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The Love You Want: III, Part Twenty Six

word count: 5,152

might add on to this if i think of anything in the coming days BUT for now, enjoy the last chapter of III's fic <3

ao3

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previous chapter

"Ben, what are you- Put that down!" ____ trails off into a shout, eyes wide in horror.

He knows exactly what Benjamin is doing, holding his acoustic guitar in hand, visibly inspecting it, a considering look on his face. He's going to fucking sell it. Must have planned to inspect it and then take it off and ell it while ____ wasn't home.

"You were supposed to take longer at the store. What, did you rush home?" Ben's sneer is audible in his voice, still not turning around, "Miss me that bad?"

"We needed the money so I let you sell all of my electrics but, please, you can't take away my acoustic too. It's all I have. You- You only want the money for more beer anyway! Was stupid of me to think you'd finally gotten sober." ____ spits, his fury too late, finally fed up with the abuse, with Ben's constant need for control over him.

He'd gotten rid of his entire life, every sentimental thing he owned was gone, either by his own hand or Ben selling his things off without permission. All he had left was that precious guitar, and now Ben was trying to sell it off, too? Music was his life, and without it, ____ had nothing. Ben had cut off ____'s ties to everything else he loved, but this was the one thing ____ could not allow to be taken from him. He refused.

"Who cares what I use the fucking money on? You haven't been in a band in months, so what does your music matter? It's leading nowhere." Ben spits, eyes alight with a sudden fury as he finally turns around, gripping the neck of ____'s acoustic so tightly his knuckles go white.

"I love it! You don't understand, you never have! You... you never will either, will you?" He bites back, angry too, feeling emboldened by his resolve.

He's leaving. This was the final straw. He should have left after that first hit, should never have allowed things to get this bad. He should have listened to-

To... who? Who should he have listened to? His mother? Father? Ves-

____ winces, momentarily blindsided by the pain in his head. There's a name just at the edges of his mind, ____ clawing at it, tugging and pulling, trying to get it within his grasp. It slips away like water through his fingers, leaving him empty and desperate for comfort from someone he can't quite seem to remember.

"Give me my guitar! Give it to me!" He practically shouts, fists clenching to hide how he shakes, disoriented from the pain and the aching longing in his chest.

He surges forward, reaching out for his guitar, desperate to feel it in his hands, to know it's safe. It's all he has left.

Ben shoves him back, sneering when Four goes stumbling, knocking into the doorframe. It doesn't hurt, not really, especially when Ben could have just hit him like he usually would.

"What have I fucking told you about getting upset!? You know I can't fucking understand you!"

"Well, you won't have to bother even trying anymore, I'm leaving. I'm breaking up with you!" ____ wears his own sneer now, lip turned up as he bares his teeth.

"Where the fuck will you even go, huh? You've got no fucking friends, no money! You- You belong to me!"

"I'm going home." ____ states simply, focused on his guitar, watching the way it trembles in Ben's too tight grip, "And I don't belong to you. I stopped being yours from the moment you first hit me."

____ wants his mother. Her and his father will let him stay with them until he picks himself back up from the floor Ben had knocked him to.

"You'll be fine without me. You've got a good job, the apartment's in your name. You do not need me. You've never given me anything but a reason to leave and I was too- Too in love with you to-" ____ continues, not noticing the way Ben's eyes have darkened with dangerous intent, only realizing once it's too late to dodge the oncoming hit.

The first blow is more disorienting than anything, knocking him back again, a hand splayed out to hold onto the door frame. ____ is frantic, wide eyes trying to assess the guitar for any damage, too shocked that Ben hit him with it to really understand the need he should have to flee.

The second, after a moment of hesitation, is worse, sending him careening to the ground into the hallway. His head hits the floor with a sharp crack, but there's no time to even feel for a wound as his acoustic guitar comes down on his head again. There is no getting up, no moving away from the blows that rain down on him. ____ can only curl up and try to protect his head from further damage, though somewhere beyond the black spots and the panic, he fears it may be a bit late for that. He'd been careless, too afraid to lose his music, not afraid enough to protect himself. He knows Ben's had a temper, had felt the force of it raining down on him often. ____ should have been more careful with what he was saying, but he was tired of that.

