the side of his head with his fingertips and felt a few painful welts already beginning to swell.

Only a few minutes had passed before he heard a commotion outside his door, and he knew it was his parents installing his Mum's 'door lock'. Too exhausted to even peek out of his blankets, he just laid perfectly still and listened to them, feeling hot tears dripping down his nose.

After the sound of metal being drilled stopped, he heard his door open, then steps moving into his room, and then a large plastic bag was being shaken open.

"You want to know what it's like to have nothing?" His Mum's cold tone cut clearly through the air, making Henry's stomach churn. "You think we're so bad?" He heard her drop something into the plastic bag, and then another and another. He had a horrible feeling that he knew what she was doing. "Perhaps you need to see what it would really be like to have nothing, that way you can appreciate what you do have."

It wasn't the first time she'd taken his toys away. She always gave them back though, after a while. But something pressed in Henry's mind that he'd never made her this angry before. This might be it - he might not get them back. Yet, for some reason, Henry was okay with that. If he was being honest with himself, he was surprised she hadn't taken his things away sooner.

"Henry. Get up."

He flinched, not realising she was right there. Slowly, he pulled the duvet down so he could see his Mum.

"Your phone, give it here." She held out her hand expectantly. Henry's eyes widened as another rush of terror washed over him. If she took his phone, then he'd have no way of contacting anyone! Which, he supposed, was the point. But still, he really didn't want to give that up. He just wanted a way to be able to text Ralph, at the very least.

He took too long to do as she said, so she snatched the blankets and threw them onto the floor, and when his phone clattered onto the floor, hidden somewhere in the fabric, Henry reacted on instinct. He dove forward, desperate to get the mobile before she did. He'd only gotten a handful of the blankets when multiple things happened at once. His Mum dove down in front of him at the same time, grabbed him by the throat, and lunged forward. Henry was whipped onto his back so viciously that the wind was knocked right out of him, and the back of his head bounced against the wood floor, sending stars crowding into his vision.

Gasping and wheezing, Henry kicked and clutched at his Mum's hand, which was still squeezing his throat as she pinned him to the floor. Through the loud ringing in his ears, he could hear her low, furious tone. "-wasn't a request, Henry. I'm taking your mobile. If you think you can just tell lies to strangers and make me seem like a horrible mother, then how can I trust you to have a phone at all?"

Henry managed to hiccup a tiny breath, still winded. But then the grip on his throat was even tighter and he was being hauled up to a sitting position by his neck. He gagged, finally digging his nails in to pry at his Mum's fingers as his lungs screamed for air. She didn't react and just continued, "You don't-" as she shoved him down again, knocking his head into the floor once more, "-deserve-" again, lifted him up and slammed him down, "-ANYTHING." With one final emphatic slam, the cloudy stars finally burst through Henry's consciousness and sent him spinning into darkness.

When Henry was able to drag himself awake, it was dark. The overhead light had been switched off and it was night outside. His skull throbbed as he tried to remember what he could.

Right. His toys.

Everything was gone, leaving the room barren and empty. His desk and bed were still there, but other than Fang's cage sitting on the desk, there was nothing. Fang was watching Henry sadly through the bars, and Henry tried to force up a smile for his little friend. Fang was getting older, but Henry still treasured him dearly. Henry raised his hand toward his hamster, but Fang looked at the door to his cage, which had been zip-tied closed, and Henry's expression fell.

"I'm sorry, Fang," he whispered into the empty room, wincing when he heard his own voice echo off the walls. It was raspy and breathy and didn't sound like himself at all. "I can't cut it open right now."

Truthfully, he couldn't even sit up. He was still on his back on the hard floor, with his blanket pooled somewhere near his knees, still in the same position it had been during the scuffle. Henry knew that his Mum had taken his phone, so there was no point in looking for it now. His head throbbed painfully, and Henry let his eyes drift closed, sinking back into unconsciousness right where he was.

Henry woke a few more times and tried to keep track of time by the amount of daylight coming in through the window. He'd lost track of what day it was, so he had no idea if he'd missed any school yet, or if it was still the weekend. At some point in the early hours of morning, he'd been able to drag himself back up onto the bed. A few hours later, he had the strength to pull the duvet up as well.

His head hurt more than it ever had before, but when he tried to search his side table for the medicine from the hospital, he realised that his drawers had been cleared out as well, leaving him with nothing to ease the pain.

