blackblueyellow - sad0chism - Half-Life VR But the AI is Self-Aware (Web Series) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1: at the end of the race, I’m all by myself

Chapter Text

After the absurdity that was a f*cking Chuck-E-Cheese birthday party, Gordon wants to be done with all the violence. With all the f*cking nonsense, the aliens, the military, the gunfire and explosions and toxic waste. For the world to stop jerking him around and let him go back to his life, to his apartment, to start over working for a facility that doesn't try to start a f*cking apocalypse, or employ eldritch horrors and clones and who even f*cking knows what else.

This, of course, doesn't happen. Because out there is some cruel, uncaring god that finds it really f*cking funny when everything bad happens to Gordon Freeman.

He doesn't know where he wakes up. All he knows is that it's overcast, uncomfortably cold, and there's a dirty, dusty car bench underneath him. Groaning, he lifts himself up, feeling an unpleasant stretch in his back. The ceiling above him is crunched and charred, smelling heavily of ash. A light breeze hits the back of his neck, where his ponytail pulls his hair off his nape, and he rolls to face it, finding a gaping hole where a car door used to be.

It's with a ridiculous military crawl that he makes it out of the car and onto the road outside, rolling inelegantly onto the pavement. Fatigue pulls at his every muscle and he lies there on the road for a bit, staring up at the gray sky overhead. Gordon had craved so desperately to get to go home, figure out how to get out of the HEV suit, and sleep, in a bed, his bed, for as long as he possibly could. The thought is so tantalizing, he could cry.

Eventually he manages to convince himself to get up. He sways on his feet, glancing around to find a four-way intersection flooded with cars that look like they've seen better days. Evidence of a fire long since burned out scatters across the area. None of these vehicles look even remotely driveable, or safe.

There's no visible threats in the area, and no one's reacting to the sound of his voice as he lets his thoughts drift out of him and into the open air. A bad habit formed of loneliness, when he'd started talking to his old pet rat in college and never stopped even after he'd had to give her away.

"Great. Cool. This is where I wanted to be," he snarks, before taking a moment to look over himself. Still in the HEV suit. No weapons, go figure. Weird that he finally had his hand back, yet he was right back to being just as defenseless as when he'd lost it. "Where the f*ck is this?"

Despite the incredibly ominous environment, there's no proof he's in any danger. He doesn't recognize this place, but, he doesn't recognize all of New Mexico, the place is massive. This could be just a few miles off from his apartment. All he has to do is walk until he finds street signs, and puzzle out his way back home.

So, walk he does. And walk. And walk. And walk, for what feels like hours. No cars. No signs. No buildings. Just one continuous stretch of road for what feels like forever, and some Silent Hill esque fog in the distance preventing him from figuring out what's waiting for him up ahead. Luckily, the HEV suit keeps him pumped full of chemicals that he really hopes he doesn't develop an unhealthy dependency on that keep his stamina high enough to keep going.

Finally, finally, he reaches a pitstop. There's a gas station, mechanic, and a small parking lot all within view. The lights inside the gas station are on, so that's where he'll go. Ask for some directions, maybe use a phone to call someone to come get him. He doesn't know who, exactly, but someone.

There's some people in the parking lot, just sort of, skulking about, which Gordon frowns at, but ultimately ignores on his way inside. One of the doors is locked, which is weird, but the other opens just fine. Must be some sort of maintenance going on, he reasons. The inside is empty, even behind the counter, though he supposes this place must not get a lot of customers, so the cashier could have easily stepped away for a quick bathroom break.

He thinks these things. Yet, under all that logic and reasoning, he can feel the red flags piling up, building towards something he doesn't quite understand yet, but definitely doesn't like.

Checking the bathrooms reveals nothing. Though the tile at his feet looks like it's seen better days, given the huge brown stains all over the floor.

"Hello?" Gordon calls out, mindful of his volume. There's alarm bells going off in his head, and he can't be sure if it's rational or born from his recent trauma at the hands of Black Mesa. Pretty hard to relax after spending so much time on high alert. "Anyone here?"

In response to his call, he hears some shuffling coming from behind an employee only door in the back, followed by a low groaning and snarling that sound animalistic in nature. "What the hell?" he mutters to himself. "f*cking mountain lions in here, or something…"

Stepping back slowly, he jolts at the sudden sound of the door rattling as someone starts to violently slam into the other side. They don't seem to be accomplishing much, but that door is not going to hold. Glancing from that, to the windows along the front of the shop, he sees those skulking people turning curiously, shuffling towards the shop like… well.

"A zombie apocalypse, really?" Gordon groans, grumbling as he rushes through the shop, taking as much as he possibly can and stuffing it into bags he finds behind the front counter. "Couldn't have dropped me somewhere nice? Or given me a gun, at least? Wow, thanks for taking care of that crazy evil alien for me, Gordon! Have some zombies, I know how much you love those! Motherf*cker."

Once he's done looting, he rushes towards the front door, pausing once he spots a folded up map on a shelf by the door. Yanking it out reveals he's still in New Mexico, but several cities away from his apartment. Well, whatever. At least he knows where he is now.

Stepping out into the frosty air, Gordon adjusts his glasses, squinting to try and confirm his suspicions of the people shambling towards him. Sure enough, these people are bloodied, discolored, and decaying just like a lot of zombie movies he's seen in the past.

"Great. f*cking, fantastic!"

Dipping around the side of the building, he manages to find two cars parked nearby. He doesn't know a lot about cars, but he's pretty sure the minivan isn't going to be much good if he gets swarmed by zombies, so he takes the station wagon. By some insane stroke of luck, the passenger's side window is rolled down, and he finds a key in the glovebox, allowing him to pull out onto the road again in record time.

It's been a hot minute since he's been behind the wheel of a car. It's a little nerve wracking after what happened the last time he was in a car, but going up against members of the undead without a weapon would be a lot worse.

He keeps driving, on and on until finally reaching the outskirts of a town. If he hadn't figured out his predicament already, it would be wildly obvious now. There's groupings of the undead everywhere, plus broken windows, splatterings of blood old and new, burnt down houses, broken down cars, and so on. Whatever happened wasn't recent, and it hit hard.

"f*cking, figures that asshole would plant me somewhere f*cked up," Gordon grumbles to himself as he drives along. "What did I even do to make him toss me here? I know I can be kind of an asshole, sure, but this is a bit MUCH."

The sound of his car is attracting attention, though the zombies seem extra stupid, considering they can't get anywhere close to his car's speed, and once he's far enough away, they forget he exists and stop following. That makes it easier to get from place to place in search of… what? Somewhere to stop? A weapon? Food? Other people?

What the f*ck is he doing?

With a sigh, he keeps driving, watching the passing scenery to try and calm his nerves before getting a game plan together in his head. "Okay," he starts. "Part one, don't die. Need a weapon of some sort, crowbar or something, need a gun. Apocalypse survivors always have a handgun, right? Right. Part two, don't pass out. Gotta find…"

As he goes along the list, he feels steadily less and less like he's on the verge of some sort of anxiety attack. This is manageable. He can do this. Then, maybe, he can find the others out there somewhere, get ahold of The G-Man, and get the f*ck out of dodge. Go home. Eat mac and cheese in his underwear and watch sh*tty reality TV. Become a streamer and possibly never leave his house ever again, because, honestly, f*ck the outside world.

"Try and f*ck with me when I'm locked up inside my house, asshole."

Outside, the sky rapidly shifts into its twilight hours, landing him at a section of suburbia that's scarce enough to sneak his way around, even with the heavy footfalls of his HEV suit. Nothing seems to be around in order to follow him up to the home's front door, which he manages to get inside just by trying the handle.

The sight of a totally regular middle class home hits him like a slap to the face. Science labs, entertainment centers, corner stores, his world has been nothing but cold commercialization for too f*cking long. There's no accounting for comfort in those places, no soft beds to curl up in, with a plush pillow to cushion his head and a warm blanket to drape over his body. He takes a moment just to look around and try to control his breathing, tears stinging his eyes.

"Come on," he says to himself. "Be normal about this. It's just… hhhh… oh my god, is that a kitchen?"

Stumbling forward, he makes his way under the archway nearby, stepping into a tiled kitchen that's just so… normal. Immediately, Gordon grabs onto the handle of the fridge, tearing it open just to be greeted with a stench comparable to sewage. He quickly slams that sh*t shut, resisting the urge to gag.

"Yeah, no, obviously," he grumbles. "That would be too easy." Disregarding that, he takes a moment to breathe and rid himself of the rancid stench clogging up his throat before digging through the cabinets. There's food here, food that isn't just soda and vending machine snacks. "f*ck yeah," Gordon says under his breath, grabbing everything even remotely interesting and piling it onto the counter. What he's going to make with this, he has no idea, but he doesn't care. He just needs to line his belly with real food, for once.

And that's what leads into the weirdest cooking session he's had since his college days of combining whatever he had in his kitchen when money run out, as it so often did. He even manages to withstand the stench in the fridge long enough to sort out some stuff that's still good, like a pack of eggs and some butter. With all of this combined, he fries some rice with some sauces and seasonings he finds around the kitchen, and cooks up some halfway decent pasta.

Waiting on it all to cook feels like it takes an eternity, with his stomach grumbling loudly in a desperate plea for sustenance. Once it's all ready, he can barely make it to the dining area nearby to eat it before stuffing his face. Never in his life has such a simple meal tasted so f*cking delicious. It's all so good that he could cry, expressing his pleasure in groans and awed comments with his mouth full, as if someone's here to listen.

The meal is gone in minutes, leaving him feeling properly sated for the first time in… god, what's it been? A few days? A week? It feels like years.

That's not the only thing he suddenly has access to, not to mention time for, however. There's running water, allowing him to wash his face and neck, trim his beard, brush his hair, and so on. There's even cologne and lotion here for him to use, covering up the stale sweat smell caked under his suit and providing him with the slightest hint of luxury. Showering isn't really an option when he has no idea how to get out of the suit, but he'll take what he can get.

Finally falling into a real bed provides Gordon with such immense relief that he, at first, doesn't even notice how uncomfortable the suit is. Of course, it all has to come crashing down on him eventually, and he finds that sleep doesn't come easy with the way the suit digs into his skin and generally prevents him from properly experiencing the plush comfort of a bed. Not to mention the groaning of the undead passing by outside. But, well, it could be worse.

He could have a murderous alien lurking around.

The next morning isn't kind to Gordon. His overactive brain wakes him far too f*cking soon, and the discomfort provided by the HEV suit prevents him from settling back into bed. Not to mention the anxiety churning his stomach and urging him to get moving.

Once he's taken a trip to the bathroom, he heads downstairs. The instant he steps foot off the final step, the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, alerted by the sound of inhuman groaning nearby. Via the lights coming in through the uncovered, now shattered, windows, he can spy two zombies just a few feet in front of him, his stomach dropping at the sight, body flashing hot and cold. Unfortunately for him, the boots of his suit are easily loud enough to catch their attention.

They're on him before he has a chance to formulate an escape plan. The first zombie snaps at him with her teeth as he tries to hold her at bay, managing to shove her back to the ground. The second stumbles as the first knocks into him, making it easier for Gordon to kick him to the ground before the first can get back up.

Darting past them and through the front door, he finds himself having to bob and weave through a small group of zombies outside. Thus brings him to his third problem: his car, and all the pilfered snacks he'd stashed inside of it, is gone.

"Goddamit," he snarls. "f*ck, f*ck—AHH—!"

A member of the undead crashes into his left, and he staggers into the street, twisting around to push the zombie's face away from him, their teeth unable to pierce the material of the HEV suit's gloves. He manages to summon up the strength to shove them off of him, just for another to tackle him almost immediately afterwards. It tugs on his ponytail, but he manages to free himself just by breaking out into a sprint. Darting wildly down the street, he sticks to the grass as much as possible to muffle his loud footfalls, eventually darting inside an open garage in search of a weapon.

"Come on, come on," Gordon rambles, frantically searching through the dark, enclosed space. Why does it have to be so f*cking gray all the time? "Gordon needs a weapon, hammer, nailgun, anything."

By some divine intervention, there's a crowbar sitting propped up against a workbench in the back, which he makes a beeline for immediately. Spinning around, he spots a zombie rushing for him as fast as their weak, decaying legs can take them. Gordon bashes them over the head hard enough to send them stumbling back. Not enough to kill them, but enough for him to take off running while they're stunned.

After running for awhile, dodging and swinging whenever necessary, he makes it to a block of shops. Only then does he realize how f*cking hungry he is, dizzy with everything he's done today on an empty stomach. Looking around, he spies a line of bookstores, department stores, clothing stores, and other such things he has no need for right now. But he has to make a choice and dart inside somewhere, and soon, because there's too much activity out on the streets, including three zombies that just fell out of a second story window in pursuit of the noise his stupid f*cking suit is making.

Suddenly there's a zombie right at his back, clumsily grabbing at the armored plates on his shoulders. For a dead guy, their grip is weirdly strong, and he has trouble dislodging them with an elbow to the chest, resulting in him kinda just, flailing wildly in a panic. There's nothing covering his head or neck and this one seems tall enough to reach both.

Then there's a loud bang, and the zombie's head snaps back, dark, red-black blood splattering the side of Gordon's face, hair, and suit, staining the bright orange metal crimson. Putting some distance between him and the former threat first and foremost, he stumbles forward, gaze snapping from the downed zombie, shot perfectly between the eyes, and the other end of the street, just in time to catch a blur of movement disappearing around the corner.

"Please be Tommy," he says under his breath, wasting only a moment more before darting ahead, stealth obviously having never been an option. "Please be Tommy, god, please be Tommy." A crack-shot and arguably morally upstanding person is exactly who he needs right now; and he's in no mood to sus out a brand new person.

Turning the corner reveals nothing of the other person's identity. Whoever it was has blazed a f*cking trail, though, undead lining the streets in grotesque piles. Although, there's more active ones piling out of broken windows, prompting Gordon to get a move on.

In a zombie apocalypse, there's strength in numbers, not to mention a bit of sanity gained from having someone to talk to. That's what spurs him onwards, following the trail of bodies with a frantic desperation, lungs burning with the effort.

The sound of gunshots fired from what sounds like an assault rifle leads him to the end of the (far too long) street, where there's a pile of bodies in the doorway of a police precinct. At first, Gordon can't imagine why anyone would want to be in one of those at a time like this; before remembering, duh, idiot, that's where the GUNS are, and making his way inside as well, carefully maneuvering through a tall, shattered window, mindful of his face and hair.

This place reeks of dead, rotting bodies, blood splattered on nearly every available surface, shattered glass and tipped over furniture everywhere. Nearly every door he passes by has been snapped in half or busted off its hinges. Gordon follows the trail of bodies to a stash in the back, racks of guns hidden behind a high security door that looks like it's been ripped off by some inhuman force. The thought makes his skin prickle with fear.

The light's on inside, and he glances around, listening closely for any signs of life before stepping in. Whoever he's been chasing isn't here anymore, but they took a lot of firepower with them, from the looks of it. There's enough left for Gordon to pilfer a pistol and shotgun, with ammo, straps, and holsters for both.

He finds a knife, too, but after pulling it out of its sheath and seeing the sharp, jagged edges, his blood runs cold, and he mechanically puts it back where he found it, keeping his mind clear and focused on now and not… not that other thing.

As soon as he steps out of the room, he hears footsteps darting away in the distance, his head snapping towards a door leading into an office nearby. Taking off after the noise, he just barely manages to catch sight of someone darting past the window, still too brief to even make out what color clothes they're wearing. Climbing out through the shattered glass, he chases the footsteps into an alleyway, where the sound rapidly disappears into the distance. He has to swing his way through a slim group of zombies to make it out the other end.

The fog is back, covering most of the parking lot in front of him. Squinting through the mist, he takes a step forward, nearly tripping over something on the ground. Looking straight down, he spots…

A Black Mesa security guard helmet, the strap ripped in half just below the right side.

No. Nononono. It can't be him, can it? It could be anyone, anyone at all. Lots of people worked on the Black Mesa guard team! It doesn't have to be that one!

As Gordon thinks that, the sound of zombies snarling and bashing against metal reaches his eardrums. Taking a few cautious steps forward, the source readily makes itself apparent. The first thing he sees is the black station wagon he'd stolen from the gas station the day prior. The second thing he sees is a group of zombies surrounding the door, with something decidedly more sentient writhing in the middle of it. There's the sound of fabric tearing, and then—

"AGHHH! NOOOOO-UHHH!"

A gunshot rings out, and one of the zombies stumbles back, knocking down several others. More bullets are fired, clearing a path to allow the man inside to stumble his way out, revealing short, choppy black hair and a torn, bloodied Black Mesa security guard uniform. Blood pours out of a bite wound on his neck, thick gashes in the shape of claws running along his arms, his indigo sleeves tattered and useless.

He trips over a dead body and onto the pavement just to be descended upon by crowds of the undead clamouring after him. It's as he twists his body to try and defend themself that Gordon gets a good look at his face, instantly breaking out into a cold sweat.

You've got to be f*cking kidding me.

There's barely any time to react to Benrey's stupid, hollow face appearing before him, glowing eyes shrouded in darkness and knife-like teeth grit. A sizeable chunk of his face gets torn into with a sharp set of teeth, tearing flesh from bone as he lets out an unholy shriek, distorted like corrupted audio. It doesn't end there; the sound of bones snapping, flesh and fabric tearing, and frenzied growls fill the air.

At some point, he must realize he's screwed, because he stops struggling; or maybe he just can't, anymore. Stunned, Gordon does nothing but watch, trembling as a bead of sweat rolls down the back of his neck. As Benrey's head falls against the pavement, his eyes latch onto Gordon's, shock flashing behind his wild blue eyes, wide with fear and… pleading.

Pulling the handgun free of its holster, Gordon co*cks his gun and aims it right for Benrey's head. He's not sure if Benrey's noticed where he's aiming, but around the same time, the look in his eyes changes, filling with something deeply sad that Gordon can't look directly at.

Not that he has to, for much longer. The bullet lodges itself deep inside Benrey's skull, the light behind his eyes flickering out like a dying television screen before he falls limp against the concrete.

The gunshot also attracts a lot of attention, though not from the group surrounding Benrey's body, too preoccupied with their feast to care. Still, Gordon realizes he needs to get out of here as soon as possible, searching for the safest escape route and taking it at breakneck speed.

Something Gordon's realized is that it's hard to think when you're running for your life, wind whipping past your ears and adrenaline clouding your mind. Never has he been more thankful for that fact than he is right now, putting the knowledge that Benrey's back and Benrey's going to keep coming back out of mind.

This, eventually, leads him to the outside of a grocery store, where there's a pleasantly small amount of zombies in the parking lot, spread out and oblivious to his existence. It's easy to see the entirety of the inside of the store from all the windows surrounding the front, sans any employee areas or bathrooms. The amount of zombies is manageable here, too, so he makes his way inside, focusing his attention on gathering supplies and staying alive and nothing else, because there's nothing else to think about, at all.

Because if he thinks about Benrey being out there somewhere, he's gonna freak out, and he can't afford that right now.

On the shelves, he manages to find a travel bag that fits over his bulky suit and has plenty of space for supplies. Canned goods weigh a lot and clack loudly together, but he's already loud as f*ck with every step, and the suit supports a lot of weight, so he hardly even feels stuff like that anymore. Bottled water is a bit quieter, and the energy drinks haven't gone bad, so he grabs as much of those as he can as well. There's no pharmacy to speak of, unfortunately, but he finds some other useful items, things no one ever really thinks about in these situations.

Not that he has that much bag space, but there also wasn't a lot of food to pick from to begin with. Lots of people have been through here already, clearly, thinking more about their next meal than their ability to see in the dark when all the streetlights go out, or cavities.

As he's heading for the door, he hears something… strange. Distinct. Instinctively, Gordon flattens himself against a standing freezer at the end of one of the checkstands, peering around towards the front of the shop. Outside, where he can hear the weird, hollow rattling noise coming from, he sees…

Is that a f*cking skeleton?

Yep. Yep, it very much is an actual, sentient arrangement of human calcium up and walking around, like there's nothing weird about that at all. Gordon's not f*cking stupid, okay, he knows exactly who he's looking at; barely fifteen minutes ago, he saw Benrey die, and now there's a skeleton. He's never been able to puzzle out how, exactly, the two are related, just that they are, somehow.

The skeleton's head turns to peer inside the shop, and Gordon darts back behind cover, praying to whoever's listening that no part of him is visible around the sides. Eventually, he hears the clacking of bone on concrete growing farther and farther away, counting to sixty before checking to see if it's still there. When he isn't able to find anything, he climbs back out the same window, and takes off running in the opposite direction of where he last heard the creature.

Chapter 2: what's in my eyes, nobody cares

Chapter Text

Night approaches so much quicker than Gordon could have ever anticipated. Despite all the supplies he's gathered, he has no time to actually sit and eat anything. The zombie presence is constant and everywhere. And even if it wasn't, Gordon finds he can't relax long enough to sit down anywhere. Exhaustion pulls at his every muscle, making getting back up after he sits down a monumental task, and he can't risk that kind of sluggishness. Not when there's zombies, and f*cking skeletons and Benrey that could be lurking around every corner.

And Benrey knows Gordon exists, that's he's around. There's no denying that. They looked each other right in the eye.

The first car Gordon finds that doesn't set off an alarm or have a locked door, he's taking it, and getting the f*ck out of here. He just has to… find one first. After that station wagon, which Benrey so lovingly stole right out from under him, he's had absolutely no luck finding another vehicle. There's always some problem. It doesn't start, there's no gas, it's surrounded by undead, etc, etc. At this point he'd settle for a f*cking skateboard, at least. Anything to get him out of here faster.

With no options for transportation, and the sun quickly fading over the horizon, he has no choice but to settle for a nearby home to stay for the night. Something he's noticed is that, the spread of zombies tends to be thinner in residential areas, making it easier to sneak into a place to stay. There's plenty of zombies crowded together out on the streets, but they're too far away to notice him, for now.

The first thing Gordon does is clean all the blood and other filth from his body, brushing his teeth and hair and trimming his beard. Once that's done, and he no longer has to smell all the gore clinging to him, he checks to see if the stove in the kitchen works before cooking up some canned beans, not wanting to have to put effort into a meal. Anything is better than subsisting entirely on soda and whatever the suit is pumping him full of.

Once the self-care portion of his stay is done, he wanders, looking for somewhere to lie his head. The couch downstairs makes it easy to reach an exit, keep an eye out on the outside of the home, and hear it if something, or someone, breaks in. But that also makes him easy to spot from the streets, and easy to reach before he wakes up, since he's been known to sleep through a lot. The upstairs bedrooms present all the opposite pros and cons.

The sun is just barely peeking up over the horizon when Gordon jolts awake on the living room couch. f*ck, he'd passed out before a decision on where to sleep could even be made.

The distant sound of gunshots grabs his attention. Now on high alert, he jumps up, ignoring the crick in his neck and how desperately his body craves more sleep. The window across from the couch that was once clean is now covered in blood. Outside, he can hear snarling and more gunshots, something like an assault rifle fired in bursts.

Looking around, Gordon spots a window in the back, shoving it open and stuffing himself through just to collapse into a messy pile on the ground outside. "Oww," he groans, deep and a bit squeaky, rolling onto his side for a moment of pathetic indulgence.

Pushing up, he sighs heavily, forcefully shoving his hair back behind his ear—the ponytail was not going to hold for much longer—and getting a move on, climbing over the fence a few feet in front of him. Despite his best efforts, he lands sloppily, tripping and nearly face planting in the dirt. Ignoring that, he darts forward without a care to where, exactly, he's even going, other than away.

It isn't until he's totally out of breath and struggling not to pass out that he realizes two very important things. Firstly, if his ears were to be believed and the gunshots he heard earlier really were from an assault rifle, that was probably Benrey. Secondly. He left his bag and all his supplies behind in his rush to get away.

Great. Cool. Awesome.

"Fuuuck," he groans, exasperatedly running his hand down his face. Frustrated, he smacks the first zombie he sees over the head, pummelling them into a bloody pulp until they fall totally limp. If therapy isn't available, at the very least he can beat something until he's not angry anymore. That's totally healthy.

Now he's stuck hungry, tired, angry, and scared. He has to find something to eat as soon as possible, rectify at least one of his problems.

Right now he's in the middle of a bunch of trees; in the distance he can see an unpainted road, and, following that, he finds a small trailer park. The zombies are just spread out enough that Gordon risks breaking into as many as he can in search of breakfast, but the best he finds is a dead rat, and he is not risking whatever diseases that could give him.

Annoyed and lightheaded, Gordon continues forward along the road, praying against all odds that he'll find something useful. A car. A convenience store. The G-Man showing up to take him back to his proper reality. Something like that.

Nothing of the sort ever happens, and he's stuck following the same road for what feels like an agonizing eternity until it finally opens up into a town, with what looks like a series of storage units up ahead. It's unlikely to have anything he can eat, or drink for that matter, and there's easily fifty zombies lurking around it, with more along the roads. If his limited powers of observation have taught him anything, it's that more zombies means more shops with food in them that he'll likely find up ahead. He just… has to find a way through the crowd, first.

Sticking to the lesser populated areas, he wanders until finding a parking lot outside a church, where he tries every car, unsure what he's going to do if none of these work. Eventually, he manages to get inside a van with a spare key hidden in the visor, starting the engine after two failed attempts to a half tank of gas. Figuring it's the best he's going to get, he pulls the seatbelt on over the bulky chestplate of the HEV suit, and pulls out onto the road.

Mowing down zombies with an easily-tippable caravan isn't exactly a great idea; the undead are easily breakable, but they don't exactly squish down into neat little pancakes like a cartoon, which makes it difficult to drive through a huge pile of them. As a result, he has to avoid hitting more than one or two at a time, which gets difficult the further into town he gets. Where he'd been yesterday pales in comparison to this; there's easily hundreds in every direction, flooding the parks, shops, schools, and every parking lot with the shuffling of rotting corpses. The stench nearly has him crashing into a street sign as he tries not to gag and lose what little food he has in his system.

The absolute best situation he can get is a stretch of road behind a series of connected shops, where a tall wooden fence borders the other side of the road. The zombies don't seem super interested in hanging out in this area, making it easier for Gordon to dispatch the group that's there. Still not easy, though. Running on pure adrenaline and the hard drugs from the suit (probably, anyway) wasn't going to be enough for much longer.

Busting down one of the doors with his crowbar—finally, he gets to use it for its actual purpose—reveals… a completely empty store, cleared out with dust marking up spots on the floor where furniture used to be. Goddammit.

The next door leads him into what looks like a salon. Also not terribly useful, though he takes a pair of scissors and some tweezers anyway. Might be useful.

After that is an office building, followed by a laundromat. Frustrated, he resigns himself to his options, digging through the laundromat for some clothes that could be worn over the HEV suit, namely a hats and scarves, but also some gloves incase the suit's gauntlets end up getting f*cked, and some shirts that could be repurposed as bandages. Everything gets stashed into the van for later.

And he has to go now, because the space is slowly flooding with undead again, replacing the ones that were lost. Idly Gordon wonders if they're like ants, reacting to the scent of their fallen brethren and flocking to the area. He f*cking hopes not.

His search for food, or, failing that, medicine, really just anything useful at all, appears dismal. Anywhere that would have such things is swarmed to such a degree that he has absolutely no hope of getting inside.

Several hours pass, and he's starting to feel hopeless. Maybe he should turn back around, find his way back to the bag he left behind. But, he can't help but feel it's no longer there. Benrey probably found it already and has been eating all his f*cking, canned soup and peanut butter, the f*cking asshole.

Eventually he finds an apartment building in an area that's significantly less populated; a few shops are nearby, but nothing interesting, not even to a zombie, apparently, because there's so few around he can easy crush their heads under his tires. He pulls up in the parking lot behind the apartment complex, angling his car so he can drive away as quickly as possible.

Stepping out, he quickly surveys the area, finding four cars parked nearby, and a fire escape ladder leading to the second floor. It's as he's double checking to make sure all his weapons are in place, locked and loaded, that the upstairs door bursts open unexpectedly, flinging hard enough to slam against the railing. That, plus the cacophony of groans and growls has Gordon jolting in shock, nearly dropping his handgun. Instead, he levels it at the source of the noise, right as something drops over the railing.

Someone, actually.

That someone picks himself up quickly, breaths heavy and cursing, left leg dragging uselessly behind him. Benrey stumbles, spotting Gordon a few feet away, eyes wide as they take in the sight of each other. The security guard's uniform is almost exactly as tattered and filthy as the last time Gordon saw it, just covered in lazy, loose stitches all over the shirt and pants. His helmet is nowhere to be found, revealing short, choppy black hair, a shadow cast over his eyes in a way that doesn't feel natural.

The glowing blue of his eyes are wild, too, pupils thin pinpricks that contract even further as he whips back around at the sound of a zombie dropping over the railing, the rest shambling down the steps after him. Scrambling to put some space between him and the undead threat, he fumbles for the gun strapped to his thigh, a black pistol with a silencer attached, one-handedly firing two rounds perfectly into the fallen zombie's head.

Gordon realizes he has a few options, here. Get in the car and run the f*ck away, let Benrey deal with his own sh*t. Or, get some assistance in clearing out the apartment building, since clearly Benrey's packing a lot of heat and knows how to use it. (God, he should not have phrased it that way.)

The click of his gun as he switches off the safety and co*cks it gets Benrey's attention, before he's right back to popping zombies one-by-one. His aim is a lot less precise than initially thought, but with Gordon joining in, the threat thins out easily enough. More and more just keep piling out, though, forcing Benrey to keep backing up, stumbling with his broken or sprained leg not doing much good for his sense of balance—or his ability to aim, for that matter, making primarily missed or body shots unless the target is directly in front of him. He ends up slumped against the side of a van, chest heaving.

Eventually, the seemingly endless swarm ends. Gordon keeps his gun aimed at the door, body thrumming with adrenaline, laser-focused. In his periphery, he sees Benrey's catlike eyes focused on the door, as well, though they seem miles away, lidded and hazy, skin deathly pale, hand shaking around the handle of his gun. Eventually, he lowers it down by his thigh. Blood drips from somewhere behind him, and as he pushes himself up to get a better look inside the complex, Gordon sees he's been bitten on the back of his shoulder, the obvious bloody imprints of teeth marring his flesh where a patch of his shirt has been torn off.

When Benrey turns back around, it's to find himself caught between the crosshairs of Gordon's gun, aimed straight for his head. Weariness turns to shock, glowing eyes flooded with something like fear, gaze flicking from the gun to Gordon himself. Black brows furrow, a look of pained resignation falling over Benrey's expression.

"Do it," he rasps, closing his eyes. "Asshole."

Gordon's lips part, a retort dying on his tongue. The sight the security guard paints is strangely vulnerable in a way he never thought he'd see, at least, not since he watched Benrey get split in half by an emergency blast door and actually felt sad about it. This is kind of like that. Last time was kind of like that, too, but even worse when Benrey was clearly f*cked no matter what Gordon did to intervene.

He hesitates a moment longer before pulling the trigger. The bullet catches Benrey between the eyes, head snapping back, gun clattering to the ground. Blood trails behind him as he slides down the vehicle into a lifeless heap on the pavement.

For reasons entirely lost on him, Gordon stands there and stares, seconds turning into minutes as he gazes down at Benrey's lifeless corpse, hollow eyes staring down at the ground. That's something not a lot of people know, Gordon idly thinks, that your eyes open when you die. A fact he really wishes wasn't true, so he didn't have to see the difference between Benrey's glowing cyan and this dull, smoky coal and be faced with the fact he was dead. This used to fill Gordon with a malicious glee, a vindictive sense of pleasure, but now it's just sad.

With a sigh, he holsters his gun and heads up the stairwell leading inside the building, immediately spotting the security guard helmet amongst the pile of dead bodies in the hallway upstairs. After a moment of hesitation, he picks it up. The strap is still torn on the right side, sloppily patched together with duct tape that clearly didn't hold.

Stepping back out onto the stairwell, he throws the helmet over the edge, where it lands at Benrey's feet.

The apartment had a few good things in it, but what's really, really good is the black station wagon Gordon finds parked a few blocks away, with his old bag, and a lot more supplies tucked inside. Food, medicine, clothing, bedding, even a few electronic devices that still work, namely a PSP and a Nintendo Switch in handheld mode, both with car chargers. It looks like someone f*cking lives in here, and, well, it doesn't take a genius to figure out Benrey must have moved in. You know, after stealing the thing right out from under him. The back seat is even set up like a bed, with a full, all-black bedding set he must've stolen from a Walmart somewhere, or something.

There's also a concerning amount of old brown blood stains, but Gordon ignores those in favor of transferring his meager belongings from the van to the station wagon and taking off before any skeletons can show up to stop him.

After driving for about an hour just to be sure, he pulls off road, carefully navigating to hide inside a cluster of trees along the long stretch of road he's been driving down. Digging through his and Benrey's (well, all of it is his now, isn't it?) stash of food, he finds enough bullsh*t that doesn't need to be cooked to dig into, not really caring about nutrition so much as he cares about getting rid of this lightheaded, nauseous feeling.

Once that's done, he takes some time to relax, decompress, not think. Enter a total state of nothingness for awhile, before he's forced to get back on the road, be constantly running and fighting for his life.

He stays that way until the anxiety and paranoia inevitably creep back into his mind, at which point, he gets back to driving.

Chapter 3: so I rip my head off slowly

Chapter Text

A week passes with no significant incidents. A few close calls here and there, but at the end of it all, Gordon is uninjured—thanks to the HEV suit—still armed to the teeth, and doing decently well on supplies. He feels like a damn good zombie apocalypse survivor.

Or maybe it's the delirium in his brain. He has been high on adrenaline and whatever else the suit's got in store for him for days, barely sleeping only to have nightmares whenever he does. A threat around every corner does something real f*cked up to the brain after awhile. Gordon's not so sure if he's even alive at this point, or just being carted around by some mysterious force.

He also doesn't quite know where he is. The map he'd taken from the gas station is missing, and he doesn't know the entirety of New Mexico well enough to figure out where he is in relation to where he wants to be. The United States as a whole is f*cking massive, and there's more small towns and long highways than he ever thought possible.

Truth be told, though, he's not sure he's even in New Mexico. If he's even in reality, or if he's been transported to some f*cked up video game world where everything is a bit off, for creative liberties. His life is just f*cking strange enough for that to be the case.

Whatever the case is, Gordon's landed himself somewhere with a community full of old, victorian houses and even older community buildings. He's stashed the station wagon away in a garage somewhere to allow himself to sleep in the adjoined house, preferring the bed upstairs to the black bedding in the car that smells funky in a way he hasn't wanted to try and decipher.

Outside, the zombie population is thin. Every day he clears away a few more to keep himself safe at night, piling the bodies at the far end of the road where the stench can't reach him.

For one person, his supplies are doing him just fine. It's boring, sure, and every meal brings with it a sense of anxiety that it won't always be this easy, even worse when the warm, midsummer weather starts getting cooler. It won't be long until it's too cold to find food the natural way, not that he has any f*cking clue how to forage for food, anyway. He studied theoretical physics, not agriculture.

Lotta f*cking good that PhD did for him, huh?

Finally, after so much time spent stalling, he gets back in the car and heads out in search of supplies. Power and water are still going, somehow, and he makes sure everything he has stays filled and charged; because, yeah, he's been playing the handhelds. So what? The apocalypse is boring as hell sometimes, sue him.

He's been avoiding the downtown area, due to it being just as crowded as when he first got here. But he's got a few guns he hasn't been using, and he's feeling dangerously co*cky. If he could just get through the crowd, there's a lot he could get to; several corner stores, a grocery store, a precinct that just might have more ammo for him, a department store, on and on. Typical stuff that starts to look real appetizing when capitalism has completely fallen by the wayside, and he has to fend for himself in a hell on earth scenario.

An assault rifle like Benrey's would come in handy right about now, but he'd left it on the man's corpse. It felt like too much, not only robbing his car with all his supplies in it, but also his only means to defend himself. Gordon doesn't like to think about it too much, but every now and then, he'll zone out a bit too much for a bit too long, and see that frightened and cornered look in Benrey's eyes. Hear the sound of his inhuman screams and the resignation in his voice as he'd told Gordon to pull the trigger.

The security guard, the alien, whatever the f*ck he was, never once showed fear, much less expressed feelings of pain, or… anything vulnerable, really. Whatever the f*ck that had been back on Xen about mud and sand and them being friends didn't really count, not when Benrey was thirty stories tall with hundreds of eyes and claws that could tear him limb from limb.

Though he hadn't tried to. For some reason.

Gordon shakes the thoughts from his head. Not important. He was just… gonna clear a path, okay, drive to edge of the neighborhood and stealth his way through, blasting or bashing whatever comes close, take it nice and slow. If it had to be over the course of several days, so be it. No rush.

It takes another full day of doing exactly that, but he finally makes it into town two days later. There's some old, Italian bistro he manages to bust into the back of, netting him access to the kitchen. All the freezers still work, giving him a selection of stale bread, frozen bags of veggies, and a storage full of various kinds of pasta. Well, not quite full; it looks like it's been ransacked before, but not entirely. There's enough to put inside his bag, of which he'd emptied out the contents into his car to make room.

That's when he hears it: gunfire. An assault rifle, tearing through bodies and bits of pavement in a frenzied rush to clean the streets of danger. Gordon freezes, reaching for the gun on his hip and wrapping his fingers around it. Listening closely, he hears the sound of bullets and hurried footsteps only getting closer, quickly deducing that he needs to get the f*ck out of here, now.

Rushing for the door out of the kitchen, he freezes at the sound of wood splintering and glass shattering on the other side. Sluggishly, his brain struggles for a solution to this problem, the process ground to a halt as the back door bursts open. He whips around, quick-drawing his pistol and firing without a second, or first, thought.

"Oh, sh*t—" In front of him, a familiar form ducks, narrowly avoiding the bullet, which lodges into the wall instead. Wild, glowing blue eyes dart from the bullet hole to Gordon, who stares back in shock for a moment before aiming the gun at Benrey.

The security guard tears off his helmet and chucks it at Gordon's head, the sudden bash to the forehead disorienting him long enough for Benrey to tackle him to the ground, winding him. He feels the gun wrestled from his hands and slid across the floor towards the ovens, wrists pinned behind his back with the expertise of a trained cop, or, you know, a security guard.

"Stop f*cking spawn camping me, bro, I'm sick of it!" Benrey snaps.

"Goddammit, Benrey—!" Struggling against the guard's hold, Gordon tries to parse what options he has, here. The commotion in the restaurant is only growing louder, and his head is far too close to the door, hands unable to reach anything to defend himself with. Benrey's got him pinned, a knee on his back, weighing far more than he looks, and he isn't small by any stretch of the imagination, dwarfing Gordon in height. The odds couldn't be stacked anymore against him.

"Get OFF me!" Gordon spits, a lot less worried about Benrey's reappearance than he is about the zombie swarm about to be on top of their asses. That blind panic has him letting out some frightened whimpers as he struggles to free himself, too panicked to care about how pathetic he must sound. He needs to get away, NOW.

A violent bashing against the door has Benrey's head snapping up, hand flying to the holster at his thigh to grab his handgun right in time for the undead threat to break through. Shots ring through the air right before Gordon shoves off the ground, knocking Benrey back and launching himself forward to snatch up his gun.

He whips around to find far more zombies than it sounded like initially, two of them rushing for him while the others focus on Benrey, who's slowly backing up to avoid them. The best Gordon manages is a body shot before the zombies are too close, pinning him back against the counter as he fights to keep them away from the uncovered bits of flesh on his neck and head. Their teeth can't do sh*t to the material fit snugly around the rest of him, but whatever genius built the HEV suit never thought to include a f*cking helmet.

Panicked noises escape him, yells and curses that he's not in the right mind to try and silence. Despite being decaying piles of rotting meat and fragile bits of bone, they're weirdly sturdy and strong, and one of them snaps their teeth alarmingly close to his face—

Before their head is slammed against the wall nearby, skull cracking on impact and smearing dark, nearly black blood on the countertop below. It takes a second for Gordon's eyes to register the sight of Benrey in front of him, teeth grit to silence himself as the other zombie takes a big, meaty bite out of his left forearm, which he uses to keep them at a distance so he can blast them in the face with his pistol.

A few more start tumbling in. Gordon finds himself bracketed against the counter at his back, with Benrey acting as a shield in front of him. With shaky hands, he joins in the gunfight, hoping the noise isn't f*cking deafening Benrey.

Once the last zombie has fallen into the grotesque pile in the doorway, they fall into the same rhythm of watching and waiting they had once before. Except, this time, the both of them are panting, a combination of agonizing pain, a miasma of jittery emotions, and exertion winding them. Though, the pain part isn't affecting Gordon so much as it's affecting Benrey.

He turns slowly, meeting Gordon's eye. Benrey's look dazed, but otherwise, his expression is blank, if a bit severe. Glancing to the guard's wounded arm, mangled by a sharp set of teeth and bleeding profusely down onto the stark white tile at his feet, and back up, Gordon redirects his gun to put Benrey in his sights. Instantly a look of panic is back in the guard's eyes, pistol slipping from his fingers as he holds up both hands in surrender.

"Wait," he says. "Don't—Don't shoot."

"That thing bit you," Gordon says, voice wavering from… a lot of f*cking things, all coalescing into something that's got most of the muscles in his body twitching, yet stiff at the same time.

"'S… s'fine. Gotta fix, don't shoot," Benrey says, keeping his hands held up as he slowly inches to the side, Gordon's gun following him the entire way. Benrey reaches for one of the drawers under the counters, his every move telegraphed and obvious, so Gordon can see exactly what he's doing and when. He picks out the largest, thickest blade he can find, something for cutting meat more than likely, and sets it on the island counter in the center of the room.

"What… what are you doing?" Gordon asks.

"Told'ya. Fix," Benrey responds, rolling his shirt sleeve up over his elbow and removing his belt, fastening it around his left bicep as tight as it can possibly go. Gordon's eyes widen, darting between the belt and the blade.

"No," he blurts out. "No. No, no, no no no—"

"S'fine," Benrey wheezes. At this point he's not sure if Benrey's saying that for Gordon's sake, or his own. "S'like, uhhh. Walking Dead. Telltale. 'Cept I'll live cuz, cuz I, uh, dih, d-did it faster."

With the blade in his hand, he stares down at his own arm, placed on the table in front of him. The look on his face grows rapidly more fretful and nauseous, adjusting his hold and aiming the blade over his arm, just to stare at it some more. After awhile, he sets the knife down just to pull his tie out from under his bulletproof vest and stuff as much of it as he can get inside his mouth. Then, he aims the blade again.

Gordon says, "You're not seriously going to—"

A wet, squelching sound hits his ears as the blade embeds itself halfway through Benrey's forearm, a scream tearing out of him muffled behind his tie, knife clattering to the counter as he writhes in agony, the claws on his right hand scrabbling at the metal surface. His left hand convulses violently; it appears to take all his concentration to keep it there, and not just fall to the ground screaming.

