Archive of Our Own ^beta

“So, you really want to live here?” Finn frowns, dark eyes gazing out of the front window. Rain streams down the glass, each droplet creating a trail - like silvery scars on frosted skin.

“I don’t really have a choice.” is the reply.

Finn shakes his head. “Man, you’re such a butthole when you’re nervous about something.”

“Did you just call me a butthole?” Ben takes his eyes away from the road, to his companion in the seat beside him. “Like, you’re aware that we’re not five years old, right? You can use other words.”

“Yeah but if you heard what I really wanted to say, you’d kick me out of the car. And, I don’t really like the look of… wherever we are.”

Finn’s grinning, and Ben rolls his eyes.

“Whatever. We’ll be there in a minute. I think she said it was near a forest or something?”

--

The house is pretty, actually. It’s not as big as he thought it would be, it’s only got three bedrooms and a small garden, but it’s a house. Ben knows he’d never be able to afford anything like this on his own.

He’s also grateful for having Finn with him today.

Finn is convinced Ben’s going to end up dead within a month of living there.

Finn is sensible.

There’s a very small corridor type area near the front door, Ben can see a shoe rack going there, and maybe an umbrella stand. Given the weather forecast for the next month, he thinks he’ll definitely need at least one umbrella.

From there, he goes into the living room. It’s a long room, a large bay window at the front and a smaller one at the back. He can see a few chairs going along the outer wall, a TV going in the back corner. The paint is old and faded, yellowing at the top and on the ceiling. It’s gross. But it still smells of peaches and soap.

“I’m gonna take the car back, if that’s okay?” Finn calls, through the front door. “I’ll visit when I’m free, text me when’s okay for you!”

The door shuts.

Ben sighs. He’s alone.

--

“Hey, sweetie.. It’s your mother calling. Again. I just want to know how you’ve settled in to your Grandpa’s house. Me and your dad can come over if you want.”

He picks up.

“Hey, mom. It’s fine. I need to unpack, and get used to the place. It’s a dump. But I kind of like it.” he says.

She laughs. “I knew you would. When you were younger, you always wanted to live in Grandpa Anakin’s house.”

“Really? I don’t remember--”

“No, of course you wouldn’t. You were maybe three or so. This was back when you wanted to be a dinosaur when you grew up. Or a black hole. I can’t remember which one.” his mother laughs. Her voice sounds strange, and it’s not just the crackle of bad reception. She sounds sad. “Oh, don’t forget to visit your uncle. He’s right near the shops, there’s a row of houses that should be there, and I think he’s number 42, though I could be wrong.”

“Okay.” he nods, though he realises that he’s on the phone, and his mother can’t see the nod. “And also, there’s no washing machine here. Am I meant to go somewhere for that?”

“See if you can get one of your neighbours to help out. I should think they’d be happy to. You know how small town folk are.”

Ben grimaces. He’s seen enough movies to know exactly how small town folk are.

--

The house next door, number 27, is empty. The blue paint on the door is so old it isn’t even peeling anymore, it just sits there, faded and semi-absorbed into the woodwork.

He does try looking through the windows, but there’s no one there at all, not even vagrants or kids.

He remembers the house on the hill back home, the one he used to explore and sometimes trash. Finn didn’t like it but he’d come along anyway, just to make sure the ghost of the ballsack man didn’t get him.

The ballsack man was someone who’d apparently died there many years ago, and a large gash in his face led to him looking like his nickname - a ballsack.

Ben had only seen him once, and he was rather glad of that.

He’d been everything a childhood ghost should be, scary without being threatening, creepy without being psychologically damaging.

But Ben doesn’t want to run into something like that again.

Especially not here and now.

The house on the other side of his own is number 23.

It’s apparently inhabited, judging by the insides, but the family or person who lives there doesn’t seem to be there at the moment. Ben takes note of the time. It’s not even 3pm. Most people here, he imagines, work 9-5 jobs, and their kids will be in school still.

He’ll try again later.

--

As soon as his living room is set up - the TV, his chair and some curtains - and his boxes have been put in their approximate areas, Ben decides to call it a day on the whole unpacking business. He’s not lazy, he just has his priorities in order.

He’s going to order some takeout and stick a DVD on, seeing as he isn’t sure whether Netflix will work here.

When his food arrives, a pineapple and sweetcorn pizza, he settles back underneath a blanket.

He’s watching some weird rom-com that Finn let him borrow, about some guy who travels back in time to make his love life better. It’s cute enough, and a decent distraction from the amount of work he has ahead of him. He’s never lived alone before, and he’d freaked out over the idea of having to decorate a small apartment, let alone a full-blown house.

He doesn’t even know where to begin. Maybe he can try and do a room at a time. It might take a while, but… he doesn’t want to force anyone to help him out.

It’s nearing 10pm, and he’s beginning to drift off to sleep. He’s got a blow up mattress and a sleeping bag for tonight, and they’re very loudly calling his name.

But then the door knocks, and he’s suddenly wide awake.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he wonders if it’s a normal occurrence round here to just knock on strangers’ doors at night.

It might be kids. Ben stands, wrapping his blanket over his shoulders because it is very chilly.

He peers through the peephole but can’t see anything except darkness. It’s clear to Ben that if he’s going to be murdered by some small town hick, it might as well be now. It means he won’t have wasted any time decorating.

The door creaks as he opens it, the porch light turns on, illuminating the man stood in front of him.

He seems short to Ben, but then, everyone does. He also seems very, very annoyed.

“You knocked on my door earlier. What do you want?” the man asks. Ben had half-expected him to have some clipped British accent, what with the way he’s dressed - a neat forest green sweater over a plaid shirt, and pressed beige chinos with brown leather shoes.

But he has the same accent everyone round here does.

“I, uh… Number 23, right?” Ben seriously worries for his own sanity if the man lives in the other house next to his. The abandoned one.

“Yes. And I have several cameras on my property to alert me to people loitering and knocking on my door when I’m not there. So I’ll ask you again, what do you want?” the man sneers, as though he can’t stand Ben. Which is funny, because they’ve never met. Maybe it’s just his face. He’s had that said about him before, that he’s got a very dislikeable face. It’s earned him more than a few punches in bars.

“I just wanted to know if I could use your washing machine. I thought this house would have one but it doesn’t.” he replies, somewhat short with him.

He can play being rude as well.

“You don’t look like you’ve ever washed yourself, let alone your clothes. But if you must, I’m free tomorrow.” the man says. “I’ll teach you how it works, and then once a week I’ll allow you to use it.”

As the man wanders off, Ben mutters under his breath.

“Fucking-- Fucking butthole.”

He heads back indoors, setting up his bed on the floor near the radiator. It’s going to be a cold night according to his phone, and he’s not interested in freezing to death in his grandfather’s house.

Before he gets into his pyjamas, he decides to grab some water. Ben picks up a glass from the box, goes into the kitchen. It’s just as dingy and decrepit as the other rooms in the house. Even the window is dirty, dust scattered across the bottom halves of it, condensation gathered in between the two panes of glass. It’s not even double glazed.

He looks through the window, noticing the strange shapes of the trees. The part of his mind that clings to childhood thoughts wonders whether he has trees in his back garden at all.

There’s a silhouette in the back of the garden, right next to the trees.

He peers a little closer, hoping a zombie isn’t about to jump out and eat what remains of his brain.

It’s the wendy house from his youth, he realises.

His dad had built it, as Grandpa Anakin wasn’t very good with handiwork, or so he claimed. The machine in the basement begged to differ. (He’d have to investigate that later, try and figure out what Threepio was actually for.)

When it had been built, his grandpa painted it red, but then his dad repainted it blue. Something about the light reflecting on it, something about red paint fading easier.

Ben didn’t care, he was just excited to have a piece of the world to all himself. The house wasn’t very big, and it was filled with adults all the time. He liked the space in between the large fir trees, the way the spiders would sometimes build a web across the door while he was still in there.

He also liked getting away from his parents.

Now he looks back, he admits he was a huge dick. His parents loved him deeply, as they still do. But he had a phase where, as all kids do, he hated them. Felt they didn’t love him. Felt they didn’t care about him. Admittedly his phase started earlier and finished later than most, but it was still meaningless. Just hormones and teenage angst in a tiny child body.

