Something to Brighten Your Day

Guide:

Reader's thoughts are in italics and in first person.

Ben's thoughts in italics, bold, and blue!

Ben POV

"You want her to what?" Hughie sputters from the couch beside you at Butcher.

Butcher nurses a cup of tea, leaning back into the uncomfortable white chair on the opposite side of the football sized living room. His usual disheveled appearance seems exacerbated by the delicate white cloth beneath his body.

By now the sun outside was nothing more than a hazy orange blob slowly sinking into the horizon, the rest of the city beginning to come alive with the famous NYC nightlife.

If Ben were paying attention to any of it he'd hear the familiar screech and honks of the gridlocked taxis, watch the flash of the lights below as they flicker on one at a time, and find some sense of peace in the noises below.

He wasn't.

Since the moment your brother came hurtling through his bedroom door, Ben's full attention has been on you.

"I think that it's best she stay here. We don’t know where Stormfront is and the second we leave her, the cunt will come out of the woodwork like a termite. Maybe if the Yankee twat had given us a call things would be different, but for now that’s the only plan we’ve got."

Stormfront getting away hadn’t been apart of the plan, neither had been losing his shit and leveling an entire block, but Ben wasn't apologetic about that.

He never was.

He had been willing to do anything to get you back, burn any bridge, level any skyscraper, kill anyone who stood in his way. He thought that you would see it as a big romantic gesture, that you'd see how serious he was about you and protecting you, see the hero that he believed himself to be with every fiber of his being-

You hadn't and all it did was make Ben more furious.

He didn't understand why you were doing this. He'd seen your memories the same way that you'd seen his and he thought that someone who wished for him as much you did would have been more willing to at least hear him out.

Because he was after all, him.

Stormfront's jeer rings in his ears.

"To think you spent all those years fucking away your worries trying to fill that hole inside of you, hoping that someone would love you, just for the one person supposed to, to shit all over you and call you a monster. I can't imagine that."

Even now the words strike something inside, clawing their way through the harsh outer shell Ben had developed over the better part of 80 years, and shaking something within him that he hadn't felt since the final nail in his mother's coffin.

It made him feel like a pussy to have all of this swirling in his head. In the past he would have been more than happy to distract himself with someone he met in a bar, to lose all sense of reality in the pleasure of a good fuck, but again he was stuck in the dilemma of you.

Now thinking about or checking out another woman made him feel absolutely nothing but guilt which in turn only made him feel like a pussy whipped jerk-off like your brother.

Ben's jaw tightens as the onslaught of self-deprecating thoughts come back parading around his head, each one sounding remarkably like his father.

He's leaning back against the living room wall, gaze leveled on where you're swaddled beneath a blanket on his couch curling slightly into your older brother.

It was difficult to look away from you, and no matter how many times he tried it was like his eyes stumbled back every time. Probably didn't help the overall situation that he couldn't stop frowning either.

Ben sighs to himself again as he tries in vain to drop his gaze, only to have a sweeping wave of anxiety build in the moments his eyes aren't on you.

That had been happening more and more since the housewarming party. Ben thought the last year of trying to find you had been bad enough, but now it was worse.

Being away from you felt like a black hole that sucked in until there was nothing left of Ben and left him wanting all of you. 

He'd never felt so emasculated in his entire life.

Now that you were here it was better, though Ben knew the closer he got to you the better he would feel.

Carrying you out of the ruined building, with your warm body curled into his chest, watching the quiet rise and fall of your shoulders, feeling the gentle breath that wisped across his throat where your face was buried in the little you shaped nook that Ben never noticed before- Ben had never felt more alive.

Now… not so much.

By now his eyes are back on you, curious, inquisitive, trying to figure you out in vain.

You’re still wearing his shirt.

The shirt he dressed you in.

The shirt that did nothing to cover every single dip and curve of your body and made Ben feel like a horny sailor who finally made it back to land after ten long years at sea.

Honestly, it wasn't that far-fetched given the fact that it had been 81 years despite how many times he tried to pick women up in bars.

Yes, perhaps changing your clothes hadn't been his best move, but yours had been ripped and dirty and Ben hadn't looked…

Well…

Ben's eyes drop to the floor for a moment.

He hadn't looked that hard and it certainly hadn't helped him soften up at all. The well needed hot shower that followed did relieve enough tension to get him walking in a straight line again, but then he'd seen you in his clothes, in his bed, and brought him right back to square one.

Ben's gaze rubber bands back to you.

Hughie's arm is across your shoulder, his thumb rubbing soft circles to soothe you, while you lean into him.

She should be doing that with me! I’m the one who saved her. Not with her fuck-face brother. Why the hell is she so-

Ben growls inside his head, jealousy flaring in his chest like a dying star.

He wasn't bothering to hide his annoyance, hadn't been since Hughie crashed through the doors of his bedroom and launched himself at you.

As if Ben was some horrible beast who locked you away in a tower and refused to let you leave.

Truthfully, Ben wasn't opposed to locking you away if it meant that you'd actually talk to him. He thought he'd have a better chance if your brother wasn't there talking for you.

Ben took the emotion that fluttered through you at the appearance of your brother like a bullet to the chest. He had been expecting you to feel that way about him the moment you woke up.

That you'd finally see him as the hero he was, finally feel something other than fear whenever you saw him, finally accept that you were his, but you hadn't and Ben was inches away from throwing everyone out of his apartment and force you to tell him why you couldn't just let it go.

Your head turns in his direction, eyes wide, sensing his rage. The fear that floods through the bond the second you make eye contact with him makes Ben angrier. 

Fuck.

He drops his gaze instead to your hands where they lay on top of the plush blanket, noting the bruise-like fingerprints and blistering skin that Stormfront left behind.

It does little to soothe his anger, if anything it makes the temperature in the room flare a few degrees higher, and his eyes flicker an intimidating gold once.

The same were displayed prominently on his own tanned forearms, hidden beneath his long sleeved henley. And even if he didn't know why that was, he wasn't about to share that little tid-bit with Butcher.

Ben couldn't remember the last time that he was physically marked by something, but there they were in varying shades of purple across his skin. A fucked up reminder of something that hadn't happened to him, something that you'd had to endure because Ben wasn't there.

Feeling guilty was unusual for him, but standing in the aftermath of the explosion, fingers black, while he pried concrete from the ground trying desperately to find you, only to discover you unconscious, almost ripped Ben apart.

Each trail of his fingertips against your dirt smeared cheeks didn't bring you to consciousness, neither did the soft rumble of your name on his lips or the gentle cradle of your body in his arms.

It had scared him to see you like that.

He'd placed you in the passenger seat of his car and agonized over going to the hospital, but he didn't want you to be whisked away somewhere he couldn't see only to have Stormfront come when you needed Ben the most.

So instead he'd brought you here, dressed you in his clothes, and tucked you into his bed.

Fuck, it had done something to him to see you there.

The apartment didn't feel so large or empty anymore, and there had been a trace of excitement in Ben's heart when he thought about you waking up here. It was the closest to happy that he'd felt in a long time.

He'd thought that you'd wake up and be grateful that he'd come to save you, that maybe it was the proof you needed to finally look at him like he was a person instead of some kind of psychopath.

But you hadn't and that minuscule piece of hope inside Ben had shriveled up like a raisin in the sun.

The ice in his glass clinks when he raises it to his lips.

It wasn't just because Stormfront got away, Ben hated that she'd gotten that close to you.

It was exactly what he'd been trying to avoid a year ago when he left. He thought he'd made the right decision, kept you out of all of this, kept you safe, but now he wasn't sure.

He wondered if maybe he'd made the wrong decision. That he should have stayed and made sure you were safe because now he knew the only safe place would be with him. Ben hadn't expected his past to follow him like this, thought he tied up all the lose ends with Payback, but now Stormfront was back with a vengeance and she'd taken out her anger on you rather than him.

His teeth grind together at the thought of her name, eyes tracing over your body. The memory of how you looked on the floor hits him like a lightning bolt. You'd looked so small, broken, curled into a ball on the cracked concrete as if you were trying to make yourself smaller, as if that would protect you.

Ben had screamed himself hoarse while sifting through the disaster, ash flickering upwards from the rubble around him, while sirens rang in the distance growing closer and closer. But like hell he was going to leave you again.

He didn't like the feelings that came through the bond when he'd witnessed your memories after he left the first time, didn't like to see how broken you were when he walked away. If Ben had been willing to admit it, he would say that it broke him too, but he refused to focus on the guilt that came with the memory of the day the two of you met for the first time, instead he zeroed in on the anger that was beating it's wings in his chest.

The rays of the setting sun slip through the floor to ceiling windows surrounding the room and send a luminous wave over your body, tracing the gentle curves of you with a soft hand. It accentuates how different you are from Ben, and carves a hollow place in his heart.

You were so different than what he'd expected.

Honestly, he'd expected someone more like him, a supe, maybe a woman who had a little more grit to her, but not you. He liked the softness of your figure, the kindness and gentleness that was reflected in the warmth of your gaze, and how you carried yourself.

It stirred every single protective instinct he had.

"I'm not going to leave her with him!" Hughie shouts, eyeing Ben. "It's bad enough that she was here with him alone for as long as she was! Jeez Butcher, the maniac could have done anything to her! And now you want me to voluntarily leave her here? Hell no!"

Why the fuck does everyone keep thinking that I'm going to do something to her? She's my damn soulmate. What kind of animal do they think I am?

"I'd like to see you try to take her." Ben snarls, eyes so dark they look black. He rolls off the wall to stand to his full height, daring Hughie to come closer. "She's safer with me than with the British Twat and with you."

"Oh really?" Hughie scoffs. "Because I seem to recall it was you who leveled the building and you who gave her a concussion."

"I saved her." Ben takes another step towards Hughie. By now the air around him has begun to heat, body pulled so tight that he could snap at any moment. "While you just sat around with his dick in your mouth."

"If you had told us like she asked you to, then she wouldn't have a concussion!" Your brother shouts back standing up from the couch to face Ben. "And I'm not going to leave her here with you!"

The glass in Ben's hand shatters raining shards down onto the hardwood floors and making you flinch hard beside your brother.

"Hugh-" Butcher starts to say, but the rest of it is drowned out by the thought that comes screaming through the bond into Ben's head.

I want to go home. I can't be here with him.

Ben hears you think.

His eyes flick to where you're curled into your brother, wide-eyed gaze still on Ben. Your eyes flick between your brother and Ben, worry and fear flowing freely.

You hadn't said much since Butcher and Hughie had shown up to Ben's apartment and it was Ben who had given the account of what happened, and then Ben that Butcher and Hughie had shouted at for not calling them.

As if he actually gave a fuck about that.

The only thing Ben cared about was that you were away from Stormfront and here at his apartment, where you should be, or want to be.

Where she should have been from the damn start if she wasn't so fucking stubborn.

Ben wasn't sorry for what he'd shouted at you earlier in his bedroom, but he did regret that he hadn't been able to say anything else before Hughie showed up.

"Butcher, please don't make me stay here." You say in almost a whisper, fingers curled in your lap. "Not with him."

Ben fights the flinch when you say it, but it does little to ease the roar of his anger that claws at his ribcage like a savage animal trying to break free.

He didn't understand how someone who had wished for him her whole life could be so against being with him now.

He'd lived your memories.

Felt the frustration, anger, loneliness, and sadness that plagued you in the moments you thought he didn't exist.

Saw every birthday you lit a candle for him.

Heard the taunts and jeers other people tossed your way when they saw the date on your wrist.

And even if it made Ben feel like a pussy, there was a little part of him that wanted to be the person you wished for, usually the same part of him that was drowned out by the confusion, anger, and annoyance at your current aversion to him.

Butcher gives you a sympathetic look and puts down his cup of tea on the queen sized glass coffee table in the middle of the room. He says your name in a soft way that makes jealousy curdle in the pit of Ben's stomach.

"Hughie, Annie, and I 'ave a gig down South. We’re going to be gone for a bit. And as much as I hate the thought of leavin' you with 'im," Butcher gestures his head in Ben's direction. "He's the only person that's going to keep you safe."

"But what if she doesn't come back?" You ask. "What if this was enough and she's gone for good?"

Ben chuckles darkly under his breath. "She won't come back if she knows what's good for her."

Personally, Ben couldn't wait for Stormfront to come back. He was ready to send her to hell where she belonged or at least somewhere like the hell he'd been in for the past 40 years.

Stormfront had no idea the things that he'd wished he'd been able to do to her for touching you.

"Buck up poppet." Butcher says, placing his hand on your shoulder. "I might be a son of a bitch, but I don't want you to get hurt again."

Your hand raises to your shoulder to hold his there a few seconds longer. "I'm okay."

The tremor in your voice makes Ben grind his teeth together so tight he hears it in his ears.

"No, you're not. And staying here with 'im will make sure you are."

Ben bristles at the feeling that floods through the bond between the two of you. It's soft, grateful, caring. Ben can see the way you look at Butcher. The kindness and gentleness reflected in your eyes as you lean into his touch while Butcher's expression softens.

It makes an inferno spark to life in Ben's chest.

She should be looking at me that way. Not with Butt-fuck Butcher! He's done plenty of horrible things, killed people, tortured others! Why can she let go of his shit, but not mine?!

He watches you wince as the thought comes into your head, and you drop your hand from where Butcher's squeezes your shoulder.

Because Butcher understands those things were wrong. He feels remorse. He's sorry.

Fine! I'm sorry, is that what the fuck I have to say to make you actually look at me?

You don't mean it. It might as well just be you saying the sky is green.

Ben huffs out a breath at your thought, but doesn't bother to say anything else.

He hated this.

Hated every single time you avoided looking at him.

Hated feeling like he was some beast that you couldn't bear to be in the same room with.

The sound of you calling him a monster rings in his ears all over again, followed by Stormfront's jeer. It makes an unusual feeling clench in Ben's chest, like he's being slowly pulled apart by one of those medieval stretching devices.

"Speaking of which-" Butcher sighs at the sound of his phone chirping in his pocket. "Yep, we've got to go."

"But-" Hughie begins.

"But-" You mirror.

"I've already lied to MM and said we were on our way an hour ago. I go another hour and he'll drive here and castrate us all." Butcher shrugs. "I don't know about 'ughie, but I don't want to live the rest of my life as a Monk, love."

"Butcher this is crazy. We can't just leave her with him. Not like this." Hughie tries to reason, pointing at the marks along your arm. "She might need to go to the hospital. She might have head trauma."

"You have head trauma if you think I'm going to let you take her." Ben grumbles under his breath.

He knew better than anyone here, the only way that Stormfront was going to get past him was if he was in the ground. Ben would go to his grave before she put another finger on you.

And like hell he was going to leave you with your limp-dick powerless brother.

It would be the same as leaving you with a flyswatter for protection.

"I don’t need to go to the hospital." You argue. "I'm fine-"

Why you decide to try to stand up at this moment, Ben isn't sure, but the moment you do Ben sees you wobble a step, head tilting sideways. He lunges towards you to catch your body before you fall, but his sudden movement makes you flinch back from him with a gasp and fall onto the couch beside your brother.

"Are you okay?" Hughie asks you, gently checking you over, but Ben doesn't hear it.

His jaw clamps shut with an audible snap as another unusual feeling squeezes Ben's heart in his chest.

He didn't know how to fix it.

Ben had tried everything he knew.

Sweet talking.

Saving you from a literal psychopath.

Flowers.

Saving you from a literal psychopath.

The arm flex.

The smolder.

Running his hand through his hair.

Oh what was that?  

SAVING you from a literal psychopath!

He might as well just be standing around with his dick in his hand, because it had done fuck all, you still wouldn't hold his gaze for more than a few seconds.

"I'm fine." You clear your throat, blinking with a shake of your head. "Just moved a little too fast."

Hughie raises his head to stare at Butcher. "We can't leave her like this."

"For fucks sake!" Ben finally explodes. "You're not leaving her with a rabid dog-"

"That's debatable." Hughie's eyes narrow.

"Keep talking like that and I'll give that mouth something to do." Ben snapped back eyes blazing. "She's here because I went to fucking get her. She's alive because I did what no one else could. And I don’t know how many times I have to fucking say it or if I have to write it with your ripped off arm- I'm not going to hurt her and I'm not going to let you take her away."

Butcher opens his mouth, but Ben doesn't stop, in fact, he only gets louder.

Predictably.

"So get the fuck out of my apartment, before I chuck you two uggos out the window."

"I don’t care how many times you say it! She's not staying here-" Hughie begins.

"Why are the three of you talking like I'm not even here and don't get a say in this?" You interrupt.

Honestly, you looked more like yourself than you had since Ben carried you away from the ruins, but right now that's not important to Ben.

"Because you don't." Ben replies.

It comes out in an authoritative gruff monotone, coupled with the usual intimidating stare that Ben used to get his way.

The same one that had no effect on you and usually only made you mouth off to him like it was a formal debate.

"I think I do!"

"No, you don't. Because the last time you had a say in anything you ended up in that corpse fuckers house of horrors!" He roars. "So just sit your ass down-"

"You don't get to talk to me like that."

"I can talk to you however the fuck I want sweetheart. It's a free country, you're welcome!"

It was perhaps better than the other thing he wanted to say, because you mouthing off to him made something akin to arousal begin to spread through his body. If you were up for it, he would have been more than willing to toss the other trespassers out on their asses before he took you back his bedroom and showed you exactly the way he wanted to talk to you.

By now the bond is flooded with annoyance and anger and Ben isn't exactly sure if it's coming from you or from him. Either way, he's not pleased.

Neither are you given the way your eyes are narrowed.

You open your mouth-

There are better things the two of us could be doing right now instead of arguing about this shit. Just say the word Sweetheart.

You visibly falter, whatever you were about to say lost in the fluster of Ben's words ringing in your head.

Ben's frown twitches upwards into a smirk, eyebrow raising. He thinks that he's won, that by making you speechless it's proven something.

