A/N: This is dedicated to LibertyKingdom, who sent me a "protective hug" prompt for Ben and Anna on Tumblr. It initially just consisted of the opening scene, but then it suddenly spiraled into an entire fic idea, aka Ben seeking revenge for Samuel's death. This isn't light or happy by any means (though the ending can arguably be considered hopeful), so please proceed with caution!
Title: lyrics from "View from Heaven" by Yellowcard.
"feel your fire when it's cold in my heart"
"What's this?"
Ben didn't lift his gaze from his papers, though he stiffened once Anna moved over and flanked his side. "Anna, I am busy," he warned.
Defiant as ever, she tossed a letter onto his desk and cornered him, her hands on her hips. "Ben," Anna tried again, "what is this?"
Jaw working reflexively, Ben's eyes blazed and he shot up from his seat. Quickly gathering up the correspondence, he growled, "You had no business going through my things. None. What's addressed to me in my name is no concern of yours."
"It is if it affects the ring," she countered. "It is if it affects you."
"I'm going," Ben snapped. His tone was brusque, harsh, though there was also a slight underlying tremor as he and Anna locked eyes. "I know you read it – I know you saw the stipulations, so you must also believe I've accepted. And you're right. I have."
Anna scoffed and leaned toward him. "And you intend to do what, exactly? Meet Rogers in the place where he chose, and that he alone is familiar with? Ben, this is madness! You're not being rational!"
"You don't understand," he coolly said. "You weren't there, Anna…you didn't see the pleasure Rogers took in drawing me out like some helpless, wounded fowl. You didn't see how he used my brother as bait. Perhaps I could forgive the attempt on my life, but that – the bastardization of Samuel's memory…that I can never forgive." Looking away, he bitterly gnashed his teeth. "I intend to accept his invitation. Not for me, but for Samuel."
Here, he tossed Rogers' mocking scrawl onto his desk. It had been delivered by hand with no return address and no signature, yet Ben knew exactly who the letter was from. Evidently, Anna did too. It taunted him about their last encounter – reminded Ben of how he'd claimed he would never hide – and then prompted that they meet to settle things once and for all. He would be an utter fool to ignore the opportunity.
"I'm not afraid to die," Ben continued. "I knew exactly what I was signing up for when I joined this fight, Anna, and although I don't expect you to understand, I do expect you to support me." Pleadingly, he took hold of her shoulders. "Don't tell anyone of my intentions. This is my fight – I don't want anyone else getting involved and risking their lives on my behalf."
Furiously, Anna shook herself free. "And do I get a say in this?" she demanded. "You are my friend, Ben – I care for you. And although I, too, once sought vengeance, I at least wasn't diving headfirst into certain death!"
Ben's mouth twisted into a tight smile. "Thank you for the vote of confidence."
She scoffed. "That is not what I meant, and you know it."
"What I know, Anna, is that for as long as I live, I will never, ever forgive myself, should I refuse to see this through. Surely you can understand that."
Her eyes still blazed akin to ebony fire, though there was a softening in her stance as she stepped back in defeat. Finally, she whispered a soft, "I understand…though that doesn't mean I have to like it." Her eyes grew wet, and stubbornly, she raised her chin. "At least take Caleb."
Ben scoffed, frustrated. "No. Absolutely not."
"You're being selfish," Anna hissed. "As usual, you're thinking of no one but yourself! If you die, how is that supposed to affect me? Especially knowing how I could have done more – could have told someone, and saved your life?"
"I'm not dead!" Ben shouted at her. "For God's sake, Anna, I'm still alive – I'm still here!" Taking her face between his hands, he looked her in the eye and drew a breath. "You are a dear friend, and I love you, but no one – not you, not Caleb, not anyone, can ever convince me to stay. So please: let me do what I must. And if Providence is kind, I will return." Expression softening, he brushed his thumb across her cheek, then dropped his hands as if she'd burned him. "Goodbye…and take care."
Ben turned to leave, but that was when Anna's arms came fiercely around his middle. Her face nudged between his shoulder blades and she held him strongly, her grip tightening with a pleading, protective force that made his heart lurch. All at once, a rawness overcame Ben's throat and he closed his eyes. Hands trembling, he curled his fingers over her own and squeezed, anchoring her palms against his stomach as he bowed his head.
Please, he thought. She sobbed and he exhaled. Please don't make this any harder than it has to be.
Slowly, Ben pried her arms open and clasped her hands, his heart in his throat once he strode forward without looking back.
