[ Ben gets it; he can see that comment pissed Diego off. Knows, or suspects, a lot of that anger is probably misdirected helplessness that such awful things had been done to their brother and neither of them had stopped it. But he doesn't snap out a cutting retort, and that surprises Ben. Diego, tamping down on his temper? That's definitely new.
He doesn't bring it up, or react, apart from a quick glance. It's promising, this tiny, silent moment. Proof that maybe his brother is growing and changing, a little. Something that might have made Ben a little melancholy, if he had still been dead and incapable of either. But if Diego is maturing by centimeters, now, Ben is a little bit a part of that.
Ben thinks he gets what Diego is asking. Not how many awful situations has Klaus been in, since they were 16. They both know there have been many. Diego doesn't need Ben to tell him that. He's asking instead about Ben's experience, all those years. What it's been like for him. ]
I was never stuck with Klaus.
[ Diego doesn't get it, but Ben at least acknowledges there's a reason for that. He hasn't given him the opportunity to get it. If he wants his brother to understand, he's going to have to explain what it has been like for him, all this time. ]
Sometimes I would go to the Academy or the place I died. Wander around the attic and think about the past. All the typical ghost stuff. I chose to stay with Klaus most of the time.
[ This isn't working, and Ben sighs in a short way, frustrated at his own lack of eloquence. A little more brusquely, as if irritated - though not at Diego - he says: ]
Close your eyes. Imagine anything you try to touch, your hand just slips through it. Like when you reach for something without looking and miss it. That weird shock of not making contact when you should, except every solid thing in the world feels like that. And- and think about how it is, in a room full of people, when you try to say something, a couple of times even, but no one hears you. They didn't even know you tried to jump in. Except it's like that even when no one's talking at all.
[ Ben rubs at the back of his neck. Words are useless. This isn't conveying it at all. The slow march of time, everything changing around him, and him stuck, in between, useless, trapped, ineffective, pointless, miserable. ]
I didn't sleep. Or eat. Or feel hot or cold or nauseous or horny or sore or comfortable or anything. For fourteen years. And I couldn't- reach the rest of you. I could never save him, if someone hurt him, or he overdosed, or he couldn't get a jar open - not even something stupid like that. The only difference I could make, to the whole world, was to be there for him. To stay by his side and talk to him and hope it- hope it helped, a little.
no subject
He doesn't bring it up, or react, apart from a quick glance. It's promising, this tiny, silent moment. Proof that maybe his brother is growing and changing, a little. Something that might have made Ben a little melancholy, if he had still been dead and incapable of either. But if Diego is maturing by centimeters, now, Ben is a little bit a part of that.
Ben thinks he gets what Diego is asking. Not how many awful situations has Klaus been in, since they were 16. They both know there have been many. Diego doesn't need Ben to tell him that. He's asking instead about Ben's experience, all those years. What it's been like for him. ]
I was never stuck with Klaus.
[ Diego doesn't get it, but Ben at least acknowledges there's a reason for that. He hasn't given him the opportunity to get it. If he wants his brother to understand, he's going to have to explain what it has been like for him, all this time. ]
Sometimes I would go to the Academy or the place I died. Wander around the attic and think about the past. All the typical ghost stuff. I chose to stay with Klaus most of the time.
[ This isn't working, and Ben sighs in a short way, frustrated at his own lack of eloquence. A little more brusquely, as if irritated - though not at Diego - he says: ]
Close your eyes. Imagine anything you try to touch, your hand just slips through it. Like when you reach for something without looking and miss it. That weird shock of not making contact when you should, except every solid thing in the world feels like that. And- and think about how it is, in a room full of people, when you try to say something, a couple of times even, but no one hears you. They didn't even know you tried to jump in. Except it's like that even when no one's talking at all.
[ Ben rubs at the back of his neck. Words are useless. This isn't conveying it at all. The slow march of time, everything changing around him, and him stuck, in between, useless, trapped, ineffective, pointless, miserable. ]
I didn't sleep. Or eat. Or feel hot or cold or nauseous or horny or sore or comfortable or anything. For fourteen years. And I couldn't- reach the rest of you. I could never save him, if someone hurt him, or he overdosed, or he couldn't get a jar open - not even something stupid like that. The only difference I could make, to the whole world, was to be there for him. To stay by his side and talk to him and hope it- hope it helped, a little.