The sight of the thick, deep gash sputtering blood all over the countertop isn't as disturbing as the noise; metal cutting through flesh and bone and blood, sending a sharp pain up Gordon's right arm that has him shaking uncontrollably. His stomach churns, a cold sweat breaking out over his skin, vividly imagining the feel of a serrated blade sawing into his arm as hands held him down, laughing, mocking, Tommy's hysterical cries in the distance, the voices telling him he deserves it, that he had it coming—

Benrey raises the blade again, sweat dripping down his brow. He doesn't hesitate so much this time, slamming the knife down over the gaping wound in his arm.

On impact, Gordon flinches so hard he nearly hits his head against the wall, slapping his hands tight over his ears as his knees buckle out from under him. He slides to the floor, curling up into a ball, breaths coming hard and fast. Eyes corked shut, he struggles to calm his racing heart, to control his breathing and push the troubling thoughts out of his mind. His brain is full of it: the sharp sting that turns his whole arm numb, agonized screams tearing out of him and leaving his throat raw, knowing there's no escape and no one is going to save him despite being surrounded by people that were supposed to be his allies, maybe even his friends.

He's never felt so defenseless and utterly f*cking useless in his whole life. His head feels heavy from the lack of oxygen getting to his brain, his breaths fast and loud. The noises are hard to muffle, mixing into the flashback his brain is sending him down, flinching every time he hears the blade slam down, the squelching of blood, before finally, the knife clatters against the metal countertop, and a heavy weight drops to the floor. It feels like an eternity before anything else happens, as Gordon curls himself tighter against the counter behind him.

That's when he hears Benrey's voice. "Hey," he says, just barely cutting through the noise in his head, the hands clasped over his ears. He sounds miles away. "Freem—Gordon. S'okay. I'm okay, look, see? Look at me."

Harshly gasping for air with his arms aching from how hard he's got them pressed over his ears, Gordon turns his head. On the tile beside him, Benrey kneels, both arms bent towards him, but only one still has a hand left to reach out for him. The other is drenched with blood, the sleeve tied into a knot just below his elbow, where his flesh abruptly ends. It's not dripping, must've cauterized it somehow, but the sight of it still has Gordon inches away from throwing up all over the tile, breathing only growing more rapid.

"sh*t," Benrey curses under his breath, glancing down to his own arm, which he angles back behind him where Gordon can't see it anymore. "I, ffffffffuhh forgot—f*ck, 'm dizzy."

Shifting to sit down on his knees, Benrey takes a moment to breathe, head turned towards the counter while biting his lip to hold down a groan of pain. He raises his gaze, blue eyes hazy and face even paler than normal. That's when he raises his hand, shaking uncontrollably, towards Gordon, pulling the other man against him in a one-armed side hug. A large, sweaty hand moves to cup the back of Gordon's head, urging it down towards the guard's shoulder, where his unstable breaths feel warm against Gordon's brow. He doesn't know why, but he sags into Benrey's grasp, his skin singing at the press of Benrey's flesh against him.

"S'okay, Benny's gotcha."

Glancing to the side, all he sees is Benrey's arm tucked behind his back, mixed up brain forgetting what he's hiding and picturing a knife instead, jagged and gleaming. He sees it racing towards his throat in his minds eye, hears Benrey laughing as he gags on his own blood.

"Don't gotta scary—" Benrey's dizzy voice cuts off with a rough gasp as he feels the heat of a muzzle press into his jaw, looking down to see Gordon's gun aimed at his face. The look in his eyes quickly fades from shock to disappointment, lips pressed in a firm line. Carefully, he backs up, using the counter behind Gordon's back as leverage to keep himself from falling.

Only once he's backed all the way up to the opposite end of the kitchen, sitting in the fetal position with his bad arm held against his chest, does Gordon allow himself to relax his tense muscles. Though he doesn't put the gun down. Neither of them speak. Instead, they stare at each other, catching their breath as Benrey looks like he's struggling not to pass out.

There's no time to rest; not in an apocalypse. The second Gordon feels like he can function well enough to walk, he does, pushing to his feet and staggering towards the exit. He keeps his eyes on Benrey, who stares right back the entire way, though his eyes are aimed more at Gordon's legs.

Once he's pushed through the door leading outside, Benrey gets up, grabbing his helmet and gun before scurrying after Gordon. His gait is unsteady, feet utterly useless and legs stiff like stilts. Still he keeps up no matter how fast Gordon moves, which isn't very, considering he feels like, if the world around him moves any f*cking faster, he's going to start blowing chunks.

Behind him, Benrey makes no attempt to jump him, gun firmly planted inside its holster, though Gordon can't stop checking on him as often as possible anyway. Gotta make sure there isn't a gun in his hand, aimed at Gordon's head. It doesn't help his anxiety much that the guard casts such a massive shadow, keeping him on edge the whole way back to his car.

Retracing his steps, he ends up back at the station wagon, just as secure and isolated as he left it.

"Oh," Benrey says, softly.

A few feet away from the vehicle, Gordon stops, turning to face Benrey, who's only a few steps away. The security guard stops as well, swaying in place with his hand tightly gripping his left arm. Hazy blue eyes stare down at the pavement at Gordon's feet, pupils thin slits.

Despite all that, Gordon has trouble seeing someone pitiable. Standing nearly a full head taller, with a broad chest and shoulders, a shadow black as night hanging over his catlike eyes, all Gordon can see is a slasher movie killer. A dangerous, inhuman man that would stalk him through the streets just to drive a knife into his guts until they spilled out on the floor. He'd probably kneel over Gordon's corpse and devour his insides as he slowly bled out, before laughing and calling the shape of his liver cringe, or something.

"Go away, Benrey," he says. "You're not coming with me."

"Whuh… huh?" Benrey blinks, dizzy, looking back up at Gordon's face very slowly. Though his skin has always been light, it's now become a ghastly shade of white, losing its ashen color in the process. "Whuh… you're just gonna…" He pauses to breathe. "Leave me, here? Your best… bro? After… I saved you…?"

"It's your fault that place got swarmed to begin with, firing a loud f*cking weapon in the middle of a busy street," Gordon snaps. "Don't come anywhere near me. You're gonna get us both killed."

"I won't," Benrey wheezes, taking several steps forward. Gordon draws his gun immediately, unsurprised by the look of fear that falls over Benrey's sharp features. He's wearing his helmet again, but an immediate death via a shot to the head isn't the only kind Gordon can give him.

"Don't follow me."

Benrey's eyes grow dull, suddenly unimpressed with the threat looming over him. He walks forward until Gordon's gun is inches away from his face. "Do it, then. Know you want to," he drones, chest heaving and breaths shuddering and loud.

Gordon doesn't know how to feel about this, their sudden ability to feel pain like a human, and not whatever type of cosmic horror they are. Conflicted is a good word for it. The compassionate part of his brain wants to wrap Benrey up in a blanket, but the rest of his brain wants to shoot him dead and never have to see him again.

Swallowing thickly, Gordon lowers his gun, aiming at Benrey's lower half instead. Blue eyes track it until it stops, widening as they shoot back up to look at Gordon's face, stunned.

"You… you wouldn't, blast a bro's junk off, would you?"

"Man, I don't give a sh*t about your junk," Gordon spits, disgusted. "I'm telling you to leave. Stop coming near me. I don't want to f*cking see you, ever again, and if I do, it's on sight. Got it?"

"You wouldn't do that to me," Benrey insists, swaying dangerously towards the left and just barely catching himself before he hits the pavement. "Yuh, you're too, soft. Too soft to hurt your best friend when he's already hurty real bad."

Adjusting his aim slightly to the left, Gordon pulls the trigger, sending a bullet clean through Benrey's upper thigh. Instantly the look on his face turns to pure shock, and he drops to the cement like a dead weight, howling with pain in that bizarre, glitched out way Gordon remembers from the first time he'd seen Benrey since ending up here. Clutching at his leg, he rolls around in total agony, but Gordon looks away. It's so much easier to feel nothing for the guy when he can't see the kind of suffering he's in. (Easier when he doesn't suffer, in general.)

"We're not friends," Gordon growls, turning and walking away.

Chapter 4: but I gotta be better better better (best)

Chapter Text

The digital clock beside his bed reads 2:48am when Gordon jolts awake to a nightmarish cacophony of sounds. Launching out of bed, it takes a few minutes into him gathering his weapons and racing downstairs to realize the banging and snarling isn't indicative of an undead threat at his doorstep. Frowning, he creeps towards one of the windows, peering out down the street where there's an old clinic, already raided. A small horde is outside the door, clawing at the wood panelling and bashing their heads on the windows in a frenzy.

The first thought in Gordon's mind is that it must be Benrey. The second thought is that that's far too many zombies to deal with so close to his house. So either he has to vacate his perfect, peaceful neighborhood (he has to, anyway, he just really doesn't want to be stuck on the run again so soon), or he's gotta deal with that crowd.

With a groan, Gordon grabs one of the energy bars he keeps stocked in the kitchen for emergencies like this, stuffs it in his mouth, grabs all his weaponry, and heads out.

The clinic isn't far; maybe two minutes of walking at most. Shotgun in hand, he gets to work the second he's reached the end of the road. The blast is powerful enough to take out several at a time, though it's also loud and needs to be co*cked after every other shot. But it attracts attention away from the clinic, enough that some of the zombies that had broken in through the windows are suddenly clambering back out.

Slowly backing up, while checking over his shoulder periodically to ensure he isn't walking into another crowd, he works his way through the group, eventually dropping the last one. Swapping the shotgun out for his crowbar, he rushes back to the clinic, finding the door unlocked and stepping inside.

Flicking on the light switch, he looks around. There's some old blood splatters from when he came through here not that long ago, and a new trail of blood that leads him towards the back of the clinic and into an office. Pushing on the door provides a bit of resistance, a chair propped under the handle, though not very well, because a bit of shimmying gets it to fall onto the ground, useless. Might have worked better on someone without a functioning brain, which Gordon supposes was the point.

"Benrey," he softly calls, stepping inside a room which is seemingly empty, the windows closed behind stained, off-white curtains. There's a wheezing sound coming from under the desk, though, so he heads over to kneel beside it, finding exactly the security guard he's looking for crammed under the desk in the fetal position.

Benrey looks barely alive. He's alarmingly pale with dazed, lidded eyes, mouth hanging open and loud, struggling breaths coming out. The bullet wound on his thigh is patched up with what used to be a shirt, though it's already bled through. He looks bad, though not "about to turn into a zombie" bad, or, at least, Gordon hopes not.

"Hey," he says gently, not sure why he's bothering, but he is, anyway. "You good, man?"

"Leave me alone," Benrey mumbles, voice rough, and closes his eyes, head leaned against the back of the desk.

"Need help?"

"No," Benrey sharply says. He shivers, curling tighter around himself, just to whimper and groan as the movement agitates the wound on his leg. "Why's it hurt so much? Never hurt before…"

"Sucks, doesn't it?" Gordon says mockingly. "Getting your arm cut off? Getting shot at?"

"Didn't hurt 'til you got here… ruining everything all the time. Why can't you just… leave me alone?"

"Hey, you're the one who followed me! Could've avoided all of this if you'd just left me alone." Benrey doesn't respond. With a sigh and a frown, Gordon shifts, moving the desk chair away so he can get a better angle, before reaching for his handgun. "How about I put you out of your misery?"

A high, keening sound escapes Benrey's thin lips. He turns to hide his face in the panel at the back of the desk. "Don't," he whispers.

"Why not?" Gordon asks, preparing his weapon anyway. The click of the gun as he racks it causes the guard to flinch, the sound of their breaths turning strange for a moment. "You just respawn anyway, right?"

The only response Benrey gives is a slow shake of his head. His chest expands with a wheeze and it sounds almost painful when he lets that breath out. The pathetic picture he paints is so disquieting, Gordon can't bring himself to focus on aiming his weapon. All he can think about is how much he wants to stop looking at this; and that, if he pulls the trigger now, he'll be haunted by the sight of Benrey's corpse forever. There's nothing fun or satisfying about coldly executing your worst enemy when he's at his lowest point like this.

Sighing, Gordon reaches out, grabbing Benrey's right arm. "Come on, man. Get up."

Benrey groans, but more tugging gets him to sluggishly crawl out from under the desk anyway, shuddering from the pain as he sits mere inches away from where he was before, head hanging low. If not for Gordon's hands to keep him held up, he'd probably collapse on the floor in a bloody heap.

Gordon leans Benrey against the desk, his head slowly drifting to rest against his shoulder, sweat beading on his brow. Dizzy blue eyes slide over towards Gordon, taking in the holster at his hip before focusing somewhere in the vicinity of his face.

Gordon raises half off the floor, kneeling as he slings Benrey's arm over his shoulder. Next, he wraps one arm around Benrey's back and the other under his knees, lifting him up off the ground. Benrey grasps weakly at the back of the HEV suit, thrown off by the sudden movement. "Whuh…?"

"Sssh," Gordon says, carrying them over towards the door. Blue eyes stare up at him, confused, before letting his gaze drop, staring into the middle distance where he doesn't have to hold his head up anymore.

Luckily there's no obstacles along the way, allowing Gordon to take Benrey back to the house, where he places him in the spare bedroom upstairs. Stripping the blanket off, Gordon leaves it in a pile on the floor, before stepping out to grab his medical supplies from the bathroom down the hall. When he gets back, Benrey looks like he's drifted off to sleep, prompting Gordon to snap directly in front of his face until he gets his attention.

"Whuh, huh?" Benrey mumbles, head turning as his eyes sluggishly flutter halfway open.

"Don't fall asleep," Gordon warns. "This is going to suck really f*cking bad, Benrey, but you can't pass out."

"Cool," Benrey says, letting his head fall back against the pillow.

Taking a pair of scissors, Gordon cuts off the makeshift bandage around Benrey's leg, carelessly discarding it on the floor. The wound is clearly visible; he's taken a lighter to it from the looks of it, stemming the bleeding but creating a nasty burn that's turning a lot of colors it shouldn't.

"You should know that I'm not a medical doctor," Gordon says.

"Jus' a hypothetical one," Benrey mumbles, voice thick and deep.

"Theoretical," Gordon corrects, glaring at him before returning to his work. Truth be told, he doesn't have the slightest clue what he's doing, but there's a book he found in the clinic on his first run-through of the place that he flips through in search of assistance. Benrey doesn't appear to notice any of this, staring up at the ceiling in a daze.

After getting everything cleaned, he redresses the wound properly, needing to take off Benrey's pants to do it. The guard doesn't react to this at all whatsoever; Gordon has to glance up to make sure he's still breathing. He really expected some sort of comment, calling him gay or eager to slob on his dick or something. Instead, he lies limp and lifeless, allowing Gordon to do whatever he has to do with their body.

However.

"Benrey," Gordon starts. It takes a couple seconds before he receives a response.

"Huh?"

"Please. Explain to me why you're wearing a thong." The article is question is bright blue, like a brand of nail polish someone might buy from a drug store, looking like a speedo from the front, if not for the thin strings going over his hips.

"Why not?" is Benrey's answer. And, well, fair enough, but also, what the f*ck?

Shaking his head, Gordon goes back to work, examining the rest of Benrey's legs, but finding nothing requiring immediate medical attention. There's a plethora of bruises, scratches, and scrapes, but nothing that won't heal just fine on their own. There's a lot of blood that needs to be cleaned, but now's not the time. Satisfied with his work, Gordon redresses Benrey's lower half, sitting on the side of the bed to begin the process of taking off his vest, tie, and blue button-up.

"Damn, Freeman. That eager to see me naked, huh?" Benrey mockingly rasps, chest heaving with the effort of speaking so much at once. Rolling his eyes, Gordon ignores him in favor of continuing his examination.

Underneath the security uniform, he's got a white tanktop on. Which, would be a very normal thing to find a man wearing under his clothes. If not for the fact his tanktop is extremely tight, almost ill-fittingly so, and doesn't cover most of his waist or collar, providing for an excessive amount of cleavage and midriff exposure. Also, spaghetti straps.

"Benrey."

"Are you gonna criticize everything you find under my uniform or what," Benrey huffs.

"Depends, is there a third, weirder thing you've got hidden?"

The security guard makes an annoyed, childish sound before turning his head to face the wall, making it clear he's ignoring Gordon for now. Shaking his head, Gordon lifts up Benrey's left arm, looking over the marks covering the freshly-made stump. This, too, appears to have been cauterized by burning, and it's looking even worse, giving Gordon a lot of extra work before he can move on. It's a good f*cking thing he's not as squeamish as he used to be, because cleaning pus and dried blood and who even knows what the f*ck else off a man's bloodied stump isn't for the feint of heart.

Once that's all done, Gordon looks over the rest of Benrey's upper body, again finding a lot of bruises and scratches, but nothing worrying. He puts their button-up back on, leaving the top few buttons undone, and sets the rest on the floor by their boots.

"'M I, uh, clean bill'a health?" Benrey asks, staring dizzily up at Gordon, eyes struggling to remain open for any length of time.

"Not quite," Gordon says. "Gotta take some antibiotics. Your sh*t's super f*cking infected, dude."

"Huh?"

"It's not supposed to look like that, you know, all swollen and pus-y and—"

"Ha. puss*."

"—You need to clean your wounds, man," Gordon presses, too annoyed to acknowledge Benrey's immature comment. "If not, they get infected, you get sick, and then you die." Using the d-word appears to be enough to wipe the lazy, smug grin off Benrey's face. Turning away from him, Gordon digs through his supplies for a bottle of amoxicillin, removing one tablet. "You need some water for this?" he asks, showing off the frankly obscenely large pill, so Benrey knows what he's up against.

He's quiet for a long time, staring up at the pill between Gordon's thumb and forefinger. "Uh… can I chew it?"

"Jesus christ. You have to swallow it whole, man."

"Ha. Hole."

"I'm gonna shove this down your f*cking throat if you don't shut the f*ck up."

"You're gonna shove what down my throat?"

Gordon inhales deeply, resisting the powerful urge to inflict bodily harm upon his patient.

After some more back and forth, Gordon manages to get Benrey to take the pill dry, though afterwards, he brings in a bottle of water anyway, considering how badly Benrey looks like he needs some fluids. Gordon keeps him up long enough to drink half the bottle and eat one of the breakfast bars, but after that, he passes the f*ck out. Gordon picks the blanket back up, carefully tucking it in around him while making sure his left arm is above the covers. All the while, he tries not to think about why he's even bothering to do this in the first place.

For a few days, Benrey is entirely bedridden, needing Gordon's assistance to reach the bathroom, or else he'd end up falling and hurting himself. It's unpleasant, and Gordon doesn't want to do it, but telling Benrey to start pissing in bottles or something is not only disgusting, but unusually cruel; he just thinks back to when he shot the guy in the leg and feels too guilty to even suggest it.

It would suck less if Benrey stopped trying to trick Gordon into looking at his dick, though. Or the back of the thong. He has no interest in seeing that. Hates the reminder that it even exists.

Everything else is easy; Benrey lets Gordon change his wound dressings without fuss, takes his antibiotics on time, isn't picky about whatever food or drink Gordon serves him, or how much, or when, and all he does is sleep.

Then there's his left arm. At first, Gordon thought his eyes were playing tricks on him; but, no, after a few days, it's impossible to ignore. The stump has grown by about three inches. In other words, his arm is growing back, the f*cking asshole. Gordon wishes he'd actually made that clear ahead of time, because he was starting to wire his brain around the idea that Benrey was going to be an amputee for life, thinking up ways to accommodate him.

Outside of caring for Benrey, Gordon has done nothing but stress himself into constant headaches, wondering what the hell is going to happen once the guard recovers. Telling him to get out isn't going to work if he's so determined to follow Gordon around that he's willing to get shot. But having Benrey around is also a recipe for disaster; he's the least useful person from Black Mesa that could've ended up here with him. Not to mention he's already f*cked things up for Gordon three times, and the amount of times he's seen Benrey injured is immense, while Gordon's never been hurt once this whole time. It's just… a lot of f*cking effort for a guy he doesn't even like.

That, and their food is definitely running out. By Gordon's calculations they've got less than a week, and there's not enough firepower between the two of them to clear out the city nearby. He has no idea what they're going to do, and he can't start looking now when Benrey still needs his help. The most he can do is check out the houses nearby, raiding kitchens and bathrooms for food and medicine, but that's not super effective.

"How's that feel?" Gordon asks one day, seeing Benrey upright in bed toying with the bandages over his stump, which have to be replaced every day to account for its attempts to grow.

"Itchy," Benrey reports.

After that, Gordon starts applying anti-itching cream to all the freshly grown skin. When Benrey asks what it is, he doesn't seem to know what to do with Gordon's answer.

Along with helping the guard get to the bathroom and bringing him meals, comes helping him bathe. The first time Gordon had brought it up, Benrey got this wicked look on his face that told Gordon everything he needed to know. That, and…

"You tryna catch a peak at my hog, man? Wanna get your hands on this fat chode? Well you coulda just asked—"

"I will drown you. I will hold your head under the water," Gordon threatens, to no avail, as Benrey just laughs his gross f*cking, ugly, loud witch cackle. Though, that stops real f*cking fast when Gordon's pulling him out of bed and the wound on his leg gets agitated with the movement, forcing a pained noise out of him instead. Serves him right. Benrey was so much more tolerable when he was too dizzy to mouth off.

Once in the bathroom, Gordon helps Benrey to sit on the toilet seat while he runs a bath, double checking out the window that the sound isn't drawing any unwanted attention, same as he does whenever anything in the house makes a noise. The shower and bath never have, but, well. Can't be too careful.

Turning away from the window, Gordon automatically sets to helping Benrey get out of his pants, since the task is exhaustingly complicated with only one hand, and Benrey shouldn't be straining himself so much. Not if he's going to recover in a timely manner.

Seeing Gordon kneel to help him undress, Benrey leans back, spreads his legs wide, and puts his hand on the top of Gordon's head, lightly fisting his hair. Immediately Gordon lets go of the zipper to the guard's deep blue pants, holding up both hands and walking several feet away.

"Huh?" Benrey blurts. "Hey wait where you goin'… got, zipper's hard bro."

"Too bad!" Gordon exclaims, whipping around to glare at him and throwing out his hands. "You made it weird! You made it so f*cking weird, dude!"

"What? What was weird about it? Just gettin' cozy, s'at illegal at casa de Freeman or something?"

"Why'd you have to put your hand in my hair, huh?"

"Looks soft. I'm stimming bro, come on, this is ableist."

"Sti—What do you MEAN—! Urgghhh, shut up. Unzip your own f*cking pants. If you're energetic enough to say all this dumb sh*t you can handle your own f*cking clothes."

"Nooooo-uhhhh come on," Benrey complains, leaning on the sink counter nearby in an attempt to look as pitiful as possible. "Got so many buttonnnsssss how'm I s'posed to… you wouldn't be so cruel to your best friend, would you? Wilting over here, need a bath, clothes gonna suck up all the hydration and then I'll turn to dust and you gotta sweep that up—"

"What the f*ck are you talking about," Gordon groans, rubbing his temples. He gets the feeling that if he doesn't help Benrey, he's probably going to fall down trying to get out of his pants or something. Agitate his wounds. Crack his head open on the floor. "Fine. f*ck. Whatever. Just please be f*cking normal for once in your life, okay?"

Benrey nods enthusiastically, and Gordon gets back to work, doing everything possible not to get caught in the same situation as last time. Doesn't mean Benrey make it easy, though. He has to shove Benrey's feet away from him when Benrey repeatedly attempts to put them on his thigh or generally play footsie with him, not that he could feel it through the bodysuit, but, well, it's the principal of the matter.

Not just that, but he moans when Gordon removes his pants, tearing them off quickly to get it over with as fast as possible, and keeps trying to nip at his hands or kiss his fingers while he's removing the guard's indigo work shirt. Undressing him is twice as difficult as dressing a toddler, and Gordon would know.

"See you lookin' at my tootsiessss," Benrey teases, wiggling his toes in the air, which Gordon turns away from in disgust. "Wanna suck my toes or something? Freak."

Picking up the guard's clothes to set them aside, Gordon says, "I will bludgeon you to death if you don't shut up."

"Hot," Benrey says. The urge to rip out his crowbar and beat them to death is so powerful that Gordon has to physically restrain himself.

"Whatever. Just get in the bath," Gordon says, setting the guard uniform aside. It's filthy, and in dire need of a tailoring job, but that's not his responsibility. He's done enough already, he's not dealing with their wardrobe, too.

"Bro you forgot something," Benrey calls.

"Nope. This is weird enough already, okay, I'm not stripping you completely nude."

"Why not? You home of phobic or something? Ewww icky, not a penis, that's you. Tryna show me how straight and cool you are bro? Afraid you might like it too much?"

Gordon groans loudly into his hands. "Ohhh my GOD, I should have killed you when I had the chance! Then you wouldn't be here annoying the sh*t out of my all the time! This is a f*cking nightmare." Taking a deep breath, he holds it for a few minutes before whipping back around. "Listen," he starts, gesturing harshly, "We need to set some ground rules, okay?"

"Daddy Gordon laying down the law, yes sirrr—"

"No, you see, that sh*t, that sh*t right there? Not gonna f*cking fly. You need to shut the f*ck up about this or I will leave you here to fend for yourself. I will get in my car and drive away and you can sit here and freeze or starve to death or whatever the f*ck happens to you. I DON'T care."

During his rant, it doesn't appear like Benrey is even listening, focused entirely on picking at the bandage wrapped around what remains of his left arm. Annoyed, Gordon snaps in front of Benrey's face, until he blinks and looks up, an unimpressed glare on his otherwise bored face.

"f*cking listen, for once in your life!"

"Blah blah blah mhemehm—"

"Oh my god, forget it. I'm leaving," Gordon says, throwing up his hands and walking out the door, completely serious about this. He'll do anything else; take a f*cking walk, maybe, swing at a zombie until he feels calm again.

Instead, he stops halfway down the hallway as he hears Benrey call out for him, followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. The thud makes him jump, immediately rushing back to check. The sight of Benrey struggling to pick himself up off the floor isn't surprising, but the fact he's bleeding from the nose is.

"Oof. Owwie," Benrey says, left arm bent like he's trying to grasp at the bridge of his nose, but obviously can't with only a right hand, which is currently propping him up.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Gordon kneels to help Benrey sit up, checking him over to see if anything else is hurt. Everything looks fine, though he removes Benrey's bandages to check anyway, tossing them aside to wash later. They couldn't be bathed in anyway. Once he looks up from his inspection of Benrey's leg, he sees the guard staring down at him, blood gushing out of his nose and down his chest.

"Jesus. Tip your head back!" Gordon exclaims, jumping to his feet and pushing Benrey's head back by the chin as he blinks up at Gordon, stunned. As he's gathering up some tissues to block Benrey's nose with, he says, "How the f*ck did you manage this? I was only gone for like, ten seconds!"

"Leggy hurtsssss bro. You try walking after you've been shot, see how you like it."

A guilty feeling blossoms in Gordon's chest, putting a conflicted expression on his face. After a moment of hesitation, he grabs a towel to start wiping the blood off Benrey's face, tossing the bloodied rag into the sink with a sigh.

"I'm not helping you out of that… that thing," he gestures vaguely towards Benrey's crotch, "But I'll help with the rest. For now. And if you say or do one f*cking thing that's sexual, I'm leaving, for real this time, okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

Gordon stares at Benrey, who stares back, borderline unblinking, head tipped back with toilet paper stuffed into his nostrils. Neither of them say anything. It's a little anti-climactic, like, Gordon thought for sure Benrey would have more to say than that. Some begrudging "Yeah, whatever", or making fun of his masculinity or something. But there's nothing. He just sits there waiting for Gordon to help him up, so he does, looking away as Benrey does his best at one-handedly stripping out of his underwear. Gordon continues looking away as he leads Benrey into the bath.

The water turns pink quickly as Gordon cleans the blood off Benrey's chest with a sponge, scrubbing more delicately at the wounds on his arm and leg, both looking much better than when Gordon first found him. It has him wondering if maybe this is an alien thing, because there's no way his subpar doctoring turned out this well. He didn't even know if he gave Benrey the right antibiotics, they were just, antibiotics in general. The difference is entirely lost on him.

Looking up at the sound of Benrey humming, Gordon sees several pale purple orbs of light in the air over Benrey's head, tipped back against the rim of the tub behind him. The sight takes Gordon by surprise. It's been awhile since he's seen any Sweet Voice, having nearly forgot all about it. He doesn't want to stop Benrey's singing to ask about it, though, enjoying the mellow tune while he scrubs the sweat and other filth from Benrey's body. This is kind of nice, anyway, not hearing any of his dumb bullsh*t while working through a simple, repetitive task.

Until the song draws to a close, and Gordon's curiosity gets the better of him. "What's that mean?" he asks. Blue eyes slide over towards him before flicking away, expression closed off and blank.

"Spring evening or whatever," Benrey drones, speaking slowly and quietly. "Listen maybe?"

Gordon grits his teeth and takes a deep breath to avoid reacting negatively to their rude wording, in the meantime thinking back on what Benrey's referring to. "I'm drawing a blank, man. Just tell me?"

Benrey's head turns away from him. Thus far, he's been entirely motionless in the water, a total 180 from his obnoxious behavior earlier. It's both annoying, that he won't participate in this at all, and a convenience, to not have to deal with him flailing around or whatever. Could've been a lot worse. With a slow sigh, Gordon shakes his head, returning to his work.

Several minutes pass before he hears Benrey say, "Calm. Means I'm calm."

"Oh. Uh. That's good…?" Gordon doesn't know why he phrased that like a question. Obviously it's a good thing. Just seems a weird thing to announce, or, lay around singing about. "Hey, how come I haven't seen you do any Sweet Voice until now?"

Benrey's eyes fall shut, leaning his head against the corner of the tub like he's about to take a nap. "Think about it, brain-genius. You want loud noises and bright lights right now?"

Gordon bristles. "Well, no. But you could stand to be a little nicer about it. I was just asking."

"Ask less-stupid questions next time then," Benrey says, oblivious to the glare Gordon's aiming his way.

"I don't know why I f*cking help you when you're this irritating," Gordon grumbles, finishing the rest of the bath as roughly as possible, until their flesh is an angry blue and they're squirming away from him in discomfort. Something about that is satisfying, at least, though not very when he remembers Benrey is an injured and vulnerable man, nude and completely at his mercy, and then it feels a little… f*cked up.

He tries not to let it get to him, though, washing Benrey's hair before rinsing him off and helping him out of the tub. Benrey sits patiently as Gordon dries his fuzzy black hair, shaking his head wildly once the towel is taken away, splashing a few droplets on Gordon's face. "Dude," he complains, just for Benrey to grin smugly, flashing teeth.

"I'm a naughty little wet dog boy, you gotta punish me," Benrey taunts, and Gordon throws the towel at him, angrily instructing him to dry himself off, because he's not f*cking doing it anymore. It takes barely half a minute before he walks back on that, though, after seeing Benrey attempt to use his teeth to hold the towel still while drying his legs.

It doesn't go any better the second or third or fourth bathtime; but luckily, Benrey never crosses the line Gordon drew during the first. During one such instance, Gordon suddenly realizes he's jealous. Not by Benrey being pampered, getting to lay around while someone else bathes him, but that he gets to bathe at all. With this stupid f*cking suit, the best Gordon can do is wash his neck and everything above it.

At least he seems to be getting better. Maybe soon he'll be out of Gordon's hair completely.

Chapter 5: now get up and start the work, bitch

Chapter Text

About a week passes before Benrey can walk without Gordon's help, though only because he's found something for Benrey to use as a cane. That's when he's doing more than just sleeping all day, tending to some of his own needs while Gordon does his best to scrounge up more food from the surrounding neighborhood. As a result of Benrey's newfound mobility, he becomes completely insufferable, following Gordon around to beg for his attention.

"Wanna play Mario Kart?" he asks one day, while Gordon's struggling to memorize a book on wild plants.

"Got more important things to do than that, man," Gordon says, turning to sit sideways in his armchair, where it's harder to see Benrey sitting on the couch nearby while he's reading. Some of these plants look nearly f*cking identical to their poisonous counterparts, and it's driving him insane. "How are you gonna play Mario Kart with only one arm anyway?"

"Wow, ableism," Benrey drones, obnoxiously smacking his lips. As Gordon completely ignores his jab, Benrey gets even more annoying, leaning closer and using his only hand to flick the back of Gordon's book. "Nerd man loves his books, huh? Why don't you marry 'em? No time for your best friend, even after you shot him. f*cked up. Didn't even kiss it better. Gonna heal all weird now, 'cuz'a you. Sh—"

"Could'a just let you die," Gordon darkly grumbles, glaring down at the book in his hands. The longer this went on for, the more he was coming to regret helping Benrey.

The guard doesn't acknowledge his words. "Come onnnn, bro. Look like you're gonna, start tryna shoot lasers at that thing. Let's play a game or sumthin'. Destress with your bestest friend."

With a loud groan, Gordon snaps the book shut, carelessly tossing it aside. "Whatever. But we gotta play on mute and you gotta be quiet, and if you pick Rainbow Road I'm kicking you out."

Benrey throws up his arms in a silent cheer, before immediately wincing as the motion pulls on the wound on his leg. For once, Gordon actually gets a sick sort of satisfaction out of seeing that; perhaps because now he knows Benrey will pull through just fine.

This turns into a pattern, though. Benrey convinces him to play a game with him, or starts playing one to get Gordon's attention to stray towards it, or begs him to play one so Benrey can watch, and they spend hours hanging out like they actually are friends. Not even lacking his left hand seems to hold Benrey back, so long as they stick to certain games. Although, Benrey gets tired of handling a controller much faster than Gordon does, so a lot of the time, he's just watching Gordon play and providing bizarre commentary.

At first, it's hard to tolerate Benrey, bringing nothing but arguments and harsh competition. Then he starts to make Gordon laugh with the absurd sh*t he says, and Gordon starts to find that Benrey's competitive nature compliments his own, providing an added layer of challenge and excitement to the experience. Benrey also mocks him everytime he says he has to stop to tend to some need or other, as if Benrey doesn't also have the same needs, but even that gets less annoying and more like affectionate rudeness.

These moments give them things to talk about; moments to reminisce over, inside jokes and recurring topics to harmlessly bicker about.

That kind of comradery isn't good for Gordon's sense of compassion. Suddenly he feels the urge to look out for Benrey beyond just playing the role of his medic. Starts to miss him when he isn't around. Thinks about him when he doesn't strictly have to for their combined safety.

And it's only been about two weeks. Two weeks of stretching supplies to feed two people. Which, is also the point in which Benrey no longer needs a medic. His infections have healed, the wound on his leg is gone, the fingers on his left hand have started to form. That pathetic and miserable man Gordon saw all that time ago feels like a distant memory, such that he's not even sure it was real, sometimes. When he's not being a smug prick, Benrey's entirely expressionless; dead, lifeless eyes that never seem to look at anything, features slack, words delivered in the easiest, softest way possible so he barely has to move his lips. That's what Gordon's gotten more used to.

"We've been here too long," Gordon says one afternoon, while he's waiting for Benrey to pick his character in Mario Party. They managed to get the Switch to hook up to the old TV inside their borrowed home, and spent at least an hour every day playing together on it.

"You got a hot date or sumthin'?" Benrey asks from his place on the living room couch.

With a sigh, Gordon sets his red JoyCon aside. "We're burning daylight, man. Amenities aren't gonna stay on forever and we do not have enough supplies to last us long-term," he explains. "We're got like a day's worth of food and this neighborhood's picked clean. Either we gotta think about getting the f*ck out of this zombie infested hellhole and back to wherever we're supposed to be, or we need to figure out how to live off the land. There certainly isn't enough canned sh*t out here to last us, unless we wanna die just trying to scrape by."

There's no response from Benrey, almost as if he hadn't been listening. Gordon would be more annoyed if not for the fact that speaking to him, whether he listened or not, helped Gordon organize his thoughts better. That's what prompts Gordon to keep talking, telling Benrey all about his plans to get back home, back to Black Mesa, to find the G-Man and get out of here.

All he gets in response is, "'Kay."

Whatever. At least he's following along. Gordon couldn't really call him "obedient" for it, because he half-asses or ignores every other thing Gordon tells him to do. But at least he isn't trying to take over.

Later on, as they're packing up the station wagon with all their meager belongings from the house, Benrey says, "Should bring your, uh, bed." Gordon squinting quizzically at him causes him to add, "Bedding. Blanket."

"Oh. Nah, that won't fit anyway," Gordon says. "Besides, the HEV suit has temperature controls." Not very good ones, though. "I'll be fine."

Benrey smacks his lips and says, "'Kay," and that's the end of that. Together they pile inside the station wagon, seatbelts on, and Gordon drives downtown, just to check. Sure enough, the zombie presence has thickened again, completely invalidating all the effort he put in to clear a path. Gordon sighs.

"Could, uh," Benrey starts, sitting perfectly still in his seat and staring straight ahead. "Take care'a that for you. Got, unlimited ammo mod."

Gordon gives him that perplexed squint again. "You what?"

"'M chock full'a bullets, bro," Benrey says, glancing briefly over at him. "Jus' let friend Benrey take care of it and you can run in and grab stuff."

"Why, so you can get hurt again, and then I have to take care of you for another month?"

"Wow. Owch," Benrey says, looking down at his boots. "Was your fault, though. Not out here getting shot."

"Just out here getting bitten and chopping off your limbs."

"Trying to protect you, bro. Won't happen if you're all safe in here."

"You don't even have your full fingers back yet!"

Benrey looks down at his left hand as if this is brand new information; everything but the third and final phalanges have grown back. He itches the side of one of his fingers as he says, "Don't need my whole finger to pull the trigger, bro."

Drumming his hands aganst the steering wheel, Gordon glances at the fuel meter, which they're actively draining by sitting here mulling over this. "Fine," he says, accelerating forward and carefully navigating his way through swathes of the undead. "But if you die, I'm not waiting for you to come back."

The plan isn't a very good one; but Benrey seems completely confident in their odds. Gordon drives until he finds a decently clear place to stop, at which point Benrey jumps out before the car's even finished moving, a duffel bag slung over his shoulders and his assault rifle in hand. Before Gordon can tell him not to use the loudest f*cking thing in his arsenal, he's already firing; a group of fifteen up ahead gets reduced to zero in less than a minute, before Benrey deals with the stragglers and the other groups that have turned towards the source of the noise.

The zombies seem oblivious to Gordon's presence ducked down in the car nearby, focused entirely on the sound of Benrey's gun, which makes it easy for Gordon to sit still, hands over his ears to block out he noise. In about an hour, the entire zone surrounding a grocery store has been completely cleared, including the roads and parking lots of every other store nearby. The undead all come to Benrey, and he only moves when he needs space to reload.

Which he has to do so many times that Gordon seriously starts to wonder if his bag is somehow endless. It boggles the mind, but it's also extremely convenient, so Gordon hesitates to question it any further.

Eventually, Benrey stops and makes this hand gesture towards him that directs him to park outside the shop, aiming the car towards the road so they can make a clean getaway. Benrey doesn't even stop to check in with him before swapping to his handgun and rushing inside the shop, cleaning out the inside so there's nothing left to deal with by the time Gordon joins him.

"Pretty good, right?" Benrey asks, reappearing next to Gordon so suddenly it causes him to jump and nearly knock over a nearby shelf. The guard's munching on an apple that's turning brown and full of holes where bugs have burrowed, and Gordon promptly slaps it out of his hand. Benrey stares down at where the apple used to be. "Bro."

"Try not to get sick, okay? All the produce left out on stands here is beyond rotten, trust me."

The guard makes a noise, so soft it's hard to parse as the annoyance he intended for it to convey. "Could get a thanks. A little thank youuuuu. Maybe a lil' kiss for my troubles."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Gordon grumbles, too worked up at this point to actually give a proper thanks. It's not until they're working side-by-side to grab as many non-perishable foods as possible that he manages a, "Thanks, though. Seriously." At that point, Benrey's been quiet for so long he doesn't respond at all, just gives Gordon an awed look before going back to the task at hand.

It takes several days to clear out the whole block. A few times, Benrey rushes back to the car with injuries for Gordon to patch up, mostly scrapes and gashes, no bites. At night, they sleep in the car, and during the day, they use fast food places to cook their meals. By the time they're done, they've accumulated a decent supply of food, medicine, and other necessities; though, despite the fact it seems like a lot when it's all in a pile in their car… it won't actually last much longer than a month. Maybe less.

Not that Gordon intends to stay here for that long, but… there's a voice, needling and small in the back of his mind, warning him that he might be stuck here indefinitely. That maybe this is the real world, that what happened at Black Mesa spread and turned everyone into mindless, flesh eating beasts. There're no headcrabs, but, who knows? Maybe sh*t mutated while he wasn't looking. Or maybe there's been some new alien creature that infects people with a zombie virus.

But if he doesn't want to go completely mad, he has to believe that isn't true.

"Hey," Benrey says, pulling him out of his thoughts. They're taking a break in the parking lot of an old McDonald's, eating lunch, which happens to be some chicken nuggets they'd found inside the freezers and cooked up before retiring back to the station wagon. They're the worst nuggets he's ever eaten, freezerburned and tasting slightly off, but it's better than nothing. Unfortunately, these were the last of them.

"What's up?" Gordon asks, glancing over at Benrey to find him eating his nuggets in the weirdest f*cking way, where he tears the breading off and puts the meat back before stacking them to eat all at once. Gordon has to try his damndest to resist asking what the f*ck is up with that, not wanting to distract from whatever they have to say.

"Gotta, uh…" Benrey pauses to finish chewing his latest unbreaded nugget sandwich. "Car. Valuables in it. Bigger and stronger and sh*t. Should, uh, go looking for it."

"You have a car? Why the f*ck didn't this come up sooner?" A shrug is the only response he receives. "Where is it?"

Once they're finished eating, Benrey starts giving directions for Gordon to follow, leading them several miles away, nearer to the bistro Gordon remembers seeing Benrey—well. They were both there. No need to go over the details. A couple miles away, Benrey instructs him to pull off road, where there's a large blue van stashed away behind a bunch of trees. Again, Benrey jumps out of the car before it's stopped moving, rushing over to check on the state of the thing; no threats nearby, from the looks of it.

Only once Gordon's properly parked does he get out to join them. The side of the massive van reads Bank Security with no specific logo. It's splattered with old, brown stains, looking like some giant picked it up and dipped the bottom foot or so of it in blood and left it to dry.

Benrey climbs into the front seat, hanging half out as he pulls a key out of his pants pocket to test the engine. It takes several tries before roaring to life, at which point Gordon hears a "Yesssssss" before the engine switches off again. Climbing back down, Benrey rushes for the back doors, pulling on the handle to reveal the contents. It's dark, but Gordon can make out a portable generator tucked into the back, a black suede loveseat, fuzzy blue rug, another all-black bedding set, and…

…Are those body bags?

