Overpoweringly Sweet
Logan Howlett aka Wolverine x gn!nonspecified mutant! Reader
Summary: Somehow you contracted Hanahaki for a man you hardly ever spoken to. Cant end well can it?
W/C: ~9k
Warnings: a little OOC, angst, graphic description of coughing up flowers with blood.
AO3 Mirror
A/N: I never post actual fics on tumblr but I feel that it needs to be done here. So sorry if its kinda formatted weird? it will also be on AO3!. First x-men fic too so sorry if its a bit ooc. Not really based on any specific iteration of Wolverine. Also not edited like, at all. Also I take requests! :3
~~ :3 ~~
You know, having a crush on someone so unattainable is laughable at best. Having a crush on them and apparently somehow contracting Hanahaki is even worse. How does that even happen? You haven’t even spoken to the guy more than a few words. Too embarrassed to open your mouth to introduce yourself and you work together. Yet here you are, petals on the bathroom floor and a constricting feeling in your throat. Your head lying on the back of the stall door. Still heaving from the sudden onslaught of overly sickly floral-scented petals that spilled out.
Gardenias. Pure white and mocking.
The smell of them made you nauseous. The sight of them even more so. After looking up what they meant. It just made things even worse.
Secret love. How fitting.
It’s a damn crush, and the world decided it was love. Love for a grumpy ass old man with hair that kinda made you think of a cat. Actually, he reminded you of a cat in general. One that you want to rest your face on and fall asleep. Bury your face in those pecs of his. Muscles may look hard, but they do have a bit of squish. By God, does he have muscles. You’ve caught him shirtless a few times. All by accident, of course. You weren’t a pervert. Anytime you think of it, your jaw clenches tight.
Ah, getting off-topic here. Back to the fact that apparently, hanahaki doesn’t care if you’ve ever talked to someone before.
The stall door was cool against your cheek when you turned your head, and it was less gross than hugging the toilet like you wanted to so you could flush the flowers down the drain. It was terrible. The petals surround you, and a single full bloom floats mockingly in the toilet.
You know how to cure it. The moment that the flower petals started to spill from your lips, you desperately looked for what it was. It wasn’t that hard to find, apparently some find it sickeningly romantic. Bet they never had to deal with the ache that was constant around your lungs. You found the cure for it as well. Should be easy to do, right? Tell the person how you feel and they return it, or get it surgically removed. The surgery should be the right choice. It’s the only choice. You’ve hardly spoken to the man who coveted your affection, but the thought of not feeling the tug of your heart when you see him was too much to bear. Which makes no sense! It’s a dumb crush.
God, you’re an idiot.
A deep breath fills your lungs slightly, and the pain wraps around your chest as you try to get a full breath. Your hands find purchase on the rim of the toilet, and you push yourself up. Now, on two shaky legs, you wipe your mouth. You need to clean up the petals before anyone comes in. It was still the middle of the day, and classes were still going. Thank God the coughing fit didn’t hit you till lunch, or you would have to explain to a classroom full of students. That would be embarrassing. Yeah sorry class, your teacher is in love with someone they can’t have, let’s continue with the lesson now! Embarrassing.
Your hands start to pick up the petals. Each one feels as if it was searing into your skin. One, two, five, ten, thirty. Thirty petals and one full bloom. You were screwed. You could go to Hank. See if he knew any other way around it, any way to fix the disgusting flowers that took root in your lungs. Maybe being a mutant changed how to cure the disease? That was just hopeful thinking, though.
After mulling over the choices for a few moments more, you finally unlock the stall door and walk over to the garbage, quickly discarding the petals that did not make it into the toilet.
Your feet then carry you out of the bathroom and, as luck would have it, right into the chest of the one person you did not want to face yet.
Logan.
You were right, though. The muscles on his chest were squishy. God you want to just motorboat him real fast. Would that be weird? Yeah it would be. As quickly as you ran into him, you tried to remove yourself from his personal space. You know the guy wasn’t too fond of touch. You think. You actually… don’t know. Words quickly spill from your mouth as you try to apologize. “Sorry, sorry. Didn’t see you.”
Logan just makes some gruff-sounding noise and continues on his way. You could faintly see as he walked away scrunching of his nose. He was probably able to smell the faint floral scent that was clinging to you. It probably wasn’t pleasant. You didn’t like the scent, it probably was a lot stronger on his end.
As you stand in the hallway after the sudden bump into your crush, you place your hand on your chest to calm your beating heart, and you walk in the opposite direction to your classroom. It hurt that he didn’t even say anything back to your apology, but that seemed pretty in character. To you, at least. If you were on friendlier terms, maybe not, but you doubt he even knows your name.
The thought of the surgery resurfaces in your head. Maybe you should get it. Ignore the deep-seated pain in your heart at the thought of losing your feelings for him. However, the repercussions of a botched removal is another reason not to do so. It could remove the feeling of ever being in love again. Would that be so bad though?
You shake your head. You have a class you have to get back to… and a phone call to make.
The day continued on like normal after that. Classes, grading papers, discreetly removing petals from your mouth into the trashcan by your desk as you graded papers. A new norm for you. It did seem that a few students had noticed a slight change in you. In fact, one of them even got you a get well soon card. Sweet, but it left a bitter taste in your mouth.
If you don’t get better soon, you will probably end up another statistic for the disease. How many people were there that had it and perished as the roots wrapped around the lungs and slowly filled the valves on the heart. Too many, probably. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at that. That’s why you were now sitting in your now empty classroom, making a phone call. You had found a number to a doctor who specializes in the disease. You would get some advice and decide from there what you want to do.
The phone rings, once, twice….
“Hello, this is Dr. Forrest’s office. How may I help you?” How fitting a doctor who knows about Hanahaki has a nature-based last name.
You quickly introduce yourself and ask if you could speak to him or schedule an appointment. Apparently the only way to talk to him is with an appointment. The next one isn’t for a few months. You don’t even know if you’ll last that long. You’ve been keeping track. A full bloom appeared today. A singular full bloom, no steam. The petals were loose so it had to be in the early start of the mid stages. It was taking its time infecting you. It must be due to not seeing Logan all the time.
You do tend to avoid him when you can. The thought of seeing him always makes your cheeks burn. Man was just too hot. It made it seem like you were in love with just his looks! You weren’t. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be coughing up all these petals. You’re pretty sure it wasn’t just his looks. The flower has a meaning, after all.
Maybe if you avoid Logan, actually stop trying to see if you can see him across the halls. Stop looking for him during dining hours. Just try to ignore him. Though unless he was going to go on one of those sudden long vanishing acts. Well, you doubt that you actually will be able to avoid him enough to live till the next appointment. You really are screwed. Shit.
Running a hand over your face with a groan you lean back in the chair behind your desk. What should you do? The surgery now seemed to be out of the question. So now you either confess and die, or you just die. Which definitely was not the ideal thing to do. You were screwed. Hands down. Your name is on the death warrant the moment the receptionist said months. Maybe you should go to Hank. Dude was a certified genius right? He would know something.
A knock at your door made you jump. Quickly you lift your head and look over to the closed door to your classroom. Could be a student, another faculty member? Whoever it was either needed you or the room.
“Come on in.”
Silence followed and then the door opened up. Your gaze turns to the door, ready to answer whatever questions that are going to follow. Till you hear the tall tale sound of boots, heavy. The sound of jeans rubbing against legs. A jacket rustling slightly from movement. Jeez, why are you suddenly so aware of the sounds?
Your eyes hone in on the man you’ve been thinking about. Logan. Twice. TWICE in one day you’ve seen him up close. See him in your space. He never seeks you out. You never get to see him up close like this more than once or twice a week. It’s like you’re in a fanfiction and someone is pushing the two of you together.
That’s silly though, this was real life.
“Oh, Logan. How can I… help you?” Could you sound any more awkward? You want to bang your head on your desk. Especially with how he was just looking at you. Should you have called him Wolverine? Mr. Howlett?
“You need to let up on that perfume you’re wearing. Can smell it all over the hall.” His face gives away the fact he smells something he doesn’t like.
Perfume?... Perfume… The flowers. Of course he could smell it. The floral scent has been clinging to you since the first petals slipped from between your lips.
“Oh, heh sorry. I’ll try to use less of it.” You just laugh a bit, still feeling a tad bit uncomfortable, the sudden tickle in your throat reminding you that you could not stop the smell from permeating your skin. That it will linger on you till you no longer have these flowers growing inside of your chest. “If I use too much again I’m sorry. Can’t really tell when I use too much or not.”
Blue eyes narrow at you, you can tell he doesn’t believe you. That he should call you out on it. “Thanks bub, it’s masking everything else.”
With that he left the room as quickly as he came, there was a slight pause and you can tell he glanced at the trash can by your desk. The trash can that had a few petals thrown in haphazardly. Thought to be hidden by the papers that you threw on top. You hope that is all he sees.
That was such an awkward interaction. You slam your head on the desk once more. God why are you such an idiot.
~~ :3c ~~
Time continues on like normal, but recently you catch Logan at the corner of your eye. Which is normal, you usually do seek him out. Yet now it’s like he is everywhere you go. Walking in the gardens, he’s out there smoking one of his cigars leaning on a tree or the wall of the mansion. You’d be eating and you’d see him a table or two away, his eyes on you. You can feel them boring into your skin. You’ll be walking in the hallways and see him turning a corner before you fully spot him. More often than not you find him outside of the bathroom you were just in after coughing up a storm. Just standing by the door like a guard dog. Always scrunching his nose when the door opens and the aroma of flowers follows you out.
He knew. He had to. He had to know something was wrong with you. There is no way he doesn’t. The man has been alive long enough that he probably knows the signs of what you have. The disease that is currently ruining your life. He has probably seen all sorts of people who have had Hanahaki. You won’t be the first, nor the last person he has seen inflicted with it either. It’s probably why he’s keeping an eye on you. He must have found out when he came to ask you to stop using so much perfume and yet you still smell that sickeningly floral smell on you.
Unless you’re just suddenly more aware of him than you were before. Which you shouldn’t be. You were already highly aware of him due to your damn dumb crush that’s killing you. Eyes are always lingering on him.
It’s probably because of the scent that’s following you around. It is probably sticking out more than your usual scent, which was. You don’t know. What do you normally smell like? Apparently, it’s something non-distinct since the new smell is pretty overpowering. If you can smell it, it must be strong.
You wish you knew what was going through the man’s head. You couldn’t really ask him. You aren’t close to him like that. Can’t ask the people he is close to either because you aren’t close to them. You kinda just, are here in the mansion teaching. You’re not a part of x-men, you aren’t too interested in fighting anyways. You earned your keep teaching. You are vaguely close to Hank though. Well, in recent events at least. You could ask him?
Yeah, no, you aren’t. You’re going to suffer through this. You can handle it. You don’t need to know what’s going on in his mind.
Which reminds you, you need to actually go talk to Hank. You’ve been putting it off, but the full blooms are startling. Every other coughing fit brings one full bloom. It has only been a week since the first bloom and with the sudden influx of Logan sightings, it is speeding up. You needed an out and fast. Before it kills you.
Thus here you are walking through the mansion to head down to his lab. Quickly avoiding anyone you see. The scent of flowers following you through the halls like a wraith. Leaving a trail of sweetness to waft into the air. Disgusting.
As you make your way into the lab you spot Hank, or Beast? Shit, you don’t even know which one he prefers to be called. You really should ask, huh. Anyway, you spot him.
When the blue-furred man spots you, he quickly greets you with your name: “It is good to see you this fine evening. What do I owe the pleasure? It is not often I see you down here.”
If you could, you would sigh deeply. The rattling of vines stops the motion before it begins. “Hi yeah uh. I got into a delicate situation and I don’t know who else to go to? The doctor I had called can’t really see me and I don’t know what else to do and you’re like… The smartest person I know so I’m hoping… you could help?” The words spill out quickly.
Hank raises an eyebrow and fixes the glasses perched on his face. The man was upside down for some odd reason, and he quickly flipped to land on the ground. With grace you don’t expect for someone his size. Then again, you’ve seen some weird ass mutations. He motions for you to sit down on one of the beds stationed in the lab. One used when needed for situations like this. Medical, scientific, not something you can throw a punch at and fix.
After sitting down on the bed, you start to explain. Words flowing like a waterfall. He is the first person you have gone into detail about your condition. How the petals slip from your lips like a poison, the tightening of your chest with each breath. The fear of losing yourself to unrequited love and dying because of it. You do not mention who it is directed at nor the fact you thought it was a crush and did not deserve to have evolved into such a disease.
The room fell silent after your reveal, a silence that stretched on longer than you would have liked. God, you hope he has an idea about how to help you out of this mess.
“From my knowledge there are only two cures. I assume you already know.” A pause as you answer with a curt nod. “I do not believe there are any other alternatives other than what has been proven to work. I assume that you are here to find out if there are any or that you require the surgery.”
“I can’t tell them… I really had hoped that you would know. I don’t.” You sigh and run a hand through your hair, messing it up slightly. It was already a mess from earlier, but you know how hands are in hair. “It’s not an option to tell them.”
“I see. It will take some time, but I will see if I can learn the correct procedure so that there will be minimal to no complications.” Hank pats you on the shoulder and motions for you to head out. He had some things to do and research to go over. Escorting you out of his lab so Hank may do what is necessary. He didn’t give a timeline, but you trust that he can do it before your time is up.
You really hope that he can do this.
After leaving the lab, you had to pass some of the other faculty. Or X-men? Yeah, it seems they are setting off on a mission of some sort. You pass Cyclops, Storm, Jean and. Yeah, that is exactly who you don’t want to see right now. Logan. Seems he is going with them. To, wherever they have to go. You give them all a small nod in acknowledgment as you pass them. Each one provides you a small smile or nods back.
Logan though? He pauses when you pass him. His face contorted into something you weren’t too sure of. He probably caught another whiff of the flowers on you. Great. The others give him a look and he just grunts at them. Somehow they understand and continue on their way. Leaving you with Logan.
A hand grabs your bicep, fingers wrapping around the muscle. Your gaze drops to the hand, in another life you were sure it would be rough with use, but it was surprisingly soft. The grip was not, natural strength hidden behind the hold. A promise that you would not be able to pull away without exerting yourself.
“You’re smellin’ worse. Thought I told you to let up.” A gruff voice, oh how you want to roll in that voice. That was a weird thought, you should probably stop thinking of that like a weirdo. God are you a weirdo?
An awkward laugh bubbles up from your chest. You can feel your own muscles tense under his hold and gaze. Damn he’s never looked at you like this before. A slight glare, crinckled nose, and a slight snarl on his lips. You must be really weird because damn was that kind of a hot look. Which somehow in turn makes your chest tighten and the tickle of a cough is trying to break free. You swallow hard to bite it back. Yet you can feel the petals moving through your throat.
“Sorry sorry, I guess I overdid it?” You pull your eyes away from his. Unable to continue to look at his face. Be it from your weird thoughts, the tickle in your throat or your inability to keep eye contact with someone. “I swear I’m not doing it on purpose.”
“You’re hiding that you're sick.” The grip on your arm tightens. Not in a painful manner no, but a reminder that you cannot run away from this conversation. Which is odd right? Why does Logan care? You two hardly know each other. Sure you apparently love the man, but you’re still sure he doesn’t even know your name. You’ve seen him care for others in the mansion, a good friend in an odd way. A father figure and mentor to some of the students. Also in a weird way. You’re sure he’d brush off that idea and say he isn’t. He is.
Wait, he just said you’re sick… “I’m not sick?”
Logan's eyes narrow as he stares at you. Do you look sick? Sure you’ve gotten a little pale and eating has gotten a little hard so you haven’t been eating as much as you usually do. Does being sick have a smell to it? Fuck that is weird. Well, some animals could tell when others are sick before physical symptoms show. Maybe that's how he knew. No, that wouldn’t make sense because you aren’t really sick. You just have a big fat crush that's killing you.
You can tell Logan doesn’t believe you. “Just fix it. Can’t stand the smell on you.” His hand lets go and he stalks down the hallway to where the others had walked off to. Your eyes linger on his form as he walks away. The ghost of a feeling on your arm where his hand had wrapped around it. The slight warmth seeping into your skin slowly vanishes. God you’re fucked.
~~ >:3 ~~
And fucked you are. It’s been at least two months since you told Hank about the hanahaki. Hank is taking his sweet ass time researching the procedure, the doctor you called has called back finally and mentioned that his next opening for a consultation was still months away. Which you decide to say fuck that guy, you trust Hank can do it. The doctor probably won’t even work on a mutant. Logan is still always at the corner of your eye. A scowl or sneer on his face anytime he looks at you. Not to mention the flowers! They’re getting worse.
Full blooms, multiple at a time. Their petals no longer loose around the center. Now they are tightly packed, fully bloomed and speckled with blood as they escape through your throat. Occasionally there would be a flower that had not bloomed yet. Still wrapped tightly, not fully formed. You weren’t sure what that meant, but you’re sure it wasn’t good. At least they were not roses. You feel bad for those who dealt with that. Thorns were something you were happy that was not in the mix of your own flower hell.
The flowers aren’t fully developed yet. Stems have not fallen with them. Yet you are unsure if you would survive long enough to see the end stages of hanahaki. Your body is getting weaker and weaker each day. Your own mutation even fighting against you. You can hardly call on it now. Once you had wished to be a normal person, but that has been years ago. Now you feel like you are losing a part of yourself. These damn flowers truly are killing you. Both physically and emotionally.
You had to leave class more often. The coughs that tore through your chest made it unbearable to speak long enough to teach an entire class to its completion. Students start to worry, other faculty seem to notice the sudden change as you have to start asking for people to cover your class for you as you rush to the restroom to hug the porcelain throne to exude the flowers of love. Each time more and more petals fall from your lips, tears stain your cheeks more often due to the pain and energy it takes to clear them out from your throat.
It has gotten to the point where you had to ask someone to cover your class in full, or cancel it. You don’t want to cancel your classes, but at the rate you are going it will be the only thing you can do. Today is probably the last full class you can handle, you feel like shit. Your throat itches, your stomach aches from the lack of food. Your head hurts because of the lack of sleep from the coughing. Yeah, you might have to take a break from it all. What surprises you is that Logan is waiting outside of your classroom.
Ok it’s not that surprising. You’ve been catching him outside your classroom since he came back. It is like he is suddenly more aware of you. He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his eyes on you. You would be excited usually, your crush suddenly paying attention to you! How great is that? Yet lately it just makes things feel so much worse. Especially with that sneer on his face. You know he knows something is up, he made it clear two months ago. Though he hasn’t brought it up again. Yet he is always there. Like a shadow.
Which is honestly a bit uncomfortable. You aren’t used to this amount of attention.
“You don’t have to stand out here you know?” Papers you needed to grade were in your arms. You may need to take a break, but you should at least grade these papers before someone takes the class over. Your last bit of work.
Logan just stares at you. The slight glare, the wrinkled nose, the arms crossing making those muscles bulge out of his shirt. You had to quickly drag your eyes away from his arms so you aren’t caught staring. You don’t meet his eyes though. It was too intense.
“You’re getting worse.” Way to point out the obvious Logan.
“Good observation.” A short pause follows after. Silence falls for a few moments. “I uh, it’s why I’m takin a break. Sick leave? Uh… Yeah…” You really don’t know how to talk to him. The tickle in your throat is back again. Too soon, you just hacked up half your lung just moments before. You really don’t want to cough in front of him. You thought he might already know what it is, but he still thinks the smell on you is perfume. So no way do you want him to know the truth.
Logan stares at you a few moments longer, a slight grunt. His head motioned for you to follow him. That’s how you read it at least as he starts to walk down the corridor and only pauses to look at you. Looks like you’re following him. This can’t end well can it?
The two of you walk silently through the corridors. Your arms are still full of papers, but it seems the two of you are heading out into the garden. Probably for the best, the crisp air outside will dull the floral scent. Hopefully at least. Even if it lingers on your skin and it has gotten to the point others have even started to point it out. The halls were mostly empty though at this time. Most students are already off doing their own thing, you can vaguely hear a laughter from down the hall as the two of you finally make your way outside.
