Log: Morph & Hindsight + Protozoa WHO: Benji and Nathaniel, then open to Linus WHERE/WHEN: NYC 2023 / The Abbey 2026 (just before the visitors arrive at the camps) WHAT: The future is really fun you guys.
[BENJI] It was never going to end, or at at least that's what Benji thought. The Sentinel program had made existing as a mutant a privilege, not a right, and it was was hard fought. There was no time to hide, and there certainly wasn't time to waste bobbling over things like limits and hang ups over powers. While Benji refused to use Kick to augment his powers, that didn't mean he hadn't grown in those few years in other ways. Braver, fiercer, far more determined that he ever dreamed of when he was at Xavier's.
But the school was no more. And their last stand was now going to be defending New York. They were all going to pull through, and rebuild after. There was a hope, a terrible hope, that this would be the battle to end all battles. And so Benji refused to be left out. What if he could help turn the tides? Save a person, mutant or human that would make everything better? The Sentinels weren't something to side with, and it was obvious that everyone knew this. That only helped spur on Benji's belief that he belonged here, he could do this.
His job had been infiltration. His powers weren't offensive, they didn't provide cover or support in the ways people needed it to do a dent. But if he was going to help, getting people out of there by posing as different people, it kept small communications buzzing with his pheromone feedback, making it just the tiniest bit easier to get a step ahead. It was a stupid trick, but one he learned to utilize. And it proved useful for now.
Missiles, drones, fireballs, electricity, anything and everything shrieked across the sky in the all out war of New York City. And when a particularly close explosion threw Benji off his feet, he had blinked open his eyes in surprise that he was still able to do just that. And there was Nathaniel, helping him, pushing him to his feet. His ears were ringing, but he understood one word—run.
It felt like forever until they ducked for cover underneath a precariously supported wall of metal and concrete. But they were safe. Briefly and relatively safe.
His chest burned, his breathing rapid and shallow, gulping down lungfuls of air that never seemed to sate his need for oxygen. How long had they been running? How many people didn't get out? Even this small reprieve wouldn't last long, Benji knew this, but for a moment, one single moment, they had it. Benji would take it. He reached out to touch Nathaniel's cheek, but stopped; even though this was a barrier they had long since given up with years of their relationship and implicit trust, now was not the time. Benji's memories were a mess, and he couldn't risk tripping either of them up. Instead his eyes frantically searched Nathaniel's, making sure that he was okay, even if Benji was still running on adrenaline and moving at a wild speed. He knew that if something was wrong, Benji would see it in his eyes.
But he was having trouble focusing.
"You okay?" Benji asked instead, worried, concerned, and then something else. Something confusing, the expression crossed Benji's features, and he dropped his attention to himself. Oh, oh. So that was why he couldn't catch his breath: a stain on his shirt, spreading swiftly. He hadn't worn red today, but it would be easy to mistake it now. Disbelief, and that pitiful confusion, drew his hands away from Nathaniel to touch at his chest. When did that happen? The explosion? Shrapnel? Wouldn't he have felt it? Wouldn't he know when he was going to—
Bile rose up in his throat, and he choked on it, almost like a hiccup, innocent, small; Benji tried to speak but all that came out was viscous, suffocating blood. He scrambled for purchase on Nathaniel's shoulders, his arms, anything to hold him up. He wasn't going to go down, he wasn't going to fall, he was going to stay here with Nathaniel, and they were going to make it out. He was okay, he was okay. But his body had other ideas. Suddenly, breathing was more difficult that it had been, pain shot through his chest, delayed as the adrenaline had turned into primal, visceral fear.
He was going to die? He was going to die; a conclusion he had realized all too abruptly.
Benji was shaking as he collapsed into Nathaniel, struggling to stay upright, to stay alive, but it was a swiftly losing battle. Benji was never truly a fighter after all. Surviving this long had been a miracle, a feat not even he could have predicted. And it was because he had mustered up some courage to do what was right, to protect people he believed in. Where was that courage now? He had failed everyone, he had failed, he wasn't good enough. Who had he been fooling for so long?
