Ben having an eldritch god in his bellybutton is yes. Time to show the world the meaning of terror.
Designated as Number Six by Hargreeves, Ben had the ability to channel eldritch creatures from another dimension through a portal under his skin, most often displayed as tentacles emerging from his stomach. Growing up, he had a naive and enthusiastic nature that led to him being easily manipulated. Sir Reginald found Ben's abilities to be fascinating but gruesome and had to learn to suppress a feeling of nausea in order to study the condition further. (X)
The horror of it all. Coming soon to a Ded & Gonne near you.
by @firstpersonnarrator || Header gif by the divine @salvador-daley || possession prompt by anon
Part 4: Somebody’s in the garden
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TW: main character injury; possession; two not-brothers flirting; my absurdist sense of humor heavily featuring a not-so-bright, omniscient-first-person narrator; a hazy grasp of Pilgrim-speak; bad gardeners; mimes.
AN: The night before Halloween is Devil’s Night, when the veil between the living and the dead is at its 2nd thinnest. After Klaus’s delightfully successful Devil’s Night prank, he’s feeling moderately guilty for scaring the shit out of Ben. So he has decided it would be best to target Ben’s vanity, and boost his not-brother’s self esteem by finally giving in and substituting ‘Evil’ in place of ‘Mean.’ Don’t worry, it doesn’t last.
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“Evil Ben? Is it just me, or is this garden surprising?”
They’d agreed to attempt a search for a hypothetical concept called a “kitchen” somewhere in their wing of the building. It had worked. But instead of being knee-deep in champagne like Ben prefers to be, they’re off bumping, unintentionally, into creepy buried gardens, and things of that nature.
Klaus had popped wood at the mere thought of owning a secret garden. To be fair, he had also just been fondling a green man.
Now, atop a set of low, rough-hewn steps, Klaus and Evil Ben stand looking out over a broad, circular patio of stone, surveying the strangeness beyond.
A perfectly Devil’s Night-ish kind of garden lies beyond, full of dead things that had formerly been alive.
It’s clear that the flagstones had once been leveled, engraved, and polished to a high shine. But the frost heaves that bedevil New England in winter have utterly destroyed the flat perfection of the patio over time. Flagstones thrust up like fallen gravestones, with ropes of ivy pulling at the gaps between.
Sad patches of brown grass dot bald earth where once there had been a lawn. The remains of an ancient orchard have devolved into nothing but a twisted stand of five skeletons and their splintered deadfall, all of it jagged and aggressively stabby. An intricate design of garden beds has been overtaken and strangled to death by tall weeds, persistently poking through years of matted, decaying leaves. Darkness. And urns.
Ben is currently scanning with intense eyes beneath matchingly intense eyebrows, and croaks, “What?”
“Wow. Bennerino, you still don’t sound so good,” Klaus unhelpfully points out. “Huh. I wonder how your threats will sound now. Will you be miming them?”
Ben turns a face full of anger and accusations on Klaus. But he’s forced to admit to himself that he will not be picking any more tantrums for the foreseeable future. He deflates, and finally mimes *huh?* followed by *I fucking hate you.*
“No you don’t,” Klaus replies, exaggerating the shaking of his head no, as if he, too, has to mime.
Ben rolls his eyes, then nods with exaggeration, accompanied by miming, *Yes, I do. I really do.*
“This is fun! We should make up our own miming language!” Klaus exclaims. “We can use it as code when we get our first job detecting supernatural stuff and things.”
Ben mimes, *That’s stupid.*
“No it’s not,” says Klaus, once more exaggerating his head-shaking.
Ben mimes, *Yes it is. It really is.*
“We should probably discuss this when you don’t have to play charades. I hate to say it, babe, but you’re not very good at it.” Klaus flaps his hands, effectively miming *Nevermind all that.* “So, hey. Remember what I was saying before? About the surprising garden?”
Rolling his eyes, Ben huffs a deeply frustrated breath.
“Is this place supposed to have a garden?” Klaus asks, side-eyeing the vegetation.
Ben again looks to the heavens, then gives in and mimes, *I am unrolling invisible architectural blueprints with my hands, see me pointing? See me shaking my head no? There was no garden in the blueprints.*
Klaus mimes back, *You’re getting better at this, good job!*
Ben again mimes, *I hate you. I really do.*
*No you don’t.* Klaus is again exaggerating his head-shaking, when he remembers that he’s the one who can speak. “Blueprints? What blueprints? You got to see blueprints? I don’t believe you.”
Ben starts tapping his foot to indicate annoyance.
“So what was I saying?” Then Klaus remembers what he was saying, “Oh right.” He puffs himself up a bit to declare, “I, too, find this garden surprising.”
Ben slumps, indicating to Klaus that his not-brother is experiencing strong feelings of negativity, and should probably be left alone in contemplation. Lucky guess.
The entirety of the secret garden is enclosed by the building’s stone walls. Ben’s hidden excitement mounts as he descends the steps and takes in the view from a new vantage. It appears that the only point of access to this world of death and dead things is through the head of a green man.
Klaus wonders aloud, “How old is this place? Hey, Bennerino.” Ben bothers to turn and face Klaus, which is a start. “How old do you think this place is?”
*How the fuck am I supposed to know?* Ben really is getting better at being a mime. Especially the swear words. The next one’s easy: *I am feeling snarky and Evil as I ask you, ‘Why?’*
“Well, for starters, there’s the fact that this place looks really old.”
