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benscalligraphypen · 5 years ago

Text

Ad Infinitum: I. Mercy

WC: 2,347

Warnings: Mention of death, angst.

Author’s Note:

Hey everyone! This is my first ever piece of fiction. I love to write and I’ve always wanted to write for the characters I love. Throughout all of this madness, I have been so inspired by other authors lately that I decided to finally give it a “go”.

This fic is set in/directly after TROS storyline, but we’re just going to pretend that Ben is alive following the events on Exegol (I get the whole Bendemption plot, but I’m still not over it). Also keep in mind that the reader doesn’t know Ben is Leia/Han’s son. We’re starting out with a semi-long dreamscape, but things will pic up in the next chapter!

Thank you all so much for reading and please let me know what you all think!

Flames engulf your every sense. The crackle of the inferno, harsh to your ears. Lungs burning with every inhale, your body searches - screams for oxygen. In a desperate rush to flee your imminent asphyxiation, you haul your aching limbs from your small cot, legs heavy with sleep. Lack of oxygen and your inability to shake the drowsy haze numbing your instincts, your knees buckle and you tumble towards the cool stone floor. Finally, eyes open, the smoke fills your sight - it blinds and stings. Your lungs expel billowing breaths of smoke and soot - you feel dangerously close to death. With shaky joints, you crawl to the wooden opening, promising sweet release. The architecture around you whines and groans under the pressure of the heat and flames making your rushed escape all the more urgent. With hands and knees raw from the terrain, you manage to crack the door open, hinges giving way with a low and heavy creak.

Shoving the door ajar just enough to slip your tired body through, hands weary, you pull yourself to the cobblestone just outside of the structure. Sudden relief floods your senses as your lungs greedily inhale the pristine night air. You give your shaking arms a rest as you turn to lay on your back. Body soothed by the cool stone, you lay surveying the vast expanse of stars which flood your vision - flames canvasing your view.

You hear it then - distant wailing, cries of agony. With a clear oxygenated mind, you sense danger - apprehension turning fiery nerve endings into dry ice.

Slowly, you flip your fragile body over to scrutinize the landscape before you. Eyes widening, you watch in horror as surrounding huts are swallowed in a fiery blaze. As far as your sight can stretch, blinding waves of orange and red incinerate the grounds. Distantly, you spot the temple, crumbling in fiery confrontation. Within the destruction around you, your eyes spot Yanna, a dear friend. Though a few years younger than you, Yanna is a promising student; much more diligent and much stronger with the force than most her age. A fleeting wave of comfort washes over you until you realize the worst. She lay limp amongst the rubbled remains of her hut. You can’t sense her - force signature seemingly wiped from her body.

She can’t be.

She’s gone.

Looking around, you realize the same fate has met several other force-sensitive pupils as you had acquainted yourself with through the years. Overwhelming grief cascades through your very being. You sit up on tender knees in disbelief - the breath seemingly wiped from your lungs. Uncontrollable tears stream down soot-stained cheeks as the world around you burns. You clutch your ribcage as sobs wrack your body, making you sick with sorrow.

In your moment of hysteria, your skin buzzes, the force making you suddenly hyper aware. Looking up, your eyes adjust to the scene unfolding around you. You sense him. Ben.

Your Ben.

He’s Alive.

Just past the line of huts within your line of sight, you see him. Even in the shadow of night, Ben’s presence perplexes you.

He feels - different.

You sense it. His signature is dark. Ben’s usually languid and smooth form carries a sense of severity you do not recognize. Ben’s movements are crazed, leaden with purpose. He rigidly searches the grounds. You cry out for him a moment before you see it - the unmistakable cerulean blaze of his saber.

Ben’s movements falter; his pause yielding visual and energetic bursts of tension. Your mind pieces together the scene before you just as his gaze finds you. His brow bone, heavy with frustration, anger. Those lips - formed into a dangerous snarl causing your heart to race.

Fear becomes you. Ben’s heavy strides carry him to your frozen form before you have time to react, to hide. Ben’s eyes, illuminated by fire, are red with agony. You feel a tidal wave of emotion emanating from him - fear, betrayal, grief, sadness, anger.

