(no subject)

[til_it_aint]

[[There will be CANON here]]

Thunder rolls overhead, lightnin' flashin' bright, shines over what's left of th'cornfield. Ben's sprawled in the mud and it hurts, oh God oh fuck but it hurts like he'd never believed it could. Slittin' his own throat didn't even feel like this - this is a forever pain, a burnin' pain, it eats away at him and makes him wiggle like a worm on a goddamn hook in the middle of th'mud and th'rain and that's not even what hurts so bad, that's not even what eats away at him, it's th'fact that Justin's above him and he's won, he's raisin' the sickle high and it's already killed him, Ben thinks dizzily, bitin' into his shoulder and openin' his belly up to spill blue blood onto th'ground but Justin just wants t'make sure.

He's got both hands on the sickle. Raises it high.

Lightnin' flashes. Ben c'n see the tree tattoo, spreading branches. 

A voice in his mind. A vision.

A dark heart dwells where twisted branches meet.

How many goddamn times? How many times had he seen it? Heard it? And only now, seein' what he never seen before, does Ben know what it means. His hands fumble for th'dagger, only one hand workin', really, but it's enough and it grabs, it holds, and th'dagger almost leaps in his hand 'cause it knows where it's goin' and Ben's up, lunging, and it's hilt-deep in Justin's chest before th'preacher-man can even blink. 

A dark heart dwells where twisted branches meet. "Anointed...dagger..." he grits out, teeth clenched hard, hurts more'n anythin' he's fuckin felt in his life and he's fuckin' died, but this is it. He's winning. "Plunge...thee...deep!"

They fall together. Ben twists the knife as he falls, slams hard into th'ground with Justin underneath him and he's still twistin', even though the blood's pumpin' out like nothing livin' and Justin's face is surprised, waxy, still.

Dead.

Ben gets maybe three feet away, crawlin' on hands and knees, dagger wrapped in bloody fingers, before it's all just too damn much. He's leavin' a trail behind him, blue blood still pourin' from belly'n'shoulder and he thinks, maybe, this is really how it ends. Them killin' each other (grass changes under him but he doesn't notice, can't see much of anythin', now) and he don't know if it's that thought or the hurtin' or what but he's fallin', suddenly, fetchin' up against a tree (was there a tree there before?) and when he hits the ground it's just so fuckin' bad that he pukes, blood'n'bile spillin' down his front, makin' his head spin even more so that he thinks

oh

I'm fuckin' dying

and ain't that just one

big

fucking

joke

(were there always lights in the distance?)

 

(sounds like laughter, spilling from a bar?)

 

Not that it matters.

 

Not that much matters, anymore.

 

Ben thinks, with the last shreds of consciousness available to him, that he wouldn't so much mind dying, if only it didn't hurt so much.

 

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[ikissdhimbck]

He cries out, sharp and desperate, and she jumps so far out of her skin she gets motion sickness trying to find her way back in. Black spots fizzle in her vision, heart racing — there ain't nothing she can compare this to, no steady ground, no reassuring memory; just the terror of the unknown, reaching out with no clue what will happen, scared witless but she can't, she can't, she can't back away — eyes fixed on his eyes through his whole speech.









"Ben."





Please, he says.



Please.







She swallows, thick, voice coming out small.

"Don't be stupid."

She doesn't touch him. She wants to, she aches to, needing to gather him up the way a hen gathers her chicks, needing to tell him it's all right — and, in so doing, convince herself it will be all right — but she doesn't touch him.



Please.



"You didn't take. I gave it t'you."



Doesn't he understand?
Doesn't he get it?







"I gave it t'you."

[til_it_aint]

He doesn't, though.

He doesn't understand, can't understand, not now and maybe not even in th'best of times, when he’s thinkin’ clear and not clouded with pain, blood, bein’ somewhere he weren’t just a minute ago, when his head ain’t spinnin’ from dead and then not. He stares at her with eyes wide’n’confused, nothin’ makin’ sense quite the way it should ‘cause why th’hell should she give life t’him? He didn’t ask for it, an’ even if he had...