"I'm sorry," Benji managed out, watery, thick with blood, nearly indistinct if his face wasn't impossibly close to Nathaniel's ear.
[NATHANIEL] Nathaniel had never wanted to be on any of the teams. He had never wanted to be forced to use his powers offensively or to be thrust into violent situations. He’d always been a pacifist, someone who didn’t have the stomach for fighting and who wanted to fight back in other, less literal ways. But what anyone wanted had long since ceased to be a luxury they had. There was nothing but needs and survival now and it didn’t matter that this was the sort of life that neither Nathaniel nor his mutation had been built for because what other choice was there?
It was Benji who had gotten him through the worst of the last five years. They’d stuck together through the loss of the school, friends, family, and life in general as they’d once known it. While both of them had been inevitably shaped and irrevocably hardened by the ongoing tragedy at hand they’d also grown stronger together and Benji’s spirit seemed indomitable. He somehow still found ways to smile and to make Nathaniel smile back. No matter how bleak things seemed he still had hope. Each new crisis and threat was easier to face when Nathaniel knew he had Benji beside him.
With New York actively under siege, transformed around them into a barely recognizable warzone, Nathaniel’s psychometry was once more of little use. That hadn’t stopped him from going with Benji however. In his mind it was safer to stick together, to be able to watch one another’s backs at the very least given the utter lack of firepower between them. He'd already lost Min in the fray earlier. He and Benji had been trying to sprint across the street to cover when a fleeing man stumbled into Nathaniel, accidentally separating him from Benji and knocking him back a single heartbeat before the asphalt in front of him erupted, sending debris flying.
Momentarily stunned, his ears ringing and choking on dirt and dust, Nathaniel staggered forward blindly, searching frantically for Benji. Several terrifying seconds passed before finally he spotted him lying in the middle of the intersection, his mop of unruly hair dusted with ash. Nathaniel ran to him, hooked his arms under Benji’s to pull him up and dragged him from out of the open. He was on his feet, he was still moving. He was okay.
Even still, Nathaniel didn’t stop until they’d reached the other end of the block, tugging Benji back behind the metal wall so they could catch their breath, reassess. “I’m okay, I’m okay. Are you okay?” he panted. It wasn’t until they’d finally stopped moving and Nathaniel had turned to face Benji, to inspect him for any injuries, that he followed the other man’s gaze down to the rapidly spreading stain forming in the center of his boyfriend’s shirt. Nathaniel’s breath caught in his throat, his face paling as Benji’s fingers came away stained a hideous crimson. “Benji... Oh god,” he murmured just Benji began to crumple into him.
“Benji,” he said again helplessly, scrabbling to keep a hold of Benji as his knees gave out, as blood began spill out from behind his lips. “No, no, no, no, you’re okay. I got you, you’re okay,” Nathaniel pleaded as he sank down to the ground with him, Benji’s slick fingers clutching at him desperately, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. Maneuvering Benji so that he was cradled against him, Nathaniel’s hands frantically moved to try and put pressure on the wound. He couldn’t even see what had caused it or how deep it was, there was so much blood now staining them both. It didn’t matter. He had to stop the bleeding until they could get out of here.
“Help...” Nathaniel choked out, his voice sounding pathetically weak, lost instantly amidst the sounds of destruction and terror all around them. “Help! I need help! Please!” he screamed and screamed at the top of his lungs, too desperate even to care that it was risky to draw notice to their hiding spot. One of their teammates had to be nearby. Someone. Anyone. Benji was shaking now against him, or maybe it was Nathaniel who was shaking because what was left of the world was falling apart beneath him.