Sometime around midday, Henry's eyes were beginning to throb from the headache, and his throat felt hot and tender as well. He could really use an icepack. Slowly, he eased himself onto his feet and used the desk to help keep his balance as he put one shaky leg in front of the other.

He reached the door and opened it, only for it to get stuck when he'd gotten it about ten centimeters open. Confused, he looked up and saw the door lock. It was a chain attached to the door frame, which only allowed the door to open a little bit. Henry sighed defeatedly, realising that the door needed to be fully closed to un-loop the chain if the door was to be opened any further. Which meant he was trapped in here until someone unlocked it for him.

So no icepack, he scoffed to himself, closing the door and making his way back to bed. What should he have expected? For his parents to care about him at all? Of course not. He knew better by now. Everything had all been an act to cover themselves, to appear caring and kind to their son, when in reality they hated Henry's guts.

Henry heard footsteps pass by the door every now and then, and he could hear talking, but he didn't care enough to eavesdrop. At this point, he'd rather stay in bed and be alone for the rest of his life than have any kind of attention at all from his family.

Henry dozed, losing even more time as night came and went, and his headache was hardly any better. However, another issue was making itself known - Henry was starving.

His stomach had been the thing to wake him up this morning, when the hunger pains felt like they were clawing his stomach from the inside out. He lay on his side, hugging his aching stomach and biting his tongue until he tasted blood. His limbs were leaden and cold.

He could hear his family walking around and talking downstairs. He could hear the telly and smell the food Mum was cooking. Yet he remained in his darkened room, alone.

Fang must have realised just how hungry Henry was, because he'd grabbed a dry, old carrot slice from his food dish and grunted to get Henry's attention before pushing it out of the cage. Henry watched with a sad pang in his chest. "Thanks, Fang," he whispered, reaching out with a shaky hand and struggling to make his fingers pick up the sliver of dry carrot.

He sucked on it for the next couple hours, trying to get as much flavour out of it as possible before the hunger pains became too much and he instinctively chewed it and swallowed. Fang did what he could for Henry the following night, but since he was locked in his cage, it wasn't much.

The next morning, Henry's mouth was completely dry and his eyes were sticky from dehydration. The day before, he'd needed to use the toilet, but overnight it was almost as though his body had re-absorbed any fluid it could, and he didn't have to go anymore.

Fang had run out of carrot slivers, and his water had dried up as well, so all they could do now was wait. Henry didn't know what he was waiting for. For his Mum to open the door? For someone to bring him food? …For death?

By now, Henry didn't care which came first.

He was jolted from his restless sleep by the sound of his door opening. Rather, the sound of the door slamming against the wall. In the doorway stood Mum, but she didn't say anything to Henry. Instead, she walked straight to Fang's cage and grabbed it.

Henry shook himself awake as quickly as he could, and fumbled out of bed. "W- Mum, wait! What are you doing?" His voice was cracked and raw, but he still forced the words out. "Please don't take him! Please, what are you going to do?"

Mum shot him a glare over her shoulder that made Henry falter and stop where he was. He was shaky on his feet, but he forced himself to stay standing and desperately stretched his hands out for the cage. "Mum, please! Please please, Fang didn't do anything wrong, please don't hurt him! I'm the bad one, it was my fault! Just don't hurt him, please…"

Mum regarded him. "Your father and I have decided that you are not mature enough to handle having a pet," she informed him, ignoring all his pleas. "So we're taking it away."

Henry's eyes burned with tears that his body was too dehydrated to produce, and he shook his head miserably. "Please Mum, don't hurt him. You can take everything else, I'm so sorry, just please don't hurt Fang." He took a shaky step forward, arms still outstretched.

Apparently that had been too close. Mum lifted the cage and swung it back sharply, deliberately striking Henry in the head with the bottom corner. Instantly, Henry's sobs stopped and he crumpled into a heap.

Fang shrieked, grabbing onto the bars and watching in horror as his beloved owner and friend lay motionless on the floor. Mum said nothing else as she stepped out of the room, flipped the lock back onto the door, and carried Fang's cage downstairs.

Henry's mind swam with terrible fever dreams where a shadowy monster with his Mum's voice lashed out at him from all sides, beating him down and stealing bits of his soul until he was nothing but an empty husk, trembling and dying as he lay in the middle of the lonely, cold void.