Benjamin doesn't stop, not even when ____'s acoustic begins to splinter from missed hits against the ground and the sheer force behind his swings. He only stops when he needs to catch his breath. It's like a fog clears from his mind, mind returned to his body, furious expression transitioning into fear, a switch flipped. The acoustic guitar sits broken in his hand, body splintered, the neck intact, though the string have snapped and cut into Ben's own hand, blood dripping off his fingers.

Ben barely registers the pain, adrenaline surging through him, but as it begins to ebb, he shakes.

____ lays bloodied, unmoving except for slow blinks of his eyes, eyes Ben once loved. He bleeds from a gash in his head, his fingers spilling blood between them from where ____ had tried to protect himself after those first few blows. Crimson has coated nearly the entirety of one half of his face, clumping his eyelashes and dribbling into his mouth, opened as he pants through the pain. Bruises are already purpling over his visible skin, darkening to match the hickeys and finger shaped marks around his neck, peeking over his high collar.

Ben had always hated how ____ tried to cover them.

"Fuck. Fuck, ____, what did you make me do? Baby, get up. Get up, ____, don't do this to me. I didn't hit you that hard." His boyfriend drops to his knees, picking up ____'s face by his jaw with rough hands, that ridiculous instrument tossed to the side in a broken heap.

His fingers slip through the blood, digging in to cuts made by the wood as it cracked and splintered, the strings snapping and tearing through fragile flesh, long lines across his jaw and cheek. ____'s blood clumped lashes flutter, eyes unfocused as Ben tries to shake him into lucidity. He blinks slowly, blood seeping into his waterline, each one lasting longer and longer, a clear struggle to remain conscious.

"Fucking look at me, damnit. You should have just kept your mouth shut and been an obedient little house wife. Why did you have to go and mess up this good thing we had, baby?" As Ben is speaking, he's assessing the injuries he made with a critical eye.

____ will need to go to the hospital. Ben can't lose him, he won't. He'd been so careful not to do too much damage, to make sure air got back into ____'s lungs in time every time he choked him out. Carefully, Ben lifts ____ up, an arm behind his shoulders and knees. His head lolls uselessly against Ben's shoulder, consciousness completely lost now.

How will he explain this away?

That's the thought running on loop through his mind after Ben puts ____ in the passenger seat, rain drops splattered over his face. He doesn't bother to put a new pair of shoes on him, it'll take too much time. Sliding into the driver's seat, Ben takes a moment to light up a cigarette, blowing the smoke into the air without bothering to roll the windows down. The windshields wipers are turned on, though the downpour only grows heavier as the sky cries and Ben pulls out of their assigned parking space.

"Four?" Vessel gasps, six eyes widened in horror, stars bursting under his feet as he makes his way towards him with utmost haste.

He winks from existence right before Vessel can reach him.

The nearest hospital is at least twenty minutes away. What will Ben say happened? His fingers drum on the steering wheel, gaze flitting to find ____'s occasionally. He fades in and out of consciousness, moaning in pain, eyelashes fluttering. At least he's still alive.

Fuck, what if they call the cops? Ben's always been terrible at coming up with excuses, they'll take one look at ____, see the bruises around his neck, and know. They'll know Ben did that to him. He can't go to jail because of this, he'll never see ____ again.

"Why'd you have to go and piss me off, ____? Why couldn't you keep your mouth shut and just do as I said?"

"Four, darling, what happened? Can you speak?" The fingers that cup Four's face move to carefully move aside some hair from the wound once the man returns.

If ____ is really serious about leaving him, then what will stop him when they get to the hospital? When ____ is treated and eventually able to go home? He'll leave. He'll leave Ben all alone. Casting another glance ____'s way, he diverts the car down one of many side roads, away from civilization, taking another slow drag and releasing it. The smoke wafts in the air, quickly beginning to fog up the car's interior.

"Hurts." His speech is slurred, breathing labored, pained.

"How can I help you? Fuck, how do I help you?"