At the sound of Benji’s voice, so weak already, Nathaniel curled in around him. “Shhh, don’t. I’m getting you out of here, we’ll get help,” he said, glancing around again in vain, seeing no one in the empty ruins of the intersection they’d just come from. “You’re gonna be okay.” Looking back down to Benji’s eyes however, Nathaniel could see that the both of them knew that he was wrong. They weren’t going to make it out of here and the time that they had left together was dwindling rapidly, slipping away. Already Nathaniel could feel a part of him dying too.
“Please...” he whispered, his chin trembling as hot tears began spill over, trailing down his dirt stained face. “Please don’t leave me here. I need you... I need you to stay...” Nathaniel knew that it was selfish to plead with him this way, to want to keep him here in this hell on Earth but he didn’t know how to go on without him.
[BENJI] Time was moving in starts and stops—he was standing then he was on the ground, cradled by Nathaniel who was frantic above him. Pain flooded his limbs, followed by the cool, sweet relief of numbness. Shock, he was going into shock, if he had the wits about him to realize this. Instead he was struggling to take desperate gasps of air that wouldn't come. It felt like drowning. He was drowning.
His eyes burned with the unrelenting agony in his chest, tears flowing freely because there was no way Benjamin Deeds could find the strength to be brave when he was dying. He couldn't hide it; he was never meant for this. He blinked again and time had skipped again—Nathaniel was leaning down, crying too, saying help and to hang on. Hang on, he could do that, he could just reach up, and touch Nathaniel's cheek. Reason and logic abandoned him when all he wanted to do was for Nathaniel to not be sad. He had promised so many years ago that he would never do that again—and while it wasn't a foolproof promise, he could try to do it now.
Again, he said, "I'm sorry, don't—" cry was lost in a choked off exhale. He wanted this to be over, he didn't want to feel like this anymore. He didn't want to be on some destroyed road in New York. He wanted to be back in their dorms at Xavier's, where they would hide under sheets and watch movies way past curfew. He wanted to feel that exhilaration from the first time they held hands and kissed in the student kitchens. He didn't want this, he didn't want to die like this.
His own bloodied hands smeared red across Nathaniel's shirt, an attempt to stop the tears on his face, to do what had always felt natural, what he had spent years trying to reign in out of respect for Nathaniel and his mutation—touch, comfort with physical affection. He could do that now right? If only he had the strength to lift his arm higher. He hated the way it only added to the sadness, the torture of this. He was ruining it, ruining Nathaniel, ruining everything.
Benji couldn't even die right.
Another air horn sounded, piercing a shrill high note of danger around the corner. Nathaniel needed to leave, Nathaniel needed to get away. And while Benji wanted to push him to go (no one was coming, no one would get there to take them both) he didn't have it in him. Sometimes, Benji could still be selfish, could still want things he didn't deserve or had no right asking for. He was a good person, but he didn't always do things that were right. He didn't want to be alone.
"Can I—Can I kiss you?" A gruesome request when Benji knew what was pouring out of his mouth. But he didn't wait for an answer; the answer had always been the same since things went to hell. Benji's slippery hands dragged Nathaniel's trembling fingers away from the wound on his chest—it wasn't even worth him wasting the energy to try—and to his lips. Skin-to-skin contact, the one thing that made everything they did more intimate and intense. Benji knew that Nathaniel had done this with Luke, and it was horribly unfair to ask it again, but...
Benji was fading fast, struggling to stay conscious, struggling to talk, to breathe, to make sure Nathaniel would be okay. "Take them," Benji forced out against Nathaniel's palm, his grip going bone-crushingly tight. "Please take them." If he was going to stay with Nathaniel, his memories would be the only way.
[NATHANIEL] “Don’t apologize,” Nathaniel said gently, the same way he’d said it a million times. Benji was always trying so hard, always the first to give something up for someone else, the first to apologize. Brave in a way he never realized and selfless in a way that Nathaniel wished that he knew how to be. It was that innate goodness that had always drawn him to Benji and he didn’t know how he could go on without it. A world where it didn’t exist was not worth being apart of in his opinion.