At the sight of the three black bags stacked one on top of the other, the vague shape of human limbs and feet visible through the canvas, Gordon's blood runs cold. His mind races to try and rationalize what he's seeing, but it just doesn't make sense. Benrey wouldn't be carting around three random zombies, would he? So, who are they?

"Let's gooo," Benrey urges, snapping Gordon back to attention. The security guard's already started transferring everything into the security van, where it fits a lot better inside the vehicle's massive trunk. Taking a deep breath, Gordon gets to working alongside them.

Once they're done, Benrey closes and locks the back doors, at which point Gordon all-but word vomits out, "Hey what's with the body bags, man?"

The way the guard freezes the instant he's asked has Gordon's anxiety skyrocketing, growing lightheaded with dread. Benrey's facing away, towards the van's back doors, and his hands lay flat against the vehicle as he remains motionless for several agonizingly long seconds. Eventually, he pulls back, stepping around the corner of the van towards the front seat, never once turning to look Gordon's way.

"Burnin' daylight," he says, "Come on." And climbs into the front seat, the vehicle's engine switching on moments later. It takes another deep (very deep) breath before Gordon feels prepared to step forward. It's not like Benrey's going to kill him and add his body to his macabre collection, right? After all he's done to nurse the guy back to health? Glancing back at his abandoned vehicle, Gordon heaves a sigh, climbing into the passenger's seat of the security van.

Chapter 6: now I got toxic thoughts, try to lock ‘em up

Chapter Text

"Do you have any idea where we are?" Gordon asks.

The van's been on the road for what feels like a f*cking eternity, driving down the same stretch of concrete with very little interruption, except to turn down another long f*cking road. They seem to be heading somewhere in a completely linear fashion, which boggles the mind. Not a single street sign, rest stop, nothing. The strangeness of it all is doing a number on Gordon's composure. If this place turns out to be some made-up hellscape with no way out he doesn't know what he's going to do. Nothing good.

"Why you naggin' me so much. Just driving. Damn," Benrey complains. Gordon does his best not to blow up at his response, nearly giving himself a headache in the process. "Whoop. Hold on."

The car swerves into a small group of zombies in the road, squashing them with ease. The noise makes Gordon shudder every time. That squishy sound is awful, making it difficult for him to relax as his body trembles with disgust and he struggles to control his breathing. Benrey doesn't appear to notice at all.

"Will you stop that? You're damaging the car," Gordon snaps. "The hood looks crunchy enough already. It's gonna f*cking stall if you don't stop."

"Why don't you ever have anything nice to say to me," Benrey whines, to which Gordon lets out a loud scoff.

"Maybe if you ever did anything worth complimenting, I would."

The guard's grip on the steering wheel tightens, not that Gordon notices with his gaze glued to the scenery passing by outside, desperate for a road sign, a building, a fork in the road, anything. It's hard to see anything through this f*cking fog. Eventually, he spots something; a dirt road diverging to the left.

"Holy sh*t. Wait, turn that way," Gordon orders, sitting up in his seat as if that would help him see around the bend better. It could be anything; a reststop, a backroad to a small town, a farmhouse. Something with a bed, and a stove, and bathrooms, god, he's so tired of pissing in bushes.

"Bossy," Benrey says, but does as he's told anyway.

The road goes on for a little over five minutes before Gordon realizes the fields they're passing by are farms, though everything contained within has been destroyed in one way or another. Rotten, pecked by birds, stomped on by zombies. Barely anything remains but dirt and debris, until they reach some buildings. There's a barn that looks like it's seen better days, a small, two-story farmhouse, and a fenced in chicken coop. After Benrey parks at the proper angle to create a quick getaway if need be, they step out, investigating the nearby buildings.

The coop is right by the house, making it easy to start with. Immediately Gordon notices a scattered pile of dead hens and a few roosters; looks a bit like they dropped dead due to neglect, so thankfully it's not a gory sight.

"Oh hey. Dinner," Benrey says upon noticing the dead chickens. Appalled, Gordon does a double take in his direction as he easily climbs over the wooden fence, picking up one of the hens by their neck with his now fully formed left hand.

"Whuh—Dude, what the f*ck?! Put that down!" Gordon exclaims. "We're not eating them! You don't know how old that is!"

"Bouta ffffffind out," Benrey says, pulling a balisong out of his pocket and twirling it open with an expert handling that has Gordon weirdly impressed, but only for a moment before he's brought back to the situation at hand. He turns away before he can see Benrey start cutting, sickened merely at the thought of it. "Bro what's wrong with you? We ate chicken like, two days ago or sumthin'."

"Doesn't mean I want to see you cut it open! f*ck."

"Uhhh wow. Babyman good with human gore but not a little chicken guts? Kinda uhhh f*cked up if you ask me."

"Well, good thing I wasn't asking!" Gordon snaps, turning towards the farm house where he can hear a groaning coming from inside. "I'm gonna check out the house. Just, don't eat any raw meat, okay? You'll get sick and die."

The house turns out empty aside from a single zombie trapped in the bathroom downstairs, which he manages to lead all the way out the front door where he dispatches it in the dirt and gravel outside. Less cleanup that way. By the time he's done with that, he heads back inside to find Benrey's massive form looming in the unlit kitchen covered in blood with a dead, lifeless expression that has Gordon frozen in place. They make eye contact, a chill running down Gordon's spine before Benrey drops his gaze and says,

"None of them are edible." The meaning is lost on Gordon, forgetting about everything but Benrey looking like a f*cking serial killer. Slowly, his head turns towards the kitchen sink, glowing eyes glinting in the light coming in through the window and washing out his pupils.

"Bathroom… shower's… right over there," Gordon says, weakly pointing towards a door nearby.

"Huh? Oh. Epic. Thanks."

Something about his gait as he walks over to the door and steps inside doesn't seem right. By now, they've spent enough time together that Gordon should have noticed, but he… hasn't, somehow. He doesn't know how to describe it. Maybe it's just the ominous aura Benrey's giving off. Maybe Gordon's seeing things where there's nothing. Wouldn't be the first time.

Shaking those thoughts away, Gordon begins searching the house for a light switch. The zombies have limited eyesight that's enough to track him at a short distance so long as he's not obscured by the dark, but now that that isn't a problem, he locates the switch in the kitchen and flicks it on. The bulb is dim, but enough to get by. At least there's power out here at all; he was a little worried it was too remote.

First things first, Gordon washes off in the sink before getting started on a meal. The fridge is full of rotting food, as is to be expected at this point, releasing a pungent smell into the room that forces Gordon to open a window and dig through the cabinets for ingredients instead. He finds some canned food to prepare a decent meal with, throwing in some seasonings off the spice rack nearby. It's ready by the time Benrey steps out of the bathroom, straightening the cuffs on his shirt.

"Dude," Gordon says, setting the two bowls of food aside on the counter. The guard's uniform is still soaked with blood; at best, it looks like it's been patted down with a wet towel to prevent it from seeping back into his skin, but it's still covered in gross coppery stains. "There's a washing machine, like, right over there," Gordon gestures to the pair of white machines on the other end of the kitchen, right by the back door. "Don't you have other clothes?"

Benrey stares down at his uniform, unblinking. Far too much time passes with him not doing anything, and Gordon sighs in irritation.

"Stop f*cking around, I know you do. I saw them in your bag."

"Freeman snooping through my clothes? Kinda gay, man. You sniffing my shorts?"

"f*ck off. Just get out of that gross f*cking thing and put it in wash already."

"Fine, jeez, bossy," Benrey complains, stripping down right there in front of god and everyone, getting the vest off and shirt unbuttoned before Gordon stops him.

"Not here! Go get your clothes first! What happens when a zombie pops up and you're walking around in the buff? Can you think for one f*cking second?"

"Jeeeezzzz, calm down." Putting the vest back on (without buttoning up his shirt), Benrey heads out the backdoor, leaving Gordon to his own devices. The sound of the door slamming shut behind him sends a flash of irritation shooting through Gordon's systems, requiring several deep, calming breaths to get over. With one final deep breath, he sets their meal down on the table, waiting as Benrey walks back in and spends several minutes changing in the bathroom. Gordon's already started eating by that point.

It's as Benrey passes by to toss his uniform in the wash that Gordon does a double take at his choice of clothing. The primarily black clothes with blue accents don't surprise Gordon considering that seems to be the palette that makes up absolutely everything Benrey owns. Even the edgy aesthetic with all the belts and plaid isn't that surprising.

"Benrey…"

The guard lets out the loudest sigh. "I'm dressed, what do you want?" he complains, holding up his vest like he isn't sure it should go in with everything else. The holster for his gun is set out on top of the dryer, and he places the vest right next to it.

"Well," Gordon says, not sure where to start. It's not like there's anything wrong with what he's wearing. Still. The black turtleneck tucked into his high waisted miniskirt and thigh-high socks have Gordon f*cking reeling. "Why do you look like a goth girl going to the mall?"

"Oh, thanks," Benrey says, with the smallest hint of enthusiasm in his voice. Gordon shakes his head. It wasn't meant as a compliment, but he's free to take it as one, if this is seriously what he's into and it's not some epic prank he's playing, dressing up like a thirst trap e-girl on Twitch. Because, well, if he wanted a reaction, he sure f*cking got one.

"What's with the helmet, though?" Gordon asks, after Benrey's started the wash with some fabric softener found in a cupboard overhead. The item in question is still strapped to Benrey's head, though the leather is barely holding together.

"Huh?" He blinks at Gordon, looking a little dazed. "What about it?"

"Why are you still wearing it?"

"What do you mean?"

Gordon sighs through his teeth. "If you're gonna get as casual as a f*cking miniskirt, you might as well, you know, let your hair down or whatever."

"Hair's not that long, bro," Benrey points out.

"I know. That's not what I meant. It's just, it can't be that comfortable to have on all the time. Isn't it, like, sweaty or something?"

"Uhh…" He raises a hand up towards his helmet, painted black nails just barely grazing its surface. "Huh? Hey, is that for me?" Sitting down at the table, he completely dodges anymore questions in favor of stuffing his face full of the food Gordon's prepared. It's already a little cold, but Benrey's too ravenous to care.

Once that's done, Benrey washes the blood off the rest of his equipment before strapping all the holsters on over his new outfit. Afterwards, they head outside to run a perimeter check. There's a few zombies hanging around that are easily dispatched, leaving them plenty of time to go home and get some chores done. Benrey finishes washing and drying his uniform before taking a sewing kit to it—again, as the entire thing is littered with uneven stitches—while Gordon tackles the tedious and repetitive process of loading bullets into the spare magazines they've both got lying around.

They barely talk to each other until it's time to go to bed, and even then it's just to discuss who's sleeping where and who gets the bathroom first (the latter of which involves Benrey insisting they should go together, which Gordon immediately shuts down). There's two bedrooms, and Gordon takes the one closer to the stairs, which coincidentally is also the master bedroom, leaving him with a queen-sized bed.

The relief at finally getting to tend to his facial hair and wash up after their roadtrip is sullied when he has to climb into bed in a huge metal suit. No matter how much better it is for his back, he can never really properly appreciate how plush and soft the mattress is, nor does he get much out of bundling up under the blankets. The chestplate alone is bulky enough that he has to pile up pillows just so his neck can reach it. And don't even get him started on rolling over.

His dark shadows are only growing deeper every day; and Benrey has the audacity to roll out of bed the next morning looking perfectly content in soft, pink gingham pajama pants and another one of those skimpy tanktops, in black this time, with a baby pink hoodie hanging down past his thighs. He's already in the kitchen when Gordon stumbles down, sleep-drunk, to find Benrey leaned back against the counter with a bowl of oatmeal in his hands.

"I could kill you," Gordon says, giving the man a tired glare. How dare he look this rested and aware so soon after waking.

"Do it then, puss*," Benrey shoots back.

"I hate you so much."

"Cool."

"Urrrghhhhhhh," Gordon groans, ignoring them in favor of fixing his own breakfast. Before recently, he's yet to see Benrey outside his uniform. He knew the man had other clothes from having gone through his supplies after stealing back the station wagon, but not once in all that time they spent cohabiting a victorian home did he see Benrey change into any of it. This is a relief, in that he's no longer wearing old clothes that smell like sweat and viscera.

With that thought in mind, Gordon finds himself looking; it's just such a choice, the way Benrey decides to dress himself. It's feminine in a way he never anticipated Benrey looking, which isn't bad, but it's… curious? Benrey has such an overtly masculine frame, such that Gordon can easily make out the shape of his abs through his tight tanktop (and under it, the thing barely covers anything), and the muscular shape of his arms whenever he moves a certain way. Gordon's eyes drift down his exposed midriff towards the V-line leading into the waistband of his pants, noticing the sapphire piercing hanging out of his navel. Why the f*ck is his bellybutton pierced…?

"Take a picture maybe," Benrey says suddenly, drawing Gordon's attention away. He feels a bit like he's just been slapped out of some kind of trance; he hadn't realized he'd zoned out looking at Benrey's outfit.

"What?" Benrey raises a brow at him, and it's only then that Gordon realizes how his staring must have come across. Heat rises to his face. "Wh—I was just looking at your outfit!" he defensively exclaims, looking down at the clothing in question once more before diverting his eyes back to his meal.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches the way Benrey looks down at himself, pulling one side of his jacket aside like he's trying to flash a gun holster or something. In the process, it slides off his shoulder, and Gordon's eyes are drawn to the exposed skin like a magnet, a strange, warm feeling rolling over him.

"Uh. Okay? Just clothes, bro. Don't know why you're so weird about it all the time."

Gordon swallows thickly, forcing his eyes away so he can focus on his breakfast. His… strange behavior doesn't appear to have phased Benrey, or they just haven't noticed his slip in composure. Gordon himself isn't even sure what the f*ck just happened, but he decides to narrow it down to the dry spell this f*cking suit's forced him into. Apparently it's gotten bad enough that he's getting hot and bothered about his worst enemy's bare shoulder. God.

"It's just… unique, I guess," Gordon says.

"Yeah, whatever, Tinman. Take off that suit and show us how you dress, huh?"

Gordon scoffs. "Yeah, right. I wish I f*cking could, but I have no idea how to get this thing off. Can't even take showers with it on." Benrey tilts his head.

"So, you haven't jacked off in like two months, then—"

"Oh my f*cking god," Gordon groans, dropping his spoon into his bowl so he can put his face in his hands instead.

"What?"

"Can you not? I don't wanna hear you say that sh*t."

"Say what?"

"You know what, you little freak. Don't talk to me. Especially not when I'm eating, christ."

"Someone's cranky," Benrey comments, which Gordon decides not to dignify with a response, focusing on eating and ignoring everything that comes out of Benrey's mouth.

Once they're done, Benrey heads upstairs to shower and get dressed while Gordon cleans out the fridge. This would be a decent place to settle for a little while—it's far away from everything, and Gordon would guess the forest nearby is rife with wildlife. They could get some exercise in, attempt to hunt something, maybe scrounge up some of the wild plants Gordon's been researching, so having a clean fridge would be a huge benefit. It's easier said than done, though; he nearly throws up multiple times attempting to get rid of all that rotten food and wipe the mold off the shelves.

Somewhere in the middle of this task, Gordon turns to grab a towel off the table nearby, and is startled to find Benrey standing right in front of him. For a split second his mind registers a potential threat, seeing nothing but a large man with glowing eyes hovering in the shadows behind him, and he nearly bashes his head against the fridge in his frantic attempt to get away.

"sh*t," he curses, glancing back over his shoulder to make sure he hasn't damaged anything by crashing into it in the HEV suit. "What the f*ck are you doing, breathing over my shoulder like that?"

Benrey sniffs. Something about the sound is so f*cking obnoxious, but Gordon does his best to hold himself together. "You wanna play some Mario Kart?" he asks in lieu of answering.

"Wh—Benrey, I'm obviously busy," Gordon snaps. "Why don't you go make yourself useful for once? Do some chores. Hunt a deer or something, since you're so good with guns, apparently." That was an actual compliment, yet Gordon's far too annoyed to deliver it in non-sarcastically. "Just stop bothering me."

"Uh huh. Whatever," Benrey says, rolling his eyes as he turns and leaves the room. In the process, Gordon gets a quick look at his outfit; all black again, with stylishly ripped jeans and a crewneck with the old Nintendo logo on it, easily the most casual and uninteresting thing he's worn thus far.

Shaking his head, Gordon returns to his cleaning. Sometime later, when he's moved on to taking inventory of their food supplies—not a lot, they won't last longer than a few days—the front door opens again, and Benrey steps into the kitchen. Gordon looks up, jumping back with one hand flying towards the wooden knife block behind him. The other man is drenched in blood; fresh, red blood, not the strange brown-black of a zombie.

"What the f*ck?" Gordon blurts out, chest heaving as a panicked heat washes over him.

"Hey," Benrey says, idly scratching at a bandaid on the side of his face like nothing about this is a big deal. "We got any like, buckets or something?"

"What? What do you need a bucket for? And why are you covered in blood?"

He's started going through cupboards and shelves in search of a bucket anyway, pausing at Gordon's question to look down at himself. "Oh whoops. Big messy boy hours," he says, in a total deadpan. "Got, uh. Dinner. Like you said."

"What? Seriously?"

Gordon doesn't know what he expected, but a dead deer on their front porch wasn't it. The poor thing looks like it's been mauled to death. The shocked look on Gordon's face, mouth agape with sweat dripping down the back of his neck, has less to do with his surprise that Benrey actually did what he said, and a lot more to do with the method he must have employed to do it. Nothing particularly human; there's huge claw marks raking across its body, steam rising out of its gaping, angry wounds, and bite marks that look like they belong to a shark all over its neck. Gordon feels himself breaking out in a cold sweat just looking at it.

"So it's like, um," Benrey is saying, oblivious or willfully ignorant to Gordon's reaction, "Getting blood everywhere and uh. Barn doesn't have a. Like. Place… skin it and stuff."

"Uh huh," Gordon says, not having actually caught any of that. It hadn't occurred to him that Benrey left the house earlier with no weapons. Not that he'd thought to check. For all he knew, Benrey was just going out to the car for a bit, or maybe he'd sit out on the porch staring at the sky like the lazy prick he is. Not… this.

"Uh but it's cool. Found this in the bathroom," Benrey continues, giving the lightest of slaps to the side of a metal bucket that he'd obtained… somehow, at some point in time.

Gordon has to tear his eyes away from the deer carcass, staring up at the overcast sky and thinking about how f*cking stupid he is to have threatened a being that could do something like this so many times in the past. As if he seriously has the power to stand up to a literal f*cking monster. Benrey could have pinned him down and clamped his massive jaw down over Gordon's neck at virtually any time, killing him instantly. The balance of power couldn't be more skewed.

He wants to say, hey, you're not mad at me for shooting you in the leg or killing you all those times, are you? But he doesn't think he can f*cking speak anymore. Instead, he walks stiffly back inside the house, sitting down on the living room couch, head in hands, trying not to think about whatever Benrey's up to right now. If he'll use tools or just tear the thing apart with his bare hands. It's making Gordon feel f*cking sick.

Could be you, his mind supplies. Benrey could turn on him at any time, probably tear him limb-from-limb, HEV suit or not. He can vividly imagine it, whether he wants to or not, and it's making him lightheaded. The urge to run far away is growing powerfully, yet he remains rooted in place instead.

He doesn't realize he's started hyperventilating until the door opens again, and he has to pretend to be normal before Benrey notices. The sound of Benrey's boots against the hardword floors trails into the kitchen, where Gordon closely listens to the fridge opening, metal scraping against tile, water running in the sink. Awhile later the fridge closes and those footsteps find their way to the living room instead, where Gordon manages to raise his head to look at the other man hovering nearby.

The amount of blood coating his hands, clothes, and even his f*cking face has dramatically increased, to the point that Gordon can smell it, and he nearly gags. Benrey, on the other hand, puts one of his fingers in his mouth and sucks the blood off of it.

"Dude," Gordon chokes out, repulsed. "Don't do that! It'll make you f*cking sick, go take a shower or something."

"What?" Benrey blurts out, quickly pulling his hand away from his face. "Wait, it will? Uh. sh*t. I already licked it, what do I do?"

"Well you didn't, like, drink any of it, did you? Like—" straight out of the bucket, is what Gordon means to say, but just the thought of that makes it nearly impossible to keep his breakfast down.

"No?"

"It's fine, then. Just go wash up, and put your clothes in the wash."

"Uggghh but I just showered," Benrey complains.

"Tough sh*t. Don't be such a mess next time."

He groans childishly on his way upstairs, and only once he's completely gone does Gordon jump up to open a window. His stomach roils violently and he stumbles into the bathroom just in case, though nothing ends up happening, thankfully.

He should be used to this by now, all the blood and viscera, after the hell that was Black Mesa. But this… no, it's not the blood, specifically. It's that it was Benrey, who he's having trouble picturing as anything other than a beast with long claws and hundreds of teeth dripping with fresh blood. A beast who could decide at any moment that he's had enough of Gordon giving him such a hard time and could just, snap his neck, make Gordon into his next meal.

By the time Benrey comes back downstairs, Gordon's nausea has calmed down. After returning to the living room couch, he's done nothing but think, though it's a struggle to think about the right things, and not just Benrey tearing you apart or Benrey devouring your flesh. He lifts his head, curious what other outfit Benrey has for him this time, maybe something to lighten the mood; but it's the same outfit from yesterday.

Without a word, Benrey walks over and sits down on the loveseat with him. Something about him being so close, where Gordon can smell the water clinging to his skin and feel their thighs touching, has him shooting out of his seat in the least subtle way imaginable. Confused blue eyes stare up at him, and he struggles for an excuse.

"Uh," Gordon stutters. "Forgot I uh. Was doing something? In the kitchen. Break's over now!"

He powerwalks into the kitchen after that, keeping his head down. What kind of stupid f*cking excuse? Feeling like a total moron, he searches for something to actually do, before remembering, oh, yeah. He did have something he was doing, before he got so violently derailed.He gets started on that now.

Barely two minutes later and he turns to find Benrey standing in the doorway, watching him. It's not startling this time; somewhere in the back of Gordon's mind, he'd heard the other man's footsteps, but hadn't really registered it. As a result, it's more annoying than surprising.

"What?" Gordon asks.

"What'cha doin'?" Benrey says, watching Gordon's hands.

"Taking stock," Gordon responds, waving a cheap can of carrots around. Most of their food is canned, and it's mostly junk no one wants; peas, mushrooms, some incredibly mushy corn. Food that takes a lot of salt to be tolerable. Seeing it lined up on the counter up makes it look like more than it actually is.

"Oh. Cool."

Squinting at him, Gordon eventually shakes his head and goes back to work. It's quiet for awhile; Benrey is borderline motionless, possibly not even blinking. Gordon has to look once or twice to make sure he's not dead, or having a seizure, or something. It grows to be a little intimidating, like a predator sizing up their prey.

"Do you want something?" Gordon inevitably snaps. His tone has seemingly no effect on Benrey at all, the obnoxious lip smacking sound he ends up making getting on Gordon's nerves.

"Want help?"

"What? No. What would you even help with? It's a one-man job."

"Could make it go faster. Then we could play games or sumthin'. I dunno."

Cue Gordon squinting at him again, perplexed and annoyed, as most things Benrey says have him. "Are you seriously bothering me right now because you're bored?"

"Well, jeez. If you're so bothered I guess I'll leave you alone then," Benrey huffs. And proceeds to remain perfectly still, gaze fixed on Gordon's hands.

"Then leave!" Gordon exclaims, louder than he wanted. In his frustration, his hand knocks into a bottle of seasoning, which proceeds to knock into several other items, a few of which roll off onto the floor. Nothing broken or lost or really anything but some chaos and loud noises, but. It has Gordon wanting to blow up, and he has to stop and put his face in his hands, breathing deeply.

"Uh. Kinda seems like you need hel—"

"Get the f*ck out!" Gordon snaps, throwing one of the bottles at Benrey without thinking. The plastic thunks into Benrey's helmet harmlessly before falling onto the counter. He doesn't so much as blink. His voice is completely calm as he says,

"Think maybe you should lay down for a sec there, friend."

"I am not your friend," Gordon grumbles, snatching up the bottle before getting to work cleaning everything else up as well, stubbornly ignoring Benrey in the process.

"Put the uh, venny son in the fridge," Benrey says. "Carbs and sh*t."

Sighing through his teeth, Gordon turns to remind Benrey to leave just to find he's no longer there. A little confused, he spends a few seconds searching for him before giving up and checking the fridge for the meat. Expecting a gory mess, he's pleasantly surprised to find nothing of the sort. The meat looks clean and neatly cut up into portions that don't take up the entire fridge. It appears to be perfectly edible, too.

Glancing back towards the doorway where Benrey used to be, Gordon lets out a soft sigh. Maybe he's being too hard on the guy? No matter the method Benrey used to kill this thing, it's still incredibly useful to their survival. He hasn't gotten to eat anything fresh since before Black Mesa, which feels like a lifetime ago.

Maybe insulting Benrey's usefulness back in the car was a bit too far. He did get them a lot of extra food back in… wherever they were before this. Not to mention, the amount of supplies he had before they more-or-less teamed up trumped Gordon's in comparison.

He just died a lot in the process. So, maybe less skill, and more reckless abandon.

Chapter 7: every time, every time I end up all black and blue and yellow

Chapter Text

That night, Gordon wakes in a cold sweat, clutching at his neck as the remnants of his dream slip away from him. He remembers a large hand clutching him tight around the throat, teeth gleaming in the moonlight, a set of claws poised and ready to slash him open. He doesn't remember what this being looked like otherwise. But he knows who it was, intuitively.

Dizzy, he restlessly paces the room until he feels more alert, heart pounding and temples throbbing. It's still dark outside; the digital clock beside the bed informs him that it's a few hours before sunrise. He peers out the bedroom window. No threats as far as he can see, which isn't far, thanks to the fog that never seems to get any closer. But it couldn't hurt to check, right? Just in case?

The sound of the HEV suit's boots along the already creaky floorboards isn't subtle, but he's gotten used to that fact over the past few months. He grabs his crowbar, triple-checking to make sure his pistol and shotgun are loaded before heading outside. The nighttime chill bites at his skin, making him wonder if coming out here was a mistake—he should be in bed, bundled up and warm, but he won't be able to sleep like this, there's no way.

Instead, he trudges forward. Immediately, his feet carry him to the back of the van; the bodybags jump to the front of his mind, but the handles won't budge, and he realizes he can't get in without the key. A key which Benrey keeps hidden, probably to hide his dirty little secret. There's no way he's ever getting the key off of him—and prying the doors open with a crowbar will just break them, and then they're f*cked on trunk space.

Frustrated, Gordon steps away, checking around the rest of the van before circling the house, then the coop, peering through the farms, walking for what feels like hours from one end of the road and back, into the forests and back, on and on.

Eventually all that's left is the barn, which he's never seen the inside of himself; Benrey handled it when they first moved in. Pushing open the doors, he steps inside, checking every inch with his flashlight and pistol held like he's seen video game characters do before. Nothing to see, no suspicious noises. Just the sound of the wind howling. That feeling of being isolated slowly creeps over him, both comforted and disquieted at the same time.

Something doesn't feel right, though. As he gets to the other end of the barn, he realizes what it is. There's a set of metal doors that won't open no matter how hard he tugs on them; if he listens closely, he can hear chains rattling on the other end, possibly a padlock as well.

"Hey," a familiar voice calls from behind. Gordon whips around, blocking the door handles with his back. In the open doorway to the barn, he spots a large, masculine form almost entirely obscured by shadow, dim moonlight shining at his back with blue eyes glowing bright as a feline in the darkness. Doesn't help that he's in all-black clothes, sweatpants tucked into his uniform's combat boots with a fur-trimmed coat on. Faintly, Gordon can make out the shape of a gun strapped to his hip.

"Benrey," come the reedy sound of Gordon's anxiety-tinged voice, forcing a smile like everything's fine and seeing the other man standing so ominously in the middle of the doorway isn't terrifying. Images of Benrey chasing him down and cornering him to devour his flesh and bone flash through the forefront of his mind, causing him to press his body tighter against the door at his back. He's so busy trying to figure out, if Benrey charged me right now, how fast could I pull a gun and shoot him? that he nearly misses it when Benrey says,

"You trying to steal something?"

"What? No, man, I just thought I heard something and came to check it out," Gordon lies, not sure why he even felt the need to lie.

"Hmm," Benrey hums, quirking his head to one side. Even without being able to see more than the glow of his eyes, Gordon is convinced Benrey can see right through him. See through to what, though? He's not doing anything worthy of the other man's suspicion.

Then Benrey starts walking forward, slowly, deliberately. Gordon's brain is too confused by their pace to properly prepare for an attack, trusting, instinctively, that nothing is wrong even as alarm bells go off in his head. His hand shakes around the pistol in his grasp, thumb carefully shifting towards the safety latch. Maybe if he's slow enough, Benrey won't hear the click as its switched off.

But Benrey just stops next to him and says, "Move, please?", and Gordon hastily obeys, eager for the chance to put some distance between them. He watches as Benrey slides his claws into the gap in the door, pressing and pulling until he can fit his fingers, and from there, it's just one, hard tug before the doors rip open with a deafeningly loud sound, chains snapping and clattering to the ground. Gordon flinches away from the noise, heart hammering away as his pulse pounds painfully loud in his ears.

Nothing happens, though. Silence slips back in, the two of them standing around motionless just waiting for something in the distance to shuffle or groan, but it remains quiet.

"Jesus," Gordon curses beneath his breath. "Did you have to do it like that?"

"Chain locked, bro. What do you want me to do?"

Gordon opens his mouth to respond, but just ends up gritting his teeth instead. Benrey's right. There was no quiet way around that, not unless there was some outer window they could've gone in through, but Gordon's pretty sure there isn't.

"Come on," Benrey urges, keeping his voice down. "Ain't'cha curious?"

Yes, very much so, like the only thing that will completely quell Gordon's nerves is knowing there's nothing inside this room that could threaten him. "Fine. Just don't do anything f*cking weird," he grumbles, stepping forward to follow Benrey inside.

What he sees freezes him in place. It appears to be a butchery of some sort, Gordon's not an expert on these things. There's old blood, sinks, hooks; that's not what he's looking at, though. Seated on the floor together are two corpses, long dead, slumped over against the counter behind them. One has their arm around the other, who appears to be significantly younger, not much older than five or six. From the way they're seated, and the lack or blood, Gordon would suppose they died peacefully, though it's impossible to tell how at their level of decay.

Gordon stands there and stares, the color draining from his face. He doesn't see some portly old farmer and his young son, or brother, or nephew, whatever the case is. He sees himself, and he sees Joshua, crowding into the most secure place they could find, as he holds his son and tells him everything is going to be okay, that those monsters outside will never find them, because…

And then Benrey steps forward, kicking his boot against the corpse's leg. "Hey, environmental storytelling. Nice job Todd," he says, smacking his lips before stepping right on past the dead bodies, already forgotten about. Stunned, it takes a moment for Gordon to properly register what he just did, giving him time to investigate some hooks hanging from a rack nearby. "Bit sh*t huh. Nothing good in here."

"Excuse me?" Gordon blurts out, his voice trembling.

"Huh?" Benrey glances around, floor to ceiling, seeming unimpressed with all of it. "Uh, been nice if I'd known, 'bout this. Made that venny son here instead of—"

"SHUT UP," Gordon snaps, surprise flashing in Benrey's blue eyes. Rage flares in his chest, shoving down the grief and distress struggling to rise to the surface. "What the f*ck is wrong with you?" he continues, taking several hard steps in Benrey's direction as he takes several steps back, quickly colliding with a dirty metal counter. Gordon gestures sharply towards the dead bodies. "How can you act this way? These people are dead and you're just—talking about f*cking, Skyrim?!"

"Uh—" Benrey stares down at Gordon's hand, gripped tight around his handgun.

"I can't believe you! You're still this absolutely callous f*cking—do you even get it, Benrey? Do you ever stop to f*cking think, ever, about anything?" He slips his gun back into its holster just to free his hands to throw around, gesticulating harshly as he rants at Benrey, who visibly relaxes. "No, you don't care at all, do you? This is like some f*cking, match of Left 4 Dead for you, isn't it? You get to fire guns like the unhinged maniac you are, never stop to ask who these people WERE or what kind of sh*t they went through—"

"Bro, you know these people or something?" Benrey asks, genuinely confused. It makes him want to scream.

"No! That's not the POINT!"

"What?"

"I—Urrrgghhhh I can't f*cking stand you," Gordon groans, dragging his nails down his face, or f*cking trying to, but all he feels is the gross texture of the HEV suit's gloves, and that makes him want to scream and kick and freak out like a child even harder. And then the rage builds so high it snaps, chest aching as his eyes start to burn, distress taking over as the dominant emotion. "You are the most obnoxious piece of sh*t I've ever met, you know that?"

Turning on his heel, he stalks out of the barn, ignoring Benrey's voice calling after him, like he's trying to coax Gordon into playing video games with him, completely failing to grasp the severity of the situation. It makes Gordon so angry but he just keeps going, stomping back inside the house, the door rattling as he slams it shut behind him. He's being a huge child right now but he just doesn't care. Heading into the living room, he plops down heavily onto the couch, putting his head in his hands while doing his best to breathe. Don't cry.

Soon, he hears the front door open and close, followed by the sound of Benrey's boots on the floorboards. Gordon hides his face in his hands, projecting a very obvious aura of Stay Away.

"Bro, what the hell," Benrey says, stopping between the staircase and the end of the couch.

"f*ck off, Benrey," Gordon hisses, his fingers tightening in his hair.

"Why are you mad? I didn't even do anything."

"I said f*ck OFF, Benrey."

"You're always yelling about nothing. Boohoo, wahhh, dead bodies, you seen like, hundreds of those every day. Won't even thank me when I try to help you, open door for you. Says thank you, Benrey, for once—"

With a frustrated growl, Gordon jumps up from the couch, quickly closing the distance between them. Despite being much larger than Gordon, the guard's eyes go wide with fear.

"Why can't you just f*cking STOP? Why are you always pushing me?" Gordon snaps, shoving Benrey so he stumbles back several steps into the landing.

"Whuh, I—Bro you're so complicated," Benrey complains, gaze dropping towards the chestplate of the HEV suit. It makes him look more exhausted than frightened, the dark circles under his eyes prominent even with the shadow that drips down over the upper half of his face. "Trying to do things for you and you're being so mean to me for no reason—"

"No reason? Are you f*cking joking? Whuh—Ugghhh." Clutching angrily at his own hair, Gordon starts to pace around the living room. There's barely enough room to move around and that's really irritating.

"Why you so mad?" Benrey demands. Boots scuff against the floorboard as he moves closer. "What issit, can't handle seein', child death? ESRB rating AO, can't show kids dying for some reason, grow up maybe. Everyone's all zombified so like, get over it—"

Gordon whips around, fist slamming dead center into the middle of Benrey's face, feeling the man's nose give under the weight of his fist. The blow sends Benrey flying back into the wall by the front door, crashing against a wooden table which he latches desperately onto to keep himself from dropping onto the floor. Blood gushes out of his severely crooked and misshapen nose as he presses his hand over his face.

Gordon takes this all in in detail, finding something sickly satisfying about it all. But then the look of shock in Benrey's glowing blue eyes morphs into something sharp and cold, teeth grit in anger, and Gordon doesn't feel so sure of himself anymore.

"What is WRONG with you?!" Benrey shouts, pulling his hand away from his face to look at all the blood dripping over his fingers. His brows twist, face contorting into something at once anguished and furious. "I wasn't doing ANYTHING!" His voice echoes through the room, thunderously loud in a way that causes his voice to crackle and distort. The light in the kitchen flickers briefly on and off. Alarm bells are going off in Gordon's head, so intimidated by the being before him that he misses the sound of a sob building in the other man's voice.

"I—" Gordon starts, his breaths growing shallow as a cold terror washes over him. What the hell is he playing at? Does he really think he has the kind of power to push around an eldritch being without consequence? "You're pushing me, man!" Well, no one ever said he was smart. "I'm telling you to leave me alone!"

"Screw that!" Benrey snaps back. "We're s'posed to be a team, man! Scratch my back, scratch yours. Not yell at me and pushing me and HURTING me! This hurts!" There, there the sound of distress cuts right through his voice, clawing its way to the surface, and Gordon takes in the sight of how his hands clutch desperately at the bridge of his nose as he hangs his head. "OWWWW-UHHHH! WHYYY?!"

"Big f*cking deal! I've dealt with way worse because of you. If you think I'm gonna play nice just because I'm stuck here with you, you're insane."

"I'm SO nice to you," Benrey whines. "Mario Kart, driving all day, breadwinning, you don't CARE. You want mean Benrey again, then I'll be f*cking MEAN."

He pushes up off the wall, striding towards Gordon who takes an instinctive step back. Preparing for an attack, Gordon flinches as Benrey strides past, shoulder-checking him on his way up the stairwell.

It takes Gordon a long time before he registers what's just happened, listening to Benrey's big, heavy boots trudge upstairs and across the hallway overhead, the bathroom door slamming against the wall as it's yanked open. Stunned, Gordon just stands there, staring into space as he tries to control his breathing, to calm his racing heartbeat.

"Okay," he breathes, clenching and unclenching his fists. "Okay…"

Looking around, he feels like the entire living room should be in disarray—but it's just as tidy as it was before, with a shelf full of books and old tapes, the rug neatly arranged on the floor beneath the coffee table. Gordon employs every calm-down technique he can think of, from counting to deep breathing exercises to pacing wildly. Heading into the kitchen, he splashes some water onto his face, taking a deep breath to cool his nerves.

The adrenaline that once raged inside him is crashing now, leaving him even more exhausted than when he got up. All that's left to do now is go back to bed, regardless of how little he wants to try tackling the insurmountable task of restful sleep again. Shoving his hair back out of his eyes, Gordon makes the trek upstairs.

The first thing he notices is the light pouring out from the bathroom into the short hallway, illuminating the bookshelves and family photos along the walls. A series of hyperventilating breaths drift down the hallway, prompting him to pause. The noise reminds him of a kid struggling to contain their cries, experiencing an agony the likes of which only a child with a skinned knee can conjure. Heaving a heavy sigh, Gordon stares longingly at his bedroom door, chewing his bottom lip.

"Goddammit," he grumbles, before continuing on towards the bathroom.

Despite the door hanging wide open, Gordon still knocks against the wall nearby rather than barge in unannounced. He hears something clatter against the tile before Benrey's yells, "GO AWAY!"

Gordon sucks in a breath, exhaling slowly.

"Let me look at your nose," he calls from the doorway, keeping his back turned to where he's pretty sure Benrey is. Privacy and boundaries and all that. "I can bandage it for you." No response. "Do you know how to do it yourself? You know you gotta pop it back into place."

"What?" Benrey blurts, softer and with a hint of panic. "Why the f*ck did you break it then!" His breaths grow even louder and shallower, which is when Gordon realizes he f*cked up. "I don't wanna do that…!"

"It's easier if I do it for you. I'll make it really quick, it'll be over so fast, okay?"

Leaning closer to the doorframe, Gordon listens to the sound of Benrey's struggling breaths as he tries to breathe deeper but doesn't quite succeed. "Okay," he eventually responds in a shuddering, watery tone. That's all the response Gordon ever gets, and it's going to have to be enough. He takes a step inside, mentally preparing himself for the mess he's about to walk in on.

The sight of Benrey's face hits him like a f*cking truck. His cheeks are soaked with tears and smeared blood, bits of toilet paper stuffed into his nose to stem the bleeding. Though, it's already drenched his chin, neck, and the front of his shirt—good thing it's black, keeping it invisible save for the way it glistens under the light. His skin stretches out to reach his cooked nose where it's been flattened against the right side of his face, his flesh turning several shades it shouldn't.

"sh*t," Gordon curses under his breath, rushing towards Benrey. The guard takes several steps back, cradling a bloodied, tear-stained towel, his legs hitting the edge of the tub nearby. His reaction causes Gordon to freeze in place, glancing over the guard's girthy form, from his eyes narrowed in distrust to his hand hovering over the gun strapped to his thigh.

Gordon takes a step back, holding up both hands in surrender. There's a first aid kit on the sink counter, the cover thrown open and the supplies strewn about, but nothing's been used yet. The guard presses the towel tighter against his nose, probably trying to stem the pain.

"Benrey," Gordon starts, adopting the kind of soft tone he'd use when treating his son's injuries. "Can you sit down on the toilet for me, please?"

Shockingly, Benrey doesn't argue, stepping haltingly forward and plopping down on the edge of the toilet, where he directs his petulant gaze toward the floor, chest heaving. If not for the tears pooling around his eyes he might look like some war-hardened old man nursing a battle wound, seated with a wide stance, elbows propped up on his knees.

Kneeling before him with the first aid kit set out on the floor, Gordon forces a gentle smile onto his face, pretending he isn't intimidated by the sharp glare on Benrey's face, his eyes locked onto Gordon's with an intense, unblinking stare. "Can you let me take a look at it?" Gordon asks, his voice only wavering a little bit.

A long moment passes in tense silence, before Benrey slowly lowers the towel, covering his mouth instead like he's trying to suffocate his heavy breathing, a wheezing noise coming out from behind the fabric. "Benrey, don't do that, man," Gordon urges, "I have some really f*cking strong painkillers, you can take them when we're done with this, okay? Just try to take deep breaths, I don't want you passing out on me."

Benrey's fingers tighten around the towel, but he doesn't say anything. There's the sound of him inhaling deeply and unsteadily, breaking into shallow, gasping breaths. When he's still f*cking up after three tries, he covers his whole face in the towel. "I can't," he whines.

"It's okay," Gordon soothes. "Just—"

"Shut the f*ck, man, you're so," Benrey continues, but there's nothing else after that. Instead there's the sound of him struggling to control his breathing.

Gordon sits up straighter, placing his hands on Benrey's shoulders just to have them harshly shrug him off. Biting his lip to contain his kneejerk reaction to that, Gordon pulls his hands back, weary brain working overtime to figure out a way to navigate this situation. Which he didn't ask for, he didn't f*cking ask to be relegated to Benrey's nursemaid because they've, what, never experienced injury before recently? And they have no f*cking clue how to heal themself. Which isn't Gordon's problem, and yet.

"Listen, I know saying this never works for anyone, but you need to chill out, man," he says. The energy required to keep up his fatherly act is gone now. "If you're so pissed off at me you can wait until after we're done here. Go trash your room and jack off or whatever you need to do to feel regulated, I don't care. Right now I need you to listen to me. I'm gonna take a deep breath, and you just try your best to copy it, okay? And we're gonna keep going until you're breathing normally."

