[ Klaus's steadying and warm presence is probably the only reason the nightmare didn't come sooner. Ben had somehow forgotten, how bad they could be sometimes. Nowadays, when he thinks of nightmares, he thinks about Klaus. But, of course, he had used to have them, too.
He doesn't realize it's a nightmare while it is happening. In the dream he doesn't remember anything about being dead, about this new world they are in. There's nothingness, and then he is in that place again. In the dream, his eyes are open, but everything is pitch black, and he knows somehow he isn't blind. He's just in a world without a trace of visible light. There are noises, though. The echoes and the damp tell him it's some kind of cave, somewhere underground and wet, slick and fetid. Everything smells organic - decay, rot, and over all of it, blood. Ben knows the smell of blood so well. He could recognize it anywhere.
His stomach tightens with the recognition, and the awful thing is that in he dream, he doesn't know if it is terror, or hunger. All around him are the slithering sounds of movement. He's never sure if the whispering he hears within it is his brain trying to make patterns out of chaos, or if it's really there. Ben can feel them moving around him. The creatures on the other side of the portal. He is never sure how many of them there are, what they really look like. They could be the size of mountains.
All he knows is they're here and he's here, really here, on the other side of the door. He is amongst them, in their home, tiny and fragile as a mouse. If he moves an inch, makes the slightest sound, they will instantly realize he is there and pull him to pieces. He knows just what it looks like, when they pull a human body to pieces. He's seen it so many times. He knows where bodies will tear when wrenched, which organs will splatter in what ways upon impact. He has seen so many people battered and broken and torn to a pulp. There's no need to imagine any of it.
So he has to stay perfectly, unblinkingly, unbreathingly still. In the dream he can feel tears running down his cheeks. There's a hundred screams bottled up in his chest, but he can't so much as sniffle or it's all over. The pressure of all that terror is unbearable. He feels like he might burst from it. One of the creatures shifts, and in the dark Ben feels it brush against his arm, suckers dragging along his skin, slightly damp. He is going to break. The terror is too much, and he can feel it eating away at the edges of his mind, driving him insane. Maybe it would be better to just get it over with. Cry out and let them end him quickly.
In the bed with Klaus, Ben is not speaking, the way Klaus does in his nightmares - murmuring protests and pleas. He is just as paralyzed as he is inside the dream, still but sweating quite a bit, breaths coming thin and fast and nakedly terrified. ]
cw for gore
He doesn't realize it's a nightmare while it is happening. In the dream he doesn't remember anything about being dead, about this new world they are in. There's nothingness, and then he is in that place again. In the dream, his eyes are open, but everything is pitch black, and he knows somehow he isn't blind. He's just in a world without a trace of visible light. There are noises, though. The echoes and the damp tell him it's some kind of cave, somewhere underground and wet, slick and fetid. Everything smells organic - decay, rot, and over all of it, blood. Ben knows the smell of blood so well. He could recognize it anywhere.
His stomach tightens with the recognition, and the awful thing is that in he dream, he doesn't know if it is terror, or hunger. All around him are the slithering sounds of movement. He's never sure if the whispering he hears within it is his brain trying to make patterns out of chaos, or if it's really there. Ben can feel them moving around him. The creatures on the other side of the portal. He is never sure how many of them there are, what they really look like. They could be the size of mountains.
All he knows is they're here and he's here, really here, on the other side of the door. He is amongst them, in their home, tiny and fragile as a mouse. If he moves an inch, makes the slightest sound, they will instantly realize he is there and pull him to pieces. He knows just what it looks like, when they pull a human body to pieces. He's seen it so many times. He knows where bodies will tear when wrenched, which organs will splatter in what ways upon impact. He has seen so many people battered and broken and torn to a pulp. There's no need to imagine any of it.
So he has to stay perfectly, unblinkingly, unbreathingly still. In the dream he can feel tears running down his cheeks. There's a hundred screams bottled up in his chest, but he can't so much as sniffle or it's all over. The pressure of all that terror is unbearable. He feels like he might burst from it. One of the creatures shifts, and in the dark Ben feels it brush against his arm, suckers dragging along his skin, slightly damp. He is going to break. The terror is too much, and he can feel it eating away at the edges of his mind, driving him insane. Maybe it would be better to just get it over with. Cry out and let them end him quickly.
In the bed with Klaus, Ben is not speaking, the way Klaus does in his nightmares - murmuring protests and pleas. He is just as paralyzed as he is inside the dream, still but sweating quite a bit, breaths coming thin and fast and nakedly terrified. ]