But at the time, the little house was a fun place for him to go and do all the naughty things he wanted. Like put his bogies on the wooden ledge, or write horrible things. Ben isn’t sure the writing was legible considering his age, but he remembers the emotions behind it.

He’d found out later, in his teens, just how cool his parents were, and also how important. Not just because they made his dinners, but because they were activists. In the 90s, there’d been some strange business with the government which had lead to a one party system being implemented. People referred to it as the Empire, as it was apparently run like a dictatorship that spanned the whole world. 1984 on crack, or so they say. The Rebellion rose from its underground status in the 60s and 70s to a less secretive, more active organisation. Both his parents and Uncle Luke were recruited into it, helped to bring about the fall of the oppressive regime.

If he’d known his parents were superheroes when he was a child, he might have appreciated them more.

He still doesn’t know why he once threatened to run away without taking any of his belongings. Maybe he thought his parents would miss him more if they had physical reminders of him.

Nostalgia does a lot to ease his anxiety. The house is damn creepy, and it doesn’t take Finn to tell him that. He knows, he really does know. Especially the fact that it creaks and groans and echoes. The boiler makes noises like footsteps and the holly bush outside the bay windows of the front of the house makes it sound as though some bag lady is scratching to get in.

But thinking about all of his childhood memories here does a lot to push all that to the back of his mind.

Maybe tomorrow, before he decorates, and before he visits next door, he’ll revisit all of his favourite spots. And see what’s really going on in the basement.

Grandpa probably got rid of Threepio, he reasons. But it’s still worth a look.

--

Ten AM?

Really?

It’s almost like his body is upset about the fact he’s moved and trying to punish him for it.

He sits up and looks around the living room. He’d been lying near the radiator, it’s on the innermost wall of the bottom floor. Ben had reasoned it would be warmer, and it seems it wasn’t too bad because he’d slept well.

There’s no food in the house, so he figures that this morning would be the perfect opportunity to finally get out and head to the shops, see his uncle and hope that he’d take pity on him.

Ben stands and stretches, the blow up mattress was comfortable enough but not as good as an actual bed would have been. That’s the third thing on his list, he decides. First is go see Uncle Luke, or as he remembers him, Unkyook. That’s how three year old Ben spoke, apparently. He hopes he doesn’t seem like the idiot he was as a child.  

Second on the list is to visit the snappy not-British-but-should-be neighbour, and be lectured on how his washing machine works and probably also about his hygiene and punchable face.

He’s not looking forward to that. At least Luke will feed him.

He’d lugged the box of his clothes up to his bedroom, he’s sure of it. But as he goes up to get dressed, he can’t find it.

Ben can see the box that he’d put his wardrobe in, the same he’d bought it in, and written in big letters

“I’M PRAYING FOR YOU, FUTURE BEN”

in reference to how difficult it had been to assemble it the first time round.

He can also see the other furniture boxes, though they’re not as large as the wardrobe box, nor the clothes box.

Not that he has a visual for comparison,because he’s sure he put the clothes box right in front of the wardrobe. And it’s not there.

Ben storms into the other two rooms, wondering if perhaps he’d made a mistake from his tiredness, wondering if the clothes box had ended up in another room without him even thinking about it.

But they’re empty.

So he goes back downstairs, the haunting images of those empty dust filled rooms playing on his mind.

The kitchen has the boxes of cutlery and kitchenware that his mom had lovingly bought for him, the dining room has the flat pack table box, and the chairs.

And he’d been in the living room all night.

He slumps down onto the mattress on the floor.

Ben is not prepared to go out in just his underwear and a grimy old tshirt. No way. Uncle Luke deserves more than that.

Eventually, he accepts that the box isn’t going to appear magically in front of him, and reasons that he must have just missed it when he was upstairs. So he goes back up, only to be greeted by a rather horrible sight.

Every single item of clothing that had been in the box now lays in the doorway to his room, folded neatly into a pile large enough to completely block his way.

That’s not funny. That’s not funny at all.

He begins to pull the pile down, painfully aware that if he puts them all on the floor they’re going to get dusty and dirty and he’s only allowed to wash his clothes once a week until he can get himself a washing machine.

The room is untouched, whatever had moved his clothes into a pile hadn’t thought to unpack his wardrobe and build it for him, it seems.

But it feels a lot colder than it did before.

--

There’s a long line of bushes in front of the houses. They’re all in a row along a gentle slope that goes past a pub and a play park towards some nicer houses and then a small church.

She’d said that he lived at number 42.

He walks up and down the row of houses, unable to see past the bushes. It’s a bit weird, he thinks, to shove his head in the gap of each bush just to see what number it is.

And then he hears a yelp.

It’s a dog, and before he knows it, said dog is lying on top of him.

“Artoo?” he says, and the dog licks his face lovingly in response.

Artoo was Uncle Luke’s dog, had been since before he was born. Ben knows that he was a rescue dog, and his full name - R2-D2 - had come from the number of his cage at the rescue shelter. He doesn’t know his breed, except for the fact that he is white with grey-ish blue spots. It seems impossible to think of a blue dog, but then, Ben was always good at accepting the impossible.

“Ben!” his uncle calls over, bags in his hands. He’s obviously just been in the shops, taking advantage of their close proximity.

“Uncle Luke!” Ben replies, just as excited. He hasn’t seen his uncle since he turned 12, but he’s missed him plenty.

“Your mother said you were here. Now, she also said you’d need plenty of feeding. Is that true?” he smiles, a twinkle in his eye as he leans over both dog and man.

“If Artoo can knock me to the ground still, I’d say I definitely need feeding.”

--

“What happened to your dreams of university? Or at least the college near your mother’s house?”

Ben shrugs. “Not for me, I guess. I just… didn’t see the point. It’s expensive, and there’s nothing I really want to do.”

“Fair enough. I didn’t know what I wanted to do until Old Ben took me travelling.” Old Ben was a family friend that Ben had never met himself. He also wasn’t entirely certain whether he was named after him or not. All he knows is that ‘travelling’ is code for being an absolute badass. But Luke doesn’t like to talk about the Rebellion.

He takes a bite of the cheese sandwich that Luke had made for him, and chews his lip a little.

“Hey, are you okay? You’ve seemed really odd ever since we bumped into you. If you need help unpacking, I’m sure I can come over and give you a hand.” Luke says, patting Ben’s arm. He seems genuinely concerned. And Ben knows he can trust him.

“Is there a history of gas leaks in this area? Or carbon monoxide leaks? Because--”

“Because something strange has happened, and you don’t know how to explain it.” he interrupts, nodding sagely. Ben wonders for a moment if Luke is going to impart some wisdom on him, some knowledge of strange, paranormal goings-on in this little town. He always seemed the type, with his collection of crystals and the incense he keeps burning, the supposedly sacred texts in his room.

“It’s the curse.” Luke adds.

Ben doesn’t catch the twinkle in his uncle’s eye, so naturally wants to find out all he can.  “What curse?”

“The curse of moving in alone.” Luke chuckles. Ben’s face falls, he had hoped for answers, instead of a goofy old man joke. “Honestly, though, I am certain it’s real. When I moved here in, let’s see, well it was two years before you were born, so whenever that was, I was on my own. And the amount of things that happened that I couldn’t explain was ridiculous! Cups going missing, clocks stopping, my TV turning on even when I thought it wasn’t plugged in. But the truth is, all of that was just because I was completely exhausted. Moving in somewhere new, especially on your own, takes a toll. And both of your parents will also say the same thing about their first places.”

It’s clear that he can see the disappointment on Ben’s face, so he smiles softly. “If things are still going on in a few weeks time, when you’ve settled in, then we’ll see if we can get someone out to check that there isn’t a gas leak. I promise.”

He rubs at his scruffy beard and chuckles again. “Who knows, it might be Old Ben checking in on you for me. Or even Grandpa Anakin himself. It is his house after all.”

--

He walks past the abandoned house, noticing that the door has been left open.

Maybe there are kids round here that share his adventurous spirit. He decides against knocking on the door and seeing if there is anyone there, because, well, he doesn’t like children all that much. They don’t like him either, something about his height and build makes him the stuff of nightmares apparently.

He also has his hands full at the moment. Uncle Luke had lent him a rewards card to use at the small grocery store on the strip of shops near his house, and so he’d stocked up for the week with easy to make food, like those soup in a cup type things, and bags of junk food. Once he was fully settled in, he’d learn how to cook properly. But for now, he’d be living the university student life without the expensive tuition fees.