The sharp blast of the air horn jolted them both, a painful reminder that time was short but Nathaniel didn’t care. He wasn’t going anywhere. When Benji spoke again, it was a question they’d asked each other a thousand times over the last five years. Ever since that first time when they were teenagers. At first it’d been a necessity, the outpouring of memories that Nathaniel’s touch incited could be jarring if one of them wasn’t prepared for it. But as time went on it and they let their walls down, learned each other better, it became almost a private joke, something they said to each other sweetly or facetiously. A tradition of sorts.
Hearing it now made Nathaniel’s throat constrict and his chest ache sharply, a phantom pain to mirror Benji’s. He nodded tearfully as already his fingertips were being guided to Benji’s lips. Immediately Nathaniel was met with the image of himself from Benji’s point of view, a replay of the last several grief stricken moments, picking up from the last time they’d touched, and Nathaniel couldn’t help but flinch back from it, unwilling to accept that this was their reality. But then Benji was speaking again and even though the words were barely forming Nathaniel knew exactly what he was asking. He couldn’t contain a sob because he knew exactly what they meant.
It’d only been a matter of days since Luke had asked him to do the same. To absorb a lifetime’s worth of memories so that they could live on beyond him, preserved in perfect recollection inside of Nathaniel’s mind. They would only last as long as Nathaniel did himself of course but it was something. It had brought Luke (and Linus in turn) some small comfort at the end and that had made it worth it. The pain that sometimes came with the weight of those memories was a small price for Nathaniel to pay in comparison to what Luke had lost. To what Benji was losing.
So he didn’t hesitate. He would give Benji anything so of course he would give him this. He would hold onto his memories for the both of them. “I love you,” he murmured as he pulled Benji in close. He moved his fingers away from Benji’s lips only so that he could replace them with his own. Permission granted, always and forever. There was nothing gruesome about it.
The instant their lips made contact the memories began to spill forth as easily and quickly as the blood pooling beneath Nathaniel’s hands but for the first time in a long time the things that he was seeing weren’t violent or terrifying or panic inducing. Benji’s life he’d seen before, a story that had been long memorized and added to a little piece at a time over the course of the last five years. Every time they brushed hands or kissed or touched without barriers between them there was a little more to see. But right now it was only all of Benji’s best loved memories that Nathaniel saw, his favorite moments, the times he’d felt the happiest all brought to the forefront.
It was all Nathaniel could do to hold on in his mind’s eye, to latch onto each image and make it his own. Desperate to hold onto every precious detail, every warm feeling that flowed from Benji’s mind to his own. As they went on, Nathaniel began to see himself featured in more and more of them and with a sharp pang he wanted nothing more than to be able to return the favor. To show Benji how many times he’d made Nathaniel happy, to convey just how much that Nathaniel had loved him in return. But Benji had always been the better of the two of them, no matter what he thought about himself, and even now that much remained true.
[BENJI] The pain was unbearable now; every muscle tensing in response, as if he could stop it from spreading through body. He couldn't, Benji was no healer, not a person who could brace for this sort of thing. This was what was doing him in, inexperience, unpreparedness. That, and the realization that it was hurting Nathaniel too. He did not miss the way he flinched at their touch, and god—he wanted to apologize again.
"I'm scared, I'm scared," Benji whined pitifully. There was no bravery at the end. There was no stoic acceptance. He was seventeen again and afraid. What was on the other side? Where would he go? And then what? What would there be left of Benji Deeds? The unknown was crawling up his spine, spreading through his chest much like the blood seeping from his wound. The terror only grew exponentially, and he cried harder against Nathaniel's lips. He wanted to be better for Nathaniel, promise him that it would be okay to leave him, but he didn't. He couldn't.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think about the feel of Nathaniel's lips on him, despite the blood, despite the pain, despite the emotional turmoil he was feeling at giving away every last ounce of himself. It was too much to ask for, wasn't it? Too much responsibility. And what if he got the wrong memories, the ones full of pain and loss and hurt. The ones that Benji himself didn't like thinking about. Everything was feeling distant and disconnected now, more than before, and he had to focus, he had to focus on—
Asking him to prom. Kissing in the kitchens. Holding hands in the hallway. Late nights huddled together. Running and running and running. The light in Nathaniel's eyes, his kindness, his smile, the way he looked at Benji from across a room. The way Benji's heart would stop for just a second. Causal touches, the sharing of feelings. The first brush of danger, the constant comfort in the face of danger. The way Nathaniel would hold him like the world was about to fall out from under their feet. The way he would whisper in the darkness that he loved him, he loved him.
