redshiftrp | @lazarus

"Is Evangeline a spirit like you, then?"

Ben had thought, though perhaps he is mistaken, that Cole was something of an exception to the general rule, when it came to spirits and people. But perhaps there were others, and perhaps this Evangeline was one.

Still, he feels a happiness on Cole's behalf, knowing that Rhys, this guy he cares about so much, is alive. Innocently, he suggests:

"So if you ever go back, you might get to see him again?"

It's a big 'if', of course. No knowing if any of them leave here, or where they might end up when and if they do. Ben's not even sure whether he himself would want to go home if he were given the opportunity - it's big and messy and something he tries not to think about. But the thought of Cole going elsewhere, leaving the Anchor, hurts more than Ben had expected. But at least if he was going home, perhaps he might have a chance to reunite with Rhys and his other friends.

Without even noticing it, all that awful fear and sadness has been subsiding in Ben as the two of them speak. He isn't sure if it's being around Cole, or speaking to him, or realizing the world is so much bigger than him and his little problems. But that horrible, dense, twisted knot that has been building and building in his stomach doesn't feel so heavy anymore.

"No. Evangeline died and Faith held her there, pulled her back. Faith is different. Being alive-with-Faith isn't like usual Abomination. I don't understand why not."

He has no idea why or how. Maybe the spirit fills spaces lost in death. Maybe Faith is simply powerful enough to hold on, or has found people with the right sort of Faith.

"I don't know. He was hurt when he realised I was a demon. But he still wants good things for me. Help for me to be what I should." He swings his feet, watches his toes. "Everyone else has opinions about what I should be but I just want to be me."

If Cole doesn't understand why, Ben certainly has no hope to. But he is willing to take Cole's word for it, that they are not the same, but neither of them are usual, either. It's all a bit bigger than he can understand in an abstract way, the distinction between spirits and demons, possessed humans and beings like Cole and beings like Evangeline. He can only go based off what these things mean to Cole, since really, that's what matters to him. He doesn't live in Thedas, and his main concern is the impact all this stuff has had on his friend.

Ben works best by example, and comparison, and sympathy. Is it really all that different, this man Cole had loved being hurt realizing what he is - than the way Ben worries people will be hurt if they learn what he is, about his powers? It must have hurt. Especially considering how Cole had just spoken about Rhys, that he'd been such a source of comfort when he was new, didn't understand himself yet.

And it might not be on quite such an existential level, but he thinks he knows a little about people who have a very narrow idea of what you ought to be. Ben had spent a lot of his earlier years trying to fit himself into the shape of the boy that his father wanted. Maybe the people Cole's referring to weren't quite so sinister, but it's still pressure, isn't it? Still other people trying to shave off parts of him, simplify him, change him.

So Ben huffs out a small, sympathetic sigh.

"Then you should just be you. My opinion is... you're good as you."

Maybe it's not as simple as that. Without meaning to, maybe he is trying to push Cole in one direction or another - responding well to some parts of him and not others. Ben knows he can't control his emotions, his thoughts, that Cole is aware of more than just the things he decides to say aloud. But he at least knows, is certain, that he is friends with the Cole that Cole is now. He doesn't think that needs to change - except, perhaps, in any little ways that might make Cole happier. But that's not wanting him to be someone different, is it?

Solas wants him to be Compassion, to detach from Cole's trauma and accept that it happened and move on. Varric wants him to embrace his mortal side, to let himself feel things deeper for himself, to learn about eating and sleeping and partying with people and crying because you feel like it, not because the person with him does.

Cadash just wanted him to be comfortable, which was nice of her, but she was caught between other people.

"Thank you. No one's ever said that to me before."

Ben's acceptance is understated and overwhelming.

Ben wonders if he should say more, explain with more words to make it clear how much he means what he said. But then he remembers: Cole can probably feel it. That Ben likes him just as he is. That Ben hadn't just been looking for him this evening as a tool to make him feel better - a thing that is useful. He considers Cole a friend. He had had a really rough day, and so he wanted to be near his friend, who is a complicated mix of a lot of different things, not even half of which he knows about, and less of which he understands.