Into the garden, the cool air bites at your exposed arms. You should have worn a jacket. Too late for that now it seems. The trees are already turning orange, autumn making its way across the land. Oranges, reds and browns. If you weren’t full of anxiety you would be enjoying the sights. Especially as Logan brings you over to a small bench by the man-made pond. A bit away from everyone, but still close enough to the mansion you can dash inside if needed.
You take a seat first. The papers sit beside you. Logan stands in front of you. Arms crossed and eyes narrowed. He isn’t sitting. Why isn’t he sitting?
“So uh…” Your voice comes out first, awkward and a bit unsure. The tickle in your throat grows again as you fight it back.
“It’s not perfume on you is it?” Logan’s gaze never leaves yours, but you can’t help but look away. Too uncomfortable with the eyes boring into you. You never once used perfume, though you did use that as an excuse didn’t you?
Silence followed after. Your eyes looking at the ground as you kick your legs back and forth. Unable to voice the truth. Logan is still looking at you, jaw clenching most likely. You don’t have to look at him to know.
His voice finally cuts through the silence. Apparently he was sick of you beating around the bush and not answering him. Your name on his lips startling you slightly. You honestly thought he didn’t know your name, but it seems you were wrong. “What's makin you so sick that it’s leaving you to look like that and smell like that.”
You should tell him. Tell him. TELL HIM.
…
You’ll tell him without actually telling him. You don’t think you’d survive telling him the full truth. You’re a pretty good liar most of the time. He might be able to pick through the lie but he’s not that perceptive right?
“I uh… It’s.” You feel like you’re stumbling over your words, your throat constricting. “I have.”
You couldn’t finish your sentence. Your muscles tensing as a cough tears through you. Violently. Your body lurching forward as your hand shoots up to cover your lips as the cough pulls out petals and blossoms alike. Your hand can’t catch all the petals as they spill to the ground. Your eyes clenching shut as tears prickle the corners due to how painful it was. The other hand not covering your mouth grabs at your chest. As if you could claw the roots out through your skin. It burns.
It burns, it burns, it burns.
It won’t stop. You can’t stop hacking up the petals. Each cough brings out a sob with it as well. It has never been this bad. The scent of gardenias explodes. It burns your nose. You hate the smell of it. If you survive you’ll never be able to handle this scent again. Your body retching forward as you double over. Body crumpling in on itself as you try desperately to get some air into your already filled lungs. You would think having plants living in your lungs would give you more oxygen. If only it didn’t wrap tightly around your lungs and neighboring organs. Leaving little space for what you truly needed.
You almost forget Logan is there with you. An unexpected presence sits beside you. Warmth seeping into your side. He doesn’t set a comforting hand on your back. Doesn’t say any words. But him sitting beside you is enough comfort. You don’t think you could handle physical touch anyways. Your body would probably jerk harder at it. Hanahaki really was a killing disease wasn’t it. It was going to kill you before even getting to the final stage. You can’t do this.
Slowly the coughing fit lessens. The petals and blooms spilling from your mouth as if it was all you breathed came to a stop. Your body still hunched over, tears filling your eyes as you finally, finally stopped coughing up the damned flowers. You were still shaking, trying to catch the lost breath.
“You’re ok sweetheart. Just try and breathe.” Something large, heavy, warm rests on your upper back. Small soothing circles. He called you sweetheart, that was strange. You don’t expect comfort. You don’t think Logan expected to comfort you like this either. It was an awkward movement, but comforting. You wanted to lean into it, lean into him. You weren’t going to though. Pain was radiating through your chest and you weren’t sure you would be able to sit up straight without coughing again. Fear that any movement will bring on another coughing fit settled inside of you like a vice. You can still feel the slight tickle in your raw throat.
You taste blood.
It takes a few tries, gasping tries, before air finally was able to fill your lungs enough that you could breathe properly. Or well, as well as you can with roots wrapping around your insides. You pull out a few petals that were still stuck in your mouth and let them fall to the ground as you slowly sit up. Still slightly hunched over but no longer practically hugging your legs. You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand, blood from your lips smearing across your skin. Eyes on the ground where the mess you made mocks you. There's so much, white and red. White flowers that you would have thought beautiful covered in splotches of your own blood. Tainting the gardenias, tainting the meaning of secret love. Disgusting. You’re disgusting.
Your eyes linger on the ground as you finally speak. Voice raspy and strained. “Sorry.”
“Nothin to be sorry about, nasty thing you got. Seen it a few times.” Logan’s voice is gruff, yet there is a touch of something tender in there. Unexpected. You don’t like it. He shouldn’t be treating you like this. He doesn’t know you, he doesn’t know that you’re like this because of him, because of your dumb crush on him that the world decided was good enough to practically kill you.
Ok that’s not true. You know under his rough and tough demeanor and the huge, insensitive ass he could be. He’s caring and trustworthy. Loyal as fuck and self-sacrificing. It’s what had drawn you in in the first place. The soft look he’d give to people he cared about when no one was looking. The way he treats the younger mutants. It was heartwarming. Your admiration for him turned from simply looking up to him to wanting him to look at you that way.
Silence falls between the two of you again as you continue to try to take in oxygen. The taste of iron and earth is still on your tongue. The sound of fellow mutants distantly chatting and the occasional bird cuts through the silence. You don’t want to talk, you don’t want to tell him who your affliction derives from. You doubt he would ask, but he might. You’ll need to think of an excuse. A lie. Anything to keep him from finding out it is him. He’d reject you. You know this already. You’ve seen him look at others. He doesn’t look at you like that. You just learned he knew your name too! The two of you hardly spoke before. This is the most attention you have ever gotten from him. He doesn’t love you the way the disease needs him to.
“Who's the asshole?” His words cut through the silence again. Surprising you once more. This definitely is the most words he has ever spoken to you.
“Doesn’t matter… He doesn’t feel the same.” Your throat continued to feel raw. It hurt to speak, but you needed to answer. You couldn’t stay quiet when he asked. Your gaze moves from the ground to glance at him from the side. You try not to meet his eyes but you can see a look on his face that had never been directed towards you. In any other situation you would be happy, ecstatic. Right now though, it makes your stomach tie up in uncomfortable knots.
A slight hint of anger crosses Logan’s face and his hand just rests on your back, no longer rubbing those soothing circles. You know he wants to know. The look he has on him makes you think he sees you as someone under his protection, it’s nice. Even if it is not really what you want at the moment.
“So you’re willing to die for him.” There was a short pause between his words. His tone is soft, you don’t like it. “Seen most with it die that way. Shouldn’t have to die like that.”
You decide not to reply to the fact that you were willing to die for these feelings. Why? Because you still don’t want to believe it is true. Even with the flowers clearly showing signs the crush was love. Infatuation. You hate this. “Dr. Mccoy is going to perform the surgery for me. Should be any day now.”
You at least hope it will be any day now. You spoke to him a couple days ago and he seemed a bit all over the place so you couldn’t ask him if he was ready yet. You know he hadn’t forgotten, you saw the books laying on one of the tables next to some tools, but time was ticking and it was ticking fast. You know it and now… Now Logan knows it too. You’re on limited time.
“I… can’t tell him. He doesn’t feel the same, he can’t. I’ll die if I tell him. I have to do the surgery. I’d rather chance not feeling love again than to confess and die. I…” Your hands curl into themselves as you look back down at the flowers. The tightening in your chest squeezes harder. You don’t need to explain yourself, but you feel like you have to. This way you can come to terms with it. Speaking it out loud makes it all too real. “I trust Dr.Mccoy. He won’t fail. He… he can’t.”
“Lotta trust in the guy.” Logan leans back on the bench, his hand lingering on your back removes itself as he crosses his arms. You feel the itch in your throat again, it’s too soon for more petals. You at least hope so. Logan then continues, “Remember watching someone choke on their own blood cause of that shit. Don’t want to see you on that end sweetheart.”
Logan called you sweetheart, again. It made butterflies fly around your stomach, churning with the anxiety already there. It was not the most comfortable of feelings. You weren’t expecting it this time either. It was nice. Would be nicer in better circumstances though. “Thanks Logan, but I’ll survive this. I have to…”
“Still think you should tell me who this asshole is. Could talk to him.” You hear the familiar snikt sound, a clear sign he extended his claws. A glance over was all you needed to confirm he did, the light gleaming off the metal.
“God no! Sure actions speak louder than words for him, but it wont help.” Because he’d be threatening himself. You couldn’t help but let a pathetic laugh bubble up. Pain radiating through your chest and throat as you do so. At least you can still find some humor in this. Logan’s claws go right back under his skin and between his knuckles at your words. Though you can tell he still seemed interested in using violence against who is causing this for you. God, you wish you could tell him.
The two of you fall into another silence. Your own thoughts are swirling through your head and you’re sure Logan is also dealing with his own thoughts. Your disease is now out there. What truly ales you has been revealed without you actually saying the words. You wished you could have said the words, said what it was, told him your feelings. Though things never work out that way do they.
You aren’t sure how this was going to end.
Logan looks at you the same time you gaze at him. Your eyes meet his blue ones. You would wax poetic about his eyes, but that seems pretty cliche. Everyone always does when talking about blue eyes, how they look like the ocean, or the sky. Logan’s reminds you of steel, the silvery blue that almost matches the adamantium claws you see on occasion. There is something in those eyes though, something you can’t read. Something behind that wall everyone knows he puts up. You want to dig deeper, fall into those eyes to avoid all your problems. Be free of the pain you can’t escape. The two of you seem to just stare at each other far longer than it felt.
“Tell me when you get the surgery. I want to be there.”
“...Okay.”
And just like that, the two of you break eye contact and fall into a silence. A silence only broken by the occasional cough from you and the sounds of nature and other mutants about. You wish you could have experienced this sooner. Before your world decided to crash down on you. You’ll just have to enjoy the time with him like this while you can. Before the feelings you have for him are forever torn away. Leaving only a hollow space in your chest for the fellow mutant.
You’re not ready.
~~ :3 !! ~~
Hank Mccoy finally let you know he was ready to do the surgery a few days after your chat with Logan. You weren’t ready for it. You didn’t want to lose these feelings, you didn’t want the complications that may follow, but fuck you don’t want to die either. You will die if you don’t do this surgery. You can’t… You have to do this.
Which is why you are outside of the room Logan usually occupies when he is in the mansion. You've been standing outside of his room for what felt like hours now. You knew he probably could hear your heartbeat, but he isn’t coming out. He asked to be there when you got the surgery. He wanted to support you for some reason. You could just go, leave and get the surgery without telling him. Your anxiety welling up along with the urge to throw up. Your hand is already raised before you could stop yourself and you knock three times.
Silence follows after. The sound of shuffling and the door opens. Logan standing there in one of those slutty little white tank tops and jeans. A classic look that was all too hot in your opinion. Your mouth feels dry as he looks at you.
“I’m getting it now.��� You rub your arm, unable to look him in the eyes. You do look at his face though. Just long enough to see shock cross his face for a few seconds, which quickly vanished back behind his usual look. Logan steps out of his room and shuts the door, head tilting to the side a bit as he waits for you to start walking to Hank’s lab.
The two of you walk silently through the halls. It was late in the afternoon. You could have gotten it earlier in the day but your body was so exhausted from the coughing fit you had that night that you couldn’t bring yourself to get out of bed. In fact you’re still in your pajamas mostly. Sweatpants and a t-shirt. Comfy. You’re going into surgery, you deserve not to dress up for it. Logan doesn’t comment on it either so it’s fine. You’re fine.
Everything is fine.
The two of you enter the lab quietly. No one else seems to be here but Hank. After all, one else knew. People knew you were sick of course, but you kept a tight lip on what exactly was inflicting you.
Hank greets you with your name. A look of surprise as his eyes drop onto Logan. Quickly he glanced back at you and you just shrugged your shoulders slightly. Letting Hank know the situation. How Logan knew what was wrong with you and wanted to be here with you. Moral support from the emotionally constipated x-men. Well, mostly constipated.
After going over the procedures and what needed to be done you step behind the curtains, changing into one of those flimsy hospital gowns. The cool air nipping at your skin as you bite your bottom lip. You were scared. You didn’t want this. You couldn’t do this. You can’t do this! You don’t want to lose your feelings for Logan. He just now is starting to show you attention. It’s not fair! You shouldn’t have to deal with this! You can’t, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t.
“Are you okay?” Hank's voice cuts through your spiral. Eyes watering and your chest heaving. Ohm you were crying. No, you were sobbing again. Your hands are shaking at your side. You glance at the curtain that hid you from the other two. You know they heard you crying, heard you falling apart. How embarrassing. Your hand grips at the gown, bunching it up at your chest as you take a shaky breath. Lungs barely able to hold a full inhale.
“Yeah… Yeah sorry. I’m ok. I’m ready.” You step out from behind the curtain. Clear concern was on the blue mutant's face. You can’t read the others. You don’t like this. You silently pad over to the table, bed, whatever it is, that is set up for you. Another strained breathe and you sit on the surface. A glance at the two of them and you lay back. You’re surprised the professor wasn’t here to help out. Maybe he wasn’t needed. Hank could handle this on his own. You can handle this. Logan was here, you didn’t want him here, but it was a strange comfort knowing the man you loved was here to support you. Even if said surgery would remove all feelings for him. How poetic.
You stare at the ceiling, unsure of what to do as Hank moves around you. Logan who had been leaning on the wall walks over and takes your hand in his. Holding it as if you would shatter at the softest of touches. You hate it.
“Offer still stands darlin’. Can make the guy love you back.” Although the words would work well in a teasing tone. There was a hint of seriousness behind it. Like he didn’t want you to go under. To have the gardenias removed from your chest. Your hand squeezes his weakly. You knew you didn’t have much time left. You had to do this or confess. Only one of those was an actual option.
Hank returns and holds up the mask. You lift your head up as he slides it over your mouth and nose. It’s too late. You can feel the tears threatening to fall again. You’re scared. Your grip on Logan’s hand tightens as Hank moves around you, making sure you’re hooked up correctly. Your vision starts to blur slightly. You try to inhale the gas as deeply as you could, it hurt. Your lungs didn’t want to fill, you think you can feel the roots wiggling deeper through your lungs and closer to your heart. Your eyes are on Logan, fear clearly radiating off of you. Your own eyes showing the anxiety inside of you. Logan just stands strong next to you. Like a silent guard.
As the world starts to blacken around you, the corners of the room vanishing slowly. You couldn’t help yourself. You were getting the surgery. You can say the words now. It won’t matter. Your head was already floating and consciousness was fading. Eyes focusing on Logan, like a tunnel. All you could see was him as the world around you slowly vanished into nothingness. Three words slipped out of you without much thought.
“I love you.”
The world shifts and the world goes dark.
The quiet beeping echos. A steady rhythm that matches the slight pounding in your head. Your eyes slowly open, only to quickly shut again. The lights were a bit too bright and everything was… Numb. Your mouth feels dry and you physically can’t feel anything. Did the surgery go wrong? Why can’t you feel anything? A groan bubbles up from your throat as you force your eyes to open. That’s when you feel it.
You can feel every muscle, every fiber of the blanket covering you. The heaviness in your chest is gone. You take a breath. You can… You can take a breath. Your lungs are fully filled with oxygen. Chest rising higher than it has in months. You can breathe. Your eyes open again, the bright fluorescent lights above you illuminate the room. You tilt your head away from looking up at the ceiling. Eyes moving around the room. Gaze falling on the little monitor you’re hooked up to. The beeping was your heartbeat. Ok. That looked good.
Your head turns the other direction as you take in another sweet deep breath. Eyes landing on Logan. He was still here, sitting beside your bed, head lolled to the side clearly asleep. Your chest tightens in the familiar feeling you have been dealing with for months. That can’t be right. You shouldn’t still be feeling this longing. You shouldn’t still be feeling the warmth that spreads through you over the fact that he had stayed. You shouldn’t be feeling the soft tug on your heart as you look at him or the soft smile pulling on your lips.
This was wrong. Something was wrong. You raise the arm that wasn’t hooked up to all the devices and set it on your chest. There was pain there, raw and uncomfortable, but there was no bump on your chest to show there was a bandage, no pain pulling at your skin. The pain you felt was all under your skin. This isn’t right, something is wrong. Your chest felt clear but you have no evidence that you underwent the surgery. You force yourself to sit up. Pain shoots down your spine. You groaned in pain and a hand was suddenly pressing down on your shoulder. Forcing you back onto the bed. Logan had gotten up.
“Logan?” Your voice was scratchy. It felt just like the times you coughed up all those flowers when he found out. “What… What’s going on? Why do I…”
“Yeah it’s me. Lay back down. Can’t have you moving around too much yet.” Logan’s hand was still on your shoulder, a gentle pressure making you lay back down onto the bed. Your eyebrows furrowing in confusion at the look he is giving you. You can’t read him. “Don’t talk too much either. Hank said you got to heal.”
Yet you’re pretty sure you didn’t get the surgery though! You should be dead. You… You told Logan how you felt. How you still feel. Yet the urge to cough is gone. Your chest feeling lighter than it has since before the disease took its hold on your life. That has to mean something. Something happened when you went under. What happened? Why won’t he tell you? Why is he looking at you like that?
Logan’s hand finally pulled away from your shoulder. He just stares down at you as you stare at him. Silence falls between you two. His hand then slowly moves again. Your eyes darting down to the hand. Slowly his hand goes to push some hair out of your face. The same look he has been giving you for the past few months crosses his face. You still don’t know what it means, but it is making your stomach flip.
“Glad you didn’t die for a guy like me. World be a lot darker without you in it.” His hand gently cups your cheek, his thumb gently rubbing your cheek. His hand was soft and warm. The touch a bit too tender for someone like him.
Wait. Wait wait wait. He heard you. He heard what you said before going under. You didn’t go through the surgery yet your chest feels lighter than it should. That could only mean one thing. Your eyes go wide in surprise and your lips part as you go to speak. Pain still itching at your throat.
“You heard me…” Of course he heard you! He was right next to you holding your hand. He has enhanced senses. He heard you confess. He heard you say you loved him. You’re still alive, you still feel for him and you confessed! That has to mean. Your face suddenly lights up. Heat pooling both on your cheeks and in your stomach. There is only one explanation. There is only one way you were able to live and still feel this way. Logan loved you back. That doesn’t make sense though! Before you started smelling like flowers the two of you never spoke to one another. Yet he…
He loved you back.
“Yeah, I did. Could have told me sooner to save you the pain. Told ya I’d make sure the guy felt the same.” His hand leaves your face. He turns to grab the chair he had been sitting in before and pulls it over. The chair legs screeching across the floor making you flinch at the noise. Once the chair was next to you he sat down and took your hand in his again. Once more treating you like glass. Though you appreciate it, you feel like glass right now.
Logan lifts your hand up to his face, blue eyes staring straight into your own as his lips find your knuckles. Leaving a soft kiss. You were already blushing before, but you swear you feel like you’re on fire. His lips brushing against your knuckles as he speaks once more. You really aren’t used to hearing him speak so much. “Looks like we got a lot to talk about sweetheart.”
You just silently nod, unable to break your gaze from his. Your hand is lowered, your heart beating out of your chest. You are sure he can hear it. You lick your lips, unable to speak a word out of fear you’ll embarrass yourself further. Logan just chuckles slightly, a deep reverberating one.
“Guess I should say it, not really good with the emotions shit, but I love you too.”
A few blinks and then a small laugh comes out of you. A wince follows after, but the biggest grin spreads on your face. All it took was you almost dying to finally hear those three little words. You’ll never look at gardenias the same again, nor will you be able to stand the sickly sweet smell of a strong floral scent. That doesn’t matter to you though. You obtained something you thought was unattainable. The love of the man you were in love with. The secret love no longer hidden.
You can now understand the look Logan was giving you. It was the same you had been giving him. You both were in love with each other but were unsure how to go about it. All it took was the flowers that no longer were growing inside of you.
You finally say the words, more confident than when you went under. “I love you.”
“Love you too sweetheart.”
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Chapter 18 - Something In The Static
Series Masterlist
Author's Note: I’d like to dedicate this chapter to my friend who I finally got to watch the Boys and we’re talking about Soldier Boy and I have to pretend I’m not doing this and be very normal about the conversation.
Also for everyone who's gonna say “why is Ezekiel alive”, Butcher never went all tentacle tumor on us, and therefore Ezekiel is still very much alive. “Well how did Butcher survive their encounter” idk maybe he kissed Ezekiel and then just ran away.