He shakes his head once, slowly, makes a try like he’s gonna reach out an’ touch her, hand coming forwards and not quite makin’ it, fallin’ t’the ground so that his fingers pick at dried dead grass soaked in blue blood. It ain’t quite an invitation but it’ll do, maybe. Tellin’ her like it’s okay, like maybe he needs th’touch of a hand on his, own fingers still cold and stiff and dirty. Ain’t sure entirely what to say so maybe he’s silent a beat too long, just thinkin’, but soon enough he speaks.

Any anger that was there, or fear, it’s all but gone now. He’s just tired, just so fuckin’ tired. Of everythin’. “Didn’t have to, Mizz Barlow.” He blinks slowly, eyes stayin’ shut for just a beat longer than they really gotta. “I didn’t - didn’t ask you for nothin’. Thank you, but.” His lips twist. He looks down, back up, and maybe it’s exhaustion that’s t’blame for why there’s nothin’ hidden, now, emotions out an’ plain to read in his face.

Softly, “But y’shoulda just let it go.”





“Shoulda let me die.”




They’re child’s eyes, open and honest, been away a long while and grown up some but he’s just a boy inside, a boy who grew up too early and too fast and can’t even begin to understand this new and alien idea that somewhere, somehow, someone might care if he lives or dies.

[ikissdhimbck]

Kate don't require much. His hand's barely slipped away when she's reaching for him again, trembling because she's not quite right. Whole, but not quite right. Her insides feel like they've been through a butter churn.

Still, she reaches for him. Her hand closes around his, squeezing tight, body shifting ever-so-slowly to come up next to him. She leans against the tree, her shoulder to his.

"I know I didn't have to," she says, her tone not so far off from scolding, if she had the strength for it. "You ain't always gotta ask, Ben Hawkins. Sometimes there are gonna be people out there, people who care 'bout you, who'll move the sun an' moon t'keep you safe."

She groans, tipping her head back against the tree. She's more angry than in pain, because she doesn't have the luxury to feel knocked off her feet. Ben needs minding from a bona fide doctor. And she's the one who's got to get him there.

"Wasn't ready t'let go of you yet."

She squeezes his hand.

"I still need you around."

[til_it_aint]

His fingers tighten around her own, just for a second, quick squeeze'n'give that may be all he's got left right now, been runnin' on fumes for too long even before this whole thing got started. But there's no tension in th'air around him, nothin' bad between them and there's even somethin' like a little smile, hoverin' around his lips.

"Yeah," he says finally, "okay," squeezes her hand (don't touch me!) one more time. Rolls his head back against th'tree, mirrors her position easy and his shoulder digs into hers, maybe, just for a moment all friendly-like. "Guess I won't leave you just yet." It is a smile, tired'n'shaky but it's there, and that's gotta be somethin'. He knocks his fingers against her own. "Need someone t'take care'a you, I guess."

Or maybe that's more him needin' her, but he sure as hell ain't gonna admit it no matter what she says or does. As it is, he's content to sit for a moment, let th'pain fade back into somethin' far away t'be considered later, and just pretend that this is all he's got, right here. One little world, a tree, some grass, and Kate sittin' next t'him like she's got his back no matter what.

His eyes slip shut.

[ikissdhimbck]

She rocks sideways, fingers reaching out for his as he moves them away again. There's something quiet falling from her lips, not quite laughter but she's smiling, sleepy and broad.

"I surely do."

They take care of each other. It's the way it's always been — the way it should be — no matter the why or the when. No matter the what; no matter the how. They take care of each other, and that's just the way it is. End of.

She opens her eyes, seeing that his are shut.

"Ben?"

They can't stay out here all night. Her boots slip beneath her, looking for traction in the mud.

"Ben, wake up."

[til_it_aint]

He makes a soft noise, maybe a yes but he don't open his eyes, fingers all slack, loose'n'cold in her hand all sticky-coated in turquoise like sky or eyes. Th'wounds slicin' his belly open like a fish and markin' his shoulder still ooze sluggishly but nothin' like the pouring waterfall of life they were. He breathes easier.