Alone in his cold, dark room, it was hard to tell where the dream ended and where reality began.

By the time Henry was able to actually wake up, it was completely dark outside once more, and he wasn't sure if it was the second night or the third that he'd been locked up. He looked for Fang on his desk, but the whole cage was gone, and Henry vaguely remembered his Mum coming in to take it.

He'd lost everything. His pet, his friends, his family, his life. All of it was meaningless and empty now. How long had it been? Who even was he anymore? Was he still Horrid Henry? Or had he died somewhere along the way?

Lonely and scared, Henry wept.

He couldn't take it any longer. His dry sobs had gone hoarse and his head pulsed with agony. He needed it to end.

His eyes roamed listlessly and eventually settled on the window. That was one way to make it end. He'd been afraid of jumping from the top of the stairs so long ago, because he hadn't wanted to die. But now he just didn't care anymore.

It took more effort than it usually did for him to open the window and peer out. It was dark and the street was quiet, but Henry had no idea what time it was. Across the yard, he saw that Margaret's clubhouse light was on, so he assumed it couldn't have been past midnight.

His gaze landed on his own clubhouse, the Purple Hand Fort, and felt a wave of pain strike his heart. He hoped his gang wouldn't be too cross with him. He hoped they'd understand. Directly below him, Henry could just barely make out Fang's cage sticking out of the rubbish can, and he had to look away.

Pushing his friends and his pet out of his mind, Henry carefully swung his legs over the windowsill and stared upward while wringing his hands in his lap. There weren't many stars out, and Henry's vision was too warbly and blurry to even make out the brightest ones. However, the moon was large tonight, and Henry could stare at it without needing to focus too hard.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, staring at the moon. He took his time making his peace with himself. He thought maybe he'd miss Ralph the most, but imagining his best friend's face only made Henry want to sob again, so instead he just kept his eyes locked onto the moon.

Then, with a deep breath, he tipped forward, imagining that he was flying.

Margaret jumped when she heard a crash from next door. She'd been in her clubhouse doing homework, but had planned to go to bed soon since it was nearly 1am. She'd been dozing lightly on and off for the past couple hours, but she was insistent that she needed to finish it before school. So when there was a sudden sound, she was already awake and on her feet, peering over the fence.

What in the world…? She knew that Henry's parents had been doing something to him. She could hear the wailing and the heavy thumps through the wall, and she knew that it had only been getting worse over the past couple weeks. And now it had been two days since Henry had shown up at school. She hadn't seen him since Friday, and it was about to be Wednesday. She knew the other boys were worried about Henry, especially Ralph. He'd begged Margaret to tell him if she knew anything about how Henry was doing, since he hadn't responded to texts since Friday either. All she knew was that Henry must have gotten into a fight with his Mum while they were shopping on Saturday morning, and she ended up dragging him by the hair back inside the house while he screamed and cried in a very un-Henry-like way. He'd seemed genuinely terrified, if Margaret had to guess. Henry was known for hamming it up to get attention, but something nagged in the back of Margaret's mind that the wild look in his eyes was raw and real. After that door closed, nothing.

And now Henry was missing from school too. His teachers hadn't seemed worried, so Margaret assumed that Henry's parents had already told the school that Henry wasn't going to be in for a couple days. But the uncertainty and dismissive attitudes of the teachers and their parents were driving the Purple Hand Gang crazy. And while Margaret hated the boys, she felt a little bad since she had seen firsthand the way Henry looked while being dragged inside, and she'd been hearing the things his parents - mostly his Mum - had been saying to him. The boys were right to be worried.

Now, Margaret peered over the fence, up at the darkened window, realising that it was open. "Oi, bogey-brain!" She whisper-yelled. No response. But the light in Henry's kitchen turned on, as if someone had heard the crash as well, and was coming to investigate.

Margaret looked down towards the rubbish bins to see if she could tell what had made the crashing sound.

"Shit. Oh shit. Shit shit SHIT."

She scrambled through the gap in the fence and kept to the shadows as she darted to the opposite side of Henry's house, dropping to her knees and hovering her hands over his body. Henry had fallen - jumped? - out his window and landed on the rubbish bins, knocking one over and scattering its contents. A shadow appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, and Margaret couldn't think. She just had to act.

She looped her arms under Henry's armpits and locked her fingers over his chest, hauling him up to her chest, essentially hugging him from behind, and then hurriedly dragged him backward, further into the shadows of the nearby hedges.