"I know, baby, we're heading to the hospital right now." Ben reassures, lying through his teeth, reaching over to pat ____'s thigh, pressing down on the gas, forcing the car to move faster, faster, until it's speeding down the empty highway.

It barrels down the road, racing past trees and houses just beginning to turn on their lights for the evening.

"Ben, slow down."

"Ben? Is Ben your boyfriend? Did he do this to you?"

Four blinks, unfocused eyes attempting to track the man before him. Chains hang from antlers, a long cloak and it's hood covering everything but a bare chest painted black and a bone white mask dripping red, flowery filigree ending in a fleur-de-lis design. ____ knows him. His head hurts. He can't move, can barely even manage to speak.

"It's okay, ____. We're going to be together forever. You're not allowed to leave me, baby. I won't live without you. If you're going to leave me once you get fixed up at the hospital, then you're not going to the hospital at all." His foot presses the gas harder, anger fizzling under his skin.

"Vessel, I want to go home." Tears drip out of the corners of Four's eyes, tracking through blood.

That is who he is. Four. He remembers now. Remembers everything.

"Who the fuck is Vessel? What, were you fucking cheating on me? You're mine, ____!" Gritting his teeth, Ben barely keeps the car from swerving off the road, tires sliding against the rain-slick asphalt.

They're not far enough from civilization just yet.

"I should never have said that to you. You hate me now, don't you, annwyl?" Four can barely speak past the throbbing in his head, the ache in his body, the heaviness of his tongue.

"Hush now darling, of course I don't hate you. I pushed too far- No, no, stay with me, Four, stay!"

____'s breath stutters in his chest, crimson oozing from his head wound. For just a moment, he stops breathing. Ben's shout of alarm echoes in his head, hurts him, grating against his brain, an arm thrown out to shake ____'s shoulder violently.

"____! Don't you dare die on me yet!"

"Sleep!" Vessel cries out, sobbing, gold streaking down his cheeks and dripping off his masked jaw, "Please, Sleep, you have to save him!"

Sleep does not answer, though Vessel feels him lingering close. It makes him angry to know Sleep is but a willing bystander as Four suffers.

Ben watches ____ mumble, his breath returned, speaking to someone that is clearly not him. His fury rises, searching the horizon. There's a few houses dotting the fields around them. Ben doesn't want anyone to find them until they're both gone, but ____ is fading fast.

"Stay with me a little longer, baby, almost there. We're almost there, and then we'll be together. You'll never leave me."

____'s eyes flutter open, focusing just enough to see how fast they're going. Trees whizz by, adrenaline surging through him. They're going too fast. He tries to move his hand to get to the door handle, throwing himself out seeming a better option. He finds it locked, the child safety lock flipped on.

"Ben, don't do this! Please! Why can't you just let me leave?" ____'s words are a slurred mess, his accent making it nearly unintelligible, but for once in his life, Ben tries to understand.

"Four, please, where are you? Tell me where you are. What hospital would he be taking you to? I'll come get you, I swear it."

"You're mine even in death, ____!"

"Four! Please! Stay with me, stay with me!" Vessel begs, terrified as Four's form keeps flickering, pretty blues growing more unfocused with time, his blinks lasting longer.

A sob breaks forth, tearing from his hoarse throat. It breaks Vessel, too, his careful attempt at composure cracking.

"Vessel, mae'n ddrwg gen i! Mae'n ddrwg gen i!"

Ben smiles, takes another drag as he spots what he's looking for. He clutches his cigarette between his index and middle finger, reaching over to undo ____'s seatbelt with his pinkie and ring fingers. It comes undone with a quiet click, ____'s arms shooting out on either side of him to clutch blindly at whatever is closest.

Vessel watches the seatbelt come undone, eyes widening in horror. He has only a brief milliseconds time to throw himself over Four, summoning vines from the ether to keep him and his beloved tethered to the car seat. Their chests meet, Four's heart pounding against Vessel's skin so violently the First is sure it'll burst out of his chest if given half the chance.