Ben’s eye rolling is just a safe assumption at this point.
“I mean, look at the walls.”
They both gaze about, mounting interest still mounting.
Klaus is correct. It does look old. Really old.
Ben needs Klaus’s attention in order to mime, so he yells “Klaus!” as loud as he possibly can. Unfortunately, that isn’t very loud. His cracked wheezing hasn’t managed to break through the sound of Klaus thinking thoughts. In the meantime, Ben is gripping his poor, damaged throat with both hands, eyes scrunched in pain, and wishing he could whimper. Self care would help, but this is neither the time nor the place.
“Did you say something, Benji?”
Ben mimes, *There are no windows.*
“Anywhere!” Klaus agrees. “I know! That’s why I asked!”
*Yes, I too would like to know why there are no windows,* is hopefully what that body language conveyed to Klaus.
“Friday,” Klaus answers.
Yeah, that one was unclear. Maybe Ben just needs a little more practice.
*Same stone,* Ben mimes, gesturing toward the patio. *All the way,* Ben mimes, gesturing at the walls. *Nobody builds stuff like this anymore. It’s probably old old.*
“Tuesday,” answers Klaus. “Kidding! Just kidding. Old old. Yeah, real old old. Like maybe even Harvard-old. Did you know that our prissy ol’ dame was founded in 1636? I’m serious, silly! First institute of higher education in America. I looked it up in case it affected our property taxes.”
*Are you shitting me?*
“No, Ben. I don’t kink shame, but no, I will not take a shit on you. Not if I don’t want to. I do not give you my consent.”
*I hate you. I reeeelly do.*
“That’s ok. I grow on people.”
*Gross,* Ben mimes. A bentacle shoves Klaus away.
Ok, what was that? Ben hadn’t been able to keep himself from doing it. Literally and precisely, he had not been able to avoid doing it. One of his bentacles has just shown free will.
Ben comes close to that realization, or pretty close, and shies away before he can take in the full impact of that truly horrorfying thought. Ben is so nauseous right now.
Rough one. Meanwhile, Klaus is blissfully unaware of what has just taken place. “Very funny, Mr. Grumpy Guts. My guess is,” Klaus strokes his beard to increase the suspense, “it never had any windows. ooooWOOOOooooo” [insert scary twinkle fingers here]. “I mean, there’s no way to know that for sure, other than tracking down the architect or the stonemason’s ghosts. How deep do you think we are?”
Ben looks uncharacteristically tongue-tied.
He keeps miming what might mean *under* or *underneath,* or even more likely, *inside,* and pointing at his nauseous bellybutton.
“What? Under? Under what? Oh, are you hungry? I gotta be honest, babe, these charades are getting a little old. A little tired. No offense.” Klaus sighs, and pats Ol’ Grumpy Guts tenderly on the shoulder. “Nevermind, I’ll do the talking. Ok, ready? 3 words, 1st word, 6 syllables.”
Klaus is taking his life into his own hands by talking. He should know that by now, but he’s still happily pushing Ben’s buttons. “Kidding, kidding! Ok, so,” Klaus begins counting, “this is the sub-sub-basement, and these walls are wicked high, so that includes the sub-basement, too. Ben, I really think it might be as tall as the basement! That’s tall!”
All Ben can do is nod.
“I know what this feels like!” Klaus crows. “This feels exactly like I’m in a box with no lid. Buried in the ground. Doesn’t it feel a little klaustrophobic?” he asks. “Now that you know we’re at the bottom of three basements?”
Ben mimes in agreement, *Like I’m at the bottom of an open grave, looking up at a rectangular patch of sky.*
Klaus scratches his beard again, trying to look like he’s ruminating on whatever it was Ben just acted out. “Ben, I’ve thought about it, and there’s never a good enough reason to mime shooting yourself in the head. That’s not funny. I’d miss you.” Klaus is 100% serious.
*No no no, that’s not what I meant. Look,* Ben mimes, and draws a knife across his throat.
“Ben,” Klaus looks hurt. “Stop offing yourself. It hurts.”
Ben goes to grab handfuls of his hair in frustration, then realizes his fingers would just get stuck in all the product. He tries again. *You, look at me. I am digging in the ground with a shovel. See me shoveling? Good. Thumbs up. Second word: I have dug a long rectangle with four sides. A four-sided rectangle. See it? Good. Thumbs up. Third word: I have two fingers that are pretending to be legs walking. But they stumble into the rectangle and look upward to the sky.*
“Huh?”
Ben continues. *All of that, see me drawing a circle, it means all of that, all of it taken together = a grave.*
“Huh?”
Ben tries to growl, and grips his throat in pain. It’s obvious that Klaus thinks he’s miming strangulation.
*No, no, no, look at me, you.* Ben tries to mouth the word ‘grave,’ skipping all the theatrics.
“To blave? To klave? A rave? What, you want to go dancing?” Klaus shakes his head in acknowledgement that that’s probably not what Ben is saying. “Nah, that can’t be it. Took me way too long to make you shake a tail feather at the wedding, why should a pit in the ground be any different. OH! Now I get it. A grave! Where?”
Ben wants to take a nap. Instead, he points at himself, then points toward the bracken vegetation beyond. It’s a wise choice, and evidence that Ben is capable of practicing self care. Maybe some peace and quiet will keep him sane while he contemplates the potential that his belly monster is sentient.
