Who: Ben and Five Hargreeve What: Discussing Maze things Where: a collapsed subway tunnel When: In the Early hours of Friday morning (before Diego's post) Warnings: Discussion of character death.
Ben wasted very little time. He was consumed by what he had done, the guilt of it. When he’d gotten out of the maze early Wednesday, he ran. He ran as fast as he could. Most of the people who were waiting for others to exit… they barely paid him any mind, waiting to see if their friends or family came out. He was sure that he heard someone call his name, but he just kept moving-- even as tired, and broken, and injured as he was. He just moved until he couldn’t anymore. .And realizing he was still covered in blood and grime, he booked it to the apartment.
The apartment, for Ben’s luck, appeared to be empty, and no one stopped him as he went to his room and took a shower. He didn’t know how long he’d stood under the shower head, crying and washing away the blood--- his blood, his brothers blood, the killers blood, god knows who else blood.
He couldn’t stay in the apartment. He was a risk. He was a danger to everyone. He should have been the one to die, it was what was meant to happen. There was a cold, numb feeling that washed over him. He was a danger to the people he loved the most, and he couldn’t--wouldn’t be selfish about it anymore. He had to leave. He threw on some clothing, and carefully put the hoodie that Klaus had given him on. It was warm, but it brought him comfort.
He should go to the room Cisco built, but they would know where he was if he did that. He needed to go. He needed to go where he could be alone, and that maybe people wouldn’t think to look for him. The only place he could think of was the collapsed subway that Five had taken him to. No one else knew where it was, and he could lock it from the inside so that no one could get in. It was the only safe place he could think of where he could hide.
The first day, having gotten out of the maze, Ben had spent most of it passed out-- exhaustion and the pain from his injuries had weighed heavy on him. He woke up the next morning to food, a sleeping bag, and some basic first aid items,Things that Ben enjoyed eating, but he checked and he was absolutely alone. He picked at the food, still feeling awful, and that night slept on top of the sleeping bag. But he didn’t deserve it. He was a killer.
The next day, he woke himself early, and just as he suspected, the familiar sound of someone “jumping” alerted him to his brothers presence.
“You need to stop coming here.” Ben said, standing a distance away, but looking directly at Five. “It’s not safe, and I don’t deserve anyone’s charity.”
At some point between the first night and the second, Five had begun to think of leaving stuff for Ben without getting caught as a game. It was stupid, perhaps, for someone his age to make it into a game. Games were for children, and he hadn’t been a child in a very long time. Yet, some things you never outgrew, he’d come to realize. Despite everything, there was still a part of him that could turn most things into a game. He would not, of course, tell just anyone about that. And he would most certainly not be telling anyone he’d made it a game in his head to see how long it’d take to get caught by Ben. This was not the time, he knew, and he doubted any of his siblings would accept this behavior as anything but horrific, much less understand why his brain worked the way it did. And there was a part of him that understood it wasn’t normal behavior, so he kept it to himself as he looked his brother over.
Two days. Only two days. A tiny, tiny part of him was sad it ended so quickly. The rest of him, however, was merely relieved Ben was still there on that third day, having worried Ben might have tried to find a place that even Five didn't know about it. It wouldn’t have stopped him from looking, but he reasoned it could have happened. And it would have made it more difficult to find his brother.
“This isn’t charity,” Five said simply, unslinging the backpack from his shoulders. He looked at Ben a moment longer before taking a few steps off to the side and crouching down. He kept his distance deferring to his brother in that regards, and opened the bag.
“It’s called compassion. It’s called caring,” he continued, unpacking the backpack. Carefully, gently, he laid out a change of clothes, more water bottles, a pack of extra large wet wipes, several puzzle books with a pack of already sharpened pencils, and a lunchbox with several sandwiches. “I was going to bring ice cream, but I couldn’t find enough ice packs,” he told him, arranging everything neatly.
Once he was satisfied, he stood up, pulling the now empty bag back onto his shoulders and looking over at Ben again. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
“We both know I don’t listen well,” he said, voice friendly. “You don’t have to come out if you don’t want to, and I’ll even keep your secret, but I’m not going to let you starve down here. Of course, dehydration and poor ventilation would be higher on my list of concerns, as well as infection from any injuries may or may have sustained.” He gave his brother a pointed look, glancing at his arm, before he started pacing his side of the room. “But I won’t let you starve. Or die of boredom.” Or abandon you, he added silently, the words locked somewhere in throat, wanting to escape but not knowing how.