The anger reverberating through him scares you most of all. Fury encapsulates him, reflecting in his irises. Ben’s saber remains ignited and pointed towards your form, his other, clenched in a tight fist.

“Ben -” you manage to whisper, voice failing you. His brow momentarily softens, eyes glossing over, saber lowering a millimeter.

Just as suddenly as you glimpse a sense of humanity, Ben clenches his jaw, shoulders tensing, saber aimed with purpose once again.

“Ben is dead - he was weak,” Ben replies, tears threatening to escape his eyes, cracking his stoic expression.

Ben’s saber, emanating pure unadulterated heat crackles as it threatens certain death with a swift “swish”. You worry your bottom lip between your teeth as fresh tears fall from your eyes - not in fear, but in pain. Ben’s pain, you realize. Ben’s grip on his saber leaves his knuckles impossibly white. You wonder how he hasn’t shattered the hilt.

“What - what happened?”, you whisper once more, teary eyes meeting his own, searching for remnants of his soul. Ben’s eyes explore your face for any sign of betrayal. You feel him prodding at your mind, looking for your next move.

Ben exhales like he had been holding his breath for minutes rather than moments. You observe the same degree of stress in his body; tense, ready to snap.

“Luke Skywalker tried to kill me”, Ben’s jaw clenches as he all but spits out the words. “Everything in my life has been a lie. But not now,” he shakes his head. “It is clear what I must do”. His words send a harsh shudder through your body. Head hung low, your sore knees send gentle tremors throughout your being.

Silence, besides the warm hiss of his saber fills the space between you. Looking up into his eyes, “Ben - I don’t understand. Help me understand,” you plead.

His eyes betray him, shock soaking his features. He hadn’t been prepared to explain himself. His urges were primal - the result of several years of uncertainty, of rejection. He had acted to reclaim himself - assert some semblance of power he felt had always eluded him. Inwardly, he scolds himself. He should have already killed you.

Ben’s expression returns to that of apathy. He had revealed himself for a fleeting moment, and as quickly, had hidden himself away in some abandoned box in his mind. You feel his uncertainty, but are locked out of his conscience as swiftly as he senses your prying.

“I know what I have to do. I must leave this place. I must let the past die,” Ben utters through closed teeth.

Silence again plagues the short distance between you. The gravity of his words now registering in your mind, your soul.

Ben.

Your light.

Your life.

The only boy you had ever loved.

Ben is going to kill you.

The thought registers, seeping like tar through your veins. You hang your head in defeat, awaiting the inevitable slash of his saber. Heavy sobs wrack your tired form, filling the air with grief, with surrender.

You cry and cry, thinking about your most cherished memories.You think of his smile. You think of Ben’s heated gaze filling you with such warmth; you might implode before he even strikes you. You think of the nights he held you so close to his chest you became one with his own heartbeat.

As peace fills your being, Ben whispers, “Come with me”.

You raise your eyes to meet his own - sullen, purposeful, pleading. Your lip trembles, knowing his meaning and knowing that more than anything, you want to follow - to be with him. You try to convince yourself you have the strength to do so. You try to convince yourself that everything will be alright so long as you’re together. He tries too.

You find yourself quaking in the solemn knowledge that you could never give him what he was asking of you. You would never be able to pledge yourself to the dark side of the force - regardless of the pain you feel. Regardless of your soul’s need to be with Ben.

You know that your Ben is gone.

“I - I can’t. I’m sorry,” your voice carries with more strength than you believe you can muster. “You know I can’t. A- and you know I -.”

“I know,” he replies, a stray tear rushing from the corner of his eye. You offer him a small smile, trying to engulf him in the love you feel for him - the love you will always feel for him.

Bracing yourself, you look to the sky, searching the stars for answers to questions you’ve never voiced. Closing your eyes, you feel a tear soothe your blazing skin as you exhale in surrender to your fate.

You feel warm. But not from the burn of Ben’s lightsaber.

You feel enveloped in warmth. Bewildered, you open your eyes to find yourself folded into Ben’s arms, his quivering body rapidly pulling you into reality. Ben had collapsed to his knees before you, binding his body with yours. You notice his saber laying dormant on the ground, inches from his form. Ben’s face burrows itself into the seam where your neck and your shoulder meet, seeking purchase in you. Hot tears fall from his eyes and seep into your skin. Without another thought, you tightly bind your arms around his shoulders, attempting to merge your bodies into one, attempting to piece him back together.

