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tipsynight0 · 3 months ago

Text

Ghosts in the code

Paring - ben drowned x female reader

Synopsis - reader dies on a mission, in ben's grief he makes her in the digtal realm to cope.

Trigger warnings: death, shooting, guns, blood, grief, i think that's all but its super sad so be warned??

Word count - 2.1K

Author’s note - so I woke up at 7:45am and decided to finally write this damn story, I had made it in the draft but never completed it. I thought, huh they’ve had too much fluff and to much Jeff the killer. Soo I hope you guys like being emotionally traumatized this early in the morning <3

It was supposed to be an easy mission. Jack was off to find his next meal, and (Y/N) just had to make a target disappear—another loose end tied up. She could’ve handled it alone, but Jack insisted on tagging along. And Ben, always the overprotective one, had been unusually tense, practically forcing her to let him come. That last mission had shaken him. He hadn’t been able to let go of how close she’d come to dying.

"Jesus Christ, Ben, I’ll be fine," (Y/N) snapped, stuffing long sleeves into her bag, her irritation spilling over.

Ben hovered near her, eyes clouded with worry that he couldn’t hide, no matter how hard he tried. He wasn’t his usual laid-back self—not this time. "You almost got yourself killed last time, (Y/N). This isn't something to brush off," he muttered, his voice low and laced with concern.

She rolled her eyes, zipping up her bag. "I know. But I can handle this. I don’t need you breathing down my neck." She sighed, softening a bit as she saw the tension in his face. "I’ll be back in no time. I love you, okay?"

But Ben didn’t respond. He just stared at her for a long moment, his face hard, jaw clenched. Without a word, he turned and walked out of the room. The door shut softly behind him, but it felt like a wall slamming down between them.

(Y/N) exhaled, the weight of his silence settling on her. She hadn’t meant to fight with him before leaving, but it always seemed to end like this when it came to her missions. Shrugging it off, she grabbed her bag and headed out with Jack.

The house was old, creaky, the kind that seemed to breathe with the wind. The floorboards groaned beneath her boots as she crept down the dimly lit hallway, gripping her knife tightly. The air was thick with tension, heavy with the kind of silence that made every noise echo louder than it should. She was looking for a blue door. Inside, a scared twenty-year-old kid was hiding, a witness who’d seen too much—a fleeting glimpse of the mansion’s dark secrets.

It was routine. She’d done this a thousand times before, but something felt off. Her skin prickled with unease as she approached the door, the silence pressing down on her like a weight. Then, a scream—low, guttural—pierced the air. The door flew open with a crash, and she froze.

The kid stood there, trembling, his wild eyes locked onto hers. In his hands was a shotgun, shaking as violently as he was. Fear twisted his features, but before she could react, he pulled the trigger.

The blast was deafening. In that moment, time seemed to slow, her world narrowing to the sound of the explosion and the searing pain that followed. It hit her square in the chest, a force so strong it knocked her off her feet, her body crashing into the floor.

Her back slammed against the hardwood with a sickening thud, but it was the burning that consumed her. The heat spread through her chest like wildfire, every nerve screaming in agony. She gasped, choking on the blood that filled her lungs, her breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts. The room spun, her vision blurring as the pain became unbearable.

All she could think about was Ben. His stupid, overprotective warnings. He had been right. He had been fucking right, and she never told him. He didn’t even say “I love you” back.

Tears welled in her eyes as she coughed, blood sputtering from her lips. The taste of iron coated her mouth as her hands clawed at the floor, trying to grasp onto something—anything. But she was slipping, fast. Her vision grew darker, the ringing in her ears louder, drowning out everything else. Ben’s face flickered in her mind, that crooked smile, the way he laughed when he beat her at video games, the warmth in his touch when he wasn’t being so damn stubborn.

A final breath rattled in her chest, and everything went black.

Jack pushed through the wet forest, his steps heavy and labored, (Y/N)'s limp body cradled in his arms. His hands were slick with blood, her blood, the smell thick in the cold air. He moved as quickly as he could, but her weight, combined with the dread gnawing at his gut, slowed him down. He knew—he could feel it—that this wasn’t just another injury. This was different. Worse. The kind of wound you didn’t walk away from.

Her pulse was barely there, faint and fluttering, like it was already halfway to giving up. Her skin had turned ghostly pale, and the blood, it just wouldn’t stop. It soaked into his clothes, warm and sticky, every step leaving a trail of red behind them. The mansion wasn’t far, but it felt like miles, and with every step, Jack’s fear grew.

He burst through the mansion doors, frantic, his voice hoarse as he shouted for help.

Jeff and Ben were on the couch, immersed in a game of Mario Kart. Ben, still brooding from their earlier fight, didn’t even look up. His anger kept him rooted to his seat, eyes fixed on the screen.

But Jeff’s gaze drifted to the hallway, to the trail of blood that smeared the floorboards. The sight made him drop his controller, his face twisting in confusion and horror as he followed the crimson path to where Jack stood, soaked in it.

"Ben…" Jeff’s voice was tight, like he already knew what was coming. Ben ignored him at first, too wrapped up in his frustration to care. But when he finally turned, his blood ran cold.