There's no response, and Gordon can't see anything with Benrey's face hidden behind the towel. Still, he takes a very audible deep breath, watching with mounting surprise as Benrey's chest swells in time with it. They choke on it, but Gordon keeps going, and they keep imitating him until eventually their breaths even out and they don't need him to demonstrate anymore.

Gordon lets them just relax and breathe in silence for awhile, when suddenly they pipe up. "Man, how'd you do that?" Benrey asks. "You got magic? Illegal magics? 'M I gonna have to… cuffs, straight to the slammer. Got a warrant for that, sir? Gonna have to see your magic license."

"What?" Gordon blurts, startled into letting out a small, snorting laugh. "No, it's just… that's like, calming someone down 101. Read it online, works on my son every time." Shifting his knees around, he looks back up, the atmosphere lighter than before. "Can you let me see your nose, now? I'll make this quick."

The mood quickly sours, as Benrey's shoulders raise into a defensive posture, backing up away from Gordon. "It's gonna hurt."

"Yeah, it will. But it has to be done."

With a hefty sigh, Benrey moves the towel, wiping some of the blood and other moisture from his face and hopefully preparing himself for what's to come in the process. Once the towel is in his lap, Gordon places his hands on either side of Benrey's face, the other man tensing up considerably in response. Gordon glances down to see him fretfully gripping the fabric of the towel hard enough to turn his knuckles white. Taking a deep breath, Gordon places his hands around Benrey's nose, and the guard sucks in a breath in response.

"How much is this gonna—AGHHH—!" Benrey's words get cut off with Gordon snapping his nose back into place with no warning. Gordon's learned this lesson before; if he gives Benrey too much warning, it'll get built up too much in his head. Just gotta rip the bandaid off. "Mmmhhh—" Benrey whines through tightly closed lips, holding as still as possible as Gordon works.

It's not as easy as one nudge and it's all better, though, his nose takes some adjusting to get it to set right, and Benrey's body practically vibrates the entire time, squirming around and struggling not to reach up and pull Gordon's hands away. Eventually, Gordon reaches for the first aid kit, while Benrey whimpers, cursing him out and calling him "such a f*cking asshole, man, that f*cking HURTS you dick" in the process.

"Alright, I'm done," Gordon announces, barely getting the words out before Benrey grabs onto his retreating hand. Freezing, Gordon's body tenses up, unsure what to expect—but it's certainly not Benrey pressing Gordon's hand against his cheek, both theirs overlaid atop his, eyes closing as he takes a big, steadying breath and tucks his mouth in against Gordon's palm. The harsh line of his brows smooths out, looking strangely at peace now that he's got his face held in Gordon's hand.

Stunned at the tender display, it takes awhile for Gordon to get any words out. It's just so unexpected, so at odds with everything that's happened tonight that he can't help staring. Benrey's breaths are even more controlled now, even and slow like he's falling asleep, right here with Gordon's thick, square hand held against his skin.

"Hey, uh—you alright there… bud?" Gordon awkwardly asks.

"This sucks," Benrey complains, squeezing Gordon's fingers. He can't feel it at all, but he can see it, the way they're clinging tighter, soaking up some form of comfort from the hard, carbon fiber gloves, the metal plates of the HEV suit's gauntlets pressing thin blue lines into Benrey's face.

"I know. But it's over now, okay? Let me get you some water and you can take the Vicodin I've got stashed away."

"Vicodin, f*cking, druggie," Benrey mocks in a low mumble, sighing heavily before letting go of Gordon's hand. The guard leans back, sliding partially down the toilet seat. He reaches up to hold the bridge of his nose, where it's been taped down and bandaged to keep it held in place.

Hestating, Gordon slowly pulls his hand away, drawn in to whatever trance had fallen over Benrey just now. For a moment, all he can do is stare down at his own hand, wondering why it had seemed to bring Benrey such comfort. The gloves must have been super uncomfortable. All he can figure is they must be touch starved, desperate for human contact in this moment of vulnerability to help soothe the sting. But that's just so deeply human that Gordon finds it hard to believe.

"Uh huh. That's me, Dr. Bitch," he halfheartedly quips. "Be right back."

It takes some digging through his bag to find the pill bottle in question, looted from the same clinic where he once found Benrey hiding, half-dead, under a desk. That thought gives him pause. Black Mesa was hell, he'd gotten his arm cut off, he'd been beaten senseless and left to die. He thought everyone had left him behind, betrayed him—not even Dr. Coomer would bother raising a finger to help. Tommy, he could forgive, the man was delicate, after all. At least he was there to help Gordon afterwards, when everyone else just wanted to hurt him more, bitch at him more, insult him more.

A dark part of Gordon's mind would like to consider what Benrey's been through to be karmic retribution. But that voice isn't very loud right now.

Once the pill is in Benrey's hands, he dry-swallows it without a word, and Gordon kneels down in front of him like he was before. The guard's eyes stare down at the tile, a thousand miles away.

"Everything alright?" Gordon asks.

"Head hurts," he mumbles. "…Jerk…"

"Yeah. Sorry. Wanna try sleeping? I can—"

"Think you've done enough?" Benrey bites, eyes narrowed down at him in a threatening glare that has Gordon shrinking back instictually. "Go away maybe. Did your thing now get out."

"Whuh," Gordon stammers, thrown off by the sudden display of agitation. Hadn't Benrey just cradled Gordon's hand against his face? Where is this anger coming from? "Hey, I'm just trying to help you."

"Get outtttttttttttt-uhhhh," Benrey groans, prompting Gordon to get back to his feet with an irritated growl.

"Whatever! Don't thank me, see if I care."

His feet carry him back to his room and into bed. The light from the bathroom still burns his eyes a little, feeling a bit like he's still back there, mind lagging behind, stuck on the sight of Benrey's face, on the sound of his voice and his struggling breaths.

Exhaling a shaky sigh, Gordon puts his face in his hands. What the f*ck was all that about? Nothing about Benrey ever made any f*cking sense—one moment they're angry, the next they're crying their eyes out, then they're affectionate, then they're verbally lashing out—it's too f*cking much to deal with, a headache blooming in the base of his temples. Trying to hold himself together proves pointless, collapsing into bed with absolutely none of the comfort that the mattress and duvet should provide.

How is it possible life could get even more miserable than Black Mesa? sh*t was popping off left and right back there, how can this feel even worse?

Chapter 8: i'll never be good enough, never be good enough

Chapter Text

The next morning, Gordon wakes to the sound of rain pelting against his bedroom window. The fog outside has gotten even thicker, curling in around the farmhouse and obscuring everything from view. It all just makes him want to climb back into bed, but, what comfort will that be when he's stuffed into a clunky suit of armor?

With a sigh, Gordon drags himself to the bathroom, spotting the bloodstained towel on the floor by the bathtub. The sight puts such a sinking feeling in him, lips drawing back into a grimace. Quickly finishing up in the bathroom, he steps out into the hallway, looking over at Benrey's bedroom door. Maybe he should knock, apologize for last night or just see if he's okay. But even if Benrey wanted to see him, he's probably not even awake. Gordon shakes his head and trudges downstairs.

There's some activity in the kitchen, the sound of cooking and a savory scent drifting out into the rest of the house. Hesitating, Gordon takes a deep, steadying breath before stepping forward. With all the lights off, the house is an eerie sight, even worse with the fog visible through the windows, painting the scenery in shades of grey.

In the kitchen, he finds Benrey at the stove, staring into a tall cooking pot emitting steam. The other man's softly glowing blue eyes flick back towards him, and Gordon swallows thickly, his hand tensing around the wooden frame of the kitchen archway.

"You're… cooking?" Gordon very intelligently observes.

For a moment, Benrey doesn't respond, choosing instead to stare at Gordon with that cold look in his eye. A chill passes through Gordon's body; until his eyes find the bruise turning Benrey's nose yellow and purple, the bandage taped down over the bridge keeping it set in place. The sight keeps him feeling more human, more fallible.

Benrey looks away. "So?"

"It's just… I've never seen you cook anything before," Gordon explains. "I mean, it's not like you can't or you're not allowed, I just… I've been doing it so much I thought it was my job, or something." He tries to laugh, keep the mood light, but Benrey doesn't react. Instead, the two of them stand around staring at each other in silence, accompanied by nothing but the sound of boiling water and Benrey tasting the mixture before adding more spices. "So… what are you making?"

"Stew."

"Oh. Cool," Gordon says, tapping one of his fingers against the wood.

"Yeah."

The tension is so thick, Gordon's not even sure it could be cut with a knife. There's this dangerous aura emanating off of Benrey, something warning Gordon that if he pushes his luck too far, something very bad is going to happen. He's not even sure what, or why. Sure, they got into it pretty bad last night, but they've both done worse, and it's never felt like this. Plus, he patched up Benrey's nose afterwards, even gave him some pretty intense painkillers. So why is there this tense mood hanging over them?

The sound of a cabinet opening snaps Gordon out of his reverie. He watches Benrey grab a bowl from the cupboards overhead, spooning a serving of deer stew inside. He's in one of those skimpy black tank tops again, this time without spaghetti straps, and the pink gingham pants they had on for breakfast yesterday, so low-rise that Gordon can see his bellybutton piercing again. The sight attracts Gordon's gaze, mesmerized by the way the tear-drop shape swings with Benrey's movements, the deep blue contrasting his pale skin.

It disappears from view as Benrey sits down to eat, and Gordon snaps out of his trance to find Benrey hasn't prepared a bowl for Gordon. "Uh… can I have some too?" Gordon asks, feeling immensely awkward.

Cold, blue eyes flick his way as Benrey noisily slurps his stew. Only once he's done does he respond.

"I guess," he mumbles, promptly returning to his obnoxious slurping. By now, Gordon's used to all the slurping, so he tries not to let it bother him. The other man is clearly upset with him and choosing to express it through childish sh*t, and he's not going to stoop to that level. He can get his own bowl, he's a grown man with hands.

Once he's seated at the table, he picks up his spoon and begins eating. The instant the stew hits his tongue, his eyes widen. The gamey taste of the deer meat has been toned down considerably thanks to the broth, seasoned to perfection and paired excellently with some vegetables, a lot of which Gordon doesn't remember seeing in their collection of canned goods. Like all the chopped mushrooms, for instance.

"Whoa," he says, once his mouth is no longer full. "This is like, REALLY good?"

He sucks down several more mouthfuls of the stuff, and it's only as he raises his gaze to compliment the chef some more that he notices the look on Benrey's face. His once sharp, cold expression has gone slack, his nearly nonexistently thin lips parted in surprise.

"Thanks," he drawls, surprised. They stare at each other for a moment, before Benrey hastily redirects his attention back to his meal.

Conversation hits a lull after that, nothing but the sound of Benrey's slurping and the quieter noises of Gordon eating filling the air. When they're done, Gordon insists on washing the dishes, and Benrey nods before grabbing two thermoses and filling them with the remainder of the stew. He sets one close to Gordon before exiting the room, giving the other man no room to question whether it's intended for him to take. The implication seems pretty clear, though, even if it bewilders Gordon to see. Is Benrey mad at him or not?

He quickly shrugs it off, thankful for the extra calories. The rain continues pouring for the rest of the day, and although Gordon worries for their supplies, he decides not to risk rusting the HEV suit by going out to flex his survivalist skills. Instead he looks for any chore he can possibly find, and does it. Taking stock of their inventory, filling empty magazines, reading a book on gun maintenance, and so on.

Sometime in the afternoon, Gordon hears the front door shake as it's pulled open and carefully closed. Lifting his head, he spots Benrey in the entryway looking like a drowned rat. He's redressed, in a bright yellow coat with a black polo-neck sweater, matching skinny jeans with a studded belt and combat boots, plus the helmet that he's allergic to taking off. There's a muddy shovel in his hands which he goes to set down neatly by the door—

Until spotting Gordon peering over at him from the living room, and suddenly he chucks the shovel aside, letting it clatter loudly to the floor and get mud and rainwater everywhere. Irritation spikes in Gordon's chest with every clatter of metal on wood.

"What the hell are you doing?" Gordon snaps.

Benrey's glowing eyes bore into him, piercing through the darkness of the foyer for a long and tense moment. "Took care of something," he explains, before stepping out of sight and into the bathroom by the kitchen.

With a loud sigh, Gordon gets up to work on cleaning all the puddles Benrey's left behind. Telling Benrey to do it himself is a waste of time, the man never does anything Gordon tells him to. Except the deer. But that's probably just so Benrey could wild out and get to eat fresh meat afterwards. The thought actually has Gordon shuddering, shaking his head as he focuses on his task. The act of cleaning helps clear his mind.

Once he's done, he steps out onto the front porch, wondering what it was Benrey was doing with the shovel to begin with. At first, he doesn't see much of anything at all. Then, he notices something out in the field by the barn; a large grave dug into the grass, with rocks propping up two sticks tied together with twine into the shape of a cross. Pebbles are arranged into a heart over the top half of the dirt, and there's a messy wildflower bouquet tossed into the middle.

Gordon's gaze rakes over it, seeing but not quite understanding. Then the meaning behind it washes over him like a bucket of water, his breath catching in his throat. Tears sting his eyes, hands shooting up to cover his mouth. "f*ck," he rasps.

He stands there staring for several minutes, letting the tears fall down his cheeks. All he can think about are the bodies he found in the barn last night, how they'd reminded him so much of himself and his son.

What would it have been like if he'd been there for Joshua when this hit? Would it look like this? Or would they be out there surviving together? He could see himself holding his son, soothing his frightened cries with a hummed melody while the undead raged around them. He'd do everything for Joshua, to ensure he was properly fed, that he wasn't scared, that he slept soundly every single night. No matter what it took.

It's been far too long since he last saw Joshua, his baby boy. Trying to conceptualize what must've happened to him is too much to bare. There's been zero survivors since he started his journey, except for Benrey, who can't die, not permanently. Which is why he can't let himself believe that this is real. It's a trick of some kind, some interdimensional nonsense. Why not, right? Weirder sh*t has happened.

Sniffling, Gordon takes a deep breath to calm himself before heading back inside. Benrey's nowhere to be found, making it easy for him to make it to the bathroom and clean his face before the other man can see his red-rimmed eyes.

The rest of the day only goes downhill after that. While Gordon spends his time preparing for them to leave, Benrey comes and goes, tracking more and more mud all over the house that Gordon has to clean up. Every time he snaps at Benrey to knock it off, he makes childish noises or call Gordon names, slamming doors as he goes.

Around lunch, while he's bottling some meats according to the instructions in a canning book he found in the living room, Benrey flops onto the living room couch playing on a PSP at max volume. What game it is, Gordon has no idea, but it fills the house with the cacophanous sound of gunshots and explosions. The noise makes him jumpy, like each gunshot is indicative of an armed soldier right outside.

After about a half hour of that, Gordon can't take it anymore. Storming into the living room, he snaps, "Can you turn that sh*t down?"

Here, he finds Benrey sprawled across the couch sideways, one leg thrown over the armrest with his other foot on the rug below. He doesn't get a response, which really gets his blood boiling. It's always like this with Benrey, he never responds properly, feigning confusion or flatout ignoring him.

"Benrey!"

He's seconds away from storming over to snatch that sh*t out of his hands and chuck it out the window when Benrey finally responds. "Man, leave me alone, you're not my mom," he complains, not once looking up from the game. "Why don't you, uh, go away? Go somewhere else? Think of that?"

"Whuh—Why the f*ck should I have to leave when I'm doing everything around here?" Gordon argues. As the words leave his mouth, he realizes just how much he's making it sound like he is Benrey's mother, which just reminds him of his own mother, and he inwardly cringes. "Man, come on. We don't gotta be doing this sh*t all the time."

"Myeh myeh myeh," Benrey mocks.

"Is that your plan, huh? To act like a child all day?" No response, and Gordon wants so badly to inflict physical harm upon him.

But every time he feels that urge, his eyes drift up towards Benrey's nose, and he feels such a sickening flood of emotions sweep over him. Gratification, that he's able to hurt Benrey and have it actually matter, now. Guilt, that he'd fly off the handle and behave so horribly to someone who's clearly new to pain, and can't take it as well as a regular human can. That conflicting mix of emotions has him wanting to throw up, and he grits his teeth, throwing his hands up in defeat.

"Fine," Gordon snaps. "Whatever. Be an obnoxious brat, I don't care."

As if it could possibly end there. Having Benrey around to get his blood boiling is bad enough, but apparently the world's also decided to get a few hits in, because just as he's about to make dinner, the taps suddenly give out. No matter how far he turns the knobs, it simply refuses to give him any water.

"sh*t," he curses. "No, no no no, f*ck…" Checking the other bathrooms proves fruitless, the taps all dried up. "Fuuuuuck," he groans, taking a moment to grasp at his hair in frustration. What the f*ck are they going to do now?

This crisis is what has him outside, filling up a bucket with rain water. He doesn't know what else to do while he waits, so he pulls up one of the dining chairs and reads a book on wilderness survival, specifically the section on purifying water. It's not the most helpful, considering it assumes he has modern conveniences like commercial purifiers. Which, yeah, he could probably find a ton of those, but he's not exactly anywhere near civilization, is he? Eventually, he manages to find the actually useful stuff about boiling water, and settles in to study that section.

Then Benrey comes barreling out of the house, his boot knocking over the bucket that's been steadily, but slowly filling with water over the past ten minutes. Gordon lets out a frustrated groan as Benrey stops, staring down at the bucket as if he never noticed it. Which, sure, maybe he didn't, but Gordon's paranoia drives him to believe he did. That he did it on purpose, that Benrey's made it his sole mission to be a jerk today.

"Hey, watch it!" Gordon snaps, setting the book aside as he jumps to his feet. As he goes to grab the bucket, he finds it in the mud down at the bottom of the steps, and sighs. He's going to have to clean this off first, in the rain, since he has nothing else. Which will be hell on his suit.

Then there's a hand shoving into his back, and the ground rushes up to meet him, mud squelching wetly as his face slams into it. He lets out a loud "f*ck!" as he hits the ground, picking himself up and rubbing his mouth off on the rough material of his sleeves.

"Clumsy boy, huh," Benrey mocks, walking past him and kicking the bucket farther down the road. With a growl, Gordon's hand shoots out, grasping onto Benrey's ankle in an attempt to trip him. But he doesn't budge. The timing is all off, leaving him stood perfectly still, staring down at Gordon with cold blue eyes. The urge to yank and twist and pull to topple Benrey anyway is powerful, but it wouldn't work.

Gordon gives up, slamming his fist into the dirt with a growl before he picks himself back up. By the time he's upright again, ready to tackle Benrey into the mud to teach him a lesson, he's already gone.

Cleaning the suit after that is an ordeal. The washing machine no longer works, leaving him with tons of towels he has to clean off into the rain and leave hanging out to dry, since the power also no longer works. Good thing he's already canned all their meats.

For dinner, he manages to boil enough water to cook a stew, adding in the meat he left out and some canned veggies. At least this is a fairly calming activity, even if he's still agitated enough to stir far too aggressively, getting water all over the stove top. But he's getting less agitated, which is good. Eating is one of the only pleasures he has left, and he doesn't want that taken from him because his anger drives him to do a sh*tty job.

And then Benrey shows up. He's still playing that loud ass game of his, the one that makes Gordon wanna smash his PSP against the countertop. "What's cookin'?" he asks, dragging out a chair such that the legs screech horribly against the tile, and Gordon cringes, gripping his ladle hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

"Stew," he answers.

"Smells a bit sh*t," Benrey says, making a sniffing noise as he plops down at the table to play his game. The urge to wring his neck is powerful, but all Gordon can do is brood in silence as he cooks, vicious thoughts swarming around his brain like a nest of angry wasps.

He fantasizes about hurting Benrey in all sorts of ways, like taking the knife out of the block nearby and driving it into Benrey's eyes. Or maybe he could pick up the tenderizing mallet and beat Benrey black and blue with it. Though just punching him in the nose had done a pretty good job, does he really need a tool? He could grab Benrey by the throat, slam him into the ground, and beat him to a bloody pulp.

For now, though, he'll just try to stay sane and enjoy his dinner.

Once he's done cooking, he fills up two bowls with stew. Heading over to the table, he's about to place Benrey's bowl down in front of them, when he stops just short, an idea popping into his head.

"No games at the table," he sternly tells them.

"Whuh?" Benrey says, looking up from their PSP with a dazed look. "Why not?"

"My dinner, my rules. Put it away."

"You punched me in the face," Benrey retorts, causing Gordon to bristle at the reminder. There's no heat in Benrey's gaze, as dismissive as a teenage boy that doesn't care what his mom has to say. When Gordon doesn't respond right away, caught off guard by his comment, he goes right back to playing video games.

Taking a deep, calming sigh, Gordon walks back to the counter, pouring Benrey's serving back in the pot, which he leaves on low heat. From there, Gordon leans back against the counter, his body blocking the pot, and eats his stew, slurping audibly and with a purpose. Despite that, it takes several minutes before Benrey appears to notice anything's happened, raising his gaze from his game only once he's completed a level to look around with confusion. Gordon just waits as he pieces it together.

"Whuh… bro, wha'the hell… why don't I get any?" he complains.

"I told you," Gordon says. "You either put the game away, or you don't get to eat. Simple as that."

"What? But it's my meat, I caught it. You're stealing it."

"Tough sh*t, man," Gordon says with an uncaring shrug. "Act like a child, get treated like a child. That means you either follow my rules or you don't get to eat tonight."

"You're grounding me to my room?!" Benrey exclaims, sounding so shocked and appalled, one might think Gordon actually was his father, and had that kind of authority. "You can't do that! You're not my real dad!"

All Gordon does is shrug in response, returning to eating his meal, totally indifferent to whatever Benrey decides to do from here. Either they start to see eye-to-eye, with Benrey putting away the game he's told him time and time again to turn down just to be met with total disrespect, or they can continue fighting like children. It's up to Benrey, as far Gordon sees it.

Something strange comes over Benrey's expression, a glare that doesn't fully read like a glare, before he shoves to his feet and storms out of the room. His footfalls are loud all the way up the stairs, not quite stomping and slamming doors, but it's not too far off, either. Each noise is another spike of agitation Gordon has to hold down, lest he chase after Benrey to yell at him about his behavior. He's not Benrey's dad. He can learn to act like an adult if he wants to be treated like one, instead of this bratty, childish bullying sh*t he's been pulling all day.

He doesn't come back after that. Gordon eats two servings and ignores the inkling of guilt creeping up on him, silencing each thought that accuses him of being unnecessarily cruel to Benrey. He's been nice. He patched the guy up, nursed him back to health and fed him, he's done more than enough for Benrey. This isn't about him, it's about Benrey and his sh*tty f*cking attitude.

When bedtime finally rolls around, all Gordon can do is lay there staring up at the ceiling. Thoughts of the past two days thrash around in his mind like a pack of stampeding bulls, riling him up all over again until he lies there with ire buzzing under his skin. Focusing on sleep is impossible, but he has no idea what to do to fix this.

That's when he hears something—something coming from down the hall. Equally relieved to have something to do, and disquieted by the strange noise, Gordon gets out of bed, creeping down the hallway with his hand poised over his gun. But as he gets farther away from his room, it becomes rapidly apparent just what it is he's hearing.

He turns towards Benrey's door. The sound he hears, struggled breaths, loud sniffling—the anger is flushed from Gordon's system like someone had punched it out of him. Benrey's crying. Why? What happened to him?

Stepping closer, Gordon pauses by the door, pressing his ear against the wood panelling. There's no mistaking it now, the sound of Benrey's sobs plainly audible. Gordon's thoughts race—did Benrey get injured again? Is his nose hurting? Is he having trouble sleeping through the pain? Not once does Gordon stop to consider why he even cares. The most he ponders is whether or not he'll get chewed out for intervening—but he does anyway, knocking just loudly enough to be heard. In response, he hears Benrey suck in a breath.

"Benrey? You okay in there, man?" Gordon calls, again, not too loud.

It takes awhile before he receives a response, listening to the sound of Benrey taking deep breaths in the meantime. "Go away," Benrey calls back.

Gordon sighs. "Come on, man. You've given me a hard time all day, now you're crying in your room. Hard not to be worried about your mental state. At least let me bring you some painkillers if you're struggling."

It's quiet on the other side, at least, as far as spoken words go. Eventually, he hears shuffling feet, then Benrey's voice from right behind the door. "Gimme the drugs, Freeman."

A startled laugh escapes Gordon, which he quickly tries to silence. This is serious, he shouldn't be laughing. "Sure, man. Just let me go grab some."

Once he's got the pill in hand, he returns to find Benrey's door ajar. Taking that as an invitation, Gordon carefully steps inside. There's no light save for the moon shining in through the windows, and Benrey's strangely glowing eyes, but he can make out enough of his surroundings to figure out where to go. There's nothing but a bed and desk in here, all the furniture rounded with the bed placed lower to the ground. On the bed, he spies about twenty stuffed animals crammed into the corner, squashed like they'd been used as extra pillows.

Benrey is sat along the edge, his black comforter draped over his head and shoulders. One of the toys, a stuffed fox from the looks of it, is in his lap, squeezed tight in his claws like he's using it as a stress ball. No helmet; that seems to be what the round object sat on the bedside table is. As for Benrey himself, he's slumped over, tears glistening on his face, though he doesn't appear to be crying anymore. He looks odd sitting in a child's bed, in that tiny black tank top and pink pajama pants, with his nose covered in bruises and bandages.

"Here," Gordon says, holding out his hand with the pill in his palm. Benrey stares at it for a moment before listlessly taking it, shoving it into his mouth and swallowing it easily. "You know that would work faster if you—"

"Get out."

Gordon starts, staring down at Benrey, who's gripping the stuffed fox hard enough to turn his knuckles white, gaze directed at the carpet to Gordon's left. "Whuh—Come on, man. We don't gotta keep doing this sh*t, let's just talk about our feelings like mature adults and not children, okay?"

"'We'?" Benrey echoes. The glare he levels Gordon's way has him wanting to take a step back, but he holds firm. "Hey, where's your broken nose, bro? Thought WE were matching. Since WE do everything together, huh? Best of friends, you break my nose, I break yours? When did that happen again? NEVER?"

Gordon bristles. "You—You had two highly trained members of the military beat the sh*t out of me! They cut off my f*cking arm!" he yells, throwing up his right arm for emphasis. Benrey flinches, shrinking in on himself. "At least I f*cking STOPPED! You just laughed, and laughed and laughed like the sick f*ck you are. Be f*cking grateful I lumped myself in with you just now."

The look on Benrey's face is obscured as he curls in around himself, arms wrapping around the plush fox. He's painting a pretty good picture of shame right now, but, how can Gordon trust that he knows the meaning of that word? Of guilt, or regret? Why did Gordon ever feel sorry for him? The military did him way f*cking worse than he ever did to Benrey, and it's all Benrey's f*cking fault that they knew where to find him, had the perfect opportunity to corner him.

"You got off so f*cking easy," Gordon continues. "Broken nose—Yeah, me too! And a black eye and several broken ribs, and, f*ck, I'd probably have been a f*cking quilt of bruises if anyone knew how to get this f*cking suit off me. It's like they knew exactly where to press to make this thing rebel against me. Probably covered in scars now. Not that you care, you only think about yourself."

Benrey shoves to his feet so fast that Gordon doesn't have time to react before Benrey's fist has slammed into his face, snapping his head to the side and sending him stumbling back against the wall. His ears ring and his vision spins, some of the worst pain he's ever felt exploding across the side of his face.

"GET OUT," Benrey snaps, his voice booming in an otherworldly sort of way, that has the hairs on Gordon's neck standing on end, uring him to flee, yet he doesn't move. When Benrey notices this, he starts yelling. "You—Bro, you're so SELFISH. Dumb idiot bouta get bit in the face, then what? Best friend Benrey swoops in save the day, has to cut off his own arm, for YOU, but you love your gun so much, what do I get? Brand new bullet hole."

The tears overflow in his eyes, dripping down his cheeks as he takes in a shuddering breath, exhaling a series of deep crimson Sweet Voice orbs, lighting up the room in red. "You don't CARE, man. All you care about is you. Me, me, me, always on about your arm, get over it already! I die all the time, and you laughed at me! But I never say how sucks that is because I'm nice, just trying be nice, you don't even care. Just want me to be mean so you can take everything out on me."

Guilt creeps up Gordon's spine. "Benrey—"

"GET OUTTA MY ROOM!" Benrey bellows, his voice clipping and fuzzing as the clock on his bedside table briefly flickers to life, displaying random numbers in a vivid red. He doesn't have to ask twice—Gordon flees, images of the boss fight flashing through his head. Only this time, Benrey's actually angry, and Gordon doesn't want to stick around to find out what a Benrey filled with rage is like.

Gordon's heart pounds violently in his chest as he dashes back to his room, closing and locking the door. Rounding the bed, he sinks down to the floor, where he's hidden from the doorway. Here, he pulls his legs close, wrapping both arms around them. He can't even feel this. It's just metal clanging against metal and it makes him want to scream. His breaths are heavy and it's making him lightheaded, until eventually, he passes out crammed between the bed and nightstand.

Chapter 9: it backfires on me, I beat me black and blue and yellow

Chapter Text

Gordon wakes with a nasty crick in his neck. There's moisture on his face, like he's been sweating or crying or both. He can't remember what he dreamed about, if he dreamed at all.

It takes awhile for him to get up. Wash his face, do some stretches like it'll cure his all mental illnesses, head downstairs to find an empty house again. Checking outside shows the security van parked exactly where Benrey left it, but no sign of Benrey himself.

An hour later, as Gordon's busy in the kitchen, Benrey finally appears—trudging in from upstairs, looking like he's never slept a day in his life, eyes rimmed red. He's got on the same outfit from last night, rumpled with one of the tank top's straps hanging off, his pants sitting inappropriately low on his hips, like he can't be bothered to care about any of it.

"Howdy," Gordon softly greets, like if he raises his voice too much it'll immediately blow up into an argument.

Leaning back against the counter and looking over at where Benrey's stood in the landing, he expects to see the other man glare at him for the attempt at conversation. Instead, Benrey looks at him and his face starts to crumple. Frowning, Gordon raises up, watching as Benrey presses his lips tightly together, eyes narrowing.

"Benrey? Everything okay, man? You're usually up before me…"

Several red bubbles force their way out of Benrey's closed mouth, and he claps his hands over his mouth in shock before darting back upstairs. Gordon just stares after him, gaping. What the f*ck was that about? Without thinking, he drops everything to run upstairs after Benrey, surprised to find the door to his room wide open. Hurrying inside, he finds Benrey digging through drawers and closets before locating Gordon's bag stashed away under the bed.

"What—What the hell are you doing?" Gordon snaps, watching Benrey drop the bag onto the bed, yanking the zipper down and carelessly tossing things out of it. "What the f*ck, get out of my sh*t!"

A strange noise comes out of Benrey that Gordon doesn't know how to describe. "Steal my sh*t," Benrey grumbles, "Steal YOUR sh*t. Bad, f*cking, awful influence, gonna get me hooked on cigarettes next. Wasn't bad before you—you made me bad."

"I didn't do sh*t!" Gordon exclaims, snatching the bag away before Benrey can make an even bigger mess, though it just causes the entirety of his bag to spill all over the bed. "f*ck!" Letting out a loud, angry groan, Gordon harshly tosses the bag aside before rounding on Benrey, who's too focused on the mess to notice. "Why are you acting like this? Are you trying to get back at me? I'm trying to be nice to you!"

"Echo in here or something," Benrey mumbles, before reaching out and snatching up a small, white bottle from the pile, alongside a full bottle of whiskey. "These are mine now."

"What—What is that? What are you holding?" Ignoring him completely, Benrey stalks out of the room, dodging Gordon's attempts to grab onto him. Along the way, he pops the whiskey open with his teeth, tipping it back and downing an alarming amount all at once. "Dude! You can't take pills and drink at the same time, you'll f*cking die, idiot!"

There's no response, as Benrey heads back to his room and slams the door in Gordon's face. The click of a lock sounds before Gordon can reach the handle, though he pounds on the wood anyway, too aggravated to leave Benrey alone. "Benrey! Knock this sh*t off already, man! It's barely noon, you can't be stealing my booze, which was for DISINFECTANT, by the way, not for you to get blasted off your ass! What are you gonna do if this place gets overrun, huh? Lay down and die because you're too f*cking drunk to aim a gun?"

No response. No sound, no movement, nothing. With a loud groan, Gordon slams his closed fist against the door before trudging downstairs. Leave it to Benrey to be completely f*cking impossible to deal with.

There's not a lot left to do in the kitchen—not a lot to do here in general. Gordon's spent hours filling his time however he can think to, studying, repairing gear, filling magazines, cooking and cleaning, but their time here is running out.

It's been too long anyway, they can't be making these extended stay rest stops like this. Everything has been taken care of, all they need to do is pack up and get out, but. How can they even begin to move as a team if they can barely be in the same room together?

With an exhausted sigh, Gordon steps outside, eager for some fresh air. It's chilly and a bit humid from all the rain that's been going on lately, but the fog is receding and he can see a bit farther back than usual. Taking a walk around the exterior of the house, Gordon keeps an eye out for danger, finding nothing, before heading down the path leading out onto the highway. There's not much to be seen; a few stragglers in the fields that Gordon makes quick work of with his crowbar, but it feels pretty tame.

Until he reaches the highway, that is. A few stragglers turns into a small group which turns into a horde so massive Gordon can't see through to the other side. As a few catch his scent and start shuffling towards him, he immediately turns and sprints back towards the house, his heavy metal footfalls turning the low groans of the undead into a massive, cacophanous roar.

Darting inside, he doesn't bother keeping quiet, slamming the front door shut and rushing upstairs where he pounds on Benrey's door, jerking the doorknob to no avail. "BENREY! Get the f*ck up, man, we need to go, NOW!"

"Huh…?" comes the sound of Benrey's voice on the other end, plus some clattering and other sounds of movement before Benrey's opening the door. "Wh…?"

There's barely any time to take in the dazed look and drunken flush on Benrey's face as Gordon shoves his way inside the room. The lights are off, but the sun coming in through the window makes it easy to see inside, and the room is a f*cking mess, clothes all over the place with empty beer bottles rolling around the floor. It's a little disturbing, seeing what's obviously a child's room covered in sh*t like that, and—Gordon spots a black and orange vibrator wand on the bedside table.

"Are you f*cking serious?" he blurts out.

Dizzy, Benrey turns slowly, following Gordon's gaze to the wand. "What? I got needs, bro. Leaf me alone maybe." His words come out slurred and slow, which Gordon doesn't have time for. Darting over to the window, he peers out past the curtains, where the horde has already gotten close enough to start slipping through the fog into view. "Oh, sh*t," comes Benrey's voice not far behind, peering past him out the window.

"Yeah, oh, sh*t, you f*cking moron. God." Gordon shoves past them, grabbing Benrey's bag off the desk and shoving it into his arms. "Get f*cking ready, we need to drive out of here, fast."

"How'r'we s'posed ta…" Benrey trips a little, following at Gordon's heel before stopping to sit down. Gordon fishes through Benrey's bag for a bottle of water, shoving it into their hands. "Oh. Thank."

"How are we supposed to what?" Gordon prompts, grabbing up all of Benrey's clothes off the floor and shoving them into the man's bag.

"Huh? Oh, uh. Drive. Through a bunch'av'em?"

Gordon freezes. sh*t, why hadn't he thought of that? There's way too many to break through. They'd need a f*cking, U-Haul truck or a harvester to get through that, neither of which are available, and Gordon's checked, many times. f*cking great farm, doesn't have sh*t.

It's with a sense of horror that Gordon processes that they're either going to have to fight their way through, or run away, abandoning everything they can't carry to escape into the forest. And Benrey's f*cking drunk, to top it all off.

"What… what the f*ck do we do?" Gordon asks no one in particular, since he doubts Benrey has any bright ideas.

He starts pacing, before panic drives him into the other room, gathering his things up into his bag and slinging his shotgun over his shoulders. He can thank Benrey later for strewing all his sh*t across the bed, further prolonging the time it takes for Gordon to get downstairs, grabbing as much food as he possibly can and shoving it into his bag. Benrey joins him around then, suddenly donning the full security uniform, helping gather their supplies without a word. Luckily there isn't that much to grab that isn't already in a bag.

Unluckily, they're both upstairs when the sound of glass shattering can be heard downstairs. Gordon hastily shoves the remainder of their medical supplies into his bag, the sound of Benrey's boots thudding against the floorboards. Darting back out into the hallway, he watches Benrey rack a handgun and fire downstairs. The sound of a bullet impacting flesh can be heard, followed by a body hitting the floor.

Looking over his shoulder, blue eyes meet green and they travel downstairs together without a word. Three more zombies are piling in through the broken window in the living room, tripping over each other as Benrey aims with a trembling hand, missing six times before blasting one in the head.

"Jesus christ, give me that," Gordon says before yanking the weapon out of Benrey's hand, firing twice and taking down both of the remaining threats. He hands it back over, ignoring Benrey's moody pout. "Give me the keys to the van, I'll drive us out through the fields if I have to."

"Wood fence," Benrey says, digging through their pants pocket to produce a jangling set of keys. There's an enormous amount of them stuffed onto one keyring, and before Gordon can ask which one goes to the van, there's more zombies piling in, another window shattered in the landing, and the back door splintering open. Stuffing them into his bag, Gordon grabs his shotgun and gets to work.

The house is overrun quickly, and Benrey shoves open the window by the stairs, urging Gordon to follow him out through it. He has to knock back a group of six with his crowbar in order to clear enough space to make it out in time.

Outside, he finds Benrey pulling the assault rifle off his back to fire wildly into a group around the back of the house. Most of the shots don't land, and a lot of the rest don't hit anywhere that matters, but the overall effect is better than if he'd continued with the pistol. He's actually thinning the crowd, now, and Gordon keeps those closing in from the front off their back with his shotgun while Benrey does so.

"Come on," Benrey calls, and Gordon gets in one more shot before following after him. The guard vaults over the wooden fence leading into the field behind the house, tripping and dropping his gun, which flies out of his hands. Gordon fares better, grabbing Benrey's arm to yank him back to his feet. He shoves Benrey forward, where the fields are significantly emptier than the gravel surrounding the house.

"Just run!" Gordon yells, catching sight of Benrey's shocked expression before whipping back around and blasting the zombies with his shotgun. He's not exactly trained to do this like he assumes Benrey must be, but their accuracy is abysmal right now and he can't afford that kind of sloppiness.

Glancing back, he finds that Benrey's actually listened to him for once, running to the other end of the field, where Gordon stops shooting to catch up with him. However, he only takes one step before he trips and falls flat. Twisting around, he finds a hand clinging to his ankle, gripping weirdly tight despite belonging to a dead guy. He kicks it until its blood splatters out of its skull and it falls limp to the ground.

By then, the horde has gotten a lot closer, forming a wall along the fence where Gordon has to shove several away from him in his struggle to get back to his feet. The HEV suit doesn't exactly make it easy to move quickly or gracefully, but if it didn't exist, he'd be dead—there's a zombie chomping on his arm, another on his left leg. The worst effect all that has on him is slowing him down and tripping him up as he struggles to get away, but it's like there's more and more, like they're being actively spawned in.

"sh*t!" he exclaims, throwing up an arm as one comes right for his face, teeth snapping. He shoves his arm out, knocking it back before blasting it with the shotgun, knocking several others down in the process. It's somewhere in the middle of this that a thought makes it through the panicked haze of his mind—Where's Benrey?

That's when he hears, "GORDON! RUN!"

"What—" Something in the distance catches his eye. Time appears to slow as he watches metal glint in the light of the overcast sky while a grenade soars overhead. He barely has time to register what it is before he's holstering his gun and taking off into the fields as fast as humanly possible, clingers be damned. His throat burns and his eyes prick with tears from the exertion, but he makes it far enough away that when a violent explosion erupts behind him, the worst that happens is he gets barreled over from a hard blast of wind, a bit of wood flying past and sharply cutting his cheek on a nail.

Once it feels safe, he pushes up onto his knees, looking back to see a decent fraction of the zombies turned to a gory mush. A fire spreads to those remaining nearby. Stunned and with his vision blurred, it takes him a second to piece together his surroundings, eventually spotting Benrey running over to help him back to his feet.

"Whuh, hhh—Where the f*ck did you get a bomb?" Gordon exclaims, his heart pounding a fearful rhythm in his chest.

"Warehouse, idk," Benrey mumbles. "That's, uh, the only one though."

Looking back to the crowd, he watches the flames spreading quickly, igniting the side of the house where the bomb has blasted a huge hole in the wood paneling. There's still maybe fifty zombies remaining, and Gordon can't fathom where they all came from.

"How the f*ck did there get to be so many?" Gordon hisses, trying to keep his voice down lest the zombies move from investigating the noise produced by the blast, to tracking the two of them down. There's already a group of at least fifteen closing in on them, as Benrey raises his handgun, aiming carefully before firing, the silencer keeping the heat off them. "We're in the middle of nowhere!"

"Could be the yelling," Benrey muses, firing again and taking down one of the zombies. There's nothing accusatory in their voice, but Gordon bristles anyway.

"Man, f*ck you. My yelling did not attract a massive horde, and even if it did, whose fault is that anyway?"

"Wow, victim blaming, really cool," Benrey drones.

"Vic—Are you f*cking serious?" Gordon snaps. Benrey fires again, landing the shot. "You're constantly starting sh*t, stomping around slamming doors and acting like a f*cking brat all the time." Benrey grits his teeth, firing again and missing. "If you would just f*cking behave and stop acting like a goddamn sociopath we wouldn't be having this problem!"

Another fire and another miss. Benrey lowers the gun, rounding on Gordon and shoving him back a few steps. "Man, you're such an asshole! You can't just beat on me and then act like I'M the problem! YOU'RE the problem! Everything was FINE until you got here, messing everything up for me. Could do whatever I wanted, cheat codes, teleport, godmode, now you're here and everything f*cking sucks for me!"

"Wow, it's almost like that's exactly what MY life has been like ever since YOU stepped into it," Gordon snaps back, stepping forward to shove Benrey back in retaliation. "If not for you, my life would be so much f*cking easier! It's probably your fault the Resonance Cascade even happened to begin with, YOU weren't supposed to f*cking be in there!"

"STOP blaming me for EVERYTHING!" Benrey exclaims, his voice crackling as it echoes through the air. "YOU put us here! It's your fault!"

Enraged, Gordon responds with a growl, slamming his hands into Benrey's chest and sending him crashing backwards. The consequences of this action don't register until he sees Benrey hit the ground, sees the group of zombies closing in on him, twice as many thanks to their screaming match. The sight of danger has Gordon taking a step back, watching as several members of the undead descend upon Benrey, who can't get up fast enough to avoid one dropping down to tear a huge chunk out of his neck.