Ben withdraws his face from your body, keeping his arms tightly wound around you. You look up into his glossy eyes as a sense of willful determination - resolve returns.

Ben waves a hand in front of your eyes, “You will speak nothing of this night”.

“I will speak nothing of this night,” you drone, entranced. Ben releases your waist, placing both hands on your shoulders for support.

He pauses. “You will forget this night and you will not follow, or track me.”

“I will forget this night and I will not follow, or track you,” you ramble back, eyes glossed over. Ben pauses once more, staring deep into your eyes, memorizing you.

“You will close yourself off from the force... and you will forget me.”

“I will close myself off from the force and I will forget you” you whisper - obedient, though hesitant.

Ben’s hand waves in front of your eyes once more.

“Sleep,” he utters, just before the world around you fades to black.

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You bolt awake, the bright light of the medic tent temporarily blinding you.

“Kriff,” you quietly curse yourself.

“How long have I been out?” you think.

You had just been organizing reports, charting the aftermath of the last mission gone awry. The pile of paperwork in front of you had the faint reminiscence of drool staining the pages. You inwardly curse as you pull yourself from your desk chair and move to put the files back in their place.

The silence around the tent is almost jarring. There was nearly always some sort of medical emergency to deal with, keeping you busy. Not now though. It had been two days since almost the whole of the Resistance had made its way to Exegol with Rey’s help.

You absentmindedly file, reflecting on the bravery of your colleagues, knowing you could never think to contribute to the cause in that way.

You enjoy being a medic. You enjoy the monotonous day-to-day tasks during times of calm and you live for the thrill and sense of purpose you get from saving lives when duty calls.

Having cleaned your work station for the night, you move through the tent, checking the few patients resting peacefully on their gurneys. You walk past the droid station where you spot several bots charging and the med assistant, Andra, peacefully reading on a datapad.

“ ’Night Andra,” you murmur, slowing as you pass her relaxed form.

“Sheesh, it’s about time you get some rest. Goodnight, (Y/N),” Andra sleepily replies, yawning as she speaks. You chuckle, making your way out of the opening. “Hey!” you turn back expectantly. “You work too hard,” Andra scolds.

You let out a quiet laugh, not sparing a glance behind you, waving a hand in acknowledgement. Leaves and dry dirt crunch under your boots as you make your way to your tent. You cross your arms over your chest, the night air on Ajan Kloss making your walk brisk, but comfortable. The base is quiet, save for the gentle breeze rustling thick jungle leaves. You wish the calm of the night air would engulf you.

You wish.

But this dream. This persistent dream - this nightmare has plagued you for days. Over the past week, this dream has woken you, burdening you with feelings of profound sadness, loneliness, loss.

You can’t pinpoint why this dream feels so real. The only time you had dreamt of this was years ago - merely a teenager’s nightmare.

It all just feels so real.

The fire, the smoke, the sadness, the embrace.

You happen upon your tent as you think of him.

Kriff, he feels so real.

You stumble inside, working your way through the dark with little trouble. You clamber out of your pants, clumsily as ever. You don’t even bother with your sweater - your mind too preoccupied to worry about the worn piece of clothing. Collapsing on your bed, you think of him.

Closing your eyes, you’re met with his - searing brown, seemingly staring into your very core. You shudder at the sheer power and beauty they seem to possess. You map his smattering of freckles, strewn about his narrow face, much like constellations. Oh how your fingers long to trace them. A plush set of lips, soft, pillowy. His long, prominent nose, perfectly tying his features together. His ears, slightly awkward, somehow making him seem more human. You imagine brushing a piece of his silky raven hair behind his ear.

He is a masterpiece.

Huffing one final sigh, you look up at the dim, beige cloth “ceiling” and ponder the origin of your dream. You wonder if perhaps, the boy you keep seeing - Ben, is somehow lost and thinking of you too. His face, much like other nights, becomes the last thing you see as you succumb to the intoxicating pull of sleep.

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