Chapter Title from Not Strong Enough by boygenius
Word Count: 25.7k......
Chapter Summary/Warnings: The Believe Expo is underway, and everyone is dealing with a lot of emotions. Usual warnings, time two. We're looking at angst and smut and (minimal) fluff. Just a hodgepodge of everything.
Read on A03!
Chapter 17 - Chapter 19
Coconut might be the worst smell in the world. Not real coconut, but this fake, chemical coconut that was everywhere in Homelander’s apartment. Everywhere on Homelander. Too sweet and impossible to not think about. It burns your nose, and you’re starting to wonder if it’s some kind of poison cologne. Something designed to make him even harder to stand against, because you always have to use a hand to block the smell from your nose. You’d never smelled it in the white room, but Homelander always went through an airlock before he visited you. This is just him, all the time, and you’re choking on it.
He still hadn’t touched you. And they hadn’t locked you back down. You think that, between Noir’s sudden and heroic death very vaguely “defending our country” and the the CIA releasing a statement that you’re being held against your will by Vought—you’re surprised Mallory didn’t take the disavowing you entirely path, but here you are—Sage is too busy putting out fires to convince Homelander that you didn’t break that easy. That, after Noir II, you’d gotten back up. Revised your role, changing how you played it, and kept moving. You would not break, not like this, not where Homelander could see it. He didn’t fucking deserve to see you break, really break. He could think he’d gotten you to understand, but you would never allow him to see what you breaking really looked like.
You would break—really break, with screams and sobs and nails in your skin and not getting back up—when you got home. When you could cry into Ben’s chest, and he could keep your nails on his arm instead of your own. He’d pick you up. He’d pick you up in strong, safe arms and carry you to bed, holding you as long you asked him to. Everything would smell like pine and Ben, and you’d be able to break without the freezing cold making you glue yourself together. You’d just break.
But not now. Not yet.
Not when there was still work to do.
A-Train had found you a few days after Noir II, after the CIA had responded to your speech. An official statement from the director, co-signed by president Robert Singer, stating that Soldier Boy was indeed a CIA operative, that Vought had no jurisdiction to declare him a public enemy, and that the Anomaly was currently being tortured by Vought to comply with their agenda. They didn’t say the whole truth, because according to them you and Ben were co-workers—nothing more—and Homelander had been obsessed with you since you were both young supes but you’d turned him down numerous times. You wish they had just committed to it. Just told the world what Homelander was, what he’d done to you, but the truth did somehow sound more absurd. And right now wasn’t about the truth, it was about doing what needed to be done. You had to trust that Mallory was smart. That she knew what she was doing.
It would be really helpful if A-Train had a similar leniency.
“What are they doing?” He’d skidded to a stop in front of you again, in another too-fancy bathroom at another boring event.
You’d held up a single finger, taking a long, deep breath. You were curled up on the floor, under a hand-dryer that you kept pushing the button of to make the warm air blast onto your head. It was helpful, it made you feel a little more alive and was a lot more sustainable than constant vomiting.
A-Train had just kept talking, pacing in front of you. “Sage is really not happy, there’s no fucking way I can risk talking to MM now. That was not smart, that shit you did on TV. You know why Sage isn’t here? The Deep went to a fucking Panera last night without telling anyone and Sage is pulling camera footage to make sure he’s telling the truth. And Noir is dead-“
“Can you please shut up?” You’d muttered, tapping against your calves. “I know what I did. I knew there would be consequences. I’m willing to live with them.”
“Well, I’m not!” A-Train’s feet had stopped in front of you, and you’d reached up to hit the button again. Letting the hot air push on the top of your head, calming you as he continued. “This isn’t just about you, you’re not the only one who’s suffering-“
“I could say the same to you.”
“Come on-“
“I’m serious,” you’d looked up at him with a scowl as the wind above you stopped once more. “This is good. Ben can help them now, Annie has more fuel against Vought, and Butcher and Mallory will know how to work this.”
“Fine, but I’m not helping you at all if you keep this shit up,” A-Train had snapped your name. “I’ve got people, I can’t risk my nephews for this-“
“Okay.”
He’d blinked at you. “Okay? That’s it?”
“Yeah. Okay.” You’d shrugged. “I can’t make you help me. If you won’t, you won’t. I can handle this myself.”
“You’re really not going to lecture me about being a hero, or doing the right thing?”
You’d shaken your head, looking back down at the floor. “I don’t really have legs to stand on there. I got Noir II killed, I killed Firecracker, I’ve destroyed at least two buildings and gotten a lot of other, innocent people killed by proximity. I mean, fuck, I’m in love with Soldier Boy-“
You hadn’t meant to say that. It had fallen out of your mouth and you’d stuttered to a stop, but it was too late. When you looked back up at A-Train, his mouth was hanging open.
“You-“
“Please don’t tell anyone that,” you’d whispered. “I didn’t mean to tell you that, I’m just exhausted-“
“I’m not going to.” A-Train had still been frowning at you. “I mean, I don’t really care about your personal shit. Even if it’s being in love with Soldier Boy.” A-Train had frowned. “Isn’t he technically Homelander’s father?”
“Yeah,” you’d leaned your head back against the wall. “And I’m aware of how fucked up that is.”
A-Train had shrugged. “All of this is fucked. I don’t think you fucking Soldier Boy is any less fucked than anything else we’ve all done.”
“We’ve never actually fucked,” you’d mumbled, because you couldn’t stop now. In no world had you foreseen the I’m very in love with Ben and it’s all impossibly confusing and complicated conversation happening in a fancy bathroom with A-Train, but you had started it and now you were apparently incapable of stopping it. “I mean, we’ve done stuff. But not fucking.”
“Okay.” A-Train had frowned. “Why the fuck are you telling me that?”
“Because I’m lonely.” You’d looked up at him with a sad smile. “And you’re here.”
He’d nodded, then moved away. You’d thought he’d left, just pissed off because he didn’t want to deal with this. But he’d dropped against the wall across from you with a sigh, pulling off his visor to meet your eyes. “How long?”
You’d frowned at him. “How long?”
“Have you and Soldier Boy been not fucking.”
“February. But, uh,” you’d shaken your head. “I think I might have been in love with him before that.”
“Okay,” A-Train had nodded, and kept going. “Does Homelander-“
“He found out after the interview. Sage told him.”
“And your team-“
“I’m not sure. They know we’re close, and maybe some of them have figured out it’s more than that, but I’m really not sure.” You’d tilted your head at him. “Why are we talking about this?”
“I don’t exactly have a lot of friends either.” A-Train muttered. “I killed the only woman I’ve ever loved because Homelander told me to, Sage is a bitch, and the Deep is an idiot. Ashley’s fine, sometimes, but we don’t exactly talk about things that aren’t life or death.”
“Oh,” you’d nodded. “Okay.”
It had been silent for a second, both of you watching each other wearily.
“Does he know?”
You’d blinked. “Who?”
“Soldier Boy. Does he know you love him?”
“No,” your voice had cracked a little, a lump forming in your throat. “It’s complicated.”
“Does he love you?”
“No.”
A-Train had blinked at your answer. “You said that really fast.”
“He doesn’t,” you’d let out a long breath before continuing. “I’m okay with it. He just doesn’t and it’s fine.”
He’d looked like he’d wanted to keep pushing. You’re grateful he didn’t, because if you kept talking about Ben you might have started crying.
“I, uh,” A-Train had shaken his head, foot tapping on the floor. “When I was a kid I wanted to be a hero. Just, while we’re talking about fucked shit, I wanted to be a hero. A real hero. My brother said I could help people, and I really did believe him. And then I just, I got lost. It’s a shit ton harder to be a hero when it’s not just a word. When you actually have to back it up and nobody around you seems to care. Now it’s probably too fuckin late.”
“I don’t think it’s ever too late,” you’d watched him carefully, speaking slowly. “You can always change. Humans aren’t static. We’re always changing. It’s a strange kind of exceptionalism to think you’re immune to that. To think you’re special enough to not be capable of being better.”
A-Train had narrowed his eyes at you. “What are you talking about.”
“I dedicated my whole life before this to studying people,” you’d held his gaze, not wavering on your words. “And you realize pretty fast that concepts of good and bad are different across the world. It’s not something that’s fixed, because people aren’t fixed. We’re not born good or bad. We are who we are, who we’ll be, but we also make choices. I mean,” you’d shrugged. “You can keep doing good things, or bad things, or nothing at all. But you’re never incapable of doing something different. If you think you can’t, it’s because you think you’re too good to be better. But everyone is always capable of being better.”
“Like Soldier Boy?”
“Like Ben,” you’d whispered. “He’s better. And he’s good. Really good.”
“And you really love him?”
You’d swallowed. “Yeah. A lot.”
A-Train had nodded. “You think he’ll be waiting for you?”
“Yes.” You’d answered without hesitation. Ben may not love you, but he’d never leave you. If you knew one thing in all of this, it was that Ben would never leave you. “He will.”
“Then what?”
You’d frowned at him. “What are you talking about?”
“When this is over. If you win,” A-Train had shrugged. “Then what?”
“I,” you’d shaken your head. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
“You have to have a reason you’re still going,” A-Train had leaned forward slightly. “It can’t just be because you’re a fucking good person.”
“I’m not-“
“Yeah, you are.” A-Train had rolled his eyes. “You’re better than me, than all of us. Congratulations, you did it. You won the stupid contest.”
“I didn’t-”
He’d kept going, ignoring your protest. “But you have to have something you want. Everyone has something they want. That’s how this shit gets out of control.” He’d sighed. “You get promised the thing you want and never fully get it. Then it’s never enough.”
“I don’t have anything I want,” you’d mumbled. “Just for this to be over.”
“After that,” A-Train had snapped. “You’ve got to think of after. Otherwise you’ll just burn out.”
“Butcher-“
“Is a vengeance fueled asshole. That dude might not have an after. I want my family back. So does MM. Hughie and Annie probably want a peaceful, boring fucking life. Ashley wants a year at a spa. What do you want.”
You’d swallowed. “I don’t know.”
“Think about it. What did you want before?”
“To do something important,” you’d said softly, rubbing circles against your arms. “Have a job where I helped people, where I was respected in my field. Then go home to someone who loved me, who I’d built a life with. A life that was mine.”
“Then do that. When this is all finally fucking done, build a life.”
“I can’t,” you’d shaken your head, eyes blurred from tears. “I wanted to get married. I wanted a job. I wanted kids.” You choke slightly. “I don’t, I can’t be sure any of that is even possible anymore. Not after this.”
“You can do whatever you want.” A-Train’s voice had been sharp. “Don’t let all these assholes control you, change how you live your life. You can do all that, or none of it, but you do it.” He’d sighed. “Don’t let them make you lose people. Lose happiness. They don’t deserve to have that kind of control over you.”
“Thank you,” you’d smiled softly, and he’d shrugged.
“Sure.”
You’d given a dry laugh. “They really just fuck everything up, don’t they.”
“Fucking everything,” A-Train had nodded with a small smile that had fallen fast. “I still can’t help you. Not like you asked. My family-“
“It’s fine,” you’d met his eyes with a sigh. “I’ll find something else.”
“You’re serious?”
“Yeah,” you’d shrugged. “I can move things around, find another way. You can still help.” You’d given him a tight smile. “You can be better. But you should leave the bathroom. They might start looking for us soon.”
He’d nodded and stood, giving you one last look before leaving. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
The air whooshed, and you were alone on the floor of the bathroom again.
We could go to Rome, Ben’s voice had hummed around you. When all this shit is over, we can always go to fucking Rome.
I’d love to go to Rome. You’d smiled into the empty air around you. I’d love anywhere, as long as you were there.
Because you love me.
Because I love you. You’d leaned back again, hitting the button above you one last time. Ben, really I love you. It’s kind of stupid how much I love you.
Are you ever actually going to fucking tell me that?
Maybe. You’d sighed. Maybe one day in a million years I’ll grow some balls and tell you.
What would you say?
It doesn’t matter.
Shut the fuck up. When you tell me you love me, which you will because you’re not a pussy, what are you going to say.
Benjamin.
Don’t Benjamin me, I’m fucking helping.
You’re not real.
So you can fucking tell me. If I’m not real it won’t goddamn matter.
The air turned off, and the bathroom had still been empty.
You’d started to hum. A simple love song, just so you could see his face. Look at him.
He was so fucking handsome. You'd almost started crying because he was right there, tall and broad and standing in front of you, grinning at you but not real. You couldn’t feel him, not really, because your sensory manipulation didn’t extend to emotion. So you could grab Fake Ben’s hand and feel his warm skin but not him. You couldn’t feel Ben, strong and resolved and everything. But you could smell pine, and feel his hand trace along your jaw. You could grab it and hold it there—let Fake Ben trace circles on your cheek with his thumb—and try to pretend it was real. Pretend it was enough.
I love you. Your words had to stay in your head, because if you stopped humming to talk aloud Fake Ben would disappear and you needed to keep looking at him. I love you like the ocean loves the moon and the sun loves the stars. I love you like the birds want to sing and the caterpillar longs to be a butterfly. I love you like the grass loves the rain and the lighting loves the thunder. Like the flower loves the bee and the snail loves its shell. I love you like you’re music I get to sing and light I get to eat. I love you like the spiderweb loves the spider and the grave loves the flowers. I love you like a mirror loves to shatter and the alter loves the blood. I love you like the devil loves fire and like god loves the devil. I love you, Ben. I love you, I love you, I love you. I’ll love you until all the world is scattered across the sky and we’re both trapped in the spaces that remain between. I’ll love you until my voice is gone and my heart is only still beating because you’re holding it. I’ll love you until everything is burning away and it’s just you and me. If they find a way to kill us I’ll love you as a ghost and my skeleton will keep one hand on yours. I love you because all my bones and muscles fit in with your bones and muscles, and because my soul is mine but it’s stronger when it’s yours as well. I love you, Ben. I love you.
You’d cried. No sobs wracking your body, but small tears you couldn’t hold in. Tears you’d let Fake Ben wipe away before you’d had to let him go, and then wiped again yourself because they were real, and he hadn’t been. And you’d returned to Homelander, smiled through the party in a green velvet dress that didn’t fit and said words you didn’t mean. Let Homelander herd you wherever he wanted and kept your head together. Taken in even breaths of horrible coconut and smiled with no teeth at people with eyes like monsters. Looking at you like you were a prey that they couldn’t have because the apex predator had decided you were his.
You didn’t throw up that night. You’d stared into the dark, cold air and talked to the phantom of Ben trapped in your head.
And you’d sat in the fire. Not alight under your skin, but pulsing in a small, warm ember. Awake. Growing.
By the time you’re sat in the Seven’s meeting room, with all four remaining members and Ashley, it was stronger. Beginning to smoke along your veins.
“We’ll all be attending the Believe Expo tomorrow,” Sage’s arms are crossed as she glares around the table. “It’s important to appear as a unified front, and this is our primary base. Many non-christian supporters will be in attendance this year, as the association between Homelander and Christianity is becoming interchangeable in the public eye. Which also means we’re leaning away from actual biblical rhetoric, and into our own narrative. We can’t completely disavow the religious aspect, so we’ll have to walk a careful line between not alienating the new people and indoctrinating the old ones. Everyone will get their scripts tonight.”
The Deep raises his hand, and Sage rolls her eyes but nods for him to speak.
“Uh, aren’t they going to notice if a,” he frowns at Sage, looking her up and down. “Muslim is leading the Christ Show?”
“No, because I’m an atheist, dumbass.” Sage snaps. “And I can recite the bible from front to back. All you have to do is show up, do what I tell you, and not say you’re in love with an octopus again. Understood?”
The Deep looks at Homelander for an order to say yes or no, but Homelander’s not paying attention. He’s staring up at you, standing where he’d told you to. Silently at his side, like a statue he’d collected. When The Deep coughs, Homelander scoffs and waves a hand.
“Just do whatever the woman fucking tells you to.”
“Yes, sir.” The Deep nods, and then gives Sage a nervous look.
Homelander is still staring at you.
“Sage,” he says slowly. Not looking away. “I want to see her script.”
“I haven’t written her one,” Sage glares at you. “Anomaly will be on stage for your speech at the end of the program, and you’ll kiss her. That’s her role.”
Your nails dig into your wrist, both held behind your back. Breathe. You just have to breathe and get through this and not break. One kiss will not break you. One touch will not open the floodgates. You can’t scream or run because you’ll lose. You can breathe now and fall apart later.
Homelander says your name, and it makes your skin itch. “Is going to give a speech. The people need to care about her, especially with the CIA and Starlight spewing all those fucking lies about her. About us.
Sage shakes her head. “Homelander-“
He turns, shooting her a sharp glare. “I’m not fucking asking. Write her a speech.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Sage says cooly. “Not after-“
“I dealt with that,” Homelander’s voice raises slightly, and Sage falls silent. She doesn’t flinch, but she doesn’t keep pushing either. “I am telling you that you are going to write her a speech. You can either do it yourself, or I’ll have those fucking idiot writers do it for you.”
Sage’s eyes narrow, but she nods. “Fine.”
Homelander nods, looking back to you. “Sage?”
She sighs. “What.”
“Make it about love.” He smiles at you, and nothing has ever been harder than smiling back.
The first thing you learn about the Believe Expo—something that until two weeks ago you’d been pretty certain wasn’t a thing anymore—is that it’s loud. Everything is so loud. Homelander flies you there through the cold mist and wind of the morning before telling you to practice your speech and shooting back up into the sky. They’re only setting up—workers dressed in black adjusting lights and testing speakers that ring screeching feedback through the air—and it’s already too much. People are moving everywhere, marking spots on the stage floor and arranging seats and trying to get cloth covers to stay on the tables. You’re lost in how loud it is, and almost get run over by a man carrying a large box that spills out cables as it collides with you.
“Fuck!” You flinch at his shout, dropping down to help gather the wires scattered across the damp grass as he continues. “Goddamnit girl, we’re already behind schedule, I don’t have the fucking time-“
You look up at him to apologize, and he freezes. “I’m-“
“It’s fine,” he mumbles, almost pushing you away from the mess. “I’m sorry I yelled, ma’am. I promise there won’t be any delays for the event.”
You blink at him, rubbing his neck and refusing to meet your eyes, but before you can ask any questions someone taps on your shoulder and says your name.
“Thank fuck I found you, your trailer is ready.”
“My trailer?“ You turn to see Ashely, holding a clipboard and tapping her foot. Looking around at the stage work with a tense expression. “Ashley, I don’t-“
“I’ll show you where it is. And don’t clean that up, it’s not your job.”
“But-“
“You!” She points her pencil at a woman standing off the side, holding a coffee. “Clean this up, now.”
“Ma’am, I’m uh, I’m on break-“
“I don’t fucking care, clean it! And you-“ Ashley’s glare turns back to you, still crouched on the ground. “Let’s go.”
She grabs your arms and starts to pull you up, and something wraps around your throat and hands, trying to squeeze all the oxygen out of your body. Everything is sharp, too sharp, moving too fast and yet not fast enough.
You yank your arm away the moment you’re on your feet, half because you don’t think Ashley remembers you can feel her and half because that was completely unbearable. You follow her off the stage, waiting until you’re out of the crews’ earshot to quicken your pace, walking at her side and speaking in a low voice.
“You shouldn’t touch me, Ashley.”
“What?” She shoots you a quick glare. “Don’t be dramatic, I was just helping you stand up-“
“You touched me. Your hand touched my arm. I felt you.”
“So? It’s not like I-“
“Ashley.” You stop walking and wait for her to turn around. “I felt you.”
“What the fuck are-“ Her angry expression falls, her face goes pale “Oh, I, I forgot, fuck-“
“It’s fine,” you say quickly. “I mean, it’s not a big deal. You just, uh, you shouldn’t touch me.”
“I didn’t mean to, I’m- shit! I-“
“I’m not mad,” you frown at her. “I’m just reminding you. Don’t touch me unless you’re okay with me feeling it.”
She nods tightly, hands pulling at her hair, and swallows before speaking. “Don’t tell Homelander I touched you. He doesn’t want us to touch you.”
You feel the cold bloom inside you again, but manage to push it down. Give Ashley a tight nod. “I won’t.”
