Like those hot summer nights

by zsol

Summary:

Henry thought that Patrick gave up after he'd punched him and told him off several times, but he didn't.
Patrick was a relentless hunter.
He always got what he wanted.

(Brief scenario where Patrick actually gave into his fantasies before Henry could leave)

Notes:

First FF i actually write for this fandom! I truly hope i get them right.
I used quite a few reference from the book, especially referring to Henry's association of violence to love and his desperate need for his father's affection. Henry's mentioned to love his father very much, despise his hatred for him, he loved him deeply, which i find extremely disturbing. Also wanted to reflect on Patrick's abuse on Henry and how that might reflect Henry's own abuse by Butch.
The descriptions of abuse and non-con will NOT be extremely detailed, i did not feel comfortable doing that at all, but might still be triggering. Also warning, i absolutely do not ship Henpat, this will not be nice in any way.
Enough said, hope you like it!

"You liked it"
Patrick's voice was sticky, like the sweat that gets stuck on your skin on hot summer nights.
The gravel shifted under his feet, as he slowly approached Henry, a step carefully after the other, like a cat that's about to jump on a clueless bird.
Patrick stood tall, he was this strangely shaped, sulking figure over Henry.
His smile was nothing short of perverted, his eyes full of voracity, starvation for something.

Henry was aware of the things he did to animals while no one was looking. He knew that he was just another animal to him, and no one was looking right now either.

"You liked it Bowers"

"No i didn't you fucking faggot, and you better shut your cocksucker mouth before the 'ward guards make it shut it for you"

Henry was trying very hard to make himself big, standing his ground like usual, with a face filled with rage, because after all he was Henry Bowers, and no one would ever put themselves against him, in his head at least.

Hockstetter understood the hint, the clue to the fridge, but he saw Henry's sweat, the distress in his pupils, scared, he thought about it, thought about everything for a few seconds, and became smarter.

Patrick stepped even closer, his face not morphing, not caring.
Henry slighty curled as Hockstetter now stood over him, his knees ready to jump and bolt like a hare.
But Patrick walked past him, went a couple feet further.
Thinking he was safe, Henry felt all his anger rise up again, stretching his body back to his normal stance and turning to look at his friend with a severe look.

Before he could say anything threatening a hand came on his hip, pulling him close, too close, way too close, cutting off all his breath.

The cat finally made the jump, on that stupid, naive, little bird.

"What are you gon' tell'em about? About the fridge? You wouldn't do that, because then everyone would know you're a little queer that let himself be touched, and liked it."

Henry stood there in the middle of nowhere, not knowing what to say, what to do.
His lungs and head stopped simultaneously, feeling weak, unable to think and unable to breath.

It all happened so quickly he couldn't even process Patrick's hand sliding in between his thighs, caressing them in such a disgusting manner he wanted to cry.

"You loved it Hen, you loved it because you're a little sissy"

Henry thought about his father.

Sometimes he'd say the same thing.

Patrick continued his act, using his other hand to press Henry against him, specifically towards his groin.
Patrick's face came, curling against his neck like a snake, breathing hot and heavy on him.

Henry snapped out of his trance, wriggling and elbowing his "friend" in his stomach, stomping on his feet and swinging his head to free himself.

But Patrick was immovable, suddenly none of his violent acts had effect on him, he was made of stone under that pale skin.

With a false, twisted reassuring tone, Patrick whispered.

"Be a good boy Henry,
I won't tell anyone Hen..."

'Good boy'

He thought about Butch once again.

He couldn't find the strength to not to be quiet now. To scream or yell like he was always supposed to.

His breathing was extremely labored, while his eyes shook wide open and his mouth emitted squeals of fear.

Henry stopped moving.

At the sight, Patrick became thrilled, disappointed his toy stopped revolting against him, but relieved he could finally have his way without problems.

A cold hand moved up and down his back, touching the fresh bruises and welts left by his father. Henry yelped and tensed even more, his hands curled while he violently closed his eyes and crushed his teeth between his jaws.

"Is it because of 'ol Butch?"

Hockstetter giggled softly, as if it was almost cute, his face was tender, amused. He liften Henry's shirt upwards with no care, making him flinch out of fear.

His back was literred with marks, blotches of deep purple cornered by that slight yellow and red. Some were imprints of belts, some of fingers, hands or boots, but Patrick's favorite where the clear buckle stamps, like an artist's abstract painting. To him all those unnatural colors were beyond beautiful, he just wanted to skin Henry and keep his hide, to later hang like the masterpiece of a lifetime.

He started to press into them, like he was going to steal them from him, pinching his skin and scratching deeply with his nails. He wanted them all for himself. Henry could feel Hockstetter's crotch hardening againist him.

Under his hands, Henry was whimpering, curling and thrashing trying to get away from the touch, he wasn't trying to escape anymore, he just wanted to alleviate the physical agony. His knees buckled while Patrick clawed at his back to see his skin's reaction, his face scrunching in, emitting something like a cry of pain.