There’s something wyrd and wrong about the direction Ben has chosen to walk, but no matter how hard he squints, Klaus can’t quite make it out in the macabre gloom. Being Klaus, he naturally wants to explore it. But he also wants to naturally explore everything else, and anyway, Ben needs some alone time.
But, being Klaus, he gets distracted and addresses Ben, anyway. “Hey look!” Klaus excitedly points out a small rise to one side of the lawn. “We get our own tiny little miniature grassy knoll!” More like a lump in the lawn. A bump, a tiny mound.
Ben is past caring about something called a ‘grassy knoll.’ What the hell even is that, anyway? He’s also past paying attention to Klaus.
That happens a lot. With Ben and people other than Ben. Sometimes Klaus minds, but other times the lack of supervision suits his purposes nicely. It’s just that today, he minds. Because it’s Devil’s Night, and they have to be paying attention to each other if anyone is going to get scared. He would have thought that went without saying, but Ben seems to be playing dumb about this whole Devil’s Night business. They all had the same Dad, so they should all play the same games. Flawless logic. More or less.
Watching Ben follow a stone path off into the murk, Klaus tisks at the sere remains of their lawn. “We need a new gardener. This is just shameful.”
<<———😵💫———>>
Klaus is now tip-toeing through the frost heaves.
Looking about, he calls after Ben. “Would you call this a garden? Or a courtyard? Courtyard sounds way too much like the Academy, and that is not my idea of heaven, so it’s a garden. Officially. It’s an official garden. Even if it’s a court- Ben, wait, hey wait a minute.” Ben has been ignoring him, ever since he started wandering away.
“Rude!” Klaus squawks in disapproval. “Has it ever occurred to you that I might have- Hey, wa-wait! Baby, baby, stop. Ben’nuh!”
Klaus decides that the frost-heaved patio is difficult enough to walk on even without falling to his detriment. At least falling to his detriment would give Klaus a chance to take a closer look at the swooping, interlocking designs carved on the stones beneath his feet. He makes a mental note to come back and fall elaborately (so as to catch Ben’s attention), and then moves on to poke about the patio’s periphery.
Dotted at regular intervals around the edges stand five huge stone urns, and — possibly to his own detriment — they have drawn Klaus’s attention. From a distance, it looks a bit like there might once have been some kind of dense, black liquid flowing over their lips, coating the outward swell of the great pots with slow droplets of the black, sticky-looking stuff. Up close they give off a sickening sweet molasses smell. Yet a faint note of something perfumy can be caught quietly lingering beneath the brutish odor of the burnt substance. Almost as if someone set fire to flowers, consigning them to the flames licking skyward from the urns. It’s as though Klaus can see the phantom flames — an image so strong and clear that he reaches up and rubs his eyes.
“Who the fuck were these people, and why?”
Klaus has to remember where he stashed his self control, if he wants to keep himself from touching. But despite all his stupidity, Klaus is not stupid. There’s enough about this space that seems just a bit off (or a whole lot off), that Klaus decides against living his most chaotic life. Under these wyrd circumstances, he decides to lean conservative, instead, figuring now is as good a time as any to give self-conservation a try.
“Wow. These guys were serious,” he observes aloud as he walks toward the tiny little miniature grassy knoll. “I don’t know what these people were up to, but it involved five mammoth burning urns filled with fire to accomplish it.” He kicks at the weeds as he passes.
He wants to know if Ben has any theories. “Yoo-hoo, Benneriiiinooo,” he calls after his not-brother, but Ben is busy following the path to the dark side.
<<———😵💫———>>
Ben has set his sights beyond Klaus’s grassy knoll. It looks as if all this dead vegetation might be screening something beyond. There’s an impenetrable darkness back there, which strikes Ben as rather concerning.
He sniffs the air, and pulls back. Freshly turned earth, and a faint rotting smell. He flashes back to the Oily Darkness of Terror in Klaus’s room. The hair on the back of his neck stands up once more. He whips around, but neither Klaus nor anyone else is behind him.
Ben is coming to terms with the fact that he will be doing a lot of post-traumatic jumping from now on, whenever he gets that foreboding prickle at the base of his skull. Or his Bentacles announce they have (always had?) a mind of their own.
*Focus, Ben,* he mimes to himself.
“Sorry, did you say something?” Klaus calls out. Ben just flips him off while walking away. It’s his favorite way to end conversations. Second favorite being hanging up on Klaus, but he doesn’t get to do that much anymore.
A phantom gust of wind buffets him and sets the dead leaves still clinging to the trees a-rattling. Like teeth. Like bones. Rattle them bones. Like a death rattle.
Ben jolts at the sound of something distinctly alive, skittering off the stones ahead of him. It’s a purposeful sound, and Ben shivers. Was that something moving out of the corner of his eye? Something too big to skitter. Much too big.
Ben refuses to be terrified again tonight. He doesn’t have any terror left to give. It’s just not going to happen, he promises himself. But he’s still unsure of exactly what he’s walking into. Particularly because the light has gone dim and heavy, and all sound from the world behind him is dulled.
<<———😵💫———>>
Klaus tries the Yoo-Hoo approach again. “Yoo-hoo, Bennerino!”
He descends the mound, ready to take off after Ben, like a little brother who keeps following you around, being annoying to get your attention. Exactly like that. But after only a few steps he halts, goes still, and stays still.