"Oi-" Butcher says, drawing your attention back to him and breaking the spell. "It doesn’t matter how many times we go round robin with this, you have to stay here. I'm sorry."

"But-" Hughie stutters, but Butcher shuts him up with a look.

"We'll be back soon."

"But what about Heathcliff? I can't just leave him for days!" You argue. "And my clothes, my laptop, my books- What about my classes? My students? I can't just disappear!"

Who the fuck is Heathcliff? Does she have someone living at her house with her? How did I not see this?

He's my cat.

You amend in your head.

Oh.

"Call out sick." Hughie rubs the back of his neck as if anticipating how mad the statement will make you.

"What?" You gasp, looking offended. "You want me to lie? To Dale? Are you crazy? He’s a human lie detector and an asshole. Plus, I'm already on his shit list because of Fabio over there and the great Tate Toss of 2026!"

Ben glowers.

Oh good, that dinosaur. Good to know that she’ll just rely on old four eyes whenever I piss her off.

Shut up! You don’t get to mock me for caring about someone else Ben. That’ the whole point of being human.

Thank you for clearing that up. I’ll be sure to bring that up at the next monsters anonymous meeting.

Your eyebrows furrow together, a worried frown turning down the sides of your mouth.

I know that you don’t believe me, but I don’t think you’re a monster.

Ben only rolls his eyes.

You can't lie to me.

"Tate's your TA, can't he teach your class for a little while?" Butcher takes another long sip from his cup of tea.

"Well-" You hesitate, trying to find an answer that suits you, before sighing in defeat. "Yeah, he can."

"There we go love." Butcher winks. "No problems, only solutions."

Ben prickles at the use of the word ‘love’ and wonders how satisfying it would be to watch Butcher plummet to the ground.

"What about my stuff and my cat?" You sigh again. You seem small again, sinking low into the oversized living room couch. “I can’t stay here with no clothes.“ You pluck the end of the borrowed shirt for emphasis.

“We've got a pre-mission briefing." Hughie huffs in defeat. He knows that once Butcher made a decision it would take more than the National Guard to change his mind. "I can miss it to bring your stuff and Heathcliff if you want to make a list for me."

Ben watches your eyes flick to where he’s standing.

Maybe Heathcliff shouldn’t come here.

“For fucks sake.” Ben growls aloud. “I’m not going to kill your fucking cat.”

Hughie looks at Ben confused. “Who said anything about you killing her cat?”

Ben hesitates.

You hadn’t told your brother about the telepathic connection, hadn’t bothered to share it with anyone, and Ben didn’t want anyone to know about how the two of you suffered under Stormfront, not just him.

“Because I know how she thinks and it was bound to come up in conversation.” He grunts before turning away to pour himself another Manhattan.

You make the list, taking great care to write out everything you need, while Ben pretends to be interested in something outside the window instead of trying to catch glimpses of the things you hold dear as if it'll give him a better understanding of why you were the way you were.

He wanted to understand, the problem was no matter how many times he tried to, something got lost in translation.

Usually it was the fingers that he held firmly in each ear.

Hughie gives you one last big hug. "I'm not too far away. Just say the word and Annie and I'll be back here as soon as we can."

"Please be careful.” You sigh leaning in to your brother.

Ben meets your eye over Hughie’s shoulder. You’re watching him warily, brow furrowed. It makes Ben want to poke you between the eyes and smooth out the wrinkles with his fingertip.

I bet her skin is really soft.

Ben tenses, hoping that you missed his slip up, telling by the way your eyes have widened you didn’t.

What?

Shit.

On the terrace a pigeon coos softly, fluffing it's wings as it settles down into a nest for the night, giving Ben the distraction he needs for a few fleeting seconds.

Before you can think anything else, Butcher pulls you into a hug.

Ben’s fingers curl so tightly into his biceps that he’s sure you can feel it, the all-encompassing wave of rage burning through his every nerve ending, while the rabid part of his brain screams Mine!

It takes an alarming amount of restraint for Ben to hold himself back, your brother had been one thing but Butcher? Fuck no.

Perhaps what makes it worse is the way you lean into him, raise your hands to hold him a little closer, lay your head on Butcher’s chest, and the feeling of comfort that seeps through the bond from you.

You like that Butcher is hugging you and it makes Ben furious.

Red begins to creep into his vision the longer he stands there, chest warming, jaw pulling so tight he hears a snap in his head.

Butcher leans in closer to you so he can whisper in your ear, hoping that Ben can't hear. "I know you’re scared, but maybe he’ll surprise you if you give him a chance.”

I don’t think he deserves one.

“Please Butcher, let me go with you. I can boost morale or something or at least make some tea.” You give Butcher a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Maybe next time.”

“Alright, that’s enough fucking touching.” Ben doesn’t bother to whisper it, but it still makes Butcher chuckle low under his breath.

“Should be nicer to me wanker, I’m giving you time off, and having her stay here.” Butcher’s eyes twinkle with his usual shit eating grin. “Say another word and I might try a little harder to work out another arrangement.”

The silence when they leave is deafening, an odd energy thrumming through the air between the two of you that tugs at piece of you that lives inside of Ben.

Two falling stars that can't help but collide in the celestial sky.

It builds to an overwhelming throb in the center of his chest.

Your eyes flick in his direction, an unknown emotion building in the iris that Ben can feel pounding along with the beat of his heart.

He can feel the twitch of his fingertips where his hands hang at his sides. He wants so badly to touch you, to do something, because the longer he stands there apart from you reminds him of the year he spent thinking that he'd never find you again.

Ben clears his throat, but you break the silence first.

"You could have just left me there." You reply quietly more to yourself than to him.

"What?" Ben blinks in surprise.

"Just admit it. You regret saving me and bringing me here because I won't-"

"You think I regret saving you?"

His voice is guttural, seated so low in his chest it might as well be hidden behind the dam with everything else that upset him.

The feeling seeping through the bond shifts, an uncomfortable sensation festering in the pit of your stomach the longer Ben stares at you. Fear comes with the dark flash of Ben’s eyes, scuttling along your vertebrae.

“Think again sweetheart.”

He approaches with measured footsteps, eyes so dark you can no longer see his pupils. When Ben speaks again his voice is nothing more than a growl that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up on end.

"I regret is that she put her hands on what's mine. I regret letting you walk away with that spineless piece of shit the other day when I knew that bitch was out there. I regret every single second you spent with that corpse fucker. She should have never been able to get that close to you, never been able to touch you.”

His eyes sweep over the bruises pebbled across your arms allowing himself to feel the full force of his rage for Stormfront's deeds, before raising to your face once more. “You would be dead if it wasn’t for me, remember that the next time you accuse me of something like that.”

He turns-

“So would you.” You say.

Ben stops halfway to the stairs. “What does that mean?”

“She said that we’re-“ You pause trying to find the word. “Special.”

Ben glances over his shoulder, eyes so dark they take on the color of a forest when night falls. 

“There isn’t anything special about this clusterfuck sweetheart. And I wouldn’t listen to anything she said.”

“It’s why I- I mean- It's we can hear each other’s thoughts.”

“If you can’t tell me how to get rid of it then I’m not interested.”

“She didn’t.”

"Then it's not important."

"Ben-"

"What?" He sighs, looking anywhere, but at you.

He knew that looking at you would bring the feeling creeping back over him, the one that he was sure you felt, but did a better job of ignoring it.

Of course she fucking does. She doesn’t want anything to do with you. You're just another disappointment.

Your soft gasp with the thought comes in loud as a thunderclap. The silence in the air charged with electricity.

"Oh Ben-" You breathe. It comes out softer than the way you've ever spoken to him, reminds him far too much of the way you spoke to Butcher.

Gentle.

Caring.

Ben can’t remember the last time someone said his name like that.

Just another fucking lie.

He knew how you felt about him and it appeared that nothing he did would ever be enough.

Something inside of Ben breaks with the tone shift in your, an unnamable feeling rushing in a flood through his entire body breaking through the wall he tries so hard to keep firmly in place.

For a few seconds, Ben feels it all. Everything that he's tried to push down for the better part of 80 years.

Disappointment, frustration, guilt, and the feeling that always came in the dark when he was alone and the woman who warmed his bed had long gone.

The overwhelming rush makes him shut his eyes tight, curl his hands into fists at his sides, and grit his teeth, trying desperately to push it down, to sweep it under the rug the way he always does.

When he opens his eyes, he loses the last shred of control.

You're staring at him, eyes a little misty, your expression is pained. "I-" You stutter slightly, unsure what to say. "I'm sorry that I- I mean I can't- Ben I wish that-"

"Pick whatever room you want." Ben interrupts, expression hardening to his usual detached self. "There's plenty of them to keep you as far as you want from me."

He turns to go, but it doesn't stop the flood of emotions that claw their way through his body to drag you under, neither does the sound of the soft sob that breaks through the silence.

Wait-

It makes him want to turn around, but he won't.

Not when he knows it won't make a difference.

A/N: Bear with me now. I promise this is going somewhere, there's just a whole bunch of angst along the way 🤣

As always thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, Likes, and Comments are not required but are always appreciated. I love hearing what y'all think! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series let me know!

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Guide:

Reader's thoughts are in italics and in first person.

Ben's thoughts in italics, bold, and blue!

Ben POV

"You want her to what?" Hughie sputters from the couch beside you at Butcher.

Butcher nurses a cup of tea, leaning back into the uncomfortable white chair on the opposite side of the football sized living room. His usual disheveled appearance seems exacerbated by the delicate white cloth beneath his body.

By now the sun outside was nothing more than a hazy orange blob slowly sinking into the horizon, the rest of the city beginning to come alive with the famous NYC nightlife.

If Ben were paying attention to any of it he'd hear the familiar screech and honks of the gridlocked taxis, watch the flash of the lights below as they flicker on one at a time, and find some sense of peace in the noises below.

He wasn't.

Since the moment your brother came hurtling through his bedroom door, Ben's full attention has been on you.

"I think that it's best she stay here. We don’t know where Stormfront is and the second we leave her, the cunt will come out of the woodwork like a termite. Maybe if the Yankee twat had given us a call things would be different, but for now that’s the only plan we’ve got."

Stormfront getting away hadn’t been apart of the plan, neither had been losing his shit and leveling an entire block, but Ben wasn't apologetic about that.

He never was.

He had been willing to do anything to get you back, burn any bridge, level any skyscraper, kill anyone who stood in his way. He thought that you would see it as a big romantic gesture, that you'd see how serious he was about you and protecting you, see the hero that he believed himself to be with every fiber of his being-

You hadn't and all it did was make Ben more furious.

He didn't understand why you were doing this. He'd seen your memories the same way that you'd seen his and he thought that someone who wished for him as much you did would have been more willing to at least hear him out.

Because he was after all, him.

Stormfront's jeer rings in his ears.

"To think you spent all those years fucking away your worries trying to fill that hole inside of you, hoping that someone would love you, just for the one person supposed to, to shit all over you and call you a monster. I can't imagine that."

Even now the words strike something inside, clawing their way through the harsh outer shell Ben had developed over the better part of 80 years, and shaking something within him that he hadn't felt since the final nail in his mother's coffin.

It made him feel like a pussy to have all of this swirling in his head. In the past he would have been more than happy to distract himself with someone he met in a bar, to lose all sense of reality in the pleasure of a good fuck, but again he was stuck in the dilemma of you.

Now thinking about or checking out another woman made him feel absolutely nothing but guilt which in turn only made him feel like a pussy whipped jerk-off like your brother.

Ben's jaw tightens as the onslaught of self-deprecating thoughts come back parading around his head, each one sounding remarkably like his father.

He's leaning back against the living room wall, gaze leveled on where you're swaddled beneath a blanket on his couch curling slightly into your older brother.

It was difficult to look away from you, and no matter how many times he tried it was like his eyes stumbled back every time. Probably didn't help the overall situation that he couldn't stop frowning either.

Ben sighs to himself again as he tries in vain to drop his gaze, only to have a sweeping wave of anxiety build in the moments his eyes aren't on you.

That had been happening more and more since the housewarming party. Ben thought the last year of trying to find you had been bad enough, but now it was worse.

Being away from you felt like a black hole that sucked in until there was nothing left of Ben and left him wanting all of you. 

He'd never felt so emasculated in his entire life.

Now that you were here it was better, though Ben knew the closer he got to you the better he would feel.

Carrying you out of the ruined building, with your warm body curled into his chest, watching the quiet rise and fall of your shoulders, feeling the gentle breath that wisped across his throat where your face was buried in the little you shaped nook that Ben never noticed before- Ben had never felt more alive.

Now… not so much.

By now his eyes are back on you, curious, inquisitive, trying to figure you out in vain.

You’re still wearing his shirt.

The shirt he dressed you in.

The shirt that did nothing to cover every single dip and curve of your body and made Ben feel like a horny sailor who finally made it back to land after ten long years at sea.

Honestly, it wasn't that far-fetched given the fact that it had been 81 years despite how many times he tried to pick women up in bars.

Yes, perhaps changing your clothes hadn't been his best move, but yours had been ripped and dirty and Ben hadn't looked…

Well…

Ben's eyes drop to the floor for a moment.

He hadn't looked that hard and it certainly hadn't helped him soften up at all. The well needed hot shower that followed did relieve enough tension to get him walking in a straight line again, but then he'd seen you in his clothes, in his bed, and brought him right back to square one.

Ben's gaze rubber bands back to you.

Hughie's arm is across your shoulder, his thumb rubbing soft circles to soothe you, while you lean into him.

She should be doing that with me! I’m the one who saved her. Not with her fuck-face brother. Why the hell is she so-

Ben growls inside his head, jealousy flaring in his chest like a dying star.

He wasn't bothering to hide his annoyance, hadn't been since Hughie crashed through the doors of his bedroom and launched himself at you.

As if Ben was some horrible beast who locked you away in a tower and refused to let you leave.

Truthfully, Ben wasn't opposed to locking you away if it meant that you'd actually talk to him. He thought he'd have a better chance if your brother wasn't there talking for you.

Ben took the emotion that fluttered through you at the appearance of your brother like a bullet to the chest. He had been expecting you to feel that way about him the moment you woke up.

That you'd finally see him as the hero he was, finally feel something other than fear whenever you saw him, finally accept that you were his, but you hadn't and Ben was inches away from throwing everyone out of his apartment and force you to tell him why you couldn't just let it go.

Your head turns in his direction, eyes wide, sensing his rage. The fear that floods through the bond the second you make eye contact with him makes Ben angrier. 

Fuck.

He drops his gaze instead to your hands where they lay on top of the plush blanket, noting the bruise-like fingerprints and blistering skin that Stormfront left behind.

It does little to soothe his anger, if anything it makes the temperature in the room flare a few degrees higher, and his eyes flicker an intimidating gold once.

The same were displayed prominently on his own tanned forearms, hidden beneath his long sleeved henley. And even if he didn't know why that was, he wasn't about to share that little tid-bit with Butcher.

Ben couldn't remember the last time that he was physically marked by something, but there they were in varying shades of purple across his skin. A fucked up reminder of something that hadn't happened to him, something that you'd had to endure because Ben wasn't there.

Feeling guilty was unusual for him, but standing in the aftermath of the explosion, fingers black, while he pried concrete from the ground trying desperately to find you, only to discover you unconscious, almost ripped Ben apart.

Each trail of his fingertips against your dirt smeared cheeks didn't bring you to consciousness, neither did the soft rumble of your name on his lips or the gentle cradle of your body in his arms.

It had scared him to see you like that.

He'd placed you in the passenger seat of his car and agonized over going to the hospital, but he didn't want you to be whisked away somewhere he couldn't see only to have Stormfront come when you needed Ben the most.

So instead he'd brought you here, dressed you in his clothes, and tucked you into his bed.

Fuck, it had done something to him to see you there.

The apartment didn't feel so large or empty anymore, and there had been a trace of excitement in Ben's heart when he thought about you waking up here. It was the closest to happy that he'd felt in a long time.

He'd thought that you'd wake up and be grateful that he'd come to save you, that maybe it was the proof you needed to finally look at him like he was a person instead of some kind of psychopath.

But you hadn't and that minuscule piece of hope inside Ben had shriveled up like a raisin in the sun.

The ice in his glass clinks when he raises it to his lips.

It wasn't just because Stormfront got away, Ben hated that she'd gotten that close to you.

It was exactly what he'd been trying to avoid a year ago when he left. He thought he'd made the right decision, kept you out of all of this, kept you safe, but now he wasn't sure.

He wondered if maybe he'd made the wrong decision. That he should have stayed and made sure you were safe because now he knew the only safe place would be with him. Ben hadn't expected his past to follow him like this, thought he tied up all the lose ends with Payback, but now Stormfront was back with a vengeance and she'd taken out her anger on you rather than him.

His teeth grind together at the thought of her name, eyes tracing over your body. The memory of how you looked on the floor hits him like a lightning bolt. You'd looked so small, broken, curled into a ball on the cracked concrete as if you were trying to make yourself smaller, as if that would protect you.

Ben had screamed himself hoarse while sifting through the disaster, ash flickering upwards from the rubble around him, while sirens rang in the distance growing closer and closer. But like hell he was going to leave you again.

He didn't like the feelings that came through the bond when he'd witnessed your memories after he left the first time, didn't like to see how broken you were when he walked away. If Ben had been willing to admit it, he would say that it broke him too, but he refused to focus on the guilt that came with the memory of the day the two of you met for the first time, instead he zeroed in on the anger that was beating it's wings in his chest.

The rays of the setting sun slip through the floor to ceiling windows surrounding the room and send a luminous wave over your body, tracing the gentle curves of you with a soft hand. It accentuates how different you are from Ben, and carves a hollow place in his heart.

You were so different than what he'd expected.

Honestly, he'd expected someone more like him, a supe, maybe a woman who had a little more grit to her, but not you. He liked the softness of your figure, the kindness and gentleness that was reflected in the warmth of your gaze, and how you carried yourself.

It stirred every single protective instinct he had.

