#contemplating abt my dark sbg AU and writing this sooo maybe this is a pathway we'll never know

[primalmagic]

agony // ben clark

tw: descriptive pain? light gore? idk seemed like something i should tw. its just a lot of angst and its ben and analyzing other characters from his perspective.

here's a super angsty ben character study guys !! hope you enjoy <3

Sometimes, in the darkest depths of your mind, the agony that leeches out to grab a hold of your mind only barely grazes the tip of your skull.

No bones crack, no muscles rip- but the tip of ironed claws do dip themselves into the slush of your cerebrum, grabbing a hold of the pathways holding you together.

Sometimes, that agony doesn't throw itself onto you- but drips like poison through your veins- slowly, steadily.

Ben is all too familiar with that desperation- the harsh creeping feeling of dread that never leaves for good. Like an old infection that keeps coming back, like that person you left behind- the person who's always right in front of you.

See, Ben doesn't like feeling helpless- which is an issue, considering that's all he ever does- and he despises being out of control.

He sees many people talk about masking their pain, about hiding it so no one can notice, and it makes him curious. Is that what he's doing?

It's not quite his choice to mask it- after all, maybe he would be a easier person today if he still had his voice- but nonetheless, it's not like anyone ever notices.

Or maybe they do. And they just don't know how to deal with it.

Not everyone's like that, though.

Aiden's a lifesaver- not that Ben would ever tell him that to his face- but god, his cousin had saved him more times than he could count. What he could count on- was, well, Aiden.

Tyler was sweet too. Maybe his dreams of becoming a singer had been crushed into shards of broken glass, but at least the guitar was an outlet. He could still music, if that made sense.

Music was everything and nothing to him- the odd note in the melody of his life- the one thing that he would do anything for, cruelly taken away from him by an act of hatred so vile it hurt to think about it.

Learning the guitar helped him gain a little bit of control again. His life was a dance of fraying threads, and he was a sewist tasked to piece them together.

The guitar became his sewing machine.

And then there was Taylor, who at first Ben despised. She was bright and sunny and everything he wasn't- but she was also quiet and curious and ignored. She was also careful and comforting and loving and home.

If that made any sense at all.

Logan was... another version of himself, sometimes. He would look at his friend and see the shadow that had once followed him to every corner of the earth. It was an oddly validating experience. But the boy was a lot stronger than Ben had ever been- so maybe Ben was also a little bit impressed with how Logan handled his fucked up life.

Ashlyn didn't talk to him much. They were both quiet, standoffish, not-very-social people anyway. It was easy to be in the same room as her and not have it be awkward. Her presence was comforting, in a way.

To be honest, he'd never quite imagined he'd have a friend group like this. It was always a dream for another life, where he could still sing and smile without breaking his eyes and wrinkling his heart.

But if all of them- in all their messed up glory and memories and near death experiences- could survive the phantom realm... couldn't he?

So, yes, he still feels that agony sometimes. The slow trickle of depression inching it's way into the marrow of his bones; the sound of his gnawed-open voice slashing him in the hollow of his chest.

But it's progress is slow, and the knife dulls after every use.

So, for the first time since his accident, he decides to look under the curtain- see the way his dreams, all crumpled up and ripped apart- come together and unfold themselves.

He sits at the edge of his bedroom door, after closing every door and window twice, after shutting down every recording device and making sure no one will be home for another hour or so, after quieting the pumping heart in his chest.

And Ben sings.

The tears fall, and fall, and fall, and he gasps for air more than once. But he sings. Not for anyone other than himself.

And maybe he never will. Maybe no one will ever hear his voice again. Maybe they'll forget that once upon a time, he was ever able to speak. But that's okay.

For now, he's with himself.

And so he sings.