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Henry wakes up to soaked-through boxers and ruined khakis.
He blinks. He adjusts to the darkness, takes in his surroundings; they’re in a new location. They’ve been to a lot of new locations recently. Specifically, they’re in a bed-and-bar type-deal as they lay low for the night, and Henry remembers yesterday and he remembers a familiar face and then he stops.
Warmth. Near his feet, two bodies. Henry takes a deep breath in and lets it out shakily.
His sons are okay.
And so is Ron, apparently, because golly can that man snore, and when Henry looks over and tries to discern their shapes in the darkness he finds Terry Jr. cuddled up his arms. He takes another long breath. They’re okay. He wipes at his eyes. Darryl and Glenn are in the other room with Nick and Grant. He doesn’t need to check. They’re fine.
Henry’s underwear is sticking to his thighs.
“Crap,” He mutters. He pushes his palms against his eyes and focuses on the firework-white that dances beneath his eyelids.
Henry hasn’t had a problem like this since he was twenty-one. He tries to think of what to do and pushes himself to sit up, only to get the wind knocked out of him with the most intense abdominal pain he’s felt in- god, has it always been this bad? He knows it hasn’t. He winces and sucks air through his teeth and forces himself to stand. Baby steps. There’s a dark stain on the cot.
Baby steps. He’ll deal with that in a moment. In the meantime he just prays neither kid rolls into it.
The bathroom door creaks when he pulls it open and shut, and the deadbolt scrapes as it’s pushed to lock. Henry hates the noise. Henry doesn’t like the fact that there’s proper electricity(i.e. a proper light switch) because the question of where exactly this world is in their technological timeline makes his head hurt. Everything hurts. He forces himself on the toilet and pushes down his pants and stares down at the mess that greets him for longer than necessary.
When he looks up- something that he has to force himself to do- his own eyes greet him. Apparently the Forgotten Realms aren’t exempt from weird hotel bathrooms that let you make eye-contact while on the toilet. He focuses again on the wetness pulled down in a heap by his ankles.
It’s very rare for Henry to be actually reminded he doesn’t have a dick.
And- okay, that’s not completely accurate. Henry isn’t walking around thinking he has a dick, because he’s very comfortable with that lack. However he isn’t used to being reminded that isn’t “normal” for men. Most men.
Men who are cis.
Men who had been stripping in front of the so-called Lord of Chaos in order to prove their worth as fighters, a situation Henry was very aware he could die in, and he'd gotten so caught up in the moment that the second he’d spotted Darryl’s shlong just hanging out there his hands on his own boxers paused and his brain stuttered and went “Oh! Fudge.”.
At the time he’d moved his hands away from the underwear. He would rather not, actually, have that on display around these people he doesn’t know. He spotted Ron still sprouting some dignity and relaxed a little- at least he wasn’t the odd one out, right?- but Ron wasn’t wearing a shirt and everyone else was very much so naked, so Henry debated his chances before split-second deciding to take it off.
He was standing at the back of the group. That, probably, played out in his favor, and he thinks the anticipation for what came next distracted from the silvery lines beneath his pecks. The realization hit- shit, how was he gonna get his t-shots?- but everything was making him think a million miles a second at the time. He couldn’t focus.
Then The Lord of Chaos was breaking in two and Henry’s mind was taken over by a different issue.
It’s back, though. He always knew it’d come back. It kept resurfacing in the way he felt the need to say he was more than his gender to his attempts to keep himself calm(his voice gets higher when he’s stressed). The other dads seem nice but Henry isn’t willing to risk a good thing when his sons’ lives are on the line. Henry lives on an ‘you didn’t ask’ policy and secretly hopes that’s enough in the end.
He hasn’t had his testosterone shots in a month.
He doesn’t know why the bringing back of his period takes him so off-guard.
“It’s just nature,” He whispers to himself. He peels off the boxers and the shorts and tries to swallow down anxiety. “It’s totally normal. Half the population has these at some point.”
And maybe it’s because- god, Henry feels sick. His stomach hurts. He glances at himself in the mirror and needs to take a moment to hold his head in his hands.
He looks just fucking like his dad.