Ben almost flinched, when it seemed like Five was going to move towards him, but was relieved when he didn’t get close. He couldn’t describe the nightmares he was still having, how he saw what he’d done when he closed his eyes. He could feel it moving under his skin. He hated it, he hated it more than he ever had before, and maybe he deserved to die alone and hungry in the bottom of a tunnel. Still, his eyes roamed over the things that Five had brought him.
He didn’t dare say that aloud. Instead, for a moment, he just stared at his brother. “You don’t understand.” Ben said seriously. No one would understand. He had killed their brother. Ben wished that he could just disappear, sink into his hoodie and not be seen by his brother. He didn’t know what Five knew of what happened, but how could Ben bring himself to tell him.
Ben moved to stand finally, which was harder to do than he would have anticipated, with one arm tucked useless and swollen against his chest instinctively. “I killed people in the maze.” He said lowly, the edge of panic in his voice. “I -- him.” Is all Ben could choke out.
Five was going to hate him. They were all going to hate him. He was a monster. A horror.
For a brief few seconds, Five had been about to respond, about to tell Ben to make him understand. However, he’d stopped himself. He’d learned at some point over the years that, sometimes, silence was just as useful as filling that silence. People had an innate desire to fill silences (and he included himself in that category most days), though it could also be pleasant in its own way. Sometimes words weren’t needed. He wasn’t immediately sure which time this was as he slowly turned on his heel and headed back in the opposite direction, keeping an eye on his brother as Ben moved. Somehow, he thought, he’d have to get Ben to set that arm. And get it looked at.
Ah, he thought as Ben spoke. Quietly he listened, part of his mind wandering over a list of supplies to bring. Garbage bags, if he was going to stay longer. Maybe some kind of radio or music player, to keep away the ghosts of things no one wanted to think about. Toilet paper for obvious reasons. And maybe his homework, if Ben wanted to keep up in school. And if he didn’t, well, Five could hardly blame him.
The rest of his mind listened to Ben, took in his words and processed them quickly. And then it refrained from pointing out that Ben had killed before. Even he knew pointing that out would be too cold, despite the lack of cruelty to his thoughts. This was not a time for facts, or, at least, not those facts. He might have been gone for 45 years, but even Five knew better. And he’d hated it whenever Ben had been pressured into letting that thing under his skin out. It was one of many reasons why he hated their dad, one of many reasons why he’d wanted so desperately to get home.
Five’s face shifted from mildly playful to a soft kind of blankness, his eyes slightly unfocused on the wall opposite him. For a brief second he went somewhere else entirely, then he tilted his head and looked at Ben.
“Do you want to hear a story about an angry boy with fire in his veins? Fire and rage and a taste for violence. How he let himself get turned into the perfect weapon, taking out whoever he was pointed at without a second thought. He was a killer, and he was so good at it -- so very good. Though he took no pleasure in his work, he did take pride in it. He was proud at his efficiency. He was proud at doing his job well. He didn’t want to be a killer, but he might have been one all along. He’ll never know for sure.
“That fire still burns, that taste for violence never quite sated. HIs instincts are too developed, and while he keeps them on a tight leash, sometimes leashes break.” He paused, glancing away, making another note about supplies, about how cookies might be nice.
Ben didn’t know everything that had happened to Five while he was gone, but he had been filled in on some of the things. He knew there were years and years of time that wasn’t particularly talked about, and why he was so much older than them.
Ben had relieved every time he’d used his powers, every body he’d torn apart. He’d replayed Diego’s death over and over and over again until the Maze disappeared and he could escape. Ben chewed on his lip, tears stinging his eyes.
“Five…” He didn’t know how to tell him. They were going to hate him forever. They were going to never want to see him again. It was no less than what he deserved.
“Five, I killed Diego.”