Henry's dad rounded the corner, dressed in his pyjamas and yawning as he stared into the darkness. "Hello? Is someone there?"

Margaret held her breath, holding perfectly still so she and Henry could blend in with the hedge.

As if fate was on her side, Fluffy jumped out of the hedge just a few metres next to them, and meowed loudly as she stepped into the light and pranced right up to Henry's dad. His posture relaxed and he bent to pat the cat's head. "Fluffy, you've got to stay out of the rubbish, you nearly gave Mum a heart attack. Come on then, let's go inside." He held the door open for the cat, and only after the door was closed and the light flicked off, did Margaret finally release her breath.

"Right," she muttered, finally turning her attention to Henry. "Let's get you up to my clubhouse."

As much as Margaret claimed to despise Henry, she actually enjoyed him a lot. She enjoyed teasing him, she enjoyed their banter, she liked having a neighbour her age, she liked the turf wars between their clubs… She wouldn't go as far as to say she liked Henry himself, but she certainly enjoyed his company very much. She knew that what had been happening to him wasn't his fault, but she wasn't sure what to do about it. Her parents had always reminded her that it wasn't their business if they heard yelling from Henry's Mum, and that they needed to keep to themselves to keep the peace.

It wasn't fair though, and Margaret felt marginally better about doing something now, after standing by for so long and letting it get to this point. Henry hadn't been any fun to tease or banter with for at least a few months - he'd lost that spark of mischievousness that made it fun to prank him - and he hadn't launched any attacks against the Secret Club in months either. In fact, Margaret couldn't remember the last time they even had a meeting for the Purple Hand Gang. His energy was dull and lately he never argued or called her names back when she'd call him a bogey brain.

With these memories on the forefront of her mind, Margaret rested her chin on her palm and watched Henry sleep. She'd found a first aid kit in the house and patched him up the best she could, but she didn't know what she was doing or how severe his injuries were. His ankle was deep purple and swollen, and he had a few nasty gashes on his arms and shoulder and the side of his head, likely from toppling all the way down from the first floor. Although he was also covered in bruises that she was sure had nothing to do with falling out the window. The dark bruise around his throat, for one. It was yellowish and green, which meant that it was at least a couple days old, but she could still see the shape of a hand, and could only imagine how viciously Henry must have been grabbed to bruise that darkly for this long.

She'd wrapped his ankle and put plasters on his scrapes and cuts after dabbing them with peroxide. Henry had flinched and whined softly at the sting, but he hadn't woken up, which Margaret had been grateful for. She wondered what other injuries were hidden under his jumper, but she resolved not to derobe him. So instead she treated what she could see, but some of it she couldn't do anything about. Like the bruises. There was also the fact that Henry was emaciated. His cheeks were hollow and his eyes appeared sunken, and his lips were cracked and dry. His limbs were cold too, but Margaret couldn't bring herself to hold his hand. That was too weird.

So instead she'd covered him in a blanket and now sat by him and watched, trying desperately to think of a plan. She'd texted Ralph shortly after settling Henry on the cot, but he hadn't responded. She didn't blame him - it was the middle of the night. But she knew Henry couldn't stay here. He needed medical help, and if Margaret's parents knew she'd gotten involved, they'd be very cross with her and they would no doubt make Henry go back to his parents. She couldn't risk that. Instead, she hoped that if Henry could go to Ralph's, maybe his family would be more understanding and help him out, since the two were dating.

Realisation snapped into Margaret's mind. Ralph's parents were accepting, but she knew Henry's were homophobic. She wondered if they'd somehow found out about Henry and Ralph, and were punishing him because of it. That confirmed it even more in Margaret's mind that Henry needed to go to Ralph's house as soon as possible to be safe.

Henry made a pained sound that caught Margaret's attention, and she looked at his face with tired resignation. "Henry," she called, shaking his shoulder. "C'mon snotslime, wake up."

Henry's face twisted and he rolled his head away from Margaret's hand with an exhausted grunt.

"I know, but you need to go to Ralph's house."

Henry's eyes fluttered at the mention of Ralph's name.

"Yeah, Ralph, you remember him? You need to go see him, so you need to wake up now."

His brain was thick with fog. It was so bad, he was sure he'd already died. He couldn't feel his body or think clearly. It was somehow even worse than when he'd fallen out of the tree. He was nauseous but when his stomach cramped painfully, nothing came up.