How unfair is that, actually? How stupid? Henry doesn’t remember much but yesterday he met his dad on a cliff for the first time in years and now all the bits and pieces keep flashing up in his head like a broken movie projector. He remembers being told not to mess with biology. He remembers hearing about respecting the natural way of things. Henry loves geology and he loves Earth and he starts transitioning because he doesn’t think biology is always right. He thinks he should have a say in it. He thinks he’s the one who’s unhappy, in his before-body, so why not do something new? The plants don’t complain. Bugs don’t push him away.
He tried so hard to get away from Barry. He feels that in some ways he almost got closer. Henry comes to the Forgotten Realms and starts bleeding again and he doesn’t think he’ll ever escape it. Henry isn’t ashamed of being trans or his body or the way things work.
But he’s tired.
Henry forces himself back into it. He tries to ignore the smell of blood.
The boxers are absolutely, without a doubt, ruined. There’s no way around that one. Henry tries to brainstorm a way to get some new ones- do they even have underwear like this in the Forgotten Realms?- and takes the fabric between his thumb and forefinger to set it to the side. As he inspects the Khakis he learns with a pang of disappointment that they’re probably ruined too, unless he can figure out some way to bleach the diggity-dang things.
So Henry’s out of basically anything for his lower-half. Okay- okay, well, that’s not ideal, but he can work with that, probably. He just needs to clean himself up first. With shaking hands he gets a wad of toilet paper(Darryl brought it in from the van. Henry has no idea why he had toilet paper in the van) and wipes.
… and then he wipes again.
And, okay, when he wipes a third time he does get a little frustrated, with the blood and the flow and the pain and maybe he does start crying but that’s okay, right? That’s normal. People cry all the time and he feels a little silly crying on the toilet surrounded by his own blood while in a different dimension with people he didn’t know a month ago and he just met his shitty dad for the first time in years who fucking kidnapped his sons(what did he say to them? henry needs to know what he said. henry needs to know how he can fix it) and who he can practically hear in his head, sneering about how emotional Henry is, ‘if you want me to believe you’re a man than act like it, hen-’
He’s so screwed, he realizes. He’s so screwed. Henry wobbles over to the sink to get the remaining red off his hands and then, when they’re clean(he does have standards, sometimes), promptly sits back on the toilet and starts ugly-sobbing into them.
He wants to call Mercedes. His phone is dead. He wants to go home. He wants to forget about his dad again.
But all he can do is break down.
There’s a knock at the door.
Henry’s first thought is: oh jeez, how is he going to get rid of all the blood without anyone noticing? Then he’s remembering he has nothing for his bottom half and starts panicking.
Henry wipes his wet hands against his shirt and sniffs. It comes out louder than intended, so as he rips off two lines of toilet paper he clears his throat. “Someone’s in here,” He croaks.
“Henry?”
Oh gosh dangit.
“Oh hi Darryl!” It’s hard to be cheery when he’s trying to blow his noise as quietly as possible- and then, with discomfort, remembering what happens “down there” when you do anything of the sort. “What’s got you awake?”
“You alright buddy?”
Henry’s a mess. He looks in the mirror and it’s obvious. He’s got a nasty case of bedhead and his eyes are puffy and red. He pats toilet paper against the stain on his shorts in an attempt to dry them, because that’ll be something for now, and he would rather not walk by Darryl with only his polo shirt to hide his bottom-half.
When he doesn’t answer right away Darryl’s nerves grow. “I don’t mean to intrude on you,” He says through the door, “but I thought- I mean, I saw you weren’t in bed and got worried. It’s pretty late.”
“Were you looking for me?”
Henry isn’t sure if he’s stalling or if he’s just being naturally chatty. Probably both. Probably more chatty for Darryl.
There’s a creaking outside the door, like Darryl’s shifting his feet. “Yeah, uh-”
The shorts are almost dry-ish, leaving blood stains on the toilet-paper. Henry debates running them under some water in an attempt to make the stain lighter but decides against it; he’d rather not someone think he peed himself either.
“- I think George Washington’s off the team.”
Henry stops. His brain rewires. It takes him a good beat to understand what the heck Darryl’s saying, and when he does it confuses him more than anything.
“The- the president?”
“My dad team?” Darryl thinks of different ways to describe it and comes up short. “You know, those spirit things?”
“Oh!”
He feels at his shorts. They’re dry now. “Well, Darryl, I think that’s very smart of you! I don’t wanna dictate who’s on your dad team since I feel like that would be a bit overbearing but I was feeling a lil’ icky about old George. I know slaves were normal at the time, sure, but just because something’s normalized doesn’t mean it’s okay, and with someone so infl-”
“Yeah, okay, thanks man.”