Turning on his heel to fully face his brother, Five studied Ben, letting the information sink in. As far as he was concerned, Ben may have killed people, but he wasn’t a killer. He didn’t know the circumstances, but he could make a few guesses based on his own time in that stupid maze. That coupled with his knowledge of Ben (even if most of it was from when they were thirteen and younger) led him to believe that his brother was not a killer. Not in the way that so many people who killed others were. Not in the sense that he himself was. It was not, from what he knew, in Ben’s nature.
Was he okay with Diego’s death? No. Even as he compartmentalized everything that had happened in the last week or so, he was not okay. But it had nothing to do with Ben. However, this wasn’t the time to think about it. He knew that. So he shoved that part of himself away, grounding himself in the moment with the beat of his heart in his chest.
“What happened,” he asked, voice free of judgement. He assumed scenarios in his head, but he wouldn't know without asking. But he did add, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. Just thinking it might have been an accident. That you might want someone to listen.” Five then reasoned Ben might not want anyone to listen, but he would still try to let his brother know he was there for him. If he needed him. If he wanted him.
Ben squeezed his eyes shut, and the images flew back to them. Reliving them almost made him sick. With his good hand, he rubbed over his face. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he chewed his lip. “fuck” He let out a soft sigh.
“I was being chased by a psychopath. He had a machete and a mask,” Ben began to pace, rapidly, unable to control the nervous energy that radiated through him. “I had been--- running from things for what felt like two days straight. I hadn’t slept. I tripped and I fell,” With a wince, he moved his broken arm, as if to explain how he’d gotten it.
“He got me, with his knife, across my back. I must… I must have screamed pretty loud, because I think that’s how Diego found me. I heard him say my name… but the guy with the knife was standing over me and was trying to kill me… and I had to unleash it.”
Ben’s voice had raised as the story went on guilt and anxiety and sadness welling inside of him and battling for control. He barely even realized he was practically shouting. “I was going to die Five, and so I let --- I let the Horror out. I shouldn’t have. I know-- I know that I’m a danger, I knew that there were other people. I-- I had seen all the times the horror came out, what it did, I saw projections of it tearing everyone apart. I could almost hear dad telling me that I had to. I” He was sobbing.
“I ripped the murder apart, and I was… I was covered in blood and Diego-- he came around the corner and he threw knives at the tentacles. And fuck I couldn’t control it. I tried. I tried to pull it back in but it was angry and and it just killed him. I couldn’t stop it. I tried.”
“I’m so sorry, Five.”
Quietly he stood still, nothing but his eyes moving to follow his brother’s pacing as he spoke. Five let the words swirl around him, wash over him, and sink in. He noted again the arm that he knew needed to be looked at but set aside any words he had in him that wanted to convince his brother to allow someone to help with it. It could wait. There was someone in this place with magic, and, as much as he disliked doctors, he suspected that the magical kind might not be as invasive, might not be as bad as the kinds with needles and scalpels and other such instruments. But the arm could wait. The rest of Ben could not.
Slowly, carefully, more so he didn’t startle the boy than anything else, Five took a few steps closer. Then a few more. Keeping his eyes on him, his expression soft, he closed the distance. He was not scared of his brother, nor was he afraid of the beast inside him. Maybe he should have been, but it had always been the effects of those tentacles that worried him more than the tentacles themselves, the way they caused such distress in Ben. If they came out now, if he died in this moment, he wanted Ben to know that he cared. He was so good and so bad with words, but he could at least show him that he cared, that he didn’t blame him. The whole situation was messed up, but he didn’t blame Ben.
“I’m going to hug you,” he said quietly, calmly, so as not to startle him. Then he reached out and gently took his brother into his arms, holding him close, pressure firm but easy to break out of if Ben wanted. He wasn’t going to trap him there, but Five wanted him to know, in the only way he could figure out how, that he was there for him.
Ben wasn’t entirely sure what he had expected from Five, but it wasn’t this. He hadn’t expected--- after the story that he’d just told, that Five would come towards him. At first, as Five stepped closer, Ben took a small step back. He shook his head slightly. He was a danger, he could seriously, seriously hurt somebody. He slung his good arm across his stomach, as if to physically block any tentacles from coming out (not that they were even trying to in that moment).