As he puts his bags down to open his door, he notices that the man at number 23 is stood at his window, looking down at him. He’s probably impatient, wants to get Ben’s visit out of the way so he can push the stick up his ass even further. So Ben decides that the man can wait. He’ll put his food away, see if he can get his TV to work properly, and then check out his basement. And only after he’s done those three things will he give the man the satisfaction of a visit.

The inside of the house is cold, so he decides to put the heating on.

The rumble of the boiler does make him feel a little uncomfortable, given that it sounds like groaning, but he can ignore it. It’s fine. He can definitely, totally ignore it.

The cupboards in the kitchen are split into three sections. There’s two cupboards above the section of the counter where the freezer would go, along with the washing machine, and there’s a set of two cupboards on either side of the wall, above the space where the oven will be.

He figures that he needs the cupboards above the washing machine and freezer space for cleaning products, and maybe things like kitchen and toilet paper. And the cupboards on the right side of the oven are literally above the space where he’d dish up his food, so it will make sense to keep his plates and mugs there. So that leaves the left cupboards for food.

Ben makes sure to note all this down in his head, because if his food starts moving about, he knows that something is up. He had a good, long rest last night, so there’s no reason for him to fall victim to Uncle Luke’s curse.

--

The TV channel turns on, a successful attempt out of at least twenty unsuccessful ones. Ben knew a lot about making and building things from his dad, but that knowledge was not helpful when trying to tune a modern TV in an ancient house.

It’s some awful daytime TV show, but it’s a victory at least.

He switches the TV off, happy with his work. Next on the list is exploring the basement, and then after that it’s going over to Mr Grumpy’s house. He’s not looking forward to it. There’s something about that guy that he just doesn’t like. Maybe it’s because he was so rude to him, or maybe it’s just his general attitude. That sort of snobby, arrogant attitude that some of the rich guys he used to hang around had.

Regardless, Ben doesn’t want to go.

He pulls on another sweater because the heating is not doing its job whatsoever. He’s just as cold as he was an hour ago, maybe even colder. Ben puts his hand on one of the radiators to check that everything’s fine. He gains a nasty red burn for his troubles.

The kitchen is even colder, he damns himself for choosing to take his socks off when he got in from outside. He tiptoes in, over to the sink so he can run cold water over his burnt fingers.

The wendy house looks much nicer than he remembered it, surprisingly. It’s actually a decent size for a child, in fact, it would be a decent size for an adult. Ben notices that the opening at the side now has a proper door. Perhaps Grandpa Anakin thought there’d be more children in his house and installed some upgrades. Or maybe he was sick of finding dead mice in there. He remembers that the old neighbours’ cats would use his house as a graveyard for their kills.

He turns the tap off, and slips his feet into his trainers. He feels gross wearing shoes without socks, but he’s curious about the state of the wendy house. Once in the garden, he realises it’s been freshly painted, not a single bit of paint seems to be peeling or even slightly faded. Maybe Uncle Luke looks after it. But if he looks after the wendy house, why doesn’t he look after the main house? Luke is a strange man, but… Well, Ben can’t figure out why he’d do something like that. Unless he was using the wendy house for storage. He opens the door, and finds it empty. The wooden floor seems to be clean, the windows and walls too.

Logically speaking, it does make sense that the insides are clean. If Grandpa Anakin’s last work on the house was to clean it up and put a door on, realistically nothing would change. Maybe a bit of dust, but only if people were in it. Ben’s sure that he remembers something about dead skin cells being dust.

And the windows would be clean because of rain, maybe. But that doesn’t explain why the paint looks so fresh. He can’t even chalk it up to Uncle Luke’s curse. There’s no way he painted the wendy house without realising it - he doesn’t even have paint for the actual house itself.

Ben decides he’ll just let it be for now, focus on finding out about Threepio.

He shucks his shoes off at the door, heads over to get his flashlight. Who knows if there are bulbs in the basement?

Underneath the stairs that lead upstairs is a cupboard door. It doesn’t open to a cupboard though, it opens to the set of stairs that leads downstairs to the basement. Ben had always hated that, as the sloping ceiling made it even more terrifying. But he’s a big boy now, and he knows how to throw a punch if there’s a hobo living down there. Or worse, some sort of murderer.

He opens the door and flicks the switch on the wall, hoping that the basement light will flicker on and give him light.

And it does.

Unlike the rest of the house, Ben notices there’s not a speck of dust in the basement. Absolutely none at all. It’s just like the wendy house, spotlessly clean.

He notes a large stain on the floor, though, something that looks almost iridescent like oil, but more red than anything. He wonders if somehow Grandpa Anakin got his hands on the dyed gasoline he knows is used for farm vehicles. Maybe it was important for his robots or something like that.

Ben looks towards the large case in the corner of the room, a small smile spreading across his face as he realises who’s in it.

He pulls the lid open quickly, seeing the familiar gold gleam in the fluorescent light.

“Threepio!” he grins, knowing full well that his grandfather’s machine is not turned on at the moment. He’s just happy to see a familiar face in a house that seems to have changed so much since he was a child.

He carefully lifts the robot out, wary of each limb that dangles from the solid core of his body. Threepio looks as though he’s been well looked after, so he shouldn’t break, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

Ben sits Threepio down on the chair beside the case, fumbling with his cold metal casing to try and figure out where the on button is.

But there doesn’t seem to be one.

“Weird.” he mutters to himself. He stands up from his crouched position next to Threepio, and looks around the room a little more. He feels weird being down there. Like in dreams, where intuition means you know things that you shouldn’t possibly know. He doesn’t like it.

It’s cold again, the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he can literally feel his skin turning into millions of goosebumps. His heart speeds up a little, just because he’s all alone in a basement with a robot that won’t turn on and the freezing cold aura of what he thinks might just be a gas leak or potentially a ghost.

And then there’s calm. It’s warm, his heart beat is steady, and his mind feels clear.

Perhaps the man next door will be happy to see him now.

--

He stands outside for a moment, beginning to wonder if maybe the man has lost all patience and is never going to let him in.

Before he knows what to do, there’s a tap on his shoulder.

“I-- I perhaps should apologise. I’ve been out all morning on an urgent errand.”

Ben looks deeply at the man, who, now he’s really looking is actually only about an inch shorter than him.

“But you were in your house when I got back from my uncle’s, weren’t you?” he says, shoving his now sweaty hands in the pockets of his tatty burgundy hoodie.

The man looks confused. “I’ve been out since 8 o’clock this morning, and I’ve only just got back now. Millicent was sick and I had to travel out of town for the vet.”

He lifts up the cage in his hand so Ben can see the mass of ginger fluff inside.

“Oh, okay. I was just-- I was just worried that I’d put it off too late to come round.” Ben laughs, trying to disguise his lie.

There’s an awkward silence before the man offers his free hand. “Armitage Hux. I realise I forgot to introduce myself last night.”

Ben takes his hand and gives it a firm shake. “Ben.”

“Do you have a last name?”

He pauses for a minute. “Solo.”

Armitage nods, a slight smile on his lips. “Nice to meet you, Ben Solo.”

--

Ben is utterly inspired by the way Hux has transformed his house. The interior is minimalistic, but not to the point of being spartan. It’s just… right.

“Maybe I should get you round my house, fix it up properly.” he jokes, thinking about the dirty walls and the immaculate basement.

“No.” is the immediate, serious reply.

“I was just--”

Hux turns to him, having been in front of him as he led him to the kitchen. “Apologies. I just have very strong feelings about your house. And its inhabitants.”

“Sorry, dude. Didn’t realise I was that bad.” Ben raises his hands up, trying to play it all off as a joke. In truth, he doesn’t like this conversation, doesn’t like it one bit.

Hux gives him a thin lipped smile before returning to the previous conversation. “I can’t claim all credit for the way my house looks. Before my father passed, he hired an interior designer to work with me to make this house suited to my needs.”

“Oh, right. He sounds like a good man.”

“He was a vile, disgusting man whose mother should have swallowed.” Hux says, blankly. “But he was rich, and obsessed with status. If his only child was going to move into a backwater hovel, the least he could do was splash the cash to make it the best house of the whole town.”