He'd spent so many years with only Klaus there, with the only thing he could do in the entire world being trying to make Klaus change. Those changes were necessary, sure, and he'd just wanted to keep his brother alive. But all those years, all that effort he'd spent, always thinking he knew best. He'd still almost gotten Klaus killed for good, had still done less to help him than Dave, than Diego even.

He had decided, soon after arriving in this place, he's going to try to spend less time assuming he knows what's best for other people.

"Do you like ice cream?"

The question is an impulsive one; he's not really sure, actually, if Cole needs to eat or can eat. But Ben thinks he could really, really go for some ice cream right now. Grace would give it to the kids as a treat, after a successful mission, after a particularly hard day. In Ben's mind, it's still cemented as an indelibly, unchangeably good thing. And right now, after the day he's had, after all the bad days that both of them have had, he kind of wants to share some, with Cole.

Cole knows. And no one else has ever wanted him to not change. Even Rhys wanted him to change (though killing less suicidal people was probably a very important change to make).

"I don't know. I've never had it."

He knows what it is. It existed in the fleet, sometimes. But Thedas doesn't have it and he wouldn't have had a chance to try it if it did.

"But... I would like to." Because just thinking about it sparks nice things from Ben, and Cole will always connect ice cream with how Ben feels right now.

"Whaaaaat?!"

Ben's faint excitement over the idea quickly blossoms into surprised delight. This! This is something he can fix! This is something unquestionably good, to share with his friend! Cole had been having a Day, too, with all the negativity and fighting and ambient anger over the situation with the cameras.

He lifts his head from Cole's shoulder, hopping off the table and grinning at him. Every now and then, on rare instances, this boyish, excitable side of Ben bursts forth. It's something innate to him, something that hadn't been entirely stamped out - not by Reginald and not by being dead and not by everything else in between.

"Well, we gotta do something about that, come on!"

The mess hall isn't far, and the entire walk there, there's a bounce in Ben's step, a giddy lightness in him. When he checks in the communal freezer, there aren't exactly a ton of options, but there are a few. Plenty of folks had been willing to brave the zombies in the Whole Foods, in order to bring back a little piece of home.

In this case that little piece of home is a container of cherry ice cream, an almost-empty one of dark chocolate, and some french vanilla. Ben lays them out on the counter, opening each and then fishing around to get himself and Cole spoons. He hands one over with that same beaming grin.

"We would get ice cream after missions sometimes and maybe it's stupid but I still just - love it."

Probably there's plenty of fucked up stuff to unpack there and if it were anyone else, he wouldn't say it, knowing that it would just sound childish or pathetic or who knows what they would think. But... Cole won't judge him, for this. He takes a spoonful of the chocolate, first, leaning against the counter with his hip as he eats it.

Cole feels that bubble swell and encompass them, the pop of excitement and bright tang of glee. He slides off the table, trotting along after Ben.

"Would people want more of this?"

Ben's thinking people go out, risk safety for this, and that means that it makes them feel better, too. And Cole can help. "Because I could go and get some. If people would like that." He takes the offered spoon and watches Ben, and he can feel the joy, the warmth of Mom's smile, the promise of a better day tomorrow, the heavy satisfaction of Sir being proud, just for a moment, proud enough to tell them they performed adequately.

Cole scrapes a tiny bit of the chocolate with the edge of the spoon. "It's not as hard as I thought it would be." And then he lifts the spoon, still looking at Ben for reassurance, and his tongue flicks out to taste the tiniest bit.

It's an explosion of flavour. Cold and bitter and so incredibly sweet and clean, bright as fresh snow and sweeter than Vivienne's perfumes or stolen honey.

His eyes are like saucers, filled with shock and wonder.

"Probably. I mean, everybody's different, but a lot of people love ice cream."

He knows how Cole wants to help out, to comfort people who aren't doing so well. There are other ways he can do that, of course, but getting more ice cream can't hurt.

"I can go with you, if you want."

Ben remembers, with a little rush of happiness, that's how they'd first met. Okay, so at the time he'd found Cole pretty unsettling, terrified of the idea of someone who could see into his thoughts and knew his memories, alarmed by the way he spoke and all the stuff he'd said about himself and about Ben. But now, that memory is recast in the glow of getting to know him better, realizing he wasn't a threat, understanding that it's not such a bad thing, to be seen and known.