Klaus does not usually stfu without being told to. Ben is intrigued enough by the silent stillness to pause. Swinging around to see what could possibly have caused this miracle, Ben watches slack-jawed as Klaus is yanked backward with a jolt, heels dragging parallel lines in the dirt back up the knoll. Ben’s no engineer, but quite frankly, whatever just made that happen to Klaus’s body clearly considered the laws of physics more as suggested-guidelines-of-physics than laws.
“Klaus?” Ben’s voice sounds small to his own ears, because it is. It’s tiny, if it actually has a sound at all.
But the memory of Klaus’s prank still really gets under his nails. And anyway, he’s panicking.
*Oh, no. No no no noooo.* Ben gets his whole body into it.
*You are not doing this to me again, you. Whatever nasty little joke you have fumbling through the darkness in your skull, you can forget it. You, I’m not falling for your shit again, you Klaus.* This tirade featured pointing really hard, a lot.
Eyes glazed and oblivious to Ben, Klaus starts to sing. Or not so much singing as chanting. Picture a little kid reciting a nursery rhyme, and name him Klaus. It would be cute if it wasn’t so worrisome. Something about that flat monotone.
Somebody is in the garden
Somebody’s in the garden
Somebodies in the garden
Some body is in the garden
Some body’s in the garden
Some bodies in the garden
Ben mimes at Klaus. *This possession-face you’re trying to sell me? I’m not buying. No really, Klaus, stop. You’re embarrassing yourself.* ‘Embarrassing’ is actually a rather difficult word to mime, but nowhere near as difficult as ‘possession-face’. Ben continues, undaunted. *This is sad. And boring.* He huffs and again turns to the dark side of the garden. *Whatever,* he mimes.
Klaus’s unflagging chanting is eerie, nonsensical. Every line sounds the same to Ben, like a Gregorian chant, and he can’t decide if the words are relevant, or just blather.
Ben finally digests what he’s heard. “Somebody is in the garden,” he mouths to himself. His nerves are now amped to full alert. Somebody’s in the garden?
Klaus’s phrasing is all running together. There’s no pause, now. No rhythm. As if it’s all just an infinite series of syllables. It’s fucking creepy, is what it is.
“Ok, Klaus. That’s enough!”
Klaus hasn’t heard him, because Ben can only mouth the words, stomp his foot, and hope he’s understood. Especially when Klaus with his eyes closed is a blind Klaus. And even with his eyes open, Klaus is somewhere else. In a galaxy far, far away.
It has to be said, and it has to be admitted, that Ben isn’t usually the first to jump into battle. He likes to peacock, in red leathers, and to snap at people, literally, to indicate that it’s their time to do his bidding. And the Sparrows did do his bidding. Until they quickly agreed not to do that anymore, twice. But as proven unto Oblivion, when Ben needs to step up, he does. And he’s certainly well trained.
Meanwhile, Ben is just standing there slack-jawed, and he probably wouldn’t want you to know that. Moving on.
“Some bodies in the garden some body’s in the garden somebody’s in the garden…”
Ben powers up his courage and rushes the knoll. Charging purposefully, he’s half way up when he hits an invisible wall. In the blink of an eye, Ben is dragged backward, leaving two jagged marks in the dirt just as Klaus had done. The moment he reaches flat earth, Ben is tossed aside like an argumentative drunk from a bar (which Ben has no experience with whatsoever).
Oh Jesus, that looks like it hurt. Yeah, so, Ben has just been flung into the air at a high enough height that 1. he is flying, without touching the ground; 2. sailing straight over the stabby orchard of trees; 3. into the formerly impenetrable darkness beyond which no one can see except Ben; and finally, 4. so far that he crumples painfully against a hedge. Understandably, this causes Ben to have a fear-based emotional response. Looks like Ben, acts like Ben, but a Ben with his eyes huge and round, and a permanently ‘oh!’ shaped mouth.
From between Klaus’s normally-flirtatious lips blasts a harsh, grating baritone — a blast far louder and lower than Klaus could ever achieve, not in his wildest, most depraved dreams. “The key!” it booms. This is sufficient to distract Ben from pretty much everything else in life.
*Huh?* Ben is quick and to the point when he’s buying time. Which has never been terribly helpful.
“Seek, and thou shalt findeth to this prison a key! Such key that hidest in sight most plain. Do this bidding with haste, or thy next breath shall grow weak. The next, so much the weaker. Telleth me, shall I press thee to death as thou hast hastened and chastened me?”
*Do you ever shut up?* Ben’s compulsion to snark overrules any pesky fear he might be experiencing. The ghost had lost Ben at the beginning, when the first ‘thou’ dropped.
“What am I to shut up?” Mr. Mouthy Withoutamouth is confused. “But no! I shan’t be diverted by thy Devil’s word-perversion. You speak it so recklessly, heathen sorcerer!”
No he didn’t just call Ben a heathen. But actually yeah, he did.
*What did you just say?* The ghost has crossed a line. In addition to allllll the other lines already crossed. Starting with possession. *Say that again.*
“Which part dost thou wisheth me to repeateth, heathen sorcerer?”
As Ben officially loses his shit and once again rushes the mound, the ghost expands his bouncy rubber force field beyond the mound in every direction. Ben is bounced back at the shrubbery like a ricochet from a trampoline.