“Can we go to the trailer now?” She looks down at the clipboard. “Fuck, we were supposed to be at the trailer five minutes ago-“
“Where is it?”
“Just over there, but-“
“I can find it.” You start to walk away, in the general direction Ashley had pointed, but she calls your name and you stop. “What-“
“We’re not supposed to leave you on your own.” She’s tugging at her hair still, looking between you and the clipboard. “I technically should’ve been there when Homelander dropped you off-“
“I’m not going to run away, Ashely.” You sigh. “Please, just go do whatever you need to.”
She looks like she might protest for a second, but looks back at the clipboard and gives a tight nod. “Okay. Go.“
“Great.” You start to turn again, but Ashley calls your name again.
“What-“
“Um, thanks.” She mutters, gives you a tense smile. “And please, don’t try to fucking escape-“
“I won’t. I can’t.” You turn, and finally manage to get away before Ashley can see the anguish on your face.
You could escape, Sunshine. Ben’s voice carries on the wind. Or I could come fucking get you.
We’ve had this conversation. You can’t come get me, they’ll put you back under.
I don’t give a shit. You should be home. With me.
I know, but I can’t. Not yet.
You fucking should, though. This is some insane, cum guzzling bullshit. And you are not fucking kissing Homelander.
I’m not exactly thrilled about it either, Benjamin.
Not for me, brat. Because he’s a fucking pussy who shouldn’t be allowed within a million miles of you.
You have to stop your internal fight with Ben’s voice, because you reach the trailer and are immediately surrounded by people doing your hair and makeup, shoving Sage’s script into your hands for you to memorize. There will be a teleprompter, because Sage isn’t an idiot who thinks the Deep will remember anything for more than fifteen minutes—let alone a whole script from the time he’s in his trailer to four hours later when he’s on stage—but you still want to read it. To know what’s coming.
It’s what you expected in its entirety. A lot of propaganda. A lot of lies. A lot of anecdotes that never happened and some musings about love that sound like a sociopath wrote them. I love Homelander because he completes me. I see us in every great romance in history. He is the thing that gets me up in the morning.
You can hear the crowd outside now. People start to filter into the venue, more and more in larger and larger waves until the trailer feels as if it’s shaking.
But you manage to keep it together. To keep reading as your finger taps on the chair and a blonde woman you’ve never seen before—and will likely never see again—pins your hair tight against your head and applies chemicals that would probably burn your scalp if you didn’t heal in that same second.
I want to start a family with him. Lead the best life we can together.
You put the script down, and once your hair and makeup team is gone you scramble to the trash can and empty the bile of your stomach until you can breathe.
You just have to get through this. You just have to keep moving.
They’d put you back in the supe costume. It’s better fitted than last time, but still just hideous. Uncomfortable and impractical and ugly. It feels wrong on your body, not just because it’s showing too much skin and the lace is scratching at your skin but because it’s not you. Supe costumes in general are dumb, because it’s not an outfit on a person, it’s a label on a product. Ben’s lucky he has a stupid handsome face that makes him attractive in everything or you’d have made fun of him ruthlessly about his own.
You still fucking did that. You said I looked like a Christmas tree that’s been sent to war on the draft.
And I’ve have said more if I didn’t want to climb that tree and let it fuck me.
You called me an R rated G.I. Joe Doll.
You are an R rate G.I. Joe Doll, Pretty Boy. I was being accurate and poetic.
Brat.
Cunt.
You take a long breath, and grab the script again. Just get through this. You’ll break later, but right now you have to get through this.
I’m excited to lead a great life with Homelander, for our love story to be remembered as one from a fairytale. Because he is my prince, my white knight who saved me from the dark. Homelander you’re my soulmate-
Soulmate my fucking blue balls. Ben’s voice mutters in your head, and you can almost see his scowl. The pussy doesn’t even like you.
Soulmates aren’t real, Ben.
Still, you’re not his damn soulmate.
Well, I’m not yours. Or anyones. Because soulmates aren’t real.
But you love me.
I do. That doesn’t mean we’re soulmates. You don’t even love me, Benjamin. Something hurts deep, deep inside you and against your skull. I think soulmates, if they were real, which they aren’t, are both supposed to love each other.
Inside your chest, something pounds and beats against your lungs and ribs. Something powerful and bloody and desperate. The slight blur of the world vanishes—you hadn’t even noticed it before—and everything is clear and warm and angry.
Why are you so fucking sure I don’t love you?
What?
You keep telling me I don’t love you. What makes you so damn positive?
You don’t.
I do.
You blink into the empty trailer. No, you don’t.
I fucking do. The thing inside you rages, and you’re not sure if it’s yours or not. You’re not touching anybody, and it doesn’t feel foreign or out of place inside you. But you’ve never felt something like this. It’s focused and pious and entirely made of something monstrous that you can’t name. It’s not dangerous, nothing about it feels dangerous—it reminds you of Ben, and he’d never hurt you—but it’s still the most intensely starved and insatiable feeling you’ve ever experienced.
No, even in your head your voice is slow and confused. You don’t.
You’re not the fucking boss of me.
I am literally the fucking boss of you. I am the government-appointed boss of you.
I think they stripped that title from you when they realized we didn’t exactly have an appropriate boss-employee relationship, Sunshine.
Fuck you.
You did, that was the problem.
You watch too much porn, Pretty Boy. I’m not a boss fucking her secretary and causing a scandal.
I wasn’t your fucking secretary.
Good thing, too. You’d have been terrible at it. I’d have asked you to check my calendar and you’d have destroyed the computer.
You wouldn’t have been too mad about it. I’d have fucked your brains out on the desk and you’d have forgiven me.
I would not have forgiven you. Computers are expensive.
Then I’d buy you a damn new one, then fucked your brains out. And then you’d have forgiven me. Because I’d have told you I love you, and you’d have cum all over my cock, and you’d forgive me.
You think your heart stops for a second, restarting with the jolt of that strange feeling in your chest. In your head your voice is breathless. Ben, please stop saying that.
No.
You don’t love me-
I fucking do.
No, you don’t. This feels like a strange hill for you to die on, convincing the phantom voice in your head of the man you love that he doesn’t love you back. But you press on. Stop saying that you do. It’s mean.
Why the hell is it mean. Saying that I love you is the opposite of damn mean-
Because I really, really, love you! And it’s mean to lie to me and try and convince me that Real Ben might love me!
The thing roars inside you. What-
The door to the trailer opens, and Ashley walks in without warning, eyes glued to her phone. The thing in you flares, and then it’s gone.
“You’re on,” she looks up, giving you a once over before her eyes land on the abandoned script at your feet. “Did you read it?”
You kind of read it. You didn’t finish it, but you’ve got the gist, so you nod.
“Good,” Ashley looks back to her phone. “Are you ready?”
You nod again, pulling yourself up from the floor, and are about to walk out the door when Ashley holds out an arm to block your path. You almost run into it, and you both flinch back, Ashley nearly dropping her phone.
“You need to wear your disguise,” she says quickly, pulling her arms back. “People will swarm you.”
The prep-team had left you a large hoodie with Homelander’s smiling face printed across it, a Vought baseball cap, and black sunglasses. You glance in the mirror after you change, and you look like an idiot. You feel like an idiot. If this all wasn’t so dangerous and precarious, it would be plain stupid.
But, because the universe is strange and uncaring, this is incredibly important. You have to wear Homelander’s face on your body, because you can’t protest or it will blow everything. You have to wear a stupid baseball cap—which is going to ruin your stupid hair—because people can’t see your face. It’s the same reason you put on the sunglasses that pinch your nose, and make yourself follow Ashley out into the densely packed crowd. You don’t have another choice.
There are too many people. The first thing you realize is that there are far too many people, and you’re going through them. They’re bumping your arms and legs, brushing against your skin in accidental passing, and it’s going to make you explode. Everything is too bright and loud and everything is like a live wire. Everyone is so excited, and all you’re getting is fleeting passes of their overzealous, stabbing feelings before being plunged right back into your own cold fear. Spreading faster, not fully overtaking the fire but making it grow dim. Pushing it further away.
By the time you’re dropped off in a small tent—A-Train and the Deep playing cards at a fold-out table, Sage and Homelander nowhere to be found—your blood is rushing through your body and ramming against your throat and ears. Trying to escape your body. You almost immediately collapse into a chair, trying to take long breaths and think about happy things.
Music. The music playing over the loudspeakers is deafening. Off-rhythm gospel music that’s like nails digging into your brain.
City lights. There isn’t any life or joy in the light around you. The sun is behind the clouds, and the flood lights are hidden in a mist that makes the whole world just gray.
Ben. Ben isn’t here. With you. And all you can do is miss him.
Something claws at your heart, but you can’t spare the time or energy to feel it. It’s loud and tight, almost impossible to ignore, but you manage to just close your eyes and try to find something happy. Try to make something happy. A-Train and the Deep are fighting in the background. It’s so loud, and you’re growing cold again. You can’t see anything but the gray, can’t feel anything but a metal chair below you and the fog around you, and can’t hear anything that’s not angry or frantic.
Fresh air. The air is fresh and smells like rain. You haven’t smelled fresh air in months, and it’s all just clean and easy. Sharp and bright in your lungs, made of the wetlands around you. Mud and pine and grass, stronger than the cold sweat of the crowd. Fresh air.
You take one last, long, deep breath. You’re not at peace, but this isn’t about peace. It’s about the world being in focus, and being able to just keep going.
“Hey,” The Deep says your name, and you just stare at him. “We haven’t really talked yet. I’m Deep.”
You nod. “I know.”
“Right, of course you do. I mean, you can call me Kevin-“ He extends his hand for you to shake, and A-Train whacks it back. “Bro-“
“We’re not supposed to touch her, dumbass.” A-Train’s not looking at you. He hasn’t looked at you since you sat down. “And she’s not going to call you Kevin. Fucking nobody calls you Kevin.”
“My friends all call me Kevin,” the Deep looks back to you with a wide, white-toothed smile. “I mean, me and Homelander are real tight-“
“No, you’re not.”
“He likes me more-“
“Homelander doesn’t give a shit about you,” A-Train rolls his eyes. “It’s your turn. Play or give up.”
The Deep gives you one last look like he’s going to say something, but turns back around to their game.
It’s another ten or so minutes before Ashley returns—this time with both the clipboard and her phone—and you have to move. Interviews. Photo ops. Saying all the right words in the right tone with the right body language for the microphones and cameras.
It’s so loud. The walk—even through a barricaded area—is full of screaming people leaning over metal blockades and the bass of the music, running into your bones. Ashley is recapping Sage’s talking points—The Deep isn’t allowed to talk about marine animals, A-Train needs to talk about gospel and unity, and you shouldn’t speak at all—As the Deep shakes his body out, practicing his smile and introduction and A-Train still doesn’t look at you.
The powerful thing returns, as you’re back in the open. It’s still violent and alert, strange but not out of place, and it feels like Ben. It’s just Ben, indescribably Ben. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it was him, because you know him. You know all of him, all his anger and care and vengeful warmth. You know how he is, how his heart pounds and his will moves everything around him, how everything in him is strong like this is.
It fades when you're pulled into another tent. Not fully dying out, but growing dull. Far away.
You’re sat next to A-Train—who just stares ahead into the air and lets them start to mic him—with a reminder not to talk. If you’re asked questions, Sage will answer them for you. You just have to sit there, be pretty, and smile. No matter what happens, what’s being said around you, keep smiling.
Sage doesn’t show up. There’s a seat saved for her, with her name taped to it and water bottle under it, but she never arrives and Ashley makes everyone keep going. A well dressed woman sits across from you, the cameras turn on, the show begins.
Smile. Don’t talk and smile. Ashley reminds every journalist to greet you and look at you casually but never actually speak to you. They just give you a few smiles and glances, and only two or three actually meet your eyes. Most end up going through the motions and trying to pretend you’re not there.
You don’t blame them. You’re doing the same. For what feels like eternity you’re sat in a chair—just another prop to the set—and as your face starts to hurt from smiling you stop paying attention. You put energy into trying to find the source of the odd feeling still making a home in your chest, but it’s stubborn. You try and pull it up to the surface and it doesn’t budge, you try and poke it and it just hums.
It’s exactly like Ben.
After all I fucking do for you.
His voice is back. It always comes back. It doesn’t make the thing in you rear and push like it had before, but it’s still everywhere. Humming lowly in the mic feedback and where your foot is tapping the floor.
Go away. I’m busy.
His laugh haunts the spaces of silence between the voices around you. I’m not fucking real, Sunshine. I can’t go away. I’m a part of you.
You’re an annoying part of me. Piss off, Pretty Boy. I’m trying to figure something out.
Figure what out?
Shut up.
Fuck me backwards for trying to help you.
This isn’t something you can help with, Ben.
Try me.
Fine, you try not to sigh aloud. I can feel something. Something I’m not sure I should be feeling.
What, like horny? Are you horny? Do you miss me and you’re horny?
No, you fucking dumb dumb. Like an emotion that I can’t understand.
Well I can’t fucking help with that shit.
I know. That’s why I told you to go away.
Whatever. You love me.
I do.
The thing responds to that. It roars and starts to claw up your spine, grabbing your heart with firm but gentle hands and trying to pull it around in your body.
What the fucking shit was that?
I don’t know. Shut up, I need to test something. Ben, I love you.
It’s going to kill you. This strange thing inside you is going to rip you to shreds, but before you can test anything further, the interviews are at an end and Ashley is ushering everyone away, dragging you around the venue to take photos. You’re handed countless crosses and bibles to hold up for the camera to see, as if people might not have been previously aware of them. The Deep and A-Train shake hands and pose with fans, you’re put in front of lambs and goats and a very unsettling marble statue of Homelander that’s still somehow warmer than the real one.
The thing is still there. It keeps growing and waning and spreading and pulling back. As you move through the convention it grows wrathful and deafening, and you can’t figure out what it is. It’s not you. You’re certain it’s not you. You’d been pretty sure before, but now you’re certain. It doesn’t feel wrong, it doesn’t feel out of place, but it’s not you. You’re not consuming like this, you’re not… Parasitic is the wrong word, you decide, because it’s inherently negative. Nothing about this thing is negative. It’s big and demanding and so loud, but it’s almost comfortable. Full of want and content and focused attention. Made of something rough that’s been dedicated to whatever feeds it.
You just can’t figure out what it wants. It’s hungry, it’s full of such a familiar, Ben-like hunger, but nothing seems to satisfy it. You repeat the words, Ben. Ben, I love you, several times, and it always takes them, but it never grows fully quiet. If anything it’s like offering it salt-water. It pours it down deep, and then grows more demanding.
If you had more time you’d find somewhere quiet to figure out what the hell is going on. But the sun is starting to fall down, and Ashley is herding you to the backstage area. Ranting about speeches and last minute adjustments and don’t fuck up and-
It’s just a flash. You only see it for a second, moving beyond the barricade through the crowd, but you still see it.
Black hair. Long, wavy black hair attached to a short woman.
Lots of people have black hair. You’ve seen at least twenty women with black hair in the past three hours alone. But you still stop in your path and crane your neck up. Trying to see over the crowd, deeper into the fray.
You see the hair again. And, this time, the side-profile of the woman it’s attached to. Hooded eyes with eyeliner and a focused determination on her face.
“Holy shit.”
Your whisper is only heard by the Deep, who turns to you with a frown. “I thought Sage told us not to swear-“
“Ashley!” Your voice is almost a shriek, loud and frantic. “I need to go to the bathroom now!”
“Hold it,” Ashley says your name without looking up from her phone, continuing to move towards the stage. “We’re on a really fucking tight schedule.”
“Ashley!” You move to grab her, stop her, make her listen and she flinches back with wide eyes.
“I-“
“I got my period,” you say bluntly. “And, uh, I’m wearing a skirt-“
She sigh. “Fine, but be fast-“
“I will! Super fast!” You run ahead, into the porta potties dropped near all the stage equipment for the crew. They smell awful, and you probably should’ve chosen a spot that’s meant to hold more than one person, but you’re here now. Now is not the time to second guess anything.
You wait, just long enough that you start to wonder if A-Train hadn’t heard you or didn’t understand, and wasn’t coming.
Then the air whooshes, and he’s crammed next to you as the door slams. “What the fuck was that about-“
“They’re here,” you don’t wait for him to fully gain his footing in the small space before you speak, and ignore his rush of stress and annoyance when your bodies brush. There’s not enough time. “They’re all here.”
“Wh-“
“Butcher,” you hiss. “MM and Frenchie and Kimiko. Probably Hughie, probably not Annie.” And Ben. Ben is here.
“Are you sure-“
“Yes.”
“Well, why the fuck are they here-“
“I don’t know!”
“Would you stop fucking interrupting-”
“No!” You’re running your hand over your face, trying to make your brain move faster. To do something productive, and stop just chanting Ben. Ben, I love you. Ben, you’re here and I can see you and touch you and I love you, Ben, I love you- “I need to think.”
“Think?” A-Train glares at you. “We need to fucking run, those idiot are always blowing everything-“
“Shut up,” you snap. “This is a chance. They’re here for a reason. They’re probably planning something-“
“Something stupid-“
“Shut up!” You’re almost shouting. There’s no time for this, you need to figure out what they’re doing here and adjust, you need to find out how to keep Homelander and Sage—wherever the hell they are—away from them, you need to see Ben. You need to find Ben, now. A-Train is still glaring at you, and your fire isn’t strong enough yet—not here, where the cold is crawling through you once more—so you need a plan.
You look A-Train up and down, he’s trying to pace in a space where you’re both pressed against the wall to not touch each other, and you’ve got it.
“You’re leaving.”
A-Train freezes, frowning at you. “What?”
“You’re going to go with them. When they leave, you’re going to go with them,” you nod to yourself as you speak. “You’re done with the Seven, you’re going with them.”
“Are you crazy?! Or stupid?!” A-Train gapes at you. “I have a tracker, they might not even take me, and my family will still be in danger-“
“I’ll burn out your tracker, they will take you, and…” You trail, trying to find your way around A-Train’s family. He’s right, Vought knows who they are. They won’t just let him go quietly and bloodlessly, not when he’d be turning to their enemy. But this has to work-
“If you can’t tell me how my family will be fine, there’s not a chance in hell-“
“You’ll die.”
“What?!”
“You’re going to die,” you say the words firmly. No room for error, no room for wavering. “They’re going to ‘kill you’,” you make exaggerated air quotes. “And you’re going to ‘die’.”
A-Train frowns at your hands. “What are those, what are you talking about-“
“You’re not really going to die,” you snap. No time. “We’re going to fake your death. They’ll make it look like they killed you and everybody wins.”
“How does everybody win there?” A-Train’s rolling on the balls of his feet, still glowering at you. “They’ll just twist it, Starlighters are murderers-“
“Exactly,” you have an almost maniacal grin on your face. “But the Seven will just have lost its second member in as many weeks. Not a great look for the whole supe supremacy narrative if their best and brightest are dropping like flies. It’s bad for everybody, and that’s why everyone wins.”
A-Train shakes his head. “What about my family? How do they win?”
“If you’re dead, if we do this right and Sage doesn’t suspect a thing, then they’ll be honored for your service and left in peace. But we have to do this right.”
“I don’t-“
“A-Train,” you hiss. “This is the something. This is the better, and this is what I’m asking of you. You’re going to leave with them, you’re going to help them. You don’t have to like it, but this is it.”
“How will I be able to help,” he protests, still pushing and there’s no time. “I mean, if I’m fucking ‘dead’-”
“You have insider knowledge of the tower. You have insider knowledge of Vought, and Homelander, and Sage. You can help them, you just have to go.”
“What about you?”
You blink. “What?”
“You’re not going to leave? Run away with them into the sunset?”
You can hear the words A-Train won’t say. You can see them on his face and hear them echo in your head. Leave with Ben. Run away with Ben and be safe and let him care for you until this is just another nightmare.
“I mean, you can’t just keep-“
“I’m going to stay.” You mutter, hating the words on your tongue. They taste bitter and foul, like sour coconut. “I have to stay.”
“That’s-“
“Not up for debate.” You cross your arms, holding A-Train’s glare. “I have to see this through. They’re here for a reason, and once I know what, I can work it into my plan.”