Darryl pauses like he’s considering. Henry stand(bites his lip through the pain) and pulls up the shorts. Just for now. He looks in the mirror and he rests his palms against the counter and he’s soaking up some water in the hand-towel to eventually press against his eyes when Darryl asks, “Were you crying?”, and something about the sincerity in that makes Henry take a moment.
Should he lie? Henry’s a terrible liar. He remembers this and weighs his options. Eventually he sighs.
“Yeah,” He admits. “Sorry, Darryl, I was just taking a moment- I’m having a rough time. We all are.”
“Do you want to talk?” Henry has turned to look at the door. He doesn’t know when or why he did that, when logically he knows he could look anywhere and get the same conversation. The door isn’t exactly helping Henry decipher Darryl’s body language. But he looks at it anyway.
“I mean, I know I’m not great at communicating like you are, but we could still try. If you think that would help.”
His eyes are getting teary. His throat is hurting again. Henry turns back towards the mirror and as soon as he sees his own face he starts crying all over again, rag forgotten.
“Thanks man,” He gets out, trying to wipe at his eyes but only making himself cry harder, “I-I really appreciate it. You’re such a sweet guy, Darryl.”
“Hey, is everything okay? Did I say something wrong?”
“No! Darryl- jeez, I’m sorry, I’m just in a lot of pain and I’m emotional and I really wanna go back home, so it’s got me all choked up-”
“You’re hurt?”
Shit. Did Henry let that slip? He hiccups into his hands and rubs at his face. “Sorry. It’s nothing.”
“If it’s bothering you it isn’t nothing, right?”
Henry has said this to him before. Right now Henry wishes he’d kept his damn mouth shut.
“Come on buddy. Let me in. We can wake up Glenn or something to heal you, if you’re too pooped out.”
“No, that…”
Henry already tried a healing spell on himself. It didn’t do much. Probably since he technically isn’t hurt.
But Darryl is offering and Darryl is being kind and Henry likes Darryl, if he chooses to be honest with himself. More than he should a married man(and he has a pretty good feeling Darryl isn’t married in the same way he is). Henry can’t call his wife. Henry feels so alone. Henry needs help getting rid of the blood and the ruined clothing because lord knows he’s too much of a mess to do much on his own right now.
Henry tries to think of the worst-case. He has his boys. He can go to Erin on his own, if needed. If anything, being with the others for the rest of the journey is optional.
He takes a deep breath. He looks in the mirror(he looks less like his dad now that he’s crying. he thinks that’s worse.). He opens the door.
“Where’s the wound?”
Henry’s already anxious about this conversation. “There is no wound, Darryl.”
“Then why are you hurt?”
“I’m trans,” He blurts. Darryl blinks.
“Do you- do you know what that means? Do I need to explain it?”
Darryl takes a beat. “No,” he finally says. “I mean, Grant explained it to me. A while ago. He has a friend who’s, so. I know what it means.” Darryl glances to Henry to the bathroom and then back. “Does this have something to do with that, or?”
Deep breath in. Deep breath out. “Yeah, I-”
A sudden sharp cramp goes through Henry’s stomach that sends him bending in on himself, arms crossed tightly around his waist, and when he gasps Darryl’s hands are on his shoulders and Darryl is reaching for Henry’s hands as if trying to find some wound or cut or bruise and Henry’s crying, now. He doesn’t get why he’s crying.
“Sorry,” he says. “Sorry, I’m just really overwhelmed right now and I’m on my period and I haven’t been on my period for years because I’ve been on hormones but now I’m having it again and it really sucks, actually, it’s really painful, and I woke up in a bunch of blood and I want to go home and, and, and,”
“Henry, buddy,” Darryl says. His hands stop trying to get Henry to move his own and they settle firmly on Henry’s forearms. “You’ve got to breathe.”
Can he do that? Maybe. Maybe not. He throws caution to the wind and tries.
It takes time. It takes more time than he’d like to admit. Henry doesn’t know how he keeps getting worked up without realizing the extent of which he’s worked up but it’s been happening more often lately, and so he breathes. He calms. He focuses on Darryl’s hands.
He’s still crying when Darryl asks, “Do you need a pad?”, and he doesn’t feel like he’ll be stopping anytime soon.
