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“So, Benji, what’s it like, um, having Seraph in you?” Salvador asks. It’s a shitty attempt at small talk. Still, there are so many things Benji wants to say as he patrols with the rest of the kids united by a place that isn’t there any more. By a world that isn’t any more, and a lot of them united by people they never thought that they’d be. Maybe they’re also united by what they are. And there are two main things that he’s diagrammed out that he’s not an exception to, since there're so many things that he isn’t – human, prepared, ready for anything at all. He’s not even scared of the same things that the rest of them are.
Those two things that mean the world, though: the kids who were holed up, until recently, in the burned-down ALC are queer, and they’re alive. The first fact is as true as long as the second holds up, and Benji’s momentary observation isn’t going anywhere.
And now that that’s out of the way, Benji can focus his mind on putting into words what he thought he could get away with never telling a soul. He’s lucky he doesn’t have to – hiding anything just makes him think of those years wearing a name that isn’t his and shoving his mind into a box with corners that cut. It’s good to let everything loose, he just wishes it wasn’t his to have to share. Because Seraph is his
There are so many things he could rip through his mask and skin just to get out, because goddamn if it hasn’t been waiting. Terrifying. It’s under my skin. It’s undoing me, and I can’t let it. He settles on, though, “It’s not in me. It is me.” It hurts to say it, but that’s just the fangs tearing his head in pieces in order to show themselves. The Seraph virus is his to harbor, the fangs belong to his mouth and the vicious transformation belongs to nobody but him. It’s killed everyone else it infects, but see the things that bring them all together and see that they are alive.
“No, Benji, you’re not, it’s not–” Sal starts. Xier eyes widen and it’s clear that xe sees this as self depreciation. Not objective, maybe even a threat that Benji himself is afraid of making. His fangs need practice baring anyways, so he cuts xem off. At this point, Nick has recalled himself from the river he was scrutinizing, and he makes his way to the front of the group as Benji gets his next words in.
“I am. It’s in my organs and my flesh and my teeth and my brain, and I still get to call it my brain. The holes that Seraph eats in it are still mine to deal with, and that’s self control, yeah?” At this point, Nick turns and stops their group – the patrol seems like an inverted version of the Death Squads. If Benji was still being held among their group as the one that ran and couldn’t run any longer, this pause would be an effect of some fight, a Grace up ahead, something too grand to be human even if it is by nature. Here, Nick just seems to be letting Benji speak the mind that he promises is still his even if it sounds like a horror story to maintain. But it’s Nick’s turn to talk now, evidently.
“It’s – Seraph is –” his tone is flat, though unsure. “You’re just its host. You aren’t responsible for how it changes you, and you didn’t ask for it.” He seems perfectly reasonable about this, nearly confident, but the same screaming in Benji’s mind that still feels alien also says that it isn’t. He can’t get rid of it. It belongs to him. Even if it scares him, the way his body did once when he realized that fuck, people look at his chest and think ‘oh, that’s a girl’, except this time it’s unending. It’s not one of those things that are only true because they’re happening – the Seraph hasn’t killed Benji so it’ll outlive his concious thought someday.
“It’s terrifying, Nick, it really is. Not knowing what’s mine – it’s like – how do I explain this – it’s like,” he rambles, the holes in his head feeling like they’re going to explode now that he’s met with anything other than hide it, deal with it on your own, don’t let them see. It’s a chance to explain himself. “If you have a cut on your arm. It’s a cut, and it’s on your arm, so it’s perfectly logical to call it your cut, isn’t it? You don’t control when it bleeds, but you can staunch it. If every time you get hurt, you lose a little bit of your body, that’s – at what point is an injury deep enough to even do that? That’s even worse than having to deal with the fact that part of your body is bleeding – knowing you can’t get it back, just because you can’t accept it.”
Nick looks at Benji like this is too much. And maybe it is. He’s just eased into being safe to share this and now he’s letting it go wild. Maybe it’s more out of his control than he knows. He already freaked out that Calvin kid. The ALC is a home for Benji, not Seraph, and he feels that prickling down his sides and in his head that makes him feel like he’s wrong. He should shove that monster in him down. Either it isn’t him or it’s all him, and he isn’t sure which grants him more control.
“You don’t want to hurt us. Seraph does. It’s a disease and you’re a vector for it.” Nick is tapping his boot on the dry ground and resolves to get moving again. Benji lags behind, but the muscles in his form must always tense and he must always fight to be on top of it.
Salvator looks between the two of them, xeir usually wide right eye squinting and trying to pick apart the conflict. “Look, I – I don’t know about this, and it seems actually terrifying, I mean, I read the letter. But Benji, your place isn’t determined by how you answer. I was just trying to ask a question, yeah?”
“Either way, I can’t control it. What does it matter how responsible I make myself for it?” More than anything, Benji’s voice sounds small. Raspy. And yes, he’s scared shitless. Nick looks at him, regards him with that silent motion that he’s pretty sure means ‘we’ll talk later’. Benji’s just got to stop unraveling in time for that.