He gives Cole and encouraging little nod when he looks up for guidance, as if this were something a little intimidating to do. And Ben supposes maybe it is. He might need reassurance if he was trying dragon candy or whatever is the local ice-cream-like treat popular in Thedas.

When Cole tries the ice cream and his eyes go wide like that, Ben beams; even better than just eating the ice cream himself is sharing it with Cole. Food is always better with company, and in this case, it's more than just food. It's taking something he associates with happiness and introducing his friend to it, like an offering. As if he could take all that happiness in his two hands and offer it over to Cole.

"Do you like it? You can try one of the other flavors, too. There's tons more than just this. That one's chocolate and that over there is vanilla and this is some kinda cherry."

Realistically, Cole hasn't actually eaten any, just tasted the smallest amount across his tongue, trying to process the stark extremes of it. It's more intense than anything he's ever had.

"I know what cherries are," he comments. "And people on the Fleet talked about chocolate, especially chocolate pudding, but I never ate any." He takes another tiny lap and shivers, eyes falling shut to pick up the subtleties in the cold and sweet.

The flavour is good. But Ben's emotions? Those are intoxicating, filling him with a warmth he hasn't felt in so long. "Which do you like best?"

"Hmmm..."

Ben makes a considering noise, holding up a finger to indicate that Cole should wait while he takes a spoonful, first of the vanilla, then one of the cherry. He deliberates, though there's no real feeling of uncertainty or seriousness behind this show of impartial judgment. Just that radiating happiness, that feeling of sharing and togetherness and friendship, of profound joy at seeing Cole happy.

"I think it's the chocolate. Mint and chocolate was always my favorite, growing up."

For a minute Ben is thinking about those good times. Sneaking out to Griddy's and Luther pointing out to him that they'd added chocolate donuts with mint cream filling to the menu; Five stealing Ben a huge handful of the complimentary chocolate mints from the lobby of a hotel they'd saved from an evil stage magician; Klaus vaping chocolate-mint vapor right through Ben's face when he was acting gloomy on their 20th birthday...

And now, this. Tasting ice cream in the empty kitchen with Cole, seeing the wonder on his face. Ben hops up onto the counter, legs dangling down; he takes another spoonful of the chocolate, savoring it, savoring the entire situation.

"What about you?"

And he nods to the other flavors, encouraging Cole to try with them, too.

Cole basks in the feelings, in the remembrance of fond family moments, of caring siblings and being something like a family instead of a team.

"Cole had a sister," he says softly.

He doesn't elaborate any further than that.

"I know mint. It grows through the forests and in the gardens of Skyhold." The smell fills the yard when people are trying to work through hangovers.

After a moment, he scrapes a tiny bit of the cherry and tastes it, jolting slightly. "It's even sweeter! Not like real cherries, sweeter!"

Ben looks over sharply when Cole mentions that he - well, the original Cole, presumably - had had a sister. He remains quiet, in case Cole is going to say any more. When he doesn't, Ben prompts him gently.

"Well... if you ever want to talk about her, I'd like to listen."

He knows it's a whole complicated thing, that this Cole is a spirit that absorbed memories and that is a whole process he's probably never going to be able to wrap his head around. But as far as he can tell, the stuff that happened to human Cole helped to shape this Cole, too. And he might not be human, but he's a person. He might want or need to talk about that stuff, on occasion, but not be used to having someone he can talk to. Ben wonders if he could be that person.

"I think there's a mint plant or three up in the Agricultural zone."

Could he make mint ice cream? No, that would probably take special equipment and the recipe is probably much too complicated. But he could go back to that abandoned grocery store. Goodness knows those zombies aren't a match for his powers.

And then Ben's grinning again, because seriously, Cole's reactions are just too delightful not to. He supposes that processed sweets like these are very different to what would be available in Thedas. It's interesting, seeing something so familiar reflected through Cole's perspective.

"I'm sure they add a load of sugar. Ice cream's pretty much always super sweet."

Cole shakes his head. Right now is for happy things, for ice cream and sweetness and cold as cold as ice and soft as moss.