"I'm not going to leave her with him!" Hughie shouts, eyeing Ben. "It's bad enough that she was here with him alone for as long as she was! Jeez Butcher, the maniac could have done anything to her! And now you want me to voluntarily leave her here? Hell no!"

Why the fuck does everyone keep thinking that I'm going to do something to her? She's my damn soulmate. What kind of animal do they think I am?

"I'd like to see you try to take her." Ben snarls, eyes so dark they look black. He rolls off the wall to stand to his full height, daring Hughie to come closer. "She's safer with me than with the British Twat and with you."

"Oh really?" Hughie scoffs. "Because I seem to recall it was you who leveled the building and you who gave her a concussion."

"I saved her." Ben takes another step towards Hughie. By now the air around him has begun to heat, body pulled so tight that he could snap at any moment. "While you just sat around with his dick in your mouth."

"If you had told us like she asked you to, then she wouldn't have a concussion!" Your brother shouts back standing up from the couch to face Ben. "And I'm not going to leave her here with you!"

The glass in Ben's hand shatters raining shards down onto the hardwood floors and making you flinch hard beside your brother.

"Hugh-" Butcher starts to say, but the rest of it is drowned out by the thought that comes screaming through the bond into Ben's head.

I want to go home. I can't be here with him.

Ben hears you think.

His eyes flick to where you're curled into your brother, wide-eyed gaze still on Ben. Your eyes flick between your brother and Ben, worry and fear flowing freely.

You hadn't said much since Butcher and Hughie had shown up to Ben's apartment and it was Ben who had given the account of what happened, and then Ben that Butcher and Hughie had shouted at for not calling them.

As if he actually gave a fuck about that.

The only thing Ben cared about was that you were away from Stormfront and here at his apartment, where you should be, or want to be.

Where she should have been from the damn start if she wasn't so fucking stubborn.

Ben wasn't sorry for what he'd shouted at you earlier in his bedroom, but he did regret that he hadn't been able to say anything else before Hughie showed up.

"Butcher, please don't make me stay here." You say in almost a whisper, fingers curled in your lap. "Not with him."

Ben fights the flinch when you say it, but it does little to ease the roar of his anger that claws at his ribcage like a savage animal trying to break free.

He didn't understand how someone who had wished for him her whole life could be so against being with him now.

He'd lived your memories.

Felt the frustration, anger, loneliness, and sadness that plagued you in the moments you thought he didn't exist.

Saw every birthday you lit a candle for him.

Heard the taunts and jeers other people tossed your way when they saw the date on your wrist.

And even if it made Ben feel like a pussy, there was a little part of him that wanted to be the person you wished for, usually the same part of him that was drowned out by the confusion, anger, and annoyance at your current aversion to him.

Butcher gives you a sympathetic look and puts down his cup of tea on the queen sized glass coffee table in the middle of the room. He says your name in a soft way that makes jealousy curdle in the pit of Ben's stomach.

"Hughie, Annie, and I 'ave a gig down South. We’re going to be gone for a bit. And as much as I hate the thought of leavin' you with 'im," Butcher gestures his head in Ben's direction. "He's the only person that's going to keep you safe."

"But what if she doesn't come back?" You ask. "What if this was enough and she's gone for good?"

Ben chuckles darkly under his breath. "She won't come back if she knows what's good for her."

Personally, Ben couldn't wait for Stormfront to come back. He was ready to send her to hell where she belonged or at least somewhere like the hell he'd been in for the past 40 years.

Stormfront had no idea the things that he'd wished he'd been able to do to her for touching you.

"Buck up poppet." Butcher says, placing his hand on your shoulder. "I might be a son of a bitch, but I don't want you to get hurt again."

Your hand raises to your shoulder to hold his there a few seconds longer. "I'm okay."

The tremor in your voice makes Ben grind his teeth together so tight he hears it in his ears.

"No, you're not. And staying here with 'im will make sure you are."

Ben bristles at the feeling that floods through the bond between the two of you. It's soft, grateful, caring. Ben can see the way you look at Butcher. The kindness and gentleness reflected in your eyes as you lean into his touch while Butcher's expression softens.

It makes an inferno spark to life in Ben's chest.

She should be looking at me that way. Not with Butt-fuck Butcher! He's done plenty of horrible things, killed people, tortured others! Why can she let go of his shit, but not mine?!

He watches you wince as the thought comes into your head, and you drop your hand from where Butcher's squeezes your shoulder.

Because Butcher understands those things were wrong. He feels remorse. He's sorry.

Fine! I'm sorry, is that what the fuck I have to say to make you actually look at me?

You don't mean it. It might as well just be you saying the sky is green.

Ben huffs out a breath at your thought, but doesn't bother to say anything else.

He hated this.

Hated every single time you avoided looking at him.

Hated feeling like he was some beast that you couldn't bear to be in the same room with.

The sound of you calling him a monster rings in his ears all over again, followed by Stormfront's jeer. It makes an unusual feeling clench in Ben's chest, like he's being slowly pulled apart by one of those medieval stretching devices.

"Speaking of which-" Butcher sighs at the sound of his phone chirping in his pocket. "Yep, we've got to go."

"But-" Hughie begins.

"But-" You mirror.

"I've already lied to MM and said we were on our way an hour ago. I go another hour and he'll drive here and castrate us all." Butcher shrugs. "I don't know about 'ughie, but I don't want to live the rest of my life as a Monk, love."

"Butcher this is crazy. We can't just leave her with him. Not like this." Hughie tries to reason, pointing at the marks along your arm. "She might need to go to the hospital. She might have head trauma."

"You have head trauma if you think I'm going to let you take her." Ben grumbles under his breath.

He knew better than anyone here, the only way that Stormfront was going to get past him was if he was in the ground. Ben would go to his grave before she put another finger on you.

And like hell he was going to leave you with your limp-dick powerless brother.

It would be the same as leaving you with a flyswatter for protection.

"I don’t need to go to the hospital." You argue. "I'm fine-"

Why you decide to try to stand up at this moment, Ben isn't sure, but the moment you do Ben sees you wobble a step, head tilting sideways. He lunges towards you to catch your body before you fall, but his sudden movement makes you flinch back from him with a gasp and fall onto the couch beside your brother.

"Are you okay?" Hughie asks you, gently checking you over, but Ben doesn't hear it.

His jaw clamps shut with an audible snap as another unusual feeling squeezes Ben's heart in his chest.

He didn't know how to fix it.

Ben had tried everything he knew.

Sweet talking.

Saving you from a literal psychopath.

Flowers.

Saving you from a literal psychopath.

The arm flex.

The smolder.

Running his hand through his hair.

Oh what was that?  

SAVING you from a literal psychopath!

He might as well just be standing around with his dick in his hand, because it had done fuck all, you still wouldn't hold his gaze for more than a few seconds.

"I'm fine." You clear your throat, blinking with a shake of your head. "Just moved a little too fast."

Hughie raises his head to stare at Butcher. "We can't leave her like this."

"For fucks sake!" Ben finally explodes. "You're not leaving her with a rabid dog-"

"That's debatable." Hughie's eyes narrow.

"Keep talking like that and I'll give that mouth something to do." Ben snapped back eyes blazing. "She's here because I went to fucking get her. She's alive because I did what no one else could. And I don’t know how many times I have to fucking say it or if I have to write it with your ripped off arm- I'm not going to hurt her and I'm not going to let you take her away."

Butcher opens his mouth, but Ben doesn't stop, in fact, he only gets louder.

Predictably.

"So get the fuck out of my apartment, before I chuck you two uggos out the window."

"I don’t care how many times you say it! She's not staying here-" Hughie begins.

"Why are the three of you talking like I'm not even here and don't get a say in this?" You interrupt.

Honestly, you looked more like yourself than you had since Ben carried you away from the ruins, but right now that's not important to Ben.

"Because you don't." Ben replies.

It comes out in an authoritative gruff monotone, coupled with the usual intimidating stare that Ben used to get his way.

The same one that had no effect on you and usually only made you mouth off to him like it was a formal debate.

"I think I do!"

"No, you don't. Because the last time you had a say in anything you ended up in that corpse fuckers house of horrors!" He roars. "So just sit your ass down-"

"You don't get to talk to me like that."

"I can talk to you however the fuck I want sweetheart. It's a free country, you're welcome!"

It was perhaps better than the other thing he wanted to say, because you mouthing off to him made something akin to arousal begin to spread through his body. If you were up for it, he would have been more than willing to toss the other trespassers out on their asses before he took you back his bedroom and showed you exactly the way he wanted to talk to you.

By now the bond is flooded with annoyance and anger and Ben isn't exactly sure if it's coming from you or from him. Either way, he's not pleased.

Neither are you given the way your eyes are narrowed.

You open your mouth-

There are better things the two of us could be doing right now instead of arguing about this shit. Just say the word Sweetheart.

You visibly falter, whatever you were about to say lost in the fluster of Ben's words ringing in your head.

Ben's frown twitches upwards into a smirk, eyebrow raising. He thinks that he's won, that by making you speechless it's proven something.

"Oi-" Butcher says, drawing your attention back to him and breaking the spell. "It doesn’t matter how many times we go round robin with this, you have to stay here. I'm sorry."

"But-" Hughie stutters, but Butcher shuts him up with a look.

"We'll be back soon."

"But what about Heathcliff? I can't just leave him for days!" You argue. "And my clothes, my laptop, my books- What about my classes? My students? I can't just disappear!"

Who the fuck is Heathcliff? Does she have someone living at her house with her? How did I not see this?

He's my cat.

You amend in your head.

Oh.

"Call out sick." Hughie rubs the back of his neck as if anticipating how mad the statement will make you.

"What?" You gasp, looking offended. "You want me to lie? To Dale? Are you crazy? He’s a human lie detector and an asshole. Plus, I'm already on his shit list because of Fabio over there and the great Tate Toss of 2026!"

Ben glowers.

Oh good, that dinosaur. Good to know that she’ll just rely on old four eyes whenever I piss her off.

Shut up! You don’t get to mock me for caring about someone else Ben. That’ the whole point of being human.

Thank you for clearing that up. I’ll be sure to bring that up at the next monsters anonymous meeting.

Your eyebrows furrow together, a worried frown turning down the sides of your mouth.

I know that you don’t believe me, but I don’t think you’re a monster.

Ben only rolls his eyes.

You can't lie to me.

"Tate's your TA, can't he teach your class for a little while?" Butcher takes another long sip from his cup of tea.

"Well-" You hesitate, trying to find an answer that suits you, before sighing in defeat. "Yeah, he can."

"There we go love." Butcher winks. "No problems, only solutions."

Ben prickles at the use of the word ‘love’ and wonders how satisfying it would be to watch Butcher plummet to the ground.

"What about my stuff and my cat?" You sigh again. You seem small again, sinking low into the oversized living room couch. “I can’t stay here with no clothes.“ You pluck the end of the borrowed shirt for emphasis.

“We've got a pre-mission briefing." Hughie huffs in defeat. He knows that once Butcher made a decision it would take more than the National Guard to change his mind. "I can miss it to bring your stuff and Heathcliff if you want to make a list for me."

Ben watches your eyes flick to where he’s standing.

Maybe Heathcliff shouldn’t come here.

“For fucks sake.” Ben growls aloud. “I’m not going to kill your fucking cat.”

Hughie looks at Ben confused. “Who said anything about you killing her cat?”

Ben hesitates.

You hadn’t told your brother about the telepathic connection, hadn’t bothered to share it with anyone, and Ben didn’t want anyone to know about how the two of you suffered under Stormfront, not just him.

“Because I know how she thinks and it was bound to come up in conversation.” He grunts before turning away to pour himself another Manhattan.

You make the list, taking great care to write out everything you need, while Ben pretends to be interested in something outside the window instead of trying to catch glimpses of the things you hold dear as if it'll give him a better understanding of why you were the way you were.

He wanted to understand, the problem was no matter how many times he tried to, something got lost in translation.

Usually it was the fingers that he held firmly in each ear.

Hughie gives you one last big hug. "I'm not too far away. Just say the word and Annie and I'll be back here as soon as we can."

"Please be careful.” You sigh leaning in to your brother.

Ben meets your eye over Hughie’s shoulder. You’re watching him warily, brow furrowed. It makes Ben want to poke you between the eyes and smooth out the wrinkles with his fingertip.

I bet her skin is really soft.

Ben tenses, hoping that you missed his slip up, telling by the way your eyes have widened you didn’t.

What?

Shit.

On the terrace a pigeon coos softly, fluffing it's wings as it settles down into a nest for the night, giving Ben the distraction he needs for a few fleeting seconds.

Before you can think anything else, Butcher pulls you into a hug.

Ben’s fingers curl so tightly into his biceps that he’s sure you can feel it, the all-encompassing wave of rage burning through his every nerve ending, while the rabid part of his brain screams Mine!

It takes an alarming amount of restraint for Ben to hold himself back, your brother had been one thing but Butcher? Fuck no.

Perhaps what makes it worse is the way you lean into him, raise your hands to hold him a little closer, lay your head on Butcher’s chest, and the feeling of comfort that seeps through the bond from you.

You like that Butcher is hugging you and it makes Ben furious.

Red begins to creep into his vision the longer he stands there, chest warming, jaw pulling so tight he hears a snap in his head.

Butcher leans in closer to you so he can whisper in your ear, hoping that Ben can't hear. "I know you’re scared, but maybe he’ll surprise you if you give him a chance.”

I don’t think he deserves one.

“Please Butcher, let me go with you. I can boost morale or something or at least make some tea.” You give Butcher a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Maybe next time.”

“Alright, that’s enough fucking touching.” Ben doesn’t bother to whisper it, but it still makes Butcher chuckle low under his breath.

“Should be nicer to me wanker, I’m giving you time off, and having her stay here.” Butcher’s eyes twinkle with his usual shit eating grin. “Say another word and I might try a little harder to work out another arrangement.”

The silence when they leave is deafening, an odd energy thrumming through the air between the two of you that tugs at piece of you that lives inside of Ben.

Two falling stars that can't help but collide in the celestial sky.

It builds to an overwhelming throb in the center of his chest.

Your eyes flick in his direction, an unknown emotion building in the iris that Ben can feel pounding along with the beat of his heart.

He can feel the twitch of his fingertips where his hands hang at his sides. He wants so badly to touch you, to do something, because the longer he stands there apart from you reminds him of the year he spent thinking that he'd never find you again.

Ben clears his throat, but you break the silence first.

"You could have just left me there." You reply quietly more to yourself than to him.

"What?" Ben blinks in surprise.

"Just admit it. You regret saving me and bringing me here because I won't-"

"You think I regret saving you?"

His voice is guttural, seated so low in his chest it might as well be hidden behind the dam with everything else that upset him.

The feeling seeping through the bond shifts, an uncomfortable sensation festering in the pit of your stomach the longer Ben stares at you. Fear comes with the dark flash of Ben’s eyes, scuttling along your vertebrae.

“Think again sweetheart.”

He approaches with measured footsteps, eyes so dark you can no longer see his pupils. When Ben speaks again his voice is nothing more than a growl that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up on end.

"I regret is that she put her hands on what's mine. I regret letting you walk away with that spineless piece of shit the other day when I knew that bitch was out there. I regret every single second you spent with that corpse fucker. She should have never been able to get that close to you, never been able to touch you.”

His eyes sweep over the bruises pebbled across your arms allowing himself to feel the full force of his rage for Stormfront's deeds, before raising to your face once more. “You would be dead if it wasn’t for me, remember that the next time you accuse me of something like that.”

He turns-

“So would you.” You say.

Ben stops halfway to the stairs. “What does that mean?”

“She said that we’re-“ You pause trying to find the word. “Special.”

Ben glances over his shoulder, eyes so dark they take on the color of a forest when night falls. 

“There isn’t anything special about this clusterfuck sweetheart. And I wouldn’t listen to anything she said.”

“It’s why I- I mean- It's we can hear each other’s thoughts.”

“If you can’t tell me how to get rid of it then I’m not interested.”

“She didn’t.”

"Then it's not important."

"Ben-"

"What?" He sighs, looking anywhere, but at you.

He knew that looking at you would bring the feeling creeping back over him, the one that he was sure you felt, but did a better job of ignoring it.

Of course she fucking does. She doesn’t want anything to do with you. You're just another disappointment.

Your soft gasp with the thought comes in loud as a thunderclap. The silence in the air charged with electricity.

"Oh Ben-" You breathe. It comes out softer than the way you've ever spoken to him, reminds him far too much of the way you spoke to Butcher.

Gentle.

Caring.

Ben can’t remember the last time someone said his name like that.

Just another fucking lie.

He knew how you felt about him and it appeared that nothing he did would ever be enough.

Something inside of Ben breaks with the tone shift in your, an unnamable feeling rushing in a flood through his entire body breaking through the wall he tries so hard to keep firmly in place.

For a few seconds, Ben feels it all. Everything that he's tried to push down for the better part of 80 years.

Disappointment, frustration, guilt, and the feeling that always came in the dark when he was alone and the woman who warmed his bed had long gone.

The overwhelming rush makes him shut his eyes tight, curl his hands into fists at his sides, and grit his teeth, trying desperately to push it down, to sweep it under the rug the way he always does.

When he opens his eyes, he loses the last shred of control.

You're staring at him, eyes a little misty, your expression is pained. "I-" You stutter slightly, unsure what to say. "I'm sorry that I- I mean I can't- Ben I wish that-"

"Pick whatever room you want." Ben interrupts, expression hardening to his usual detached self. "There's plenty of them to keep you as far as you want from me."

He turns to go, but it doesn't stop the flood of emotions that claw their way through his body to drag you under, neither does the sound of the soft sob that breaks through the silence.

Wait-

It makes him want to turn around, but he won't.

Not when he knows it won't make a difference.

A/N: Bear with me now. I promise this is going somewhere, there's just a whole bunch of angst along the way 🤣

As always thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, Likes, and Comments are not required but are always appreciated. I love hearing what y'all think! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series let me know!