Ben doesn’t quite know what to say to that, but thankfully the washing machine is there.

“Have you ever used a washing machine before?” Hux asks, bending over to make sure his own washing isn’t in the drum.

“Uh, like once. My mom--” he begins, before trailing off awkwardly.

What follows next is a very long and drawn out sigh from Hux, before a ten minute long rant about what each dial does and how he needs to do it all, exactly as it might say in an instructions booklet. Hux might be strangely uptight, but at least he’s helpful.

“Alright, thanks. I might be over sooner than expected ‘cause my box of clothes… broke. Some of them got on the floor and there’s a lot of dust there.” he explains, after having practiced several times on the washing machine.

“It broke? Are you sure?” Hux gives him a rather odd look, as though he wants to say something but can’t.

“Yeah, it’s the curse.” he says, expecting that the be the end result of this whole tangent. “You know, the moving in alone curse.”

Hux barks out a laugh, the same way someone might when watching a particularly scary film. “I see. Well, perhaps I’ll see you soon. It was nice talking to you, Ben. Excuse me, but I have to attend to Millicent.”

And then he’s left the room, meaning Ben has no choice but to go home and wonder what the hell is happening.

Maybe he should contact the council, see if they have a way of checking for town-wide gas leaks.

--

There’s a hardware store in the next town over, he learns from his mother.

It’s 3pm, so if he starts off now, he’ll be able to make it back before it gets too dark. He’s not sure he wants to be on a strange bus in the pitch black of night.

At the very top of his road is a small bus stop, with just a sign and a bench to designate it. It has the timetable, the bus to the next town is due in fifteen minutes.

Ben decides to lean against the sign, his legs are tired from the walk up the hill. It is a long way, and very steep for someone that’s used to flat paths everywhere. But his thighs are too sore to sit down completely. This is a happy compromise.

He hears crunching on the path behind him, likely litter being carried by the wind. Curiosity, though, compels him to turn and look. He can see the path behind the bus stop, but the bench is nowhere to be seen.

“What the actual... “ he begins, before deciding he’s probably just tired. There’s no way a bench could just disappear like that, even if the other things he’s seen are real. It’s just not possible.

The bus pulls up before he can question any more.

--

The potholes in the road keep him from falling to sleep, the bus clunks and jumps and rattles and shakes far too loudly for any semblance of calm, but Ben is thankful for it. It means he can keep an eye out for the route, just in case he needs to drive it himself.

All he sees is fields, and barns. Little outhouses in the middle of grassy wastelands, their bricks fallen in and roofs half disintegrated from rust. Graffiti covers one that he notices, and the barn nearby seems to be charred from a bonfire - maybe raves happen round here, though he’s not sure anyone in the town is the type to go to one. Especially not Hux.

It takes a full hour to get to the next town, it’s moderately larger than his own, and the shops outnumber the houses from what he can see.

The hardware store lies on the main street, next to a barber shop and a vet’s. Perhaps that’s where Millicent was treated.

He enters the shabby little store, struggles to adjust from the dusk of outside to the blinding fluorescence of inside. The owner clearly doesn’t care about their electricity bill.

“Good afternoon, sir.” he hears, before looking around. There’s no one in the front of the shop, as cluttered and messy as it is, so he supposes it must be coming from the  backroom.

“Afternoon.” he replies, trying to be polite, trying to make a good impression in these small towns.

“What can I help you with?” says the lanky man that appears behind him, holding several pots of paint in large basket in his hand.

“Paint, actually.” Ben says, attempting a smile.

“Oh, that is a lucky, lucky thing. I was just about to reduce the price of these!” the man replies, returning the smile. His teeth are almost pointed, his tongue almost poking through the gaps of rot and decay. He's ugly, slimy looking, with a scar that cuts down the side of his head. But there's something more than that. Something cold about him. 

“Yeah? That’s cool. Can I have a look at the colours in the basket?”

The man places the basket on his counter, pulling out the tins in a swift fashion.

“There you go, take all the time you need. We’re open another hour, so that should be enough for you to make a decision.” he says, jovially.

Ben frowns. “You close at 5pm? That’s a little early.”

“Don’t be silly. We close at 9pm.” the man says. “Snoke’s Hardware Supplies has the reputation of being the longest open store of its kind in the five towns in this area.”

The name sounds familiar to Ben, though he can’t quite place it. Now he thinks about it, the man looks familiar too.

He looks at his phone, though, head buzzing with the fear that he’d lost out on five hours of his day without realising. And sure enough, the time reads 9pm.

Every clock in the store does too.

As his shaking hands sort through the tins of paint on the counter, he looks up at the man behind it. “So, uh, you wouldn’t happen to know how to fix or detect a gas leak, would you? Because.. I moved into the town next to this one, and I’ve had a few weird things happen. Usually when things like that happen, it’s like.. carbon monoxide poisoning or something.”

The man looks thoughtful for a second. “I can provide you with a carbon monoxide detector if your house doesn’t already have one. But I’m afraid I can’t offer much more help than that.”

He eventually picks up two tins of peach paint, three tins of white, and three cream. That should be enough for the whole house. He also makes sure to buy some tins of emulsion and sugar soap.The man is even kind enough to throw in the brushes and rollers for free.

Hopefully he won’t have to make a return trip, because five hours is a lot of time to lose once, let alone twice.

--

He sets his haul down in the kitchen, before opening up the cupboards near the sink. He puts the painting stuff in there, but keeps the carbon monoxide detector out. He can’t decide where would be best to put it, but eventually he settles on putting it upstairs, on the shelf at the top of the stairs. After all, the only place he can think of gas being is near the boiler, given he has no oven.

It’s half past 9, and Ben feels weariness setting into his bones. Being on a bus reminds him of childhood, where even the shortest journey would be enough to coax him into the familiar arms of sleep.

And after the two-hour long journey, as it had been an hour there and back, is enough to make him want to climb into bed right now.

He realises, in his sleepy state, that he hadn’t remembered to assemble his bed.

The blow up mattress is still there, though, so it will have to do for tonight.

After a week of hard work, Ben feels as though he’s getting somewhere. Every room has been cleaned and painted, and the things he’d brought with him have been assembled and put neatly where he wants them.

Over time he’ll be able to put more things in, like different ornaments and decorations, some shelves and all those other non-essential things, but he’s made a lot of progress on his own.

It’s lunchtime, and he’s finally done with everything he can do. He heads up for a shower, and then puts his dirty, paint splattered clothes into a plastic bag.

His hair is tied up in a wet bun, and he’s wearing comfortable clothes like tracksuit bottoms and an ugly sweater, but he’s not trying to impress Hux with his looks. He just needs his washing machine.

He knocks on his door, knowing that he’ll be free today too. He’d explained before that he has every Thursday off.

“Hello. Are you alright?” Hux asks, as he stands at the door.

Ben frowns. “Uh, yeah? Oh, did you hear me singing? Yeah, I know it’s not great but it helped me get into the groove of painting.” He rubs the back of his neck with embarrassment.

“No, it wasn’t your singing. At three o’clock this morning, I heard screaming. And there’s no way it was any other house. I thought something had happened to you.”

A chill run downs Ben’s spine, his stomach flips icy cold. “No, nothing. Maybe--”

Hux offers another tight lipped smile, though it looks more like a grimace right now. “Maybe it was some sort of sleep paralysis. Or the wind.” he says, before going into his house. Ben follows, shutting the door behind him. Millicent is an indoor cat after all.

“I was wondering if perhaps you’d like to have dinner with me tonight?” Hux asks, as nonchalant as possible. Ben almost drops his bag, he hadn’t expected that.

He frowns. “Don’t look so surprised, I’m not going to tie you up in my basement. It’s just that I see all the takeout you eat. You need to eat something proper.”

“I eat proper food.” Ben replies, indignantly. “My uncle makes me cheese sandwiches.”

“You’re pathetic.” Hux huffs a laugh.

Ben loads up the washing machine, presses the button and watches as it starts to spin.

“You’re pathetic. It’s taken you a whole week to ask me on a date.” he says, teasingly. He hates how easily Hux can make him feel so small and worthless with just a word.

There’s a horrific silence that makes Ben wonder if he’s said something wrong, if perhaps these small towns are just the same as they’ve always been.

“It’s only polite to wait.” is the eventual reply.