Take a short break from contemplating what might be happening to Ben next, and instead take a moment to contemplate one of Ben’s key characteristics. During interrogation training, Dad had impressed upon the Sparrows that someday they might need to interrogate each other, and possibly even themselves. Ben defaults to training whenever he loses his mind. ‘First question,’ he thinks to himself. ‘How does this whoever-it-is have powers? He can’t be one of us, can he? He sounds wayyyy too old to have been born in 1989, even if he’s only talking all old-timey like that to get into character for Halloween. Or maybe for community theatre.’
The deep-voiced possessor of Klaus growls, “I pledge to thee an oath! This body shalt tear itself to shreds most small, shouldst thou tarry in thy quest.”
*I never agreed to a quest! Kiss my ass, Dusty McRotsalot.*
“Know of this McRotsalot, I do not. But of thee, Hargreeves? Thou art known to me.”
*I am?*
“Thou art, young Hargreeves. Thou art he who wakes the dead with screams. Thou dost dissemble in thy feigned ignorance! By the pricking of mine thumb, thine head dost now stand hexed. Hear, oh Hargreeves, thou art hexed! Be it ever so! Didst thou takest Giles Corey for a man to be so vexed?”
Most unwisely, Ben dost snarketh, *Are you done yet?*
To prove his hex genuine, the threat real, The Ghost of Giles Corey splits Klaus’s mouth as wide open as it will stretch. The spirit of the dead man gathers aether to itself, accreting his physical form in a way Ben never dreamt possible. In a feat of what can only be called magic, or possession, or the exorcist, or an exorcism, a head that is not Klaus’s head attempts to squeeze out of Klaus’s mouth. And not in the cute, messy way that Ghost Ben did. Remember? Way back in the olden days? The ghost accretes aether steadily until wispy, smoke-like hair and one eyeball try to emerge from an orifice that truly cannot open further.
Does Klaus scream? No. Does Ben scream? In his own way. Plus tears, because he’s afraid for Klaus. Deeply afraid for Klaus.
There is only one thought in his mind: getting his superhero on and saving the fuck out of Klaus.
Ben has just come to the startling realization that his damned not-brother Klaus is a light-bringer to this jaded world, even if it’s a red flashing light accompanied by sirens.
*So? What? You want me to find some key, is that it? Hey, moron!* he mimes through his tears. *I can’t find it if you don’t tell me where it is, now can I! Is it on one of the key rings?*
“Strange is thy speech. From whence dost thou come, and wherefore?”
*LA, and because it’s LA. Not for…other reasons. It’s not cuz I wanted to live here in Boston, or anything.*
“CAMBRIDGE!”
*Yeah, whatever.* Ben flips The Ghost of Giles Corey off. Or at least the Ghost of Giles Corey’s eyeball.
“Thou dost err most grievously, when thou mistaketh mine own self for a moron.”
*Do you ever stop talking? Threats, pfft.* Ben sneers in disgust. *You are talking to the only threatener in this household, Bitch Cassidy, and that’s me! See how I’m pointing at myself in the chestal region? I will be making all the threats in this house.*
“But I, young Hargreeves, I maketh good on mine own threats.”
Klaus drops to the ground, head bouncing off the dirt.
“HEY!” Ben attempts to shout. Though it comes out in barely a whisper, the eyeball hears him well enough.
Again Ben rushes the knoll, and again he flies backward into the hedges.
Ben takes a little longer to get up than he did the last time he hit shrubbery from a height. Rolling to his stomach, he catches a glimpse of Klaus.
His not-brother is on his knees atop the knoll. Ben’s eyes burn with hot tears. Klaus is digging. Klaus is digging with his fingers.
“STOP!” Ben whispers. “MAKE IT STOP!!!! Klaus! Can you hear me, too? Klaus!” he whispers with everything he’s got.
Klaus does not stop. The two wet tracks down his cheeks are enough for Ben to know that Klaus is still in there somewhere. And he’s in pain.
*STOP! Stop,* Ben pleads. He drops to his knees and mouths the words, “Please. What do you want? Some kind of key? I’ll get you the key, I’ll get it for you, I’ll do it, please, just stop!“
“I was of the mind that thou wouldst. Given the encouragement most right and good in the eyes of-”
*STOP! You got what you want! I’m helping! So stop!* Ben mimes as loud as he can.
“Why shouldst I? Verily. Let the sight serve thee as thy inspiration.”
*But you’ve given me NOTHING! NOTHING! Some key? Is that it? That’s supposed to be enough to go on?* Ben jangles two mammoth key rings.
“Such tiny things as these?”
“In this century they are!” Ben whispers.
This century.
Despite not liking history, Ben is certain that Giles Corey is not of this century.
*A skeleton key?* Ben asks, then realizes that with this guy, they might get hung up in a debate about bones. *About this big?* Ben’s back to miming illustratively.
Aaaand now back to whispering again. “Black, solid, heavy, metal. Iron? It wouldn’t be lead, would it?”
“Bone.”
Giving him Ben’s signature head bobble/shoulder wobble, Ben sneers. *Ah. Of course it is.*
The entire conversation turns to bones after all.
“AND?! COME ON! LET HIM GO! You fucking bastard bitch, sad, BORING fuckin…violence…in your face!” Ben is trying so very hard to mask the feeling of panic overtaking his body, by getting pretty bitchy.
“Speakest thee English?”
*Get talking, asshole!* Ben vibrates with rage as he mimes.