Benrey screams, limbs flailing like a dying insect as he struggles to shove the zombie off him despite the pain rendering him dizzy and unsteady. Another quickly joins the first, followed by another, and another, until all Gordon can see is Benrey's black boots falling limp against the grass. All the while, Gordon does nothing, stunned by the grotesque sight and paralyzed with the knowledge that he did this. He pushed Benrey into danger. He killed him.

But he can't dwell on that, not when there's plenty more zombies left to target him, instead. He takes off running, slinging the shotgun around his shoulders and heading around the remaining zombies in a huge circle. As he tries to get back over the fence, he trips over it, a sharp pain going up his ankle.

"Fuuuuck," he groans, unable to keep it in. Openly panting, he struggles back to his feet, rushing for the van and fishing the keys out of the bag as he goes along. That's when he's grabbed, staggering to a halt and allowing more zombies to grab onto him. They tear the bag off his shoulders right as he gets the keys out, closing his fist around the metal ring as he breaks free, darting up the steps to the security van. It's a tall vehicle, too tall for anything to break through the windows and start munching on him. That doesn't mean he isn't terrified of all the bodies slamming against the exterior while he shakily fumbles to get the car started.

"Oh, goddammit," he curses as he looks down at the keys in his hand. Right, he forgot—there's maybe fifty different keys stuffed onto this thing, most of them looking like car keys. He goes through several as he can hear the car being slammed into from all angles. It feels like an eternity before he finds one that fits in the ignition, sharply twisting it to find the car refusing to start.

"No, no, come on!" He slams his hands against the wheels before trying again—no dice. "f*cking—Please, please work, I can't jump back out now!"

Finally, on the third try, the engine roars to life. He puts the vehicle in reverse, tripping up the zombies outside to make it easier for the car to jerk forward. It takes a lot of back and forth and slamming on the brakes before he's able to roll over the zombies ahead of him and creep towards the highway. Once there's no longer zombies swarming the car, he picks up speed, skidding out onto the highway and nearly crashing into the railing.

There's more out here, but they're so spread out that it's no issue for him at all. He slams on the gas, shakily tossing his things into the passenger's seat as he goes.

While he drives, images of what he just left behind flash through his mind. The house, the meal he was preparing for breakfast, the explosion. The horde. Benrey's frightened eyes as the zombies descended upon him.

It all happened so fast.

Chapter 10: can't rely on anyone else

Chapter Text

The drive is long and eerily quiet. It leaves Gordon alone with the sound of his pounding heart for far too long, the world becoming off-kilter as he slowly comes to realize that he's in shock. It's been over a month since the last time he had to fear for his life, and suffice to say, he's let his guard down far too much. That kind of peace… even with all the fighting, it's the best he's gotten since that fateful day back at Black Mesa.

"Okay," he tells himself, breathing slow and long as he taps his fingers against the steering wheel. Driving a huge f*cking van like this is an adjustment, but other than the maneuver he had to make to get onto the highway, it's been smooth sailing. Just one straight line for miles. "This is okay. Everything's fine! You were gonna leave anyway, what does it matter if you got forced out a little early? Sure, you lost all your stuff, but you have the van, you're unharmed, and…"

Benrey will respawn, is what he would have said. And, sure, he will, Gordon will no doubt be seeing him soon. But he's not so sure that's a comfort. All they ever did was scream at each other.

He lifts his hand, prodding at the nasty cut on his cheek, his ankle throbbing where it's resting against the pedal. At least Benrey gets to shed all his injuries, come back totally fine. Gordon doesn't get to do that.

The drive is a long one. He hasn't eaten all day, and it's only when he can barely see through the dead of night, eyes weary and struggling to stay open, that he forces himself to stop before he crashes the f*cking car. Luckily the road is surrounded by forest, allowing him to park behind a cluster of trees.

Without his supplies, he's forced to skip dinner. Which doesn't make it any easier to get a restful night's sleep, especially not when has to sleep in a car. As he contemplates how he wants to do this, he thinks back to when he was on the road with Benrey. Back then, he would curl up in the passenger's seat and try to get any sleep at all. As for Benrey, he usually slept in the trunk.

The trunk! That's right, there's a whole ass couch back there. It probably smells funky, just like everything Benrey comes into contact with, but it's way better than this.

Gordon's about to get up and head back there when he remembers what else is in the trunk. The memory of that stack of body bags piled in with all of Benrey's stuff flashes to the forefront of his mind, and he slowly turns to look at the back of the car. Heading in there now means knowing he's bunking with at least three dead bodies, and they could be anyone.

On second thought, the front seat isn't so bad. Now certainly isn't the right time to go opening that can of worms, not when he's so tired he can barely see, and the cover of darkness only makes it worse.

After a night spent tossing and turning, Gordon gets back on the road. Another few hours of driving along the same stretch of road, just when he thinks he's going insane or in purgatory or something, he finally encounters civilization. It's a small town centered around a massive church with a murder of crows hanging around it. As he drives through, he finds a block of stores, a mall, and rows of houses. There's also all the basic amneties like the fire station and precinct, plus a small clinic.

The thing that really stands out, though? It's completely empty. Not one zombie roaming the streets. It's eerily quiet as a result, leaving him with nothing but the wind rustling through the trees and the sound of the van's engine humming.

Suspicious, Gordon scans the streets, driving through the entire town before parking at a gas station on the edge, having found no threats. Despite that, he keeps his head on a swivel, brandishing his crowbar at every slight sound that seems out of place.

Once the van is all gassed up, he heads inside the convenience store attached to it, having to pry open the doors with his crowbar. Walking with a sprained ankle is deeply unpleasant, but he powers through, doing his best not to lean on it. The power's out, and he reaches for a flashlight before remembering what happened to his bag. With a sigh, he moves on, but all he can find is some salt and vinegar chips. Disgusting, but better than nothing.

Thus begins his search of the town. With nothing much to eat, or tend to his wounds and brush his teeth with, he's gotta start digging… again. It's annoying and disheartening to have to start over like this, but he's got an entire town to himself this time. It should be easy pickings.

Or it would be, if not for the fact it's been picked clean already. Every store, every home, everywhere is nothing but empty shelves and sadness. In corners here and there, he finds some things—toilet paper, beard oil, a packet of salt. But it's not looking good.

He's torn up one of the houses, tossing books, pans, and melted ice cream onto the floor in search of anything good when he considers just giving up. But if he does that, he'll starve. Going out on the open road to search for somewhere better will probably take him days, because he's in hell, apparently, and the roads are a million miles long.

The last place he hits for the day is the mall. It's the second biggest building in town, though as he walks through the halls of the place, guided by the sun streaming in through the skylights overhead, he's seeing mostly empty shops with their shutters drawn. The shops that do exist look like they were pretty barren even before the apocalypse hit. It's just got that sh*tty, small town vibe, like most of the townspeople probably never stepped foot in here.

Wandering the halls looking through mostly clothing stores, he travels up a short set of stairs to discover a department store at the back. If it's got camping equipment, maybe he could figure out how to work a fishing rod and catch his own food for tonight. Can't be too hard, right?

That's when he hears a noise, whipping around with his crowbar brandished to find an arcade to his left. Not a very big one, though. It's all old machines of the Pacman and Space Invaders variety. In the back, he watches a silver coin roll across the floor, tracing its path back to a large Virtua Fighter machine.

Paranoia and fear lace through him, crowbar at the ready as he steps inside, searching the arcade for signs of life.

"Benrey?" he calls out. "Know it's not a f*ckin' zombie, you prick. Where are you? Benrey!"

Looking around each machine reveals nothing. Yet he can't help but feel like there's something here. It has the hair on the back of his neck standing on end, goosebumps blooming on his arms.

Feeling uneasy, he heads back out, glancing in every direction and jumping when he sees the shadow of a mannequin in a store window. Taking a deep breath, he wills his racing heart to calm. The setting sun is causing the mall to grow darker, obscuring his view and making every unexpected sight a jumpscare. He's shaking by the time he steps into the department store, hands clenched painfully tight around his crowbar. He keeps glancing to the doors, expecting someone to be out there, before realizing he's neglecting his surroundings and becoming convinced there's someone in here with him.

That's when he bumps into another mannequin, screaming and jumping back just to swing his crowbar like he's aiming for a home run. The mannequin goes flying, crashing into some far away shelves. The noise sends him right back to the ambush, where he hadn't been able to see his attackers, could only hear the thunderous clap of their boots as they swarmed him. He hears it now, and it has him taking off in a desperate sprint.

In seconds, he bursts out through the glass doors of the department store and into the light of the setting sun. He keeps running until he gets to the van, climbing into the seat and locking all the doors. Only once he's in here does he even begin to relax, tightly gripping the wheel and laying his head down, where he shuts his eyes to block everything else out.

Logic dictates that he has nothing to worry about. The only humans around have been him, and, arguably, Benrey. But that doesn't stop the fear from paralyzing him. He releases the steering wheel to wrap his arms around himself. In the suit, it provides very little comfort, and he squeezes tighter, as if he can reach through the hard mesh of the bodysuit to feel skin beneath his fingertips, or at least the warmth of his own body. Anything. It's maddening.

He squeezes tighter.

Once he's regained control of his breathing, he forces his head up despite the fear that something's going to be there, watching him. He almost swears he sees Benrey's face right in front of him, but there's nothing. Just his imagination again.

Exhausted, he switches the van back on and drives out to find a house to spend the night in. Despite having found nothing substantial to eat, he has to call it quits for now.

He picks a house that's situated right along the main road to camp out in. After breaking open a window with his crowbar, he clumsily climbs inside—where he falls flat on the wood floor, and stays there.

This feels familiar. He'd lost all his stuff then, too, and had to build himself back up before he could get his sh*t back from Benrey. Is that going to happen again, he wonders as he stares up at the popcorn ceiling. Is Benrey coming back with his things? Will they join forces again, work together to get what they need? Or is that a lost cause now?

Gordon heaves a sigh. Though his body screams at him to rest, his ankle throbbing even worse than before, that's not an option. Unfortunately, he's gonna have to be a responsible adult about this, and get back up.

This place turns out to be a fairly standard suburban home, making it easy to find his way around. His first stop is the bathroom, where he steps inside just for the sight of his reflection in the mirror to freeze him in his tracks. There's blood and soot all over him, likely from the blast that took out the farmhouse. Somehow, he hadn't even noticed. This definitely can't stay, so he turns towards the shower, immediately remembering what happened back at the farmhouse. If there's no running water left…

However, as he turns the knobs on the shower, he can feel the pressure of the water flowing towards the faucet, hears the hiss as it builds up, before finally beginning to fill the tub. Heaving a relieved sigh, he removes the showerhead, using it to wash all the grime off his suit.

"Thank god," he says as he watches the ash wash off and down the drain. "Must've been because we were so remote, can't get sh*t out in the country."

The "we" in that statement makes Gordon feel like he should be able to look back and see Benrey washing up in the sink, but he doesn't. The reminder that he's alone creates such a sinking feeling in Gordon's gut that for a moment, he doesn't know what to do with himself. Until he remembers how f*cking annoying Benrey is. Then, he lets out an irritated groan, hastily scrubbing himself clean with some supplies he finds under the sink.

As he wipes at his face, the cut on his cheek has him hissing in pain. It must be pretty bad, but he can't look at it until he's done, first drying off the suit with a towel so it doesn't rust. That's when he faces his reflection again. Calling his injury a cut is grossly understating it. The angry red gash trailing across his entire cheek splits open wide enough for him to see the pink flesh inside.

"Fuuuuck," he says, leaning as far forward as he can, as if getting a closer look will reveal it's actually not as bad as he thinks. In fact, it's the opposite—the cut's starting to swell, which means it might be getting infected. "sh*t. And I just had to go and lose all my medical supplies!"

Heaving an irritated sigh, he starts digging through the house. It's not swept completely clean, none of the houses were—it's just totally devoid of edible food or medical supplies. However, when he steps into the master bedroom, he finds a vanity table with a sewing kit tucked away in one of the drawers, where he finds some thread and a needle. It's a navy blue thread, which he finds calming, somehow. Like beautiful ocean waves or something. Whatever. So long as that makes it easier to tend to his cheek, he'll take it.

Now with everything gathered, Gordon looks over the supplies set out around the bathroom sink. Once upon a time, he'd sat in his apartment playing The Walking Dead Game, where he thought the self-stitching scene in the second season was pretty gruesome. But a little girl's pain tolerance is nothing compared to a grown man, right?

It's because of this that he feels pretty confident in his ability. He's got about half a bottle of whisky he found under the mattress, using the cap to pound back a shot before getting to work.

Though he doesn't have his old medical textbooks with him—those got lost along with his bag—he took a Home Ec class, once, so sewing up his face shouldn't be much different. He's not one of those people that's afraid of getting a flu shot, either, so this'll be a cinch.

Despite all this, when it comes down to it, he… can't do it. The needle's threaded and ready, he's got a good vantage point, he can even visualize and count how many stitches it'll take to seal the wound. But his hand just won't move. It feels like an eternity that he just stands there staring at it, observing the shape of it in the mirror where the sewing needle's poised and ready. The sight of his flesh torn apart like that, all angry and red, is disturbing—the longer he looks at it without doing anything, the more nauseous and lightheaded he gets, until finally, he has to sit down.

So… stitching up his own wound might be a no-go. He should've expected it, really. He knows the feeling of picking at a scab for too long, how your body forces you to stop by making you too sick and dizzy to continue. Damn. That little video game girl is way cooler than he is.

It doesn't matter. Benrey'll come back soon enough as he always does, they'll bitch at each other, then Gordon can get him to stitch up his wound, no problem.

Satisfied with this plan, Gordon tucks the sewing supplies into his now empty holster, where he's been putting various small items. The car keys, for one. Not losing that sh*t again.

With that done, he double checks to ensure the wound looks clean before heading back out. After another sweep of the house to make sure he's alone, he plops down on the living room couch to take a break. His stomach's grumbling for some food and his skin feels clammy, but he can't seem to figure out where he put the chips, so there's not much he can do. Especially not now, when all his body wants to do is take a nap.

The most he can allow himself is a half hour's rest, which he spends… meditating, or whatever you'd call staring at the ceiling without processing thought. It feels like a waste, but… what's that sh*t people on the internet say? Rest is never wasteful, or something.

Still, when he finally heaves himself back up to his feet, he feels a little like crying. He's just so tired. His cheek stings like a motherf*cker, his ankle is throbbing—whatever sh*t the suit was pumping him full of seems to have run out. Or maybe it was never doing that and he's been running on raw adrenaline. Who the f*ck knows anymore? He also thought the suit was jacking him off, so he can't really be trusted to know what it does.

With a heavy sigh, Gordon resigns himself to tearing up the neighborhood in search of supplies. There's a few things he grabs just to feel like he's accomplished anything at all, like the batteries out of a remote or a fresh roll of toilet paper.

That's when he finds it. In the very last house on the block, tucked deep into the back of a cupboard full of dishes and cookware… a single can of chicken noodle soup. He reaches for it like it's a holy artifact, holding it skyward while deliriously chanting "Thank you!" like a mantra to whatever cruel god is listening. Then, he takes off like a mouse with a wad of cheese, returning to "his" house where he tracks down a can opener to pop the thing open. It's only enough for one serving, so him and Benrey will have to split it.

After getting it into a pot and cooking it properly, using the little salt packet he picked up earlier, he spends time pouring it evenly into two bowls, plopping two spoons inside, and carrying it into the dining room.

"Look," he says, "It's not much, but we gotta share—"

He blinks, taking in the sight of the empty dining table, the chairs undisturbed for long enough that dust has gathered around them. Glancing around, Gordon expects to find Benrey f*cking around somewhere, when he remembers… Benrey isn't here. He hasn't been since yesterday, when sh*t hit the fan. The realization leaves Gordon feeling cold and hollow.

There's also a bead of sweat dripping down the back of his neck, his gaze shifting from place to place, convinced he feels a presence. Benrey has to be here… right?

"Benrey?" he calls, taking a cautious step forward. There's nothing there, nothing to see, nothing to hear, so why does he feel so strongly that something is here?

Setting the bowls down, he reaches for his crowbar, brandishing it as he creeps through the house as quietly as he can in a bulky metal suit. Every room is empty, no open doors that weren't open before, no shattered windows, no broken locks, nothing moved. Despite the fear prickling up the back of his neck, he forces himself to check through the curtains, jumping even though there's nothing to be seen. He just… shouldn't there be something? A zombie, an angry security guard pointing a gun at him, anything?

After doing a full perimeter check of the outside, he finally resigns himself to the fact that nothing's here. He's gone and chased a sixth sense he doesn't have with nothing to show for it.

Grumbling to himself, he turns to head back inside the house, when his eyes land on the van. He… hasn't checked that. Not that he expects anything, or anyone, to have climbed inside when it's all locked up and he has the key—he double checks to make sure that's true—but that's not what he's thinking.

He's all alone with the van. There's absolutely nothing to stop him from peeking inside and finding out just what Benrey's got hidden in there. Sure, he's hungry and exhausted and would rather eat his soup and go to bed, but…

What if it's important? What if there's something in there that will crack the mystery of this strange world wide open? No doubt he's not in the real world anymore. He can't believe any of this is reality, not if he ever wants to return to his old life.

But is he really prepared to see it? To glimpse at what might be Benrey's deepest, darkest secret? What if he finds something in those black body bags that he doesn't want to see, like the decayed, rotting faces of the science team, the men he once called his allies? What would that mean for him? Is he next? Or did Benrey get rid of everyone else to trap Gordon here with him? He wouldn't do that, right? Not if he seemed so determined to avoid Gordon at the start… unless that was his master plan all along. Come off as aloof, until he's so pathetic, Gordon has to bring him under his wing like a baby bird.

Is that too intelligent a play for Benrey to make? Well, probably. For all he knows, they're full of mannequins he likes to dress up and play with, and he just has really morbid taste. Maybe he thinks it's funny, making Gordon suspect him of some horrible, evil deed.

Either way, Gordon can't bring himself to open up the doors and look inside. In his mind's eye, he imagines what it would look like, if he unzipped one of them to see Tommy's youthful face distorted as his flesh sags off his bones, his head cracked open to where his colorful hat can't cover up his exposed brain. The image keeps getting worse and worse until he thinks he might throw up—definitely not something he wants right before eating. No, now isn't the right time.

Heading back inside, he returns to the dining room to find… his soup has gone cold. Cool. Great.

After quickly reheating his meal, he pours one bowl and begins to eat by himself, just… standing there, leaned back against the kitchen counter. No point in eating at a table if he's going to do it alone. Not to mention, wouldn't it be faster this way, if something broke in and he didn't have to maneuver out from the table in his clunky suit?

The soup is slightly burnt and tastes a little off, but it fills his stomach and allows him to head to bed without constant hunger pangs. Yet he finds himself unable to sleep regardless. The bed brings him no comfort, the fluffy duvet more constricting than cozy. Even the pile of pillows aren't enough, the bulky suit making it difficult to rest his neck properly. All he can do is stare up at the ceiling, wondering why. Why is the town empty? Why is the power out? Why can't he find anything useful? Why is he stuck here? Why isn't Benrey back yet?

In the morning, he watches the sun rise unaware if he's slept at all. There's patches of nothingness where he thinks he might've slept, but it's all a blur. A miserable, exhausting blur.

Still, he gets up, feeling hollow as the world around him grows distant. After a quick trip to the bathroom, he realizes he's got problems a little more pressing than an empty kitchen. The cut on his cheek is redder than it was yesterday, the skin around it beginning to swell. A cut of that size getting infected isn't good at all.

"sh*t," he grumbles to himself, before quickly heading out. He's gonna need to check out the hospital, see if he can get something better to clean it with, and hopefully some antibiotics, too.

The clinic's a quick drive away, though he has to pry open the automatic doors to get inside. This is the part where he gets a little confused. He's never worked in a clinic, and they don't exactly walk patients down to the medicine storage or whatever while handing them their prescription. So it's a lot of digging through various rooms hoping he'll find anything useful. Every now and then, he'll stop to remember when he'd take Joshie to the doctor and all he'd ever want to do is spin on the stool and blow up the disposable gloves like balloons.

Suddenly, the memory shifts to something else. It's not Joshie playing around in a doctor's office, but Benrey. Gordon pictures him filling the gloves with water to start smacking things with them, incessantly asking where all the lollipops are, because he's been such a "good boy" and "deserves that sweet loot". Gordon would tell him to behave and stop f*cking around.

Pulling himself out of that train of thought, Gordon lets out an unsteady breath. It's so quiet in here. No hyperactive little boy to keep out of the drawers, no obnoxious manchild to keep out of trouble. f*ck, at this point, he'd even take a feral raccoon. Anything to mix it up a little, to stave away this deep rooted feeling of loneliness that's got him feeling like the last man alive. What if humanity's died out completely? Will he ever see another human being again? Will he ever see his son again?

What's he gonna do if he is the only one left? Start scrawling on the walls in his own blood?

Nah, he'll be dead in a few days because he can't treat a single wound on his face. f*ck, no wonder people used to die so f*cking easily back in the day.

Eventually, he comes across a room that initially looks like a breakroom—he can't read any of the labels on any of the doors when it's so f*cking dark in here, lit only by the windows at the ends of the hallways—until he peers deeper into the room, spotting a line of storage cases. There's rows and rows of medicine in there, far more stock than anywhere else he's found so far. The only problem is that it's behind a locked door, but that's easily solved with a few tugs of his crowbar.

Once he's busted the door open, he goes to take a step inside, halting abruptly as he looks up to find the clinic storeroom has faded away. Instead, he sees a plain white room filled with wooden crates and a single medical station hung on the far wall. He hears Benrey's voice taunting him, urging him to go inside.

Heat flashes over his body, a hollow feeling building in his gut. He takes a staggering step backwards, hearing Benrey's voice grow louder and louder, his mocking cackle filling the halls.

Before Gordon even knows what's happened, he's far away from the clinic, out on the sidewalk dry heaving onto the pavement. His arm throbs painfully from the memory of a blade cutting into it, severing tendons and bone, each second causing him to gag and retch even harder. There's nothing for him to give, but he can't stop for an agonizing length of time, his throat burning and raw.

Wiping off his tears and the mixture of bile and saliva in his beard with the HEV suit's gloves is unpleasant, but it's all he has. Pushing up off the ground, he staggers back to his van in a daze, lying across the two seats and staring up at the ceiling. With the suit on, he can't even feel the center console digging into his spine.

Eventually, when the world has stopped spinning and he's able to get his bearings, Gordon pushes back up, assessing his situation. The clinic isn't going to work. Stitching up his own wound isn't going to work. Finding food? Also not going to work. So what does he have left, then? Wait for Benrey? He tries to think of how long it would usually take to encounter him, but results are pretty inconclusive when he's never had Benrey come straight to him, before. There was the skeleton, which showed up maybe ten, fifteen minutes after Benrey died that first time. But what does that mean? Is the skeleton Benrey? Is it a separate entity?

Either way, Benrey isn't here right now, and Gordon's not going to live long if he can't fulfill his basic needs. He shouldn't have to rely on some obnoxious asshole to take care of him, anyway.

He can find some other way to help himself.

With a renewed sense of determination, Gordon moves on. His first target is a small hardware store, where he digs and digs until finding a tiny pen flashlight abandoned in a drawer somewhere. The light it creates is pathetic and he's only got the one battery—all the others he's found are the wrong kind—but it'll have to do in a pinch.

After heading back out, a noise draws his attention towards the church in the center of town. Those damn crows have been gathered around the building the entire time he's been here, cawing and pecking at the windows. Though at first he glares at them for causing such a racket, soon, something hits him. These crows are the only living beings he's seen since leaving the farmhouse. Which means… they're his only food source.

With this realization comes another burst of vigor, and he immediately sets about figuring out how he's going to catch one. A gun is the obvious solution, so he checks out the precinct nearby. There's a lot of doors that require prying open, but the most important one, the one that leads to the armory, is too tough for him to break down. And he really f*cking tries, but the thing won't budge, and he can't waste his energy on this stuff.

That moves him onto plan B. Lots of people throughout history hunted birds without firearms, so he can, too. Nevermind those people usually had training from people who knew what they were doing—someone had to be the first to discover this sh*t from nothing, and he has better than nothing!

His next plan is to build a slingshot. It's nothing fancy, he used to make this sh*t in his backyard with his brothers when he was growing up. He just has to find some good sticks, something to tie it together with, and then, the hard part… locating the proper material for the sling. Getting rocks is by far the easiest part, and he starts a collection by the church as he heads all over town tracking down supplies. Looking in garages eventually nets him a good enough elastic band, he even finds some scissors to help him put it together.

After a few test shots, he gets to work.

"Alright, you little f*ckers," Gordon says, slightly out of breath as he finally approaches the church, DIY slingshot in hand. "Prepare to meet your maker."

His first few shots miss completely. Though, no matter how much he startles the birds, they never leave the area. He has to chase them down from place to place, but there's always at least one right by, or even on, the church building. Even still, a full hour goes by of failure after failure, running around missing every shot until he gets so frustrated, he starts chucking rocks. But all this does for him is shatter some windows and dent some cars while scaring off the birds even more.

Alright, if he can't take the fight to the birds, maybe he can make them wander right into his clutches. He's seen a few cartoons in his day. All he's gotta do is prop up a box with a stick and convince a bird to go inside, and he's golden.

A milk crate is easy to find, plus some sturdy enough sticks to use. There's rope in one of the garages he checks, so that gets tied to the stick, and then… hmm. What's he meant to use as bait? After digging through some houses, he comes up with a bit of moldy bread. Birds probably can't tell the difference, right? Nodding to himself, he stuffs it under the crate, finds a good hiding spot, and waits.

And waits. And waits. And waits. By the time the sun starts setting, he hasn't seen a single bird come anywhere near his trap. And he's pretty well hidden! He managed to stuff himself under a truck, there's no way they can tell he's under here.

He's about to give up, climb out and put the trap somewhere else when he sees it. A single crow, fluttering down onto the pavement where it begins to investigate the bait he left out. He's on the edge of his seat as he watches it creep inside. Quickly, he tugs the rope, but it… doesn't budge. The stick is stuck, somehow, and the bird notices the line going taut, darting back into the air before he can get the box to drop. In frustration, he slams his fist down on the concrete.

"Goddammit!" he groans. "Why is this so f*cking hard? Just get in the box!"

He gets desperate after that, at one point attempting to scale the side of the church to give himself a better vantage point, but all he gives himself is back pain when he falls off the side of it. With the fatigue overwhelming his body, he starts missing shots, at some points getting hit when the rocks come right back down on his head. This only angers him more, until he's running through town chasing birds like a crazy person. He jumps at them, only saved from skidding his elbows and knees on the pavement thanks to the HEV suit.

Finally, he jumps at a group of unsuspecting birds in the middle of the road, and catches one in his hands. The feeling of victory that washes over him is better than any drug, his raucous laughter filling the air as he grips the struggling bird. But somewhere in the delirium, he gets swept up in it all, his feral, caveman-like behavior driving him to take a huge bite before his meal can get away. A bite out of a live bird.

Of course, all this gets him is a mouth full of feathers as the crow squawks and barrages his face with its wings, putting up a huge fight until he loses his hold and it flies away.

"NO!" he yells, scrambling to catch onto it, but it's futile. The bird gets away, off to join its brethren atop the church. Gordon would like to say he handles this loss very well, that this failure fuels his future success. In reality, he chucks the slingshot at the ground hard enough to destroy it, before he breaks down crying on the sidewalk.

This is hopeless. Gordon Freeman was not meant to survive in the wild! He can barely handle being alone, much less survive on his own in a town with no supplies. What the f*ck is he going to do?

Exhausted, thirsty, and starving, Gordon eventually picks himself back up, as he always does, because he has to. Abandoning the birds, which was a stupid idea anyway, he heads back home. It's getting late and he needs to rest.

After cleaning up in the bathroom and bunkering down for a restless sleep, he wakes to a blistering heat and severe lightheadedness. In the bathroom, he stares into the mirror to see how swollen and yellow his wound has gotten, now with red lines coming off it to make it abundantly clear he's failed to prevent an infection. Regardless, he cleans it as best he can despite every moment making him feel like he might pass out or throw up or both.

As he stares at his pale face in the mirror, his beard unkempt, hair a mess, and eyes sunken and hollow, the only thought cutting through the exhausted haze of his mind is…

If he's gonna die, he's gonna have fun doing it.

He hits the local bar, finding a decent collection of alcohol he starts drinking on the spot. He's never liked the taste of alcohol, but he's pretty sure no one does. People only pretend to care about flavor profiles as an excuse to get drunk in public. How much he ends up downing is a mystery. It doesn't matter anyway—he left the van at home, so he doesn't have to worry about drunk driving.

Inebriated, he stumbles through town, taking a relaxing stroll through the park before stopping to plop down on a wood bench. Here, he stares into the pond nearby, its still surface reflecting the cloudy sky overhead. That's when he first hears it.

"You havin' a, uhhh, Mike moment?"

It's Benrey's voice—yet Gordon doesn't get that feeling of excitement or dread or anything else when he turns to see him seated on the bench next to him. Somewhere deep inside, he thinks he knows what it means that Benrey's uniform is perfectly put together, no stitches or lose threads. That his pale blue eyes look human. That if Gordon reached out and touched him, he'd disappear.

The surreal feeling is everywhere, and Gordon no longer cares to question it. "Used to take Joshie out to a place like this," he says, returning his gaze to the pond. "Back in… in Washington, took him to visit his grandparents. There's this park, it's this sh*tty old thing with no grass and just, a big pond with a bunch of ducks. He'd run around following them from a distance, wouldn't even acknowledge the seesaw or any of the other toys." He heaves a wistful and melancholic sigh at the memory. "I used to get so tired of watching him run around yelling that we'd never stay too long, and now—now, I'd give anything to go back there. Let him run around as long as he wants."

It's silent as he stares out at the calm waters, watching the shadows of leaves dance across its surface. The air is chilly and he can smell the approach of rain. He doesn't know how long this is going to take, if it'll be days, weeks, or just a few hours, but he doesn't care anymore. There's nothing he can do.

He hears a sniff, looking up to see Benrey still sat next to him. "One like equals one prayer," he says. "Think of that, huh? Idiot?"

Despite everything, Gordon huffs a laugh, and even though he says, "What are you talking about?" he knows.

And his eyes drift towards the church. The biggest building in the entire town, with an old, gothic cathedral type vibe to it with stained glass windows high above the ground. Metal plates have been fastened over the outside of each window and door low enough to be a problem—except for the front door. Nothing's blocking that.

When he looks back, Benrey's gone—or, rather, he's moved up ahead, now standing at the edge of the path. Gordon pushes to his feet with some difficulty, following after him. "Where are you going?" he asks, though this, he also knows. And Benrey doesn't answer him, merely looking back and waiting for him to catch up. At some point, he ceases to be, faded away like mist on the breeze, and Gordon doesn't know when it happened.

Not that he needs to. With his crowbar in hand, he approaches the doors to the church.

Chapter 11: dripping in my blood

Chapter Text

A set of concrete steps lead Gordon up to the church, where he ignores all the beautiful flowers and artistic carvings in favor of sticking his crowbar into the space between the front doors. There's something blocking the other side, but it won't matter once he's got the thing pried open.

Eventually, the door makes a loud bang as it breaks off its hinges, flying open in the wrong direction and allowing him to break down the boards blocking the entrance. All the while, he can hear Benrey's voice from off to his right.

"Breaking and entering? Wow, little, uhhh, crime boy. You got a permit for that? Got, uhhh, warrant?"

He ignores the voice, continuing on until each board has been broken down.

When the last one comes down, a set of arms shoots out towards him, forcing him to shove his hand forward to keep them off him. A set of decaying teeth snap at his palm, unable to tear through the gloves as he shoves it back into… dozens, no, hundreds more, all piling out towards the source of the noise, towards him. It hits him all at once, like a bucket of cold water poured over his head. The crows. The boards. The lack of zombies. They've all been locked away in here, and he just let them out.

"Oh, f*ck!" he exclaims, swinging at the nearest zombie to give him space to flee. He trips downstairs, falling flat on the pavement and scraping his brow. Hastily scurrying to his feet, he continues running with a cacophony of undead snarling at his back.

If this were a movie, it would have to be a dark comedy of some sort with how often Gordon trips or runs into things while still evading the slowly encroaching zombie horde. It's the worst time to be drunk, and feverish, and malnourished, and tired, and injured… f*ck, he really went and got every status effect at once in the middle of an apocalypse.

Finally reaching the van, he searches for the keys in his holster, just to realize… he didn't put it back on. All he took was the crowbar.

"sh*t, sh*t—" He darts inside the house, unable to remember where he left the holster. The bathroom is the first place he checks, and when he can't find it there, he runs into the bedroom, where he eventually finds it on the floor, its contents spilled out all over the carpet. Scrambling to get everything back together, he darts out towards the front door just to see it tremble as several undead bodies pound into it. Others struggle for the windows, the unholy noise of claws scraping at glass causing him to clap his hands over his ears.

Rushing for the back door, he stops just short of throwing it open as he sees the horde of zombies in the streets on the other side. There's still a tall wood fence between him and them, but that won't keep them for nearly long enough. Not with a horde so large the bodies start to blend in to each other, nothing but a big, muddy-grey blob.

The front door crashes down behind him, and Gordon rushes for the stairs. If he can just get onto the roof, he'll be safe… until his infection takes him, because there's no way this horde is going away anytime soon. Or ever.

Still, his survival instincts urge him forward, reaching the window at the end of the hall and struggling to push it open. By the time he's realized it's locked, his hands are shaking too much to get it open, and when he turns to look over his shoulder, the zombies have piled up the stairs, blocking his exit. Frantic, he starts slamming his elbows into the window.

That's when he hears it. Loud bangs in the distance, popping high in the sky like the Fourth of July. The zombies turn to look over their shoulder, slowly slinking back downstairs to follow the noise. Gordon holds still, deathly still, not even breathing as he watches the horde start to thin out, having apparently forgotten all about him.

Only a few remain, more interested in the scent of fresh meat than a loud banging noise. He swings at them, his weary body sweating profusely as he struggles to keep them off him.

That's when the window behind him shatters, and he's shoved to the ground by a heavy body that has him yelping and struggling to break free. There's several soft, squeaky bangs, and the zombies in front of him drop dead, piling up in the hallway to create a blockade that trips the others who've turned to investigate. Soon, Gordon's yanked to his feet by a hand on his bicep, and when he turns to see who it is, they've darted in front of him to continue firing.

It's a man, with pale skin and a black beanie covering his head, wearing an all-black SWAT uniform, as evidenced by the yellow lettering on the back of his padded vest. Slung across his shoulders is an assault rifle with a black skull dangling off the handle, a shotgun, and two very familiar duffel bags.

Currently, he's working away at the crowd with a handgun that's got a silencer attached, preventing too many zombies from noticing him. But it won't be enough. There's too many zombies hanging around, and even if they clear out the house, there's no way they'll make it to a good enough vantage point to clear out the streets, as well. Gordon, especially, can't do sh*t right now.

This guy seems to realize that, as he starts looking around for an escape. That's when he spots something Gordon's yet to notice—a string hanging from the ceiling overhead. He yanks on it, and a wooden ladder is pulled down, leading the way into an attic.

Gesturing for Gordon to hurry up and climb, he whips back around, firing at more zombies. Gordon doesn't have to be told twice. He scurries for the ladder, tugging his exhausted body up until the man starts pushing him. His strength is incredible, practically shoving Gordon up the length of the ladder into the attic above, where he spralws out on the dusty wooden floor. Seconds later, the man joins him, hastily tugging the ladder back up and shutting the attic door.

As Gordon lies there, the room spinning all around him, the man starts dragging furniture around, covering up the entrance with an old wooden dresser that's missing both of its drawers. Satisfied with this, he sits there panting on his knees, wiping the sweat from his brow with a gloved hand. Gordon turns to look at him.

What he sees has him jumping to his knees where he can get a better look. Though lit only by the light from the tall window nearby, he can make out the shape of Benrey's face plain as day, glowing blue eyes and all.

They make eye contact, as Benrey lowers his leather-clad hand to say, "Yo, Fee—"

He's cut off as Gordon throws his arms around Benrey, squeezing him tight against his body without a care to the hard press of the HEV suit's chestplate. A high-pitched hum sounds right by his ears, the air filling with a teal light. Though he can't feel Benrey's body, he clutches tight to him anyway, pressing his non-infected cheek against Benrey's face just to feel a fraction of his warmth. He's covered in sweat, which feels tacky and sticky against Gordon's skin, but he doesn't care. All that matters is that Benrey's back.

"f*ck, I missed you," Gordon says, his hand finding its way under Benrey's beanie.

The stiffness in Benrey's posture slowly eases out, and he returns the embrace, his hands coming to hold onto the back of the HEV suit's chest plate, fingers digging into its various divots. For awhile, the two of them just sit there, balanced on their knees as Gordon clutches tight to Benrey's body, afraid to let him go.

But he has to eventually. And when he does, he holds onto the other man's shoulders just on the verge of too tight, looking him in the eye. Benrey's giving a dopey, bug-eyed look, eyes wide and lips pressed tightly together.

"Where the f*ck have you been?" Gordon asks. "It's been—f*ck, I don't even know. What's up with this outfit? Are you in a police uniform?"

"Huh?" Benrey blurts, looking like he's just been snapped out of a daze. Slowly, he looks down at his clothes. "Uh. Last uniform ate sh*t. Needed to buff my armor rating, couldn't find a helmet though."

Gordon nods. "Yeah, that makes sense. Gotta take whatever you can get, I guess." Even if that means dressing up like a cop. At least he chose one that doesn't look all that bad, with no signs of it actually being a police uniform aside from the yellow lettering on the back. It's not all that different from what he normally wears, actually. In fact, it's kinda hot.

"You look a bit sh*t," Benrey says, and Gordon lets out a laugh that starts off as a choked little wheeze and rapidly builds into something almost hysterical. "Uh. Damn, you lost your mind, too? Losin', losin' so much stuff, all the time you're losin' things. Messy lil' loser boy."

He starts setting the bags he's carrying down, digging through one of them to eventually procure a first aid kit. Gordon tries to say something about that, but it comes out slurred and incoherent, leading to Benrey calling him more insulting nicknames as he grabs Gordon's arm and drags him over to a nearby couch. He plops down on the old, thin cushions, the suit's codpiece pushing one of the springs back inside.

"Sit still please," he says. Gordon readily does as asked while Benrey gets his supplies sorted out. First, he procures the pen light Gordon found yesterday, using it to guide himself through cleaning the wound on Gordon's cheek, which is looking even worse thanks to all the spills he's taken today. It doesn't even hurt, and Gordon realizes he has the drink to thank for that.

He doesn't know what all Benrey's doing to clean it, but he doesn't care, either. There's two choices here: he lets it get worse and dies, or he lets Benrey take care of him, which either fixes him, or he still dies. Taking that risk is the only good option.

When he finds the thread and needle Gordon stuffed into his holster, he stares at the midnight blue color for a long time. What he's seeing is beyond Gordon's comprehension. But his intense focus has Gordon laughing, snapping him out of his trance to tell Gordon to hold still again.

This next part doesn't hurt either, like it may as well not even be happening. With the pen light held between his sharp teeth, Benrey sews his flesh back together, his handiwork careful and neat. Once he's done, he holds onto Gordon's face, and Gordon leans into his touch, his eyes falling shut as Benrey hums something minty-smelling onto his cheek. The scent is comforting, coaxing a soft sigh out of him as Benrey covers the cold, wet, gel-like substance with gauze.

"All better," Benrey declares, rubbing over his cheek with his thumb while flicking the pen light off with his other hand and tossing it into one of the bags.

"Mhm," Gordon hums, chasing after Benrey's touch as he pulls his hands away, before sagging back into the couch. Everything feels okay now, and he wants so badly to go to sleep, to catch up on all those hours spent tossing and turning. But Benrey won't let him. There's a rattling noise, and then Benrey's urging a huge pill into his mouth.

"Open up, airplane landng, choo-choo," Benrey says while forcefully pushing the pill onto Gordon's tongue. Confused, he lets out a small laugh, while Benrey uncaps a bottle of blue Powerade and starts pouring it into his mouth. Having already forgotten about the pill, Gordon swallows it all down without thought.

"Ohhh man, I'm so thirsty, you have no idea," Gordon says, to which Benrey pushes the bottle of blue Powerade into his hands for him to chug at his leisure. And he does, spilling a drop down his chin that Benrey proceeds to wipe away with his thumb. After sucking down half the bottle, he pauses to catch his breath, asking, "You got anything to eat in there?"

In lieu of answering, Benrey digs through one of the bags to procure not just a full pack of canned beans, but a portable gas stove, as well. Gordon's eyes bug out at the sight of it.

"Where the f*ck did you find all that?"

Benrey shrugs, getting up to see if he can open the window—he can, the bottom of it tilts outwards—before setting the portable stove on the windowsil. "Some guys camping," he says. "Pretty sweet loot drop."

It's almost insulting to hear that Benrey managed to find a full pack of canned food just by traipsing about in the woods, likely avoiding the zombies on the road. Meanwhile, Gordon failed to find anything more than a bag of gross chips he can't even find now, and a single can of soup that tasted slightly expired. Add onto that the fact he's injured in multiple places, could barely get any sleep, and has an infected wound… all while Benrey's in new clothes, unharmed and energetic enough to burst through a glass window and make, like, twenty consecutive headshots.

"f*ck, man," Gordon says, emotion flooding his voice. "I've been having the worst f*cking time, how did you have it so much better? Couldn't find anything to eat, everything's got me on edge, f*cking fell off the side of a building."

"Yeah?" Benrey says. He's got a can cooking on the stove already, and the smell is making Gordon's stomach growl. "Guess your life wasn't easier, huh? That's cool." Gordon looks back at him with a frown, stood stiffly by the stove watching the beans with an impassive stare. "Should be a lil' miserable. Kind of a jerk, you deserve it."

Gordon's shoulders sag. Despite how incredibly cold that is to say, he's not wrong. Everything could've been better if he'd just controlled his temper and not pushed Benrey into a group of zombies. What was doing that meant to accomplish, anyway? Obviously, he didn't know the zombies were that close, being far too focused on yelling at Benrey to acknowledge the danger. But it's no excuse. Getting into it physically with your only ally in an extremely dangerous situation is just flatout stupid.

"f*ck," Gordon says, rubbing his fingers over his eyes. "God, you're right." He lifts his head to look back at Benrey again, catching his shocked expression. "I'm so sorry, Benrey. You didn't deserve any of that, the… all the… f*ck. I don't know why I keep getting so mad at you. I mean, you're really f*cking annoying sometimes, but…"

As he speaks, Benrey's expression shifts to staring sullenly down at the stove, and Gordon finally looks away, gazing up at the dusty wooden ceiling overhead.

"God," Gordon continues with a heavy sigh. "At some point, I just realized… without you around, everything got… I couldn't f*cking stitch up my own face, or… or, I got scared of a room in the clinic, I was getting f*cking jumpscared by mannequins. I tried to kill a bird by throwing rocks at it."