When Ben reached his destination on horseback, the moon was full and illuminated his path. Dismounting, he patted the snorting beast's neck, then appraised his surroundings with caution. Leafless, bone-like branches reached out to him overhead, and aside from the occasional hoot of an owl, all was eerily still…too still for comfort.
"So good a' yeh to show yer face, boy."
Whirling around, Ben frowned and stepped away from his horse, an instant spike of rage coursing throughout his veins. "Believe me, I've been waiting for this moment for far too long. I wouldn't have disappointed you."
Rogers chuckled, the flash of his teeth glinting sharp and feral within the moonlight. "So good ta hear it. I figgered I'd give yeh the chance to make good on yer threat."
"No, not a threat. A promise," Ben corrected.
Drawing a hand mockingly over his chest, Rogers declared, "I stan' corrected. I hope yeh know this is nothin' personal."
"Oh, I beg to differ. The moment you stole my brother's name – Samuel's name – it became nothing but personal."
"Then we should settle the score, eh?" He crooked his finger. "Ten paces, back-to-back, an' then we both run like hell an' start firin'."
"Done," Ben agreed.
Rogers held out his hand in an offer to shake, but upon seeing the curl of the other man's lip, he chuckled and turned around, baring his back in a gesture that just begged to be acknowledged. Although the urge to strike was tempting, Ben was no coward. He joined Rogers and rotated so that they were back-to-back, his hand falling to his flintlock before unholstering the weapon. Rogers was already holding his musket.
"Now remember, lad: ten paces," the older man reminded him. "No more, no less…not unless yeh wanna get branded a yella-bellied poltroon."
Ben sneered. "I understand your terms, and I agree to them. Start counting."
He heard Rogers give an amused grunt, and then he commenced their countdown. "Ten…"
Taking a step forward, Ben's pulse quickened. He held his flintlock at a ninety-degree angle, as was customary, though the ten paces rule applied to men who would be firing in a straight line. He and Rogers only intended to use this as a jumping off point.
"Eight…"
It was funny how very little entered his mind in that moment. In instances of past peril, Ben had been focused and driven, yet out here in these woods, with his back facing his mortal enemy and his heart in his throat, his thoughts remained flat and frozen – as still as the heart and lungs of his dearly departed brother. Would Samuel be proud of him, Ben wondered? Would he even approve of this rendezvous?
"Four…"
No, he realized. Samuel would have chosen peace – would have gotten on his knees and prayed for Rogers' soul. But Ben wasn't Samuel. He wasn't warm and forgiving and good, and with tears pooling in his eyes, he found himself wondering if he ever was. Even at his most devout, Ben had never been quite as hopeful as Samuel – never as honest and kind. His brother had remained loyal, loving, faithful up until the very end… Samuel was the one this Cause needed. Not him.
"Fire!"
Ben dove to the side and ran in a zigzag. Not pausing to look over his shoulder, he wove in between various trees and tore through the underbrush, all the while searching for the perfect place to take cover.
A gunshot rang through the air and Ben flinched, but managed to keep moving. The place he'd been moments prior was now scarred with musket-shot. Nearly tripping across the forest floor, he righted himself and stumbled onward, but not without a stray branch snagging him across the cheek. He hissed and gritted his teeth, then finally dove down amidst a copse of trees.
"Come out, come out, wherever yeh arrrre," Rogers taunted. "C'mon, lad – are yeh truly to hide this entire time?"
Aiming his flintlock as silently as he could, Ben remained hunkered over in his cramped position, his vision momentarily blinded by sweat as he searched through the woods. His cheek stung from the shallow cut, and Ben grimaced, pausing to wipe his sleeve across the wound. Blood and perspiration smeared across his white cuff and further dirtied up his uniform.
"Where are yeh, Tallmadge?"
On instinct, Ben flattened himself down against the ground, searching through the dark while aiming his flintlock.
Come and get me, you smarmy bastard, he thought, gritting his teeth. Slowly but surely, Ben edged along through the underbrush on his elbows and knees, trying to remain silent as he listened to Rogers bait and torment him from close by. He could technically spring from his hiding place and fire blindly, but it would be unwise. Rogers could and would gain the upper hand if he missed – he was an excellent marksman, and the proof was in the pink, circular scar on Ben's shoulder.
The singsong, loathsome timbre of Rogers' taunts now echoed to him from only a stone's throw away, and Ben lifted his head to peer between two closely grown branches. The other man was within his sights now.
Moistening his lips, Ben aimed his flintlock and breathed in, his finger twitching over the trigger. In his mind's eye, he could hear his father's voice in his head, instructing him on how to make the perfect shot: "Ease down on the trigger when you exhale, Benjamin. Good. Slowly now…"
Bang!