Th'pain is still there but it feels strange, far away, in a way makes Ben think about frogs hidin' under winter ice in a word he never learned. It lurks, threatens, but it don't come out and he c'n push it away to a place where it don't matter anymore. Or, he thinks dizzily, let th'pain stay here and go himself to a place where there's nothin' that matters and hell if he ain't already halfway there 'cause there ain't a person can touch him here and he's got Kate at his back anyhow, and Justin's--

--dead, he's gotta be, he ain't gonna think on the visions now. He thinks about curlin' his fingers into hers but they don't move so good and anyhow, she'll want him t'move and he don't want to. Don't want t'let th'pain back in, t'open his eyes and face th'world th'way he knows she'll make him.

Somethin' like a smile, so small maybe she can't hardly see it in the dusk, touches his lips for a moment.

Just a moment longer, he thinks.

Just a moment more, here where nothin' matters and he don't have t'be avatar and there's just hands, twined into each other.

[ikissdhimbck]

He can have his moment.

He can have twenty, a thousand, because she sure as hell isn't going to let him slip away from her now. Not that easily, stealing a moment, resigning himself to the fading bliss of one last comforting dream. He has his whole life ahead of him, so young, and she's determined he'll see it — with her hand in his, supporting him every step of the way.

"Ben," she calls, gripping his hand firmly. "C'mon. Jus' a lil' further now. Please. For me."

She gets to her knees not knowing how, some strength she didn't think she had pulling her up, telling her to move. In the dark, in the muck, where her strongest compulsion is to cry for help, to search for aid, some quiet voice echoing in the catacombs of her mind whispers no. No. He doesn't need a hero, Kate; he's got you.

"C'mon now."

Even if she has to drag him the whole way.

"Up, boy."

Even if she has to bleed.

"Get up."

Even if she gets left behind.

She'll fight the darkness every step of the way, she'll fight her own self, and if she buckles it sure as hell won't be until after he's safe.

She's on her feet now, hands in his, pulling him up.




And she isn't going to let go.

[til_it_aint]

He's limp. Not fightin' her, exactly, but not goin' with her, near deadweight against her hands. He makes a choked noise when she pulls hard, bad shoulder sendin' a sudden spike of wakeful pain through him and his eyes open, focusin' on her and whatever little smile was there is now a crumpled frown, confusion painted in th'lines of his face. "Kate," he says, name fallin' from his lips in a soft whine. So confused, he don't understand why she's makin' him move, why she's makin' it so it hurts again.

But she's still holdin' him, she's still bringin' him to his feet and th'words on her lips are orders and his feet move under him without any real input from his brain, staggerin' upright, leanin' too hard on her tiny frame 'n he feels bad on it, he does, but everything's white'n'shaky right now and he figures she wants him up she's just gonna have t'be able t'handle it.

Ben fixes tired eyes on his feet and wills them forward, carryin' him in stumbling and awkward steps away from the dead tree and wide circle of bent-down grass all brown and dry, flowers fallin' from their stalks, everythin' painted in shades of blood and death settlin' over th'soil as th'life flowed hard into him. He lets her guide him even as exhaustion settles back and pain comes forward once more, blurrin' his sight -- and he don't trust no one t'lead him blind but she's given him every damn thing and more besides and he don't think he's got a choice.

Maybe, somewhere deep inside where there's avatars long past, Russian letters and circus tricks and trains fallin' from bridges and fiery trees as far back as time itself he hates her a little for bringin' him back, for not lettin' him slip down into th'black but for now -- for now he feels her hands on his, holdin' him steady, pullin' him back to th'light and he can't quite bring himself t'feel anythin' but a strange and aching kind of love.

[ikissdhimbck]

She gathers him up in her arms, stumbling with the weight of him — but she doesn't fall. She holds him tight, giving them both time to adjust, to realize the fact of the earth beneath their feet, the cold reality of the air around their heads. Breathing in, out, clinging to each other, heaviness on their backs, feet feeling dumb.

They start moving together, her arms wrapped tight around him, holding him snug. Shuffling steps that don't seem quite right but they're moving, slow and steady, little by little. And that's good enough for her.

She's covered in him. Inside and out, coated in his warmth, in the trembling skins of him. She can feel his labored breaths on her flesh, the pinch of her hair caught under his arm, the way her fingers stick to everything they touch. She has him, she is him, he is her, and in this moment they can't move but with each other, missing legs that carry her home.

They carry him home.


They carry them home.