My Number One (001/Henry Creel/Vecna x Reader)

Imprisoned

My heart dropped down through my chest. What was going on? Why were the guards hurting Mr Ballard?

His expression was strained, his eyes squinted in pain. I knew I had to do something, but what if he had done something to deserve this punishment? But, then again, what if he hadn't?

I tried the doorknob, but it was locked, so my only instinct was to break with my mind.

When the door flew open, the guards spun round, only to see me standing in the doorframe. Their attention was now on me, and I saw Mr Ballard catch his breath, shock and relief flooding his face.

"Twelve. Get out," one of the guards said. It was Mr Loft.

But I didn't budge. "Why were you doing that to him?" I squeaked.

Another guard, Mr Grimy, spoke in a deep and growling voice. "It's none of your business."

"But—"

"Out," Mr Loft interrupted. "Now."

In the moment, I didn't know what to do other than stick up for Mr Ballard. I couldn't possibly walk away and leave him to be hurt again. Not only would I be worried that if he got seriously injured I could've prevented it, but also I just empathised with him. The only other person I felt an ounce of empathy for when something bad happened to them was Eleven. Everyone else, I thought, deserved karma. "No," I said. "Not until you let him go."

"You wanna join him, kid?" threatened Mr Grimy.

I thought this over for a moment in my head. "Do you?" I asked, raising my hand towards him in a claw-like motion.

"No!" shouted Mr Ballard. Why was he stopping me from defending him? I looked at him, not taking action, but not moving my hand down from in the air, either.

"Put the hand down, now, okay?" said the third guard, Mr Pin.

"Leave Mr Ballard first," I demanded.

"We're the guards," murmured Mr Grimy, now walking towards me, "which means we control you."

Before I had the chance to react, all I saw was an electric shocker in Mr Grimy's hand fly out from behind his back...and onto me.

*

The next thing I knew was waking up in a room worse than my usually dull, mouldy, depressing bedroom.

It was completely bare. No bed, no window, and seemingly no toilet, until I found a small hole dug into one corner of the concrete floor, with the word 'lavatory', etched in beside it. The room was grey, so dark, and so cold. The only thing to look at was the steel door, which, to my surprise, began to shift open.

With the weight of the door and the lack of space beneath it, it dragged across the concrete floor with an ear-scratching scrape. Behind it, stood Papa.

"Twelve," he said in a soft, low voice. "I came to see you."

"Papa," I yelped, my voice cracking and tears suddenly welling my eyes.

He held his arms out, and I moved into them instinctively.

I suppose you could say I had a love-hate relationship with Papa. I loved him but I didn't like him. I didn't like his personality, how he pressured me, how he cared so little when I was hurt. But I loved him. He was my comfort, the closest thing I had to family. Even if his comfort was false, pretend...it was still there, and I got it from no one else.

"Oh, Twelve, what did you do?" he soothed.

"How long am I going to be here?" I sobbed.

"I'll get you out soon." He pulled away from me and smiled. "But you have to stay under control, Twelve." Then I knew that Papa knew what I had done—he didn't really need to ask.

He turned around and began to walk towards the door.

"Papa, wait—"

But he didn't listen. He walked through the door and began to close it, so I reached my hand out to halt it with my mind.

Yet nothing happened. The door closed behind him.

I knitted my brows, confused. This had never happened before. It was always me having to tame my powers, never using to little of them by mistake. I ran towards the door suddenly and pounded in it before Papa was too far away. "Papa!" I yelled.

With no response, I cupped my head in my hands and paced the room. There was nothing I could test my power with. Absolutely nothing.

Apart from myself.

I held out my palm in front of me and imagined peeling, ripping the tender skin of it, but to no avail.

I tried harder, sitting on the cold ground now, both palms inches from my face, but the skin didn't budge. I had never attempted to harm myself with my powers, though, so I found momentary comfort in that. Perhaps they just didn't work on my own body.

But I remembered my fail at stopping the door from closing, too. It was no coincidence, I was sure.

Suddenly, my ears perked up at a distant, echoey sound from the direction of the door. The sound of a voice.

I ran towards it, and listened as it sounded again. "Twelve," I heard it say.

"Yes?" I shouted. Looking frantically about the door, I noticed the keyhole. Now crouching below it, I peered through.

The only sight was a gloomy hallway, and the door of another room opposite mine.

"It's Mr Ballard."