"Why'd you do that?" Benrey interjects.

"I was gonna… eat it, I guess. f*ck, I don't even know how to skin a bird. And you're, you, you just run out and grab a deer like it's no big deal, you even skinned it properly." He looks back at Benrey, who's watching him with that unreadable look again. "Did you forage for mushrooms? How the f*ck do you know how do to that?"

"Google," Benrey answers.

Gordon lets out an incredulous huff of a laugh, slowly shaking his head. "What, you just, just google random sh*t and remember it for… whenever you're in a post-apocalyptic hellscape? You're so f*cking bizarre, man…" He laughs to himself some more. "Just, f*cking, every problem I had, you could've solved it. You've already solved most of my problems!" He gestures towards the beans currently cooking away on the stove, with the bottle of Powerade Benrey gave him. "And I went and got you killed. I'm such a f*cking idiot."

"Yeah, I'm real useful," Benrey drawls. "Is what you're saying?"

There's something so cold about his tone, but Gordon's not sober enough to pick up on that. "f*ck, you're super useful," he says. "Should let you be the leader, you're clearly better at this stuff. I'll just sit back and, f*ck, I don't know. You tell me." He sits back, rolling the bottle between his hands.

A few minutes pass in silence. Blissful, sweet silence, where Gordon doesn't have to do anything or worry about anything as he waits for Benrey to do it all for him. Soon enough, Benrey sits down next to him, handing him a can with a spoon stuck in it. He's so f*cking hungry, he can't even complain about the fact he's eating directly out of a hot aluminum can. Who cares? It's a whole f*cking can of beans all to himself.

"Thanks, man," he says, before proceeding to stuff his face. It burns his tongue but he doesn't care at all, scarfing it down until his body urges him to slow down, growing weary from the sudden metabolic activity. He leans back with the can in his lap, then, letting out a relieved sigh.

Beside him, Benrey's eating from a can of his own, though considerably slower. Makes sense, he's probably been eating pretty regularly. Had all those jars of vension and everything.

As for Gordon, he needs time to relax before he can finish his meal. When that'll be, he has no idea. It might be a few hours, though. Hopefully this stuff still tastes good reheated later.

"Think I need a break," he reports. At his side, Benrey doesn't acknowledge him, instead focusing on his food until it's at about the same level as Gordon's. At that point, he turns to set it on the windowsil, where the window's been pulled closed. He holds out a hand towards Gordon, and it only takes a moment of confusion before he hands his can over for Benrey to set down next to his.

With that out of the way, they both sag into the couch. Benrey stares blankly up at the dark ceiling overhead, while Gordon looks around. The drink hasn't left his system just yet, though all the food and Powerade certainly helped. That's to say that his vision still sways a little, making his observations difficult.

Not that there's much to see. It's all cardboard boxes and old furniture, mostly bulb-less lamps that probably don't work anymore. No one's been up here in a long time. That much is evident by the dust formed around the door, disturbed by their recent entry. It's not too bad, though. Just got a lot of cobwebs and a musty smell that never quite goes away.

In his current state, Gordon's too busy thinking about how he's going to live up here that he doesn't think of how the f*ck they're going to leave. The place is surrounded by the undead, who are going to get bored and stagnate. When that happens, how will they make their escape?

But those aren't thoughts for right now. Things are pretty good right now, or so it seems. He's got warm food, he's resting, he's not alone anymore, his injury is patched up and he's taken some medicine.

"Hey," Benrey says, drawing Gordon's attention over to where he's digging through his bag to procure two items stashed away inside. Quickly, Gordon recognizes them as Nintendo Switch consoles—though one is the same old console Benrey's had from the start, the both of them have different colored JoyCons from what Gordon remembers. The one they hold out towards Gordon has custom ones that resemble an old NES controller, black with red buttons and white outlines.

"Whoa, where'd you find that?" Gordon asks as he accepts the console from them. As he boots it up, he finds himself at the usual startup screen. If he were a little less drunk, he might notice the fact there's a screen protector already installed. "Are these custom? Where the f*ck did you find custom JoyCons?"

"Some guy's house, idk," Benrey says, leaning his head on the back of the couch and watching Gordon with a keen smile on his face. Gordon only glimpses it once, when Benrey's looking down at the console instead. Of course, he's always in a better mood when games are involved. "Are you Metroid man?" He points a gloved finger at the screen, where Gordon's selecting his profile icon. The response Gordon gives is quick and instinctual.

"It's Sergeant Metroid," he says. "Have some respect for the troops."

A beat passes before Benrey bursts into an ugly laugh, the familiar sound lifting Gordon's spirits and prompting him to laugh as well. "Nah," Benrey says as his laughter fades out. "Don't think I will."

Soon, Gordon finishes setting up his Switch, at which point Benrey turns his on. The movement draws Gordon's gaze, spotting his navy blue JoyCons before returning his attention to his own screen. There's already a game here thanks to a cartridge having been inserted. A copy of Mario Kart is what he expects to see given it's most of what they've been playing lately, but instead, it's Diablo III.

"Huh. Never played this one," he admits while booting it up.

"Yeah?" Benrey says, doing the same on his end as well. The title's not especially familiar to Gordon, so he has no idea what to expect. "S'good. I'll, uh, carry you through the first level."

That's pretty nice of him, Gordon thinks, ignoring the fact it's also kinda condescending, like he's not good enough to figure out the game on his own. But right now, all those nasty intentions he's constantly seeing behind everything Benrey does… don't exist. No, right now, they're playing video games, as… as friends do.

Chapter 12: the darkness no longer scares me

Chapter Text

It takes a few hours before Gordon feels ready to finish off his meal. Benrey willingly heats it up for him, handing him some water to enjoy with it before they go right back to gaming. They play for hours and hours, only pausing to eat or go to the bathroom, which is an awkward situation. Gordon waddles off to a corner to use a bottle, snapping at Benrey not to look at his dick while he does, though he has this sneaking suspicion Benrey's watching him anyway. As for him, he just opens the window and pisses directly onto the backyard lawn.

"That's f*cking disgusting, stop that," Gordon snaps, even if it's kinda hilarious in an immature thirteen year old boy sort of way. It's even stupider when he's in full SWAT gear.

"Whuh? Why?" Benrey asks, looking back at Gordon midstream. "You want my piss that bad? Huh? Wanna bottle my piss, jarate man?"

Gordon tries not to laugh, he really does. But some very immature part of his brain causes him to do so anyway. "No!" he exclaims through his laughter. "What—Shut up! That's the normal thing to do! Got, like—Truckers do that sh*t, man. So you can throw it out!"

Benrey blows a raspberry, quickly finishing up and zipping himself back into his pants. Which is only met with more protests as Gordon yells at him, "At least wipe first!" only for Benrey to look very perplexed and say, "Whuh… My dick?" This leads into a several minute long rant from Gordon about proper hygiene as Benrey pops open a can of soda and looks very bored.

The rant is how Gordon knows he's sobered up—that, and all the pain in his body suddenly nagging at him. Doesn't stop him from going back to playing more Diablo with Benrey, it just means he has to pause to find a way to prop up his foot. Benrey seems confused by this, asking the weirdest questions and making fun of him for basic sh*t. It's so normal that Gordon forgets why he's doing it, that he isn't used to human limitations. Looking at Benrey, with his glowing eyes, sickly skin, and sharp teeth, it's hard to believe Gordon could forget the "not human" thing. But he does. For all of his eccentricities, he's just… a guy.

A guy who freaks Gordon out sometimes, with his imposing stature and frightening strength, but also, just a guy with poor bathroom habits who picks his nose and slurps his soda. Now, hopefully Gordon can continue thinking of him that way the next time he kills a deer with his bare hands, or… the next time Gordon catches him with something suspicious.

The game is an easy distraction, pulling him away from thoughts like those. It allows him to enjoy himself, once they've found a box and some dusty pillows to prop his foot up with. It's actually pretty fun. He used to get super into games like this, top-down RPGs like Fallout and Divine Divinity. Playing co-op makes the experience even more unique and interesting, like they're two nerds in his mother's basem*nt sitting down to do some raids in WoW. It's a form of bonding Gordon hasn't had in awhile.

That the house is surrounded by zombies and they're going to run out of food and water sooner or later—not to mention the fact they need to shower—is something Gordon doesn't have time to think about. By the time he starts finding it hard to keep his eyes open, he looks around to find the attic bathed in darkness, with nothing but their two consoles as light.

"f*ck, it's gettin' kinda late," Gordon comments. "We gotta go to bed."

"What? Noooo-uhh," Benrey whines, continuing to play as if Gordon hadn't said anything. "Come on, let's do a few more quests, please? Pleeeeease?"

Though Gordon laughs, he knows he can't give in or "a few more" will turn into many, many more. "Nah, man. Let's just save and pick this up later, okay? Gordon needs some sleep." So, so much sleep.

Though Benrey whines and grumbles and drags his feet, he does help Gordon set up. The couch isn't especially comfortable, but it's better than the floor. Not that it makes a difference in the HEV suit. The upside to this dusty attic is that it's full of bedding, even if they're stained or torn and look ridiculously old.

Another decent find they end up with is an old futon that Benrey rolls out on the floor beside the couch. It's looking in need of a wash too, but he doesn't appear to care. He just digs through all the bedding, picking out anything that's black or blue to add to his nest. Plus a small, plush bear that looks like it's been around since the Cold War. Gordon laughs at the sight of it from where he sits perched on the couch.

"What's with the bear, man?" he asks. It's in Benrey's hands, now, and he pauses to give Gordon a bug-eyed look before gently tucking it into bed beside his pillow.

"What bear?" he asks.

"You sleep with stuffed animals?" Gordon presses. He remembers seeing a bunch of them in Benrey's bed back at the farmhouse, but he's also pretty sure those toys were already there, and Benrey just didn't feel like moving them. Though he was holding onto that one plush, the fox or whatever it was.

"Who's asking?" Benrey dodgily shoots back. "You a cop?"

"Says the guy in a SWAT uniform," Gordon says. He shakes his head, an amused smile on his face. "You're so f*ckin' odd, man. Do whatever you want."

Speaking of the uniform, once Benrey's done staring at him, he goes to take it off, dressing down to just the pants, socks, and skimpy black tanktop he's wearing underneath. Good to know some things never change. Once Benrey's gotten comfortable in his futon with the pile of dark blankets pulled up to his chin, bear dragged down to be held against his chest, Gordon's not thinking so much about how weird he is.

That level of comfort, where he can take off all his outer layers and cuddle into bed with a plushie, makes Gordon insanely jealous. His chest actually aches with it. But there's nothing he can do about it. The HEV suit can't come off without some kind of machine, and though he's tried to get it off anyway, that's just an exercise in frustration.

As if he'd read his mind, Benrey pipes up, "You sleepin' in your crusty old handjob suit?"

Gordon lets out an aggravated sigh. "What do you think, man?" he says. Benrey watches him as he gets laid down, struggling to get comfortable with his foot propped up on the armrest. "Don't have a choice. You heard what those scientists said, it doesn't come off."

There's no response from Benrey. The silence is weirdly unnerving; Gordon isn't ready for it to be this quiet yet. The past few days have been a bizarre haze, too still, eerily silent. Going back to that now doesn't feel right.

"Hey, Benrey?" he asks. When he doesn't get a response, he turns to look down at Benrey, his pale face illuminated only by the moon and stars shining in through the window, positioned perfectly to get an excellent view of the former. There's no way he's conked out this quickly, but Gordon still waits for him to say something, watching his chest ride and fall in the meantime. That's when Gordon considers that maybe Benrey's waiting for him to continue. Problem is, he doesn't actually have anything to say. Searching for a topic, he isn't sure why the one he settles on is, "What happens when you die?"

The words have only been out of his mouth for a few seconds before he regrets saying them. What kind of question is that? He might as well have pulled that pretentious I hate small talk bit, asking Benrey what he thinks of the afterlife. Would've looked just as stupid.

"Nevermind," he quickly adds. "That's a weird f*cking thing to ask, I don't know why I said that." There's more silence, as he turns to stare up at the ceiling again. His fingers fidget where they're folded against his waist. "Just—This silence is f*cking killing me, man. It got so quiet when you weren't here, it was driving me insane."

A beat passes in silence, the stillness flooding Gordon with an anxious heat as he considers that maybe Benrey is asleep. That he's talking to an empty room, that Benrey was never even real, that he's annoying him by not shutting up after bedtime. That's when Benrey finally breaks the silence. "How do you think Amogus have sex?"

Gordon turns to stare down at them, their glowing eyes casting blue light on their sharp cheekbones. "What?"

"The little babies gotta come from somewhere," Benrey says. "So how do they f*ck?"

Squinting up down at them, Gordon frowns, wondering why they're talking about Among Us all of a sudden. "What? They just take off the space suits, man. Obviously. They're still people under there."

"Noooo, bro, they only got one bone," Benrey says. "They're not human, look at the death model. S'not a space suit, it's their body. So they gotta f*ck somehow. You think they got like a doggy dick or something? Goes inside of them when they not using it."

The weirdest part about this whole conversation is the fact Gordon finds himself actually thinking about it. "What—No, they gotta have more than one bone, you can snap their neck!"

This bizarre conversation continues on and on until Gordon finds himself growing weary, the time between his responses stretching longer until he's finally drifted off to sleep. For the first time since he got here, he sleeps through the night, long enough to have incoherent dreams he doesn't remember upon waking.

Despite that, as he blinks his eyes open to the sight of the cobweb infested ceiling, he's right back to the start. Everything is hazy still, his head pounding and skin flushed hot. All he can think about is that he has to check if Benrey's still there, to ensure he wasn't an illusion concocted by Gordon's feverish mind. Pushing up with no small amount of difficulty, he looks to the floor beside him, finding Benrey sprawled out on his back, limbs everywhere with purple drool caked to the corner of his mouth. The air around him is filled with sweet voice bubbles in the same color.

Squinting at the orbs of light, Gordon slowly remembers the meaning; purple like a spring evening, means he's relaxed. It doesn't rhyme, or maybe it would if Benrey ever told him the actual rhyme. But the general meaning is still there.

Relief washes over him, his tense body relaxing. Everything's fine. Benrey wasn't an illusion, he's still here, in all his skimpy tanktopped glory. The plush he was sleeping with has fallen by the wayside, his pants riding down his hips slightly to show off the string of his thong. Maybe "glory" is too generous of a description.

"Yoooo," comes Benrey's drowsy, mumbly voice, snapping Gordon's eyes back up to his face. "Some Twilight sh*t. Take a picture or sum'n."

"What?" Gordon blurts, clearing his throat when his voice comes out hoarse. It hits him after a moment's pondering. "I wasn't—Okay, maybe I was watching you sleep, but it's been barely ten seconds, okay? Just wanted to make sure you're still around, that you didn't dip somehow." He doesn't want to admit he's worried Benrey's a hallucination, because there's no reason to make a big deal out of what happened at the park yesterday.

"Kinda gay. You wanna kiss?"

Heaving an annoyed sigh, Gordon pushes himself up into a proper sitting position with a roll of his eyes. "Just, shut up and get dressed, okay?" he says. "We gotta… We gotta find a way outta here, man."

Thankfully, Benrey shuts up after that, doing as Gordon told him to as he sits up and stretches out his back. The light from the early morning sun catches on his piercing, dangling from his navel just as it was the last time Gordon saw it. He can't help that it draws his gaze. It's just one of those things, like trying to read the writing on someone's shirt and they end up thinking you're staring at their chest. He's not ogling Benrey's toned waist, he's just observing his piecing!

Until Benrey gets up, at least, turning his back to where Gordon can't see it anymore, scratching his ass and smacking his lips like a cartoon dad while he does. Yeah, there's nothing about Benrey that's attractive. Not when he acts like that.

While Benrey gets suited up, Gordon tracks down a bottle of water, his toothbrush, and some tooth paste to at least clean his teeth, if nothing else. Benrey passes him another antibiotic while he does. Though he'd managed to swallow this thing no problem yesterday, it's looking pretty daunting today. He's taken this stuff before, back when he'd gotten a little reckless helping his brother renovate his deck and wound up with a nasty cut on his hand. Luckily it didn't scar, but it got super f*cking infected overnight. That's how he knows these things taste horrendous—but Benrey knows that too, which is probably why he hands him another Powerade to cover it up.

He brushes through his hair as Benrey gets breakfast started, which is, predictably, more beans. They've already blown through half the pack and it's not looking so good. Even more reason to get the f*ck out of here.

Over breakfast, the two of them look out through the window at the zombie horde loitering around in the streets. Exactly as he thought, they've stagnated.

"How the f*ck are we supposed to get through all that?" Gordon says, thinking out loud. The last horde was roughly as bad, if not a little better than this, but they had time to create some distance. Gordon went and got them both trapped inside a house in the thick of it, so that's no longer an option.

Benrey's eyes flick over the crowd. "Could, uh… just start firing," he suggests. "What are they gonna do about it?"

"We—" Gordon starts, halting himself prematurely as he realizes Benrey has a point. The zombies can't get them up here, not unless they start toppling the whole house, but that's not gonna happen. "That's not the worst idea, actually. You got anymore bombs?"

"Huh? No," Benrey says. "Just had… the one. But I got infinity bullets, though."

"You do not have 'infinity bullets', you have, like, thirty magazines." How the f*ck Benrey lugs around his bag when it's got that much ammo in it is beyond him, but at least he's prepared. Pushing on the window, he opens it up and out as far as it'll go, which isn't very far at all, and it blocks them from climbing onto the roof at that angle. As far as sniper perches go, it's pretty sh*t. "You think you can make this work?"

Benrey doesn't respond, instead grabbing his rifle and loading it up with a few well-practiced movements. Though they're both still eating, this doesn't stop him from aiming out the window. Dressed like that, he actually looks like a well trained professional. He also kinda looks like that guy from Overwatch, but Gordon doesn't know nearly enough about that game to say which one. Regardless, Benrey lines up a shot and starts firing. It's loud to the point that it makes Gordon's ears ring, and really f*cking odd to listen to in an otherwise relaxed setting. But he still watches as Benrey's shots take down zombie after zombie, drawing their attention towards the house.

"That might be a problem," Gordon says, watching as the decaying bodies struggle to take down the wooden fences and get inside the house. It's not just them, either; he can hear zombies move around downstairs, driven into a frenzy by all the noise. The sound is nervewracking, drawing Gordon's gaze over to the door as if he expects a zombie to come bursting through it. Such is basically impossible—even if they tugged on the string, there's a heavy wooden dresser in the way. And that's if the zombies managed to figure out the ladder.

"It's whatever," Benrey says, pausing to stuff more beans into his mouth before continuing his reign of terror. Gordon's not so sure he agrees. Sure, thinning out the crowd is a good thing, but what are they gonna do when the remainder is confined to the house? They'll stagnate like they always do, or maybe wander off if they're lucky.

But Gordon hasn't been known to be lucky.

"We're gonna need another plan, man," Gordon insists. Another burst of shots has him shutting up, sitting down on top of a pretty sturdy box on the other side of the room to spare his ears. He eats while trying to figure out an alternate plan. It's when Benrey's in the middle of reloading that it hits him. "Wait! You have fireworks, don't you? That's what that f*cking noise was yesterday. You got anymore?"

"Whuh? Nuh—Yeah. Got, uh, got like a few, uh, rockets…"

"That's perfect!" Gordon exclaims, jumping to his feet as Benrey stares at him in surprise. "We can just fire off some of those, create a distraction, gather our sh*t, and get out! We'll just, we gotta be quiet on our way out in case anything sticks around. All we need to do is reach the van and we're golden."

Combining that with Benrey taking out some of the crowd with his rifle ensures they'll have as easy a time as possible getting the f*ck outta dodge. Even if that means they're gonna be on the road again, which could take days to get them anywhere good. Or maybe they're just in a bad spot. They could end up somewhere better in only an hour, for all he knows. And personal experience would suggest that the zombies won't remember the sound of their van long enough to follow them all that way.

The plan has Gordon smiling ear to ear, finishing up his beans and downing the rest of the Powerade Benrey gave him earlier. He's gonna need to get his strength up, even if it is a relatively short trip to the van. But that short trip could stretch into a gruelingly long one if there's a lot they have to work through without the use of Benrey's rifle. Or the shotgun, for that matter.

This is why he does his best to work through some stretches, although he's a bit rusty. It's been years since he was on his university's swim team, but he thinks he remembers the basic stuff enough to replicate it now. Well, some of it. Others require more flexibility than he has, or more range of movement than the suit's capable of.

Eventually, Benrey turns away from the window, glancing around in confusion before spotting Gordon on the floor, laid on his front, hands on the floor, stretching out his back.

"Yo, downward dog?" Benrey says.

"It's the cobra pose," Gordon retorts with a hint of annoyance. With a groan, he lowers himself back down and pushes up to his feet. "Thought I'd do some of my old swimming stretches. Not like I had anything else to do, we're all packed up and ready to go. How do you wanna do this firework thing?"

"Uh…" Benrey says. Looking back at the window, he scratches his cheek while thinking up with a response. "Could… Where do you want it, though?"

Gordon hums in thought, stepping over to the window to get a look around. There's a pile of dead bodies lining the streets, though he barely reacts to the sight after everything he's been through in the past few months or so. "Needs to be far enough away that we don't have to worry about stragglers," he muses. "And you gotta aim it away from the exit onto the highway, so… that way," he points out the window towards where he means.

Benrey watches him closely the entire time, unusually focused. Or… maybe it's rude to call that unusual. Sure, he was always f*cking around at Black Mesa, but he's been pretty efficient since they ended up in this hellhole.

"'Kay," Benrey says. After taking the time to pack up all his sh*t, staring at the bear before setting it neatly on the couch, he grabs his stuff, pushes Gordon's pistol and shotgun into his hand, and gets out the fireworks. There's not very many, probably because his bag isn't exactly massive and he's already carrying an insane amount of firepower. But it's enough to give them some leeway if he f*cks up.

"You know how to use that thing?" Gordon asks as Benrey starts looking around, eventually coming back with a heavy, and incredibly ugly, glass vase. He watches in confusion as Benrey sets up a few medium sized bottle rockets inside, aiming it where they want it to go before pulling a lighter out of his pocket. "Is that gonna—"

"Fore," Benrey says, reaching out at arm's length and lighting the rocket.

"Oh, sh*t," Gordon says, running to the opposite end of the attic and hiding behind a dresser he finds there. That rocket didn't look even remotely stable, and he doesn't want to get caught in the blast if it explodes the side of the attic. Benrey joins him soon after, his back to the wooden drawers.

The sound of the rocket launching draws them both out of hiding, where it appears to have avoided blowing anything up. Benrey darts out with Gordon not far behind, the two men eagerly watching as the fireworks burst through the air several miles away, drawing tons of attention. The burst of light isn't anything spectacular; there's a a few small sparks, followed by many smaller, fizzling bursts that take Gordon by surprise. While not exactly a New Year's light show, it's one of the coolest things Gordon's seen since this whole mess started.

As the lights burst, Gordon feels something brush up against his cheek, turning to see Benrey leaning his head on Gordon's shoulder. It looks weird with Benrey being so much taller than him, but—that's not the point!

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Huh?" Benrey mumbles, tilting his head away from the now-concluded show to look over at Gordon.

"Why is your head on my shoulder?"

"What?"

With a grumble, Gordon shoves his head way before heading over to grab his bag. "Whatever. Just, keep an eye out, we'll wait a couple minutes and launch some more if we have to."

A couple minutes turns out to be around ten or fifteen, time Gordon passes by going over his supplies. It's everything he remembers taking, though it could seriously use some organizing. He'd shoved in everything he could quickly to ensure he didn't lose anything on the way out of the farmhouse, so he's lucky nothing's damaged.

Regardless, the noise downstairs eventually goes silent, and when he looks out the window, it seems like the remaining zombies have moved on. Gordon tells Benrey to fire off another just to be sure, and once that's out of the way, it's time to descend into the rest of the house.

Chapter 13: I'm going off, going off road (let me burn)

Chapter Text

Though the ladder makes a much louder sound as it's released than Gordon would like, it doesn't draw any attention. The scene down here is much like how they'd left it, with dead bodies strewn about the floor and a pile of broken glass behind him, but no zombies. It's quiet, apart from the sound of Gordon's suit and the items clacking together in their bags. Even still, when they creep downstairs with Benrey in the lead, the coast remains clear. The zombies are all cleared out, leaving nothing but blood stains and corpses.

The two men look to each other for a moment before creeping ahead. Benrey has his handgun at the ready, aiming it at the back door after confirming the front, which has been busted off its hinges, is empty. There's nothing back there, though, allowing him to guide Gordon out the front door.

The van is, blessedly, parked very close by and facing the road, so escaping is an easy task. It's almost too easy. Gordon doesn't even have to drive, with Benrey helping him into the passenger's side before Benrey takes the driver's seat. Good call. Gordon barely managed the walk out here with how f*cking dizzy he is. Not to mention the throbbing pain in his ankle and the dull ache in his spine.

The key is in the ignition, and they're about to drive off when Benrey pauses with his hand around the key. Gordon only notices when the car hasn't moved after a few seconds, turning to find Benrey staring at the dash in deep thought.

"What?" he whispers, nudging Benrey's arm to get his attention. This gets him to raise his gaze, though not towards Gordon. Instead, he starts scanning the town around them, empty thanks to all the zombies having been lured in the opposite direction. His eyes land on something in the distance, but Gordon's having trouble figuring out what.

"Thinkin'," Benrey says in as low a voice as he can muster. "They were stuck in there, right?"

"In…?" Gordon finally follows Benrey's gaze to the massive church in the center of town. Bemused, he frowns and says, "Yeah? Why?"

Finally, Benrey turns to look at him, his expression impassive, yet there's something focused to his gaze, not as droopy or glazed over as usual. "Bet there's some good loot in there," he says.

A look of realization slowly comes over Gordon's face, turning to Benrey with his eyes wide and lips parted. "Oh, f*ck, that's why the town is empty!" he stage-whispers to Benrey, who turns back to look at the vacant streets again. "They stockpiled and locked themselves in, but someone must've turned and infected everyone else. Which means, there's gotta be an entire town's worth of sh*t in there, gone completely untouched for months."

Even if he's got a lot more food than he did before Benrey returned, it won't be enough. Two people go through a stack of canned goods much faster than you'd think, especially when some meals require several cans of different ingredients to make it work. As it stands, they won't last very long at all.

Gordon glances out the window. There's a zombie within range to hear the van's engine when they drive off, which means there's probably even more he isn't seeing. This is incredibly risky… but if it works…

"You couldn't've said this while we were still in the attic?" Gordon quietly grumbles. "We… okay. We'll park outside." He gesticulates as he speaks, as if this'll make his plan easier to understand. "You'll guard the door, and I'll investigate to see if there's anything we'd even want. If too many zombies show up, start setting off more fireworks, okay? I'll come back to get you if I find anything good, and we can carry it out together. Got it?"

Benrey gives him a slight nod before flicking on the ignition. He drives at a steady pace, keeping the sound of the engine down while still outpacing the nearby zombies alerted by it anyway. When they reach the church, it seems like they're still golden. The horde hasn't noticed them, there's just a handful of zombies far enough down the street that they might forget and give up before they become a problem.

Gordon leaves his bag in the van, taking only his weaponry and a flashlight. Before he can get out of the van, however, Benrey grabs his arm.

"What?" he asks, turning right as Benrey holds out a sheathed knife towards him. The sight of it makes him shudder, but as he takes it into his hands and inspects it, it's clearly different from… that knife. Everything's black, for starters, and it's got a straight, thin blade. Gordon clips the dagger to his belt, muttering a, "Thanks," as he gently claps Benrey on the shoulder.

Now he climbs out, creeping forward as quietly as possible while Benrey searches for a vantage point. What he finds, Gordon doesn't stick around to find out. Instead, he heads inside the church, flicking his flashlight on to take a look around.

It's been a long time since he was in a church. So long that he doesn't really know what to expect, what kind of sh*t goes on here other than basic worship. The first room is full of pews with an altar at the head, plus the usual decor with crosses all over the walls and some dead plants here and there.

There's also old, dried blood everywhere, with lots of shattered pottery, tipped over furniture, and so on. It smells rotten, and as Gordon continues on, dagger at the ready, he quickly discovers why. There's several rotting corpses littering the floors, having been eaten to the point of being unrecognizable. If not for the clothing scraps, he might not even realize they're human.

Plugging his nose, he continues on, stepping past the remains of a wooden door into a hallway. There's a lot of rooms, mostly offices that've been repurposed into barracks. He does a quick sweep of each one, but there's not much to find apart from clothes, plush toys, comics, and other junk. Continuing on, he locates a storage closet, but it's been packed full of nothing but cleaning supplies and toiletries. Also not super useful. In the back is a huge room that seems to have been arranged into a canteen, with black folding chairs and rounded white tables, most of it collapsed or broken apart.

There's a couple zombies here he has to dispatch. The sound of his heavy footsteps draw their attention easily, rushing towards him with their arms outstretched. He backs up, panicking as he wonders what exactly he's meant to do with a knife. Yes, he played The Walking Dead Game, he knows about the knee kicking trick, but when you're actually faced with a pair of hungry zombies shambling towards you, it's easy to lose all your confidence. Usually he just swings his crowbar around until everything dies, but he doesn't have that kind of energy today.

Kicking his leg out, he's reminded of the fact that there's not a lot of risk to doing this with two solitary zombies that are pretty far apart anyway. The length of his leg is decently long, since he's slightly over six feet in height, and the zombies aren't smart enough to try wrestling him or anything like that. Not to mention how fragile these things are, dropping easily and allowing him to drive his dagger into their skull before repeating the process with the other one.

That was… easy? Now that he's done it, he feels much more confident doing it again. Though he won't have to, because that appears to be the only threat in here. That he knows of, anyway.

From the canteen, he easily finds a kitchen. He doesn't know why a church has a kitchen, but he doesn't know much of anything about churches or organized religion, so that's not surprising. Shrugging it off, he starts digging through the shelves and fridges, digging out a smorgasbord of food. There's even a walk-in pantry absolutely loaded with canned goods, so many that they barely fit inside. The two of them could live here for a long time off of this stuff.

Picking up a small pallet of canned goods at random, he rushes back out of the church, where he finds Benrey on the front steps firing at a nearby zombie. His aim is true, downing the undead beast in a single shot.

"Benrey," Gordon whispers, drawing the other man's attention. He holds up the pallet, showing off what he found. "There's a kitchen f*cking full of this stuff! If we could get all that stuff into the back of the van, we'll be set for months, maybe even years!"

That might be stretching it a bit far, but the supply is f*cking massive. Easily the most food he's seen in one place since the Resonance Cascade. And there's no telling if there's even more stashed away somewhere else!

"Dope," Benrey says. "Uh… how long'll that take though?"

"Huh? Uh, I dunno, probably a few trips, an hour or so, maybe." More than likely, Benrey will have to do most of the work. But if he can carry things to the entrance, Gordon can stash it in the trunk. That won't be too tiring.

Benrey looks out towards the streets, where Gordon slowly follows his gaze. What he sees has his heart sinking. The horde they just lured away is slowly creeping back towards the church. They're already flooding the streets, knocking over fences and mailboxes along the way.

"What?" Gordon blurts, his shock freezing him in place. "How—What the f*ck, why are they—?"

He gets his answer before he's done speaking. Even without Benrey pointing to them, he'd still notice the dark-feathered birds flying overhead, all cawing at the top of their lungs. The sound doesn't compare to the burst of a firework, but it's enough to start drawing zombies, who in turn draw other zombies until they're all moving like a herd of sheep.

"You're f*cking joking," Gordon says.

"I know, bro. S'what I said," Benrey says.

"There's no way—They're f*cking birds!" Gordon complains, his whisper turning a little shrill as he rushes to toss the pallet into the car. "Do whatever you can, and get the trunk open. I'm making a run for it."

"Whuh? But—"

Rushing inside the building, the last thing Gordon hears is Benrey's "Tch, man…" before he opens fire on the zombies. This is probably the most reckless thing he's done in awhile, but he has to do it. There's no guarantee they'll ever hit a jackpot this big again. They have to take as much as they can!

In the kitchen, he tracks down some garbage bags, tearing out several and tossing items inside them. They're cans, it doesn't matter if they end up a little dented, they'll be fine. He even tosses in some bags of flour and yeast. If they could start making their own bread, that would be an invaluable source of carbs, or good bait if they wanted to trap something. Either way, it gets tossed in as well, along with several huge things of salt.

Outside, he can hear the sounds of battle growing louder and louder, with Benrey swapping from the silenced pistol to the assault rifle. Gordon's heart pounds deafeningly loud in his ears, skin growing clammy as his hands shake, but he keeps going, despite the fear of death breathing down his neck. It's the most intense grocery shopping experience he's ever had, on top of extremely risky, but he has to do this. For both of their sakes.

After filling two bags, he hefts them up over his shoulder. The HEV suit helps out a lot in this regard—if he didn't have it on, he'd probably break both his arms trying to lift this sh*t up. It's still exhausting, but somehow, he makes it outside without incident.

How much time has passed is beyond him. But what he runs out to find is drastically different from what he left behind. The scent of smoke is overwhelming, choking him as he breathes some of it in. Looking out on the streets, he finds a burning crowd of zombies, their distorted screams and snarls filling the air as the flesh melts from their bones. It's surprisingly effective—one zombie lights another by bumping into it, and as they fall, others walk through the flames, igniting even more.

The problem is that it's also setting the grass on fire, which is spreading to trees and the more flammable buildings nearby. Luckily, the church isn't made of a particularly flammable substance… but it's surrounded by grass and leafy bushes, which the van is currently parked on. At least it's facing the road, now, so all Gordon has to do is run forward and toss his bags into the open trunk.

"Benrey!" he yells. "What the hell did you do?!"

The other man is absent—until he calls back, leading Gordon's gaze up to the roof of the van. He's holding a bottle of cheap beer, with a cloth stuffed inside and a black lighter with a skull on the side lit in his other hand.

"Molotovs, bro," he says, lighting the cloth and chucking the bottle at the horde, where it explodes on impact, setting another part of the crowd on fire. Though chaotic and highly destructive, it's proving effective at keeping the zombies at bay. There's a line they can't seem to get past, littered with fallen bodies. "Go get more!"

The sound of Benrey's voice snaps Gordon out of his staring. Shaking his head, he says, "Right!" before racing back inside to repeat the process. Even after having seen Benrey's relatively effective crowd control, he's still panicking, afraid that every additional item he packs will be the one-too-many that gets not just Benrey, but the both of them killed. Even if he escaped out the back of the church, it won't matter. All of his sh*t is in the van. He'll be right back where he started, just with a stitched-up cheek and some better firepower.

Eventually, he's got another two bags filled, which barely dents the contents of the pantry, packed to feed hundreds of people. It has to be enough, though. Tying the bags shut, he runs off with them, making it to right before the exit when one of the two bags bursts open, spilling everything onto the ground.

"No, no…! sh*t!" Dropping down, he starts scooping everything back up, holding the tear closed so maybe he can just, awkwardly carry it the remaining few feet.

But the cacophony of noise outside is reaching a fever pitch, through which, somehow, he hears Benrey's voice. "Bro! We have to GO!" he calls. Glancing to the exit, Gordon's vision swims, yet he can still see the blobs of muddy-grey beginning to surround the van. They're coming from multiple directions, the fire not doing enough to hold them back anymore. There's not enough time… but if he leaves all this behind, when he was so close…!

"GORDON!" Benrey yells, tugging Gordon's attention back right in time to see Benrey get pinned against the ground by a hungry zombie. He struggles to kick it off, using his rifle to hold its face away from him, but there's many more dropping down to try and chew through his uniform. A distorted and agonized scream rips out of him as he starts to flail, all while Gordon just sits there and watches, his skin clammy and breaths coming in unsteady puffs. The past few days spent alone flash through his mind, and something firmly slots into place in his brain.

He needs Benrey.

Tearing his gun out of its holster, he starts firing into the crowd, his shots steadier and more precise than usual. One after another the zombies fall, allowing Benrey to drag his body out from under the pile of decaying corpses. He's limping and holding onto one of his arms, but he manages to get away, allowing Gordon to grab the bag that hasn't broken yet and chuck it into the trunk like he's throwing a football through a goal post. It clatters loudly, which momentarily confuses the zombies, giving Benrey a few extra seconds to get away.

Gordon runs faster than he ever has, lifting Benrey and chucking him into the passenger's seat. Drawing his crowbar, Gordon whacks his way through the horde to the driver's seat, panting heavily and dripping with blood. A zombie's hand gets caught in the door, its fingers breaking and ripping right off as he gets the car started and tears ass into the streets, flattening several undead under the tires. It makes some alarming noises as he does, painting the hood a sickly crimson, but he doesn't care. He keeps going, never once looking back.

It's a long stretch of road, now, nothing to see for… well, not very far considering this bizarre fog, but he feels confident enough to put the car into autopilot while he turns to check on Benrey. The other man's curled up into a ball in the passenger's seat, grasping tight to one of his arms and panting heavily, his face unnaturally pale, eyes glazed over and staring into the middle distance.

"Benrey," he says, glancing quickly to the road to ensure they're not about to crash before turning towards him. "Hey, man. Can you hear me? Are you bitten?"

Benrey's chest heaves, his eyes falling closed for several long seconds before he shakes his head. He takes a long, unsteady breath and wheezes, "Glass cannons. Sandbox settings, messed…"

Wracking his brain for any indication as to what "glass cannon" means, Gordon eventually puzzles it out from the name and the fact it's Benrey saying it—he's referring to a video game fighter type that hits very hard, but dies very easily. Gordon's had very few direct altercations with the zombies considering his HEV suit makes him stronger and way more durable, so he doesn't get dogpilled like Benrey does and doesn't really know what they're like to a normal person. He also has a tendency towards flight instead of fight, but that's… irrelevant.

What matters is that the zombies f*cked Benrey up in a way that won't turn him into one. Probably? sh*t, wait. Don't some zombies just need to scratch you? "Just, hold on, okay?" Gordon says, though he's not sure if he's saying it to Benrey, or himself. Panic is welling up inside him, uncertain for what the future's gonna look like now. "I'll find somewhere to stop and we'll get you patched up."

Hopefully that somewhere includes a building, because even now, he can still smell rain, and he doesn't trust the woods around them. A zombie could easily hide inside with so many trees to conceal their presence. These things can probably smell blood, and Gordon doesn't wanna find out just how many are hidden out there.

And so they set off into the vast unknown once more, Gordon's fingers tight around the steering wheel, praying Benrey pulls through long enough for Gordon to find shelter.

Chapter 14: I've been going back and forth, back and forth

Chapter Text

For once, the drive isn't very long at all, even if the place Gordon pulls up to is just a motel on the side of the road. Doesn't matter. He swerves into the parking lot, parking unevenly across several spaces and hastily switching off the ignition, finally freed of the odd rattling sound the van's been making. Gordon's bag is grabbed, gun co*cked, and knife at the ready as he jumps out, head whipping around this way and that as he searches for danger. The sound of the passenger side door opening draws his attention in time to catch the thud as Benrey trips onto the pavement. Gordon's at his side in an instant, helping him back up as he clutches at his right arm.

"I gotcha," Gordon says, kicking the door closed and more-or-less dragging Benrey along. Though he gives a valiant effort to walk, he's clearly out of it, leaning heavily against Gordon to the degree that his head is leaned on Gordon's. Normally, he'd be bothered by this, but right now, he's a lot more concerned with ensuring Benrey survives.

Most of the motel's doors are broken down, revealing filthy interiors caked with viscera and all manner of bugs. But there's several upstairs that might still be good, given they've yet to be broken into. Gordon steps on a maggot on his way up the stairs, propping Benrey against the wall as he uses his crowbar to pry open a window, reach through, and unlock the door.

Turning back to Benrey, he finds him stood perfectly still save for his laborious breaths, his glowing eyes dull and glazed over as he stares down at the floor. For a guy that's clearly in a bad way—even if Gordon can't see how—he's awfully calm about this.

Shock is a powerful drug, huh?

Gordon goes back to helping him walk, getting him inside the blessedly much cleaner motel room. It's still disgusting, with mysterious stains, an acrid stench hanging in the air, and faded, peeling wallpaper. But better nonetheless. Gordon tosses his bag onto the first bed before helping Benrey onto the other, sitting him on the edge where he promptly falls onto his uninjured side with a heavy sigh.

"This suuuuucks," he whines, as Gordon digs his first aid kit out of his bag. "Medicccccc."

Despite everything, Gordon lets out a sarcastic laugh. "If you can complain, it must not hurt that bad."

"Nooooo-uhhh. Mediccc. Mediccccc."

Despite his teasing, Gordon doesn't slow, digging through the kit for everything he'll need before helping Benrey back up. When he goes to do so, Benrey's kissing the bed for some reason. "Gross, man," Gordon groans. "Come on, knock that sh*t off. You don't know what's been on that thing."

"Cum and slick probably," Benrey says, as Gordon tugs him up into a sitting position. He groans, clutching his arm and letting out a shaky breath, yet the pain doesn't deter him from saying more dumb sh*t. "You think they were hot?"

"What?"

"The people that f*cked on this bed," Benrey says.

Gordon lets out an exasperated sigh. This is how it's gonna be every time Benrey needs medical attention, huh? "I dunno, man. It's a skeezy motel," he says, unsure why he's humoring Benrey's crude nonsense. "Just let me see your arm."

Thankfully, Benrey obliges, his gloved hand coming away slick with fresh blood. Though he claimed not to be bitten, Gordon fully expects to see some thick teeth marks in his arm. Surprisingly, he sees no such thing—instead, his sleeve's been torn like one of the zombies yanked on it, giving them room to leave claw marks so thick, it looks like someone carved out bits of Benrey's flesh with a knife.

"Jesus," Gordon says. "That's gonna need stitches."

"Cool," is all Benrey says.

For now, Gordon focuses on getting it to stop bleeding, handing Benrey a washcloth to press over the wound while he prepares a needle and thread. "Does anything else hurt?" he asks.

"Uh, yeah," Benrey says, and doesn't elaborate. Gordon sits down next to him with some disinfectant and a needle prepared, urging the other man to get his vest and shirt off while Gordon holds the washcloth in place whenever he can.

"Benrey. Is anything else bleeding? Broken? Sprained?"

"Uhh… whuh?" Gordon tries not to grind his teeth at Benrey's clueless shtick. As he gets his SWAT jacket off, leaving him in nothing but a skimpy red tanktop with the Powerpuff Girls heart on it, he notices the thick claw marks oozing blood on the side of his abdomen. "Oh… yeah."

Benrey pokes at the newly unveiled wound, flinching every time, just to do it again and again.

"Stop that!" Gordon scolds, batting his hands away before getting some cotton swabs soaked in disinfectant to start dabbing away at Benrey's arm with. "Now, hold still."