One day, maybe, he'll tell Ben about Cole's sister. About their mother and father and the little knife that is as much as part of Cole's self as his feet and hands.

"Once, when I was young, there was a wild bee's nest near the shack. Mother asked the winds of the mountain to come and cool it, but I could feel them respond and we made it cold so the bees would sleep and we could move them. We ate the honey that was left behind and it was cold and sweet, but not like this."

Ben accepts that refusal without question; he would have to be the universe's biggest hypocrite to try to pry if Cole doesn't want to talk more, when he'd come looking for Cole this evening specifically because he was so upset over having his privacy disrespected. He lets the topic slide away, scooping a little vanilla and a little cherry onto the same spoon and setting it against his tongue, letting it melt there as he listens to Cole's story.

The details are vivid, evocative; Cole's mother must have been a mage, too, taught him little things like how to lull bees to sleep with cold so they could relocate them somewhere safer and further from where they lived. It's like a gift, this memory that Cole shares with him. He imagines it - probably getting a lot of the visual details wrong - and smiles.

"There are a lot more cold and sweet desserts out there than just ice cream. We could try popsicles sometime, and shaved ice, and frozen pies, and we could make milkshakes..."

He's seized with the desire to try all these things with Cole; not today, but over time. And what would he think of hot chocolate? How many wonderful things - and not just food - does Ben know about that Cole has never had a chance to experience? Isn't that a wonderful way of recontextualizing his life; in bright pinpricks of interest, small good things he can share with this new friend of his.

How would he get access to those things? Well, that's just logistics. What's important is he's had the idea, and it's a good one, and he intends to see it through. It will make them both happy, Ben thinks, if today is anything to go by. And what can be wrong with it, if it makes them both happy? If he can introduce Cole to some new things, that he might not have found all on his own.

"No, she wasn't a mage. She was Avvar. They still speak to the spirits, invoke them. Solas called them hedgemages. The Maker's religion never reached into the mountains, never forced their magic into towers and circles and unnatural patterns. She didn't fear Cole's magic, but she told him to keep it hidden. To save him from the Templars."

He shakes off the thoughts, looking to the vanilla ice cream and going once more through the tiny motions. Scrape, lick and there's less outright shock, but he actually goes back for a slightly bigger sample. "It tastes softer. A cool breeze, not a hurricane." The spoonful he gets is still barely anything, but it's easily twice what he's had before.

Ben listens quietly, filing this newest piece of information away. Avvar were people who could communicate with spirits; does that mean that the human Cole was the same? It would explain how a spirit of Compassion could have appeared to him. That curiosity sits in his mind, all the pieces of the puzzle he doesn't have, but it is not a restless curiosity. He wonders, and then lets it go, because he's starting to trust that eventually, he'll see the whole picture. There is no rush, and certainly there's no need to ask Cole to delve into any more of it now. The past can wait; right now Ben is enjoying the present too much.

"So: which one's your favorite?"

They could do this again. They could go to that Whole Foods and take whatever different flavors were left, could scrounge through the rest of the store for toppings, syrups and crumbled up candy and sprinkles, too. Ben wants to know what Cole will think of sprinkles. Wants to share the existence of sprinkles with him.

When he had first come to this place, alive again, with a second opportunity he'd never thought he would have, Ben knew there were possibilities open to him that there hadn't been, before. He wasn't a kid anymore. There were no missions to go on, no Reginald to keep him penned in, no reputation and nicknames making everyone assume they knew who and what he was before they met him. He'd realized it would be possible for him to have friends, in a way he never had before. But that didn't make it a guarantee. Ben still hadn't known if anyone who wasn't his family would actually want to be around him.

And here he is, sitting on a kitchen counter, eating ice cream with Cole, planning on doing so again, even more elaborately. And Cole is his friend. Ben feels certain of that. That certainty is warm and steady and joyful in a way Ben hadn't ever anticipated.

"Cole was a spirit mage. Rare. Untrained." And it was in part what had drawn Compassion's attention. Not a spirit medium, Cole doesn't think, but maybe he was, like Rhys. "I can't do magic because Cole wished for a life where he never had it."

So this Cole had other skills. His own innate magics, but not like the mage. Spirit powers, not mortal ones.