“My boxers are ruined,” He tells him. His face feels hot and Henry wishes it were easier to not be embarrassed about these things. The tips of Darryl’s ears are red.
“I should have tampons in the van.” Darryl swallows and shrugs. “They were Carol’s. She won’t be needing them anytime soon, if you want them.”
Henry forces himself to stand up straight. He keeps his arms crossed, keeps his eyes on the floor in front of him. Slowly, he nods. Darryl shifts his hand back to Henry’s shoulder to squeeze.
“Let’s go.”
“So,” Darryl starts. “Glenn made me a weed.”
“What?”
Darryl leaves five minutes after he gets Henry settled with the tampons.
The van's trunk is popped open so Henry has somewhere to sit. He offers Henry the tampon box like he isn’t really sure what to do with himself- and when he sees Henry swallow around another cramp, he says he’ll be right back before heading inside. Henry takes the alone time to insert his tampon and find a blanket in the back of the car; he wraps it around his shoulders and tries to keep the chill away.
He’d thought Darryl took a while. His shirt dried his tears and he tried to steady himself, pull all the pieces of his heart together into something semi-functional. All the crying leaves him tired. All the time alone made him worried about Darryl possibly leaving him out there.
But then he’s back, holding something that Henry didn't recognize at first, but that he can now clearly see is a Glenn-Close-approved-blunt.
“It’s supposed to help with pain, right?” Henry takes the drug with an empty head. “I mean, I’m not an expert since it’s the devil’s plant, but you said you’d smoked before.”
Henry knows this Darryl. It’s like he’s in leadership mode- he’s more sure of himself, less anxious about the things he doesn’t understand. Henry feels himself coming back into his skin and sees Darryl coming into his own too. Darryl glances away when Henry first meets his eye. Henry’s heart feels warm.
“Thank you, Darryl,” He says, smiling. “That’s really sweet of you.”
“Anytime.”
That is absolutely not true, but Darryl says it so flippantly that Henry doesn’t feel like he should toss the ball back in his court. “Do you need a lighter?”
Does he?
He looks through his pockets and brightens when he finds his light. As he brings the flame to life and sets it right under one end of the blunt, he tells Darryl, “You know I don’t smoke often, actually. The lighter is more for other people and emergencies- usually when I was like this I’d just take some painkillers. Get a heating pad.”
“Carol doesn’t have bad cramps,” Darryl offers, and Henry would rather they didn’t talk about the woman Henry will never be able to show his face to without thinking about his untoward feelings for her husband, but he appreciates Darryl trying to connect anyway. Henry nods and takes a hit.
The smoke is hot in his chest, fiery in his throat. Henry’s careful for how long he holds it. He doesn’t want to end up spluttering when this is supposed to be helping, and he really hasn’t smoked pot in a while. After a few seconds he blows it out gently and is careful to make it go in Darryl’s opposite direction.
“They weren’t too bad for me either,” He reveals. Darryl is warm and welcoming and anxious and Henry finds himself wanting to talk about this more than he thought he would, if anything to make Darryl feel less awkward. “It’s been my first one in years, though, so I guess it’ll be all ampted up until time levels it out some more.”
Darryl stands on uneven ground. Henry takes another hit. The pain begins to ebb.
“Do you… want to talk about it?”
Kind of. Kind of not. The weed soothes his nerves and the smoke makes his throat dry.
Finally, Henry asks, “Are you okay with that?”
(are you okay with me?)
“Henry,” Darryl says. And Henry looks at him, then, meets his eyes from only a new feet away. There’s space beside Henry that Darryl could sit in but he doesn’t. Darryl, who so rarely can pick up on context clues, looks at Henry like he’s a puzzle he’s solving, hands fiddling in front of him.
“I’m okay with whatever you are or were,” He tells him, soft, “because it makes you Henry. And I love that guy.”
This is the bare minimum. Henry is aware acceptance is simply human decency. But lord help him if he doesn’t want to kiss a married man, and heaven save his soul if the only thing stopping him is the distance between them and his protective urge to keep the weed’s smoke as far away from Darryl as possible.
“Well he loves you too,” Henry smiles. And if Darryl’s face goes a little red Henry doesn’t see it.
“But to be honest, I don’t think there’s a lot to say about it. I mean- my body feels wrong. I’m sort of overwhelmed? But it’s the least of our problems right now, if you know what I mean.”
There’s around three puffs left in the blunt. Henry tries to savor them and finds, gratefully, that the pain has subsided.