Taglist:

@reidtomewinchester @livya99 @pascal-rascal424 @xaviersgifted @zepskies

@bagpussjocken @bitchykittenconnoisseur @kamisobsessed @goldenmaknaes @ophennie

@infinityonhighhhhh @modiddys-blog @globetrotter28 @roseblue373 @tulipsvanilla

@annoyingrebelsoul @soldiergrimes @megara0224 @zpandaqueen @ladykitana90

@corruptedcruiser @podiumackles @criminalyetminimal

@deangirl96 @kr804573 @the-super-who-locked-wizard

@pamwritessometimes @roger-that-cap @my-obsession-spn

@52ndstreeet @mrsjenniferwinchester @impala67stellawinchester

@bookchik26 @anna6307

@moodyquesadilla @isla-finke-blog @green-which

@thoughtfullyfurryangel @winchester-stark

@amyjam78 @emisworldd @jollyhunter

@screaming-les-bean @nevercameraready @httpstes @youdontknowe @lori19

@sweetiecelin @sarahmclean15 @multifandomgirl2018 @disappearintofanfiction @maddie0101

Ben POV

"You want her to what?" Hughie sputters from the couch beside you at Butcher.

Butcher nurses a cup of tea, leaning back into the uncomfortable white chair on the opposite side of the football sized living room. His usual disheveled appearance seems exacerbated by the delicate white cloth beneath his body.

By now the sun outside was nothing more than a hazy orange blob slowly sinking into the horizon, the rest of the city beginning to come alive with the famous NYC nightlife.

If Ben were paying attention to any of it he'd hear the familiar screech and honks of the gridlocked taxis, watch the flash of the lights below as they flicker on one at a time, and find some sense of peace in the noises below. He wasn't.

Since the moment your brother came hurtling through his bedroom door, Ben's full attention has been on you.

"I think that it's best she stay here. We don’t know where Stormfront is and the second we leave her, the cunt will come out of the woodwork like a termite. Maybe if the Yankee twat had given us a call things would be different, but for now that’s the only plan we’ve got."

Taglist:

@reidtomewinchester @livya99 @pascal-rascal424 @xaviersgifted @zepskies

@bagpussjocken @bitchykittenconnoisseur @kamisobsessed @goldenmaknaes @ophennie

@infinityonhighhhhh @modiddys-blog @globetrotter28 @roseblue373 @tulipsvanilla

@annoyingrebelsoul @soldiergrimes @megara0224 @zpandaqueen @ladykitana90

@corruptedcruiser @podiumackles @criminalyetminimal

@deangirl96 @kr804573 @the-super-who-locked-wizard

@pamwritessometimes @roger-that-cap @my-obsession-spn

@52ndstreeet @mrsjenniferwinchester @impala67stellawinchester

@bookchik26 @anna6307

@moodyquesadilla @isla-finke-blog @green-which

@thoughtfullyfurryangel @winchester-stark

@amyjam78 @emisworldd @jollyhunter

@screaming-les-bean @nevercameraready @httpstes @youdontknowe @lori19

@sweetiecelin @sarahmclean15 @multifandomgirl2018 @disappearintofanfiction @maddie0101

Ben POV

"You want her to what?" Hughie sputters from the couch beside you at Butcher.

Butcher nurses a cup of tea, leaning back into the uncomfortable white chair on the opposite side of the football sized living room. His usual disheveled appearance seems exacerbated by the delicate white cloth beneath his body.

By now the sun outside was nothing more than a hazy orange blob slowly sinking into the horizon, the rest of the city beginning to come alive with the famous NYC nightlife.

If Ben were paying attention to any of it he'd hear the familiar screech and honks of the gridlocked taxis, watch the flash of the lights below as they flicker on one at a time, and find some sense of peace in the noises below. He wasn't.

Since the moment your brother came hurtling through his bedroom door, Ben's full attention has been on you.

"I think that it's best she stay here. We don’t know where Stormfront is and the second we leave her, the cunt will come out of the woodwork like a termite. Maybe if the Yankee twat had given us a call things would be different, but for now that’s the only plan we’ve got."

Taglist:

@reidtomewinchester @livya99 @pascal-rascal424 @xaviersgifted @zepskies

@bagpussjocken @bitchykittenconnoisseur @kamisobsessed @goldenmaknaes @ophennie

@infinityonhighhhhh @modiddys-blog @globetrotter28 @roseblue373 @tulipsvanilla

@annoyingrebelsoul @soldiergrimes @megara0224 @zpandaqueen @ladykitana90

@corruptedcruiser @podiumackles @criminalyetminimal

@deangirl96 @kr804573 @the-super-who-locked-wizard

@pamwritessometimes @roger-that-cap @my-obsession-spn

@52ndstreeet @mrsjenniferwinchester @impala67stellawinchester

@bookchik26 @anna6307

@moodyquesadilla @isla-finke-blog @green-which

@thoughtfullyfurryangel @winchester-stark

@amyjam78 @emisworldd @jollyhunter

@screaming-les-bean @nevercameraready @httpstes @youdontknowe @lori19

@sweetiecelin @sarahmclean15 @multifandomgirl2018 @disappearintofanfiction @maddie0101

Guide:

Reader's thoughts are in italics and in first person.

Ben's thoughts in italics, bold, and blue!

Reader POV

"You know, I'm actually a little impressed." Stormfront drawls from somewhere above you, her cape slithers along the ground behind her. "I thought that you were just another little dumb dora, but here you are taking more electricity than a cellmate on his way to the promised land. I mean yeesh."

Images of your current state came in shades of gray.

Green light flickering across cracked concrete.

Dripping water into rusted pipes.

Homelander's glassy blue eyes.

You'd stopped screaming after the last bout of white hot electricity Stormfront sent skittering through the air. The only movement you'd purposely done was curl yourself into a ball as if that would protect you.

It wouldn't.

Nothing could.

You didn't know how long it had been since it started, only that each wave pain that she inflicted lasted longer and longer.

And you weren't sure how much more of it you could take.

By now you knew that no one was coming, that Ben didn't care enough to tell Butcher or Hughie that you needed help, that he'd left you for dead.

What did I expect? All he sees me as is a piece of property, like a pair of socks. He left me a year ago without looking back and now he's going to leave me to die here.

You figured that Ben didn't know about the whole "entwined" thing and wouldn't figure it out before it was too late.

An ugly feeling squirms in the pit of your stomach thinking about Stormfront winning after everything. It seemed silly that after a lifetime of wishing for a soulmate that when you actually found him your life fell apart.

Funny I thought the trainwreck was before, now it's a whole highway to hell.

Stormfront says something, but you miss it.

Complete with a demon.

Spots dance across your vision, but you don't raise your head from the cool concrete floor. There was something soothing about the rough surface beneath your cheek, a nice break from each painful volts that Stormfront was more than happy to send crackling through the thin air in the basement.

A lone ant creeps past your face, antenna wiggling, tiny legs swiftly carrying it. You wish it godspeed.

Maybe Ben told Butcher or Hughie.

A hopeful voice suggests in your head, no doubt the same part of you that hadn't quite grasped that Ben was bad news.

But you knew that it was wrong. If your brother or Butcher knew that you were being held captive they would ride through hellfire to get you back.

Butcher especially.

You didn't understand why he had taken such a liking to you, but had a sneaking suspicion it was because you could make a cup a tea that made him weak at the knees.

"John used to like it when I'd give him a few zaps just to keep things interesting. Never met someone so excited to get electrocuted before. I wonder how Ben is taking it." She continues oblivious to your discomfort.

Her cape swishes with her movement through the room, fluttering out in an unnatural breeze that swept through the damp space. Fredrick's glassy eyes follow her every move, his fingertips twitching in the pickle juice or whatever the hell it is he is suspended in.

You don't give Stormfront the satisfaction of an answer. You were sure that she'd had plenty of satisfaction today and like hell you were going to give her any more. Honestly, the effort of putting one together didn’t seem to be on top of your to-do list. The little brainpower you still had was focused on trying to think of a way out of here, but you were coming up short.

The only thing that you could piece together in your brain were questions that you didn't want to know the answer to.

How long would Stormfront play with you before she grew bored?

How much more electricity could you take before your heart gave out?

How were Butcher and Hughie going to find you if Ben didn't say anything?

Stormfront hums a jaunty tune under her breath, smirk growing the longer she stares at you.

It makes you think of the time Heathcliff  chased after a rogue spider who had the unfortunate luck to crawl out from under your dresser in front of him. He'd pulled the legs off one by one just to watch the spider squirm on the ground, running in circles but never going anywhere. He'd looked so pleased with himself. Brought you the stubby body of the insect and asked for scratches.

The only thing he'd earned was a started scream from you when he dropped it in your lap.

Comparing Stormfront to your cat was too easy, and if you ever got out of here you weren't sure if you'd ever be able to look at him the same way again.

"I wonder if he's realized that you're in trouble yet or thinks that he's just going crazy. Having flash-backs from his time in Russia."

The bed squeaks when Stormfront sits down, sending a cloud of dust out from the sheets. Her head tilts in your direction, dark hair falls forward into her face framing the pale skin and glittering black eyes.

The haunting image of the femme fatale that bewitched so many romantics.

A pale faced woman waiting to reap the souls of the damned alongside the ancient mariner.

Geraldine lying in wait for Christabel in a moonlit wood with the shadows of the trees above dragging across delicate flesh.

La Belle Dame Sans Merci ensnaring a lovesick knight.

However, Stormfront's beauty had a harsh edge, beautiful until you came too close. Like the glint of a knife laying on the kitchen counter.

You wonder what it took for someone to become like her, if perhaps she's always been like this or if it developed after Homelander was killed.

Probably not, because she's a Nazi and proud to be one. 

"That is something I wished that I looked into more, Ben being in that lab." Her cat-like smile grows. "I'll bet it was just as fun watching him get put in his place. All that bravado with nowhere to gallop."

The light in the room was dimmer now, as if all the electricity Stormfront sent hurtling through the thin air made something happen to the generator that hummed a few rooms away. Water dripped from the creaky rusted pipes in the corner onto the concrete floor, the patter of the droplets on stone a reprieve from the buzzing in your head.

There was an unpleasant tingling sensation tracing through your body, bringing a sweeping numbness with it. You tried to summon any information that you had on electrocution and people, but nothing came to the surface of your mind.

Concentrating on things was hard when it felt like your brain had been through an air fryer.

Somewhere in the muffled darkness of your mind, you think you hear Ben's voice. It's faint and you can't make out anything he's saying, but it's there. And instead of filling you with the ungodly amount of fear that usually came whenever he appeared, you feel something fluttering like hope in your chest.

Perhaps it really is a thing with feathers.

You think to yourself trying to focus on Ben's voice, but it comes through garbled and out of reach.

I'm here Ben. I just don't know where here is.

You think as loud as you can, but you don't feel the warmth that usually comes when the two of you are connected. It feels futile, it all does.

"Do you feel bad that he didn't come for you?" She muses. "I mean, I watched the two of you in the park the other day, saw you tell him to go away. Do you regret that? Calling Ben a monster? It's a shitty last thing to say to someone."

You don't answer.

There is a little part of you that does feel guilty for calling Ben that. Yes, he is a murder and you didn't want anything to do with him, but a monster? The word was so harsh, like something a princess would yell at a cackling witch in a fairy tale. 

Would a monster bring you your favorite flowers?

Would a monster try to make you laugh?

Would a monster tell you that he'd searched for you everywhere?

You didn't know.

You didn't usually say things like that to people, but he'd pushed you so hard in that moment, been so unwilling to listen to you that it just came out. You'd thought it was the only thing to make him go away, to get your point across, and you had, but you didn't think that it would hurt him so much. The memory of the look in his eyes the moment you uttered that word in the park makes your heart flip-flop in your chest.

Your soulmate was a lot of things. You'd lived through every memory alongside him, but there were pieces of him that you felt weren't monster-like. The problem was those pieces were spread too thin, attributes put through a taffy puller that got longer and longer until they weren't the same ones they were before.

Memories of his childhood slip through your fingers. You'd seen them before, seen the way his father treated him, the way his mother doted on him, the way he struggled to find his place in the world-

It was easier for you to find yourself in the man he was before he became a supe, but not now.

We all make mistakes. A small voice in your head whispers. You've made mistakes.

It almost makes you roll your eyes because you'd never murdered anyone before.

Stormfront's smirk slips into a confused frown. "You know, I really don't understand you."

Her fingertips begin to brush through Homelander's matted silvery blonde hair. "You pushed away your soulmate the first chance you got. Do you have any idea what I would give to have another moment with him?"

The look on her face shifts to something that almost makes you feel bad for her. It was the same way Mrs. Charleson looked whenever she talked about her soulmate.

I will not feel bad for a psychotic necrophiliac.

"Why did you do that?" She half-laughs to herself. "I thought since you're such a starry eyed sap you would have gone into heat at the sight of that ridiculous bouquet of flowers. Oh wait were you waiting for him to sing you a ballad or quote some poetry? I swear you're the most boring person I've ever met in my life. It's no wonder Ben left you for a whole year, probably wanted something a little more real. Needed to find someone to fuck that wouldn't say 'I love you' within five seconds of him fucking them."

"Go to hell." You wheeze, but it doesn't quite have the bite you wanted, not when you believed there were shades of truth in what she said.

You didn't look like any of the women you'd seen Ben with before. The confident ones with burning eyes and curled fingertips to coax your soulmate into their beds.  The women that seemed to have the same harsh edge that Stormfront did, the sultry way they carried themselves with more confidence than you'd ever had.

If Ben actually cared he wouldn't have left a year ago.

The voice in your head says, bringing the same wave of disappointment and loneliness it usually did when you were stuck with it for too long.

You could still remember the way your voice caught in your throat when you tried to call out to him, when you wanted to beg him to come back, but he never did.

Maybe if he'd stayed things would be different.

You had thought that before. That maybe a year ago you would have been more willing to hear what he had to say, but what's done is done.

Now you were in the after, and the world was falling apart, and the unrelenting waves of zombies never seemed to end.

Speaking of which.

Homelander's body jostles when Stormfront moves, his head flopping over to the side, glazed eyes sending a chill down your spine. 

"I'm sure that your soulmate has been and will tell you all about it." Stormfront waves a hand dismissively. "I almost feel bad for you getting saddled with Ben. Don't get me wrong the guy's a good fuck, but I've heard him call the whole soulmate thing bullshit more than once."

That isn't surprising at all.

"But there was that one time-" She trails off giving you a thoughtful look, with a "hmph."

Your heart stutters to a stop in your chest. The little part inside that called out to Ben turned her full attention to the sadist sitting on the weathered bed.

"Probably nothing, but one time after Herogasm I went to the bathroom and when I walked out he was staring at his wrist."

He was what?

In none of the memories you'd seen had you gleaned any kind of care about soulmates or fate, but this? This was crazy.

I've been looking everywhere for you sweetheart.

Ben's words from the housewarming party bring a wave of heat with them, sending the prickle of goosebumps over your arms. You'd thought about what he said every single day since he'd found you again.

For a nightmare, that one line was enough to make your romantic heart feel like it was going to melt through your ribcage and puddle on the floor. Because it was just what you'd always imagined your soulmate saying to you after all the years you'd spent apart.

It was the one thing that you couldn't quite shake about him.

That someone so different than you, filled with anger, rage, and bloodlust would say something like that.

Sure, he could have been lying, but there was something so genuine about it. The way his eyes shone greenish gold in the sunlight that streamed through the open windows and the soft feeling that wove between the two of you from him made you want to pull him closer, to lose yourself in him the way that you'd always wished. In that moment you felt the loneliness within you subside, replaced with something hopeful, the gentle budding of a flower in spring reaching upwards to the sun.

Your eyes drift to the impossible golden date on your wrist.

It still haunted you, just in a different way. You'd never once considered that the date on his own wrist haunted Ben. That the only person in the entire world who had any idea what it was like waiting for someone that they weren't sure really existed, was Ben. It made the distance you put between the two of you shorten.

"Not like sappy looking at it, but the guy was definitely looking. Though getting anything out of him is like trying to break into Fort Knox." Stormfront shrugs, eyes beginning to glow a vivid purple once more. The smell of ozone fills the room as her powers flare to life. "Guess we'll never find out."

You brace yourself against the concrete in preparation for the onslaught, but it doesn’t come.

The solid metal door to the room flies off it's hinges and smacks Stormfront square in the chest sending her reeling backward into the cinderblock wall behind the bed with a sickening thud.

"Don't you ever get sick of hearing your own fucking voice?" Ben growls from the ruined doorway. He steps into the room wearing the same green t-shirt blue jeans combo that you'd seen him in the other day, but he's there.

He looks more rumpled than usual. Dark hair flying about his head, shirt wrinkled, eyes flaring an unsettling deep green that glitters in the flickering lights, but he's there.

He came?

The thought comes before you can stop it, fizzing to life at the back of your mind.

Ben's gaze drops to you.

Did you really think I wouldn't?

He'd never responded to something you'd thought outright like that, but it makes the hope begin to flutter anew in your heart.

The moment his eyes lock with yours you feel the same way you did the moment you saw him for the first time. The unmistakable flare of heat in your chest, the catch of your breath, the air around the two of you popping and crackling with something alive, something real that breathes through the space. The rest of the world falls away in the rush of heat that comes with the soft trace of his eyes over your face. A gentleness that you didn't expect seeps through the bond followed by worry, replacing the blistering anger that came through for a few fleeting moments.

He's worried about me?

It was odd to feel that come through the bond between the two of you. In every memory you'd relived you’d never once felt anything that felt caring in your soulmate's mind, but this is unmistakable.

The softness in his eyes hardens to the darkened emerald they were the moment he appeared in the doorway when he notes the bruises, blisters, and scrapes along your skin.

That fucking bitch.

His voice growls in your head, sending a shudder down your spine.