“No sane, godly man would suggest such base, vile blasphemy,” the ghost declares in horror. “To speak from thy- Thou art no sane man.”
Ben looks again at Klaus’s poor, bloodied hands, still brutally attacking the baked earth.
Ben realizes he can see bones, and finally lets himself panic. *WHERE? WHERE? WHERE AM I SUPPOSED TO GET the bone key, fuckin asshole, motherfucking fuck my life, I-*
‘I can’t do this,’ is what Ben had intended to say. The feeling of inadequacy is stifling. Ben can’t breathe. For the second time tonight, Ben hyperventilates from sheer, blinding terror.
Which is not a thing that Ben would want you to know. Moving on.
“Thou art weak, heathen blasphemer. Thou art repugnant.” Ouch.
*Tell me what to do,* Ben whispers, in abject defeat.
The Ghost of Giles Corey begins to laugh.
Cold, man, cold. That’s just cold.
Two trickles of blood wend their way down from the corners of Klaus’s splitting mouth. Two trickles of tears wend their way down from the corners of Ben’s streaming eyes.
Klaus’s hands. His poor hands. Klaus. Maddening and lovable. His poor, mangled hands.
This, friends of the occult, is called ‘leverage.’
“The key, young Hargreeves. The key of Solomon ist what thou seekest. Fashioned of skin and bone, thou shalt find it in the ground amongst the bones before me. Seek, and ye shall findeth the key in the ossuary.”
“*Where?!*” Ben both whispers, and mimes. Ben is all in, raging and ready to bring this thing to an end. “*And WHAT THE FUCK is a motherfucking OSSUARY?*”
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I’m kinda hoping you won’t look up Giles Corey. I’m kinda hoping you will reblog, though. 🙏
AN: For anyone who has been following @sheehalloween 2022, this will be a bit of time travel. Whoops: I posted my first Devil’s Night story out of order. Technically, it takes place after the action of this chapter. Couldn’t move forward with Devil’s Night until this went up. TW: flirtation between two not-brothers, my sense of humor, klaus’s lucky boa, sometimes calling ben evil
Mean Ben is deadly serious. “Klaus. Is it an Evil Lair? Klaus? Don’t fuck with me on this. I need this.” His voice emanates from the ornate headset of the shop’s very bronze antique telephone.
“Wouldn’t you like to know, you big meanie.” Klaus likes to taunt people. That’s what’s happening here. He called Ben up specifically to taunt him. (With a door, which incidentally, does not display Ben’s name. Yet.)
“Yes, Klaus. I do want to know. Tell me. Or I swear Klaus, I will-” As you know, Mean Ben loves to threaten people. He was born for it.
Klaus likes to picture that butch scar whenever he’s taunting Ben. Pretty much daily. Just cuz, you know, running the building stuff. That’s all it is. ‘Course it is.
Klaus winds the cord of the phone around his finger. He made the executive decision to keep all the landlines. Even he doesn’t know how many there are. “What’s with the whole Evil Lair thing, Bennerino? Childhood dream?”
“Your childhood nightmare, asshole.”
“Nightmare asshole? What kind of dreams are you having, Benji?” Klaus giggles in the background.
Ben decides to move on. It’s called ‘restraint.’ He’d like to restrain Klaus, and probably will get around to it eventually, but not today. No, not today.
“And I am not a meanie. I am evil. There’s a difference.” This is one of those moments when he really wishes he was there to point angrily and aggressively at Klaus. It’s a stabby kind of motion.
Ben continues with a sneer, “I feel like we’ve had this conversation before. Are you writing this down? That would help keep us from having it again.” Ben sighs the sigh of a man enjoying being annoyed. “Spit it out, Klaus. What did you find?”
“Well,” Klaus responds slowly, with more sexy winding of the phone cord, “I was lounging in my usual spot on the chaise longue by the register when something creepy tickled me.”
“Something did what.” Ben’s voice is deadly serious again. His self-awareness notices this and forces him to backpedal, glossing over it with a mumbled, “I mean, not that I care or anything.”
“Yeah! It tickled the little hairs on my neck.”
“The-” Ben starts then stops.
“The little hairs on my neck, yes. So I put on my lucky boa — you know the one.”
Ben does not contradict him.
“Of course you do! What am I thinking?” Klaus chides himself (for what might be the first time ever), and shakes his head. “Yeah, you know the one. So I put it around my neck, because I figure y’know, feathers are for keeping birds warm. And then I lit a cigarette-”
“Skip to the end, Klaus,” Ben warns, doing that thing he always does, which is losing patience. “Wait,” he interrupts his impatience. “Are you smoking again?”
“No one ever truly quits, babe.”
“You are such a lying asshole. Why do I believe a single word you say? I should have known,” Ben huffs.
“I’m kidding! I quit.” …Wait for it… “Until I started getting really bored.” Ah. There it is. “And cigarettes are better for me to soothe my oral fixation than food, even. It’s true! In the long run, I mean. Girlish figure and all.” Do not follow Klaus’s example. Which applies to pretty much everything, so no big news there.
Ben has been taken by surprise enough to make him behave in an awkward fashion. Related to the oral fixation Klaus mentioned. “Your oral what now?”
Klaus just rolls rough-shod right over him and his words. “Anyway, I’m immortal. Why wouldn't I smoke, is more the right question, Ben.”
“Might be because, Klaus, it makes you smell.”