Rogers growled and clutched at his arm, staggering for cover behind a nearby tree. Jerking up in triumph, Ben tried not to congratulate himself too deeply as he moved to reload. Stepping out from behind his hiding spot, he retrieved a paper cartridge and ripped it open with his teeth, then loaded up the flash pan before jerking the metal ramrod into the barrel of his flintlock. He could hear Rogers chuckling from down amidst the hilly terrain.
"Ah, so the wee pup hasn't lost his teeth, I see," he called out. "Have yeh been holdin' out on me, boy?"
Ben almost smiled. Almost. Instead, he taunted, "Finish reloading and come find out."
Moonlight spilled down over the crest of the hill, and within a few moments, Rogers' large, ominous form came stepping out from behind his hiding place. Thick, dark blood bloomed across his shoulder, but other than the perspiration on his forehead, there was no sign of the man being in distress.
Ben remained rooted where he was. The two stood facing one another, both unmoving as the seconds ticked by.
"A fair man to the end, eh, Tallmadge?" Rogers mocked.
"You die tonight," he hissed. "I'm only being fair because I want to see the life drain from your eyes, face-to-face, man-to-man…no more hiding."
Rogers chuckled, a large grin stretching his lips. "I couldn'a said it any better myself, lad. Count a' three?"
Ben inclined his head. "If you wish."
With a sneer, he lifted his musket and purred, "One…"
Raising his own firearm, Ben clicked back on the hammer.
"Two…"
The sound of a twig snapping jolted both men to attention, but too little too late. The fated "three" had already been uttered, and thus, the sound of musket-fire rang out across the densely wooded area.
Ben heard a scream – a woman's scream – and then a sharp, searing pain akin to a molten punch exploded across his middle. Amidst the smoke from their guns, he dizzily pressed a hand to his stomach, and then withdrew again to find his palm bathed in scarlet. Rogers wheezed a moment after, unsteady, before dropping forward to his knees. Judging by the wet, squelching quality of his breath, Ben had managed to fire straight into his lungs. It was over… Rogers wouldn't survive a wound like that.
"Ben!"
Jerking his head toward the sound of the voice, Ben spun about as two shadowy figures approached through the trees. "Anna?"
She breathlessly entered the scene, Caleb close at her heels. "I'm sorry," she choked out, her chest heaving, "but I couldn't let you do this…we couldn't let you."
"Feckin' loggerhead," Caleb agreed, only to instantly lose his relieved little smile. "Ben…"
Following the whaler's gaze, Ben watched as his wound furiously pulsed with blood. The scarlet stain spread across his waistcoat until nearly the entire front was sodden, and with a sharp intake of breath, his legs finally gave out and he collapsed onto his hands and knees. He could hear both Caleb and Anna scrambling over to his side, and then the former took hold of his shoulders and attempted to steer him onto his back.
"C'mon, now," Caleb cajoled. "Help me out here, Tallboy…"
Ben shivered in response. He suddenly felt so cold.
Caleb's hands came over his stomach, and then he pressed down onto his wound to stem the flow. "C'mon, c'mon," he muttered under his breath. "You stay with me!"
Anna's teary face came into view, and she reached out to brush Ben's hair back from his eyes. "Caleb, go get help," she choked out.
"What? But if I leave now-"
"You must!" she barked. "And while you're at it, see if you can find a reverend from camp."
Caleb's face went white with understanding, though there was clear denial in his eyes. "Annie…"
"Just do it! He would do the same for you!"
Torn, Caleb lifted his bloodied hands from Ben's wound, and then with shining dark eyes, he gave the other man's cheek a gentle press. "I'll be back in a jiff, y'hear? If you die before I get back, I'll be right miffed with ya, Benny-boy."
Ben chuckled, only to instantly wince from the pain that followed. Between clenched teeth, he lowly assured him, "I wouldn't dream of it."
Caleb managed a fragile smile at that, then rose before racing off in the direction they'd come.
The silence that followed was maddening. Anna hovered above him, weeping while pressing a hand to her chest. "What did I tell you?" she bitterly asked. "You never think of anyone but yourself."
Lolling his head toward her, Ben drew a slow, stuttering breath that felt like fire in his lungs. "I didn't do this for me," he whispered. "I did it for…f-for…"
"Samuel," she supplied, nodding, "I know, Ben. But why didn't you ignore revenge for the sake of the living? For those of us who are here now, alive, and love you? Do you truly wish to burden us with what you, yourself have been struggling with all these months?" Quickly, she lifted a hand to wipe the tears from her face. "Did you even think of that?"
