This Empty Northern Hemisphere (A Mumford and Sons fanfiction)

Chapter XXXV: Wanderer

Chapter XXXV: Wanderer

The house is empty, as far as Ted can tell. “Ben?” He calls loudly. He had hoped that Ben would be here somewhere, even if he passed out in a bathroom in a pool of his own vomit.

When he strains his ears he can just barely hear music playing quietly and dread builds slowly in his heart. He forgoes even checking the bottom floor, following the sound that emanates from the top floor of the small house. “Ben?” He yells once again. He doesn’t get a reply, but the music is getting louder which means he’s getting closer.

At the top of the stairs, he turns right and goes first to the door that’s open slightly. He first catches sight of the record player that’s slowly running through the last song of the vinyl and then his eyes come across a drop of red. And another. And another. And then a puddle of red.

The needle picks itself up off the record with a crackle. Silence smothers the room.

It takes Ted exactly twenty-two seconds to get his limbs to respond, but once they do he’s at Ben’s side. He fumbles to get his phone out of his pocket, dialing 999 with shaking hands.

He quickly spouts all the information they need, and tries to be patient as the lady on the other line asks him for details about what has happened. He keeps the phone up to his ear with shoulder and takes Ben’s wrist and attempts to find a pulse.

He doesn’t feel anything. Ted tries three more times before finding a weak, thready pulse. He easily finds the source of the bleeding, but it’s impossible for him stop it with just his hands. The lady on the line is still spouting directions at him, and he tries to follow them. Elevate his legs, put pressure on the wound, look for signs of shock.

Ted takes a deep breath. He had researched all this stuff for situations like this. He never knew what Winnie might do, and he had wanted to be ready. But he really wasn’t prepared for this. Not at all. He wants to throw up right now. The smell of blood is sickening and he can’t get away from it as it covers his hands and stains his clothes.

“Don’t you dare die, Benjamin,” Ted says, clinging to the bloodied boy who gives no response. “You’ve got a lot of people that would miss you, I know Winnie will be heartbroken…please.”

Still nothing.

Overcome with a surge of panic, Ted pulls Ben into his lap, shaking his limp form in a sad attempt to get some sort of answer. “Dammit Ben! Fuck it, don’t live for us, live for you. This isn’t how you’re meant to die, not here. It’s not poetic, it’s not beautiful, it’s not going to change anything!”

Ted finds himself feeling unbelievably empty as he sits there with Ben sprawled across his legs.

The painting on wall is dripping slowly with wet red paint, but it does nothing to destroy the raw emotional quality. Birds are exploding from a tiny cage made of terrible words and comments, the biggest being Marcus. One little purple bird is still smashed inside the little cage, scars covering its wings.

“It’s not worth it, Ben.” Ted says quietly. He throws his phone aside so he can have one hand pressed into Ben’s wrist to constantly keep track of his heartbeat, His other hand is concentrated on keeping pressure on the ever trickling wound on Ben’s other arm. “Dying, I mean. I know life is a fucking bitch sometimes. I know how much it sucks to love somebody and not be loved back. But dying isn’t worth it.”

Ted nearly cries when he realizes there are sirens going off in the distance, growing louder with every moment.  “Hold on for a little longer. Please Ben. I don’t want this to be the last piece you ever paint.”

Ben’s heartbeat flutters and slows to a stop just as the paramedics slam through the front door.

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