“I already know how to smell,” Klaus taunts. “And anyways…Hypocrite! You’re a sometimes-smoker!” Klaus is outraged, figuring he’ll give the emotion a try and see how it feels. It feels ok. “Have you ever noticed that former smokers are the worst non-smokers ever? It’s known by science. And I do not smell.”
“Yeah you do,” Ben snarks. “It’s gross. Wait! I’m not doing this with you right now. Skip to the end, Klaus.”
“So hot when you use that tone of voice,” Klaus purrs. Before Ben can warn him again, Klaus gets back on track. “Sorry, about the sexy. Just thought I’d lean into it a little, but that’s ok, one day at a time.”
“Klaus!”
“Don’t interrupt me, Benji.”
“Klaus! Don’t you ever-”
“Don’t I always? As I was saying when I was so rudely interrupted, my lucky boa found a door.”
Klaus pauses, because he knows the heart attack he has caused/induced on the other end.
Evil Ben just got very deadly serious. “You found a what.” There was no question mark at the end of that sentence. At least Ben meant for it to be obvious that there was only a flat, dull period at the end of that question. Ben believes it makes him scarier and even more evil.
“Hoooo, I knew this was going to be good.” Klaus’s voice has just gone up an octave and giggled with almost as much delight as when he wore his soon-to-be-lucky boa to that Backstreet Boys reunion concert. Like teen Klaus squealing while also sporting a raging hard-on. One of the best nights of his life. This is almost like that. “Wanna know how?”
“If the sentence ends with the word ‘door,’ then yes.” Ben is learning the delicate dance of Klaus. Like slipping between all the distracting trip wires and loooong detours to Chatty Town. Just go with it, and know it’ll end the way you want it to. He hopes.
“So the little pink feathers were shivering, too. And I thought, ‘buck up little feathers, we’re in this together.’ But then I realized that not all of us were in it together!”
“Klaus.” Appears he really hasn’t learned how to dance with Klaus. Ben’s warning voice begins the countdown at Defcon 5.
“They weren’t in it together because only one end was shivering. It wasn’t monsters creeping up behind me, after all! It was a breeze. Are you impressed yet?”
“No.” Seriously, what did Klaus expect?
“Ok,” Klaus forges on. “So you know how my power makes me both woo-woo and spooky?” Klaus doesn’t bother waiting for an answer. “Well, other woo-woo people like that talk about, like, these hanging, dangling thingies that you follow around until you find gold or the philosopher's stone. So I was like, ‘Lucky Boa! You are my divining rod! You are my pits and my pendulums!’ Reminds me of that fortuitous snow globe. The right magical item at the right magical time.” Klaus enjoys being an educator. “I have a powerful dousing boa! I followed the boa straight to the source of the cold breeze!”
“Klaus? Do not go through that door.”
“What? Why not?”
“Klaus, whatever you do, don’t touch it.”
“Why not?”
“Klaus? Don’t you dare.”
“Huh? Oooohhh, I see what’s happening here. You just want you to be the one who opens it.” Klaus already knew this, which is why he hasn’t already opened it.
“Klaus! It’s my building! My name is over the door! Don’t you touch that god-damned door.”
“Ah, now I get the allure of the name over the door thing. You just want to throw it around since you can’t throw your weight around.”
“What?” Klaus has caught him off guard. “Why can’t I throw my weight around?”
Klaus sighs wistfully. “Just like my sweet boy. The boring one who used to nag me about orange juice and smoking eggs.”
“What about your sweet baby Ben who is so much better at everything than anybody else. According to you.”
“He didn’t have any weight on him, either.”
“KLAUS!”
“Evil Ben?”
“That’s right I am, and I am warning you, don’t touch that fucking door! Or I will murder you in your sleep. I’ll dangle you from your toes til you starve to death.” He believes he’s just tossed out a good, solid threat. He’s proud.
“In my sleep?”
No one would blame you for rolling your eyes or laughing derisively. Ben deserves it.
Klaus has been musing while you were laughing derisively. “I wonder where that kid Stanley is. My little nephew with the ear cheese. He would have loved this. He eats awkward for dinner.”
“It’s my building. It’s my name. It’s my door. Klaus? Listen to me. Listen very carefully. It’s mine, and I will be there instantly. Wait for me, and don’t even look at it til I get there. Just, it’ll, no, five. Count to five and I’ll be there. Instantly.”
<<———>>
Meanwhile, Logan gets snowed in for like three days. You saw that coming, cuz fate telegraphed it. By the time Evil Ben arrives, Klaus hasn’t seen him in 6 months and 5 days.
<<———>>
Klaus is still considering alternative names for the bookstore. It’s his new hobby. The Noccult Bookstore is still a favorite. “Books & Bodies? Ben’s House of Evil & Books?”
The door blows open screaming “Slam!”
It’s Evil Ben. He is not in a joking mood. Or a talking mood. Or a hugging kind of mood. Without even removing his galoshes, he stalks across the floor of the shop, pausing at the door to all the back rooms, and without turning says, “Where is it? Show me. Now.”
“Oh, so that’s all I’m good for, is now? I’m hurt, Benji.”
“You will be in a world of hurt if you do not show me to my Evil Lair instantly.”