He was drifting aimlessly, following a familiar voice. He was broken in every way possible. It was just easier to do what they wanted. Stop fighting them.

So he opened his eyes. Or, he tried to. They felt sticky and crusted, and the light above him was too bright.

They told him to stand up, and filled his head with wonderful images of his best friend, with his red hoodie and adorable smirk. Memories of his scent washed through his mind, filling him with longing hinted with sadness. He wasn't sure why the sadness was there, but that was okay. He didn't fight it. He welcomed the memories and emotions as they rippled through his mind, even as he felt his body being hoisted up to lean heavily against someone's shoulder.

Suddenly, all the nice thoughts of his friend were torn away as agony lanced through his leg and encompassed all his thoughts. His mouth fell open and a ragged scream tore free before someone's hand clamped over his mouth to silence him.

New memories flashed into his mind now, more recent ones that chilled his heart. Memories of a hand grabbing his throat, of gravity swaying beneath him as he was slammed to the floor, of laying alone and cold as hunger slowly won.

He desperately tried to push these memories away, but he couldn't. The pain they brought with them lit his nerves with fire and made his head pulse so viciously that his eyeballs felt as though they were going to be pushed right out. He cried from the pain, sobbing his misery into the hand that stayed silencing him, until he was too tired to anymore.

That was when they started walking. They spoke words to him but he could only barely understand the words themselves, and certainly couldn't comprehend what they meant all together. Still, the voice was familiar. And even though it wasn't a comforting voice, he could tell that they were speaking gently, and he appreciated it.

When he quieted, the hand lifted from his mouth and wrapped around his body instead, helping support him so they could continue to walk. He struggled and could barely keep awake, but every now and then, he'd recognise a particular word from them, and his thoughts would warm with the sense of comfort and love.

He wanted to sleep and let go of everything, to stop fighting completely, but the one supporting him was insistent that he stay awake, and it was harder to fight them than it was to fight unconsciousness. So he trudged on, unaware of where they were going.

"Come on, Henry," the voice murmured in his ear, and he jolted. It was the first thing that had made sense in his muddied mind. His foggy gaze focused on the floor, and he was barely able to understand that he was outside on the sidewalk, limping somewhere. He desperately wanted to lay down, but there were strong arms holding him up and supporting him. They did most of the walking, and he hoped that that was okay with them. "Nearly at Ralph's house. Can you see it there?"

There it was again, that word that washed over him and comforted him. Ralph. He knew that word. He knew that person. His face appeared in his mind once more, and he finally linked the name to the face. Ralph. Yes, he knew Ralph.

The person was pointing, and he tried to follow where they were indicating. A house that was also familiar, but it was too deep within the fog of his mind to identify. That was okay.

Together, they inched their way up to the door, and his supporter rang the doorbell for him. "Okay, here you are, Henry. Ralph should be able to take care of you from here on."

Henry. That was another familiar name. Was that himself?

He turned toward the person and realised that it was a girl. A familiar, redhead girl that didn't spark happy emotions inside of him. He wasn't sure why though; she'd helped him get here. He'd have to remember to thank her later, when he could speak properly.

She stepped away as the door opened, and then she was running off into the night, leaving Henry to stand, wobbling, on the doorstep of a house he didn't quite recognise, in front of an equally unrecognisable adult man. He wasn't afraid though. He was mostly just tired.

Henry's legs began to tremble and his ankle pulsed, and darkness began to creep into his mind. As he was fading out, however, the man stepped forward and gently scooped Henry's broken body into his arms.

Ralph woke later than he was meant to. Looking at the clock, he panicked when he saw that he was already late for school. Where was Alfred? His butler always woke him up with breakfast and his clothes for the day!

He jumped out of bed and quickly grabbed what clothes he could find, mind spinning with questions. Before he left his room, he grabbed his mobile, and froze when he saw all the messages and missed calls.

[Missed Call from Margaret]

M: SOS, Henry is doing really bad. He fell from his window
M: I think he broke his ankle?!

[Missed Call from Margaret]

M: I know it's 1am but I need you to pick up, Ralph
M: He's really hurt, I think he needs to go to hospital but my parents won't take him
M: Can he stay with you?!

[Missed Call from Margaret]

M: Lazy little shit, I have to do everything don't I?