The hand that Hockstetter positioned on other boy's thigh went back to it's owner. Henry was relieved for just a moment, for just that split second the thought of this sick joke being over crossed his mind.

But that peace was immediately broken as
he felt his beaten back fondled by two hands, sliding further below, running down his spine with those rough fingertips.

Henry was shaking, the sensation of something bad incoming was burning his stomach, it was something that he would experience daily and everyday that passed it fueled him with more fear than the day before.

Butch would undress him before beating him on the back, thighs or such with his belt, making him wait those excruciating minutes while he curled on the floor and Butch stood tall like an old redwood tree.

He'd stare at him down. While his son covered his face with both his arms and shook, waiting for the hit, that must and will come.

Sometimes Henry thought his father did that just to hurt him more, to give him that sense of false hope, that it won't actually come, that he doesn't actually want to hurt him. Knowing his son would think "He wouldn't hurt me" in his head. And Henry did actually think that sometimes, wanting to fall into that phoney comfort he tossed at him, letting himself be naive to feel better.

Henry knew that Hockstetter was doing the same, being painfully slow and careful so that when the hit comes it hurts twice as much.

It was all about betrayal.

"You better not complain now or i might do worst Hen..."

One of Patrick's arms held his waist firm towards him, his other slid inside the back of his pants.

Henry's body stopped twitching, the metaphorical hit did come, and it did hurt twice as much. His eyes became lucid, shiny from the tears he held, he turned stiff while Patrick touched him under his underwear, resting his greasy head over his shoulder blades as he did as he pleased in the back of Henry's jeans.

Henry stopped being there, he didn't want to be there he just wanted to go home and see his pigs and drink his Dad's beer.

A sweetly horrible memory came to mind, of a particular summer night, while the moon shined bright and he was brushing his teeth over the sink, his mouth open while he scrubbed with childish intent.

It was dark in the bathroom, it was very very late, Henry was 7 at the time.

He remembers his Dad coming in, his Mom was gone for a couple of days because of a particularly strong argument between the two.
Butch seemed so calm then, almost sweet, the light from the door opening made him look like just a plain shadow.
Butch was seriously drunk that day, having drunk over 4 beers and 3 half glasses of vodka just in the past couple hours.

He stepped over to his child, that in that moment he saw as truly nothing more than human garbage, the fuel of all his problems, his Wife's son.
Henry was just confused, he turned around and greeted his Dad meekly, with good in his voice and his mouth still full of foam.

Butch did not answer, he came over him, placing his arm firmly over his abdomen, laying his head on his shoulders.

At first Henry was about to explode of joy, his father had never treated him like this, ever, he'd never touched him if not to paint bruises on him.

But something strange happened for how Henry saw it, because his father put his hand in the back of his pajamas, the one with Donald Duck printed on it, all ruined and with old yellow spots.

It was so strange to him, he didn't understand, couldn't understand why or what he was doing, but he felt that mixture of happiness and betrayal fill inside him.

His Father kept going, touching him all over his body, while Henry sat still, toothbrush in hand and mouth half open in stupor, he said nothing, he didn't want to make his Dad mad, maybe he was actually showing him love, so he was happy.

But why like that? Why not a hug? Did he really have to touch him there? Feel his chest and thighs?

He didn't know, but he felt a hole creating inside him, that he knew will never be fixed now.

His father continued his work on him while taking care of himself in the meantime.

"You're such a good boy Henry"

And Henry's little heart was exploding. He wanted to do nothing but cry out of the sheer misery.

"You make Daddy very proud Henry, when you're good like this, you're Daddy's good boy"

So Henry listened, with tears in his eyes and a big irregular smile on his face, it felt so good to be loved by his Dad.

After the ordeal, his father stumbled back from where he came, collapsing and falling asleep in the middle of the hallway.

Henry stayed there, paralyzed in front of the sink's Mirror, while tears fell down his cheeks, but not knowing why they fell.

The morning after Henry helped his father get back up, not much later he received a severe beating for having dropped an egg.
Henry kept wondering if what happened the night before was actually the good part of Dad, if that was love.

"You take it so well Hen, i knew you were a lil' sissy deep down"

He snapped back to reality after hearing Patrick's voice. It sounded so oddly familiar, coated in snarky tenderness.

Henry started trembling again, unable to say anything, as if a knife got stuck in the back of his throat.
Again that strange happiness got to him, covering him and suffocating him as he couldn't stop thinking 'Patrick loves me and that's why, that's why he's doing it'. But it was so impossible, Patrick didn't love him, he couldn't love him, he only saw him as another one of his puppies, that he throws in the fridge and starves to death, comforting them while he watches them choke on their own spit. And that's exactly what he was doing right now with Henry.

Hockstetter's hand moved to the front of his jeans, touching and feeling him however he wanted.
Henry broke down like an overflowing dam, crying, silently, just a few sobs came out, as tears fell down, sliding from his cheek to his quivering body.

Henry was 7 once again, he was again standing still, wearing his Donald Duck pajamas, "letting" himself be touched.

