"May I show you?" he requested politely, touching his head and gesturing in Ben's direction. It was odd, to ask permission from his own fledgeling to communicate with him mentally but there was an intimacy to what he wanted to share that Ben may not be prepared for.
Kerr was counting on it, in fact.
Ben's reply came without hesitation. "Sure."
Kerr licked his lips and closed his eyes, taking a moment to centre himself before he reached out to mentally connect with Ben. The familiar warmth of his mind roused Kerr's love for him, giving him a needed boost in a moment where everything felt upended and wrong. Where their consciousnesses melded was a safe place, a port in a storm and calm spread through Kerr. He loved that Ben could be his sanctuary. He hated that he needed to hide there from the wounds Ben himself had inflicted.
When he'd returned from his brunch date with Jake, Kerr had shared his experiences with Ben in an intimate and immediate way, allowing Ben to take his place in Kerr's psyche and experience everything as he had. Such unfettered access wasn't usual for them, for they generally conversed in their private room, projecting thoughts or memories up onto a screen between them as necessary. Movies, essentially. Tonight would be more of the former because he was planning to draw Ben into a space he'd never been. Into Kerr's past.
Aware of Ben holding his consciousness apart - because he was tentative about Kerr's feelings - Kerr swarmed close and encompassed him; it was like he pulled Ben over himself, as a second skin he could wear. He was instantly connected to Kerr's emotions and they would continue to thrum at him, dominating for the time being. Kerr needed Ben to be him completely in the moments he was about to share. He felt Ben's startlement at this unprecedented level of melding but there wasn't any sensation of balking or wanting it to stop, just surprise. Ben was curious about where this would lead, despite his understandable wariness. Kerr thought that that might change before he was done.
First, he took Ben to the last real thing he'd said to him, the night before. Ben became Kerr, watching himself vibrate with anger as he glared at his sire and snapped at him. Don't force your discomfort or an exit on me ever again. As Kerr intended, Ben felt the terror and the anger that rose in him in that moment, in a hundred percent crisp surround-sound style effect - the hurt and the exasperation, the decision to stop thinking - and accompanied him as he turned away in a maelstrom of despair.
The scene changed without a pause (no fade-to-black transitioning here) and Ben was looking down at a boy of about fifteen years of age, dressed in grubby old-fashioned clothes, the dirt on his face webbed with clean tracks gouged by his tears. Ben-Kerr's hands were holding him close to his body, shielding him while he wailed hysterically. There was terror and anger swarming around Ben-Kerr's thoughts, laced with the bitterness of hurt and exasperation as he looked up, away from the sobbing street rat. It was the dead of night, the air cold enough that the mortal in his arms was effusing steam with his hitching breaths. They were in a park somewhere, beneath a gas streetlamp and there was a beautiful doll of a boy standing a few metres away, dressed in a childish blue velvet outfit, his fists balled by his side and his eyes blasting hate-filled blue ice at Ben-Kerr. Sawyl. He stamped his foot with fury, his curls tumbling about his shoulders and his fangs glinting as he spoke. How dare you interrupt me! He's mine! Give him BACK!
Another night materialised before Ben-Kerr's eyes. The sensation of horror and anguish was an overwhelming bubble around him, prickling his skin and turning his heart into a block of ice in his chest. This time he was holding a baby, swathed in a long white nightgown and blanket, a knitted cap atop its head, golden locks curling angelically out from beneath its brim onto its ruddy cheeks. It was warm and fat and slumbering innocently in his hands. Sawyl appeared at his elbow and Ben-Kerr looked away from the slumbering babe into that cherubic face, smirking so calculatingly up at him. Everything in him was fighting, with the desperation of an animal caught in a trap, clawing and biting to get out, but the only thing he could do was stare at Sawyl. Never force your judgement upon me again. Just because you're a boring waste of a man doesn't mean you have the right to tell me what to do. Now. Your lesson. Sawyl grinned furiously as Ben-Kerr lifted the infant to his mouth, its delicious baby smell causing his soul to weep as it awakened with a terrified squeal, one fang sinking into its tiny neck.
Blood, so thick and rich in the air he couldn't taste anything but blood. Ben-Kerr burst through a curtain, shoving it aside to reveal a rustic room of dirt floors and stone walls, poorly lit by a meagre fire in the hearth to his right. He was frantic, fear clogging his veins, his eyes wide as he took in the scene before him. There was a poorly-made bed in the centre of the room, a man lay upon it. He was fully clothed, apart from his sagging penis, poking out of the hole in his trousers. Sawyl was naked, perched atop his chest like a ghoul, splashing in the arterial spray spurting from his neck. Two more men were on the floor, one without pants entirely, the other such a mess of torn-out organs, intestines, glinting bones and blood that it was hard to tell if he was clothed or not. The twins hovered over the pants-less man on the floor, one noisily drinking while the other cooed approvingly at her. Ben-Kerr looked back in time to see Sawyl notice him, terror closing his throat as Sawyl pounced at him, clawed hands swinging and his open mouth screeching as he flew through the air. NEVER FUCKING INTERRUPT ME AGAIN, YOU WORTHLESS DOG!
After that, came a montage of Sawyl glaring at Ben-Kerr, his lip curled and passionate fury glinting in his beautiful blue eyes as he spat, snarled and screamed his imperatives for Kerr to leave him to his foul and murderous choices. Sometimes he was clothed, others naked, blood-spattered or clean, indoors and out, occasionally wheedling and tugging on their hand, often physically violent or wildly tantrumming, throwing objects at Ben-Kerr's head. In every scene, he had the same cold, hateful tone when he addressed Ben-Kerr, the same imperious attitude that conveyed his belief that he deserved to be obeyed, that Ben-Kerr was worthless, stupid, boring, a fuckhead, a dog, a curr, a cunt. The slander was a barrage of spite and resentment, the cumulative effect on Ben-Kerr's heart palpable as he quailed before it, questioning his own worth, broken down and diminished, reeling and helpless to stop the rampage of the monster before him.
The final scene, before Kerr broke the connection, was of Ben once more, with that angry, superior look in his eyes, his icily-spoken words and the sheer terror Kerr felt... then and now. He opened his eyes as he withdrew, feeling raw and filled with shame so intense his eyes were watering. He'd spent thousands of nights with his sire; some of them were pleasant, many of them were indifferent. Most of them were horrifying and he'd kept four hundred years of those memories buried in a deep and dark place in himself, one Ben had never touched. Until now, when he needed to show him exactly why he'd walked away last night and why he'd gone to a friend to ground him and yank him out of the whirl of his own horror.
Kerr had spent the majority of his life bowing before the whims and fury of a beautiful nightmare. He wasn't capable of - or willing - to go through that again.