When jabbing a needle through Benrey's flesh, Gordon expects a huge reaction. And while Benrey does flinch and make agonized noises, his body trembles with the effort of holding still, sweat beading on his brow. And while it's much easier as a result, that doesn't mean hearing Benrey cry out in pain doesn't f*cking suck. He's clearly trying to cope with humor, adding in a lot of "owwie" and "ouchie" to lighten the mood, but it doesn't really work when he sounds far too genuine about each one.

"OWWWW-uhhhh…!"

"Just hold still," Gordon says, his dad-voice slipping in as his tone grows more soothing, yet firm. "You're doing really good, Benrey. Just—Come on, hold that against your waist, it's still bleeding. Use the clean one, Benrey. Use—Good, right, that one. Good job."

"Thanks, dahhh—nngghhh fuuuuck—!"

By the time Gordon's gone through all four marks—the fourth was shorter—Benrey's drenched in sweat, his hand shaking where it's holding the cloth against his side. But the important thing is that it's done. The injury on his waist isn't as bad, so all Gordon has to do is clean it and wrap a bandage around Benrey's waist. Once that's done, Gordon wipes his hands off on a towel and gestures towards Benrey's lower half.

"Now, take your pants off," he orders, not thinking much of it. "We need to see if you're hurt anywhere else."

"Bet," Benrey says, getting started on his belt.

Clumsily, he kicks off his pants until he's left in nothing but a pair of lacy red boyshorts that have Gordon doing a double take. The flowery lace isn't designed to contain or conceal what Benrey's packing, making the garment basically useless as far as coverage goes. Which is to say that Gordon can see his whole dick, a sight he's tried so hard to avoid despite Benrey's proclivities for showing it off. So much for that.

Worse, is that now that Gordon's seen it, he can't stop seeing it? It's like being in a high school locker room and finding out that the guy getting changed next to you has a massive horse co*ck. And, well, Benrey's… struggling to fit into that lace, he'll say that much.

"Ow," Benrey says, snapping Gordon's attention away from his massive hor—from his dick, to find Benrey observing some cuts on his leg. As Gordon studies those, his eyes naturally trail down Benrey's long, muscular thighs to his scraped knee, even further down to the litany of cuts all over his calves and ankles. It looks like the zombies had tried to drag him away.

Which is… a disturbing thought. To get grabbed, yanked down onto the ground, and dragged away by dozens of hands into a horde of hungry beasts. Gordon pales. Benrey's… had that happen to him more than once. And one of those times had been Gordon's fault.

He shakes his head to clear those thoughts away. "Just, hold still," he says, getting more cotton swabs ready. "None of these look too deep, I should be able to just clean them and wrap them up. Just try to relax, and… I don't know, think about something nice."

"Nice… okay," Benrey mumbles.

As Gordon works, he moves from one side of the bed to the other, then kneels on the floor in front of it. Benrey's long legs are a little awkward to maneuver in the tight space between the two beds, at one point requiring he prop them up over Gordon's shoulder so he can reach the wounds on the backside.

It's only when Gordon gets to Benrey's thighs, which aren't looking as bad, that he looks up and finds… it right in front of his face. Nothing's changed about it, obviously. Kinda hard to get… any sort of way when you're in this much pain. But finding it so close is like a f*cking jumpscare, and Gordon inhales sharply, which is a huge mistake. He catches a waft of Benrey's musk and it sends a jolt of arousal through him that has him wanting to run outside and jump off the second floor balcony.

As his body begins to burn, he quickly turns away, refusing to acknowledge Benrey's limp noodle or his musk. It's so f*cking inappropriate anyway, he has a job to do! You know, keeping Benrey alive?! Sure, the worst has been patched up, but even a small cut could kill if improperly treated. He's just… way too pent up, and Benrey's—No, it's wrong to blame the way he's dressed. It's not like Gordon was supposed to see this.

Disregarding that, he continues his investigation of Benrey's body, searching for any sign of a bite, but all he finds are scrapes, bruises, and cuts. He cleans whatever needs it, applies whatever bandages are necessary, and finally, helps Benrey back into his clothes.

"There. We're done," Gordon declares, swiftly turning around to hide his flushed face as Benrey drops back onto the bed, exhausted.

"f*ck yeah," Benrey breathes.

Grabbing a sports drink out of his bag, Gordon sucks some of it down in hopes of cooling off before turning back around. Benrey's laid back, his jacket unzipped to show off his torso. The bandage around his waist covers most of the skin left bare between his shirt and pants, but… laid out like that, wearing a low-cut shirt so tight it accentuates the shape of his pectorals to give him ample amounts of cleavage, he seems really—

No. Nope. He doesn't seem like anything.

Gordon gets everything put away, grabbing all the bloodied rags and taking them into the bathroom to wash in the sink. Luckily, there's not much filth to clean off the HEV suit, just some blood here and there—in particular the gloves, but that washes away as he cleans everything else. He also changes the bandage on his face, cleans the wound, and redresses it. It's looking better—not by a lot, but, better.

Heading back out, he finds Benrey curled up on the bed in a more comfortable position, boots kicked off on the floor with his vest. Gordon gives him a glance before heading over to the window and checking outside. A couple zombies have wandered in to check out the car, though they seem confused, like they expected something a bit more fleshy and delicious. Grabbing the knife Benrey gave him, he considers whether or not it'd be better to ignore them and wait for them to leave, before realizing they definitely won't. Not unless they get distracted by a deer, or something.

"Got some zombies outside, I'm gonna go take care of it," he tells Benrey, who doesn't respond. "Just stay put and don't do anything stupid, okay?" Again, no response. He thinks nothing of it and heads out.

The group is easily dispatched. By now, he understands how to handle them—lure one away from the group, kill it, repeat. More keep showing up, though, keeping him out here for far longer than anticipated. It gets overwhelming from time to time, with a few close calls as zombies grab his hair or gnaw on the chestplate of the HEV suit before he can knock them back. This sends him running all over the parking lot and even a few feet down the road just to maintain distance, and still more jump out at him from the forests nearby.

It's a huge pain in the ass, but at least it's good exercise. He laughs to himself about that while surveying the area one last time, finding a few stragglers hanging out in the treelines. Pausing to catch his breath, he heads out to take care of those, too. Can never be too careful.

As the sky starts to change colors, he can finally call it quits. Grabbing some food out of the van, he finds the front office, breaking in and tracking down the tiny kitchen in the back. Here, he whips up some lasagna. While it's baking, he sets a timer on a wristwratch he found on one of the zombies, and heads back upstairs.

The situation here's completely unchanged. Benrey's in the same position, and for a moment there, Gordon worries he went and died. But as he gets closer, he's able to make out the rise and fall of Benrey's chest. Just asleep, then. That he can do that under so much pain is incredible, and very fortunate. Now Gordon doesn't have to babysit him… until the food's ready, when he'll definitely have to wake Benrey back up to eat. For now, though, he takes the time to relax, sitting down on the empty bed and staring out the window.

Keeping his mind clear works for maybe ten minutes as his fatigue eases up to something more tolerable, but after that, it's a free-for-all. His mind runs over the events of the day, all the violence, every stupid decision he made that got them into this mess.

They just left behind a treasure trove of food, and that's only what Gordon found. Who knows how much medicine was in there? Now what happens if they run out and have to go weeks without food? If one of them gets sick and needs a special kind of medicine? How fast will they die? He doesn't know the answer to that question. Wasn't there a guy who went two months without eating? f*ck, he can't live like that.

He places his face in his hands, annoyed by the hard material of the HEV suit's gloves against his skin. He's sick of this, sick of all of this. That they have to risk their lives over some sh*tty canned peas or whatever the f*ck ended up in those bags. That he was too stupid to come up with a better plan in time. That he can't even feel his own body, trapped in this suit like a human head on a robot body. Does he exist under all this? What about his right hand, is it even real? Or is it just as metal as the rest of the suit?

"Hey."

The sound of Benrey's voice draws Gordon's attention, dragging his hands down his face and wincing when it tugs on the tape to his bandage. Looking up, he finds Benrey stood nearby, looking strangely normal despite everything. Like the bandage wrapped around his waist, which has already turned a little brown where his injury's bled through.

"You havin' uhhh… pity party?" Benrey asks. "Was I invited?"

"What? No," Gordon says. "I mean… I'm not having a pity party."

Benrey doesn't look convinced. "Yeah, okay," he drawls, clutching his side as he goes to take a seat next to Gordon, ankles crossed and thighs spread. "Hey, you got any drugs?"

A startled laugh parts Gordon's lips, easing some of his tension. "Yeah, sure." As he turns to grab his bag, digging through it for the bottle in question, he says, "Man, I'm surprised you got any sleep. I can barely fall asleep with this cut on my face, but you're battered all over and conked out right away." He hands Benrey a single pill, which the man doesn't hesitate to swallow dry.

"Built different," Benrey says. Gordon just shrugs, not needing to know more than that.

"Hey, let me change your bandages. You're already bleeding through that one." He points to the one on Benrey's waist, which he stares down at like he's never seen it before despite the fact he's currently holding it. Still, he holds still to let Gordon unwind it, leaning back on his hands to give Gordon a better angle to work with. His fingers keep grazing Benrey's bare abdomen, leading him to twitch or shudder as Gordon apologizes. Benrey never complains, though.

After wiping away the blood, Gordon redresses the wound. Not once does he consider that he could just tell Benrey to do all this himself—he's clearly doing much better after his nap. But if he's injured, and Gordon's doing considerably better, shouldn't he be the one to do it for Benrey? What else does he have to do?

Benrey would probably do it wrong, anyway.

Once he's done, he sits back with a sigh—just for Benrey to grab his hand before he can pull it away. Startled, he glances from his hand to Benrey's face, the man's icy blue eyes boring into him.

"You wanna talk about it?" Benrey asks.

A jolt of anxiety laces through Gordon. Something about Benrey's cold stare makes him feel completely exposed, but that's absurd. There's no way Benrey knows what's going on in his head. "About what?" Gordon says.

Benrey blinks at him… before slowly adjusting his grip until he's holding Gordon's hand, his thumb rubbing over the rough material of the HEV suit's gloves. "Please?"

"What…" Gordon's voice trails off, and he lets go of a sigh. It's obvious Benrey noticed something was up, why try to hide it? "I just… We left all that sh*t behind. We could've been set, man, that food would've lasted us for months. We wouldn't have to loot anymore, we could, f*cking… eat like kings until we get out of this f*cking place."

Benrey nods, wincing as he moves to lean forward on his available hand and watch Gordon speak.

"We could've just kept driving, not had to… no more of this… We could…" Something hits him, then. "Oh my god, we could've just shot the birds and set off more fireworks. Instead we set the f*cking town on fire, f*ck! Why didn't I think of that…!"

"Hey, bro, come on," Benrey says. "We got lotsa loot, way more'n we ever had. Gonna be lots more, come on, don't be sads. Think of all the, the, the soup? We're gonna be eating? Get your HP, MP up… full restore… Grandma's soup, two servings. That's one for both of us."

A startled laugh escapes Gordon. "What are you talking about?" He shakes his head. "It's still really f*cking hard to deal with, man. We could've had it all. Who knows how long we're gonna be stuck here? God, what if it's forever?"

Benrey sits up, reaching for Gordon's shoulder just to pause and reach for his face, instead. His cool palm cups Gordon's uninjured cheek, which is in desperate need of a shave, and Gordon finds himself leaning into Benrey's soothing touch despite the way it makes his gut twist. It's just… he doesn't get much human contact anymore. Not with this stupid f*cking suit on.

"Don't worry about it," Benrey says. "We lived, and it was really cool." His thumb strokes over Gordon's cheekbone. "Yeah, we did some dummy moves, started a forest fire. Smokey's real mad about that one. But, we're… we're both takin' those risks we gotta take, for each other."

For… each other? That's right. Gordon was thinking of the both of them, of how they're both going to survive if they run out of food. That's real f*cking weird to think about. That he cares whether Benrey lives or dies, whether he starves, or gets hurt, or sick, or any of those other unfortunate things. Because, honestly? Benrey hasn't been the man Gordon thought he was. He hasn't been antagonistic, he just lashes out when he's hurt. He hasn't been lazy, either, he just knows how to relax, a skill Gordon could really stand to learn.

Knowing that… staying at the church any longer would've meant Gordon losing someone who doesn't deserve to be lost. Someone who saved his life and never stopped trying to do it again, even if it meant risking his life. There'll be other towns, other stockpiles. Chances to do better. This is… fine. Because they're in it together, now.

Gordon nods, his breaths evening out. "Yeah," he breathes. "Yeah. You're right."

Gently, Benrey pats Gordon's cheek in a companionable gesture. Then, just when the timing's right for him to pull away, he… doesn't. Instead, he tips Gordon's head up and kisses him on the forehead, immediately withdrawing right afterwards and leaving Gordon sputtering.

"Di—Did you just kiss me?" he asks. Stunned, he reaches up to brush his fingers over where Benrey's lips touched, stopping just short when he remembers how awful the gloves feel.

"Huh?" Benrey blurts, looking down at Gordon with a dazed look in his eyes. With a sigh, Gordon gives up. The "huh" and "what" has never been known to lead to anything productive, and it's not like it matters if he knows why Benrey just did that. He did, and… well, if the point of it was to cheer Gordon up, it worked. He feels a lighter now. "What were we doing?"

"I—" The alarm on Gordon's watch goes off right then, set ten minutes off just in case the trip down to the kitchen takes awhile. As he quickly switches it off, he says, "We were just about to eat dinner."

"Yooo, Gordon Chefm—GORDON RAMSEY! Hell's Kitchen! What're you cookin' up?"

Gordon can't help but laugh. "It's nothing special," he says. "I'll go get it."

As he gets up, he adjusts his glasses, which have fogged up, for some reason. He'll have to wipe them down on something in the kitchen. For now, he focuses on getting Benrey to stay put while he heads downstairs to fetch the lasagna. The man's utterly convinced that he needs to go with to "make sure you don't steal anything," to which Gordon pushes him back into bed—agitating the wound on his side—and informs him he's gonna steal everything before leaving the room. He laughs at the sound of Benrey dryly crying out "Noooooooooo—!" at his back.

Chapter 15: warn your warmth to turn away

Chapter Text

Grabbing the lasagna and portioning it out onto two plates is a quick and easy task. Gordon takes two servings each, as they'll need the extra calories with all the work they've been doing lately. The rest of the pan is left in the fridge for later.

Returning upstairs, he finds Benrey laid in bed with his PSP playing something that's almost loud enough to leak into the hallway, but not quite, so Gordon lets it go. The sight of the food gets Benrey to turn the game off anyway.

"Got some grub," Gordon announces, holding up both plates. "Come sit with me." There's a round table with two chairs by the window where Gordon sets their plates down. After putting his game away, Benrey jumps up to sit across from him, gripping the wound on his side as he does.

"Yooo, cat food," he says as he picks up his fork. "Love Mondays."

"I think he hates them, actually," Gordon points out, before he, too, starts digging in.

However, Benrey doesn't follow suit, his fork hovering over his food as he watches Gordon eat it first. Two bites in, when Benrey still hasn't eaten, Gordon decides to investigate.

"What?" he asks. "Something wrong?"

"Huh?" Benrey blinks as if waking from a trance.

"You're not eating," Gordon says. He gestures to Benrey's uneaten pasta with his fork. "What, you don't like lasagna? There's nothing weird in it, man, it's like… if you like pizza, you'll like this."

"What? Nuhhh, duh. Know that, not dumb. Uh… take another bite, though?"

Perplexed, Gordon squints at Benrey before doing just that, with slow, cautious movements. Benrey doesn't seem aroused by this, which is the only conclusion Gordon can draw. But what does he truly understand about how Benrey feels, anyway? It's not like he's ever seen Benrey get turned on before.

And he doesn't want to, thanks!

Once the food's in his mouth, Benrey moves to take a bite of his own meal. But it's a struggle as he cuts off a chunk just to have every layer of ingredients fall apart, before spending a bunch of time chasing everything to fit on his fork. Gordon watches all this go down with a skeptical look.

"Have you tried stabbing it?" Gordon suggests, to which Benrey snaps his gaze up, a hint of surprise flashing in his droopy, bored eyes.

"Whuh? Uh—S'a physics puzzle."

"Don't play with your food, man."

"Whatever," Benrey grumbles. "Lea'me alone, not my dad."

"Uh-huh," Gordon says, watching a moment longer before returning to his own meal. As he eats, he feigns disinterest in what Benrey's up to, giving him a sense of privacy despite the fact Gordon definitely still sees it when he moves to stabbing the ingredients instead, to a much better result. A small smile tugs at Gordon's lips. Soon enough, Benrey's scarfing his lasagna down with a voracious appetite. "Man, you must really like lasagna."

"Cat's onto something," Benrey mumbles before stuffing his face some more.

With a soft smile, Gordon turns to look out the window nearby, where a few zombies have wandered out onto the road. They're feasting upon the rotten remains of their fallen brethren, shoving raw meat and organs into their hungry maws. As disturbing as the sight is, Gordon doesn't react much to it. He's been seeing dead bodies in all kinds of ways consistently for long enough now that it doesn't even ruin his appetite. All he's thinking about is whether or not this is going to be a problem when they have to leave.

"Hey," Gordon says. "Do you have any idea where we are? I mean, we're just driving around all over the place, and it's not doing us any good." He gestures to the window with his fork. Benrey stares outside for awhile, slowly chewing his food before looking back at Gordon. "Are we even in New Mexico?"

"Uh… It's a desert, right?"

"Exactly!" Gordon exclaims, throwing up his hands as Benrey tilts his head. "Like, look, man, I haven't—I haven't lived here—there all my life or anything, just a few years, but none of it is this green! f*ck, look, there's so many f*cking trees outside I can't see past them."

Benrey casts a bored glance out the window.

"I had that map," Gordon continues, "That said I was still in New Mexico, but I couldn't figure out where, and… I don't even know where that thing went. It must've been a travel map, like, for people headed to New Mexico, or something. I don't know. But if we're not there, where are we? And how do we find out?"

There's no response. Gordon hasn't figured out what Benrey going quiet means yet. Does he have nothing useful to say, so he doesn't? Is he not interested? Is he thinking long and hard about it? There's nothing to read on his face, which only really changes expression when he's upset or f*cking around, neither of which seem to apply here. But when they've both finished all their food—and Benrey finishes some of Gordon's, when two servings turns out to be way too much—he still hasn't said anything on the subject, so Gordon's forced to drop it.

Fine. He'll figure it out on his own.

The plates they ate on are left at the table as they move to the beds. Not like they need to do dishes, they'll never use these again. Nor will anyone else. Instead, Benrey carefully maneuvers into bed and gets out his Switch.

"Dia-bol-o, please?" Benrey asks, and, though Gordon would like to go back out and clear the zombies again… he agrees, getting out his own console and connecting to multiplayer. Why that even works in the apocalypse is beyond him, it just does. With his game in hand, he does his best to get comfortable on his own bed, though it's ultimately a losing battle.

Hours pass. After dark, Gordon goes to clear out the zombies despite Benrey's protests for more game, returning about an hour later completely drained. There's a sports drink and a granola bar waiting for him on the nightstand by his bed, where he also finds both Switch consoles charging. Benrey's conked out again, too, laid sprawled out against the bed with his head angled towards his shoulder.

With no audience to perform for, Gordon takes a moment to take in the scene before him. It's just such a relief, to have company like this. Someone who'll leave him a snack and take care of their things while he's off working.

Though… it's not just that. Something about the way Benrey looks is getting to him. Benrey looks comfortable despite his injuries, sprawled out on his back partially turned towards his right side, but not fully, to avoid agitating the wound on his arm. His jacket's splayed out beneath him and his beanie's askew. He looks… warm. Warm, steady, and firm, like Gordon could wrap his hands around Benrey's waist, and…

An ache spreads through his chest as he automatically pictures himself climbing into bed with Benrey, no big, bulky suit in the way as he tugs the other man against him.

Before that fantasy can run away with itself, Gordon hastily averts his gaze. God, he must be really f*cking lonely if he's having thoughts about Benrey. Can he be blamed, though? It's a literal last-man-on-earth scenario, and Gordon's only human. He has needs. Urges. Things he can't take care of when he's trapped in this suit all the time. Yeah, he can get his dick out to pee, but he'd get nowhere jacking off with these awful gloves, and he's not about to f*ck a grapefruit or whatever other hole he can find. He's not that pathetic.

Gordon scarfs down the snacks Benrey left out for him, gets cleaned up, and heads to bed. Luckily, not much of his body has to make contact with these disgusting sheets, so that's a plus. Little victories.

Still, sleep doesn't come easily. Gordon finds himself waking often to check out the window, listening intently for any concerning noises, but he never finds anything worrying. When at long last he wakes for the day, he's still exhausted, but knows he has to get up anyway. The sun's shining, chasing away the shadows of the night, and from the looks of it, Benrey's already awake, sitting by the window, staring out the curtains at the scenery that lies below.

With a grunt, Gordon pushes himself up. As he looks to his nightstand, there's already an antibiotic and a bottle of Powerade waiting for him. Grimacing, he uses one to down the other before stretching out his arms and getting to his feet.

"Morning," he says, heading to the bathroom without waiting on a response. It's a coin flip on whether Benrey responds to anything he says, and this time, the coin lands on "silent".

Once he's done in the bathroom, he heads back out to find Benrey sitting in bed. His bag's resting nearby with several boxes of ammo and dozens of magazines. It takes Gordon a moment to realize that means Benrey left the room to go get his stuff. When that happened is a mystery—but it doesn't matter. If Benrey's making supply drops to the van, he must be feeling better.

Right now, he's loading a 9mm magazine, each motion swift and precise. Gordon watches the way his hands move, like a well-oiled machine efficiently stocking up each magazine before moving onto the next.

"How're you feeling?" Gordon asks, tracking down his first aid kit to grab more rolls of gauze.

Only once he's done working does Benrey respond. "Hungry," he says, tucking the magazine into his bag before getting started on another. He pops each bullet in so fast that Gordon can't help but stare as he turns back around. There's something about the way he does it that makes it look so satisfying. "We got more kitty food?"

"Yeah," Gordon says. "Whole pan of it downstairs. Just, let me look over your bandages first, we gotta keep 'em clean or you'll risk getting infected again."

Once he's done working, Benrey clears a space for Gordon to sit before sitting back on his hands, where Gordon can get a better look at him. That same pang of yearning from last night hits again as Gordon glances over his waist, momentarily wanting nothing more than to grab onto his sides, and… something, something. He'd rather not entertain that fantasy. Just because this is a literal last-man-on-earth situation doesn't mean he has to go getting horny about it.

The bandage on his waist is, in fact, dirty again, so Gordon cleans and redresses the wound, which is already halfway to healing up completely. Still looks pretty nasty, and hurts like a bitch if the way Benrey tenses up as Gordon cleans it is any indication.

But that's only the tip of the iceberg. Sure, all the injuries on his legs are still clean and most of his bruises have gone away, but the injury on his arm is the worst by far. While it looks like it's crammed several days worth of healing into one night, that doesn't actually amount for much. The stitches aren't ready to come out yet, and it's still a bright, angry red.

"f*ck, I don't pity you," Gordon mutters as he works at getting the wound cleaned of all the dry, caked on blood.

"Why? Your dick's not bigger than mine," Benrey wryly comments, wincing as Gordon presses a little too hard on his wound.

"You have no idea how big my dick can get, buddy," Gordon says, too focused on the first aid he's administering to notice the surprised look on his patient's face. "Now shut up. I'm working."

All-in-all, it doesn't take very long, and soon, they're ready to move on. Benrey thanks him with a thumbs up before falling back against the bed, while Gordon puts his things away and retrieves some reheated lasagna from downstairs.

After eating and taking the dishes downstairs, Gordon returns to find Benrey cleaning his pistol at the dining table, an act that has Gordon staring again. That's something he doesn't even know how to do; in fact, it's something he didn't even realize he needed to do. Despite how long he's been stuck in violent situations like this, he's never taken the time to stop and think about gun maintenance.

"Hey," he says, approaching Benrey where he's sat holding some kind of long brush thing that he's using to clean his handgun's barrel. The window's been pushed open, and his handgun's in several pieces which Gordon can't even begin to identify, much less know how it all fits together. "Can you… teach me how to do that?"

Only then does Benrey pause to look up at him, glancing over his expression before lowering his head back down. "Pop a squat," he says, so Gordon does, taking the seat across from him. "'M cleaning, the, uh, the barrel. Obviously. Gotta get the gunk out with… smelly chemicals."

That would explain why the window's open. And, now that Benrey's brought attention to it, Gordon can definitely smell it. He has to wait until Benrey finishes what he's doing, not having too much to explain about the process other than proper handling and when it's time to stop. After, he starts going over each piece with Gordon, explaining what they are, what the point of them is, what needs to be cleaned, why, and how. Though he speaks in truncated sentences and often replaces words he can't seem to remember, it's actually a very thorough lesson.

Though Gordon doesn't fully understand it just yet, but when he brings out his pistol to clean it himself, Benrey walks him through every step again, causing it to fully solidify in his brain. For the most part. He'll need more practice and guidance, especially in the disassembly and reassembly parts, but he gets it a lot more, now.

"Gotta hold it like this," Benrey's saying, grabbing ahold of Gordon's hand and repositioning it to hold the cleaning rod properly. "Don't wanna hurt the… muzzle."

Though Gordon can't feel even a single degree of Benrey's body heat or the texture of his skin, just seeing his hand there makes Gordon's face heat up. Even worse is that Benrey's moved his chair to sit closer, and he's leaned forward enough that Gordon can smell his breath. Which is oddly sweet, like the way a red grape smells when you take it out of the fridge.

One of Benrey's hands gripa the back of the gun to hold it steady, the other directing Gordon's hand as he pushes the brush in and out with a twisting motion. It's like he doesn't know how to demonstrate something without completely taking over. This wouldn't be such a big deal, even with Gordon's rejection dysphoria.

If not for how this looks. Gordon never thought he'd look at a gun and find it sexual, but that's exactly how this feels. He's watching Benrey's hands, lithe and dextrous as they are, holding Gordon's larger ones as he thrusts a long rod in and out of something dark and wet. It's unhinged that he's thinking of it that way. But he is, and he can feel his skin tingling under the HEV suit's hard outer shell, and it's deeply f*cking pathetic.

"So then you gotta swap it with this," Benrey's saying, and, f*ck, why does he have to sound like that? His voice should be off-putting. It's usually off-putting, the way he drones on like he thinks he's too cool to have an affect, laughing like some kind of supervillain. But that's not how he comes across right now, his voice low and a little gravelly as he instructs Gordon on what to do with an expert focus. It's weird, and it's making Gordon's skin burn.

"So it's like that," Benrey says. "Now you do it."

"Huh?" Gordon blurts, startled by the sudden lack of Benrey's hands on him. He couldn't even feel it, yet he somehow feels it's absence? That doesn't make any f*cking sense. "Oh. Right."

Mentally shaking himself, Gordon gets back to the task at hand. It's not complicated, and scrubbing the barrel is actually pretty satisfying. Benrey watches him closely as he works, having no criticisms to give anymore. Thus, they move onto the rest, until finally, he's being taught to reassemble the gun and given a thumbs-up and an "A+".

"f*ck, thanks, man," Gordon says as he's finally allowed to reload and co*ck his gun, placing it back into the holster he's got strapped to his hip. It might be a placebo, but he already feels like it operates smoother than he remembers. "How'd you learn this sh*t, anyway? Guard training?"

"Huh? Yeah," Benrey says. He watches Gordon get his stuff together for a moment before doing the same, packing up all his cleaning supplies and shutting the window. "And, like… s'cool."

With such a long pause, Gordon isn't sure what Benrey's talking about. "What?"

"Y'know, uh… guns."

A beat passes in silence. Gordon stares up at Benrey, who avoids looking back. "What—Are you some kinda second amendment gun nut or something? God, please tell me you aren't. The feet thing is bad enough, I can't handle you getting worse."

"Whuh? No… I mean… what?" Benrey tips his head to one side, his hand placed over the wound on his arm. Gordon studies his expression. The look in his eyes is vacant, like he didn't understand what language Gordon's speaking and has to translate it in his head. "It's… video games, bro. You play the, some CS:GO? Get a cool skin on uhhhhh cool gun? That you like?"

"Uh… I mean, I've never played that, but, I guess? It's like TF2, right? War paints?"

Benrey's eyes light up. "Yeah, but, weapon mods. Change it up, the stats, and… reload animations… and the sound, you know the sound? When you pop the magazine in? That's an r/OddlySatisfying moment, number one."

"Did you just… nevermind." Weird Benreyisms aside, Gordon gets where he's coming from. "The clacking sound is pretty nice. Reminds me of an old keyboard."

"Yesssss, you get it," Benrey says, gripping his side as he shifts in his seat. "And you know the, the rifle reloading animation… with, pull the thing, the, the, the bolt. There's all those parts, bro, you look like a great cool when you know how to use 'em, feels like a cool. Don't even gotta fire it! Don't like that part anyway. I mean it's cool when you got the wheel in, uh, the… aiming class… target practice. I don't wanna fire it at people."

"This is really enlightening," Gordon says, with full sincerity. He leans forward on his hands. "That's why you barely ever shot anything at Black Mesa, but you still had that big f*cking gun?"

"Yeah. What's the point, man. You like hurting things? I don't."

Gordon grimaces at that. Maybe it wasn't an accusation, but it sure feels like one. Because, well, he does like hurting things. He can deny it all he wants, talk about how he only started getting trigger happy because everyone else was and he just kinda gave up, got used to it. But the truth is that when he gets mad enough, letting all that out with a bit of violence feels incredibly satisfying, even if the aftermath doesn't tend to be very nice.

"It's only good when it's funny," Benrey says, snapping Gordon out of his guilt spiral.

"Yeah, that checks out," Gordon says, pushing to his feet to go finish packing as Benrey does the same. There's a little more for him to do, namely in the getting dressed department. Gordon watches him, telling himself that it's to keep an eye out for whether Benrey needs help or not. He's pretty banged up still, clutching at his injuries and wincing when he has to bend down.

It's as all this happens that Gordon realizes something. Unless he's forgetting something, that conversation they just had is the first time Benrey's revealed an interest of his that didn't involve video games. Well, it sort of did, but it could easily be divorced from video games. Knowing that, it really feels like the two of them are getting somewhere, that they're bonding.

Even if "guns" as an interest is a little alarming. But he did go into detail about how he doesn't like using them to hurt people, so… not as bad as it could've been?

Yeah, Gordon refuses to let the subject matter dampen his good mood. The two of them are finally bonding enough that Benrey's willing to share stuff about himself, something he's usually pretty cagey about. Even if that also reminds him of how they could've bonded like this a lot sooner if Gordon hadn't been such a dick. f*ck, they could've bonded way, way sooner than this if Gordon had been less of a dick. Though he decides to forgive himself for a lot of Black Mesa. Benrey knew how to be a real grade school bully back then, pushing him around and making fun of him. Even if… that was only after Gordon had snapped at him for just doing his job…

f*ck, this introspection stuff sucks. He needs to stop thinking now.

"You need some help with that?" He asks as Benrey struggles to get his boots on from where he's sat on the edge of the bed. He's been trying just about every angle in order to comfortably reach the laces without agitating some injury or other, in particular the one on his waist. At his offer, Benrey gives up, falling back against the bed with a hand pressed to his side.

"Please," is all Benrey says.

Despite his track record for being gross about the dressing and undressing stuff, he's completely silent and perfectly cooperative as Gordon laces up his boots for him. As a reward, he hands Benrey another painkiller to take before they leave, and carries his bag for him. See? He can be nice to Benrey. He's not just an asshole all the time!

Finally, they leave the skeezy motel room behind. As Benrey tries to take the wheel, Gordon redirects him to the passenger's seat, ignoring his whining about it being his van.

"You're injured, man, and I don't trust you being drugged up behind the wheel," he says, ignoring Benrey's further complaints as he helps him into the passenger's seat. Climbing up is a little tricky for him to do painlessly, but Gordon tries to make it easy. Because he's nice, see?

Getting back on the road is a little tricky. The engine stalls, and Gordon experiences a moment of panic as he realizes they have no other way out of here without leaving behind all their supplies. Even Benrey looks a little alarmed, staring at the dash with his pupils slit until Gordon tries again. The car springs to life this time, drawing a relieved sigh out of Gordon.

But the problems don't stop there. As they're driving on to wherever they end up next, Gordon's too busy focusing on the road to notice much else. There's zombies to avoid crashing into, as he doesn't want the engine to break down because of too many head-on collisions. But that's not the only problem.

"What's that noise?" Benrey asks.

Gordon snaps out of his focus and back to the rattling noise that's been plaguing the vehicle ever since they left the last town behind. Back then, he'd ignored it in favor of getting them to safety. But now, he's paying full attention to it, and it doesn't take long for him to realize what it is.

"Ah, sh*t," he curses, pulling over to the side of the road.

As Gordon hops out, he sees they're right next to some train tracks bisecting the road, but actual civilization isn't in sight. Still, he goes around checking each tire until he finds the culprit, letting out a loud groan at the sight of the flat in the upper left. That's not something they can fix—there's a huge hole in it where a zombie's femur has gotten stuck in the rubber. The bone is likely the only reason why the tire hasn't completely lost all the air inside it yet. Not that Gordon's an expert.

"Fuuuck," Gordon says, right as Benrey hops out of the car, hand pressed to his arm to keep it from hitting against the door.

"Wha's happenin'?" he asks.

"Flat tire. You got a spare in the back?"

It isn't until the words are already out of his mouth that Gordon realizes what he's just said. Though he's seen the back of the van a few times before, and knows most of what's in there, there's still… that. Does Benrey know if he's checked inside those or not? He must assume Gordon forgot about them, but how the f*ck could he forget? It's one step away from finding a bloody garbage bag in Benrey's trunk.

But, as always, there're more important things to worry about.

"Uh, yup," Benrey says, popping the 'P'. He makes grabby hands at Gordon until he's handed the keys, using them to unlock the trunk and climb inside with some help from Gordon.

This time, Gordon can't even see the body bags. There's too much sh*t in here, totally unorganized, blocking his sightline of it. In a way, it's a relief. Maybe he imagined it! Benrey was probably annoyed that he mistook, like, a stack of blankets as something much more diabolical. You can only take someone accusing you of sh*t for so long before you just go along with it, right?

Gordon feels pretty good about this assessment. And they have a spare, so everything's fine! Changing a tire is like, basic car maintenance. He's done it before and he can easily do it again now.

"Catch," Benrey calls out.

"Do NOT throw a tire at me—!" Not trusting Benrey one bit, Gordon throws up his arms, though at the sound of Benrey blowing a raspberry, he looks up to find him holding out a tire. Heaving a sigh, he reaches up to grab it. It's not too heavy… and that's where something starts to nag at him. He holds the tire up to the nearest one he can find. "Uh… Benrey? This is the wrong size."

"What?" Benrey calls, leaning out of the trunk as much as he can. "What'd'you mean? It's tire sized."

"It's too small," he calls back. "And it's the wrong kind completely. You need something a lot meatier than this."

"But… that's the only one I got…"

With a groan, Gordon drags his hand down his face. "Well, we're gonna have to find something, because we can't drive on a flat, it'll damage… a bunch of sh*t." He doesn't have the energy to explain in detail. "Do you have a pair of binoculars, or something?"

"I got a rifle?" Benrey says, holding up a gun Gordon has yet to see him actually use. Though Gordon might not know all that much about weapons, he's played enough games to know he's looking at a sniper rifle.

"Where the f*ck did you—Nevermind. You think you can get on top of the van to get a look around? We either need to find another van like this one, or some kind of auto shop."

"Yeah, pain gone. Boost me."

Gordon helps him up onto the roof, where Benrey kneels with the rifle propped against his shoulder to scan the horizon. The urge to ask him if he's seen anything every few seconds has Gordon biting his lip. The silence is just a lot to deal with. Unnerving, as every second that goes by without an answer makes their chances seem that much more slim.

Finally, Benrey lowers the rifle and peers down over the edge of the van at Gordon. "S'a long drive," he reports. "But there's like… a depot over there." He points to the left, where the train tracks vanish into the woods. "For trains and stuff, but, maybe they got sum'n… car related?"

Gordon really doesn't see why they would. In fact, he's not so sure they'd have anything good over there. "What all do you see at the train station? Any parked cars, maybe a stranded train?"

"Uh, there's some warehouses," Benrey says. "Those… been good to me. Lotta loot. Might have tires."

That… might be true? Gordon knows f*ck-all about trains and train warehouses, but hypothetically, they could be storing cargo meant to be picked up by someone else, which could include tires. It's a bit of a long shot, but it's the best option they have right now if anything else is "a long drive".

"f*ck. Alright. Let's check it out," Gordon decides. He holds out his arms in an invitation for Benrey to jump into them, receiving a surprised stare in return. "Come on, we don't have all day."

Benrey scrambles to put the rifle over his shoulders and hop down, clearly trying to position himself to be caught bridal style. And he is, making it easier for Gordon to set him back down. He doesn't notice that Benrey's cheeks have gotten a little warmer as he stands with his hands against Gordon's chest plate, nor how close he is. It's a quick interaction that Gordon swiftly moves on from, walking away while Benrey's left floundering.

"How far of a walk is it?" Gordon asks, reaching the train tracks before he hears Benrey's boots scuffing against the concrete behind him.

"Uh… ten, fifteen?" Benrey guesses.

"Minutes?" Benrey nods. "Okay. Then we'll just take some drinks. Can you fit two bottles in your pockets?" Another nod. "Great. So, weapons, drinks…"

Right as he says that, he feels a single drop of rain hit his cheek. The two men look straight up, taking in the sight of the dark storm clouds overhead. It has smelled of petrichor for awhile… looks like it's finally here, and at the worst possible time. Great.

"Rain coat?" Benrey suggests.

"You have rain coats?"

Darting off, Benrey digs through the trunk before returning with a few items. Draped over Benrey's arm is a traditional yellow hooded raincoat, alongside a black one.

"Dang. You're prepared for anything, huh?" Gordon says, reaching out to grab the yellow coat, just for Benrey to tug it out of reach. At Gordon's annoyed glare, Benrey picks up the black coat and hands it to him. As he accepts it, he gives Benrey a puzzled look. "You don't want the black one? Aren't you, like, emo or something?"

"What?" Benrey blurts, "No—Yeah—Well. Hmm." He appears to consider this for a moment, before disregarding it and tugging the yellow raincoat on.

Gordon follows suit, awkwardly maneuvering the raincoat on over the HEV suit. Once he's gotten the snaps done up, he finds that the fit really isn't that bad. Well, the HEV suit's not that bulky, he supposes. It only makes him a little thicker in some places, mostly the chest. And though he can't feel it against his skin—outside of where the hood lays over the top of his head—it feels nice, like, psychologically? Benrey wears all kinds of stuff while Gordon's been stuck in the suit, so seeing something different on his body makes him feel lighter.

"Alright," he says, smoothing his hands down the front of his coat. Benrey's already come back with two bottles of blue Powerade, handing Gordon one to tuck into the pocket of his coat. "So we're just following the tracks, right? Nothing weird?"

"Yup," Benrey says, before turning and walking off.

Gordon scrambles to follow after him, glancing back at the van to confirm all the doors are closed and locked up. Together, they step onto the train tracks, following it to their eventual destination.

Chapter 16: I wanna be your left-hand man

Chapter Text

The place Benrey spotted is a lot farther away than a ten or fifteen minute walk. After the first ten minutes pass them by, the trip swiftly goes from relaxing to agonizing. There's no variety to their surroundings, it all just keeps going with no foreseeable destination in sight. Every step is torturous, the weight of the HEV suit paired with all the activity from yesterday leaving Gordon about ready to keel over.

"This better not be your plan to kill me," he comments once twenty minutes have passed, at least according to the watch he's still carrying around. That there's no response doesn't fill him with confidence.

Finally, finally, after forty f*cking minutes of walking, they reach their destination. Benrey's been way ahead of him this whole time, starting and stopping like a player waiting for an NPC to catch up. He doesn't say anything rude about it, but Gordon still feels like he can hear what Benrey's thinking. That he's a baby, that he needs his hand held, that he needs to be carried. But he can't be mad at Benrey for sh*t he didn't say, so Gordon bites his tongue.

The station has a few zombies hanging around that Benrey swiftly takes care of before Gordon can even manage to reach them. Again, he feels some agitation, like Benrey's probably making fun of him even if he doesn't seem to be paying attention. Shaking his head, Gordon urges himself to focus on the task at hand.

There's a small building along the tracks that Gordon would suppose was some kind of refuelling station. Lotta pumps and cords, not much in the way of lootable boxes or whatever. At least it protects them from the weather for a moment as they walk under the roof. The rain's been steadily growing, even if it's not exactly a downpour just yet. Benrey gently kicks one of the many tubes for diesel before looking around.

"Warehouse is back there," Benrey says, pointing in a direction Gordon can't see through the walls of the station.

Though once they've crossed the concrete walkways and stepped back out onto the grass, Gordon can easily spot it. The trees had obscured it from the railway, but there's very plainly two big brick warehouses, one smaller than the other. The labels painted over each doorway are worn into obscurity, which means they're gonna have to check each one to see what's inside.

With the use of Gordon's crowbar, they pop open one of the garage doors on the smaller warehouse, at which point Benrey flicks on a flashlight. There's some huge windows up towards the ceiling, angled down to give them some light, but with the overcast sky, there's not a lot of it.

The warehouse is filled with shelving units and some wooden boxes to dig through, but there's no tires. A lot of it is metalworking equipment and train parts, which, yeah. Obviously. But sh*t gets a little weird when they break through the door leading into the other half of the warehouse. Same metal shelves and wooden boxes, but now they're finding lumber and gardening equipment alongside axes, shovels, and other tools. At one point, Benrey finds a gas lamp and starts swinging it around like the lantern from Twilight Princess.

"Why the f*ck is that at a train depot?" Gordon asks, pausing to look through a crate filled with boxes of seed packets.

"You dunno what the trains get up to," Benrey says, and, well, that is true. Not that the trains themselves are out here gardening, but the guys who run the trains could be doing or transporting all kinds of stuff. How would Gordon ever know for sure? He's never been a train conductor or anything like that. He's never even been on a train, unless you count a few subway trains.

Though a waste of their time, Gordon can't help his curiosity. He digs through the crate, aware of the possibility that they might be stuck in this place forever. If so, farming is the only option they'll have after a certain amount of time. He knows f*ck-all about that sort of thing, but he's gonna have to learn. It's something they have to be ready for, so he digs through the supply of seed packets for whatever he thinks could be useful. Not like they take up a lot of space, anyway.

That's when Benrey rejoins him, peering over his shoulder at the selection despite the fact he could easily take a peek without getting that close. Gordon elbows him out of the way, ignoring his complaining and claims that Gordon broke a rib.

