#spectrev

@spectrev​​ said: “i feel like it was sort of meant to happen, you know? i mean—can’t really have two anomalies running around causing trouble, right?” there was something sad and bitter in the way that he spoke, yet, strangely enough, there remained a grim sort of optimism to ben. he turned to five with a smile, and, god, it didn’t feel right even to him, teetering on the edge of death for the second time. “it’ll be okay, though, i think. it’s gotta mean something that we can say goodbye this time.”

“Don’t be a little bitch,” Five snapped, but not sharp enough, not mean enough, because his throat felt too tight at the back and his voice sounded too high and thin in his ears, and his hands felt hot and wet and sticky with his brother’s blood. “You’re not going to die. You’ll be fine. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Oh, God. 

His brother’s blood was on his hands. 

And it was so much. 

It was so much, it was an endless river of red on red on red, and it dripped from his fingers and it smeared on his palms and it streaked down his wrists, it was so much, an endless river, red on red on red on red on red, it was too much, it was too much, it was too much for a man to lose and still live. 

Ben was going to die. 

And Five couldn’t save him.

(But goddamn it, Five would save him.)

@spectrev​​ said: ben had never been the most talkative person, regardless of which side of the veil he stood on — especially now, overwhelmed and mind buzzing, it was hard to really put feelings into words that felt right on his tongue. luckily, though, for him, he didn’t think his initial silence was taken the wrong way. “ — you know, despite everything going on, i’m really glad you’re back. it’s nice.”

Five had thought he wanted to see Ben again. He had thought he wanted to see Ben again more than he even wanted to breathe, and he didn’t even care if it was only for a minute or a second or one single goddamn heartbeat--he just wanted to look at his little brother again, to talk to his little brother again, to hear him, to be with him, for one more minute--but now he could finally see Ben again, now he could look at him and talk to him and be with him, except he--

--he couldn’t.

And he didn’t know what the hell held him back. He didn’t know what the hell could be wrong with him, he didn’t know if all the words he had ever wanted to say to Ben had just gotten stuck, trapped, behind the tight knot of grief and guilt in the back of his throat, but he couldn’t talk to Ben, he could barely even open his mouth around Ben, he couldn’t even stay in the same goddamn room with Ben for much longer than a minute, so it was easier--and Christ, it sounded awful, even in his own head, but it was just so much easier to pretend he couldn’t see Ben at all. 

To pretend Ben was still dead.

It was fucked-up. 

And he knew it. 

But he still did it.

At least Ben didn’t really seem to care--he certainly hadn’t talked to Five, he certainly hadn’t tried to break the silence, and he would if he cared, so it was safe to say he didn’t care, so Five was pretty sure things could just go on like this forever, except. 

Well.

Shit.

Ben did talk to him. Entirely unprompted.