Ralph's mind was overwhelmed with questions. Henry had fallen out the window? He was hurt and needed a hospital? Had Margaret taken him there? And where the bloody hell was Alfred-?

Ralph rounded the corner to the dining room, and immediately, nearly all his questions were answered.

Standing at the stove was Alfred, wearing a white apron as he made pancakes. Sitting at the table with a half-eaten stack of pancakes was Henry.

Ralph let out a cry of disbelieving relief as he rushed to his best friend. "Henry!" He sobbed, wrapping his arms around him like he was afraid he'd lose him.

Henry huffed softly - a ghost of a laugh - and returned the hug.

Ralph finally realised that Henry was wearing his spare blue hoodie with the sleeves rolled up, and he sat back to hold Henry's shoulders and really look at him, taking in everything. Henry had thick bandages around his crown, and from the hair that was sticking out the top, Ralph could see that there were spots where his once-auburn hair was matted and dark with something tacky. Ralph's gaze landed on the strangulation bruise under his chin and a pitiful cry fell from Ralph's lips as he collapsed in a chair, still close enough so he could hold onto Henry's shoulders with a trembling grip.

"Henry, I'm so sorry," Ralph whimpered. "I didn't know it was this bad."

Henry only moved closer and gently touched his forehead to Ralph's while closing his eyes, a gesture of love and trust that made another wave of tears rise within Ralph.

"He's concussed," Alfred said as he approached the table with a fresh plate of pancakes and set them in front of Ralph. "Here you are, Master Ralph… Yes, your friend Miss Margaret brought in Mr Henry around two this morning." He took a seat across from the two, and Ralph noticed how tired Alfred seemed. He wondered if his butler had been up all night long. "Mr Henry nearly collapsed, had I not caught him. I brought him inside and got him comfortable on the sofa in the sitting room, and called a paramedic. They told us that his injuries are not life-threatening, but that he does have a concussion. His ankle is the most recent injury so they splinted it and gave him something for the pain and swelling. Additionally, he's severely dehydrated and malnourished, hence the fluids."

Head reeling, Ralph tried to take in everything as Alfred mentioned them, from the head bandages to the splint on Henry's ankle, to the IV clipped to the chair's backrest that was slowly dripping saline into Henry's arm. How had he missed that?

"Oh Henry…" Ralph took Henry's cheeks in his hands and lightly thumbed at the dark bags under one eye. Henry's bloodshot eyes slid closed again and he wordlessly leaned into his touch. "I'm so sorry, Henry, I knew something was wrong, but I didn't know it was this bad. You're safe now, it's okay."

Henry only moved closer and slowly sank his head onto Ralph's shoulder with a trembling breath, and Ralph wrapped both arms securely around him like he was afraid of letting go.

"I've called the school to excuse you from classes," Alfred informed Ralph after watching the two for a few long moments. "So you may stay home with him."

"Thank you," Ralph hugged Henry even more tightly and moved his hand up and down his back.

"Your parents are still unaware of the situation, so I'll need to phone them. In the meanwhile, I think Mr Henry needs to get some rest."

Ralph looked down at Henry's face, and saw him struggling to keep his eyes open. His heart ached for his friend as Alfred checked that the last of the saline fluid had been able to drip into Henry's body. Gently, Alfred disconnected the IV line and eased the needle out of Henry's arm, then put a plaster on it. Alfred double-checked the other bandages were clean and in place properly, then handed Henry a soft icepack made of frozen peas to hold against any particularly painful injuries.

Henry took the ice but he didn't seem to understand what he was supposed to do with it, so he held it loosely in his lap. Ralph smiled sadly, feeling a strange sort of protection over Henry, seeing him so confused and helpless. He leaned down to hug Henry close, and stood up. Henry didn't make a sound but he did lift his leaden arms to drape wearily over Ralph's shoulders so he could hug his neck.

Looking at the stairs, Ralph knew he wouldn't be able to carry Henry up to his room, so he instead made his way to the sitting room, where the pull-out was already fitted with sheets and pillows - just as Alfred had said - with extra soft and fluffy blankets on top. Ralph eased Henry down onto the bed, and Henry didn't seem to want to let go of him. Ralph was more than okay with this, and slid next to Henry so he could lay them both down and pull one of the blankets over them.