“You’re still doing a plan?” You don’t love the disbelief in A-Train’s voice. “There’s no fucking way you can keep this up-“
“I don’t have to keep it up.” You snap. “I just have to get through it. I’m staying, you’re going, that’s that.”
A-Train pauses, and you can almost hear his brain trying to find a way to disagree. But you’ve done this well, and he lets out a long, heavy, angry sigh. “What do you need me to do.”
“Thank you,” you give him a half-smile. “I’m going to find them. I’ll tell Ashley I just need to sit down, because I’m getting cramps or something, and I’ll go find them.” Find Ben. “Find out what they’re doing, why they’re here. I need you to find Ezekiel.”
“Ezekiel?” A-Train frowns. “I haven’t seen that guy all day-“
“He’s here. This is his event, he’s on the program. You’re going to find him, and trick him into walking into them.”
“Trick him? How am I-“
“Tell him they’re here. Tell him they’re looking for new members of the Seven and killing Butcher is a surefire way to get a foot in the door. Tell him Hughie’s here, he hates Hughie. Just get him to fight them. Preferably away from the crowd, but not until Homelander’s speech.” Your fingers are tapping against your arm, making changes to the plan as you speak. “Ezekiel can’t just go alone, he’ll mess up the plan, so you have to make him wait. After you talk to him, say you’re going to find where they are, so you can fight them together, and come find me. I’ll burn out your tracker, you’ll bring Ezekiel to fight them, make it loud, and ‘die’. My team will take care of getting you out, hopefully they’ll kill Ezekiel on the way, and I’ll know what I need to do on my end.”
“For your plan.”
“For my plan.”
A-Train shakes his head. “Are you going to tell me your plan?”
“No. All you have to do is die.”
“Fuck.” He takes off his visors, meeting your eyes fully. “You think this will work?”
No room for error, no room for doubt. “It has to.”
He nods slowly. “Where am I going to find you?”
Wherever Ben is. “You might have to look. I’m not sure yet.”
“You’ll burn out my tracker?”
“As soon as you find me.”
“And my family-“
“Will be fine.” You give him a close-lipped, tight smile. “Promise. Just find Ezekiel.”
“Fine.” A-Train put his visors back on. “See you on the other side.”
He’s gone in a rush of wind, and you’re alone in the porta potty. Just you, the horrible smell of shit, and that thing in your chest.
Ben. It is him. He’s here, and you can feel him. It’s something you’ll have to retcon later, why you can feel him, what this feeling actually is, but right now Ben is here. And you have to find him.
You find Ashley first, and tell her you’re throwing up from period cramps in quick, blunt words.
“Can’t you just hold it?” She begs, and you give her a flat look.
“Ashley, do you think Sage will be angrier if I rest in the bathroom but do my speech without a hitch, or if I throw up on live TV?”
She shakes her head, running her hands through her hair. “Fuck! First A-Train’s fucking gone, now you-“
“He was freaking out about something,” you shrug. “Wouldn’t tell me what, but I think he’s just calming down.” You make a fake retching sound, and Ashley’s face twists. “Can I please-“
“Just go!”
“Thank you!” You make yourself double over slightly, make your words strained. “I’ll be back-“
“I don’t fucking care, just be fast!”
Ashley turns away, and you’re gone. Find Ben. You have to find Ben. This place is massive, and you can’t just push your way through the crowd—not again, not if you want to keep going—but nothing is more important right now than finding Ben.
Where would you be, you fucking ass. Where would Ben be at the Believe Expo.
He’d hate all of this. He’d hate the abstinence only sex education—the fuck do they have against a good time—he’d hate the pandering and holier-than-thou attitudes—these pussies aren’t better than me just because they read a goddamn book—and he’d despise all the morality. All the haughty faces and watered-down language and fake smiles. He’d hate all of this, there wouldn’t be a corner of it he’d enjoy, so you have no fucking clue where you’ll find him.
You can’t just wander and hope you run into him. You don’t have the time to spare just trying to bump into him. But you need to find him. He’s here and you have to see him. Half because of your plan with A-Train, half because you fucking miss him. You miss him so much, and he’s here, and you can’t just not see him. Not touch him. He’s here and you need him and you love him-
That thing in your chest rolls around. It’s pulling you forward, and you don’t think twice before you let it. And you know. You know where he’d be. You’d find him anywhere, and you know where he’d be.
Taking a piss. In the VIP bathrooms, because he has no regard or respect for venue restrictions. He’d need to go to the bathroom, and would not care to use the dogshit porta potties—especially not with his sense of smell being so strong—so he’d just walk right into the VIP bathrooms. No one would stop him, because he’s Ben and he looks right everywhere. Even if he’s in disguise, he still walks and talks like there’s not a place in the world he doesn’t belong.
There are two VIP bathroom trailers. One is near the trailers, and one is across the venue. You should check both, but he’s in the further one. You just know, he’s in the further one. He’d have been staying on the outskirts of the event, and would be in the further one. So you take a long, grounding breath, steal a black Believe Expo Staff hoodie and cap, and move. Trying to run without people noticing, because there’s no time to just walk. He’s there, you know he’s there, so you have to go.
Of the three bathrooms in the trailer, two are locked. And one is Ben. There’s no way to explain how you know, but one is Ben. It’s the center one, and he’s in there, and you have to wait.
You can’t wait out in the open. If a staff member sees you they’ll either make you go “back to work” or recognize you and tell Ashley or Sage that you’re here. So you look around, make sure no one’s watching, and rush into the spare, empty bathroom. Lean against the counter and wait.
Ben. Ben is here. He’s one door down and now you have to just be patient. You’ll see him soon.
It’s the longest four minutes of your life. You hate this stupid, amazing man, taking impossibly long pisses and making you love him and not just leaving the bathroom. He must not feel you here, not like you can feel him, because he’d be breaking the door down.
That’s another thing to be confused about later. How this thing works. Right now the trailer is rumbling slightly, because someone just flushed a toilet, and you can just hear a door opening and closing over the noise of the crowd.
Ben.
You open your door, and there he is. He’s turned away from you, and wearing a baseball cap that covers his hair, but it’s him. You’d be able to recognize him blind and underwater, and that’s Ben. Tall and broad and walking in rough steps with his hands fisted at his side. Away from you.
“Ben,” you hiss his name, but he doesn’t turn around. “Benjamin.”
His steps stutter, but he keeps moving. Getting further and further away.
“Ben!” Your words are still said in a hushed voice, through your teeth, but you’re almost shouting. “I know you can fucking hear me, you cunt.”
He stops, but still doesn’t turn. Hands curling tighter, knuckles becoming white.
“Benjamin, if you don’t turn around right fucking now-“
You see his body heave from a sigh, hear a low and frustrated sound, and he turns around with a scowl.
He’s so fucking handsome. His face is tired and angry, half obscured by his hat, but he’s still everything. And when he sees you, glaring at him with all the anger you can muster when he’s right there, his mouth falls open and that strange feeling—his feeling—roars.
The shock across his features doesn’t even last a second before he’s moving. Sprinting across the grass with no regard for secrecy or not drawing attention. Sprinting to you. He’s here.
You don’t have time to take a step back before he’s crashing into you, picking you up and slamming the door behind him. He doesn’t kiss you. You’d thought he’d kiss you, but he just raises you off the ground in the most bone-crushing hug you’ve ever experienced. And you can feel him. You can feel the warmth of his body, the care with which he’s touching you—hands roaming you like he’s not sure you’re real and is trying to check—and the strength of him. Really him. Here and touching you and smelling like pine and gunpowder and full of desperation. He’s so tired—you can feel it in your bones—and he’s trying to pull you closer and closer into him, in a way that would be painful if it wasn’t him. If he wasn’t still holding you like you were holy, like you were just a cloud that might dissipate in his hands if he didn’t stop it with firm hands and adoring touches.
“You’re real,” his voice is soft and hoarse in your ear, and something in you breaks. He sounds exhausted. “You’re fucking real.”
“Ben-“
He kisses you then. Drops one hand below your thighs and hauls you further up his body, swallowing your words. Swallowing you. It’s just you and Ben, and he’s here. He’s real and touching you like he always has and, just for now, you’re safe. You’re safe in his arms, keeping you steadily off the ground, and getting drunk on him. On his hands kneading your skin and cupping your face, on his mouth against yours. Hungry, always hungry, pushing into you brutally. Trying to take all your breath and give you his. Tongue tracing your teeth and pushing down your throat, sucking and biting your lips and groaning into your open mouth. You take it all. Your hands grab at his hair, push his cap to the floor so you can touch him, and lean as far into him as you can without being him. He’s here. He’s here and you love him and he’s everything. You’re letting him consume you, touch you as much as he wants, because you missed him. Because he’s real, and anything he can give you is enough. If he tries to take your heart, reach into your chest and rip it out, you’ll do it for him and feed it to him. If he bites your neck you hope it will, for once, leave a mark. If he gives you any part of him, you’ll dig a hole in your body and keep it there. Anything to feel him forever, anything to never stop feeling this. Feeling Ben.
When he finally pulls back, it’s only because you can feel the pounding of his heart under your hands. Only because he’s breathing heavily, chest rising and falling in an uneven pattern, and you’re doing the same. You feel a little dizzy, but you want to keep going. You want to touch him until you pass out and he can take him home. Or to Rome, or Hawaii, or fucking Ohio or Texas or California or anywhere where he’s there and you’re together. Where you can feel like this forever, and it’s just you and Ben. Happy. Where he can always set you down this carefully against the counter, and keep his forehead pressed to yours as you both just hold each other. Where you can close your eyes and fall into him and always trust he’ll catch you.
He mumbles your name, lips brushing yours as he speaks, and you can’t stop the small sound leaving your throat. A strangled noise of Ben. Ben, I love you. I missed you and I love you and I’m sorry.
You’re crying. You don’t even realize it until you feel his thumb against your cheek, wiping your tears away, and that makes you cry more.
“Ben,” you’re whispering. You don’t trust your voice to do anything else. “You’re here.”
“I’m here.” He mutters. “You’re real.”
You huff a soft, weak laugh. “I’m real.”
He nods against you, and when you open your eyes he’s still there. Watching you, always watching you. Looking at you so reverently, and that thing is stronger than you’d ever felt it when he’s touching you. He’s wrapping around you, he’s everywhere around you, full of care and affection and something small and bright that’s resting at the base of his throat. His whole body relaxed and washed with relief. You love him. You love him so much.
“Hi,” you smile at him, and it’s real. It’s sad and you’re still crying, but Ben is here and nothing can stop you from smiling at him. Just for now, just in this moment, you can smile at Ben and get to mean it. “Can you kiss me again?”
Ben chuckles, and it’s a sound from deep in his body that moves into yours. He does as you ask, and this time he’s gentle. Not pushing for more, just kissing you until you sigh and hum against his mouth. Letting both of you just savor it, sit in the feeling of comfort and each other.
When Ben pulls back he draws up slightly, studying your face, tracing it under one hand as the other holds you at your waist. “Are you-“
“I’m okay.”
He doesn’t believe you. Ben frowns and his eyes narrow, and you know he doesn’t believe you. He trusts you, you can feel it, but you can also feel that concrete resolve around you both and you know that Ben isn’t going to just drop it.
“Don’t-“
“I’m not lying,” you move your hands up from his chest, resting them on his shoulders. “I’m okay.”
“I don’t think you’re lying,” he mutters, scanning over your body. “I know you think you’re okay. You always think you’re okay.”
You blink at him. “What?”
“You always say you’re okay, and you’re not.” Your eyes meet again, and there’s something painful in Ben’s. You can feel that pain in his body, but when it reaches his eyes it’s somehow worse. It makes him look sad. “You always fucking think you’re fine, and you believe it, but you’re goddamn not.”
“I-“
“Just,” he sighs, squeezing your hips and running a thumb over your cheekbone. “Tell me the truth. Not what you think is the fucking truth, the factual truth. Are you okay?”
You don’t answer. You try to answer, but words choke in your throat and suddenly you’re crying. Not soft tears like before, full sobs that shake your body and make you fall into Ben’s chest. He catches you, holds you against him until you can breathe again. He lets you wrap your arms around his torso and traces familiar patterns on your skin, resting his chin on your head and humming so fucking terribly. So off-key and out of tune you almost don’t recognize the song.
When you do, you pull back and frown at him, blinking away your tears. “Rainbow Connection?”
“Shut up.”
“When did you-“
“Don’t fucking change the topic.“
“Ben,” you move one hand up to rest against his chest, and he holds it. Pulls it up to his mouth and kisses your palm, and your heart flutters through all its sore fatigue. “I’m okay. I’m really okay. I’m exhausted, but I’m okay.”
“Homelander-“
“Hasn’t touched me,” you whisper. “Not like that.”
Ben doesn’t stop glaring at you. “Swear it.”
“Promise. No lies.” You smile at him again. “Would be a weird fucking thing to lie about anyway.”
Ben rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”
“Make me.”
You’re wasting time. You have so little time to find out what the Boys are doing here, why they’ve decided being here is worth such a massive risk, but when Ben kisses you again you don’t really care. It’s just him, big and warm and safe.
Real.
When he leans back, you’re not crying anymore. You think you’ve just tired yourself out, or that your body knows there will be time to cry later. Right now Ben is here, and that’s all that matters.
“Are we going to talk about Rainbow Connection?” You smile at him because you can. As long as Ben is here, you’ll always smile at him. “Did you watch the Muppets again?”
Something flashes under his skin. Sore and hot, embarrassment. That’s his embarrassment. “Shut the fuck up.”
“You did-“
He kisses you again. He won’t stop kissing you, and you’ve never been less annoyed about anything in your life. Today he’s allowed to kiss you to shut you up. Anything that keeps him here longer, anything you can take and hold in the weeks to come.
Anything that makes you more certain he’s real. That this isn’t a cruel trick of your brain, and any second you’re going to wake up in a cold room that smells like coconut with Homelander across the mattress.
But he is. Ben is here and real and you can feel it. A dream wouldn’t feel powerful like this, wouldn’t have all the protection of Ben running through your body, wouldn’t have this strange feeling of something pushing from Ben into you when he holds you.
“You can gloat about it later,” he grunts against you, before standing up to his full height, looking down at you. “We need to fucking go.”
You sigh. You’d known this was coming, and you’re honestly surprised it took this long. “We’re not going anywhere, Ben.”
“The goddamn fucking hell we’re not-“
“I have to stay here.” Your voice isn’t loud, or firm. It’s soft and shaking and tired, because you’re exhausted. Because every ounce of will and strength in your body is being used for this. For telling Ben you can’t just go, that he has to leave you here and you’re both going to have to find a way to live with that. “You know I have to stay here.”
“You don’t have to do a single fucking thing but go,” he’s not yelling. His voice is rising and his words are sharp but he’s not yelling. “You’re not safe here, we need to fucking go-“
“I can’t.” You reach up, holding his face between your hands and trying not to shatter when he raises his own to keep you there. “I can’t go, not until I see this through.”
“Yes, you can! You fucking can!” His voice is loud, but Ben’s still not yelling. You’ve heard him yell, and it’s commanding. Ben’s yell demands attention, demands compliance. This is angry and loud but he’s pleading, and it’s worse. He knows you’re not leaving with him, deep down, so Ben is begging you to change your mind. It’s making you hurt, making all your bones and organs shutter and snap, and it’s horrible. All of this is horrible. “All you fucking have to do is go-“
“Ben-“
“You’re not fucking safe, I’m not going to goddamn leave you-“
“You’re not leaving me,” you smile at him, and your heart is starting to fold in on itself. “This isn’t leaving me.”
“Yes, it fucking is-“
“I’m telling you you’re going to have to go without me. Not now,” your words become quick, slightly panicked, because if Ben leaves now you’ll collapse and not get back up. “But when it’s time. When you go, you’re going without me.”
“I’ll pick you up and fucking carry you out,” he snaps, and you sigh.
“I’ll scream.”
“Then I’ll fucking cover your mouth.”
“I’ll bite your hand.”
“And I won’t goddamn feel it.”
“Then I’ll take off your stupid hat and people will see you.” You shake your head, and try to be a little more numb. Try to pretend this isn’t killing you, that you can’t feel it killing him. “I want to come home Ben, I really want to. But I can’t. You know that.”
“There’s not a fucking chance in hell I’m letting you stay here-“
“Ben,” you whisper. “You don’t let me do anything. I’m staying here, but you’re not leaving me.”
“I fucking am,” he’s furious, you can feel it coursing through you, but it’s like poison. It’s raging and turning every part of Ben against himself, making your heart start to wither for him. For how he’s doing this to himself. “If I fucking go without you, I’ll be fucking failing you again. I’m not fucking failing you again-“
“Benjamin-“
“I’m not! I’m never failing you again, I’m never leaving you again, I’m never fucking losing you again-“
You pull his head down, and he freezes. Ben lets you hold his head against your shoulder, and when you start to run a hand through his hair he falls onto you. Just holds you like you’re going to try and escape, buries his face in your neck like he can climb in you and stay there.
“I can’t fucking lose you again,” he mumbles your name against your skin, and your heart grows weaker. “I just fucking can’t.”
“You didn’t lose me.” You say softly. “You didn’t fail me, or leave me, and you’ll never lose me.” Ben. Ben, I love you. “I’ll come back. I’ll always find my way back to you.”
“You shouldn’t fucking have to,” he pulls back, and his face is so sad. You’ve never seen Ben sad, where his face is just slack and tired and clouded. He’s still angry, but his wrath is made of despair. Low and sunken and almost sick. That thing in him—in you—feels ill. “I can’t fucking stay here with you, I can’t protect you-“
“I’m okay,” you lean forwards, and Ben meets you. Heads pressed together, his arms still around your body and your hands still in his hair. “I’m going to be okay.”
“You’re fucking not-“
“I will,” you whisper, and it’s not just Ben you’re trying to convince. “I’ll be okay. You don’t need to protect me from this, Ben. I’m okay.”
“Please,” he mutters your name, and your heart finally breaks. Pulls itself in two at how low and desperate and hopeless Ben’s voice is. “Please, just come home. Just fucking come home.”
“I can’t,” you’re crying again, and these tears are slow. Soundlessly falling from you, the only part of yourself that’s allowed to just mourn this. You’re not going home. Ben hasn’t failed you, he could never fail you, you love him and he’d never leave you or fail you or lose you, but you’re not going home. “We both know I can’t.”
“I don’t fucking know shit-“
“I’m aware,” you smile dryly. “But I still can’t come home.”
“You can,” his protests aren’t loud anymore. He’s just grasping at straws, trying to find one thing that will make you give up and go. “We’ll just fucking walk away, go to Rome-“
“Not until this is over. Not until Homelander’s dead.”
“He will be,” Ben’s hands squeeze on your hips. “The team has a way to kill him, and they can fucking do it themselves-“
Your eyes widen. “They found a way?”
“I fucking found a way, they barely did shit-“
“Benjamin,” you pull back, and everything is urgent again. “How do you kill Homelander.”
“V. But-“
“V?”
“Compound fucking V. Puts him down for the count, makes him a damn coma patient.” Ben says your name. “But they can do that themselves, we can go-“
“How do you know?”
“We found a file in his lab-“
“His lab?”
“The fucking Homelander lab, where they used my cum to make him grow-“
“That’s fucking disgusting-“
“Shut the fuck up, you love my cum-“
Now is not the time to let that turn you on. Keep going, no getting sidetracked trading easy, sparring words with him or thinking about his cum. “Ben, are you sure this will work?“
“I’m fucking positive, the lab nerds were real clear that even one shot of V throws off his whole body and turns the pussy into a vegetable.”
“Won’t you still need to blast him with the special sauce?”
Ben rolls his eyes. “They can make their own goddamn special sauce. Pump Homelander full of V, find their own fucking way to take him out forever. Drop a nuke on him, I don’t give a fuck. We-”
“That’s why you’re here.” Your brain spins, sorting and matching every piece of this together. “Samaritan’s embrace was a V front, and you’re looking for some.”
“We’re fucking finding some, and killing Homelander, so you can go-“
“You won’t.” You pull Ben face forwards, forcing his words to die in his throat, making him listen. “Ben, you’re not going to find any V here.”