The next few minutes are spent just as silently as those that came before. Ben sits at the kitchen table feeling a little odd. He hadn’t meant to say anything wrong, he’d just wanted to tease Hux like he teases him. Not that he should care. The man is a dick. In fairness, so is he. They’re both dicks. And he’d like to be a dick together with him, or at least get to know him more.

“So, uh, I saw the vet in the town over. It’s kinda nice, actually. Small, but looks clean.” he finally says.

Hux comes back into view, he sits down at the table across from Ben. “How did you get there? I had to get Poe to drive me over.”

Ben isn’t going to ask who Poe is, instead replying to the question. “I took the bus. Duh.”

“You can’t get a bus there. It’s too long, and our buses don’t leave this town.” Hux says, looking completely and utterly serious.

“Well, I did. I’m sure I did.” Ben says, feeling the prickle of hairs on his neck.

And then he’s laughing. It’s loud and obnoxious, but also incredibly endearing.

“What?” Ben says, feeling a little stupid.

“I was messing with you.” Hux grins. His smile is one Ben thinks he might find on the devil himself. “There is a bus that goes there. I only got driven there because Millicent doesn’t like public transport.”

“You’re a butthole.”

“You’re so childish.”

Ben suddenly thinks about the conversation he’d had in the hardware store. “Hey, you know the hardware store next to the vet? I bought a carbon monoxide detector from there. Do you think it’s legit?”

Hux has a strange expression on his face, like he wants to say something.

“What? You’re not gonna tell me that it doesn’t exist, are you?”

His expression doesn’t change.

“Stop being a dick.” Ben says, standing to pull his clothes from the washing machine.

“I’m not. But Snoke died before I was born. There’s not been a hardware store there since.”

Ben shakes his head. “Not buying it. You can only make a joke like that once.”

He puts his clothes back into his plastic bag, they’re soaking wet but smell very nice.

“I’ll prove it to you.” Hux says. ”We can go there now. You can see that it’s been closed for years.”

Ben stares at him for a moment. He looks serious, perhaps more so than when he’d made the joke before.

“Deal. But first, I’ve gotta put my clothes away.”

Hux takes the bag from him, heads round to near where the backdoor is.There sits a tumble dryer, and he loads it up quickly.

“There. Now we can go.”

--

Ben quickly locks his door before they head off. There’s a painful, piercing sensation in his back, he turns to see if he’s been bitten. And then he sees it.

Tall and clad in black, a masked figure stands at his bedroom window.

There’s a moment of familiarity, where he thinks he might know the person stood there. But he can’t, he can’t possibly know them.

Dread oozes slowly into the pit of his stomach, like an IV drip of poison. His legs are welded to the ground, as though he stands metal and shiny in the midday sun, as though he’s a permanent fixture outside his house.

“I can see it too.” Hux murmurs, before tugging at Ben’s arm. “I think it’s a watcher, just ignore it.”

His tone allows no questions. Metal legs turn to flesh once more.

--

“I’ve met your uncle before. He’s not especially fond of me, since he knew my father and knew his reputation. I haven’t done much to show I’m any different.” Hux remarks, staring blankly out of the window. Ben finds that with each moment he’s spent with him, he becomes more transfixed by his cold, sharp good looks. Now is no different, his eyes trace the curve of his nose, the slight tilt of his mouth, the faint creases between his brows. There’s something about Hux that’s both inviting but mildly terrifying, as though he is a dog that could turn from loyal pet to monster at any second.

“No? I’d say you were different. You’ve let me use your washing machine, you know.” he offers. Hux might be a bit of an ass, but Ben hasn’t seen anything about him that would make him wish for his death.

“As much as I appreciate your effort, I don’t care for anyone’s opinion where my father is concerned. I know I’m not him, and that’s all that counts.”

Ben nods, not sure where to take the conversation after that. He thinks, perhaps, in another life he might have butted heads with Hux, might have despised him. But in this one, in this life, he thinks he rather likes his company.

“What are you making for dinner?” he decides to ask, just as the bus pulls up to the stop.

Hux doesn’t hear him, it seems, so he follows him off the bus and checks his phone for the time. It’s 2:30pm exactly, he’ll be incredibly worried if he misses out five hours this time.

He walks with determination to the hardware shop, shoulders broad with his impending triumph. Hux will see that the store is open, and will see that he isn’t crazy. Though, really, the conversation they’d had before hadn’t seemed like Hux thought he was crazy. If anything, his interest in all of this, and the knowledgeable way he’d identified the figure in the window, suggested that he believed that something was happening.

Ben doesn’t want to think about it, mostly because he doesn’t want his first house to be tainted with memories of a haunting.

But also because if he admits that those things could be real, he might never go there again.

There it stands, the row of shops neatly painted like those from an old-time picture book. Except for the one in the centre, dust covering every inch and graffiti trailing down the sides of the door.

The large sign, cracked with age and the elements, reads ‘Snoke’s Hardware Supplies’.

--

It’s a large bath. Ben wonders how much it cost, particularly since it seems specially designed for this house.

Lavender wafts under his nose, mixes with the fresh scent of the candles Hux had lit for him.

Today has messed with his head, that’s for certain. He wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out he’d imagined everything, that he’s been at home with his parents the whole time.

Not only was Snoke’s store closed, and had been for just as long as Hux said, he’d come back to find that every window of his house had been smashed.

He’d tried phoning his mom for help, advice on who to call to sort it out, but the signal seems to be weak in this town. Maybe that’s why Uncle Luke’s a hermit.

Until his windows were fixed, Hux had invited him to stay with him, where at least he’ll be able to keep an eye on his house in case anything else happens to it. They’d made sure to put all of his valuables in the basement and lock the door, so they’re safe from anyone who might see the house and think it free for the taking.

He’s even drawn a bath for him, attempting to make him feel comfortable even though his world seems very close to just collapsing.

Ben thinks that he quite likes the way small town people are to their neighbours, if this is what they’re all like.

“Ben?” he hears, from outside the bathroom door.

“Yeah?”

“May I come in? I just want to talk. It’s about your house.”

He groans, before mumbling an affirmative.

The door edges open, and Hux’s head pokes in. “Thank god for that, I thought the bubbles wouldn’t cover you.”

He opens the door fully and sits down on the toilet seat, folding his hands together over a small book, a leatherbound journal thick with both the original pages and pieces that Hux had clearly put in himself. “Do you remember your grandfather?”

“Grandpa Anakin?” Ben asks. “Yeah, sure. Why? Is he the ghost?”

Hux looks guilty for a moment. “I’m not sure your house is haunted. I’ve done some digging, and I don’t think even your family knows the truth.”

He fidgets with the book, before looking up at Ben. “Look, I think I’ve made it quite clear that I don’t value anyone’s opinion except my own, and I think you would do well to remember it while I’m explaining this. I don’t care whether you think that this is insane, but you have to understand, your house has been a strange place since I moved here. This whole town is not right, but at least I have no control over that. This-- This I can stop. I can fix it and make it proper and good and--”

His cheeks are flushed, brow furrowed with anger and frustration, it seeps into his voice as he half-spits out his words.

“Just tell me.” Ben replies, flatly.

“Darth Vader.” There’s a moment as Hux leafs through the pages of the journal, ignores the paper that slides out of it and finally prods his finger against a passage. “‘For the second time this month, a local resident has disappeared, leading to widespread panic and a curfew implemented by the police department. The resident is 61 year old Maz Kanata, known by some to have connections with the terrorist group the Rebellion.’”

Ben frowns. The Rebellion is long gone, why would it matter now? He knows that Grandpa Anakin hated them, told stories of them blowing things up, destroying public property. He’d always despised the fact that both of his children and his son in law were once active members before they’d all settled down. But not only is the Rebellion no longer active, his grandfather is dead. And sure, he knows vaguely of Darth Vader, he was a serial killer. But he doesn’t see what he has to do with the Rebellion, or with his Grandpa.

“This is a few years before, and three states over, ‘Police have been investigating the disappearance of a young girl. Her name cannot be disclosed for legal reasons, as the case has been closed and her status appears to be deceased. However, this missing persons investigation is just one of the many in the past five years to happen under the same mysterious circumstances. The victim appears to be in good health, and is often in a public place when they disappear. In the case of Dopheld Mitaka, he was in a business meeting surrounded by multiple other people when he appeared to vanish into thin air, never to be seen again.’” Hux reads, before looking up. “This is quite old, so the case is available to view, and I found out that she’s Galen Erso’s daughter.”