Benji loved him too. How could he not? How could he not see it in every single moment they were together? He had loved him for so long, before the words had even been spoken into existence. Weren't they always meant to be? Maybe not at first, and maybe Benji had to grow up and learn some hard lessons, but somehow—somehow—they found their way to one another. Stayed with one another. Until the very end. Was that now?
He broke their kiss first. He just wanted to see him, not in the memories that had resurfaced in his last ditch effort to imbue them into his boyfriend, but this moment. The now, because they both knew what happened in the past wasn't going to change, and the present was all they had. All Benji had; there were no memories to take with him. So he just wanted that one last time where he could smile up at Nathaniel, the kindest person he knew. The love of his very short life.
"Nathaniel, I—" His whole body tensed and went slack. Then he coughed, sputtered once, his head lolling to one side, and went still; his blank eyes and empty expression staring off somewhere else, in a better happier memory of their own making. Benji Deeds was dead.
[NATHANIEL] Nathaniel’s arms tightened around Benji, wishing that he could take his pain and his fear the same way that he was taking on his memories. “I’ve got you... I’m here... I won’t leave you,” he said over and over, words warm against Benji’s skin, their tears mixing together, his forehead pressed to Benji’s so that the stream of images kept coming, washing over them both and temporarily taking them away from the ravaged city around them, back to a time and place that no longer existed. Benji’s voice gave out a moment before the flow of memories finally stopped and still Nathaniel held on, not ready for it to end. He would never be ready.
There was nothing left behind his eyelids then but a cold, empty darkness that made him afraid to open his eyes. To move. To breathe. Afraid that the moment that he did, the moment that he saw, it would make real what he already knew to be true as the sounds of the battle began to reach his ears once more. The story was over. There would never be new memories to share or movies to watch or kisses to ask for. Benji’s lips had grown cool against his own, his chest still beneath Nathaniel’s hand and the agonized sound that escaped his throat then was unrecognizable to his own ears.
Hours or maybe only minutes passed before distantly Nathaniel thought could he hear someone calling his name, telling him to get up, but it didn’t register. It didn’t matter because nothing mattered anymore. Nathaniel didn’t open his eyes. Instead he wrenched them shut tighter because he didn’t want to memorize the way that Benji looked in his arms now, lifeless and still. He only wanted to see Benji as he was before this hideous moment, before he’d been ripped away. As he was in his memories.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, crumpled forward with Benji cradled in his arms until eventually he was pulled forcibly away by hands that he’d fought against, that he wished would just leave him where he was.
---
The hands are on him now, familiar, shaking him gently by the shoulders. Trying to make him stand, trying to make him leave Benji behind. Except this time when Nathaniel finally looks up he’s not kneeling in the crumbling streets of New York City like he expects. He’s outside of an old church under a sickly, perpetually gray sky and though his hands aren’t covered in blood, his cheeks are wet with fresh tears and his throat is scraped raw is from screaming. Because it doesn’t seem to matter whether it was 3 years ago or yesterday or just now, whether it’s the first time he’s lived it or the fiftieth. It still hurts the same when he finally opens his eyes and Benji isn’t here. Because Benji never made it here. He knows that.
“Sorry- I’m sorry... When..?” he manages to ask hoarsely as realization starts to settle over him again.