Looking between them, Cole pointed at the vanilla. "It's sweet, but not overwhelming." For someone who doesn't eat and thus doesn't get exposed much to flavour, the other two are very powerful.

Ben feels a pang of sadness, hearing that last part. The human Cole had wished he never had his magic; Ben had wished he never had his powers. He wonders if that is why he feels so at ease around Cole. Even if this Cole is different, he still has those memories and the emotions.

Even though he is thinking about all that self-loathing and shame he'd carried all those years, Ben isn't feeling it, now. He is just reflecting on the fact of it; that isn't a thing he's been able to do in... well, maybe ever. He reaches over and scoots the vanilla closer to Cole, an invitation. And then he scoops up the container of chocolate, digging in with his spoon, set on finishing it off.

There's a smile curling at the corner of his mouth, because vanilla isn't just vanilla. It's all linked up with connotations of being bland and boring and Cole is anything but that.

"Vanilla. For now, anyway, until we get some more flavors for you to try. Could get that title usurped, you never know."

Then, more quietly, he adds:

"Thank you. For... this. I needed this, today."

Cole might already know his gratitude, but Ben still wants to say it. There's something important about saying it.

Cole looks at the container and he can tell Ben's offering for him to eat more, but he's still hesitant. "But what if someone else wants it? What if it would make them happy and it's gone?"

Cole doesn't eat for a lot of reasons but a shortage of food has always been part of it. Never willing to take what someone else might need.

He leans into Ben's space a little as he asks, trusting Ben will be honest with him.

Ben's first instinct is one of clear and pronounced surprise at the question even being an issue. Cole deserves that ice cream as much as anyone else. So what if it might sometime make some hypothetical person a little bit sad?

But he bites his bottom lip. That wasn't the question Cole had asked. Ben pauses, and considers. Tries to look at it objectively, past his partiality for Cole and almost, by this point, ferocious desire for him to be happy.

"It's not impossible. But the food in this fridge is all communal. Nobody has their heart set on any of it being there when they come back, or they would put their name on it. And besides, look at the other two flavors and how much less of them there is. People have been eating the other ones and avoiding the vanilla. Chances are good nobody's that attached to it."

Then, even though Cole didn't ask and even though he must have already felt the intensity of Ben's initial reaction, he adds, gently, "You deserve things that make you happy, too."

There are no exceptions to that, as far as Ben's concerned.

Cole looks at the ice cream, then the other two tubs, and then the fridge, weighing up the words and the logic. "But... I don't need it. Solas reminds me that all I need is people to be kind to each other. I don't need things mortals do, like sleep and food."

It might sound like Solas is unkind, but it's not. He just wants Cole to be the rare spirit that he is, not like the mortals he doesn't particularly like.

"You make me happy. More than the ice cream. How much you want me to have what happiness does make me happy." He looks up at Ben. "But... maybe I could have a little bit more."

Well, if Ben had had any doubts about Cole not needing to eat or sleep, now he is sure. It is not as strange a thought to him as it might be to others. He remembers what it was like, to not need to eat or sleep. And he remembers still wishing that he could do either of those things. Cole might not be a ghost and miss simple pleasures like eating ice cream, but that doesn't change much.

"You don't have to need it. I don't need ice cream right now, either. I ate plenty earlier, I just wanted some because today sucked."

Sure, food might not be as plentiful in this place as it could be, but none of them are starving at the moment. That grocery store had shown up, and a truck later, and people who are farm-inclined are planting things. If Ben had learned anything from dying, it is that putting off good things for the future sometimes meant never having those good things at all.

But before he can start to articulate any of that, Cole is saying Ben makes him happy, even more than the ice cream. And Ben had just seen how happy that ice cream made Cole. He feels his cheeks flushing; it's so wonderful, this feeling! Making people happy! Not just that - making Cole happy. A grin breaks out on his face and he ducks his head, unable to stop smiling. Some reflex in his mind tells him that he shouldn't let himself be this happy, that he ought to check it, restrain it, question it. But for once, he doesn't. He just thinks I made Cole happy and lets himself be awash in the joy of it.

"You can, if you want to."

@lazarus | video

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