Admittedly, Ben hadn't. And as he gaped up at Anna, his pulse pounding in his head and his torso on fire, it suddenly dawned on him that she cared. He'd always known that as his friend, she loved him in her own stubborn way, but it was never more apparent than now as she wept by his side, one hand holding onto his arm while the other pressed over her mouth. He didn't want her to suffer…
"Anna," he entreated, gently curling his hand over hers, "I want you to do something for me."
Lifting her head, she peered back at him through the dark. "Anything," she agreed. "Do you have someone you wish for me to write? Perhaps your father…?"
Ben winced at the thought of Nathaniel Tallmadge, warm and kind and proud, yet newly bereaved. He was the type of man who shouldered all of his burdens on his own, just as Ben now was, so he couldn't help but wonder if his death would be the turning point toward his father's undoing. His chin quivered at the thought. "No," he rasped, shaking his head, "I don't...I-I don't…"
"Stop talking," Anna admonished. Her eyes were wet within the moonlight, and fresh tears spilled down her cheeks while she moved her hands over his wound. "You idiot," she seethed. "You damned fool."
Shakily, he clasped his hand over hers, anchoring her there against his injury before reaching down and taking hold of his flintlock. When he lifted the weapon and held it toward Anna, she regarded him in wide-eyed confusion.
"Your gun? Ben, I don't…"
Here, he drew a shallow breath before moving the flintlock toward his chest, his lips quivering into a rueful smile as he pressed the muzzle over his heart. "I don't want you to suffer," he whispered. "I don't want you…" to watch me die. Just take my life into your hands, Anna – have something, this one small part be on your terms and yours alone.
His request finally seemed to dawn over her, and Anna made a harsh, retching sound in her throat. "No," she choked out, "no… Ben, I can't."
"You can," he assured her. Trembling, he tried to ignore the increasingly fitful, hitching quality to his breath, as well as how cold and clammy and lightheaded he felt. "Please…"
Anna swallowed back a sob. Chin quivering with rage – at Ben, at Rogers, at this damnable situation – she sniped at him, "What have I told you before? About how you just…you ask far too much of people. Because this? This is far too much, Ben. I can't do this – I can't hurt someone I love."
"I know," he whispered, his own eyes welling up with tears. "I'm sorry it had to come to this."
I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry for being so selfish, foolish and bullheaded… I'm sorry I failed you.
Beseechingly, he squeezed her hand again and coughed, the taste of blood entering his mouth as they locked eyes. "Please, Anna…"
A great cry caught in her throat, and she clenched her teeth, her chin tucking toward her chest as her body wracked with sobs. "I hate you," she gritted. "I hate you!" But even as these words furiously left her lips, she gathered up the gun and staggered to her feet, her body swaying along with each wet, hiccupping breath.
Somewhere overhead, Ben could see the dark outline of another figure behind her – a silhouette he would know even if he were blind, deaf and dumb. Samuel…
Chin quivering, Ben's tears streamed down from the corners of his eyes and into his hair, leaving him dizzy as his throat worked reflexively. "I'm ready," he promised.
I want to go home.
Anna nodded, her face contorted in grief. Samuel was standing alongside her now, and he grinned at Ben in that crooked, mischievous way that never failed to soften even the hardest of hearts. He held out his hand, and a pang of desperation swelled within Ben's chest as he lifted his own hand, his fingers outstretched and tears blurring his vision.
Anna wept and loaded up his flintlock, her movements sharp and erratic as she shoved the ramrod into the barrel. Once the weapon was fully loaded, she aimed the gun down at Ben and quivered, her hand unsteady as she struggled to properly set him in her sights. "I'm sorry," she choked.
Samuel was closer now – so close – and as their fingers grazed in the slightest touch, Ben found himself relaxing, succumbing with a tired little smile. Their hands finally clasped, and then Anna gave a mournful shriek. A flash of gunpowder went off and all went still – peaceful – and the world spun into shadow once Ben recoiled lifelessly against the dirt.
A/N: *clears throat* WELP, now that I've sufficiently traumatized everyone (and myself!), I'll admit that my inner sadist really enjoyed getting to explore this type of plot bunny. I've never seen Ben die in any fanfiction (though I've only been here since November 2020), and I've also never really seen any fanfiction with Ben that focuses on Samuel and their dynamic, so I wanted to try that out here. Hopefully I'm forgiven for all the angst! Thanks so much for reading!