"Benjamin! So nice of you to join us." Stormfront cackles, pushing the door off of her and onto the concrete floor. It rattles for a moment before lying still. "You look well."

"Cut the shit Clara." Ben snaps.

"Still so angry all the time. Can't be good for the heart." Her smile is forced, but she still has the same spring in her step. "I was just getting acquainted with your soulmate. She's fun to play with."

The heat that burns through the bond makes your eyes water. Ben's form takes on a shimmering gold that makes your throat tight, growing brighter by the second. You knew what happened whenever he got angry and the last thing that you wanted was for him to go nuclear with you only inches away.

He'll kill us all.

Ben's hands curl into fists in response to your thought, the glow fades a few shades, but still swirls beneath his skin.

"Touch her again and you'll see how angry I can get." Ben flexes the muscles on his arms. His eyes focus on the ruined body of Homelander laying on the bed. "Fuck, you kept him this entire time? I can't imagine him being any more limp dick now than he was when he was alive."

Stormfront bristles, eyes flaring a vibrant purple. "Don’t you dare speak about him that way."

"Sorry, did I strike a nerve sweetheart?" Ben's smirk pulls on the end of his lips. "Didn’t peg you for a necrophiliac, though-" He nods to the tank holding Frederick. "Should have known given how many times you wanted to fuck in front of him."

There are so many parts of this conversation that I didn't need to know.

You think to yourself in disgust.

If Ben is embarrassed about having sex with Stormfront he certainly didn't let it show. There was almost a little part of you that was embarrassed by how chaste you'd been your whole life waiting for the man standing in front of you. It had been something that you’d cherished, something special that you'd wanted to share with your soulmate, but now knowing that Ben was the way he is only made you feel all the more juvenile. He obviously didn't care about any of that.

Ben's hand twitches at his side again and he fights the urge to turn back and look at you. He didn't like the feelings coming through the bond, but he kept his gaze focused on Stormfront. He knew the moment he looked at you he was going to lose the last shred of control he had, and you were right, him going nuclear right now in this tiny room wouldn't be good for anybody.

Feeling the pain of what Stormfront had done to you was one thing, but seeing you, curled up in a ball, looking like it hurt to even breathe? Ben was surprised he hadn't leveled the whole block at the sight.

"You're even more fucked up now than you were 40 years ago." He scoffs with a shake of his head.

"I'm sure that I can say the same about you." She spits back. "You ruined everything."

"Life is full of disappointments doll. Surely you know that by now." Ben mirrors her movement to put himself between her and you.

"No, but I'm sure you do." Stormfront's smirk comes back with a vengeance. "Must feel terrible for even your soulmate to reject you huh Benny. Poor baby. Still alone after all these years. Does that hurt?"

Ben's jaw snaps together with an audible clack.

"To think you spent all those years fucking away your worries trying to fill that hole inside of you, hoping that someone would love you, just for the one person supposed to, to shit all over you and call you a monster. I can't imagine that." She continues. "And she thinks I'm cruel."

The feeling that comes through the bond isn't anger, it's something different, something that curdles and writhes in the pit of your stomach. Ben doesn't look away from Stormfront, but you can see the way his shoulders have tensed, fists curling on either side of his body.

You wonder if he's trying not to think anything because he knows it'll only come through your head.

Ben, I shouldn't have said that.

You think.

You meant it. You're just apologizing because you think I'm going to walk away and leave you here with this fucking bitch.

He replies, not bothering to turn to look at you.

No, I-

A sickening flash of purple throws Ben backwards into the wall, but you don't have time to worry about him, because Stormfront sends the next bolt into you.

Pain sears through your entire body making a scream rip from your already raw throat. The wave of electricity burns through every nerve ending, sets your synapses on fire, and makes your body convulse on the ground. Stormfront's cackle of a laugh off the walls around you and the rest of the world melts away in a shock of purple light.

The room begins to shake.

Golden light spills from the hallway as Ben reenters, chest glowing like a meteor. Your retinas burn, black spots dance across your vision, and you cower low against the ground. You knew what happened whenever Ben was like this, knew that no one was safe once he went nuclear.

The shared memory of herogasm comes with a wave of nausea- bodies blackened beyond recognition, screams, and the ruins of the house all around your soulmate as he stumbled to his feet and shook his head. An ungodly amount of fear travels the length of your broken body.

The terms "duck" and "cover" come to mind, a ridiculous child's cartoon of children during the Cold War ducking under their desks to save themselves from a nuclear bomb playing in your head.

As if that would help.

"B-" You try to say, but your dry mouth doesn't quite let you form the words.

Ben's eyes flash a brilliant gold, dropping low to look at where you're curled on the concrete floor.

An overwhelming surge of hatred and rage comes searing through the bond like nothing you've ever felt.

How dare she touch her?

Ben's voice comes through in a low growl that vibrates in your chest like an angry swarm of bees. Ben's anger was all consuming, flooding through the bond and making your own heartbeat pick up. You felt your own body beginning to heat alongside his, energy threading through each cell. You could feel the heat of the nuclear energy building in the room, but you still felt the cold chill of fear tracing down your spine.

"Ben-" You croak. "Don't, please!"

Your fingertips brush the edge of his jeans, trying to find the soft warm skin of his ankle and get him to focus on something else, anything else other than the anger you could feel surging between the two of you.

His eyes flash gold, dropping low to look at where you are curled on the concrete floor. Recognition dawns in his gaze, but he's too far gone. There's nothing that can stop him now.

The room trembles, Stormfront pounces, and Ben's hand closes hard around your bicep before throwing you backwards away from him to the safety of the hallway.

There are a few awful moments of weightlessness, before everything goes black in the brilliant blast of amber light and the thud of your head against the cinderblock wall.

Reader POV

You wake to the buzz of an electric razor, that or a swarm of bees.

With the way your luck had been going over the past few days, the later seemed more probable.  It vibrates in your head stirring you from an unfit sleep and aggravating the headache that pinches at the bridge of your nose.

Waking up feels like trying to come up from air after being underwater for fifty years. Every part of your body feels uncomfortable, skin stretched so tight over your bones, throbbing headache-

Fuck.

Your fingers probe along the back of your head to find the goose-egg sized lump. It throbs angrily beneath the gentle press of your fingers.

Okay, laying here seems like a good idea.

You think to yourself, blinking your eyes open to stare at the brilliant white ceiling above you.

Dark beams run the length each one the same thickness of your entire body, while a ceiling fan the size of a ship's propeller circles on a low speed.

Watching it makes your head spin even more, so you sit up.

Big mistake.

You groan softly, dropping your face into your hands to fight the wave of nausea that came with the movement. Soft fabric falls off your shoulders, a plush white comforter that pools in your lap, feather light and cool to the touch.

Oppressive sunlight burns your retinas as you blink open your eyes, blinding you for a few moments. Black spots dance the macarena in your vision.

Floor to ceiling windows on the far side of the giant room glow a brilliant gold in the setting sun, catching the clouds beyond on fire while the world below is painted in shades of orange, red, and pink. The light skitters over the caramel colored wooden floors to bathe the room with brilliance, but does little to ease the wave of anxiety that crashes over you.

None of this is familiar.

Where am I?

Flashes from before come with a blinding jolt of electricity and the cackle of a manic laugh.

Stormfront's sinister smile with each volt that she sent crackling through the air.

Homelander's cold body pressed so close against your own bringing the stench of rotten meat.

The sickening green hue of the tank that held Stormfront's ancient lover.

Ben glowing gold in the dim light, the sound of his voice bringing something that felt deceptively like hope through your body where it laid on the cracked concrete.

A blinding flash of light and heat that came with darkness to swallow you whole.

Ben went nuclear. How am I alive right now?

Fear squeezes your chest in a vice, every part of you on high alert as you fumble around for your glasses. They're on the chunky bedside table, still cracked, but bring the room into startling focus when you put them on.

It might as well be a cathedral.

The lofted ceilings are even more impressive now. Even with the dark beams, the brilliant white makes you feel incredibly small. Ugly paintings of obscure shapes in black and gray hang on the wall opposite the windows, broken up by two doors so large an escalade could drive through no problem.

Your head swivels to the muted TV the size of a jumbotron directly across from the bed surrounded by empty built ins. Images flash across the screen so fast that you have to shut your eyes to fight a wave of dizziness and nausea.

Something feels wrong.

There's a dream-like quality to the world you inhabit, but it does little to stop the fear that flares to life in your chest as you desperately try to figure out how the hell you could have ended up somewhere like this.

The memory of something strong and solid lifting you from the ground and bringing a warmth through your body that you'd never known comes floating to the surface of your consciousness. Whatever or whoever it was had been unnaturally gentle and caring.

Maybe Butcher showed up after and I missed it.

Your eyes open once more to take in the room.

It is so clean it might as well be a hotel or a hospital. There are no photos of family, no clothes, no discarded socks, not even an awkward pair of underwear balled up in the corner. The caramel hardwood floors look so clean and soft that you could slide across with effortless grace. Even the bed is made perfectly around your body, the corners of the comforter tucked neatly under the mattress.

The complete opposite of where Stormfront kept you for goodness knows how long.

The windows beyond show no other buildings, just endless sky painted with the light from the setting sun, leaving you more confused about where you are. You didn't know a single place in New York City with this kind of view, well, not one you could afford anyway.

It feels empty here.

A melancholy feeling rises in the back of your throat as you think about the comfort of your cluttered studio apartment with it's stacks of paperbacks and lived in mess.  You could always count on there to be a half-full mug of coffee sitting beside your reading chair in the corner, a crumpled ball of paper shoved under the dresser, and a discarded sweater hanging off the back of your couch. And even though your neighbors annoyed you, the noise they brought was a comfort. It made the world alive.

But in this room there's nothing.

No people speaking.

No water gurgling two floors away.

No tap dancing.

No tv mumbling through the walls.

Nothing.

It's enough to make you wish for the swarm of bees all over again.

The only furniture in sight is the chunky dark wood bedside tables braced on either side of the monstrous bed and the only clue as to someone living here was the ashtray filled with half-smoked blunts on the side table and an empty glass that had the strong smell of alcohol.

Pain throbs through your entire body, limbs heavy, head spinning.

Where am I?

You think to yourself again. A hazy image tries to claw it's way to the surface at the back of your head, but nothing discernable surfaces.

Even though you have no idea where you are, there's something tugging at the back of your mind that you'd been here before. It's an odd sensation, a tickle, but there's something familiar about where you are. You just can't put your finger on it.

"Hey doll, feeling better?"

The low rumble of Ben's voice makes something inside of you sing, but it's quickly swept away in a flood of fear because this is about the time you realize you're naked.

Well… you're swaddled in an oversized Giants jersey and wearing a pair of boxers that you are 100% sure aren't yours and can't remember putting on, but still it's enough to make your stomach clench.

Your head snaps up to Ben.

Clad only in a pair of dark gray sweatpants slung so low on his hips it might be criminal, your soulmate looks different than he did the last time you saw him; glowing bright enough to put out the sun with a painful flood of rage roaring through the bond.

But here, he's different.

The silvery mist that twists from the open door behind him softens the sharp edges of your soulmate making something catch in your throat.

His gaze is inquisitive, eyes the color of fresh grass dragging over your body, obscured by the damp strands of hair that hang long into his face. The soft pad of his bare feet against the floor when he takes a step towards you is featherlight as is the emotion that probes in the space that feels deceptively like worry.

Flecks of water speckle over the taunt skin of his abdomen and trail down the dips and curves of his muscular chest following the natural trail of his body. Perhaps if you weren't scared shitless of the man standing in front of you, you might consider sending whomever bound you together a nice edible arrangement.

Because D-A-M-N.

It wasn't the first time that you'd admired your soulmate and probably wouldn't be the last.

You knew that Ben was gorgeous. Dark hair, green eyes, body that would make even the smartest of women stupid. The man standing in front of you looked like he had been woven from your favorite novels, tv shows, and movies, the flesh and blood version of every brooding leading man who held your heart whenever you tore through paperback after paperback trying to find solace in the pages because the real world was too much. The problem was that you knew what was inside.

The ugly parts of him that lurked beneath the surface in the darkness.

Anger.

Jealousy.

Pride.

Reciting the rest of the 7 deadly sins seemed exhaustive, but the gang was all there as far as you were concerned.

You'd lived every single revenge filled fantasy, every horrible thing he'd done with no remorse, every drop of blood on his hands you'd seen spilt. You knew exactly the kind of man your soulmate was and you wanted no part of that.

No part of him.

As much as it hurt you to think that after years of waiting for him it was true.

The soft feeling that came when you looked at him is gone in an instant as reality begins to take hold of you once more. Your soulmate is dangerous, there was no denying that, and even barefoot and shirtless with his hair still wet from his shower, he was still the most powerful supe to ever live.

"Where the hell am I? Where are my clothes? Did you-" The words almost blur together the moment you say them, fingers curled and white knuckled in the plush comforter. You feel yourself cringe backwards against the heavy wooden headboard, trying to find something to ground you.

Thoughts of everything Ben could have done to you while you were asleep makes you skin crawl. You yank the comforter up over you further to stop the trace of his curious eyes against your skin.

What the fuck is she talking about?

Ben's voice creeps through the bond, cocking his head to the side.

"Did I what?" Ben blinks.

The soft feeling of his concern is ripped away when he finds his answer, replaced with a white hot bolt of rage that burns it's way from the top of your head down to the tips of your toes. The temperature in the room raises and a sharp glow flares out from the center of Ben's chest growing with the force of his anger.

It does little to ease your anxiety about being in the same room as him. You were sure that wherever Stormfront had kept you was vaporized.

You hoped she was too, but again you were sure that you weren't that lucky.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Ben roars, half-smile dropping into an enraged scowl. "Do you really think that I would do something like that? That I would do anything to hurt you? That I would want to? You're my soulmate for fucks sake!"

What kind of bastard does she think I am? I'm a fucking hero!

Ben takes a step in your direction, and you flinch back from him. Somewhere beneath the flames of Ben's anger you feel something sour root itself with your movement, but you don't have time to dissect it.

The comforter is a poor excuse for a shield, and you knew that Ben had probably already seen you naked, but you keep it firmly in place between the two of you. 

"I don't know what you want!" You shout back.

You didn't.

Ben was a mystery to you. You'd seen exactly what he was capable of, knew that he had no remorse for the terrible things he'd done. The thought that you’d been with him alone for any amount of time in the state you were in made your stomach heave.

"You gotta be out of your fucking mind." Ben's eyes narrow. "I was the one who got you away from that bitch! I-"

"That doesn't matter!"

"Why the fuck not?"

He's looking at you like you're crazy. The same way that he'd looked at you a few days ago when he sent Tate flying across a courtyard and the two of you became TikTok famous.

Might as well be a lifetime ago.

You didn't know how long Stormfront had kept you locked up in that basement, but it sure did seem like a lifetime. And yes, maybe you were happy to be free of her, but it didn't change anything.

Ben was still Ben. He was the same man that he'd always been and you didn't believe that he could ever be anything else.

Did he really think that this would go away? That by saving me from her I'd suddenly forget the kind of person he is and worship him?

"Yes, I did!" Ben snaps answering the question that you posed in your head.

You weren't sure that you would ever be used to that. Thoughts were a private thing and the fact that you shared yours with this beast of a man didn't help at all.

Maybe that was the biggest joke of all, that Ben and you weren't just soulmates, you were entwined, something so intimate, so special, that no one even knew about it. You didn't understand why the universe hated you so much to make you suffer through thinking you didn't have a soulmate, only to saddle you with someone who wasn't like you at all and couldn't possibly be meant for you.

And then added the ultimate fine print that you were going to spend eternity with him.

The tears that curve down your cheeks reflect the frustration and anxiety crashing together in your chest. There was a part of you that was screaming in the back of your head, begging you to let it go, begging you to accept that Ben was your soulmate, but the rational part of your mind couldn't release it.

You refused to accept the part of you that wanted to run to Ben and have him hold you close in his arms, the part of you that wanted to trust the man standing in front of you, because you knew the truth, Ben hadn't changed.

What happened with Tate was proof of that.

And the memories soaked in blood were enough to keep you where you were, fingers curled into the comforter held up to your chin to cover yourself. A fruitless effort because you were sure that Ben had dressed you in his clothes and you doubted that he did it without looking.

"Why the fuck are you being so difficult?" Ben looks about three seconds from stamping his foot like a petulant five year old.

It's like she wants to piss me off. Fucking women.

If he's my soulmate why is it so difficult for him to understand me? Shouldn't the whole mind reading thing make this easier?

Ben crosses his arms over his chest with an exasperated sigh, not bothering to answer the question you asked in your head.

"Difficult?" You stutter, tears falling freely. "I'm the one being difficult? I was kidnapped and tortured by a fucking psychopath-"

"A thank you would be nice." Ben growls. "I could have just left you with the bitch instead of saving your ass."

The words hit you like a backhand, because really… why did Ben care? You'd told him numerous times that you didn't want anything to do with him, proven that you’d rather he stay away and yet he'd gone to get you. He'd risked his life to get you back.

It didn't make any sense.

A year ago he'd all but abandoned you in the street, left you gaping on the sidewalk after him like a fish out of water.

An empty feeling comes with the memory of watching him weave through the crowds and vanish, but you push it away.

It had been so easy for him to turn his back on you and walk away then, but why not now?

Given Ben's toxic masculinity and overall misogynist attitude you suspected that him saving you was a point of pride and to further prove to the rest of the world that you "belonged" to him. That by not saving you, it meant that he was less of a man.

But was it wrong that a little part of you dreamed that it was because he cared about you, that you had been wrong about the man fuming on the other side of the room and he wasn't the monstrosity you knew him to be? That the sad little girl that dreamed and wished for a soulmate for so long was crying out for the man standing a foot away from the bed?

Pathetic.

The tears welling in your eyes blur the image of your soulmate for a few precious seconds. Meeting him finally only made you feel more broken, when you’d always thought it would make you feel whole for the first time in your life. Years of the loneliness had haunted you. You'd wished for him for so long that this wasn't anything like the fairytale you imagined.