(Y/N) lay cradled in Jack’s arms, her shirt torn open, exposing the gruesome mess of her chest. Buckshot wounds peppered her torso, blood oozing from every gash. Her chest barely rose, barely fell, and her face—oh god, her face. She was so pale. Too pale.

Ben stumbled forward, his legs weak beneath him, until he collapsed at her side. "No. No, no, no, no, no!" His voice cracked, raw with panic and disbelief. He reached for her hand—her hand that had once been so warm, so full of life. Now, it was cold, stiffening with every passing second. His fingers curled around hers, squeezing, as if he could force life back into her with sheer will.

"Jack, what the fuck happened?! You had one job, one fucking job! You were supposed to keep her safe!" His voice rose, laced with fury and heartbreak. But there was no answer. Jack stood frozen, guilt etched in every line of his face.

Ben’s anger melted into desperation as he cupped her face, brushing her blood-matted hair back, pressing frantic kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her lips—anywhere he could. "Please, don’t do this," he whispered, his voice shaking. "I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I love you, just—please. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me, (Y/N)."

But her chest had stopped moving. Her pulse had gone. (Y/N) was gone.

She died wrapped in Ben’s arms that night, her body slack against him as the life drained from her. He held her tighter than he ever had, as if he could somehow hold her soul in his embrace, keep her from slipping away. But there was nothing left to hold onto. Jeff and Toby had to pull him off her, restrain him as he screamed her name, his voice raw and broken. He fought against them, desperate to stay with her, but they carried her body out. The Operator spoke of capturing her soul, of preserving her somehow, but the words were meaningless to Ben. Ben had spent countless days and sleepless nights locked away in his dimly lit room, the walls closing in around him as the weight of his grief pressed heavily on his chest. The world outside felt like a distant memory, a place where laughter echoed and sunlight broke through the darkness—a world that no longer existed for him. Instead, he found himself drowning in a sea of despair, surrounded by his computer screens, each one a window to a digital realm that was both a refuge and a prison.

He scoured the internet obsessively, combing through files, piecing together fragments of code like a mad scientist trying to resurrect the dead. Hours turned into days as he meticulously recorded long sessions of every proxy’s voice—voices that had once brought him comfort now echoed with haunting reminders of what he had lost. He captured every laugh, every snarky remark, every heartfelt confession, determined to weave them into the fabric of his creation. It had to be perfect. It had to feel real.

The others in the mansion watched him with a mix of concern and resignation. They agreed to his demands, knowing he was lost in his pain, hoping that his obsession might bring him some semblance of peace. But Ben wasn’t looking for peace; he was searching for a way to bring (Y/N) back. He wanted to trap her essence in this digital world, to create a sanctuary where she would never leave him again.

The night finally came when he felt ready. With trembling hands, he slipped the cartridge into the console, his heart racing as the screen flickered to life, illuminating the room with a soft glow. The title appeared, its letters swirling in hues of blue and green, memories end. He pressed play, and the familiar loading screen unfolded before him, sending him spiraling into the depths of his creation.

As he traversed the digital halls of the mansion, a sense of anticipation mixed with dread washed over him. Every pixel, every shadow had been crafted with care, echoing the real place they had shared so many moments. It was both exhilarating and gut-wrenching to see her face again—her features rendered flawlessly, as if she were just a breath away.

Then, he entered his bedroom, and there she was, standing in the center of the room, bathed in the soft glow of the digital light. His heart raced, a wild mixture of hope and anguish surging through him as her voice filled the air. “Ben, I have to go on my mission today. Don’t be mad, please.”

The sound of her voice pierced through the haze of his grief, and he felt a fresh wave of tears stinging his eyes. It was her—his (Y/N)—and yet, she wasn’t really there. This was a simulacrum, a mere imitation of the vibrant person he loved. He plastered on a smile, forcing himself to believe in the illusion, even as his heart ached with the reality of her absence.

“Of course, I could never be angry with you,” he said, his voice catching in his throat as he stepped closer. He reached out, gently brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear, the familiar motion bringing a warmth to his chest that he had thought lost forever. But as his fingers met her cool, pixelated skin, a rush of sorrow flooded him.

This wasn’t real. She wasn’t real. She was just a ghost, a whisper of what had once been. The weight of his actions crashed over him like a tidal wave; he had trapped her in a prison of his making, and for all his effort, he was still utterly alone.

“Ben, are you okay?” she asked, her eyes wide with concern—so genuine, so achingly familiar. But he could only nod, fighting to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. “I’ll be back soon,” she continued, that same playful smile he had loved so much lighting up her face.

And yet, the more she spoke, the more he felt the chasm of loss stretching between them. Each word was a reminder that no matter how perfect this world was, it could never replace the warmth of her laughter, the touch of her hand, the way she had always known how to pull him out of the darkness.

“Just be careful,” he whispered, his voice breaking, a crack in the facade he had built. She smiled at him, and for a fleeting moment, the ache of his heart softened. But as he gazed into her eyes, he realized the painful truth no matter how many times he played this game, no matter how much he crafted her voice and presence, it would never fill the void left by her absence.

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