Galen Erso had been one of the founding members of the Rebellion. He remembers his mother telling him all about him, how he worked for the government and put flaws in their classified operation, known as “Death Star”. It was in the same vein as MKUltra, only it was so top secret, according to Leia, that its contents would never be released to the public. It had also failed, thanks to Uncle Luke.

“Someone was targeting members of the Rebellion and their families, taking them and never releasing them. They’re never found alive, never found at all. Darth Vader had the same MO, and everything is identical between the two, except for two main things. Firstly, his victims were completely random. There is no connection between them at all. And second, he let his victims go, just as with Dopheld Mitaka. In fact, that case was particularly strange as the man in question had ties with the Empire..”

“How do you know that he was behind it though? If one person is capable of making people literally disappear, how do we know that there isn’t another?” Ben asks. He thinks of Death Star, thinks of what might have happened if it was allowed to continue. “Maybe there’s a whole group of people like that?”

“I have my hands on a copy of something more valuable than my life.” Hux answers. He stands, and picks up the paper littered on the floor. “We can talk about it later. For now, just try and relax.”

Ben nods, watching Hux walk out of the room with a gait that would be more suited to an army general than a man in a town like this.

After five minutes of his eyes closed and deep breaths, Ben finds he can’t relax. As he stands to climb out of the bath, he catches sight of himself in the mirror.

And the girl who lies floating in the bath.

--

“My compliments to the chef.” Ben says, as Hux picks up their plates. “Does he happen to own one of those ‘kiss the cook’ aprons?”

There’s a moment of peachy flush on creamy white skin, but it fades just as Ben’s smile does.

“No, I don’t.” Hux says. He seems to swing wildly between three moods - kind neighbour, asshole neighbour, and businessman/conspiracy theorist. Ben can relate, he seems to have built a facade for himself too, gentle giant Ben, but it is a little confusing and frustrating. He never quite knows who he’s talking to.

“Is there dessert?” he asks, hoping to coax him into kind neighbour mode again.

“No. I’m going to show you something now that’s incredibly important. But I need you to promise me that you won’t reveal its contents to anyone, even your parents. I know them, Han and Leia Solo. And your uncle, Luke Skywalker. If any of them find out about this, I think it could quite possibly kill them.”

Hux walks back into the dining room with a black folder, he looks to be on the verge of a breakdown just holding it.

“Read it. Everything should make sense.” he says, handing it over as though it’s his very life he’s giving.

Ben sets down the folder on the table, opens it up and pulls out the three brown paper envelopes. They’re thick with files, each is stamped with the government’s seal and one he’s never seen before, one he thinks he’s known all his life.

“The Knights of Ren…” he mutters. Even the words feel familiar on his lips.

He pulls out the files of the first envelope, skims the first page. It gives brief details of the Death Star operation, and two subsequent operations of the same name. Locations, and names of those involved. Any question of why Hux has these documents dissipates the moment Ben notices the heavy involvement of a Dr Brendol Hux.

Further reading makes the pasta he’d half digested rise up, threatening to spill out through his mouth and taint the already foul documents.

His mother was right when she compared it to MKUltra, but he thinks Hux is also right. She would have probably had a heart attack had she realised the full extent of the government’s work, the fact that they continued and tried to achieve their goals twice more, inflicting permanent damage on countless lives.

Ben tries to absorb the information as clinically as he can, picture the subjects as just the numbers they were assigned instead of the names they had and the people they were. He can’t bear to look at their faces, smiling whilst holding the boards, no knowledge whatsoever of what the future would hold, the fact it would be cruelly ripped from them within hours of that picture being taken.

The things that were done to them could only have been conceived by a monster. No decent human being would ever do anything of the sort. Not just drugs and sensory deprivation, but violence and torture and deep psychological harm.

The Knights of Ren had to be important in order to collaborate with the government and carry out these experiments, perhaps they were what conspiracy theorists wanted the Illuminati to be. But it seems they weren’t happy with the influence they had. The aim was for the Knights of Ren to be able to have mind control powers, or at least other psychic abilities. The documents detailed an old order known as the Sith, who claimed to have had those powers.

Ben feels himself shaking, his hands tremble uncontrollably. “I don’t think I can read any more of this. It’s sick.”

Hux nods, standing by his side and pulling a page from the back of one of the collections of paper.

“This is what I really wanted you to see.” he says, with something like sympathy.

He notes the smiling face, the ‘SUCCESSFUL’ stamped in red across the sheet. The only red he’d seen so far.

His dinner finds itself dripping down his chin as he throws it up into the sink.

--

“Ben, leave your Grandpa alone.” his mother says, chastising him playfully. She’s always so warm in his memories, rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes. He doesn’t listen, of course, prodding his grandfather’s bony chest again. The old man snores, unaware of his grandson poking at him.

“Hey, shall we see if Threepio is awake yet? I know that Grandpa changed his batteries yesterday, he should be safe to plug in again.” Han says, pulling Ben close and gives him a gentle noogie, before taking his hand.

They make their way to the basement door, Han flips him over his shoulder and jogs down the stairs, laughing at the gurgling noise that Ben makes from being shaken about so much. He plants him on the ground, the lights flicker on.

Ben finds himself in a bright white room. Not the basement he knows.

Grandpa Anakin sits on a chair, smiling warmly at him.

“Ben! You’re finally old enough to know what I do down here with Threepio. And I want you to help me, because you’re a superhero.” he says, patting his lap. Ben smiles, a little uncertain. But it’s Grandpa Anakin, he’s not going to scare him in this white room.

“What do you mean I’m a superhero? Am I Hulk?” Ben says, lisping slightly. Anakin shakes his head, rubbing his tufts of hair as though he’s thinking about how to phrase it.

“I’m going to tell you a story, but first, I’d like you to choose a superhero name. It has to end with Ren, though. That’s your superhero surname. And you can’t be called Ben Ren, can you?” he laughs.

“What about… Bibbity Bobbity Boo?” Ben asks. He likes the idea of being a superhero.

“I’m afraid not. It’s got to be a short name, otherwise it won’t work.” Anakin says.

Ben huffs and sighs and groans. “Grandpa, let me be a superhero.”

“You have to have a name!” his grandfather smiles. “Tell you what, I’ll choose for you. How does that sound?”

“Yeah, choose it! Is it going to be Doobeedoobeedoo?” Ben tries.

Anakin hums for a moment, as though he’s deep in thought.

“Kylo.”

“Kylo?” Ben rolls the word over his tongue, he likes it a lot. It feels like it holds power.

“Yes. You can be Kylo Ren. How does that sound?”

The white room fades, he’s in the basement and he isn’t sure who he is anymore.

The masked figure he’d seen before stands side by side with the ghost of his childhood, the man he now knows as Snoke.

“Join me. Help me. You are powerful beyond measure, not even I possess your gifts. We can crush the Resistance together.” the figure says, voice warped and raspy. But he smells of peaches and soap. He smells of Grandpa Anakin.

Snoke holds out his hand, though his arm seems to stretch for miles and miles. He’s also thinner, paler than he should be, like a fragment of a ghost.

A knife glints in his palm, just as his eyes do, like the sparkle of a jewel wasp. Deadly, yet beautiful.

He feels himself take the knife, plunge it deep into his father’s chest. He doesn’t know how he got there, doesn’t know why he’s enjoying the sensation of stabbing him over and over again, the blood seeping through his shirt and onto the side of his hands.

It’s like something has taken hold of him, a rage more fearsome than he’s ever experienced before.

“Ben?” he hears.

He turns, bloodied and angry, so fucking angry, to see his mother. She looks frail, weak. Just as much as his father did.

“You always have a place with me.”

Sweat pours from him, his chest feels like it’s about to cave in from how fast he’s breathing, how hard his heart is pounding.

He’s somewhere unfamiliar, cold as hell frozen over. And terrified.

Slowly he pulls his shirt off and wipes at his body, throwing it on the floor before he turns on the closest lamp. That’s right. He’s in Hux’s house. The dream was-- Well, hopefully it was a dream, and not an amalgamation of memories and the future. It must just be everything that’s happened over the past week getting to him.

