𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐡, 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐘

𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐡, 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒

𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐕𝐄
JULY 3RD, 1985

They strode purposefully through the hospital's sterile waiting room, their determined footsteps like the beat of a quiet drum, a promise of resolve. Their goal was simple: find Mrs. Driscoll. But as if sensing their mission, the receptionist blocked their path, her voice slicing through the air.

"Hold it right there! Where do you think you're going?" she demanded, one hand firmly planted on her hip, the other poised like a shield.

Nancy turned, letting out a controlled sigh, smoothing a forced, polite smile onto her face. "Oh! I was... just here to visit my grandmother again." Her voice wavered for a moment before she gestured toward the others, scrambling to stitch together a believable story as their eyes met, each silently begging the others to play along. "And this..."

"This is my family."

The receptionist's eyes lingered on Lucas, suspicion etched across her face as if she were staring down a line of suspects. Lucas returned her gaze with a radiant, overly dramatic smile, his eyes gleaming with defiance. "Extended," he replied smoothly, delivering the word like it held all the explanation she'd ever need.

Beside him, Henry stifled a snicker, his laughter spilling over as he reached up and gave Lucas a light swat to the back of his head, his face struggling to stay serious.

The receptionist shot them both a withering look, her tone cutting as she replied, "I don't care who they are. You know the rules: two visitors at a time." Her words hit with finality, like the clang of a gavel, silencing any attempt at argument. She glanced over the whole group, raising an eyebrow as Nancy opened her mouth, only to cut her off again. "Two," she repeated, punctuating it with a pointed stare.

The receptionist shook her head, muttering under her breath just loud enough for Henry and Lucas to hear. "This girl's lost her mind, bringin' a whole zoo in here."

Henry snickered, exchanging a quick look with Lucas as he fought back laughter, a small smirk playing at his lips. But Nancy and Jonathan, the oldest and the natural leaders of the group, stepped up, determination settling over them. They traded a silent agreement to do whatever it took, understanding that they'd need to play along to get what they wanted.

Just before heading in, Nancy turned back to Henry, a plea in her eyes as she lowered her voice. "Please, keep an eye on Scarlette?"

Henry nodded without hesitation, his usual mischief replaced by a quiet resolve. "Don't worry, I got her," he replied, meeting Nancy's gaze with a serious look. Falling back to stand beside Scarlette, Henry took up his silent post, adopting an almost watchful stance as the rest of the group waited, the hint of protectiveness clear in his eyes.

The group settled into the dull, sterile waiting room, filling it with their quiet energy as they claimed a few empty seats and huddled in small clusters. Lucas and Mike had quickly gravitated toward the vending machine tucked in a corner, their heads tilted in unison as they squinted at the rows of candy inside. They whispered to each other, fingers tapping against the glass as they tried to strategize their selections.

Across the room, Max and Eleven had grabbed a stack of outdated magazines, flipping through the glossy pages without much interest but keeping themselves occupied. They sat close, leaning their heads together now and then to comment on bizarre hairstyles or the occasional celebrity they half-recognized. The hum of the waiting room was punctuated by their shared giggles, a quiet reprieve from the tension that hung around them.

Will sat in one of the hard, plastic chairs by himself, his gaze drifting around the room. He looked slightly restless, fidgeting with his hands, but kept to himself, lost in his own thoughts.

Beside Scarlette, Henry shifted slightly in his seat, glancing over at her. He could see the way she held herself—a little tense, her shoulders pulled up as if carrying an invisible weight. After a moment, he cleared his throat, hoping to break the silence without startling her.

"So," he began, his voice softer than usual, "how're you holding up?"

Scarlette glanced over, surprised by the gentleness in his tone. She offered him a small, tentative smile, though her eyes still carried traces of worry. "I'm... okay, I guess," she replied, trying to sound stronger than she felt. She lowered her gaze, her fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on her shirt.

Henry nodded, taking in her answer, his expression softening. "I get it," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's a lot."

Scarlette sighed, looking down at her hands as she spoke, her voice soft and unsure. "I feel like... everyone's treating me different, you know?" Her gaze dropped, and she twisted a loose thread on her shirt. "Like I'm made of glass or something. They're all acting like I'm... fragile."

Henry's heart twisted at her words. He leaned in a little closer, keeping his voice low and gentle. "Scarlette..." He waited until she met his eyes, his tone full of quiet sincerity. "I don't think you're fragile. Not even close."

She blinked, a hint of surprise in her expression as he continued, carefully choosing his words. "I know it probably feels like everyone's being too careful around you. But it's only because... they care. They just don't want to mess up or make things worse."

Scarlette looked away, her shoulders tense. "I just don't want to feel like... some kind of problem."

"You're not a problem," he said firmly, his voice as steady as his gaze. "You're just... important. To them. And to me."

A small smile tugged at her lips, and Henry reached out, gently covering her hand with his. "And I promise, you don't have to be anyone but yourself with me. I won't treat you like glass, Scar. Just... like you."

Her face softened, a touch of relief mingling with gratitude in her eyes. "Thank you, Henry," she murmured, her fingers curling slightly under his hand, grounding herself in the warmth of his presence.

Henry's thumb brushed over the back of her hand in a quiet, comforting gesture. "I'm not going anywhere," he whispered, his voice filled with a rare gentleness.

a/n
short n sweet