Ben tried to suck in a few quick, panicked breaths, and Five was in front of him. Five was reaching towards him and hugging him. It was such a surreal, unusual moment, that it took Ben a second to react. Not wanting to unfurl his injured arm, he responded with one tight arm across Five’s shoulders. He was crying still, and he didn’t know how to stop.
“I didn’t mean to, Five, I tried…” was all that he could squeak out. “The others… they’re going to hate me. They should. You should. I killed our brother.”
“I know,” Five said sincerely, voice low. He hadn’t seen his brother in decades, hadn’t known him in so very long until they’d both turned up in this strange reality, but he couldn’t imagine there was a reality out there where Ben would intend to hurt any of them. He couldn’t say the same about the creature under his brother’s skin; however, he didn’t care about it right then. Maybe it had acted in self-defense. Maybe it was blood thirsty in its own way. Maybe it had no idea what it was doing any more than any other being in this, or any, world. He didn’t know, and he didn’t have any way of knowing. And, right then, it didn’t really matter to him.
“I don’t think they’ll hate you,” he continued, voice still low. He couldn’t think how they wouldn’t understand, couldn’t imagine any of them hating Ben. Himself, sure. He’d long thought they’d hated him, ever since they were kids, and, for the most part, he didn’t care. Not about himself. He’d given up caring about himself years ago.
“We’ll explain. And if they don't understand, if they do hate you, you still have me. I know I’m not much, but just know I don’t hate you.” Five hugged his brother just a little bit tighter, mindful of Ben’s injured arm.
“I don’t want them… to hate me. But they should.” Ben said softly, “I’m a danger to them. I think I’ve proved that. I’m a danger.” He couldn’t blame any of them for hating him, because he hated him. He hated that he had done this, that he was a risk to them. He sighed, and chewed his lip, but leaned into Five’s hug. Despite the fact that he had wanted to hide away from all of them, perhaps even all the people of Goodlands, he needed the comfort.
Finally, Ben moved away from Five, putting a small distance between them. “I think… I think I need to live away from everyone. Maybe forever.” He knew that wasn’t going to work, long term, to live down in the Subway, but he wasn’t sure that he could return to the apartment where he lived with Babs, and Luther and Allison. He wasn’t fit to live with people, not until he knew that he wouldn’t hurt them.
“I can’t hurt them. I won't. Maybe-- Maybe the room in SI would be better for me, to live in, but I can’t go back to the apartment and worry about what might happen if I have a panic attack.”
Not wanting to encroach upon Ben’s personal space much longer, Five took a small step back, allowing his brother a bit more room. He watched him as he spoke, hands back in the pockets of his jeans. He wasn’t entirely sure living away from everyone was really the solution, nor would he have recommended it. The isolation alone… He shoved the thoughts from his head, focusing on his brother and the way the denimen felt against his hands in his pockets. It was smooth and soft and helped him focus.
“I don’t recommend isolation,” he said conversationally. “But if you’re going to be a hermit, you need to get your arm looked at.” He nodded toward Ben’s injured arm. “There’s a healer named Hannah. She’s got some kind of… magic. It’s non-invasive from what I can tell, and she’s not technically a doctor. However, I think it’d be less… uncomfortable than a conventional doctor or conventional treatment.
“And if you plan to stay here, or anywhere else alone, I’m visiting you. I won’t tell anyone else where you are if you don’t want them to know -- and none of them know you’re here now -- but I’m not leaving you to deal with this on your own. Because you’re not alone.” He swallowed, still focusing on the denim to keep himself grounded.
Ben wanted to say it was fine, but he knew it wasn’t. His arm was terrible, but he was afraid of going to the doctor and even more so now with what had happened. He nodded though, magic could be okay he supposed. Magic was strange, but no stranger than him or any of his siblings, he would wager.
“I don’t know if that is a great idea…” Ben admitted when Five said that he wanted to visit. He ran a hand anxiously through his hair for a moment, as if to consider it. “I … I can’t really stop you.” Unlike the rest of his siblings, locked doors didn’t really hinder Five’s ability to get in. And while Ben knew that he might be able to find a new place, he wasn’t sure that he would find one as secure and out of the way as this one was.
“I just don’t like it. If something happens---” He had to stop himself, unable to really complete that sentence. “I’m scared Five. And I just want to be by myself.”