“I guess I’ve been thinking a lot about my dad though. He wasn’t really okay with any of it- he thought I was betraying my biology or something. It’s a little foggy. So when I got away from him I started transitioning, but now we’re here and he’s seeing me again right at the same time I feel like I’m going backwards in what makes my body feel right and it’s just-”
Breathe in. Blow out. “It’s a little haunting,” Henry says. “I look just like him.”
“Well your dad’s sort of an asshole then.”
Henry laughs. “Yeah,” He giggles, the light of the blunt beginning to dim, “you could say that twice.”
“You look like my friend to me,” Darryl continues. He pauses and they stare at each other for a moment.
“You’re a good man Henry.”
Oh, screw it, this man is too emotionally repressed to have a working marriage anyway.
He’s so close. His willpower shatters in a split-second decision and he’s just about to move, just about to force himself to get up even if he is still cramping, but then he hears-
“Father!”
-and suddenly he’s much more attentive to the drug in his hand.
Darryl and Henry both snap their heads towards the bed-and-bar entrance and find two boys running in the van’s direction at high speeds. Henry curses- barely notices Darryl’s head whip back at the sound- and hurries to stub out the blunt. He says a quick internal thank-you to Glenn’s hard work(did Darryl wake him up for that? just to roll a blunt? that’s- okay, Henry needs to ask him, sometime) and looks back up just in time for Lark and Sparrow to be stumbling to a stop in front of where he’s sitting.
“My beautiful boys! What’s got you two up so late? You know sleep’s important.”
“We could say the same to you, Father,” Lark tuts; Henry breathes a sigh of relief when neither seem to notice the stub in the grass and scooches over to make room for the twins to sit side by side.
“I’ll head back in,” Darryl says. Henry glances towards him and catches a smile. He wonders if he knew what Henry was so close to doing. “See you in the morning?”
“Thanks, Darryl,” Henry says, trying to sound sincere while also shrugging off the blanket so Lark and Sparrow’s grabby-hand request can be met.
“And I'm sorry. For getting so-”
Darryl waves him off. "Anytime," He reaffirms. Then he's gone.
(and if henry's heart skips- if he feels a little overexcited about the way that makes him smile- nobody needs to know.)
The kids shift the blanket so it splays over their thighs, oblivious to what they were about a second away from witnessing, and Sparrow offers him the tiniest bit of extra that Henry take with a thank-you. It covers half his lap. He needs to hold it down with his elbow in order for it to stay.
“I woke up and you were gone,” Sparrow rambles, clearly excited, “and at first I had assumed you may have just been swept up in Ronald’s sweet embrace, but you weren’t! I woke Lark, of course, and then-”
“I found a bunch of blood on your side of the cot!”
Henry sucks his teeth- shit, he forgot about that. He wonders if his ruined underwear are still in the bathroom. He prays nobody’s seen.
“Father,” Lark says, eyes big and grin wide, “you must tell us how you were mortally wounded, when you plan to take your revenge, and why you did not wake us up as soon as trouble came upon you when we are clearly the best fighters in this group. I could understand not waking Ronald and Terrence, for they looked adorable. But us?”
“I think you two look pretty adorable when you’re sleeping yourselves,” Henry points out. “Maybe I just didn’t want to wake my angels.”
“While I do agree my brother looks that of a slumbering kitten while he enters dreamland, duty does come first, Father.”
“We fight for love and power!”
“I appreciate that, Lark, Sparrow, even if we do have to sort out your priorities a little more in the morning.” Henry shifts. “But I’m sad to say I wasn’t hurt. Or wounded.”
Lark eyes him with a challenge. “We know blood when we see it.”
Henry would laugh if that fact didn’t stress him out so much. “I know.”
It’s a quiet night out. The stars shine brightly, a lot brighter than they do on Earth. Henry looks up at them and sucks his teeth and tries to think of the best way to put this. It’s probably best to be honest with the kids, he thinks.
So he says, “Daddy started his period.”
The boys go quiet.
“I didn’t expect it,” He continues, gentle, “so I’m sorry I made a mess- I’ll clean it all up when we get back inside.”
“But you…” Lark’s face twists into confusion. “You don’t get periods.”
“You’re right! But since I don’t have my shots out here,” Henry explains, “my body’s changing to be kind of like it was before I started taking my hormones. So my period’s coming back.”