But there’s someone standing there, an old man with a kind face.

“Ben, you seem afraid. Remember, just because something happens up here-” He’s suddenly close enough to touch Ben’s temple, to tap it and pat his shoulder. “Doesn’t mean that it will happen anywhere else. Your mother is right, you always have a place with her. Your choices define you, so make the right one.”

“I--”

The man is gone, the room is empty and slightly warmer.

He races up the stairs, ready to wake Hux. But it seems he’s already awake, sat on his bed reading a book.

“Oh, you’re finished screaming, are you? I thought I might have to wait til you lost your voice.” he says, casually. He doesn’t even look at Ben, just sits there and reads.

“What? Look, Hux, I had this-- this nightmare. And I know things. I knew about my grandfather being special, I must have done. He wanted me to be one of them! The project worked, and it worked enough to be hereditary. It passed on to me and I-- The Resistance, who are the Resistance?” Ben rambles. He doesn’t want to mention what he did to his father, doesn’t want Hux to know the monster buried inside.

Hux seems to be concerned once he mentions the Resistance. “Ben, I think you need to calm yourself. And put a shirt on.”

Ben nods, trying to control his breathing. He digs through his box of clothes and pulls on a t-shirt, before sitting down on the floor and trying to focus on anything other than the dream.

“The Resistance are now what the Rebellion once was. They’re trying to eliminate those that have risen up from the Empire’s ashes. I am ashamed to say that I was once one of those they sought to destroy. They’re known as the First Order. If they appeared in your vision, well… I think we need to make sure that your grandfather is definitely dead.”

--

Hux pulls his coat a little tighter to his body, fidgets with the piece of wood splintering off from the table. “Is this really necessary, Ben?”

He nods, watching the world around them. They’re sat in the local park. Ben can’t shake the feeling of there being something more to this, something more than just psychic powers and deranged serial killers.

The old man he’d seen last night only further proves his point. There’s something not right about this town, and it’s no coincidence that someone as destructive as Darth Vader chose to live here.

“I need to ask you--”

“Look, did you see that?” Ben interrupts, pointing to the winding path that leads there. There had been a girl walking down it, before she vanished.

“Yes, I did. She took the turning there, see?” Hux directs his finger to the small path that splits off from the main one, and the girl that walks down it.

Ben rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry, I thought... “

“I know what you thought. But you’re not going to catch a watcher by watching for them.”

Hux had explained the watchers. They’re ghosts, fragments of people that stand watch over the living. They’re a permanent fixture in this small town, for those who choose to see them. Hux says that the ghosts get stronger when there’s reports of strong Resistance activity. But he doesn’t think they’re causing it. He had explained his theory as such:

The town is susceptible to the supernatural as it is.

Darth Vader, or Grandpa Anakin, seems to be hunting members of the Rebellion and now the Resistance.

Whatever he’s doing to make them vanish, whatever power Operation Death Star gave him,  seems to be waking up the ghosts, disturbing the thin line between this world and the next.

Therefore, when the Resistance are active, Darth Vader is active, and that triggers the ghosts.

A week ago, Ben would have called it nonsense. But he was always good at believing the impossible.

“What about that?” he points, looking at a van that seemed to change colour.

“Two vans. One drove one way and the other drove straight on, you lost track of the first.”

Hux seems intent on ruining every paranormal thing he thinks he sees. Maybe that’s a good thing, maybe it will keep him grounded and stop him from losing it in this place.

He holds out a hand, pale and freckled. Ben takes it, and finds himself being pulled up. “There’s a shop through the trees there. We can get some snacks. And then we need to talk.”

Their hands stay almost glued together, like Hux is afraid of losing him.

And maybe he is. What with the folder and the dream, and the fact that the Resistance is apparently dropping like flies, there seems to be a very real danger present.

Ben isn’t certain that he’s not part of the danger himself.

“What’s that over there?” They’re under the canopy of trees, surrounded by reeds and rushes. But Ben can see a dark green mass in the land, can smell something horrid.

“It’s a pond. Do you want me to explain what a pond is?” Hux says, almost cruelly. But the squeeze of his hand warms Ben’s chest, makes him smile even if he does want to suppress it.

“Can we have a look at it?” he asks.

“Sure, but I’m not entirely clear on what you think you’re going to gain from it. It’s covered in algae.” Hux explains as they wander off the path to it.

Mud squelches soft and pliant under Ben’s boots, yields to the path he forges for himself. He wonders if this is what he should be experiencing now, being one with both nature and good company.

Hux keeps looking at him, as though he’s somewhat worried for him. Ben isn’t sure why, they’re just going to explore the pond. Maybe they’ll see some ducks.

When they find it, past the tall grass and other obstacles, Ben realises that that’s what he could smell. It’s the algae, earthy and moist. The rich scent is almost overpowering, he finds himself trying to take more shallow breaths to avoid breathing the stink in.

But that doesn’t dissuade him.

He peers over, watches the stagnant water stand still at the shore of this miniature ocean.

He also watches Hux, sees his reflection where the algae hasn’t grown. There’s an expression on his face somewhat like happiness, though Ben is sure that he’d deny it if he was asked about it, about his soft expression, the fondness in his eyes.

“Ben, I need to ask you an important question.” Hux states.

But then Ben sees the other person there.

He turns around to see them, but he and Hux are the only people in the whole park. He turns again to make sure that the rogue reflection is gone, only to see that it’s closer now, clearer.

The girl looks sad, looks hurt. She’s the one from the bath, he’s sure of it.

“I don’t want you to be here.” he hears, a firm voice tells him. She’s talking, how is she doing that?

“Ask her why.” Hux commands, and although Ben doesn’t take orders, he wants to find out for himself.

“Why?” he asks. “Who are you?”

“I am Rey. And you’re making it worse for all of us. He’s hurting us, and you’re not doing anything. It’s better if you leave this town and never come back.” she says. She seems stern, though Ben can’t say he blames her. If he’s got the right end of the stick, Hux is completely correct in his theory, and Darth Vader’s kidnappings are disruptive in some way. And it’s not just disruptive, it’s painful for them.

“I’m going to stop him.” he promises, clutching hold of Hux’s hand even tighter as though his touch can give him strength.

But Rey doesn’t seem to believe him. She disappears with the ripples of the wind on the water, as though she was never there to begin with. And maybe she wasn’t.

Ben still hasn’t checked the carbon monoxide detector.

As they walk home, Ben feels the tension between him and Hux.

--

“How are we going to catch him?” Ben asks, the thick, plush fibres of the carpet poking through his toes as he paces the room, running his hands back through his hair. “He doesn’t want to be seen, maybe even can’t be seen, and he’s got fucking magical powers that don’t legally exist.”

His voice feels hoarse, the clock reads an hour past the time he’d started getting worked up about his promise to Rey.

“Ben, sit down and shut up, please.” Hux says, turning the page of his book.

“What if he’s doing something right now? What if there’s someone in the basement right now? Shit! That’s what the red stain was-- It was blood.” he groans.

Hux mumbles something, it sounds like a complaint. And then he sighs.

“Ben, I need to ask you something.”

His head jerks round and he looks to the man on the sofa. “Yeah?”

“It’s important. You need to sit down.” Hux has even put his book down, so Ben knows he’s telling the truth.

He takes the seat next to him, takes in the soft smell of sandalwood and vanilla.

“I know there’s a lot of strange things happening here, but… there are also things going on between us, aren’t there?” For once, he seems somewhat unsure of himself.

Ben nods, feeling heat rising up his face.

“Would you like there to be something more?”

He thinks of every stolen glance between them, all the touches and hand holding and lack of boundaries, and it fills him up with courage, fills him with this instinct that Hux is his to take.

Their faces are close enough that he can feel Hux’s warm breath on him, and one of them, he isn’t sure who, closes the already small gap.

Their lips press together awkwardly, noses moving out of place as they try and arrange their bodies around the other’s.

Hux’s arms pull him in closer, he feels the heat radiating off of his body.

“Have you ever been with another man?” Hux asks.

Ben shakes his head.

“Have you ever been with an--”

Ben shakes his head before Hux can continue.

“You’re mine to ruin, then.” he laughs, before pulling away. Ben isn’t sure what he’s done wrong. In everything he’s seen and read, after the first kiss comes the first everything else.

