The boy who died and the girl who couldn't.
"I wouldn't be surprised if you told me the world was going to end, again."
"uh... about that-"
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A Ben Hargreeves Fan fiction
season 1 - complete ✓
season 2 - writing
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season 1, episode 4
'Man on the moon'
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The first thing that Rose heard when she regained her consciousness, was heavy breathing.
Her head felt cloudy, like she was floating, and there was a hard and heavy throbbing in the back of her skull. Despite the long hour or two of rest, she must have endured, her eyelids still felt too heavy to open and a dull light blinded her, interrupting her somewhat peace from behind them. Her head was drooped forward, resting on something hard and cold like...wood.
The intense amount of pain she was in, however, was the least of her worries as the panicked breathing and quiet whimpers passed through her spinning head and she identified them as Klaus's.
Klaus wasn't one to panic unless absolutely necessary and that only intensified Rose's worry. They must be in some deep shit.
She groaned involuntarily, a deep rumble of pain masked in hazy exhaustion and Klaus's breathing ceased in a sharp inhale.
"Rose!"
His harsh whisper was so abnormally loud that her reflexes kicked in instantaneously and her hands flew up to cup her ears. Rose shuffled her torso around, leaning against the cool wood of whatever it was that she was laid against and attempted to bury herself so far into her lap that she might disappear.
"She's awake?"
Rose's painful fidgeting ceased immediately, eyes shooting open despite the discomfort it brought her and light-flooded her mind as if she was rebooting. That voice. That beautiful voice. She would recognise that voice in a room full of people.
When the blinding light finally dulled down to a pleasant, pale warmth, she lifted her head from the crook of her neck she had it buried in and gasped when she was met with the scarring sight in front of her.
They were hauled up in some kind of dingy and damp-looking motel room. The walls were painted ugly shades of green and yellow and the only light there was seeped through a pair of sheer, silky and useless curtains. A small, round, wooden table and a single chair were placed under the window and two single beds were situated opposite. The wood that Rose had felt herself resting against belonged to a cupboard underneath the kitchen counters which were badly painted a dirt off-white colour. She was laying in a heap on the floor of the small kitchen with only her head propped up. Just like a dead body.
But the thing that worried her the most, was the fact that in the centre of the room her brother was bound tightly to a chair. So tightly in fact, that the rope left harsh, red burns on his skin and he looked a ghastly shade of white. He was almost completely naked, aside from a small towel that hung loosely around his waist. Klaus's chest was covered in bruises and so much blood that Rose couldn't decipher where it was coming from.