He knows Lark and Sparrow know what his shots do, and he knows they know he’s trans. It’d been a conversation they had before the twins even started school. Some people are boys. Some are girls. Some are neither. Some are both. Gender is fun and they should feel free to play with it, and Henry doesn’t have the parts that boys usually has. He takes shots every morning to keep his body changing in a way he likes. That includes not having periods, growing facial hair, and his voice being deeper than it was before he started hormones. There’s other things too. They can ask questions if they’d like.
They never do. The boys stick to being boys and nothing changes, really, other than them sometimes asking new people their pronouns, and Henry likes that.
The twins look at each other. They share a look Henry can’t discern, before they both look back at him and Sparrow asks, “Are you dying?”
What.
“What?”
“We don’t actually want you to die, Father,” Lark says, tearing up, and Henry has never felt more lost. “Is that why you didn’t wake us up? Because you did not think we would support you on your deathbed? Are you loosing too much blood? Are you still bleeding?”
“I’m not dying!” Henry tells them. Neither look convinced. Henry did not know how hard it was to convince your kids you’re not dying and he isn’t really sure what to say. “You kids know periods are normal. I don’t- why would you think I’m dying??”
“Because they are not normal for you, Father,” Sparrow stresses, and all the sudden Henry feels soft.
Sparrow starts crying. Henry bends down further and wipes at his eyes and tries to listen. “You aren’t supposed to have periods. You don’t even want more children. There’s no room in the house.”
“Birdy,” Henry murmurs. “I’m not gonna die. You’re gonna be okay.”
“But…”
He looks up and sees Lark biting his lip as hard as possible to stop tears from getting out. Henry reaches a hand over to run it through his curls and in an instant they’re overflowing, warmth leaning against his palm, hands coming up to hold his wrist.
This is probably the strangest thing he’s had to comfort them about. For some reason he wants to cry too.
“I’m not going to die,” Henry tells him, steady; for a moment it’s almost like he’s talking to himself too. “Having periods is perfectly normal for my body, even if they’re not normal for me, and at worst they’re going to hurt a lot more than they usually would and I”ll loose some more blood. But that’s okay. I’ll be okay.”
Quiet. Lark and Sparrow think it over for a moment. Henry dries their cheeks and wraps the blanket around them tighter.
“Does it hurt?” Lark eventually asks.
“Mhm-hm.”
“And are you still bleeding?”
Henry nods. “I am. I actually already stained these shorts, so we’ll have to find some way to clean them in the morning. It’ll be a little adventure- doesn’t that sound fun?”
“But you aren’t dying?” Sparrow clarifies, and Henry shakes his head with as much conviction he can muster.
“It hurts,” He confirms again. “And it’s hard for me, since I don’t like having them. But I’ll be okay.”
“Grandfather Barry,” Sparrow starts, unsure, “did not call you our father. And he used a different name than Henry.”
… Oh.
Lark and Sparrow look up at him like they’re waiting for some sort of sign. Henry tries to keep his face neutral. “That must have been confusing.”
Lark is quick to correct him. “It wasn’t. We know who you are, Father, so we told him he was wrong.”
They shouldn’t have done that. Henry bites his tongue.
“He was cruel,” Sparrow says. “He called you names. He said you were rejecting nature, but you love nature, so-”
“He was wrong,” Lark finishes. They hold each other’s hands. Henry loves the love they have for each other and when they look up at him he knows in his bones he’s done right here. Henry is always so unsure if he’s doing things right. But he knows this is good.
“Right?”
They look so much like Henry. They have Mercedes’s eyes and their skin is darker than his but they have his nose. His hair. They look so much like him.
They look nothing like Barry.
“Yes,” He tells them.
“He was wrong.”
And that’s it.
Sparrow leans into Henry’s right side and Henry reaches his left arm over to massage at his scalp. With his other arm, he invites Lark closer, and gets a quick agreement in return. They fall against each other like toppled dominos. Henry lowers the arm in Sparrow’s hair and uses the other to support their backs.
“We love you, Father,” They say together.
Henry hugs them closer.
“I love you too.”
Ten minutes later he’s slowly pulling himself out of the van while also trying not to let the now-sleeping kids fall over in the absence. He leans Lark against the other end of the van and picks Sparrow up first; one arm supporting where his knees bend, the other hand making sure he leans into Henry’s chest. Then he gently nudges Lark and leans forward.