Four finds it in himself to scream upon impact with the large tree in front of them, caught between the waking and the dreaming, Vessel's ears ringing from the piercing sound as Four's body jerks with the movement of the car, stilled only by Vessel trying to keep him from moving. It hits the tree at an angle, sending the car careening sideways where it soon begins to tumble over itself. Glass shatters, slicing against his cheek, windshield cracking. The passenger window explodes inward, glass raining down, cutting through his clothes. There's a sharp pain against his mouth, traveling up the side of his face, glass gathering in his lap. His body lurches forward, trapped in the seatbelt, the polyester webbing digging into his neck so hard it chokes the breath from him immediately. Rain steadily begins to wet one side of his face, droplets splashing against his clothes, something warm dripping down, down over his bruised neck.

The wound on his head keeps bleeding sluggishly, trickling down his face in thick rivulets of crimson, bruises deepening with every passing second. He's so pale. A piece of glass juts out of his cheek, little pinpricks of blood beginning to dribble. Vessel knows what has happened, Four's body stiff, trapped and unmoving.

"Sleep! I fucking know you're here! Make him yours!" Vessel shouts through his sobbing, fingers slipping right through Four's form now, unable to touch him as he lays awake, on the verge of unconsciousness but not quite there enough for Vessel to reach him.

"It'll be alright, Four. It's okay." Vessel whispers little nothings, whether he's trying to reassure Four or himself is unclear.

"He will die either way." Sleep's voices boom, curious as they echo in the space around the two, "The car he is in has flipped. His life is fading fast. His abuser suffering the same fate."

"Why would you want him to suffer through Devotion? This is a merciful death, comparatively. I could even make it painless for him, if you would only ask it of me." Sleep continues, jealousy leaking into His voices.

Something glowing catches Vessel's eye, his forehead thumping against the shoulder of the seat, just by the headrest as he cries. Clutching uselessly at empty air where Vessel's cloak would be, one of Four's fingers appears to have a red string wrapped around it. It leads visibly to a string on Vessel's own hand, joined by two others on different fingers.

What...? Oh.

Oh.

Vessel tugs at that string, wraps it tight around his hand, fading quickly compared to the vibrant reds attached to his other fingers. He knows now what he is looking at, knows what Four is to him. He's always known, his soul has always known. It's why he found Four in the first place, why they're so drawn to one another.

Why Vessel refuses to let him go. Why Vessel will never let anyone take Four from him, not Death, not Sleep, not that utter bastard of a boyfriend.

Lucifer had said, "Sleep's jealousy will not keep you from the Fourth, make sure that They remember that destiny is not so easily avoided, no matter how petty the tricks They play or how They deny what They know to be true."

Terzo, Lucifer, Lysney, they'd all seen what Vessel could not. His soul, bonded with three others, and Sleep is trying to keep him from one of them.

Paige's own words, imparted to her by Lysney, ring through his mind, "Your future is not without pain, but Lynsey says he will be here soon, and you will be complete."

He wraps a mental hand around the bond connecting him with Sleep and pulls, "Because he is meant to be ours, and you'll not keep me from what I know now is truly fated."

Sleep's lingering presence slams into Vessel so hard it sends him to his knees, magic pulsing around his body. Sleep is furious, forced to join Vessel in this space the vessel has made, unable to tear Himself away, unable to escape to His own realm, unsettled by how much it resembles the space in which he first spoke to His Vessels. Galaxies burst apart and reform beneath Vessel's hands, his claws shattering stars into dust, despair clawing at his throat.

"I took him from you and still you cling to his memory, still you disobey me and keep him close. Let him go."

"I don't care that I am nothing to him. Save his soul. Make him one of us. Please, my God, I am begging you. Take whatever you need of my body to repair his, take the shredded remains of my soul so that his can be saved. Please. I do not want to lose him." Vessel sobs, willing to tear out whatever other organ Sleep needs.

"He is incompatible with my divinity, my Vessel. There is a high probability he will not make it through the devotion ritual, let alone survive the transformation. Why would I waste my magic, my lifeforce, to try and save one who cannot be saved?"

"Is the probability zero? Is there any chance at all that he will survive, that he can become one of us?" Vessel asks desperately, hands trembling.

"There is less than a one percent chance he will make it. His body and soul were not made for me. Let. Him. Go."