During the years his father's abuse had gotten significantly worse. He'd often have black eyes, looking like a panda most days of the year, his Dad would beat him for anything. Sometimes even his presence inside of the room Butch was in was enough to anger him, he didn't have to explain anything to Henry. He already knew why he beat him, 'a child always knows'.

After his mom left him, there was truly nothing between him and Butch. He became more and more bold with his acts, his son wasn't addressed as 'Henry' that often anymore, just some variation of 'Faggot' or 'Piece of shit', but for Henry the worst part was how shamelessly confident he'd gotten in other areas.

He remembers when it was only touching.

Then slowly it turned into Henry being instructed to touch Butch, then one day he had to open his mouth while he sat on the bed and his father was standing in front of him, another one he had to not yell too loud while his father used his hands on him, until it finally got to him forcing himself on Henry.

He remembers that one time very well, while every other time he was silent and obedient, that one time he cracked like a wood plank after you put too much weight on it.
He remembers screaming and trying to get away, pushing his Dad with his palms as he shook his head violently, saying 'No' over and over.

But he was only 11, no matter how strong he was compared to the other kids around him, to his father his strength was the one of a fly, that he didn't mind punching and slapping.

So it just happened, after those 10 minutes of 'fight', Henry gave up. He didn't want to fight it anymore, just wanted for it to be over. He was beaten so hard he could barely move as he watched his father turn him around and smush his face against the pillow.

The day after he laid in fetal position all morning, hugging the sheets of his bed, too exhausted to even cry, instead looking in front of him, just wondering and asking to himself the same question over and over.

He could hear Patrick fumbling with his own zipper now, as he was clearly starting to take care of himself while touching Henry.

"I wish i could pin you to the ground right now Henry, and have you until the sun rises, think about it Henry, just me and you, all night long, while i treat you like the pansy you are"

His voice was raspy, low and filled with gross groans of pleasure.

He was maniacally crying right now, which made Hockstetter even more excited, he could hear his touch becoming more rough and Patrick's own movement towards himself becoming faster as he was about to reach climax.

Henry had thought about the possibility of liking boys in the past, he'd never tell anyone that though, even the smallest of hints that he might be homosexual made him want to throw up in rage and shame.

He knew he might have had a thing for guys after he turned 12. He hid that information in the corner of his mind that he hated the most, that not even Henry's subconscious wanted to acknowledge, he loathed it, despised it, thought of it as an illness.

And now that all of this was happening, Henry's mind was in total chaos, the hypothesis came out again.
With some sort of tenderness he thought

"If i ever wanted to be with a boy, it would never be like this, not like this, never".

Patrick finished in his own jeans, with a revolting moan directly into Henry's left hear. At last Patrick's hand was removed from the other's pants.

"This time i was nice Henry, i didn't even cum on your back, i was very considerate, knowing what your old man would do if he found out about his Fag' son"

Hockstetter's hand laid on his shoulder, like a friend, like he was Henry's friend.
He patted his back, just like his father did when he killed Mike's dog.

Henry had pleased him just like he had pleased his father all those times.

"Next time i won't be so sweet with you though, Hen, i was way too clement with you today, letting you throw that hissy baby fit while crying and complaining"

He had pleased them both, but why didn't that make him feel Happy right now.

"You'll be a real good puppy next time, understood?"

Henry thought about his Dad, about how nice it was to be loved by him anytime he'd use him like that, he'd treat him nice then during most times.
He felt as if he was loved as his son, even if it was so insanely far away from that.

"Yes"

He couldn't help himself saying that, what else could have he said.
A command was given to him and he felt the need to please, just like he felt the need to please when it came to Butch.

"Good Henry"

He pressed a kiss on his cheek, that burned like acid on Henry. He was still crying, still whimpering like a child. It didn't feel good, not at all, but again he felt that weird happiness rise, that someone loved him in his head.

But Patrick didn't love him, he couldn't love anyone, he saw everyone as an object, as a tool, as a toy, and Henry knew once again he wasn't any different.

"Ok see you tomorrow, bye!"

"Bye Pat"

Such a friendly exchange, like they just finished playing cards together, like they were just normal kids.

As soon as Patrick left, Henry fell to his knees, curling inwards, arms over his face, caressing his hair with one hand to soothe himself.
'it will be alright, it's no big deal'.
The pitter patter of his few tears falling on the gravel, like drops at the end of a thunderstorm.
He kept murmuring, telling himself it was going to be ok, that it will be ok, it will be ok, he'll be fine, he'll go home and drink beer, he'll go home and watch TV, he'll go home and see his pigs, he'll go home and all will be ok.

But nothing was waiting for him at home, no one was there for him.

 

My friend @/Nar1k made me this artwork based on the fic, I love it to death and it fits perfectly with the scenario. I'm so happy, Thank you a lot for everything, I love you so much ♡🐾.

Notes:

Thank you for reaching the end, i didn't have anyone proof read this so if you noticed any mistakes please let me know!! If you want to be friends or discuss and such also let me know, i like to share my interests.

_Thank u 4 reading, many kisses ❤️