“Hey Birdy,” He whispers. Lark’s eyes flutter open. “Do you wanna hop on my back?”
Lark blinks blearily at him. He doesn’t answer. Instead he holds out reaching hands and murmurs, “Father,”, and Henry can’t resist that face so he quickly shifts Sparrow further into his side and hefts Lark up into his other in perfect mirrors of each other. Henry before the Forgotten Realms would absolutely not be able to handle both of their weights. He barely can now.
But his sons are sleepy and he’s still a little high, so. What’s the harm in trying?
You could drop them, his anxiety says, but he tells himself he won’t. Probably. Henry hurries towards the building just in case and leaves the blanket in the van because heaven forbid he carry something else.
First thing’s first: he lays them in the cot. He worries at first that by laying them out straight there won’t be enough room for him to slot in, but the instant they’re both laid down they’re finding each other and tangling in for warmth.
He stills a little as he watches them, hand on his hip, not quite ready to let the moment end. They’re such good kids.
Then something moves on the other side of the room and a voice is saying “Henry!” and Henry is jumping five feet out of his skin.
He whips around to find the danger and is instantly met with a pair of eyes staring up him, unblinking, shining against the light from the cracked-bathroom-door not unlike a cat. His shoulders relax but the hairs on the back of his neck don’t calm.
“Jeezies Ron!”
“Hi,” Ron whispers. Which is to say he talks with a bit of a rasp, because Ron really isn’t a whisperer.
“Hi, Ron,” Henry says, lips twitching- staying mad at Ron is like being upset at a dog. “What’s up?”
Ron’s got his arms wrapped around Terry Jr’s middle in a sort of spooning-position. Henry wasn’t sure how well that would go over, considering how short of a time they’ve been on good terms, but Terry seems content. Ron has to stretch his neck to peek his head over Terry’s shoulder at Henry and something about that tickles him.
“Darryl wanted me to tell you there’s clothes in the bathroom for you. It’s my underwear, so I’m sorry if it’s a little, heh, big, but they say cool guy, so now you and I can be cool together. I think he said there’s shorts too but Darryl’s a lot heavier than us so he told you you should use your belt. Also the sheets are changed. Also the underwear aren’t the ones I was wearing. I just had spares.”
“Thank you, Ron,” He says through a smile. “I appreciate your generosity. We’ll be the coolest guys!”
“And I’m sorry you had an accident. We all have accidents sometimes though. I mean, I don’t know if you knew this, but a while ago when we were in the van and I far-”
Henry pauses. Darryl’s given him an out here, as embarrassing of an out it is. But he thinks about his boys and he thinks about Darryl and he thinks about Glenn making Darryl a blunt at nobody-should-be-awake-o’clock with that was probably a lacking explanation and he thinks about Ron who’s about as strange as he is charming.
And he thinks of Barry and he thinks: fuck that guy.
“It’s not that kind of accident, Ron,” Henry explains, grateful to cut Ron off before he would have to lie about not having realized Ron shit himself a few weeks ago. “I’m on my period. I bled through.”
He’s ready to explain, as tired as he is. He expects some confusion or some awkwardness. But instead Ron brightens and goes, “Oh!”, and he smiles a little.
“Samantha does that sometimes,” He reveals. “I make her tea. Do you want me to make you tea?”
Yeah okay, Henry decides. That’s a reaction he should have expected if he thought about it longer.
“Maybe in the morning.”
“Okay.”
Ron yawns and when he focuses on Henry again his eyes are drooping. “I’m gonna go to sleep,” He says, already leaning back down on his pillow, and Henry can’t help his grin.
“Goodnight, Ron. Love you.”
Ron snores in response. Henry shakes his head a little and heads off to get changed.
He hasn’t had his tampon in for long, so he should be alright overnight with it in. The underwear does, in fact, say cool guy. And the shorts are, in fact, too big, but Henry figures they’re temporary, so he puts his belt through the brown straps and adjusts until they fit(even if fabric does spill out from either end and they’re a little long). He uses the still-damp rag and wipes his face.
He doesn’t get caught up on the mirror. He just turns off the light, leaves, and curls up next to his boys.
Ron snores. The twins are miniature heaters. Darryl is in the other room, maybe asleep(maybe not) and Henry’s vaguely aware that he smells of pot.
And Henry'll be damned if it isn’t the best sleep he’s had throughout the whole adventure.