Curling into himself, Vessel claws at the invisible floor beneath him, sobbing, gold splashing against a black hole at his knees. He forces his head up, crimson eyes alight with pain and a burning determination. His soul still clings to Four, unwilling to let him go. He's actively slipping from his grasp, Death trying to claim him. Vessel will not let it.

"If you care for me at all then you will try."

There is silence, then Sleep screams in frustration, all of His voices rising in an angry cacophony that echoes far out into the vast space around them. As it fades, there is another bout of silence, and then a booming sound unlike anything Vessel has ever heard. A visible shockwave begins to travel towards where Vessel sits, a supernova traveling fast in his direction, a sea of starlight snuffed out. Right before it reaches him, obliterates his corporeal form, Sleep casts him out.

Vessel wakes up coughing blood, gasping for breath on the shore of a sandy beach. Sleep's form loomed above as Vessel rolled over onto his back, blood splattering over his chin as he continues coughing, maroon sea campion wilting next to him. The stars above begin to blink out, one by one, as darkness consumes them, until nothing is left but an endless abyss, broken only by Sleep's maw splintering apart the bottom of the moon. Vessel does not look away, not until Sleep forces him to, until four eyes slip shut, dead blue eyes opening but not really, the scene shifting, and he finds himself forced to stare at a tile wall.

"You would use my care for you against me?"

He tries to shift but his body does not obey. He cannot twitch a muscle, cannot speak, cannot even blink. Something moves along his arm, tiny pinpricks of sensation, his focus shifting as far as it can to his peripherals, his head unable to turn, to look down. The way his head lays, lolled forward unceremoniously onto his bicep, allows him a perfect view. Had he been alive, Vessel would have thrown up at the stench that greets him alongside the horrendous sight.

"Without me, you would never have left this tub. Without me, you would never have crawled out from the blue depths as many times as you did. Without me, there would be no you, no Second or Third Vessel of mine." Sleep's voice echoes all around, bouncing off the tiled walls of the bathroom.

Harsh yellow light shines down on Vessel's sickly pale form, forced to watch maggots crawl from gaping wounds in his arms, self-inflicted, life ending. A cockroach crawls along the wall, another over the shredded mess of one arm that hangs over the side of the tub. His other arm is in the same state.

Vessel is cold. A chill has set in to his flesh, permeating deep within, body dipped in long since cooled bathwater. His chest does not rise or fall, lungs as empty as his veins, every inch of him stiff, immovable, trapped in this position.

"You laid here for weeks after I abandoned you for the final time. No more would I linger at your side and watch as you continuously forsook each and every chance I gave you to live. No one asked after you, that wretched woman left you here to rot with the memories she and those others before her gave you. It was your neighbor who called in your foul stench, it was your landlord that had finally decided it was time to demand your overdue rent. There was no one who loved you enough to mourn you, so I took you, right from the morgue before they could burn you to ash, right from the clutch of Death's arms. I breathed unto you what little life I could offer, poured too much of myself in my efforts to ensure your soul could survive in the mess of your body. The rot had spread from your body to your soul, so I repurposed it, tied you to my earthly realm, to me, and gave the vessels a piece of your offered heart to anchor you even further."

"Without my grace, you would have laid in that morgue, unclaimed by any who surely knew you until they cremated you and scattered your ashes with the rest of those poor, unloved souls."

Vessel is dead? Truly?

"Quite so. The chill to your skin, the ability to function without your heart, the lack of need to breathe. Did you not suspect it? Or did you not want to admit to yourself that you truly did get what you wanted and I did not allow you to remain that way?"

When Terzo had said Vessel's soul bore scars upon scars of death upon his soul, his words from when they'd met coming to Vessel easily now, "Time has not been kind to you... so much death lingers in your soul, fresh and old alike."

All of his attempts on his life, each and every one, they were all thwarted by Sleep? He kept Vessel alive?

His thoughts wander immediately to II, to III. Are they also-?

"Not as such. I took them before their souls could truly pass, their bodies brought from the brink I kept them suspended at the edge of. It was like performing resuscitation on a person who had just passed. They live and breathe just as they did before they stood before me on my shore."