“That’s kind of asking a lot, Ben. Not everybody gets places instantly. That’s a Five thing. And a {Ben + Logan Airport} thing, proving that {instantly = 3 days}.” Klaus inspects his fingernails conspicuously. “I’ve always been gifted at theoretical mathematics, don’t know why.” Klaus is so close to experiencing wrath, but he’s aware, so it’s ok.
“Now!”
“Ok, ok. Now is more manageable than ‘instantly.’” Klaus flaps his hand to indicate that Ben should wait.
Pulling three janitorial-sized key rings out of a drawer, Klaus winds his Lucky Boa around his neck and approaches Ben. All told, there have to be almost a hundred keys. All of them, keys to the building. Parts. Parts of the building.
“Hug me and I’ll show you.” Klaus is officially on thin ice. Officially. “Ok fine! Fine, fine, fine. I’ll take you to the frickin-” Klaus jerks open the door to all the back rooms. He likes to think of it as his Back Door. Easier than calling it the ‘Door To All the Back Rooms’ in his head every time he sees it.
<<———>>
Ben follows Klaus upstairs with great agitation. He wants to run to his Evil Lair, but Klaus is the one who knows where it is. They finally reach the second floor, which is where a room with a hole in the floor looking down into the shop below, should be.
They clear the stairwell door, and Ben is already breathlessly demanding, “Which one is it, Klaus? Which one?” There’s only one direction from the stairs, and Ben is speed-walking down the hall, looking at doors.
“I set up the next one over from my room for you. I couldn’t find fresh sheets, but-”
“Klaus! Which one!”
“It’s the one at the end. The one next to my bedroom that is, therefore, right next door to it.” Klaus wants to whisper ‘Your Evil Lair,’ accompanied by twinkle fingers, but he restrains himself. This is Ben’s moment, and Klaus wants to let him have it.
Ben is standing in front of the correct door. “It’s the one that says ‘Dead Letter Office’ on the door, isn’t it. I can feel it. Can you feel it? Nevermind, get away. Don’t touch it. When was the last time you washed your hands?”
Ben tries the handle. “It’s locked?” His face pales. “Did I come all the way to Boston for this?” He slumps against the door looking deflated and a little bit glisteny around the eye area.
“Cambridge, Ben. It’s Cambridge, not Boston. We’ve talked about this,” says Klaus in a strained voice, due to Ben’s fingers strangling him. “You don’t want your neighboring Cantabridgeans hating you, do you? They feel strongly about this.”
Klaus can handle himself in a fight if he needs to, and he steps easily out of Ben’s strangulation hold. “You’ll get used to it, when you move here.” Ben is momentarily distracted by this. “Because now that you have an Evil Lair, Evil Ben, you’re going to need to mastermind from it. On an ongoing basis.” Klaus knows this for a fact. So do you, really.
“It’s time to move your base of operations, Ben. And let Diego & Lila have the place in LA. Just make them save two of the seven bedrooms for us.”
“I hate you. I hate you so much,” Ben whispers, with his forehead against the door. He takes stock of his options, and thinking it over thoroughly and completely, he decides it might be worth staying to see, well, whatever’s worth seeing.
“There, there. It’s ok, Benji. We have keys! Look at all these beautiful keys!” They’re heavy. He jangles them. It’s loud. “You can spend as long as you want trying them. It can be a hobby, while you get used to living here. I can’t amuse you all the time. Just some of the time.”
“Who said I’m moving here?” asks Ben, wondering how he’s lost control of his life.
AN: Still a gen fic, still starring Klaus and the Bens. But this time, they sleuth. It’s about time we start exploring, and detecting ghosts. Introducing our first D&G Mystery! TWs: Reading on ao3?
“Hello!” Klaus says, cheerfully. “Welcome to Ded & Gonne and oh, okay, bye.”
A man blinks at the whore’s boudoir vibe and never even makes it all the way over the welcome mat. It says “Bonsoir,” and Klaus loves the fact that the lettering is in black on a hot, pink background.
Klaus has received feedback that hot, pink in any material, let alone panne velvet (or jute, for god’s sake), is possibly the wrong vibe for a bookstore and detective agency. What do they know? It’s hot and pink — two of his favorite things. (Read on ao3…)
Gen: An Umbrella Academy Spin-Off featuring Klaus Hargreeves and the Bens. A gen fic set in the s3 post-universe universe. Yes, Klaus and Ben’s powers have returned. They just hopped back in dear old Dad’s wonkavator, and boop! Powers restored. Then they went looking for a safer timeline. A safer timeline that includes ghosts, powers, and belly monsters. Easy.
TW: My sense of humor. A not so bright, mildly omniscient narrator. Auctions. Sotheby’s (which really does sell real estate).
Begun for 3MA, the TUA Masked Author 2022 event @tua-masked-author and still going.
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Start: Chapter 1 | Next: Chapter 2 | All: on ao3
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Images of Klaus being pissed at Mean Ben stolen from these gifs by @salvador-daley (x)
A Ben and a spare, that would be ok with Klaus. But just the one Sparebrella Ben makes him want to cry when he’s all alone at night and missing being scolded by sweet, deader than dead, brother Ben. Good Ben. Nice Ben. Ghost Ben. “I miss you, you asshole,” he whispers every day. Usually around breakfast. “Everybody loves waffles.”
“Waffles? I hate waffles.” Mean Ben, obviously. He hates everything. Except maybe sometimes he feels less hate for Klaus than everybody else, but only when there’s alcohol involved, and Ben’s not much of a drinker. Read on!
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