He frowns, momentarily distracted from lightly tugging at your skin and pleading for you to leave. “What the fuck are you talking about. Butcher said-“
“Butcher was wrong,” you shake your head. “I mean, he might have been right last week, maybe even this morning, but if there was V here it’s gone now.”
“Why-“
“Sage said she was dealing with a Homelander mistake last week. She must have been talking about the lab, about how you were able to get in and poke around. And nobody’s seen her or Homelander or Ezekiel all day. Whatever V was left, they’ve gotten rid of it.”
Ben scowls. “So we can just find more-“
“Sage won’t leave more.” You tap your fingers against Ben’s jaw, trying to focus and not think about how he’s stilled himself completely to let you talk yourself through this. “She won’t get rid of it, not all of it, it’s too valuable, but she’ll hide it. Any supplies that might be accessible to anyone that could be hypothetically compromised will be destroyed or relocated. She won’t tell anyone, won’t leave any records. It’ll be as good as gone.”
Ben hums, and you see his question in the knit of his brows. Well how are we supposed to fucking get our hands on it?
“I’m not sure,” you mutter, frowning. Scanning Ben’s face like you might find the answer in it, and not stopping when you don’t because you just want to look at him. “I’d bet on Homelander, he and Sage don’t really trust each other, not enough for him to let her just bulldoze any plans or intentions he might have with remaining V. But it’s not a safe bet, Homelander’s never a safe bet.” You feel something tight and bitter in his chest, and sigh. “I’m okay, Ben.”
He rolls his eyes, still not moving under your hands. I didn’t fucking say shit.
“Yeah, but you thought it.”
What are you, a fucking mind reader?
“With you?” You smile at him, and it’s so easy. Even when you’re talking about killing Homelander, it’s still easy to smile at Ben. “I might as well be.”
Smartass.
“Fuck you.”
He grins. Not in public, Sunshine.
You stick your tongue out at him. “Shut up. And we’ll just have to ask A-Train when he gets back.” You sigh. “I can’t think of anything else that might work.”
Your fingers have stilled on Ben’s face—now just playing with the hair of his beard—and he takes it as a sign to speak. “A-Train?”
“The fast one.”
“Why the fuck are we waiting for him?”
“He’s defecting,” you shrug. “He’s leaving with you today, you’re going to have to fake his death by the way-“
“Fucking Fast-Man is coming home, but not you?” Ben’s glaring at you, saying your name in a deep, annoyed voice. “I am not fucking trading you-“
“You’re not trading me, Benjamin.” You hold his glare. “I’ll come home soon, just not now. And A-Train is going to help you. He helped me.”
“How the fuck has he helped you?” Ben grumbles. “He hasn’t gotten you out-“
“Nobody’s gotten me out, because I’m waiting. I have a plan-“
Ben scoffs, but that strange feeling in him pulses with warmth. “Of course you have a plan.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“You always have a damn plan, Sunshine.” He glowers at you. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you not have a fucking plan.”
You narrow your eyes at him. “And how is that a bad thing?”
“It’s not,” Ben mutters. “But I just fucking wish you would share your plans. With me. Let me goddamn help.”
All the annoyance in you vaporizes in just how much you love him. How much you love Ben, how no matter what he’s there. He trusts you, he knows you, and he’s there for you all the time. He’ll groan and bitch about everything but he’ll still be there. He’ll try and fight your battles for you, roll his eyes and be a grump when you don’t let him, and stay at your side until you’ve won. He’ll be there to do what you need him to and then hold you like this—with so much rough care—even when he’s pissed. He won’t leave. He’ll never leave, not really. And you love him.
“It has to play out naturally,” you say, gently. Smiling so that his scowl starts to waver. “If I tell you what to do it might not work as well. I’ll come home soon, you just have to let me do this my way. Please.”
Ben lets out a long, labored sigh that makes his chest rumble, makes your whole body fall into his. “Fine. Fucking fine.”
“Thank you.”
He just grunts, and you pull his face back yours. Kiss him long and soft. Never looking for more, just trying to touch him. Just trying to have him while you can, before A-Train finds you and tells you this has to be over. You don’t ever want this to be over, you only want to kiss Ben like you have all the time in the world. Like every moment in this bathroom isn’t being borrowed and running out fast.
You almost tell him. Right here, in a Believe Expo bathroom with Ben cupping your jaw and looking down at you with affection as his arm cages you to his chest, you almost say it. Ben. Ben, I love you. You’re going to have to let me stay here, but please know that I love you. Please, please wait for me and don’t hate me because I love you. I’m trying to make myself okay with keeping it together and leaving you to go home alone, but I’m so close to breaking. Please just tell me to damn the consequences, damn the world, and bring me home. Or to Rome, or to the farthest corner of the world, but with you. Please pick me up and take me with you because I love you and I can’t keep this up much longer. I’m okay, I’m really okay, but I’m so close to falling apart. I love you, fuck everything else because I love you and I want to go home.
You’re crying again. They’re not singular, lonesome and tragic tears or shaking screams and sobs of hollow and empty. They’re small, wet gasps as you try to fight the words down. Try to stop yourself from ruining everything just because you can’t do this. You don’t want to do this. You don’t want Ben to go, and he has to go, but it’s going to be the most painful thing in the world. Even if you know you’ll be home soon.
He mutters your name, deep and firm, and now you’re crying more. You love him. “What-“
You kiss him. You grab his shirt and yank him down and just kiss him. You can’t tell him you love him, not like this. Not when you can’t hold him all night and wake up next to him in the morning. Not now, when you have to stay here. But you’re going to tell him, you recognize that impossible to quell instinct of Ben. Ben, I love you, pushing up your throat and you only know one way to stop it. Ben, kissing him and touching him and turning those words into just sounds. Into moans and whines that he won’t understand. So you just pull Ben into you, and hope he’ll do the rest.
He does. He’ll always do this for you. His hands will always find a firm, natural hold on your body and his mouth will always fit perfectly against yours. He’ll always fill with hunger and adoration, and give you everything he can until you’re—at least for now—whole again. He’ll always make all that noise, all that loud, angry pain in your head that’s trying to find a why, why is this so unfair that you have to stay here and Ben can’t stay with you, why won’t the world give you one thing, just one thing that you don’t have to rage to keep, and why does time have to keep moving when this day is going that have to end without Ben at your side, and he’ll make it go away. Ben will always make all the sounds and rushing thoughts in your head slow until it’s just him. Just Ben. Ben, I love you. He’ll make the whole world only Ben, rubbing circles on your skin and pulling you impossibly closer, pressing his tongue to your lips in a silent question, and taking everything you give him.
You want to give him everything. Only opening your mouth for him to move deeper into you—to suck and bite and taste—and leaning into him so your hands are scraping at his neck, so his groans run through your body and down into you, isn’t enough. Making high, needy sounds that Ben swallows isn’t enough, grinding half against his torso and half onto the counter isn’t enough, because it doesn’t tell him. It doesn’t show him that you’ve missed him and you want him and need him and love him. Everything you can’t say, not now, you still need him to feel. He can’t feel you like you feel him, can’t understand without words how important he is to you. He can’t feel your love, not like you can feel that thing in him rumbling somewhere sacred in his chest. Bouncing off his ribcage and hungry and wanting for carnage. Wanting you, desperate for you in a bloody and wrathful way that tells you Ben cares. He might not love you, but he’s missed you. That even if he’s furious he’ll have to go without you, it's still about you. You and Ben together, right now, having each other.
He has to have all of you. He has to have every part of you that you don’t need to see this through, so he can protect those instead. So he can keep some sort of knowledge that walking away from him—even if it’s temporary, which it is, because nothing is permanent except you and Ben so you will always find a way back to him—is impossible. It’s going to keep you up for many nights, haunt all your dreams until he’s there to hold you like this again. You have to, you can’t see another way out of this that doesn’t end in the world destroyed and Homelander the king of whatever remains, but it’s killing you. Ben needs to understand that this is killing you, that you’ve never wanted or loved anything like you need him. And the only way to show him is to give him all of you.
“Ben,” you gasp against his mouth, and it drops to leave sloppy kisses down your jaw and neck. Letting you speak but not making it easy. Not when he’s pulling skin gently between his teeth and running his hand up your back. “Please.”
“Please?” He hums, moving back up to look at you fully. Hands still kneading at your thigh and wrapping around your body. “What-“
“Fuck me.” You lean forward, trying to pull him back down. He can’t be away from you, not for a second, not now when he’s going to have to go so soon. “Please, fuck me.”
His eyes widen, and even as the hunger roars inside him Ben frowns. “Here?”
You nod desperately. “Please-“
“Sunshine,” his hold on you has become like iron, and you can feel the enormity of his want, feel his hardened cock pushing into your thigh, but he’s shaking his head. “I am not fucking you for the first time in a goddamn bathroom.”
“Ben-“
“I said I wanted to take time,” Ben leaned down, holding your gaze. His eyes are darkened, and you can feel him. Everywhere you can feel Ben, in your body and around you and running between your bodies where the boundary of Ben or you doesn’t matter anymore. “And I fucking meant it. I am not fucking you when I can’t take a goddamn week off to do it, when there’s not even a fucking bed.”
“Please, I just want-“
“I know what you want,” he growls your name, and you whine. “And fucking believe me, I want it as well. The only thing I want more than to fuck you stupid is to bring you the hell home. But,” he shakes his head, and presses a kiss to your brow, grunting the words against your skin. “You’re a stubborn fucking brat who doesn’t listen, so I’m not taking you home. And there’s not a fucking chance in hell I’m fucking you for the first time in a bathroom at a fucking Christ Convention.”
You sigh, falling further into him. He’s right, which is annoying because he’s always so smug about when he’s right, but he’s right. Ben can’t fuck you, not here, not now. You can’t tell him you love him, you can’t go home with him, but you also can’t fucking him at the Christ Convention.
Ben pulls back, watching you with silent eyes that are trying to dissect you. You love when he watches you like this, like he can see you, and you hope he never stops. You hope when you close your eyes tonight, alone in a cold room, you’ll still have the image of him watching you.
You offer him a small smile. “How are you enjoying the Christ Convention?”
“It’s fucking stupid,” he mutters. “Dumbest shit I’ve ever seen. Bunch of high and mighty pussies who think they know everything. Butcher said they do this every year,” he shakes his head like that’s an impossible thought. “Wouldn’t have fucking let that slide in my day.”
You hum. “I mean, evangelical Christianity was definitely a thing in the 80s. And 70s. And 60s. Mass media just inflates connection and audience.”
Ben rolls his eyes. “Every year is still goddamn insane. The man has been dead for thousands of goddamn years, there’s nothing fucking new to say.”
You laugh, burying your head in his shoulder. His arms hold you there, safe and comfortable against him, and it takes a lot out of you not to cry again. To just mumble against his skin, “I see you haven’t killed Butcher yet.”
“Yet.” He grunts. “Fucking asshole’s on goddamn thin ice. Borrowed time.”
You smile. “Well, I’m proud of you anyway.”
His arms tense around you, and that thing glows. Somewhere in that carefully tended and protected part of Ben where it lives, it starts to feel ardent and light. He doesn’t say anything, just pulls you closer, but you feel it. Glowing inside him.
“Has anything changed,” you don’t move from speaking against him, because Ben will hear you anywhere. “Since I’ve been…”
You can’t finish that sentence. You can’t say that word. And Ben knows, because he doesn’t make you. “No.”
“Nothing?”
“We haven’t exactly been fucking team building and circle jerking, Sunshine,” he drawls, and you still smile. You missed him. “We’ve got goddamn jobs to do.”
“And you haven’t killed anyone? Even when they’re being idiot pussies?”
He snorts. “They’ve managed not to deserve it yet.”
“Deserve it?”
“They’re listening to you.”
You lean back, and frown at him. “To me?”
“When you tell us to trust you,” he grunts. “When you go on TV.”
Something you hadn’t fully realized was there loosens around your throat. “You’ve seen me? You’ve gotten it?”
“Of course I’ve fucking seen you,” Ben mutters, and his glare is more indigent than anything else. “Green for me to listen. To make sure I know you’re still fucking you.”
You smile, and it’s all teeth and a little bit of joy. He’s seen you, and he’s been paying attention, and he understands. “Good.”
Ben rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to do green, I’ll listen no matter fucking what.”
“It’s a signal-“
“I don’t need a fucking signal to know you’re okay,” he snaps your name. “I can see it on your face. When your little fucking act drops and you look like you. I need to know when you’re not okay. When I have to come get you.”
“Ben-“
“I won’t,” he holds your eyes, voice firm. “I won’t come get you until you say. I’ll go along with your stupid fucking secret plan, but I need a way to know if you need me. If it’s gone to shit and you need me.”
You sigh. He needs this. Ben is doing the impossible thing you’re asking of him and only demanding one thing in return. You couldn’t say no if you wanted to. “Blue.” You squeeze his bicep, and give him another smile. “If I need you, which I won’t,” Ben glares at you, but you keep going. “I’ll wear blue. And you can come get me.”
You’ll never wear blue again. If Ashley or Sage or Homelander try to put you in blue, you’ll spill food or coffee all over the outfit or just fucking burn it. But—likely even when you go home—you’ll never wear blue again. You’ll never wear blue or smell coconut without throwing up, you won’t drink a milkshake for a long time, and you’ll hate the winter forever. You’ll have to stay where it’s warm, you’ll have to keep Ben with you so he can block chilling winds and hold you against him like this. In a way that makes everything hot, makes your blood rush in a way that’s just you and him together. You’ll do anything to keep Ben with you when this is over. You’ll offer him this comfort that there’s a signal to tell him you need him—even if you’ll always need him, regardless of Homelander or Vought or any plan or mission—and whatever else he asks for so he’ll wait for you and hold you when you return.
“Blue,” he repeats, nodding slowly. “Swear it.”
“Promise.” You search his eyes, and try not to cry when you can see just how tired he is. “Thank you.”
“Don’t-“
“Benjamin.” You shake your head, and lean back into him. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.”
“I haven’t done a fucking thing-“
“You’re here.” You whisper. “You’re going to let me do what I need to do, and you’re waiting. That’s all you have to do, but it still fucking sucks, so thank you.” I love you.
Ben scoffs. “I thought I didn’t let you do anything.”
You huff a soft, sad laugh. “But I’m going to thank you anyway.” You look back up at him and smile. Wide and bittersweet, but still real. This is still real. “Thank you.”
He watches you for a second, and that thing in him is glowing again. Glowing and burning. Hungry.
Then he’s on his knees. Ben’s hands move to hold your thighs, and he falls to his knees between your legs, smirking up at you. Eyes still tired and body still washed in distant pain, but the hunger overtaking all of it. The devotion is spreading over all of him, climbing into you.
“Ben-“
“I am not fucking you here,” he winks up at you, and you don’t think your heart is working anymore. It’s gone into overdrive and it’s going to explode. “But I can still make you feel fucking good.”
Your eyes widen, and you feel heat rush into your face. You feel heat rush everywhere. “Okay.”
“Say it,” he grunts, and you know what he wants. You always know what he wants.
“Please,” you grab his face, running your fingers back into his hair. “Please, Ben.”
“More.”
“I want you,” you whisper, not trusting your voice to stay stable otherwise. Not when one of Ben’s hands is drawing closer to your center, hovering right over your underwear. “Ben, I want you, please-“
His thumb presses right over your clit, and your words turn into a long moan. “All you fucking have to do is ask, beautiful.” He grins up at you. “Say my name and ask.”
“Ben-“
“Whole thing.”
“Benjamin, please-“
He stands up, crashing his mouth against yours as his hand moves under your panties, teasing you gently. Rubbing his thumb lightly while he slides his fingers between you, but never in. Groaning into your mouth when he feels how wet you’ve become, how much you want him.
“Fucking needy, Sunshine.” He mutters, pulling his hand away, taking your underwear with him and dropping it on the floor. “So fucking needy.”
You only moan, trying to grind into him enough that he’ll just come back, and he pulls his mouth away, grinning down at you. He looks so handsome, with dark eyes and full lips that were just on you and why can’t he just come back-
His fingers—the ones that had just been touching you—raise into his mouth, and you almost fall off the counter. Almost jump him when he makes a low, satisfied sound and watches you with a cocky smirk. How you’re wrecked and he’s not even touching you anymore.
“Please-“
He pulls his fingers out his mouth and grabs your face, yanking it up to him. His hand in your hair, your taste is in his mouth, his body so strong and warm and Ben and he’s everything-
“Fucking good,” he mutters against your lips, and you whimper. “You’re so fucking good.” He says your name, and you think you might just cum from that. The impossibly good sound of your name from Ben’s mouth, in his deep and powerful voice.
“Ben,” your words are just breath, but you know he understands, because he grunts and his hands that’s moved under your thigh squeezes you. “Please. More, please-“
He’s gone again, moving you back down to the counter and returning to his knees. You almost whine again, almost make a desperate sound that was probably supposed to be come back, but then he’s everywhere. His hands hook under your knees, and he tugs you forwards. Right into his mouth.
He’s done this once. It made you scream his name and see stars, but this is better. He’s learning, you realize, because he’s already doing everything he needs to do to bring you up to the edge. After just one time he’d somehow memorized every single thing that made you melt, and now he’s on a mission.
He moves one hand to knead and bruise your thigh around him, while using the other to brace against your abdomen, keeping you still as he works.
His tongue is there first. Licking you once until he brushes your clit, flicking it once, feeling your thighs tighten around him, and chuckling as he does it again.
“You fucking like that?” He mutters, and you just moan and try to roll your hips against his face.
He laughs and does it again, lighter this time, so feather like and teasing you until you whine. Until it’s too much and you’re aching before he flattens his tongue against you and hums, running it down, up, down, and into you. Ben pushing his tongue into you, and starts to fuck you with him mouth.
His teeth are brushing against you when he pushes in, letting out a growl when you clench around him that makes his nose bump your clit. You make a strangled sound and he finds a rhythm. His tongue doesn’t stop moving, twisting and fucking you as he squeezes the skin of your thigh, then rises for just enough to nip at your clit and sooth it with a kiss before dropping back down.
Ben won’t let you cum. He knows exactly when that line is and he’s taunting you with it, grunting into you as you start to shake above him, as you tug at his hair or moan his name. He goes faster, eating you like he’s been starved until you start to tremble, and then he slows down, running his tongue between your pussy and clit, never fully touching either. Starting it all over the moment your breathing becomes steady.
“Ben,” you whisper, and he looks up at you with so much devotion and affection it almost makes you fall apart just from him. From how relaxed he looks, between your legs. How his eyes are hungry and lustful and full of light. For you. “Please.”
He hums against you, and you shiver as the sound runs up your spine. “More?”
“Please.”
“You want me?”
“I need you.”
He smirks up at you. “You need me, Sunshine? Need me to make you fucking cum?”
“Yes,” you breathe out as his hand moves from your thigh, tracing circles around you and over you but never pushing in. “Ben, please. I need you, please-“
Two broad, rough fingers push into you and your words dissolve into a moan. Ben pumps them once, and once more when you squeeze around him. “Like that? You fucking need me to do that?”
“Ben-“
“So fucking tight,” he mutters, gaze dropping down to watch you clench around him when he moves again. “You’re so fucking tight, beautiful, it’s gonna fucking kill me.”
You can’t speak anymore, not when he moves in and out again, and again, and again. Setting a brutal, demanding pace that has you unable to think outside of Ben. Rough, strong fingers inside of you that are Ben’s and making you feel so good.
“No smart words from that pretty fucking mouth?” he hums your name, and you whine.
“Ben-“
“There’s one.” He winks at you, and you melt further into him. Try to use your leg to pull him closer. “Let’s see if we can make you scream it.”
He drops back down and bites your clit. It’s gentle and light, but Ben bites you and you have to move a hand to cover your mouth so you don’t scream his name. You’re trying to grind onto his face, his fingering still fucking you without relent or relief, and you need him to keep going. To bite you or lick you or do something to bring you over the edge. But his arm is keeping you so torturously still, you can only grip his hair and throw your head back as he goes and goes and goes and you’re full of him. He’s in you and on you, his tongue tracing taunting circles around your clit, and it’s all Ben.
Then he kisses you. He leaves one, painfully soft kiss against your clit as his fingers still deep inside you, and you’re so close.