Vessel cannot ever let them find out. If he thought there was no chance of them remaining at his side should they find out his heart was served to them on a golden platter, then this will send them running for the hills. They can't ever know they've been loving and fucking a walking corpse.

'Why would you bother to save me...? You said you abandoned me, kept bringing me back... over and over, when all I wanted was to die, and you took me back. So why? Tell me. Tell me why?!'

"For I love you, and I could not bare to part from you. I still can't. I will try to save that boy as you desire. When it fails, when I force you to watch as his body decays during Devotion, rots from within as he Transforms, if he makes it that far, you will then shut your mouth, cease your resistance, and go about your days as the First of three vessels of Sleep. There will be no Fourth."

Vessel wakes choking on bile, a garbled cry escaping him as he scrambles off the piano bench, imprints of it's keys reddened on his face. A blanket slips off his shoulders to the floor, laid there by II no doubt. It is by a miracle alone that he makes it out of the practice room and down the hallway to the restroom, just barely managing to crash to the floor in front of the toilet bowl and throw up.

Thick black sludge drips from his lips as he coughs, his hands trembling as he holds the edges of the toilet seat. Attached to one finger, a red thread wraps around and around, tied into a neat little bow. It's nearly translucent, magic shimmering around it, like a mirage, there one moment and gone the next only to reappear when you turn your head at just the right angle.

Claws scrape porcelain as he cries, the bond muted and distant, Vessel subconsciously retreating into himself. It's what he is best at, hiding away his feelings to suffer through them alone, making himself smaller, less assuming, to minimalize that chance of being hurt.

He wants II. Or III. Both of them. He wants them to hold him, wishes he'd met them before he'd finally gotten what he'd wanted, finally succeeded because a God got tired of dealing with him.

He needs to tell them. They need to know that their Fourth is coming, if he survives. Vessel will not allow himself to consider the alternative.

Wiping his mouth and standing, ignoring the shaking in his limbs, the weakness in his knees, he tries to feel out his lovers' locations. III is outside, likely working on planting the tomato seeds they'd mentioned getting recently. II should be upstairs, likely reading that new book Vessel had suggested.

Vessel wants II. Wants his stability, his calm, steadfast presence.

Vessel wants II to hold him. Wishes that II could, knows that he won't want to if he ever finds out that Vessel is dead. Holding his hand to his chest, trying to keep that fading thread close, Vessel makes his way upstairs.

Silent tears drip down his cheeks as he reaches for II, the door opening with a quiet creak. II reaches back, concern furrowing his brows, taking Vessel's outstretched hands and pulling him towards himself. Vessel falls into the bed, curling up at II's side with his head on II's thigh. The fabric of II's sweatpants quickly gets stained with golden tears. When he asks Vessel what is wrong, running his hand through Vessel's hair gently, always so gentle, Vessel does not answer, only shakes his head in refusal. III is tugging at the bond insistently, broadcasting their concern, the front door opening and closing in the distance. It's almost like Vessel can hear them asking what is wrong, the worry in III's voice nearly ringing through Vessel's mind.

He'd died alone. Every single time. And that last time, he remained there in that apartment, rotting, unloved. His skin sloughing off the bone, eyes flat and sunken into his skull, his teeth rotted, hair brittle.

It feels miniscule in the face of their Fourth's fate. Vessel wails, finally sobbing fully, the sound torn from him like when he'd torn his own heart out.

Through his cries, he speaks, spilling a secret he'd kept for months, "Our Fourth, he's dying. Sleep has been trying to keep him from us, but I won't let-"

Vessel is glad he had sought out II when he did, for at least he was not alone when Sleep takes him from his body.

He opens his eyes to the beach, Sleep snarling down at his form, chained down by inky black tendrils that dig into the sand behind his back and beside him, encircled by lit candles. Before him, a golden plate sits, and on it, an apple, a chunk taken out.

It is not a moment later that Four appears, bloodied, body as still as the dead, pretty blue eyes hidden behind closed eyelids. Fear curdles in Vessel's stomach. He has an inkling as to what comes next.

#SCREAMING #I LOVE THIS STORY SO MUCH #sleep token fanfic

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