Henry nestled into Ralph's chest, burying his head under Ralph's chin and clutching at his pyjama top. Ralph set the ice pack against the top of Henry's head and kept his arms wrapped firmly around Henry's thin body, feeling every vertebrae under his palm as he rubbed his back.

In the other room, Ralph could hear Alfred speaking on the landline. Suddenly, he was unsure about this. Would his parents be okay with Henry staying here? Would they force him to go home? What if Henry's parents insisted that Ralph's folks had kidnapped Henry, and had the police get involved to make Henry go home?

Ralph shook his head, trying not to think about it. Henry was here now. That was what mattered.

In his arms, Henry's breathing slowly became heavier and the tension he was holding in his shoulders and back lessened the slightest bit. He was sleeping. Good, he needed his rest.

Ralph slid his mobile from his pocket and checked for any new messages, especially any from Margaret. There weren't any, but he wanted to let her know that he was awake and was watching over Henry.

R: Sorry for not answering. Was asleep. Henry's here, my butler got him medical care and now Henry's sleeping with me

Margaret's response was almost immediate, despite her supposedly being in school.

M: About time you woke up!! I've been wondering if he was alive or not
M: only half-joking :/

R: He's okay I think. He hasn't said anything yet tho

M: Still?

R: He didn't say anything with you either?

M: He was nearly DEAD, I was lucky that he was semi awake enough to let me help him limp to your house
M: So of course he didn't say anything

Ralph hummed anxiously, unsure if he wanted to ask about it, but curiosity was eating him alive.

R: Margaret, you said Henry had fallen out his window, right?
R: Do you actually think he fell?

[Margaret is Typing]

Ralph tapped his phone, unsure if he wanted to know the answer. Had his parents actually-? Had they tried to…?

M: To be honest I don't know

The relief Ralph felt was short-lived.

M: They weren't fighting or anything
M: It came out of nowhere, hearing him hit the rubbish bins under his window
M: His dad came to see what the sound was, but he thought it was the cat
M: So I don't think he was PUSHED at all

Ralph's stomach twisted with the implications and he swallowed heavily as he slowly forced his fingers to work.

R: Do you think he jumped?

Margaret took even longer to reply, with Ralph watching the message appear and disappear multiple times. Finally,

M: Yes.

Ralph's eyes instantly swelled with tears and he had to turn his phone off and put it aside, hugging Henry even more tightly while inhaling his scent. Henry didn't smell great; he hadn't showered in ages and there was a thick copper tang lingering in his hair from the blood he had yet to wash out. His clothes hadn't been washed recently, and he was clammy with cold sweat.

Despite all that, Ralph still buried his nose as gently as he could into the top of Henry's head and inhaled deeply, letting the tears spill over into Henry's hair. He'd nearly lost Henry last night.

He wondered if Henry's parents knew. Then he wondered if they'd even care.

Henry's breathing grew shaky and halting, and it clicked for Ralph that Henry had gone clammy in his arms. "Henry?" He asked, terrified for a moment that something terrible had happened. Henry choked on a quiet whimper and tossed his head side to side, dislodging the icepack and making Ralph lean back worriedly. "Henry!" He called a bit louder. "Hey, shh, it's all right Henry, it's okay. I'm right here, you're just having a nightmare." Ralph was almost certain that it was more like a memory, rather than a nightmare. But he still insisted that Henry was safe, and tried to get him to wake up.

Henry kicked weakly and his eyes cracked open, allowing a few miserable tears to spill down his cheeks. Ralph nearly sobbed himself, watching Henry suffer like this. He tried to reach forward to brush away the tears, but when Henry's tired gaze landed on his hand, he gasped sharply and flinched backward so roughly that his injuries were jostled. He whined loudly, looking around in terror and finally finding Ralph, who looked lost and helpless as tears fell down his cheeks.

Henry exhaled loudly, eyes nearly clouding over again as tears welled up. "…r…real?"

Nodding, Ralph slowly moved closer and raised his arms to invite Henry in for another hug. "Yes Henry, it's real. I'm real, this is real."

Bewildered, Henry almost choked on another cry before hurriedly accepting Ralph's invitation and clinging to him again. "Th- th…"

"It's okay Henry, you don't have to speak,"

"Thought… dream." Henry insisted, and his fingers curled even more firmly around Ralph's forearm, almost disbelievingly. "Real…" he murmured to himself.

"Real," Ralph agreed, embracing his friend tightly. "I love you, Henry."