“Ben-“
You feel him grin against you, and he crooks his fingers in you against that one spot as he pulls your clit into his mouth. He sucks on it and groans, and that’s it. Everything is Ben, flicking his tongue against you with a growl and scissoring his fingers to give friction inside you, and you have to bite your hand as you cum. As everything grows loose and good, the whole world becomes both so big and wide but it’s still just Ben. It’s still just Ben in all the warmth and pleasure, making you feel like you’re made of stardust and more important than the sun as he keeps going through your orgasm until you’re shaking. Until you’re trying to pull him back up because you need to see him. You need him to kiss you again because you love him, and this is going to be over so soon and you just need to see him. Show Ben that he’s done this, that every part of you is his and nothing else has ever mattered like this matters.
You almost damn it. He’s pulled you apart and put you back together, still going, and now you have to tell him. Ben has to know, he has to know you love him. It’s so impossibly crucial that Ben understands you love him. You say it, you say Ben, I love you, but he’s done his job too well and all that comes out is a breathless, wanting sound. Every part of your body, of your mind and soul tries to say it as well. Ben. Ben, I love you. Ben, I love you. Please understand, please try and feel how much I love you and tell me you understand. But he's still going, even as your thighs start to crush his head, and all you get is a roar. That thing inside him roars, and moves to fully rest in you. You don’t understand it, you’re not even sure Ben understands it, but it’s sitting in you now just as much as him, and it’s the most natural thing you’ve ever felt. It hums when you repeat the words in your head, when you think Ben. Ben, I love you, and pray he’ll somehow hear it, somehow see it on your face when he’s still between your legs. He doesn’t, but that thing always makes another low, happy sound and that can be enough. Everything is light and high, and this strange thing that lives in Ben but feels like it’s yours can be enough.
Ben, after what might have been a thousand years, stands up. He’s staring at you—still slightly shaking and flushed, words still a little far away—and the look in his eyes is reverent. His face is covered in you and his beard is wet but he’s not moving to wipe it away. He just kisses you, one last long time, and mutters your name against your lips.
“You’re perfect,” his voice is low and wanting, and you shutter against him. Feel his hard cock twitch against you. “You’re so fucking perfect.”
In the grand scheme of things, it’s probably a good thing A-Train finds you when he does. Because if you’d been left alone with Ben for about three more seconds the part of you that’s been begging you to just go, go home with Ben and the rest of the world can figure out how to deal with this themselves, just tell Ben you love him and go, would’ve won.
That doesn’t mean you can’t be annoyed when the room is rushed with cold air and A-Train slams the door behind him.
Ben’s faster than you—in all fairness he didn’t just have an earth-shattering orgasm and you’re at a disadvantage—and turns to block your body from view, roaring at A-Train.
“What the fucking hell-“
“Calm down, asshole.” Peaking over Ben’s shoulder you can see that A-Train’s facing the wall, back to you both. “This isn’t something I want to see. I’m just doing my job.”
“Get fuck out-“
You reach around Ben’s head and cover his mouth with a hand, staying behind him as you lean over his body to address A-Train. “Are we ready?”
A-Train nods. “Ezekiel’s waiting for me, I told him I’d find where your team is then come get him.”
“Okay,” you sigh, trying to focus on running through your mental checklist when you can still feel Ben, when your legs have wrapped themselves around his torso. “I’ll burn out your tracker, and we’ll get going.”
Ben licks your hand, and it surprises you enough to pull back.
“Benjamin, what the hell-“
“Does anyone want to fucking tell me what’s going on?” He snaps, glaring at you over his shoulder. “Or am I supposed to just goddamn stay in the dark?”
“I did tell you,” you kick his thigh slightly. “A-Train’s defecting, you’re going to kill him-“
“Don’t actually kill me,” A-Train cuts in, still facing away from you. “I’m not doing this if this dick is going to actually kill me.”
“He’s knows that-“
Ben shrugs. “I don’t know shit.”
You pinch him, shooting him a flat look. You’re being unhelpful. Shut up and get me decent.
He rolls his eyes, and ducks down to pick your discarded underwear off the floor. You keep speaking as he helps you into them, allowing yourself to sit slightly in the feeling of him touching you, hands running up your legs and arms holding you still.
“They won’t kill you, A-Train. Ben, promise you won’t kill him.”
“Whatever.”
“Benjamin.”
“Fine, I won’t fucking kill him.”
You glare at him. “Promise.”
“I swear I won’t kill him.” He glares at you, drawing back up to his full height. “Happy?”
You smile at him. “Very.” And it’s not even a lie. “A-Train, you can look.”
Ben steps to the side—you have to shove him slightly, but he does—and A-Train turns around slowly.
“My tracker?”
You nod, pushing off the counter and crossing the bathroom. “This might take a second.”
Ben follows you, standing behind you silently as you raise your hand over A-Train’s extended arm and close your eyes. This will work, this has to work. Ben’s right here, and he’s warm, and right now you’re not afraid, so this will work.
It takes a few minutes of slow breathing and focus, but you drag just enough up fire. You can do this.
You glance at A-Train once. “This might really hurt.”
“Just do it-“
The flame forms in the palm of your hand and your eyes narrow. Concentrating it into something like a needle and pushing it into A-Train’s arm. He flinches, face twisting, but doesn’t pull away as you work. Smoke fills the room, all three of you watching the beam of fire twist and scorch A-Train’s skin, burning it with the tracker. Ben’s shoulder nudges yours and you pause, looking up at him.
“What?”
“It’s gone,” he grunts. “I heard it, it’s fried.”
A-Train frowns. “You sure?”
“Fucking positive.”
“Then,” A-Train looks back at you. “We’re good?”
You glance at Ben, who gives you a tight nod. “I guess.”
A-Train looks between you and Ben again, but rests his arm back at his side. “Is he going to tell your team-“
“I’ve got it fucking handled,” Ben snaps. “Pretend to kill you, bring you back. Find another way to get V.”
“V?”
Your eyes widen. You’d almost forgotten. “Fuck, wait. A-Train where did you find Ezekiel?”
“He was backstage,” he shrugs. “Most of that time was spent convincing him, he’s annoying as hell-” He frowns at you, cutting himself off. “Why?”
“We need some V,” you sigh. “But if he was backstage that means they finished cleaning up. There won’t be any left, not here.”
“Why do you need V?” A-Train shakes his head. “That shit is horrible for you, it almost fucking killed me-“
“It knocks Homelander out. We need it to kill him.” You look at Ben, and find him watching you carefully. “You’re going to need to tell Butcher what I told you. You’re not going to find V any way you might have before.”
Ben scowls. “Well then how the fuck-“
“Homelander,” you swallow down the lump and bile in your throat. “He’s the only bet we have. He had to have kept some-“
“He keeps some in his apartment,” A-Train interjects, and you turn to see him frowning at you, hands on his hips. “I saw it, even took some for Hughie. It’s in a box.”
“I’ve never seen it-“
“He might have moved it when you arrived,” A-Train shrugs. “But he has some.”
You nod, chewing on your tongue, and feel Ben’s arms wrap around you. Pulling you back into his chest.
“You don’t have to fucking get it.” He mutters. “We’ll find another way-“
You sigh, and tilt your head back to look up at him. “There’s not always another way, Ben. We have to get through this, not around it.”
He glares at you. Come home. Just fucking come home.
I can’t. You stand on your toes, leaning further into him, and give him a gentle smile. You have to go, and I can’t come with you.
His body tenses around you, and he makes a deep, pained sound from his chest. I fucking hate this. This is fucking stupid and I fucking hate it.
I know. You squeeze his arm around you and force yourself not to cry. You can’t cry now, because you won’t stop and this will never work. I know you do. But I’ll see you again. Soon.
Fucking swear it. Swear you’ll come home.
I promise.
He nods, and turns you around. Kisses you again, and you know this is the last one for a while. He’s not pushing into you or trying to get more, he’s just trying to memorize you and you’re doing the same to him. You already knew all of Ben—and he knows all of you—but you need to have it leave a mark that you can carry when he goes. You need to still remember in a week, still feel how his muscles move around you like he’s still holding you, have his taste remain on your tongue when he’s not there pushing it into you, smell pine and gunpowder and Ben over the coconut. You’ll certainly have how he sounds—you’ll never lose how Ben sounds because his phantom will stay with you—but you want all of it. You need all of it if you’re going to keep going.
A-Train coughs, and Ben pulls away with one last, gentle movement.
“We have to get moving,” when you turn, A-Train isn’t looking at you, but frowning at Ben. “Homelander will be back real soon, for his speech.”
Homelander’s speech. Your speech. You have to go do your speech. “Okay.”
You have to force every step as you pull away from Ben’s body. He doesn’t let you go, not fully, allowing you to turn before dropping his head down to yours.
“Come home.” It’s final. He’s still asking, even when he knows the answer, one final time.
“Soon,” you whisper. “You’re not losing me, Ben. You just have to wait for me.”
“I’ll always fucking wait for you.” He grunts, and your heart isn’t going to recover from this. Not for a long time. “I’ll wait a million goddamn years, as long as you always fucking come home.”
“Always.” You mumble, and he nods. “Thank you.”
“You burn, I burn,” his breath fans against your face, and you can feel that thing in him start to riot. Claw up your lungs—Ben’s lungs—and throat. Furious and loud.
So you just make a small, sad sound because you’re out of tears and sobs and sighs and smiles. “You burn, I burn.” You look up, and meet his eyes. “Can you do me a favor, Ben?”
He just grunts, and you know he understands. You’re not asking, you’re cashing one of your last favors in. But it’s not for you.
“Don’t be a dick to Ryan, please.”
Ben blinks at you. “What?”
“Ryan Butcher.” You watch him carefully. “Don’t be an ass to him. He’s just a kid.”
“I haven’t been a fucking ass-“
“Yes, you have.” You trace a hand along his beard, resting it at the base of his neck. “I know you, Ben. You might not be being an ass on purpose, but you’re blaming him for this. He’s just a kid, it’s not his fault. None of this is his fault.”
“You’re only here-“
“Because of Homelander,” you shake your head against his. “Not because you lost me, or failed me. Not because of Ryan or even Butcher. Because of Homelander. So please, just be kind to Ryan. For me.”
He stands up, and holds you against him for one last moment. “Fine.” He pauses and kisses the top of your head, speaking the last words against you in a way that rolls through your body. “For you.”
“I’ll see you soon,” you whisper into his chest, your words right over his heart. Right over where you can still feel that thing tearing Ben apart. You hope he’ll carry them until you’re home and can tell that thing to rest.
Ben nods. “Soon.”
A-Train’s been waiting, and you’re thankful for how he doesn’t say anything. How he lets Ben and you peel yourselves apart, lets Ben pick up his cap, gives you one last curt nod, and doesn’t comment on how you love Ben, or make you say any more promises. You only have room for two promises now, because they’re the most important ones you’ll ever make. Kill Homelander. Go home. You only have in it you to nod back, and try not to fall to the floor and scream when Ben gives you one last look and a kiss on the crease of your brow. When he walks out the door—like you’d told him to—and you have to watch him go. When A-Train leaves as well, and you trust both of them to do what you need them to, but it still shatters you. You’d had him. He was real and warm and here and you’d had him. There wasn’t a world where you kept him—not today—but this is still the most painful thing you’ve ever done.
He’s lingering. You’re finding your way back to the stage and Ben’s likely still across the venue, but he’s still in you. That impossible to understand thing is still in you where it had been in Ben, and it’s not fading. It’s setting itself into you, and making you feel Ben even when you pull off your disguise and try to fix your makeup and smooth your hair in a backstage mirror. It’s making it hard to acknowledge that doing that—staying there with him for so long and letting him touch you like you’d needed—wasn’t smart, because this is all you’ll have for a while. At least until you revise your plan, until you figure out a way to get your team the V they need. As much as it hurts, you’re praying that this thing stays with you until you’re back in Ben’s arms. It might be the only way you get through this.
Ashley finds you minutes later, her hair a mess and a wild, panicked look in her eyes. “Where the fuck did you go?!”
“I was in the bathroom-“
“The bathroom?!” She shakes her head frantically. “For almost a fucking hour?!”
You shrug, looking around nervously. No Homelander. No Sage. “I can’t control my period-“
“You know what?” Ashley raises a hand sharply. “I don’t fucking care. You’re on now, move.”
Your mouth falls open, and the cold starts to creep back in. “Now? But I’m not until-“
“A-Train and Ezekiel are fucking missing, and Sage still hasn’t shown up after being a controlling bitch about this all week, so you’re on now.” You’re frozen in place, and Ashley looks up at you with glare. “Now! Fucking go!”
She almost moves to push you, but flinches back at the last second. Your feet start to carry you forwards, moving mechanically through the steps Ashley had drilled into you this morning. A man mics you, and you can barely feel his anxiety over the cold. It’s getting cold again, and the only thing keeping your legs steady beneath you, keeping you upright, is the way that Ben is still there. How you can feel that odd thing from him ingrained in you even when he’s gone, how it’s him. Everything about it is Ben, and it’s making a home inside of you and keeping your mind from clouding with cold. Fogged up cold.
The man finishes his job, adjusting the mic a little further from your mouth. A woman checks your hair and makeup, and another points out all your marks and the teleprompter as Deep wraps up with large gestures and over-exaggerated laughs. The first woman smooths down your costume once and gives a thumbs up, the second shoves you forward with a clipboard, and suddenly you’re there. On the stage, walking to a red x and being blinded by stage lights that turn the crowd into murmuring shadows.
Words fall out of your mouth like vomit. You sound robotic. You feel robotic. You’re speaking and your voice isn’t yours, you’re smiling and it’s wrong on your face, and your hands are locked behind your back so your nails can tap and dig into your skin.
“From when I was young, I’ve loved Homelander. Even when we were children, sharing secret moments in the fields behind my parent’s house, I loved him. I loved him enough to follow him to the city before he knew how I felt, before I knew he loved me. I loved him when he made his first save, and he told me how happy it made him.” Swallow the bile, read the words on the prompter. The boring, mechanical, words about love that aren’t yours. Aren’t about your love. “I loved him when he came to me with roses and told me he loved me, asked me to be his one and only. I loved him when he let me stay on the sidelines, when he was forced into PR relationships to keep me safe. I love him now, as America’s greatest hero and my savior.” Don’t break. “I love Homelander because he completes me. I see us in every great romance in history. He is the thing that gets me up in the morning. He makes me happy, and I want to start a family with him. Lead the best life we can together. I’m excited to lead a great life with Homelander, for our love story-“
Your words are cut off by a rush of air and shaking of the stage as Homelander lands at your side. Grinning and waving, placing a hand on your lower back as his voice echoes over the venue.
“Oh, just pretend you can’t see me!” The crowd grows louder with applause, and he laughs. “I’m here to listen to Anomaly, same as all of you! I just have the best seat!” He pulls you off your mark, closer to the front of the stage. “She’s doing so well, isn’t she?”
He grins at you as the crowd’s noise begins to drown out your own thoughts, and you make yourself smile back. The nerves are real, but you force the comfort onto your face. Make yourself stay on your feet. There’s no other option but staying on your feet and smiling at Homelander like his hand on your own body doesn’t fill you with dread and agony and cold. Pretend you don’t know what’s coming, that you’re going to finish and Homelander will kiss you and you’ll have to not scream or push him away. You’re sweating and the air is humid from the lingering mist of the morning, but you’re so cold.
“Alright, let’s settle down!” Homelander dismisses the crowd with a hand, and the last few whoops and claps die off. “Keep going, honey, everyone’s listening.”
You swallow. No way out. “I’m excited to lead a great life with Homelander, for our love story to be remembered as one from a fairytale. Because he is my prince, my white knight who saved me from the dark. Homelander, you're my soulmate, and I love you. I am deeply in love with you, and there will never be another-“
Something bangs in the distance, and the part of Ben that’s still in you begins to pound. Drums. Echoes of drums in your chest that fall into time with a spark of lights and another bang. Gunshots. Those are gunshots and the overhead lights are sparking.
Homelander’s hand tenses on your back. “Keep calm, folks! I’m sure it’s just a truck! I’ll go myself and make sure they get that faulty engine fixed. Please, let my lovely girlfriend finish the speech she’s been working so hard on.” He leans down to hiss in your ear, face turned from the crowd. “Keep going until I get back. Don’t stop fucking talking.”
He’s gone, and another gunshot fires. Ben. Ben might be in danger, Homelander’s going and Ben is strong but they don’t have the V, and Sage hasn’t been seen all day. The gas-
Ashley’s gesturing at you off to the side. Keep going.
You have to keep going. There’s nothing you can do but try and cling to that thing in you—rumbling and bloody—that tells you Ben is still awake. Try and raise your voice over the gunshots that mean he’s still fighting.
“There will never be another man for me. And that’s why-“ The prompter glitches and sparks out, and a flash of light clears the sky in the distance. Then there’s another gunshot, and a whoosh of air, and you have to keep going. You can still feel Ben, so you have to keep going. There are no words left for you to say, you didn’t memorize the speech and can’t remember where it went after the that’s why line. You have to find your own word. You have to just keep going.
“That’s why I want to share what it’s like to love him.” You take a heavy breath, and hold onto that piece of Ben in you like it’s a lifeline. “Why he’s everything to me.”
The venue lights flash again, and the phones start to spark out and fry with the cameras. You’re okay with that. This isn’t for the world to remember or see, this is for you to keep talking and find a way to keep going.
“He’s good,” you smile into the flickering darkness. “He’s just so good. It’s hard, but he’s still good. His smile is the best one you’ll ever see, and his laugh is the only thing you’ll ever need to hear. If you could see him happy like I do, you’d never want to see anything else. And I, I get to do so many things I’ve always wanted to do with him. I get to talk to him and feel heard and to cook with him and share things I enjoy, and he touches me like I’m the only one he’s ever wanted to touch. Ever needed to touch. Ever needed. I get to feel half as wanted as I want him, and I want him. I want all of him.” You can’t stop. Your heart is breaking and gluing itself together every other second, but you can’t stop. “I want the parts you get to see and the parts that get to be mine. I want to laugh at him and with him and see him smile. See a smile that gets to be mine, and keep watching him try. Try to keep me when everything is horrible, and I want to stay with him, I want to stay with him-“ Your words are becoming choked, and you’re pleading to no one. Begging into a silent crowd of people who don’t understand and a night that doesn’t care. Keep going. “I, I want to watch him be better, never stop trying to be better, just be better and be good. Be good to me, he’s so good to me, even, even when it’s hard and I have to miss him and I-“
The whole word explodes. The drums are still rattling around your head as the night is illuminated from a cloud of fire and ash exploding across the night. You almost run to it, run to him, but people are grabbing you and pulling you off stage. You can’t fight, you're frozen, kept from shattering only by the hum of Ben still carved into you. Like an imprint, like a scar you wouldn’t want to heal if you could because it’s telling you he’s awake.
They lock you away. Someone shoves you into the trailer and you hear the door click, but you don’t bother to even try the handle. You couldn’t move if you wanted, couldn’t run if you tried. You’re cracking. Not breaking—not while that thing of Ben’s still shifts inside you and tells you he’s okay—but cracking. Growing weaker, the fire going dormant once more, because you’d let it get away from you. That speech won’t see the morning, nobody had gotten the part that was just you on footage, but people will talk. Sage will hear, Homelander will hear, and the former will know that you weren’t talking from nothing. She’ll see that hand you’d accidentally shown, that last piece she’d been looking for. The only thing that will save you is the latter believing you were speaking of him. That it’s Homelander you need and want and think is good. You’ve never laughed with Homelander, never seen him be better—only worse—and never, ever missed him, but he’ll still think you were talking about him.
You miss Ben. You’re sobbing on the floor, cracks appearing in your mask because it’s all too much, and you just miss Ben. You’ll get through this. You can feel that echo of Ben still in your chest even as the noise outside dies down, and you know you’ll get through this, but you’ll miss Ben. More than before, which you didn’t think was possible. You’ll miss him more because he’s waiting, and you know home is closer in time but far in effort. Anything goes wrong and home goes away forever. There’s a way to kill Homelander, a way to get Ben the shot to kill Homelander, but this has to go right. You have to do this clever, however you need to, and with no hesitation, because then you can go home and Ben will be waiting. You’ll kill Homelander, and hold each other until this doesn’t feel like pain anymore. Only another shadow in the corner, another skeleton you bury and grow flowers from.