“I’m glad we’ve cleared that up.” he adds, before returning back to his book. Ben is still thoroughly confused.

“And I’ve got some equipment that might help us find your grandfather.”

---

This is one of those situations where Ben isn’t entirely sure that what’s happening is correct or accurate, but he doesn’t know enough about electronics or espionage to say anything.

Hux has an EMF meter that he did not buy from a ghost hunting store, but he stole from his old college science lab - “so we know it works”. He’s taken it apart, made it long distance in some way. All Ben knows is that the sensor is in his basement and the receiver or whatever it’s called is in Hux’s living room.

Right where they can see it.

Ben had asked about the possibility of Grandpa Anakin finding it, considering his background in top secret operations. But Hux had reassured him that there were two options here. Vader will find it and either destroy it or take it away. No one else goes into the house, so it must be him. The next step would be confronting him, and potentially phoning the police.

The other option is that Vader will find it, but do nothing as the assumption would be that it was just a microphone, which is what it looks like in its stripped down form.  If he’s able to utilise his abilities in these murders, chances are they may well be silent. But the EMF meter would be able to detect that psychic power, or so Hux says, and it would tell them all they need to know. The next step to that would also be confronting him, but maybe not phoning the police. Ben is still a little afraid of what had happened in his dream, the potential power he might have. Either that or it’s a case of wishful thinking. Even in that case, he’s not sure the police would be any match for someone with his grandfather’s powers.

Now they just need to sit and wait. Hux has fitted the receiver with an alarm, quiet enough to not be heard by neighbours, but loud enough to wake them up from sleep. They don’t know how long they’re going to be waiting there.  

Hux smells even stronger now of vanilla, his lips sweet and soft like the kiss of an angel. There’s light freckles dusted across his nose, his lashes are the colour in between gold and brown, and his heart - oh, his heart. It’s thrumming like the incessant beat of a hummingbird’s wings.

His hands rove over Ben’s chest, fingers brushing lightly over his skin. Ben has never felt the touch of another person, never in his life, not like this. And he likes it. It makes him nervous, but in a good way. It makes him nervous like the moment before the dip in a rollercoaster, it makes him nervous like the seconds leading up to a new tattoo.

“Ben, are you with me?” Hux mumbles, lips trailing up his neck, sucking red into his olive hued skin. Hux says something else, something Ben doesn’t understand.

“Huh?” he says, lazily. Just as lazy as the hands pulling down his trousers, running through the thick patch of hair that curls tightly at the base of his dick.

“Ben, come on, are you here?” Hux’s voice sounds urgent, it doesn’t match the plush lips in his ear, it sounds like it’s coming from outside of this hazy sunshine world.

He squeezes his eyes shut, before opening them just as quickly. Hux sits in front of him, shaking his shoulders. Not the touch he had hoped to receive.

“Fuck, what?” he groans, the last soft edges of sleep sharpening into the real, harsh world.

“The alarm.” Hux spits, manic passion bright in his ocean eyes. “The alarm, it’s going crazy, can you not hear it?”

Beep-beep-beep-beep--

Ben blinks slowly, trying to make sense of what Hux is saying.

Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep--

He stands with him, taking his hand but he can’t feel it, can’t feel any of his warmth.

Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-BEEP

It’s a piercingly bright light, his eyes ache like he’s been staring at a screen all day. He puts his arms up to shield from it, but it seems to filter through him, penetrate every single part of his mind.

“My time left here is short.” the deep, husky voice says, his black silhouette pushing through the white. “But you can finish what I started, Kylo Ren.”

“I--” Ben’s head is filled with visions, fantastical, beautiful things that make his body vibrate, warm and shiny and good. He sees himself holding the knife again, his father white and drained, his father gasping for air. But he can stop that. He can shut his heart off with just a simple thought. He can do it. He can take his power and use it. He can finish what his grandfather started and become someone new.

Become someone worthy.

Rey stands across the white room from him, clad in white, hands fuzzy and blue. “Please. Ben. I know there is good in you. You promised me. Your mother-- Just-- Just think of her. Please, Ben.”

Her voice cracks, her eyes red rimmed and watery.

He raises his hand to her, grips the air as though it’s her throat. Her fingers scrabble at her neck, trying to pull whatever force he’s using away. It feels good, having that power. It’s life and death, all in his hands.

“Ben…” he hears, and oh he’s dreaded hearing that voice, so sad and frail but still strong enough to push life into him. “You’re my only child, and I love you deeply. If you must take this path… You need to kill me. Please. I can’t live with the thought of who you’re going to become.”

His mother stands before Rey, her brown eyes full of despair. But she knows what’s happening, and he knows what he has to do.

It hurts, like burning underneath his skin, like sunburn on his very soul. It hurts like heartbreak, like his very essence has been rejected.

And when she falls, he can’t see her. He can’t see Rey either. He is alone, alone in the white room.

But it’s not so white anymore, scorch marks criss-cross against the impossible.

He’s sure that they’re some sort of tear, some sort of rip in the illusion.

Even that thought is not enough to keep him going. Oh, his heart is heavy, his spirit broken.

All he can hear are screams, and it’s not until his throat burns raw that he realises that the noises are his own.

He batters the walls with his fists, punches at the ground, screams and yells and shouts til his lungs are tight and he thinks he might vomit.

“That’s enough.” he hears, and a soft touch to his shoulder. “Ben. That’s enough.”

He opens his eyes, lashes clumped together with tears, nose sore and dripping with snot. He’s a mess.

But the remains of the house around him are far worse than he is, testament to the pure destruction he had in his heart.

In fact, he thinks, the basement might be the only part of his house that’s still got more than one wall.

--

“I can’t believe it. So, the carbon monoxide detector didn’t work? And Threepio was somehow channelling the gas through the house. That’s crazy, man. I knew he was gonna die in there, I knew it.” Finn says, hand smacking his thigh.. “I didn’t know carbon monoxide was explosive, but still, that’s gotta be hard.”

“Yes. Ben is lucky that I found him in time. He’d left some of his things in my washing machine.” Hux smiles, dryly. Han and Leia had been in earlier, they were grabbing some lunch and flowers for Ben when he finally awoke.

“He’s lucky to have you.” is the reply. Finn’s expression is genuine, his happiness shines through even the small fragments of doubt about the story. “Maybe when you two move in together, you’ll think twice about buying some creepy old house, right?”

Hux looks indignant. “I won’t be moving in with him any time soon. Have you seen what he eats?”

Finn just laughs, before checking his watch. “Shit, I’ve gotta go. Tell the butthole on the bed that I was here, ‘kay?”

“I will.”

He watches as he rushes out the door, long coat trailing behind him.

There’s a part of Hux that wishes to tell Finn, and Han and Leia, and Luke, and even Poe, what truly happened yesterday. He wants to explain to them that Ben had been woken up by the alarm, had dragged him to the basement like a zombie. He wants to say that while Ben saw visions of a tall masked hero, he saw the frail old man that Darth Vader had become. And no matter how much Ben screamed and made the room shake, Hux refused to go. He needed to see this through til the end. As he’d said before, there were genuinely strange things happening in this town. Seeing ghosts, hearing things… but that was always out of his control. This, though, this he could fix. He could make it better. He could stand and watch Ben choke the weak, balding man in the chair, he could watch how Threepio blew to pieces when Ben’s powers reached their peak. He could see him destroy both the man who’d given him his abilities and the machine that amplified them. And then he could watch him weep for the lives he thought he’d taken. The house falling down around them was a small price to pay.

Ben lies in the bed, dark curls framing his face, like a ghost of a woman he once knew. She wore flowers in her hair.

The coma he’s in is medically induced, just so the doctors can see if there were any side effects to his supposed carbon monoxide poisoning. Hux is surprised they haven’t seen through his lies.

But he still wonders if Ben can hear him, and if that’ll wake him up. He tells him stories of ghosts and love, of purity and courage.

Rey had been the first on Vader’s list, it seems, right after an associate of his known only as Snoke. It seems not even the government knew his first name.

And while Snoke had been more than happy to lure Ben in, Rey was a Resistance fighter even beyond the end of her life.

He saw her in the room. He saw what she was trying to do, and he admires her for it. There are always fates worse than death.

As he squeezes Ben’s hand, he knows that this is not one of them.