It was a nightmare.

"None of this would have fucking happened if you'd just come to dinner with me the other day!" Ben snarks scowl firmly in place. "I don't understand why you had to-"

"Because you almost killed Tate!"

"He was in my fucking way." Ben takes another step towards the bed. "And if he knew what was good for him he wouldn't have tried to get in the way of what's mine."

"What's yours?" Any fear you have burns away in a wave of rage that surges through you. "I am not some trophy or your property, Ben. I'm a person-"

"You're my soulmate! It’s the same fucking difference." Ben interrupts.

You reel back as if you'd been slapped.

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is!"

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is. I know how this shit works! I'm not stupid. You're supposed to be with me. You're supposed to want me! I don’t understand why you're so fucked in the head and don't."

His eyes blaze a furious jade, glowing beneath the sharp eyebrows. His face morphs with the force of his fury, sharpening the hard edges of his face. The anger and annoyance that comes with the ridiculous statement makes your own blood boil, your heartbeat echoing the pound of his.

"That-" You choke back a sob. "Is exactly why I don’t want anything to do with you."

"You don't even know me!"

"I know enough. I've seen the kind of man you are."

"That was 40 fucking years ago-"

"What you did to Tate wasn't."

"Oh here we go, more about fucking four-eyes. Well, if you love him so much why don't you just go be his soulmate!" Ben snarls back. "I'm sure that Stormfront would have had a good time playing with him."

A jolting memory of Stormfront torturing you shudders through your entire body, bringing a wave of nausea and anxiety with it. Your eyes squeeze shut got a moment, hearing the mad cackle of her laugh ringing in your ears, feeling the never ending waves of pain that came with each flash of purple light.

It sends you over the edge. Sobs shake your shoulders, tears run down your face like a river, and snot begins to flood from your nose.

Your glasses are toast.

Smudged with tears and humidity, you pull them away to rub at your eyes.

Why is this happening to me? Why? What did I ever do to deserve this?

The thoughts come one by one in succession, but you don't bother to hide them. It felt like a big cosmic joke, your life felt like a joke.

Memories of how Hughie and Annie are come to your mind. Your kind older brother giving her his coat, Annie reaching out to hold his hand while Hughie drove, Hughie and Annie singing in the front seat to a Billy Joel song while you covered your ears and laughed at the two of them. Your brother never treated Annie like property and Annie never treated him that way either.

And when you couldn’t take watching them together you’d ended up on Mrs. Charleson’s couch swaddled in a brightly colored crocheted blanket, holding her yarn, while cats wove around the coffee table, listening to the wonderful life that she’d spent with her soulmate.

After years of being alone and feeling like no one understood you, it filled with hope and warmth to sit there and watch the way she wove together the strands and spoke of love that never faded.

It was more than your mother had ever done for you. You’d learned at a young age that any time you brought up soulmates around her was a bad decision. You thought you felt bad enough about it, but five minutes with your mother talking about soulmates made you wish for Armageddon.

The last time you brought it up at your grandmother’s 90th birthday party she drank an entire bottle of wine by herself and then drunkenly stumbled into the duck pond at the venue. Then you’d been subject to your father shouting not at her, but at you for “ruining” the party, as if it was your fault that she’d gotten toasted and decided to go for a swim.

Anyway, you didn’t understand why everyone else could be so happy and lucky with their soulmates while there was a permanent shit ray pointed at your life.

Was it too much the ask that you have the same thing that everyone else seemed to? Apparently so.

You'd wanted that so badly that it made your body burn. You'd wished on every eyelash, every shooting star, every moment the clock struck 11:11 and fate had given you Soldier Boy.

Soldier Boy. As if giving you a soulmate born in 1919 wasn’t enough.

If you ever met Fate you were going to rip her a new one. 

An odd sensation prickles on the back of your neck, sweeping low through your body.

You're not sure what it is, only that the longer you sit there sobbing, the stronger the feeling becomes. It curdles in the pit of your stomach and sends anxiety thrumming through your veins. The only thing that you could be sure of was that the feeling was not your own.

Why the fuck is she being like this? Does she know who I am? She should be excited to be my soulmate! I'm fucking Soldier Boy!

Ben's internal monologue continues in the silence, but it wasn't your job to make him feel better nor did you care. All it did was prove to you that Ben was exactly the person you thought he was.

She should be thanking her lucky stars that I came to get her! Should be falling at my feet!

All it does is make you cry a little harder.

I don't understand what's happening. How is he my soulmate?

Ben stands there another few moments, watching you cry. The odd feeling swells in your chest, cinching just under your ribcage like a corset. Finally he huffs out a breath and runs a hand through his hair making the strands trace wetly over his cheeks.

"Fuck." Ben growls more to himself than to you, but the harshness of his tone makes you flinch.

Another unnamable feeling comes through the air between the two of you hooking around your heart that makes your throat tight. It reminds you of the way you used to feel when you'd spend another birthday with a beer and a single cupcake in a dark room dreaming of him.

I don't know how to- I didn't think that she'd-

The thoughts stutter to a halt, but they make you look up at him.

You were under the impression that the whole mind-reading thing was as hard on Ben as it was on you. He seemed like the kind of person  who wanted to keep everything to himself, held his cards close to his chest.

You watch something unrecognizable shift in his eyes. It seems so different than the proud, angry, and confident person you saw whenever he was in public, it makes you hesitate.

It dawns on you that this is the first time the two of you have ever been alone, really alone.

There was always someone there watching, but not now. Now it was just Ben and you.

Ben swallows, huffing out another breath as he rubs a hand over his jaw. "Look I know that you- I" He stops to clear his throat, before starting again. "That I'm not what you-“

Whatever Ben is going to say is stopped short by the thunderclap of the bedroom door being thrown open and someone bursting through the enormous opening.

Before you register who it was, the figure launches themselves on the bed and envelops you in a hug. It takes you a few precious seconds to realize that it's Hughie, and the moment you do, you collapse into your brother, clinging to him.

He whispers that you're okay, tells you how worried he was, but you don't hear it. Because something about this feels wrong. You don't know why. You’d hugged your brother countless times before, he was the only person in your life that you shared everything with, but right now every cell in your body is telling you that this isn't enough, you need more.

It was the first time your brother had hugged you and you didn’t feel safe.

The memory of someone lifting you from the rubble of where Stomfront had kept you comes back, the gentle hands that picked you up and held you close against their chest filling you with a warmth you'd never known. That was the last time you felt safe, but this is different.

You catch Ben's gaze over Hughie's shoulder.

An unreadable emotion flickers in his eyes for a millisecond, so fast you think you missed it, but it brings a wave of wistfulness in it's wake. You gasp softly as it catches in your chest and makes something crack in your heart.

You'd never imagine that coming from someone like Ben, but there it was in black and white. It broke you.

Quick as a whip the softness in his body is gone, the odd look in his eyes has hardened, and has left behind the mask you'd seen before reflected in the eyes of the people Ben had hurt, Soldier Boy. 

This is such a fucking mess.

You can say that again doll.

A/N: The Angst continues...

As always thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, Likes, and Comments are not required but are always appreciated. I love hearing what y'all think! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series let me know!

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God, Ben's such an ass. My heart breaks for both of them in this because they're clearly not understanding one another, and he's not meeting her halfway on this, or even tried to comfort her — even started victim blaming! smhhhh

He really is. Makes you want to reach in and slap him silly. There is no communication there is only frustration station. He's using all the wrong words and none of the positive emotions.

Clearly she wants a bit of tenderness and consideration, but being able to hear each other's thoughts isn't giving them a more open channel of communication lol. I know he started to at the end there, before Hughie came in, but I hope Ben starts to see past himself soon and tries to actually talk with her and comfort her a little more lol. Reader's gone through a lot, but I think she's going to have to be patient if she wants to get anywhere with him ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

He was about to try his best rendition of someone who cares, but Hughie has the worst timing. Ben's patience will be tested at every single turn as will the reader's. There will be lots of bitching (mostly Ben) and enough miscommunication to choke a goat. BUT I do believe I've finally, finally, worked out a way to soften Ben up while staying true to his character.

As always, love to hear your input friend! I hope that work isn't keep you down 💗

Guide:

Reader's thoughts are in italics and in first person.

Ben's thoughts in italics, bold, and blue!

Reader POV

There was an elephant stomping around in your head as you wake from sleep, trumpeting like Tantor as he gallops through the jungle after Tarzan, and leaving a dull throb behind at the base of your skull.

An unpleasant ache settles in your bones, heavy and unfamiliar, while your muscles burn with exertion that you cannot remember, making you sink deeper into the mattress cradling your body.

You groan into your pillow, gently curling your fingers into the plush material as you begin to stir from a dreamless sleep.

Mornings were always rough for you and something that usually required a cup of strong coffee while you stood bleary eyed in your small kitchen trying to make sense of reality, but today easily took the cake.

Another groan works it's way up through your chest as you roll over onto your back, raising your right hand to rub your face, but you don't open your eyes.

Why do I feel hungover? I didn’t drink last night did I?

Truthfully, you didn't drink a lot.

At parties there was an occasional shot of something or maybe a sip of something to take the edge off your anxiety when being around so many people, but for the most part you were more guilty of enjoying a glass of wine while you read through your newest obsession or drinking a glass when you graded papers that seemed to be written by four year olds rather than seniors in college.

However, you weren't going to deny that you had been drinking more over the past few days since you found your soulmate again, but you couldn't fault yourself for that, not when an extra glass of wine was enough to make your memory a little bit fuzzy on the whole "murderer soulmate" hell you were trapped in.

But this felt different.

The haze thickening in your neural cortex, numbing your mind, and giving you a light buzz was oppressive, sticky, almost cloying.

The memory of how you ended up in bed escaped you, in fact all memories of any moment before now seemed to be just out of reach, a multicolored blur that slipped through your fingers. There was a fuzziness in your head, slurring the thoughts that bobbed to the surface of your consciousness.

You yawn, the movement of your mouth opening and shutting slow, and when you rub your tongue over the inside of your teeth, the metallic taste makes you recoil.

What happened?

Again any memories that try to escape to the surface catch somewhere in your mind, the cloying fuzziness in your head like a moth eaten sweater in the back of a closet.

A cotton ball lazily being pulled apart by a child.

A stuffed chew toy on its last leg.

The chill in the room makes you sigh softly to yourself and cuddle further beneath the blankets and sheets that slip against your skin. Your apartment was normally colder than average, it justified wearing the oversized sweaters and using the soft throw blanket that you'd made a few years ago, but this chill is biting.

It's not the chill of an air conditioner,  it's wet. A damp cold that works its way inside and is impossible to escape no matter how deep you bundle beneath the covers.

Walking through a rainstorm with the cold droplets tracing your spine with a chilling hand as they slip beneath your collar.

Goosebumps come in a rolling wave over your arms and you try to pull the blanket up further, but something heavy holds it down. And as you shift and tug the blankets with all your strength an odd smell wafts upward, rancid like day old meat left out in the sun for too long.

You wrinkle your nose in disgust, still not quite awake, the fuzziness preventing you from fully coming to.

That's weird. I wonder if my neighbors tried to deep fry a watermelon again.

The people who lived in the apartment next door to you could have gotten a degree from Dumb and Dumber University. Any time they took a break from arguing and the loud make-up sex was filled with the use of their air fryer. The fire department had to be called out on several occasions when your neighbors got "curious" about things that they could fit inside.

At some point you wished that the fire department would have confiscated it given how many times that your neighbors got high and decided to fry something they weren’t supposed to.

Sometimes you were worried that they would burn down the apartment building while you were asleep, and each time the thought crossed your mind, you were faced with the question of what books you would save if that happened.

Picking a favorite book to you was like picking a favorite child and you didn't want to be faced with that decision, especially now when it felt like your head was full of an herd of stampeding buffalo.

A low hum fills your ears as you stir, and you turn over thinking about bringing the pillow up over your head to avoid the buzzing sound, but as you do there's an unusual weight pressed against your back, something heavy that makes your body dip towards it on the bed.

"Heathcliff?" You mutter the name of your cat, expecting him to be the reason you can't quite move the blankets and expecting to hear his outraged "burr" for waking him up too early. "Stop hogging the blankets."

You were sure that it was early, given that there was barely any light behind your eyes. Your bedroom window at your apartment, even though it was covered in a thick curtain, did little to block the early morning sun and always woke you up when it began to rise above the buildings, sending a warm light over your bed.

But there was no sun here, no warm light that spilled beneath the vintage fabric curtains you had made for your apartment the weekend you moved in.

There was only an empty darkness, the damp chill, and the musty smell that made you feel sick to your stomach.

Heathcliff doesn't respond, but continues to weigh down the blankets so you cannot move them any higher than above your waist.

"Cliff come on-" You groan, eyes fluttering open sleepily.

The images of your surroundings come into hazy focus. Each color running together and illuminated in an odd yellowing light.

The first thing you notice is that the thing laying in bed beside you, trapping the blankets beneath it is most certainly not your cat.

It's a naked body.

More specifically, it's the body of Homelander.

A scream rips from your throat as you scramble up out of the bed, putting as much distance as you can between yourself and the dead supe. But a sharp tug around your ankle keeps you from fleeing to the nearest cinderblock wall and you notice a thick metal cuff connecting you to the bed.

The musty yellow bulb that hangs above flickers ominously.

Your eyes don't leave the corpse in the bed, heartbeat thundering loud in your chest like a runaway train.

The left half of his face has been burned away, blackened flesh flaking off against the pillowcase the two of you had been sharing, peeling around his eye so you can see the tendons beneath, and ruining the left half of his smile that has been pulled back to reveal pearly white teeth, but you know it's him.

The sharpened cheekbones and strong chin that remain beneath the sullen gray skin pulled taunt over the unruined half of his face and the blue eyes now faded to a pale wisp of what they were before, are recognizable. The eyes are cloudy, reminding you of the rows and rows of fish at the supermarket that look up at you when you walk past always staring but never seeing. What's left of his once golden hair is now a yellowish silver, clumping on his head where it hasn't been burned away.

Holy Shit. Holy Shit. Holy Shit! Why was I in bed with him?

Everyone knew that Homelander had gone missing a year ago and even though there was a large piece of the community saying that he was dead, Vought was quick to dissipate any rumors. They announced that he was "on a much-needed retreat" said that he was soaking up the sun with a well earned vacation while Stormfront took over The Seven and made him proud.

You'd never believed it though, didn't think that Homelander would ever give up the Seven without a fight, not with everything that your brother and Butcher told you about him.

He's supposed to be unstoppable, unkillable, practically immortal-

The rancid smell of his rotting body fills your nostrils tying your stomach into knots and making a sour taste rise in the back of your throat.

Your body convulses as you fall to your knees on the cold cement floor in the darkened room, vomiting up food that you can't remember eating. The bile burns against your throat, makes your eyes water, and your nose run while you retch until there's nothing left, fingertips curling into the dirt covered cement floor.

Oh god I was in bed with him, his body touched mine, he-

It was enough to make you vomit again, the idea that any part of him was against yours makes your skin crawl as you gag and heave until the only thing that comes out is bile, leaving behind the bitter taste in your mouth and staining the graying floors with a brilliant streak of yellow.

You wipe your lips with the back of your hand and shudder.

Terror griped your heart.

You had no idea how you’d got into this little room or why you couldn't remember. The throb in the back of your head echoed the thunderous beat of your heart as it raced, energized with the terror that rattled  through your body.

You could still feel the weight of the cold body in the bed with you, the feeling of the dead flesh brushing up against your arms while your slept.

The bile rushes back up in the back of your throat, but you swallow it down trying to focus on anything else in the unfamiliar room to distract you.

It's made of cold cinderblock and the only light comes from a threadbare bulb above the bed that sends musty yellowed light over the room and bed that holds the remains of America's great hero. The blankets and sheets you had tried to pull up over your body are still trapped beneath him, knotted around his legs as if he tried to kick them off, scratchy and filled with holes.

Who the hell could do that to Homelander and why did they want me?

Your body tenses with the question as one thought begins to settle over your mind.

Ben wouldn't do this would he?

The thought wasn't completely in left field, you had seen how much your soulmate wanted to talk to you, had seen what he thought the soulbond meant, but the thought that he would chain you to a bed in his basement with the dead body of another supe seemed too outrageous to consider.

Yes, you were afraid of what your soulmate was capable of, but this didn't seem like Ben. Especially not after he had brought you flowers.

If he'd wanted to chain me up like this he probably would have just done it from the beginning. And why would he have the naked body of Homelander in his bed?

This did little to comfort you, because you still had no idea what the hell was going on, not to mention being in the room with a dead body was never your idea of a good time.

You could feel it's eyes on you, and another shudder works its way through your body as you crawl away from the pool of your vomit on the floor, the chain tied to your ankle clanking loudly against the floor.

By some miracle, your glasses are under the bed, and you clean them on the end of your shirt before putting them on your face. It was a stereotype, but you really were like Velma whenever you lost them. With them on it was comforting to know that you wouldn't be completely vulnerable. A hairline crack runs through the right lens, but still allows you to study your surroundings.

The sound of water dripping is faint, but it's there, probably coming from the rusted pipes on the wall raised above a formidable steel door fasted to the wall opposite where you sit on the floor.

The room is smaller than you thought, but perhaps the thing that's more unsettling is that Homelander's body is not the only one in the room.

Just across from the bed is a seven foot tall tank filled with a thick green liquid that spills an eerie light over the cracked cement floor. It holds the body of a man who looks to be about ninety years old. His skin is a mottled white, turning honeydew in the light of the tank and his hair is a sharp silver that curls up in the invisible current inside the tank that rocks the body back and forth.

There's a black breathing apparatus over his mouth, but the man doesn’t appear to be awake.

Who the hell is that?

It was weird enough that you’d woken up in a bed with the body of America's favorite supe, but the fact that there was a literal pickled human here too sent you reeling.