Ben will be waiting. You’ll pull yourself up and tape every single piece of your mind together to drag yourself home to Ben, and he’ll pick you up. Ben will wait, and he’ll make this better.
You’ll love him when you touch him again, and forever after that. You’ll love him when he makes this better and you remind him he’ll never fail you. When you get to stay and you never have to break again. Until then you’ll love him here as well. You’ll keep this piece of Ben in you, and worship in the hopes he feels it.
You hope he feels your love. Even if he doesn’t love you, you still hope Ben gets to feel your love like you feel his strange thing inside of you. Gets to know it’s yours, for him, and feel how easy and natural it is to love him. How he didn’t fail you, could never fail you, because you love him like this.
You love him until the night is silent. Until it’s just the dark and spreading warmth. Until your tears are dry and you can just feel you and him. You love Ben like there’s nothing else to love in the world, because there’s not.
No love is worth this holy and infinite one that you have for Ben. No love is worth rage and desolation like this one is. No one is worth what Ben is.
And he’ll wait for you. You’ll go back to him. You’ll find a way home.
You’ll always find your way back to Ben.
——————
Ben couldn’t let himself think about it. Not now, not when he was still fucking clean up the mess he and the team had made. Not when the Pussy Mobile had come to a screeching, rattling halt right before Butcher could park it, and Ben was honestly surprised they’d made it the whole damn drive back. The hunk of shit probably should’ve broken down the moment Butcher had floored it and they’d torn away as Homelander dealt with their diversion. Ezekiel’s body strung up across tents—Ben having pulled him apart with hands and hatred—Annie playing haunted house with all the lights, and a bomb of the French Prick’s going off when Homelander destroyed the guns MM had rigged to keep firing.
He couldn’t think about how’d almost fucking lost it. How they’d been driving away and Ben had been forced to shove the drums down, try to control them and keep the bomb in his chest from destroying the van and the team when the Thing was roaring at him. When the night had exploded and it had shaken the van, making Ben have to just stare and floor and try not to get lost in how much this fucking hurt. He’d done it, he’d done exactly as She’d asked. A-Train was “dead”—Homelander even the last person to see him before Frenchie’s bomb supposedly blew him to bits, which had been Hughie’s idea and didn’t end up being total fucking shit—and they knew they had to wait for V. They knew that had to wait for Her to get them some or find it somewhere else. Every selfish part of Ben wanted Her to get it, because that meant she’d have to give it them. She’d have to come home to give them the V, and this wouldn’t fucking hurt anymore.
He’d find a way to get Her to stay this time, and this would never be painful again. He’d kill Homelander and she’d get to smile at him somewhere in Rome forever. He’d hear Her cry about normal, stupid fucking things and she’d tease him and tell him what to do, and he’d just kiss Her until this didn’t fucking hurt anymore. Because he’d done it, he’d done the job, and he’d never hated himself more.
They were circled up in the dining hall. It was past midnight, but this was a lot more fucking important. They had A-Train, and maybe the fucker could help them. Get Her closer to coming home. Sleep didn’t matter, not when Ben had to fucking bring Her home.
Ben’s at the head of the table. He can’t sit, can’t rest, he can’t stop fucking moving, not for a second. Not when it will be nothing but fucking pain and images of Her in his head. Fresh, like open wounds that won’t just fucking heal.
So Ben stood, rigid at the head of the table, his fists curling and uncurling. Butcher at his side—the man’s glare almost as violent as Ben’s—as A-Train’s bouncing knee shook the table. Hughie and Annie had gone to bed with small nods—nobody had stopped them—but MM was frowning at A-Train from his seat across the table, and Kimiko and the French Prick were watching the tight silence with nervous expressions.
“Are any of you going to talk, or just keep fucking staring at me?”
Ben’s jaw clenched at the fucking sneer in A-Train’s voice. The fucking annoyance, as if Ben hadn’t just fucking given everything, given the whole fucking world, to save his fast, worthless, pussy ass. She’d told him to, and he had, but it should be Her at the table. In Ben’s arms. Not this fucking piece of shit She’d been so goddamn certain could help.
He could only say half of that. A-Train needed to understand what had been lost to get him here. He had no fucking right to know more about Her.
Ben leaned across the table, not bother to hide the fucking fury in his voice. “You’re the one who needs to start fucking talking.”
“About what?” A-Train snapped. “I’m here, you know why I’m here, what else am I supposed to do?”
“Make this fucking worth it!” Ben roared Her name. “Said you’d help. Fucking help!”
“How? How am I supposed to help?”
Butcher cut in right before Ben could rip A-Train’s head off. “Our mutual friend seemed to be bloody certain you’d have somethin for us. MM here seems to think we can trust you. And I’d fuckin wager you’ve got some real nasty shit on Homelander and Vought.”
“Yeah, but-“
“Man, just listen,” MM muttered. “Those two motherfuckers get off on vengeance, and you’re not doing yourself any favors by poking at them.”
Butcher scowled at MM, and Ben just keeps fucking pushing. She’d said A-Train could help, and she was never fucking wrong, so the pussy better start fucking helping until Ben started finding more creative ways to figure out what she’d meant.
Don’t kill A-Train, Ben. Her voice hummed in his head. Or at least do it outside. People eat here.
“What was she planning,” Ben grunted, trying to speak firm and steady over the pain. “She told me she was planning something. What is it.”
“Don’t know,” A-Train at least had the brains to look a little fucking guilty. “When we talked she’d never tell me. Said she couldn’t risk it or something.”
“Well, what did she say?” MM runs his hand over his face. “There has to be something we could use.”
“Nothing,” A-Train’s answer is way too damn fast, and he’s giving Ben a strange fucking look. “I mean, she was trying to convince me to help, and I agreed, and now I’m here. I can’t fucking help more than that-“
“That ain’t fuckin true mate,” Butcher sneers. “You gotta have somethin for us. We didn’t fake your damn death just for you to come here and leech.”
“I’ve got some stuff on Vought, but you can’t really think they were telling me everything? I mean, Sage didn’t trust me as far as she could thrown me, and she’s not that strong-“
“There has to be fucking something!” Ben hissed Her name, leaning down to hold A-Train’s gaze. “She had to have said fucking something, anything, that could get her-“
“She wouldn’t share her plan with me!” A-Train was still fucking looking at Ben like that. Like he’d fucking dropped from the sky and was speaking goddamn gibberish. “Like I said, she didn’t tell me anything! I asked, and she said no. She didn’t even fucking tell you!” A-Train gestured at Ben with an exasperated movement. “Why do you think she’d tell me!”
“A-Train,” MM sighed. “What do you know? That shit about Vought, about Homelander and Sage, about anything.”
“I mean I fucking know all their old V stashes. I know about security. I know Sage, kind of. How she thinks. I know Ashley, and she’s real close to snapping or losing it or something.”
“That’s good,” MM glanced up at Butcher. “We can get Mallory here tomorrow. Get all his shit down.”
“Mate, we can’t be fuckin sure he’s even gonna tell us the truth-“
“I will.” A-Train frowned at Butcher. “I’m not here for Vought, fuck those guys. I’m here because I’m trying to be better. Because she,” A-Train shot Ben another strange look as he said Her name for clarification. “She said I could help. I’m not going to lie, there’s too much on the fucking line to lie.”
“Well,” Butcher snapped. “We might need a little bloody more than Vought security protocols and a fuckin Sage profile. That’s all shit we can get our fuckin selves-“
“I can get you their passwords.” A-Train said, words abrupt and tight. “Hughie’s into all that computer stuff, right? I can write down everything I remember about Vought, about all their passwords, and go over what Sage has told me. I can tell you weaknesses, about Homelander and milk, and the Deep and fish-“
“How the fuck will that help-“
A-Train cut Ben off with Her name, and everything fucking hurt again. “She thought I could help. This is all I can do, man. She knew that, and she thought it was worth it.”
“Stop fucking talking about her like that.” Ben hissed. “You don’t know her. You don’t know what she thinks, not about this or any other damn thing.”
“She told me I could help you. So I’m here.” A-Train didn’t flinch away from Ben’s glare. “Don’t blame me for her idea.”
Ben was going to kill him. He was going to fucking rip his spine out of his back and break both his knees. The pussy didn’t have any fucking right to pretend to know Her, what she wanted. Ben trusted Her with his goddamn life, and he fucking trusted she knew what she was doing because there was no other option. No world where she never came back to him. She had to fucking come back, come home, but there wasn’t a single fucking way passwords and milk was going to help fucking help them. Help Her.
Butcher placed a hand on Ben’s shoulder, and he flinched. “The fuck-“
“In and out, Gov.” Butcher muttered. “It ain’t gonna help shit to kill A-Train, even if he deserves it.”
“Shut the fuck up, you pussy-“
“Trust me, I want to kill him just as much as you do. But he’s got somethin for us that ain’t totally fuckin useless.” Butcher nodded to MM. “We’ll get Mallory here at the crack of fuckin dawn. We got some work to do.”
MM nodded, leaning down the table to the French Prick and Kimiko. “Can you two show A-Train a room? Doesn’t fucking matter which one, just get him in a bed.”
A-Train gave Ben one last weird fucking look before he was led out of the room, leaving Ben with Butcher, MM, and the hum of a fan somewhere.
Butcher sighed, dropping his hand from Ben’s shoulder back into his pockets. “MM, you better be bloody right about him-“
“I am,” MM muttered. “He’s here. He’s not going to fucking leave now, not with his family out there. And we can use his info, get the Kid on a laptop and into their servers. Get an idea of what Sage is doing. But we still need V-“
Butcher said Her name, and it ached in Ben’s ears. “Said she’d get us some. Right, Gov?”
Ben grunted with a nod, and Butcher frowned.
“She good?”
Ben shot Butcher a glare. “The fuck is it to you.”
Butcher shrugged. “She’s doin a lot of shit. Want to make sure she ain’t gonna burn out on us.”
“She fucking won’t.” Ben snapped. She couldn’t. She’d promised she’d come home. “She’ll be fine.”
She’ll be fine. Ben had left Her but she was going to be fine.
You didn’t leave me, Ben.
Butcher was speaking before Ben could respond to Her voice. “You didn’t fuckin pick her up and carry her back?”
“Fucking obviously.”
Butcher narrowed his eyes. “After all your fuckin peacocking-“
“She told me to trust her,” Ben muttered. “And she’d have fucking kicked my ass if I tried to take her.” Ben shot Butcher a cold look. “I’m not in the business of making my woman do shit she doesn’t goddamn want to.”
He’d said the words before he could think about them. My woman. She was his. He was supposed to hold her and protect her and care for her and help her and-
Everything was fucking painful.
Butcher grunted, nodding. “She’ll get through this, Mate. She’s a clever fuckin lady, she knows what she’s doing.”
Ben didn’t respond. He already fucking knew that, he knew everything about her. She was fucking perfect and a goddamn threat to Ben’s sanity.
He didn’t even notice Butcher was gone until MM coughed, and Ben realized it was just them left in the dining hall.
“What.”
“You were gone with her for a while,” MM said, watching Ben with a blank, unreadable face. “The fuck were you doing that whole time.”
“None of your fucking business.”
“It is if she’s-“
“It’s fucking not.” Ben glared at MM with all the fucking pain in his body. “It’s ours. Nobody else's.”
MM hummed, holding Ben’s glower. “Ours.”
“You’ve got a fucking problem with that? You hate me so fucking much you don’t trust me with her? When I’m the only fucking one who’s been fighting for her, doing whatever it fucking takes while you pussies-“
“I don’t trust you with her, motherfucker.” MM sneered. “She’s a good woman, and she’s too good for you. She doesn’t need you to fight for her-“
“Shut the fuck up.” Ben couldn’t fucking deal with this. Not when everything hurt and he could still see Her when he closed his eyes. “You can hate me for the rest of goddamn time, and tell me I’m evil or say I get off on vengeance, or whatever else makes you sleep at night, but never say shit about what you think she deserves, or needs.”
“What, you think you speak for her?” MM scoffed. “You think she needs you?”
Something stabbed deep into the Thing, and Ben had to speak through gritted teeth. “She doesn’t fucking need anyone. She wants me.” His head hurt. Something was pulling at his throat and clouding his eyes and a halo of pain was wrapping around his head. Stinging his tongue when he said Her name. “Doesn’t need you telling her what she wants. Or if I’m fucking good for her. She’s capable of making her own fucking choices.”
Look at you, defending my honor. My right to choose. Keep this up and you’ll be giving lectures at Feminist panels.
The pain was becoming blinding.
“You’re a fucking murderer, Soldier Boy.” MM stood from the table, leering at Ben. “Nothing’s going to change that, change the shit you’ve done.”
Ben’s jaw was going to break. “I know what I was.” He grunted, a lot of his anger leaking out and being replaced by just this inescapable agony. “You don’t need to fucking tell me. But I’d fucking do it again,” Ben gave MM a cold look. “I’d kill a thousand fucking people and be trapped in Russia for a million goddamn years if it brought her home.”
“And what about those people's families?” MM hissed. “Their kids, like me?”
“I’d fucking repent.” Ben sighed. He was so fucking tired. “I’d do it and add another hundred years to my sentence for every single body.” Anything. Anything to bring Her home.
“What about me,” MM was still frowning, but there was something tragic in his voice. Something Ben couldn’t call weak, because he felt it too, felt it in his pain. “What about what you fucking did to me.”
Ben said the only thing he could think of. The only thing that he could fucking mean and understand at the same time. “Whatever I fucking need to for you just fucking let her be happy.”
“With you?”
“With me.” Ben felt something hard in his throat. “Or wherever else she wants. Just goddamn happy.”
MM sighed, and Ben wished he would just fucking leave. Let Ben deal with this fucking pain alone. “She’ll fucking want it with you.”
Ben blinked at MM, something close to shock sparking through his chest. “What.”
“She’ll be happy with you. When she gets back. I can’t fucking explain it, I defiantly don’t damn understand it, but she’s real happy with you.” MM shook his head. “She sees something in you I can’t understand, don’t even know where she’s finding it, but she’s smarter than most of us. Smarter than me and Butcher, defiantly fucking smart than you. I can’t explain why, shit’s fucking baffling why, but she’ll be happy with you. Just,” MM gave Ben one last look. It wasn’t cold, wasn’t hateful. Just tired. “Try to earn it.”
It was like MM had fucking shot him. Shot Ben in the fucking chest and left him to bleed out. He stood in the dining hall, alone and in pain long after MM left, and only managed to move when the fan stuttered off and he couldn’t stand the silence.
He hadn’t earned Her. Ben could never fucking earn her. He’d held her and lost her, fucking again. He’d spent the whole fucking Christ Convenetion feeling the way the Thing was alight, burning and raging inside of him, trying to pull him around and falling into a beat that was so familiar but Ben still didn’t recognize, or know how to decipher. It had been trying to tell him something, it was always trying to tell him something, but it had been fucking feral. Roaring and howling in a language Ben didn’t understand, couldn’t understand. He’d come closer to geting, when he’d seen her. Touched Her.
Real.
Back in his arms and fucking real. Making the Thing start to break bones in his body and turn Ben into just a fucking soldier that could bring Her home. Make her smile while she was against him forever, make those feelings of sheer fucking pleasure and ease run between them when he touched her, tasted her, and just had her.
He’d fucking had Her. She’d been real, with Ben, and he’d lost her.
You didn’t lose me, Benjamin. I’ll come home.
He didn’t fucking care. It was all goddamn semantics, because Ben had failed, again, to be worthy of her. He’d listened to her and done as he’d been told, and still managed to fail Her. She wasn’t home. Ben couldn’t breathe because she wasn’t home. He’d failed to bring Her home, failed to convince her she’d done enough. That everything was worse because she wasn’t at Ben’s side, that everything hurt because he’d fucking failed. She didn’t know what she meant to him. If She knew what she meant to Ben she’d have come home. If he could break the Thing’s stupid fucking code and tell her that vital thing, she’d have understood and come home.
The Thing pulsed, and Ben knew he was wrong. Collapsing on the couch, he knew he was wrong and she wouldn’t have left. He could’ve offered Her the sun and stars and every fucking song in the world and she’d have still told him she had to see this through.
Why couldn’t he have chosen to feel like this about a woman who would just go? Leave? Just fuck the world and come home for Ben.
Because that wouldn’t have been Her. The Thing ran into Ben’s head, but it wasn’t speaking. It was pushing against the painful haze, and Ben was finding the words on his own. She’d never give up on the world. She’s too good to give up on the world. And it always has to be Her. Nothing is capable of making you feel this pain like She is.
That might be the worst fucking part of this. Was that, somewhere in this pain of Ben having lost Her. He’d left her and lost her and she still doesn’t understand that Ben can’t breathe without Her there, there was something good. She’d trusted him, to do what she needed him to do. She’d cried against him and known he’d pick her up and make it better. She’d touched him and still meant it, still wanted him even after he’d failed Her.
She still wanted him. She still wanted Ben. She’d smiled at him and laughed with him and known him like nobody ever had. Like nobody ever would, not like she did. Not like she’d pulled Ben into her and tried to tell him everything he’d needed to hear. Found every way to feed the Thing with soft words and pretty looks, and all at once, grow this pain. She was perfect, and she still wanted Ben, and he’d never fucking earn her.
That’s what breaks the pain. Snaps it open in two, and Ben with it. She wanted him. She was perfect and she wanted him and Ben hadn’t even told Her how much he missed Her. How he wasn’t sleeping and eating was an act of labor without Her there to throw crumpled napkins at his face and hang around his body while he did the dishes. How she was gone and nothing was good.
He hadn’t told Her. And she still wanted him. And Ben breaks.
It starts in his chest. Shaking something there and pushing that lump further up into his mouth. The pain tightens around his throat and brow, his eyes feel fucking weird, and the first sound echoes through the dark, empty apartment. Choked. Tired. All fucking pain and hurt.
The damn breaks, and Ben’s too goddamn exhausted to fight it. He roars into the darkness, even though he knows nobody can hear. Maybe she will. Across the city and bay, she’ll hear how much Ben fucking misses Her. How nothing is as important as Her. Home. Safe. With Ben and happy.
When he roars again, it’s strangled and he tastes salt. His eyes hurt, and it’s so fucking hard breathe. There are no drums, no violence in him. Just a fucking ache for Her, and he can’t do anything about it but try and pull it out of his brain. Run his hand over his face and through his hair and pull it back to find it wet.
He’s crying. He’s fucking crying.
Ben hadn’t fucking cried since he was a child. It had been a hundred fucking years since Ben had cried like a pussy. Weak, pathetic, and useless.
This didn’t feel useless. For reasons Ben couldn’t fucking understand, the bellows of pain escaping his body and the endless fucking pain finding its way out of his body didn’t feel useless. It felt good. It felt like a tribute, like he was leaving an offering for Her in this loneliness. This was agony and the worst fucking thing in the world and Ben had to fucking break to prove it. She couldn’t break, she wouldn’t allow herself to, so Ben would do it for Her. He’d shatter on the floor of their apartment and cling to any thought of Her as it made this pain grow. It was a lot fucking better than forgetting.
Nothing would hurt more than forgetting Her. Forgetting her laugh and smile and the way she felt. Forgetting her beautiful face and smart fucking mouth, forgetting the way she spoke and looked at Ben. Like She somehow did think he was worthy.
So Ben just cried. He knew she’d come home but he still just fucking sobbed on the couch. Alone. Missing Her, and wanting her, and waiting for her.
He’d fucking wait for Her. He’d cry for Her and be haunted by her until She was home.
He’d always wait. She’d always come home, so Ben would always fucking wait.
The Thing would keep him company, twisting and screaming in time with Ben’s tears and choked noises of pain. Remind him of every part of Her. Every part he’d lost. Every part that would come back.
Ben cried until the sun cracked the sky.
He’d wait for Her until it burned out the universe.
End Note: End of chapter check in! How we feeling, squad? We getting through this?
Also, if you haven't yet, check out the first one-shot from the reader event! I'm moving through the rest, and I think I'll upload them between chapters to keep you guys fed. No matter what, thank you so much for reading, and I'll see you soon!
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