Your breath came in shallow gasps, the fear coming back in an unrelenting wave. Everything was so overwhelming. You still couldn't remember anything that lead up to this.

Despite the fear and anxiety that was developing the longer you sat here, it did nothing to unlock the memories in the back of your head that you wished would come to light. The fuzziness was still there, leaving behind an uncomfortable blur on everything else in your head.

Okay breathe, just breathe it'll all be okay.

You talk to yourself, but you don't believe it, you can't. You didn't understand what was happening or why you were in this godforsaken place with a dead body and a human pickle.

You take in a shaky breath, but it does nothing to calm your nerves.

I just need to take a deep breath. One problem at a time.

You shut your eyes for a second, taking a breath through your mouth to avoid the rotten smell of the body in the bed.  Okay, focus. How did I get here? And where exactly is here?

You tried to remember how you got into this darkened room, but the memories are still hazy, shifting into the darkness on the furthest reaches of your mind.

Is this just some kind of fucked up dream? I mean I've had a few weird ones after eating too late at night. What was that Scrooge said to Marley? That he could just be a little bit of undigested beef or-

The memory of Stormfront in your office hits you like a lightning bolt jolting you into reality.

Oh holy shit.

You remembered the last thing you heard her say:

"He killed my soulmate, it seems only fitting that I return the favor."

The fear was back, sending a chilling numbness over your body and a shudder down your spine. You couldn't remember what came after that, just the chill of her words and the unwelcome darkness that swallowed you whole.

Terror forms a hardened lump in the back of your throat and the urge to throw up comes again, but you force it down.  You had no idea what to do. Obviously if you’d had your phone you would call Hughie or Butcher, but given the fact that you woke up in a bed without any of your things with a dead body meant that option was nonexistent.

And you're not sure where Stormfront is or when she is coming back.

Crying for help seems futile. You were obviously trapped somewhere that no one knew about and you were afraid that if you opened your mouth she'd come back to-

You squeeze your eyes shut folding in on yourself. You didn't want to finish that thought.

Am I going to die here?

Stormfront's voice echoes through your ears again.

"He killed my soulmate, it seems only fitting that I return the favor."

Maybe I am going to die here.

The thought sobers you. You fold your knees up in front of you and press your face into your legs with another shaky sigh.

This was the reason why you never wanted to be involved in the supe world. It was dangerous and unpredictable. You'd lived your whole life trying to control what you could, especially when it seemed like your life would never be like anyone else's and being involved with supes would only bring a chaos to your life that you'd tried to avoid.

You didn't believe you'd ever meet your soulmate so you'd thought that you might as well just try to keep everything else as organized and "normal" as possible.

It made everything feel like a joke again. Just as finding out your soulmate was the way he was. You guessed that someone got to laugh, it just wasn't you.

How did it end up like this? I am normal, I have a normal life, I'm a fucking teacher! I-

You let out a breath trying hard not to smell the rotten flesh and chemical smell that wafted off of Homelander's body where it lay.

It was weird to see him like that.  Every memory you had of Homelander was from his TV appearances, where he smiled so wide you could see all his teeth and where his brilliant blue eyes stared back at the camera, not quite filled with any emotion you recognized.

The things Hughie and Butcher had told you about him made an uncomfortable feeling settle in the pit of your stomach. They'd never said that they were involved in his disappearance, but you always had an inkling they had been. Given Butcher's track record, you wouldn't be surprised.

The longer you sit there wondering exactly where you are and why, your thoughts shift to your soulmate.

It wasn't unusual, you were often thinking about Ben, especially after the last time you saw him, where he almost killed Tate and you called him a monster to his face.

Which maybe was a little bit harsh…

But you’d been upset and scared, and you didn't know what to do whenever Ben showed up because you always worried he would lose his composure and hurt you or worse. You’d seen exactly what he'd done to other people, how he treated your brother, and you know the type of man he is, but you wanted to be wrong.

Fuck, you really REALLY wanted to be wrong, but you knew you weren’t. Someone like him had no place in your life.

You wondered if Ben would even care when your birthdate on his wrist turned black, telling him that you were dead, or if he'd even care.

I doubt it. I bet Ben is the one person on earth who wouldn’t care if his soulmate died. He’d probably not even notice the mark fade to a black on his wrist.

A flash of all the women your soulmate had been with in the past told you that Ben didn't exactly care about waiting for you to have sex.

Probably will just get right back to it, like every other day. He's probably been doing it in the year he's been back too-

The thought made you hesitate. You could still remember the pleasant rumble of his voice vibrating through your fingertips where they had rested against his chest at Hughie's housewarming party when Ben had said:

"I've been looking everywhere for you doll."

But now he won't. Not after I called him a monster.

You also weren't sure you wanted him to come. In the past the thought of your soulmate kicking down your front door and taking you away with him while you melted against his chest was enough to make your heart soar.

But now, you wanted Hughie and Butcher.

At least you wouldn't have to worry about those two hurting you when they showed up. Butcher was in better control and you were afraid that Ben would lose his temper or lose his composure and then destroy everything, you included.

Reliving the memories of him at the destroyed house at Herogasm had been harrowing; watching Ben explode and kill all those innocent people, hearing screams ringing in your ears as the blood soaked the ground throughout the ruined house and while Ben walked past ignoring those in need and unaffected by the devastation he had brought down.

But the truth was, even if you didn’t want your soulmate to come, the celestial telepathy or whatever the fuck you wanted to call it might be your only shot at getting out of here.

Maybe if I think hard enough he'll be able to hear my thoughts. I mean it only ever works when we're together, but maybe if I really just try to reach out to him it'll work.

You shut your eyes again and try to clear your mind.

It wasn’t an exact science, not to mention Ben and you seemed to be the only people in history that could do this, but you were willing to try.

Um- Ben?

There’s no answer. So you try again.

Ben?

Still no answer.

I feel so stupid right now.

What the fuck do you want?

Ben's loud voice in your head makes you jump in surprise, the tone of the words making your brain rattle inside your head.

I can't believe that worked.

It fucking did. Now why the fuck are you in my head? I thought you told me to "stay the fuck away from you?"

A wave of annoyance comes with the clipped words in your mind and you can imagine the way his eyes have narrowed at you.

Ben I need you-

Oh now you fucking need me? After you told me to stay away from you and called me a monster? I'm not just some pussy you can order around whenever you want to who hangs on your every word. I'm-

Ben!

You shout through your head and surprisingly he stops. Truthfully you were surprised too. Ben still scared you, but right now you were more afraid of Stormfront.

I need you to get Butcher.

Why should I do that? Get him your-fucking-self.

He didn’t have to do anything, you knew that, but deep down you hoped that maybe somewhere there was a part of your soulmate that cared about you or cared in general. Some piece of himself that he locked away. All you needed was for him to tell Hughie or Butcher, you weren't asking him to come get you himself.

Because Stormfront kidnapped me and I-

Your eyes squeeze tighter together as you press your face into your knees, holding on like a lifeline.

This isn't because I've changed my mind about us or about what happened the other day, but I don't know where I am or how long I've been here. And I know that we don't have the best relationship, but I don’t know what to do. I can't contact Hughie or Butcher just you and-

The thought of what Stormfront had planned for you sent a shiver down your spine. You weren't this person. You were not the girl who took down supes or spent her life trying to find their weaknesses! You liked to read, to relax in your bed with a cup of soothing tea and a good book. You liked to sit and grade papers while muttering under your breath about the things your students wrote about.

Tears slip beneath your closed eyelids dripping down the curves of your cheeks.

Please Ben. I-

A sob shakes through your body and you curl further in on yourself.

I think she's going to kill me. And-

More tears came with the thought.

I'm really scared.

There's a silence in your head now as you wait for Ben's reply, hoping that he'll concede and say that he'll tell Butcher, but the sound of the door of the little room opening with a creak, dissolves whatever connection you have to Ben, as the woman in question flounces into the room, her dark hair bouncing around her face.

She looks much too jovial for a kidnapper, but you guessed that was Stormfront's particular brand of psycho.

She is no longer wearing the dark jacket, black hat combo she had in your office, instead she's wearing her usual outfit when she enters the small room, her eyes sweeping over the bed until she finds where you sit.

"Good you're awake."

She cracks a wide smile that looks much too happy for the situation, looking like Heathcliff whenever he was perched on the windowsill of your apartment watching the pigeons outside flutter around on the fire escape. A cold feeling comes over you as she traces her eyes across your body, hair prickling at the back of your neck the longer she does.

Prey when locking eyes with a predator

"And I see you met John." The woman saunters over to Homelander's body where it lies in the musty bed and sits down on the edge at his side. Her hands gently trace through the silvery blonde hair, but even with her gentle touch some strands pull free and flutter to the cement floor.

The gentleness she has for the corpse makes you pause.

You didn't think that someone like her could be capable of such care.

"Do you have any idea how long I waited to meet him?" Her question comes out in almost a whisper.

The smirk on her face falters just for a moment the longer she stares down at the man on the bed, taking on something that looks a little bit forlorn. It was hard to think that the woman in front of you had any feelings, not after she'd kidnapped you and locked you in a basement.

"I've seen the date on Ben's wrist." A smirk pulls at the end of her mouth. "Come to think of it, I've seen more than that."

A white hot bolt of jealousy comes with the memory of Ben and her in bed together and there's a little part inside of you that screams "he's mine!" at the top of her lungs. The same part of you that obviously didn't get the memo about the murder soulmate thing or probably didn't care.

If you got out of this situation you make a mental note to have a talk with yourself about being jealous.

Stormfront continues on, oblivious to the way your hands have curled into fists at your sides.

"But anyway, I imagine it was the same way for you. Waiting and wondering if you'd ever meet the person made for you, if he actually existed."

Does she really expect me to feel bad for her? Wait a minute rewind-

You began to process her words and what they meant.

"Homelander was your soulmate?" You stammer in surprise.

Shock ricochets through your head. You knew that Stormfront was as old as Ben if not just a few years younger. When she’d said that he’d killed her soulmate you assumed that he’d killed someone back when they met, not today and certainly not Homelander.

“But Vought never-"

"We were waiting for the right moment to announce it." She interrupts while trailing her fingers longingly down Homelander's naked torso. "We were perfect together. Made for one another in every way. He was the only one strong enough to give me what I needed. All my other lovers were unable to survive the night with me."

Oh holy fucking shit, please no. If I have to watch her fuck his corpse I'm done.

The nausea was back and this time you tried your best not to think of why Homelander was in a bed and hoped to high heaven that she'd at least washed the sheets.

Something told you that you weren't that lucky.

"Well, other than Frederick." Her other hand waves towards the man in the tank in the corner as her gaze turns to examine him lovingly. "When he started to get older I couldn't take it, I needed him to stay with me, I couldn’t lose him the way I lost my daughter. He wasn't as indestructible as John, but I still loved him. Now I like to think that he watches over me. He always did like to watch."

I think I'm going to be sick.

Her eyes flick back to you. "At first he was just a way to pass the time, I knew that I wouldn’t meet my soulmate for years so I took lovers as yours did, but I can’t live without Frederick.”

Your eyes skate over the man, now identified as Frederick, in the tank once more noting the black birthdate on his wrist.

But she's not his soulmate.

"I will say that Ben may have been one of my favorites though." Her smile turns into a smirk and it makes a white hot wave of something that feels like jealousy burn beneath your skin once more.

"Fuck, the things he made me feel, the things we did together- God-" She half moans into the air. "That man is made purely for women, you have no idea. It seems almost a shame to kill you before you get to take him for a spin."

The memories of her with Ben begin to flicker across your mind like a perverted home movie. Your teeth clench in jealousy and disgust. Again something inside of you rattles the bar of her cage and screams "he's mine!" the part of your soul that refused to see the dark side of Ben that you'd lived with for the better part of a year in your head, the same side of him that you saw hurt Tate with no remorse.

"I was almost disappointed when I had him sent to Russia."

"What?"

Despite the swirling disgust and jealousy you felt moments ago when you heard her talk about Ben, it all goes silent.

She’s the reason Ben was sent to Russia?

The memories you relived each time you shut your eyes come roaring back. Each one filled with the sound of Ben’s screams and the immeasurable pain jolting through your own body. A rising tide of anger and hatred courses through your veins when you look at Stormfront, her proud smirk and black eyes glinting in the musty light.

"When Vogelbaum called me to tell me what he was doing with Ben's sperm he asked me if I wanted to be a mother again. By then I wasn't Liberty, but I still owned a large portion of the company." Her eyes traced over Frederick. "And my husband was already starting to decline- my poor sweet Frederick couldn't remember who I was." She stands from the bed to drift over to the man floating the green liquid. "My genius husband no more than a relic of another time."

Her eyes flicked back to you, like two soulless pits, burning through your head the longer she stares.

“As much as I love this trip down memory lane, I don't see why I'm here, if it was Ben who did this to you." You say.

“When they made John in the lab I felt his birth in my soul and I knew that the only way to keep him safe from his father was to have Ben sent away to Russia. I hoped that it would keep him far away from John, but I was wrong. I should have made sure that he was really gone. Killed him myself when I had the chance. All those years of waiting for John only for your soulmate to take him from me!"

The lightbulb above the bed flickers as an unnatural pulse of purple electricity sparks from her body and crackles over your head, hitting the concrete wall above where you still sit on the floor.

You gasp and duck to avoid the stone that rains down on you, shielding your head from the shrapnel.

“Hold on his father? Ben is Homelander’s dad? You really had sex with Ben and his son? AND you knew?!”

Oh this really is way too Norman Bates for me. Why is this my life?

“Homelander was mine, my soulmate. I raised him, gave him the love that his own father probably never would-”

"Well I don't think that Ben would molest his kid, but that's just my opinion." You duck as another bolt of plasma hits just to the right of where your head was.

"Everyone is so narrow minded today. I expected the world to be more open to-"

"Child molestation? Grooming? I hate to break it to you lady, but that's just wrong."

Now is not the time for sarcasm, but she had that one coming.

Her eyes flash a dangerous shade of purple once more, pulsing in the darkness that cloaks the room.

"If you keep interrupting me, I will cut out your tongue." She snarls, dragging her hand against the ruined flesh on the left side of Homelander's face.

You shut your mouth.

You'd been contemplating a way of escape for the past few minutes, but you didn't know how exactly you'd do it. The solid metal door was unlocked, but the only way through it would be past Mrs. Robinson, and you knew for a fact she was faster than you were, not to mention indestructible.

If you had a pipe you weren't sure she would even flinch. You curse yourself for not going to that free self-defense class you saw advertised on the corkboard in the lobby of your apartment building.

Then again, I don't think that SING is going to do anything to Stormfront other than piss her off.

Your only hope was that Ben would pass on the message to Butcher and Hughie.

If he actually gives a shit.

"But I was there to cheer him on." Her expression saddens when she looks down at Homelander's body. "I like to think that he would be supportive with the way things are now."

"Look. I get it. Ben killed Homelander. But I don't understand why the hell you need me here! Ben and I don’t have a relationship at all. We've been in the same room 3 times and each time has been-"

"I don't want Ben. I want you."

You look at her confused. "Why? I'm a teacher. I'm not a supe. I have no connections to this world whatsoever. Why do you want me?"

She smiles, lips curling up on the end of her mouth as she laughs. "You don't know do you?"

"Know what?"

You were sick of her monologuing and if she was going to kill you, you wished that she might as well just get it over with.

Not that you wanted to die, just that you would rather her be monologuing to your dead body so you didn't have to hear her nasally voice and see the triumphant look she had as she gloated.

She's having her Julius Caesar moment. Hopefully Brutus and the rest of the council will show up soon.

"It's not just that you're his soulmate sweetie. You're more than that." The purple pulses of plasma flickers out from her body. "You're his weakness."

"His what?" You stutter. "You're kidding right? The guy is indestructible. He's the most powerful supe to ever live-"

All of this was becoming too much for you. You didn't understand why this was happening to you- first with your soulmate being the way he is and now this. Was your luck really that bad?

You imagined some celestial being above laughing at you while they wove together your fate. Because giving you a soulmate who was a monster wasn't enough, they had to give you a soulmate who's actions doomed you to be with this woman.

Who- if you were being honest- was also probably a monster given the fact that she was fucking a corpse and had a pickled human in the corner.

You missed the days that the worst thing that happened to you was your mother sending you profiles from a dating site for people whose soulmates had died and were looking for love again. If you still checked emails from her you would have found another three age appropriate men sent to your inbox.

You weren't interested in them.

What was the point if you knew that they would never love you the same way that they'd loved the person they lost?

Your mother never understood that when you told her that, never seemed to see your side of the story. The only thing she knew was that you were single and cursed and there was nothing worse than having a daughter who *gasp* would always be single.

This is so not the time for this. I will not spend my final moments thinking about how I've never been enough for her or my dad.

"Ben is indestructible. But you're not." There's a darkness that gleams in her eyes, a triumphant smile on her lips as she rakes her gaze over you.

“I don’t see what that has anything to do with me.”

 "Because the two of you aren't just soulmates, you're entwined." Stormfront continues, saying the word as if you knew what that meant.

"What?"

"Entwined, bonded, fated, twisted, whatever the fuck you want to call it." She rolls her eyes as if bored with the conversation. "Only happens once every few centuries. So congratulations-"

"And it means-"

"It means that you're Ben's weakness." 

"You keep saying that like I know what the fuck you're talking about!" You snap, losing your temper.

You hated that she was talking to you like she had something to hold over your head. The only thing she had was that your soulmate killed Homelander and she wanted you dead.

Ridiculous really because you didn't want Ben at all and you were pretty sure that Ben didn't really want you all that much given how quick he was to leave you one year ago.

"Ooo kitty has claws." She smirks. "It makes this more fun. Here I thought you were going to be a wet blanket, or a prude given the way you're dressed, but-"

"Do you ever shut up?"

Her eyes flash a dangerous purple. "The only reason you're still alive is because I think you're amusing. Keep pushing me and you won't stay that way."

A shiver of fear crawls down your spine at her words. You knew that there was no way you were getting out of here, but you still didn't want to give in to her so easily. A bully was a bully no matter what package they came in and Stormfront reminded you of all the girls on the playground that used to tease you about the date on your wrist that you hid for so long.

“My husband used to study soulmates, was given money by the Fuhrer himself to learn more."

Oh good Nazis, that's just what this story-time needed, more Hitler.

"The Fuhrer was always looking to understand more about the supernatural, and my husband was one of the brightest men who ever lived.” Her eyes take on a dreamy quality as she drifts to the tank where the man floats in the thick green liquid. “Thousands of people were selected to participate in tests. The lucky few. It was great honor for them."

Something tells me that they didn't feel the same way.

"My husband found a carved tablet from the 5th century, describing a soul-bond between two people that was different. They were more than just two pieces of a soul that when the two of them met, they were woven together, entwined by the golden thread of fate."

"Do you mean the Fates? Like the three sisters that share an eyeball who always seem to be making Hades angry and who tell him prophecies-"

"Not some ridiculous Disney cartoon!" She snaps at you. "Fate is a woman and she is the one who chooses the soulmates."

I'll bet she looks like a librarian.

"Uh-huh. Sure."

"You don't believe me?" Stormfront raises an eyebrow, amused.

"Nope."

"When you met Ben did anything happen?"

"Anything like?"

"I guarantee you saw it."

"It?"

"The golden thread of fate- weaving through the two of you, binding you together for all eternity-"

Her words make you hesitate, because it had happened, you had seen it.

When you were at the party and you ran into Ben for the second time, you remembered a golden cord that snagged in your chest and pulled you closer to him, the heat burning through you, the glow almost blinding, as something deep inside flooded open into the cavity in your chest that begged to be filled for so long. The feeling that drove away the darkness and the loneliness that weighed you down for years. The one thing that made you feel whole for the first time in your life.

That can’t be what it was-

"And even though you're not a supe after you were able to hear his thoughts and feel his emotions."

You freeze. Holy shit.

"See." She tilts her head to the side noting your reaction. "My husband found a couple like Ben and you living on the outskirts of Germany. They were trying to hide what they were-“

“What they were?”

“Fear is a powerful thing. And they knew that people wouldn’t understand that they were different.”

“Different?”

You hated that she kept talking and talking without giving you any explanation. It was like talking to Dale in a meeting who believed that he knew everything and never explained a single thing to you.

“Like Ben and you, they were decades apart in age, spent years alone thinking that finding their soulmate was impossible and yet found one another. My husband learned that they could hear each others thoughts, feel each other's emotions, share life with one another-"

You hold up a hand. "I'm sorry wait. Back up. Share life with one another?”

What the hell does that mean? What does any of this mean?!

Your head was spinning. This was almost too much for you to take. Because it meant there was a reason why Ben and you were like this. That the two of you weren't just soulmates you were super soulmates. Something that seemed so wrong given the fact you were so different.

If that's true why would Ben and I be entwined together? He's a murderer! He's-

“Your fates are tied. If something happens to one it happens to the other.” She continues, raising a hand to check her nails.

“You mean like-“

“Death.” Her eyes gleam. “Exactly.”

Oh this is so fucked up.

"Fate chooses one couple every few hundred years-“

“Why?”

“My husband never figured that out, didn't have enough time to finish his research. Fate is a fickle mistress.” She replies with a shrug. “But more interesting is the idea that there could be other couples out there who have lived more than a few centuries together-“

“Wait, centuries together? I thought you just said they shared life together-“

“They do. But the thread of fate weaves your life force together makes you live longer. I think that's because fate believes the two chosen deserve that. So congratulations, Ben and you are one in a million."

"So we're immortal?"

I think I'm going to throw up again.

"Eh, a few centuries give or take. At least, as long as it's not interrupted."

The sinister smile is back, gleaming in the yellowed lights. Stormfront stands from the bed, the pulses of bright purple plasma from her body sending flickering shadows over the room.

"Interrupted?" You clear your throat, but your voice shakes a little bit.

You knew she was coming to the end of her story, knew that she would start in on you at any moment. You suddenly wished that you hadn't wished so many times for her to wrap it up.

"You see, even though you're kind of immortal… it doesn't mean that you're indestructible. And something my husband learned early on about that couple is that you don't only share emotions, you share pain and one cannot live without the other."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"If you die, so does Ben."

The first bolt strikes you full on in the abdomen, the feel of the electricity jolting your body backwards against the concrete wall, while the buzzing sensation burns through your nerve endings so hot it makes a scream rip from your throat. Your muscles convulse in the aftershocks, vision going blinding white as the smell of your singed skin and your hair floods through your nose.

Drool slips from the left side of your mouth and you try to catch your breath, but it comes in ragged gasps.

"Ben is really indestructible. Most of the shit that has been done to him, he doesn't even feel, which is good news for you because it means that you're safe if he gets shot or electrocuted. And it's not as fun to do any of this to him." She crouches down next to your body, one of her hands threads in the back of your hair to lift your face upwards.

The sadistic smile on her face fills you with an unholy amount of dread.

Her free hand caresses your cheek. "But you? You're fragile, delicate, practically a newborn. And everything I do to you, Ben can feel, and when I finally kill you, he won't know what hit him."

"Please-" The word slips from your mouth on instinct. You knew that any plea you had would only fuel her sick sense of satisfaction from this.

"We're going to have so much fun together."

Ben POV

The car swerves sharply to the left narrowly missing a pedestrian on the sidewalk, earning a curse and a hand gesture that Ben misses in the white hot jolt of electricity exploding through his body.

They were coming much faster now, each wave longer and stronger than the last. Ben grits his teeth together, muscled braced for the next one that he knows will follow. He didn't understand what was going on, all he knew was that it had something to do with Stormfront and you.

The last time he'd felt pain like this was when he was still... human? He didn't quite know the word for before he because Soldier Boy, nor did he care. Pain after the serum was different, muted, but this was excruciating.

He slams on the accelerator to run through another red-light, not caring to stop for the natural flow of traffic. None of it mattered. Not when he knew that there was a possibility that he would be too late.

Ben tries again to grasp at whatever the hell in his head that ties him to you, the bullshit cosmic connection that would give him some insight as to where you were or at least let him get a message to you that he was coming.

Not Billy fucking Butcher.

When he'd heard your voice in his head today he was ready to write it off, to tell you to fuck off- well- maybe he would be willing to listen if you apologized and made it up to him the good old-fashioned way.

But he'd heard the way your thoughts trembled and felt the wave of your fear coursing through his veins. The all encompassing loneliness that flowed through the bond from you made the memories of Russia begin to surface in the back of his head. The same ones that came when all was quiet and not even the oldest of whiskeys could chase away.

Years of torture that blurred together and still haunted him. Moments that he wished he could forget. The only part of his life where he felt completely helpless and exposed, two things that Ben said he would never, never admit to anyone as long as he lived.

The terrors that came in the night didn't stay hidden with the rest of the things Ben pushed into the dark recesses of his mind.

As if the memories weren't enough Ben had to deal with the nightmares that made him feel like he was trapped all over again with no way out. Each time he succumbed to a nightmare, Ben heard his father's voice telling him to "man up," but it did little to stop the anxiety that thrummed through his body hours after he awoke making him feel all the more guilty. Before you Ben would have turned to a woman to make him forget, but now in the after things were different.

And despite his best efforts each time he tried to think about another woman something that felt a lot like guilt began to seep into his chest.

A primal part of Ben writhed inside at the thought of you having to go through anything he did.

When he'd heard what Stormfront had done, all he'd seen was red.

The thought that you were anywhere alone with her made something that felt remarkably like fear squirm to life in the pit of his stomach.

It was odd. Ben couldn't quite remember the last time he felt afraid, but it was there, worming beneath his skin, bringing an uncomfortable sensation in his chest that makes him feel off.

He doesn't like it and keeps telling himself that it must be coming from you.

Ben didn't understand why he still cared about you, especially after the events that took place the other day in the park.

"I don’t give a fuck that you’re my soulmate Ben! Because you're a fucking monster and I don't want any part of you in my life."

Ben's hands grip the steering wheel so tight his knuckles blaze a brilliant white as the words you shouted at him come roaring back. A flash of the horror and fear reflected in your eyes as you helped Tate to his feet hits Ben full in the chest making something sour pry open his ribcage.

He hadn't expected those words to hurt as much as they did, to cut deep to a place inside he'd tried to hide away for most of his life, but they had. And even though Ben had tried for the better part of two days, no amount of reefer and whiskey could shake the mark they left behind.

She doesn't want anything to do with you. Just fucking forget her.

Ben thinks to himself for the millionth time, but he can't. When he was a kid he thought this soulmate shit was just that, bullshit, but now there was something rooted deep inside that he couldn't quite turn his back on no matter how many times he tried to forget you. It made him feel like a pussy in a ridiculous cartoon with hearts in his eyes.

Fuck.

He didn't understand you at all. Ben had lived in your memories the same way that you'd lived in his. He'd seen how much you wanted a soulmate, but he couldn't quite grasp why you were pushing him away.

She's supposed to fucking want me. I'm her soulmate.

He huffs out a breath, running another red light.

Who gives a shit what I've done, I'm here now and she belongs to me! That's the whole point of this soulmate bullshit! Belonging to someone else!

Ben's eyes drop to his wrist, and although it's covered he knows what he'll find. Funny, the date that haunted you had haunted Ben in it's own way. Where you had spent time imagining him, Ben had spent his time forgetting you.

Now that he'd met you it was impossible.

This time when the electricity crackles through his body, he hears your scream rattle in his ears. The sound does more to him than the pain coursing through his veins does. Something within him splits open and floods the cavity in his chest, emotions that he hadn't allowed himself to feel for the last eighty years pummeling through the dam he built to keep them back the moment his mother passed.

Ben pulls the car over to the side of the road, the warmth in the center of his chest growing hotter by the second, the glow increasing in intensity with every passing moment.

Get your shit together.

Ben thinks to himself, squeezing his eyes so tight that something feels like it'll snap. But he can't fight the all encompassing rage inside.

He hated that this was happening and more importantly, hated that this was happening to you.

When Ben left you on the street a year ago he told himself that it was to protect you, to keep you far from the life he had and from the things he felt that he had to do. Now with Stormfront back in the picture it made him feel like it was all for naught. Because there was some truth to the things you threw in his face.

You didn’t fit in his life, but Ben didn't care.

Even if it went against every single instinct Ben had, was the complete opposite of the macho bullshit he spouted in his life, the little piece of your soul that existed inside of Ben wanted you to fit even if he didn't fully understand why.

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!

Ben presses his hands into his eyes, trying to will the nuclear reactor in his chest to stand down. Him blowing up the only transportation he had wouldn’t help in his search to find you. Of course, Ben also didn't exactly know where the hell it was that he was going.

Ben hadn't told Butcher or Hughie about what happened. He didn't need either of them telling him what to do. This was between him and Stormfront.

I should have killed her when I had the chance.

But he didn't think that after he toasted Homelander she'd be a problem. Ben remembered thinking that she was just a woman after all, how much could she do? Now he regrets that decision.

Another scream splits through his head and this time Ben puts his entire fist through the roof of his car. His fingers curl on the edges of the flayed metal to ground himself when the wave of pain rips through every nerve ending.

What the fuck do I fucking do?

He hadn't felt this helpless since Russia.

Ben contemplates calling Butcher, but he doesn't know what to ask or how Butcher will help him find you.

Maybe he could try to track the bitch-

The thought tapers off. It was exactly what Butcher and Hughie had been trying to do for the better part of two months, with no leads.

Ben tries again to summon whatever the fuck in his head is that lets him connect to you, trying to tell you that he's coming, that he's not going to leave you, but whatever it is doesn't connect.

The second he'd lost the connection twenty minutes ago Ben felt a weight the size of the Empire State Building land on his shoulders. He'd spent the next ten minutes trying with no avail to hear your voice when finally the pain came.

"Fuck." Ben growls to himself.

He waits a beat, then tries again. He thinks your name loudly, but predictably there isn't answer.

I can't fucking help you sweetheart if you don't tell me where you are!

He thinks to himself with a huff, then immediately feels guilty. It wasn't your fault that you got kidnapped by a psychopath.

Well maybe if she'd just decided to go to dinner with me the other day then she wouldn't have been kidnapped by that bitch. We'd probably still be in bed.

Ben's frown deepens.

This was not how he was expecting any of this to go. He'd thought the two of you would get dinner then go back to his place for a well-needed fuck.

Ben hadn't in his wildest imagination thought that you'd want him to go away. He thought that you'd be thrilled to have found him and then wanted to make-up for lost time. Ben had been eager to get you in his bed, especially after the past 41 years of living like a monk, not to mention he figured you were probably just as excited to fuck him given the fact that he was well… him.

But she had to go and call me a fucking monster. I'm a damn superhero, not some terrorist. That four-eyed freak was standing in my way and I-

A flash of gold catches in the corner of his eye. Ben turns.

There floating above the ground is a long golden thread. It waves in an invisible breeze just outside of the car, twinkling in the light of the moon above, but it's there.

He wonders if perhaps he drank a little too much before getting behind the wheel that maybe he's so out of his mind right now that he's begun to hallucinate.

Ben feels a sharp tug in the center of his chest and is surprised to see that the same cord is weaving out from his black t-shirt to join the one floating above the street.

Outside a mini-van meanders down the road passing through the golden strand as if it doesn't exist. Ben waits to feel a pull when it does, but nothing comes. Just an odd warmth that he can't explain causing a collection of goosebumps to prickle over his arms.

What the fuck?

His fingertips pass through thread erupting from his chest, slipping through the air unbothered by the brilliant light that spills over his hands with the gesture.

Okay…

He feels the tug again, this time harder, and watches the thread extend up and around the next street to the left, illuminating through the shadows that hug the sidewalks.

Ben waits a beat, tapping his fingers on the wheel.

He was out of options.

He didn't know where you were, had no leads on Stormfront, and like fuck he was going to ask Hughie for help. Ben didn’t need anyone else to tell him what to do when he was in damn control of the situation.

He wasn't, but he wasn't about to admit that to himself.

Ben sighs.

Something inside of him sings in the direction of the glow, some little voice telling him that you're at the end of it, the problem was that Ben wasn't sure he was ready to throw in the towel and follow the yellow brick road.

Or follow the fucking gold fairy lights.

He waits another moment contemplating his options. The phone in the cupholder blinks to life with a notification from Butcher. Ben wonders if maybe he should have told Butcher about this.

She didn't ask for you to come to butt-fuck nowhere to save her. She wants Butcher. Not you.

It was true. Perhaps that was what hurt Ben most of all, that even when you were literally being held hostage by someone, terrified out of your mind, you still wouldn't admit that you wanted him to come save you.

I need you.

The memory of your voice vibrates in his head. Ben was hoping that he would hear you say that under different circumstances, preferably naked, but here he was in the middle of nowhere waiting for something to change.

He takes a hit of his blunt.

Fucking hell.

The light at the end of the street changes to green then yellow then red, but Ben still doesn't move. A trail of smoke drifts daintily from the end of the blunt he shoved into the other cupholder.

And because Ben is out of options, he guns the engine, and follows the light.

A/N: Do I feel a little weird for doing a Stormfront story before Vought Rising? Yes, yes I do. BUT I did think up a possible marriage of convience story that I'll try to tie into Vought Rising when it comes out (fingers crossed).

As always thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, Likes, and Comments are not required but are always appreciated. I love hearing what y'all think! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series let me know!

Taglist:

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AHHH Alex! I was so excited to see your comments!

I did wonder if how we started out in this chapter was a dream, especially with the whole in bed with Homie's corpse bit, but omfg Stormfront is a fucking freak for real 🤮🤮

She really is, and I cannot wait to see how freaky they make her in Vought Rising 😆 Me to me I was like "huh, maybe I took it too far," but then I was like nah, she a freak and we all know it 🤣

Pickled her first husband and likely fucking the decaying remains of her son/soulmate? You really nailed the gross factor of the Boys world - talk about an Oedipus complex lmfaooo. SO on brand for Homelander's mommy issues though 👌🏽

Oedipus walked so Homelander could run. That is the hill that I will die on LOL! But thank you! I will say that Homelander and Stormfront, although really creepy, made the ultimate power couple. They really did match each other's freak.

And also I think confirming a growing HC of mine and other writer friends that Clara Vought/Liberty/Stormfront was the egg donor for Homelander?

YES, EXACTLY! I feel like it's just crazy enough, but man, I got a feeling that it's coming. The Boys has done some crazy stuff and it doesn't feel so far out that she's Homelander's biological mom.

Ben was also predictably prickly in this 😅 but come on, if anything brings them together, it's gotta be saving his girl from this psycho bitch, right? Right??? (Pls 😂)

Oh Alex, wonderful Alex, I wish I could tell you good news, but you know how many slow burns I write 😅 And know how I like to torture myself writing them 🫠

Especially now that we know they're "super soulmates," lol pun intended? But honestly it just ups the angst factor and explains why they've been able to see each other's memories and even share their thoughts, emotions (my favorite kind of soulmate au), and even their pain. She really is his true weakness, but hopefully he can step up and be a true hero and protector to the one person who needs him most. 💙💙💙

Living for the pun 🤣 I really did want to push the angst into overdrive with this one and when I got the "super" soulmate idea I was like... aw yeah that's the good stuff, that'll be what makes me hate myself for writing another slow burn angsty fic. I also love that it's your favorite kind of soulmate AU, because it's mine too!

BUT that just means it's gonna take a while for Ben to grow (bitching the whole time) and for the reader to find the pieces of Ben that reflect herself 💗

I found this meme and I know you can relate:

Especially accurate because my initial fic ended with them finding each other again, but it was too easy. We all needed to suffer through this together as a family 🤣

But yay! I'm happy you liked this chapter and I can't wait to read your thoughts on the next one! 🥰