"You're not the most fragile man in the world, get over it," Gordon tells him.

"You dunno that," Benrey says, though he gives Gordon some space, watching as he digs through the seeds, pulling out the little cardboard boxes they're stored in to get to the stuff underneath. He's pretty close to the bottom before a burst of green sweet voice pops out of Benrey's mouth, and his hand shoots down into the bottom to pull out one of the boxes. "Bro, look at this."

"What…?" Squinting at the little box he's holding, he finds a label that reads rubus leucodermi, with pictures of… "No sh*t. That's real?"

"BLUE RASPBERRIES!" Benrey exclaims, moving to hold up the box in celebration only to wince when it agitates the wound on his arm. "Owwie. Bro this is so cool, we could make juice."

His enthusiasm is weirdly infectious, though Gordon can't quite match Benrey's eagerness. Not when he knows they can't stay here, that they have to get back to the real world. If they end up stuck here long enough that they need to farm… Gordon can't be happy about that idea, not when it's the second worst case scenario. Outside of being stuck here forever, that is.

Gordon stuffs a few seed packets into his pockets anyway, though. They'll probably be able to find more quite easily, but he has no idea how far a single packet can take you, and he'd like to be prepared for anything.

Searching the rest of the warehouse is disheartening when it doesn't net them anything they need to fix their car. Gordon's mood sours even further when he steps outside to find that the rain's picked up to a steady downpour, and it's only going to get worse by the time they have to leave.

The second warehouse is three stories, though the upper levels are catwalks that don't seem to have much in the way of storage. They still have stuff that the two are gonna have to check out, but they tackle the bottom floor first. This time, the loot is more promising. Gas cans, jacks, tire pumps, and other car equipment can be found, alongside the usual train stuff. But still no tires, leading them onto the upper levels.

Gordon's mood gets even worse as they go through crates and shelves with nothing to show for it. If they can't find a single heavy-duty tire in this whole place, what the f*ck are they gonna do, then? It's not like there's a replacement car they can fall back on. He finds himself sighing a lot to ease his irritation, slamming lockers closed here and there.

"Chill," Benrey snaps after Gordon's done it a few times. He does not, in fact, "chill", but instead get a lot more agitated. It's just so typical. Nothing ever goes right for him, it's one challenge after the other!

The tension settles uncomfortably over him as he heads up the stairs of the last catwalk, digging through a few boxes to find nothing of any value. Benrey's looking through some shelves nearby, and he just shrugs when he's done. There's even an office building to dig through, but all they get there are, well, office supplies. The computer is old, and doesn't respond to Benrey's repeat attempts to turn it on, muttering to himself about raising his competitive rank in TF2.

"Can you be serious?" Gordon snaps. "We need to fix our car, not dick around on a computer."

The look Benrey gives him is a stoic one, yet it feels like disapproval, and Gordon storms out of the room, his heart pounding. All that's left is a balcony in the back of the warehouse, which is loaded up with crates. Why a tire would be out here is beyond him, but he's a little desperate at the moment.

"You're so tense, bro," Benrey says as Gordon pops open yet more crates with his crowbar. He's right, Gordon is tense, but there's no reason to point that out when Benrey could be looking around more.

"Yeah, no sh*t, I'm tense," Gordon says as he pushes the lid off a crate just to find it packed full of completely useless crap. For him, anyway. The knowledge that a tire is super unlikely to be found in something like this has him even more anxious.

But he can barely think about that when Benrey won't shut up. "You should, uh, relax, friend. Take a drinky."

"f*ck off, Benrey," Gordon warns as he approaches yet another crate, his heart rate accelerating further.

"No, come on," Benrey presses, grabbing Gordon's bicep just for him to yank it out of Benrey's grasp. "Why you being like this? Is it the suit thing? Soooo tense 'cuz you don't get laid anymore, could help with that. Get you a lil," he clicks his tongue twice, "Y'know?"

"Oh, my god," Gordon groans, resisting the urge to tear his hair out as he pops the lid off a crate. "I really don't have the time to deal with your f*cking, whatever this is."

"You're sooo mad when you could be sooo, uh, gettin' sucked sloppy. Bet that would fix you."

Annoyed, Gordon whips around and pushes Benrey back against the wall nearby, pinning him between the doorway and a metal shelf. Though Benrey's way taller and much broader, that doesn't deter Gordon. "You say so much f*ckin' sh*t, man," Gordon snaps. "Do it, then!"

The color drains out of Benrey's face, and he blinks twice as he tries to focus on Gordon's face. "What?"

"You wanna suck my dick so bad, then drop down and do it! Otherwise, you can f*cking shut up!"

It's a bluff, and based on the way Benrey's looking at him like Gordon just confessed to eating babies, it's paying off. Maybe now he'll think twice before saying more dumb sh*t like—

Benrey drops to his knees like a lead weight, his lithe hands fiddling with the codpiece on the HEV suit in search of some way to remove it. Startled, Gordon jolts back enough to incidentally give Benrey even more room to work, placing his hands on the man's shoulders as if to push him away, but he… doesn't. He just holds him, staring down at him in stunned silence.

"Stupid… forgot where the buttons…" Benrey mumbles to himself, digging his fingers and thumbs into various divots that house nothing but screws. "Gimme the dick slip, know you can pee, idiot."

All Gordon can do is watch as Benrey tugs and presses at the codpiece, in total disbelief over what he's seeing. All the anger's been punched out of him, leaving nothing but bewilderment and panic in its wake. This… doesn't feel like a joke. Benrey's trying way too hard to actually work the thing, and as Gordon cranes his neck down to get a better look at Benrey's face, he finds dark eyes and flushed cheeks.

"Stop!" Gordon suddenly exclaims. "It—It was a joke! I wasn't actually telling you to suck my dick!"

Benrey freezes with his fingers digging into the top of the codpiece, and Gordon watches the color drain from his face again. "Whuh… huh?"

"I was just trying to one-up you, man! You're always sayin' this sh*t, I didn't know you were serious!"

The realization has Gordon reeling. How many times has Benrey come onto him at this point? It's always been a crude joke, something to piss him off for Benrey's amusem*nt, since he apparently thinks it's hilarious when Gordon gets mad. So Gordon rose to the challenge, expecting Benrey to back off, not to immediately try to blow him! Is Benrey really into to him like that? Or is he experiencing the same last-man-on-earth attraction that's been plaguing Gordon?

There's no time for him to get an answer. Benrey yanks his hands back, looking distinctly queasy as he pushes to his feet and shoves past Gordon, staggering him. His back hits a crate, missing his chance to stop Benrey before he's dashed through the doorway and out into the warehouse.

"Wait, Benrey—!" Gordon calls out, giving chase only to find that Benrey's far too fast, and agile enough to vault over the side of every stairwell. Gordon only makes it to the first stairwell before Benrey's long gone. "sh*t."

Darting back onto the balcony, he finds a good vantage point to catch Benrey's tiny form running off in the distance, his steps slowing as he reaches the refuelling station. Though Gordon can't see whether or not he comes out the other side, he's willing to bet Benrey will be in station by the time Gordon gets down there to join him. He's way too annoyingly persistent to leave now.

Breathing a sigh, Gordon heads back inside, taking cover from the rain before sagging to the ground, his back to the wall. He takes the time to calm himself down, breathing slowly and evenly as his heartrate stabilizes.

Then the floodgates open. He thinks back on every interaction he's ever had with Benrey, wondering Was he into me then? Was that a joke? What did he mean when he did this or that? Yet he can't quite pinpoint when it started. In his eyes, nothing's ever changed, which means that either Benrey had the hots for him from the start, or that motherf*cker's impossible to read.

Either way, what does it mean that Benrey wants him right now? More to the point, what does Gordon actually feel about that? He can't ignore that he's looked at Benrey like that a few times, it's only natural when he's, you know, tall, dark, kinda handsome, the last man on earth.

Would it actually be bad for them to do something together? What's the harm in it? He's been nice lately, even useful despite how often he's needing to be nursed back to health. But if not for the HEV suit, Gordon would be right there with him, so really, he should be grateful Benrey's taking the L for him. So, if they were… intimate… would that be the worst thing in the world?

For a moment, Gordon entertains the thought. It's not the biggest deal for Benrey to just jerk him off in a dark corner or something. Nothing between them would have to change. It'll be awkward and weird and they won't wanna talk about it afterwards, but at least Gordon would feel less stressed out. Honestly, it would be stupid to turn down an opportunity like that in the apocalypse. Everything's been so bad, can't he have one good thing?

Though it makes his body burn with some confusing combination of lust and anxiety, Gordon feels decently okay with this conclusion he's reached. Though every step he takes down to the exit is another thought that makes him panic.

What if it was a joke? What if Benrey changed his mind? What if he left? What if the sex is so bad that he ends up wanting Benrey to stay the f*ck away from him? This could ruin everything. Or, even worse, it could be really… really good. But Gordon can't even entertain the idea that this goes anywhere, except in the sh*tty handjob direction, obviously.

The rain is coming down hard by the time he makes it out of the warehouse, and he focuses on the sound of it plinking off the hood of his raincoat as he walks. It soothes him, though not as much as he needs it to.

Under the station roof, he finds Benrey waiting for him. The guy's perched along the edge of the concrete platform, staring into the middle distance. Those glowing blue eyes of his flick back to look at Gordon as he approaches.

"Hey, man," Gordon starts, barely getting the words out before Benrey's stood and started walking back towards the van. "Wh—Benrey, wait. Can we just talk for a second?"

"No! No talky," Benrey pouts, power walking ahead of him with such long strides that it's difficult to catch up with him. "You're stinky, smelly. Don't wanna suck on your gross penis anyway, no one would, IDIOT."

Gordon bristles, nearly tripping off the platform as he scrambles to catch up to them. "Are you serious? You're gonna act like that was a f*cking joke NOW of all times?" Though, even as he says that, he can't help fearing that it was a joke—that he misread everything, and now he's making a fool of himself.

"Leave me ALONE," Benrey snaps, walking even f*cking faster and putting that much more distance between them. "You're gross! Weird lumps on your stupid penis, gonna give me DISEASES. So stop following me!"

"Whuh—We're headed the same way! The car is back there! Can you slow the f*ck down?"

He does no such thing, but at least he doesn't move any faster, even if he's still leaving Gordon in the dust. It's a struggle to catch up when he's so f*cking tired already, dragging himself around in his heavy ass HEV suit, in the rain, with an ankle that's still hurting. But Benrey doesn't seem to care about any of that.

"Will you JUST—!" Surging ahead, Gordon manages to catch Benrey's wrist, halting him in his tracks. He whips around, yanking his hand out of Gordon's grasp and glowering at him.

"Thought I said leave me alone maybe, IDIOT."

"You're seriously pulling this f*cking stunt right now?" Gordon snaps. He pokes Benrey in the chest. "You tried to suck me off and I'm just supposed to pretend THAT didn't happen? Is that how this is gonna be, Benrey? You're just gonna yank me around all the time, keep me wondering what the f*ck you're on about and what any of it means? I'm tired of it, man. I got enough to deal with. Will you just say what you f*cking want, for once?"

He pokes Benrey again, but this time, Benrey moves at just the right time for Gordon to miss and jab his finger right at the wound on their arm. They flinch, hard, and let out an agonized noise , tripping back a step to escape the sudden flare-up of pain. Gordon's nearly gasps, staring at Benrey in shock.

"I—sh*t, I didn't…"

The look on Benrey's face flashes from hurt to anger, and he shoves Gordon back, where he catches himself on his bad ankle, pain shooting up his leg.

"Leave me ALONE!" Benrey shouts. "I don't like you! I HATE you!"

"What—Benrey!" Gordon calls, but he's already off, running down the path of the railroad tracks to where their van is parked on the road. Though this isn't the first time he's heard Benrey childishly spit those three words at him, something about this time scares him. Did he f*ck up? What if Benrey actually leaves him behind?

So he gives chase, despite how much faster Benrey is. Though his body aches and his lungs burn, every breath like swallowing a handful of glass, he keeps going, terrified that this is all that stands between him and survival. What'll he do if Benrey drives away with all his stuff? He has no idea where he is, how long it'll take for him to reach civilization. So he keeps going, even as his body feels like it's shutting down on him, like it'll force him to stop and he'll collapse in a broken heap on the muddy earth.

Yet, somehow, he makes it back to the road. The van is still here, and he even manages to find Benrey, grumbling as he messes with the flat tire. The bone is really lodged in there, and he's struggling to get it out.

Though at the sound of Gordon's plodding footsteps splashing on the wet pavement, Benrey whips around, catching sight of him stood there panting. His legs buckle, yet he refuses to let himself fall.

Benrey looks over him in confusion. "What's wrong with you?" he asks.

"Beh—Benrey," Gordon pants. "f*ck. I thought… I thought you'd… ffuahhh…" He turns, leaning back against the van and sinking down to the ground. Every breath hurts, but he gulps down air like he's dying regardless. In comparison, Benrey doesn't seem the slightest bit winded despite running the same distance. Though now he looks concerned, hovering over Gordon as he rests and catches his breath.

"You ran? Why'd you do that?" Benrey presses. There's something about the way he asks that which has Gordon feeling like there's an expected response, but his head is pounding and his ears are ringing, so he can't puzzle it out.

"Thought you were gonna leave," he says, barely catching the look of surprise in Benrey's softly glowing blue eyes with the way his vision swims.

"Really?"

There it is again, an odd note to Benrey's voice that feels like there's something going on here that Gordon should know, but doesn't. It's impossible for him to even consider what it is right now. The pounding in his head is louder than any thought he could have. So he responds naturally.

"Thought I f*cked up," he explains, starting to control his breath at long last. "You were gonna take the van… what the f*ck would I even, do then? You've got, the f*cking, food with you…"

The hopeful look on Benrey's face instantly withers and dies, leaving him with a vacant stare for a moment as Gordon's words wash over him in full. What he said that was so wrong, he doesn't know. But it has Benrey's face darkening, an ugly, hateful glare twisting his features.

"f*ck you," Benrey spits, turning on his heel and climbing into the van, where he slams the door hard enough to rattle the entire vehicle. The sound makes Gordon flinch, bewildered as to what the f*ck just happened.

And then he scrambles to his feet, rushing for the driver's seat before Benrey actually can take off with all their supplies. But once he's climbed up to open the door, he sees Benrey curled up in the passenger's seat, boots on the dash, sulking like an angsty teen. There's clearly no intent to take the driver's seat. So Gordon sighs, rolls his eyes, and climbs inside the vehicle, taking a moment just to relax and let everything slow down before he drags on his seatbelt.

"Look," he says. "We're gonna drive until we find an autoshop. The damage doesn't matter, we'll deal with it when we get to it. And, we'll… f*cking relax, okay? And stop acting like this."

No response. Not that he expected one, Benrey's clearly throwing a fit. He won't even look at Gordon, staring out the window to his right instead. With a sigh, Gordon switches on the ignition and drives on, trying against all odds to ignore the rattling noise the flat tire produces long enough to find what they need to fix it.

Chapter 17: how I got caught up in nowhere again

Chapter Text

The next town they approach isn't that far, as it turns out. Sure, it's a decent drive, but it's not several days or anything crazy like that. The part they enter into is small, with a few houses in a line that Benrey calls "Sims starter houses" and a small chapel. The sight of it has Gordon grimacing. Some zombies are hanging around outside, too many to simply drive past without consequences. The rain seems to be drawing their attention, sending the whole lot into a frenzy searching for food that isn't there. Gordon parks the van outside the church, they grab their weapons, and hop out.

However, what starts as a group of ten quickly turns into more and more. Even avoiding guns, the commotion is enough to keep drawing attention, until there's such a huge pile of bodies that they can't possibly get the van back onto the road without some cleanup.

It's all so tiring, and even more intolerable with the rain dripping down his hood and onto his glasses. He can barely f*cking see like this. It all coalesces into something truly awful when he goes to kick a zombie's legs out from under them and the thing comes down on top of him, sending him careening to the wet pavement where the zombie snaps at his face.

"sh*t!" he blurts, shoving his hand into the zombie's face to keep it off of his face. It snarls and snaps its teeth at him, fighting him to get to the only bared flesh on his body, and his lungs burn as he struggles to get it off, panic not making it any easier.

Then, suddenly, the thing's head caves in from an axe blow to the skull, splattering Gordon's face and glasses with blood. A gloved hand comes down to yank the zombie off him, making it significantly easier to get out from under it. Scrambling to his feet, he finds Benrey wearing a respirator and holding an axe, both items he didn't have before.

"Where did you get that?"

"You're welcome," Benrey says, then answers, "Zombie loot," before turning and getting back to the fight. There's a twinge of guilt as Gordon realizes he didn't even thank the guy properly, but that's swiftly forgotten when there's more zombies to fight.

Though he's no longer very good at it. It's a challenge just to remain upright, but backing up to get a breather is not an option when there's always more in every direction. And he can barely tell the zombie-colored blobs from the tree-colored blobs with his glasses covered in rain water, so he has to be extra cautious. Which is why he can't catch his breath, there's a zombie everywhere he turns, never far enough away to give him a chance to breathe. He can't rely on Benrey, either, he's got the same problem. Unfortunately, they're stuck in this hell together.

Even worse, it smells rancid out here. The second you kill a zombie, it unlocks its horrible smell, like stepping in dog sh*t, but a million times worse. And they're everywhere. By the time the last zombie falls, nothing feels entirely real. That was so much worse than the work he had to do to protect the motel, and he feels like he can't trust that there isn't another zombie. The world is nothing but him and his struggle to fight them off.

But there's none left. Even as the two men stand there waiting, vigilant in their examination of every corner, every tree, every car, the back of every house… there's nothing left. They're safe. For now.

"f*ck," Gordon groans, staggering back to the van, where he lays his sweaty brow against the cool metal of the vehicle. It's awful, the way he can feel so sweaty and miserable, yet the air around him is chilly enough that he isn't sure what he wants, more hot, or more cold.

Behind him, he just barely registers the sound of Benrey catching his breath through his respirator, what little of his face is left visible dripping with sweat, blood, and rainwater washing the both of them onto his clothes. He's stood stiff, examining the area before beginning to drag bodies out of the way, searching bags and pockets as he goes. If not for his poor vision and his heavy, aching limbs, Gordon would help out. But his body is telling him no, and he can't fight it.

Only when he hears a tap on the shoulder of his suit does he move, turning to see Benrey offering him another respirator. It's a different model—Benrey's is long and looks kinda like a muzzle, but this one's flat with one of those cylinders on the cheek. He doesn't know what they're called.

"Thanks," he breathes as he takes the respirator from their hands. "Wait, where… are you sure this thing's clean?"

"Got from bag, not face," Benrey says.

"That'll have to be good enough," Gordon says, fitting the thing to his face and struggling with the buckles. Such fine work is difficult with his gloves giving him such fat f*cking fingers, even worse when he can't feel or see what he's doing. "Ben, can you…"

Luckily he doesn't have to finish that sentence, as Benrey knows just what he means and moves to help him get the straps fastened around his head. Even talking feels like too much effort. God, he needs a break, and maybe a huge f*cking burger, or anything at all, really. But there's already more work to be done, and Gordon doesn't want Benrey bitching at him later for making him do all the work.

"Here," Benrey says, and when Gordon looks up, he's suddenly very close. One hand holds Gordon's jaw while the other gently wipes at his glasses, clearing away the rainwater until his vision is passable. Not good, it's smudged as sh*t and makes Gordon cringe immensely, but it's an improvement. As he goes to thank Benrey, he's distracted by the sight of the man's face so close to his. Benrey's lashes are long, his lips nonexistently thin, yet Gordon can see the way his bottom lip is bruised on the inside, even swollen in some places. The sight makes Gordon's heart start pounding all over again.

And then Benrey steps away, and the tension shatters. Blinking, Gordon wonders what just happened, why his body got so blistering hot and he found himself unable to move for one agonizing moment. Was he too close? His body probably expected something and panicked. It's… well, pretty tough not to think that way after the offer Benrey made earlier.

Shaking those thoughts from his head, Gordon gets back to work lugging bodies, ignoring the burn in his arms as he does so. Soon, they've cleared a path to get the van back out on the road.

They make it five minutes before it craps out on them.

"sh*t," Gordon curses, trying the key multiple times just for the van to sputter and die. Benrey's got one hand on the dash, staring intently at the various meters behind the wheel as Gordon tries and tries again. "Urgghh, come on!"

But there's no use. The van won't move, and there's more zombies closing in on them. Either he sits here trying it until they're swarmed, or they get out and find a different way to move on.

Though he doesn't get a chance to decide for himself, because Benrey's already jumped out. "Goddammit," Gordon groans, fumbling for his knife before joining Benrey on the pavement outside. They're stuck smack-dab in the middle of a three-way intersection, with a small group of zombies closing in from the diverging road to the van's left. Just past it is a row of storage garages and a small warehouse, with even more zombies hanging around.

From there, it's yet more of the exact same. The zombies they kill make way for more zombies until the road on all sides of the van is littered with them. There's no space for them to lure the zombies away—too many trees and fences. It's gruelling and exhausting and Gordon wishes Benrey would just give up and pull out their rifle, but even they seem to know this is a bad idea. If more zombies keep showing up from just this much, imagine the horde that would descend upon them if they made fifty times more noise. So he has to suck it up, dragging himself along and forcing his body to kick and stab, over and over and over again. At least it doesn't smell as bad, anymore.

By the time they're done with the road, Gordon can barely see, and not because of his glasses, this time. His body's empty and cold, yet burning hot and slick with sweat at the same time. Yet still he pushes himself onwards, following Benrey as he approaches the storage units. Despite the advanced height, all Benrey has to do is reach up and grab the top to drag himself up and over, smoothly dropping down onto the other side. Gordon's only about a head shorter and he can't even reach that high. Not that he'd be able to scale a f*cking seven foot fence anyway, and Benrey doesn't even seem to expect him to with the way he takes off into the lot, luring zombies one-by-one and downing them.

This works out, anyway. Gordon turns his attention back to the road, catching his breath while he waits for something new to show up. When nothing does, and he feels less on the verge of passing out, he starts dragging zombies away, forming grotesque piles alone the side of the road. This eventually turns into him sitting on the pavement and dragging them around like he's organizing boxes for a move. They're just so light, it's way easier than it should be.

Looting them is way too much effort, but when he finds a big camping backpack on one of them, he decides to use it as an excuse to stop dragging bodies around and check. Inside, there's a few cans of beans, a can opener, and some other supplies he doesn't need more of, including another gas mask. Now that he thinks about it, most of the zombies he's seen were wearing one.

Environmental storytelling. Thanks, Todd.

He shakes his head, willing Benrey's stupid voice out of his mind. Staggering to his feet, Gordon tosses the food and can opener inside the van, he chucks the rest aside before examining the van. Luckily, he had a dad who saw fit to teach him these things even if he didn't teach him much else. So while he's no expert, he can peek inside and figure out what looks wrong. Just a peek, though, he doesn't want anything getting rained on.

While he's busy with that, Benrey works on clearing out the garage parking lot. He's so focused on the car that the sudden reappearance of Benrey going "Yo" right by his ear makes him jump and nearly whack Benrey upside the head with his crowbar.

"Jesus," Gordon hisses, glancing around to ensure they're alone before putting his crowbar away. "You're too f*ckin' quiet, man—"

"Yeah whatever, look," Benrey interjects, pulling up his yellow raincoat and heavy SWAT jacket to reveal the bandage on his waist. It's bled through again, and recently, from the looks of it. "Think I pulled something."

"Yeah, climbing fences'll do that to you," Gordon snarks as Benrey scoffs, grumbling something to himself while Gordon looks around. He points off to the left of the van, rain plinking off the rubber of his coat, to where there's more "starter houses" up ahead. "Look, we'll just break into one of those and take a break, alright?" When Benrey stares back at the van, Gordon sighs and adds, "Forget about that, we'll deal with it later. Just go grab our bags, okay?"

Grumbling some more, Benrey walks off, coming back with his and Gordon's bags. He hands both off to Gordon, who nearly keels over on the spot at the sheer volume of Benrey's, his glasses hanging precariously towards the edge of his nose.

"Nnghh—Benrey, what the fuhhh—"

But even as he struggles, Benrey doesn't help. In fact, he's already walked off, so all Gordon can do is adjust his hold to put most of the weight on his shoulders, and trudge off after him. This takes him down a dirt path past several small homes. Creeping slowly along, with Benrey pressing one hand against his side while Gordon just struggles to stay upright, he looks through windows for signs of movement or distant groaning.

The house closest to the road feels like the best bet, so they can keep a better eye out. Benrey seems to think this, too, as he starts trying to get inside the pale blue home, jiggling the knob to no avail. Yanking the window only results in a cry of pain as he doubles over clutching at his side.

"Ow," Benrey groans in a reedy tone, looking pale and sweaty, eyes unfocused.

"Hey, maybe you wanna sit down?" Gordon suggests, as Benrey starts shuffling over towards him. "Let me—Hey!"

Benrey snatches the crowbar from where it's holstered to his back, fitting it under the window and letting out a groan as he cracks it open, destroying the lock. Pushing it open, he moves to climb inside, but Gordon drops the bags he's carrying to beat him to it.

"Hey, hey," he says, placing his hand in front of Benrey's chest. He stares down at the appendage with a flat look. "No, no you don't. Just, hang out here, I'll get the door open."

Benrey doesn't seem like he has the energy to protest, his breaths a little shallow as he gives a single nod and steps away. Heaving a sigh of relief, Gordon turns to the window, instantly regretting this. Climbing through windows is never fun. It's not like he has practice sneaking out as a teen or anything, so he always fumbles the landing, and this time is no exception. He's just so tired as he pulls himself through, dropping and catching himself against the tile before he falls onto his side. All the water he's dripping everywhere sure doesn't help with his stability.

Swaying, he pushes to his feet, leaning on a nearby counter when his boot slips on a puddle. Looking around, he finds himself in a pretty cheap looking home. Even his family home was bigger, this is like a sh*tty apartment in the middle of Seattle. It doesn't even have a proper fridge, just a mini one.

One of the two doors in the back is also rattling, a zombie lazily slamming into it from behind. He pauses, waiting to see if it'll break through, but the wood holds just fine. Heading to the front door, he starts undoing the locks, his gloves fumbling some of them before he manages to get the door open. Benrey shoves inside, but Gordon stops him with a firm hand against his chest, pale blue eyes flicking down to look.

"We got a problem in the back," Gordon tells him in a low voice, nodding towards the rattling door. Benrey's gaze is bored as he turns to look.

"S'just one," he says.

"One? How do you know it's just one?"

"Door's not broke," Benrey says, finally pushing past Gordon into the tiny home. Benrey sets their bags down by the living room couch, yanking off his raincoat and leaving Gordon to close and relock the door. When he turns back around, Benrey's approached the rattling door, a knife in the hand not clutching his side.

"Hey, come on, man, we can deal with that later," Gordon urges while stripping out of his raincoat.

But Benrey doesn't listen, taking his hand off his side to turn the knob, slowly and carefully pushing the door open with his boot. A single zombie, as promised, staggers back as its space is invaded by the door, before spotting Benrey and charging. They merely hold up the knife so the zombie runs right into it, blade piercing upwards through its jaw.

With it stuck there, Benrey grabs its head and holds it in place, tearing its jaw with half its offending teeth right off and onto the floor. It lands with a wet squelch, the sight of it making Gordon's skin crawl and violently turning his stomach, his heart pounding. He has to look away, bracing himself on the kitchen counter nearby while Benrey executes the thing with one clean strike to the skull, letting the body thud against the wooden floor boards.

Somehow, Gordon manages not to throw up, though it's a close call. With one hand over his mouth, the other gripping the edge of the kitchen sink, he focuses on his breathing—until Benrey does what he always does.

"Wha's wrong with you?" he bluntly asks.

"Just—" Gesturing dismissively towards Benrey, Gordon takes another deep breath, willing his stomach to settle. "Did you have to do it like that?"

Glancing from him to the severed jaw and back, Benrey says, "Wha's wrong with it? See gore all the time, baby. Calm down."

Normally, Gordon would think to argue. But Benrey's right. He's seen a lot of sh*t and doesn't typically react that way, not anymore. There was just something about it… so up-close and brutal, the knife cutting through flesh easily and tearing it from the body—okay yeah no, he knows why that grossed him out so bad.

"I just don't wanna see a f*cking—" he gulps down another breath, staring down into the metal sink. "Severed… body part."

There's a moment of near silence, where all he hears is his own heart pounding while he focuses on his breathing, his stomach slowly settling. Then, there's the sound of something being dragged, something wet getting kicked across the floor several times, then, finally, a door closing.

"Gone now," Benrey says. "Peek-a-boo?"

Closing his eyes, Gordon takes one last deep breath before turning to look. There's blood all over the floor, but the rest of it is, in fact, all gone. Scanning the area, he quickly figures out where it went.

"Benrey," he starts, his breathing still a little shallow, but he's getting there. "Did you just… leave that in the bedroom?"

Benrey blinks at him. "Yeah?"

The two stare at each other for a moment. "With the bed?"

It takes a moment, but realization soon flashes over Benrey's face, swaying a little as he turns to look at the door. With no small amount of reluctance, he removes his hand from his side to reach for the door handle, but Gordon just sighs and drags him off to the couch, instead. Pushing him down onto the cushions, he sifts through his bag for the first aid kit before sitting down by Benrey's injured side. He's already got his shirt and jacket pulled up.

"Hold still," Gordon says, though he knows it's not necessary. Benrey's always really good about this part. Usually.

The stitches have come loose, and it's a whole thing trying to fix them. The wound's not torn open enough that Gordon thinks he needs to restitch any of it, but after removing the original set, he applies a few here and there just in case. He doesn't want to risk anything. He's not a medical doctor, after all.

Once everything's cleaned and patched up, Gordon covers it with a smaller, square adhesive bandage. That's the fun part about Benrey's advanced healing ability; he doesn't have to clean and rewrap the f*cking bandage again.

"Done," Gordon announces, putting everything away.

"Dope," Benrey says, staring down at the floor in the middle distance. "So…?"

"Just take it easy, man. Lie down, I'll heat up some more lasagna."

"Nice." Benrey carefully lays down across the couch, his long legs hanging over the arm on one end. Gordon glances over him, checking for signs of injury—because he's the medic now, apparently—before grabbing his raincoat and heading back outside.

Everything's normal out here, just a few stragglers he quickly dispatches, ignoring the burn in his limbs. Grabbing the leftovers from the trunk, he brings them back to heat up in the oven for a few minutes. There's not a lot left, so Gordon plates all of it, giving more to Benrey. He does most of the work, reluctant as Gordon is to admit that, not to mention all the healing he's been doing. He needs more calories.

Carrying the food over to the living room, Gordon sets the plates down on the coffee table, bending to help tug Benrey up into a sitting position when he has trouble doing it himself. Sitting down on the adjacent loveseat, Gordon takes a moment just to relax. The food's too hot, anyway.

Glancing over to Benrey, he finds the man staring down at the pan lasagna with a sullen expression. Moments later, he picks up Gordon's plate and swaps it with his own, taking the smaller portion into his lap.

"Whuh—Hey, no, you need the calories, man," Gordon argues, but Benrey's already eating the smaller portion.

"Nuh-uh," he says, once his mouth is no longer full. He points his fork at Gordon. "You're janked, bro."

"And you're still healing."

"So is you," Benrey points out. Immediately, Gordon reaches up towards the cut on his cheek. It's still thick and angry, but not as much as when he first got it. In comparison, the wounds Benrey's barely had for two days are already on the way out. Even without all that, he can see how Benrey's health isn't really as important as his—Benrey can come back if he starves to death or something. Not that he will. But… that just doesn't sit right with Gordon.

"No, wait here."

"Whuh… huh, where you going?"

Ignoring all of Benrey's protests, Gordon gets up, forcing one foot in front of the other all the way back to the car. He comes back a few minutes later to shove a sports drink and a protein bar into Benrey's hands.

"Eat," Gordon tells him. "Or I'll shove it down your throat." It's not an empty threat. Luckily, though, Benrey isn't stubborn about this, tucking the snack into his jacket pocket for later before focusing on his cooked meal.

"Could shove… sum'n else down my throat," Benrey mumbles. Heat crashes over the both of them at his suggestion—based on the way Benrey turns a shade darker—and his eyes flash with panic before he quickly amends, "NOT. Ugly."

Gordon sighs. "Whatever, Benrey. Just eat the protein bar when you're done, and try to get some sleep."

The night is restless. After Benrey's nap, he helps Gordon clean out the bedroom, where they curl up side-by-side on the double bed, too tired to complain about proximity. There's no time to even notice he's sharing a bed with Benrey. Uncomfortable suit or not, the instant Gordon's back hits the mattress, he's out like a light.

And switched back on just as fast at the commotion occurring right outside the bedroom door. Rain still pelts the window in an angry rhythm, and when Gordon turns his head, he sees not one, but three zombies pass by through the curtains, oblivious to the house's slumbering inhabitants. Checking on Benrey reveals he's already awake, laid on his side staring over his shoulder in the same direction, hand pressed to his side as always. Neither of them have to speak. They both know what's happening, and it's the worst thing to have to deal with right now.

Sluggishly climbing out of bed, they get to work preparing weapons and grabbing their things, kept close throughout the night. Benrey gets his gear strapped and ready, the raincoat he left out to dry tugged back on while Gordon does the same.

Slowly, while keeping close to the floor, Benrey pushes open the door, peering out into the living room. Glass is shattered and the door's busted down, but there's only three zombies hanging around that file back out right away, oblivious to the meal they're passing up. The rain is still drawing their attention, it seems, which gives them an advantage… and a horrible disadvantage, the zombies scattered everywhere. f*ck, if only these houses weren't single story.

"What do we do?" Gordon whispers into Benrey's ear. He listens, before leaning away and muttering "stank-ass breath" to himself. That would be annoying, if only Gordon weren't so tired. Honestly, he doesn't know why he's even asking Benrey. But he's running on very little sleep, and he needs outside opinions.

Benrey glances around, sizing up their situation. Though Gordon does the same, it feels like he's coming up with a lot of ideas that are easily dismissed as sh*tty. They could barricade themselves into the room… until the zombies bust down the window, and they're stranded. If they get too close to the door, will that draw attention? How else will they even know exactly how big the threat is outside? Is luring them inside just to kill them advisable? f*ck, he doesn't know! All of it sounds bad!

That's when Benrey turns towards the bathroom. Gesturing for Gordon to be quiet, he crawls over to the bathroom door, carefully pushing it open and heading inside. Gordon stays put, afraid of how loud the suit will be if he tries to follow. He can watch the entrance, instead.

That's when he notices it—the f*cking smell. Snapping his head back towards the bathroom, he sees Benrey cutting open a zombie, the same one whose jaw he tore off earlier. If only this weren't a stealth mission, he'd be yelling at Benrey to cut it out. This is no time for him to be such a f*cking—Wait. Wait, wait, wait… no way.

Glancing quickly back to the door, Gordon attaches his mask with some fumbling and rushes over to join Benrey. They're already wearing that f*cking muzzle-gas mask thing, making it easier for them to start pulling out the zombie's guts and smearing it all over their SWAT uniform. Gordon wants to ask why not the raincoat, but, duh. It's raining, it would get washed away in an instant.

"Walking Dead Game," Benrey whispers, offering Gordon some bloody intestines to use on the HEV suit.

Nodding, Gordon whispers back, "Season two, episode three," his fingers brushing Benrey's as he accepts the viscera. It feels like they're having a moment with the way Benrey gazes at him all glittery like that, but Gordon's too tired to figure out why.

Once they're both thoroughly coated in the stuff everywhere it wouldn't be dangerous to do so, they leave the corpse behind and creep out into the living room. There's a zombie wandering around, prompting the two of them to pause in the hallway, waiting. But it doesn't even look their way. The rain draws it back out, oblivious to Gordon and Benrey's presence. They both heave a sigh of relief, looking at each other before heading out into the great unknown.

It's dark, but as Gordon looks to Benrey, he sees the way his eyes glow bright gold in the darkness, shifting blue at certain angles, like a cat. He grabs Gordon's hand, guiding him through the night without needing to be asked.

Though dark, Gordon can still see the shapes shuffling around them, the rain sharply pelting the earth louder than the metallic clanking of his suit. Those shapes are too far away to properly judge if the zombie blood is working as a proper disguise. It seems like they care more about whatever's the most annoying, and the rain is louder than the scent of two humans—or one human and Benrey, anyway.

But there's too many zombies coming from and heading towards too many directions, and in the chaos, it's impossible for them not to stray close to one—which immediately becomes more interested in Benrey than the rain, leaping towards him just to get shoved back with an elbow. More turn to investigate, promptly hurrying to pursue the scent of fresh meat.

It doesn't work, Gordon realizes with a sharp flare of panic. Benrey squeezes his hand before yanking him into a sprint, their footsteps loud against the wet pavement and grass, splashing through puddles while dodging zombies left and right. Gordon lets out a startled yelp when one grabs the neck of his suit, shuddering as he hears bone cracking when Benrey tugs him away from the zombie.

"Come on," Benrey hisses, dragging him though a metal gate judging by the sound of the rings clinking. Several zombies run right into it, warping and toppling it in some places. As they run, Gordon's lungs burn and his vision grows dark, relying entirely on Benrey to lead him to safety.

A sudden harsh light nearly has him blacking out, staggering across white tile floor as Benrey, again, yanks him along. They're in some kind of office building. He spies desks, a water cooler, some vending machines—then he jolts at the sound of zombies slamming into the door behind him, whipping around to watch Benrey fight to get it closed before pushing a desk in front of it. More start pounding on the windows adjacent to the door, cracking the glass. Benrey grabs his hand again to drag him up a set of stairs, moving faster than Gordon can process each individual step, tripping frequently.

At the top, Benrey lets go of him, sending him stumbling into a wall as Benrey darts off to gather up furniture and shove them into the path of the stairs. Desks, couches, even a mini-fridge contribute to the barricade, creating a sh*tton of noise, but basically guaranteeing that the stairs are too flooded for a zombie to ever get past.

While this is happening, Gordon's vision swims, and he leans against the wall, slowly sliding to the ground to catch his breath. It hurts. Each breath feels like he's inhaling glass.

Soon, after tossing more chairs, crates, and tables into the stairs, there's enough of a barrier that no zombies will be able to reach them. Gordon's also pretty sure this means they won't be able to leave, either, but that's a problem for another time.

Panting, Benrey staggers away from the barrier he's made, zombies already working to break it down, to no avail. While Gordon can't see them from were he's sitting, he can sure hear them—and they don't spend much time trying before the rain draws them away. That checks out. Even car engines don't hold their attention for long, once it's far enough out of range. However, the groaning and pounding never ends, more filing in to replace the old, distracing some from leaving.

But they're in the clear. For now.

Plopping down beside him, Benrey sucks in lungfulls of air while flopping bonelessly against Gordon's side. For once, he doesn't seem to be doing all that well with all the running around. Not that Gordon can blame him. It's been one thing after the other in this place, and neither of them have gotten enough rest.

"At least," Gordon rasps, pausing to clear his throat. "We learned a valuable lesson. Don't f*ck with the rain."

"Nnn…" Benrey responds, turning his head to press his cheek into the shoulder of Gordon's raincoat. With a sigh, Gordon pushes him away. "Nooooo-uhhhhh, come onnnnnnn…"

"We gotta get outta these, man. Especially you." Reluctant as he is to move at all, he does so anyway, tugging off his raincoat and chucking it aside. Though Benrey whines and complains, he does the same, grimacing at the state of his uniform. Though all-black, the sheen of blood remains. He slumps, leaving his gas mask on, for now.

The two of them get up, searching for a better place to sleep. All the furniture's been turned into a barricade, but after splitting up to search the area more, they locate a room with both a carpet and a couch. There's also a desk and file cabinets, plus windows on both available sides of the room, but that's not important right now. What's important is that they can lie down more comfortably and get some sleep.

"Take the couch," he tells Benrey, who doesn't hesitate to do so, turning to flops down on his back with a groan. It wouldn't help Gordon much, anyway, not with the suit on. Besides, he got used to sleeping on the floor back at Black Mesa, and a little bit in college, too.

Finding a good enough spot on the floor, he lays down as comfortably as possible, and closes his eyes.

The morning comes far too quickly. The combination of groaning right outside the window paired with the sun shining bright through said window makes it hard for Gordon to go back to sleep. Everything hurts. Straining himself so much yesterday was not good on his body, but he didn't have much of a choice in the matter.

Benrey's still asleep, breathing steadily with his head lolled onto his shoulder. Gordon watches him for a moment before crawling over to the windows nearby. There's zombies hanging around outside—he'd say it's not a scary amount considering there's only about five or six, but honestly, any amount of zombies is a scary amount. These ones are also stagnating, so there's no hope of waiting for them to leave. That means they're gonna have to fight their way out of here, but where do they even go from here when their car isn't running?

Gordon spends his time pondering this, before he hears movement from the couch. With a soft grunt that makes Gordon feel a way it really shouldn't, Benrey stretches out before dropping his limbs back down, one arm hanging off the side of the couch. He stares up at the ceiling for a moment, letting out a small string of red sweet voice. When he turns his head to the side, he quickly spots Gordon sitting by the window.

"Hey," Benrey says, voice low and raspy.

"Hey," Gordon responds.

They stare at each other for a moment, before Benrey turns back to stare at the ceiling awhile longer. Gordon looks away moments after, out the window to the zombies hanging around in the exact same spots. Though normally antsy to get a move on, right now, Gordon appreciates the lull in activity. Though they aren't safe here, they're not in immediate danger. Not a bad spot for a brief respite.

He lifts his head at the sound of feet shuffling against the carpet, watching as Benrey sits down in front of him, boots slotting between Gordon's ankles. He looks out the window, taking in the threat they're dealing with.

"You got…" Benrey pauses, going entirely blank for a moment before looking to where their bags sit side-by-side next to the desk behind him. "Some eats?"

Gordon grimaces. Typically, he keeps his bag totally empty of anything not strictly necessary to bring onto the field. That way, he has space to go looting. Everything else stays in the van. So what he has is spare ammo, a few tools, and a medkit, nothing more. At least he still has his pills.

"Nah, man," he says, moving to drag a hang down his face and stopping just short.

Benrey gives a slow nod, mulling over this information. "Think I saw a vending machine," he says.

"You sure you didn't chuck it downstairs for your little barricade?"

"Nuh—" Benrey cuts himself off, lowering his head as he gets lost in thought. "Oh. It was downstairs."

Gordon heaves a sigh. It would be one thing if they at least had some sh*tty vending machine snacks to stretch out over a few days, so they could wait out the zombies. But that's not an option. Even worse, they're not gonna have the proper strength to combat such a huge, constantly replenishing group. Though Gordon hasn't seen how many there are yet, he's not gonna place any bets on the numbers being low.

While he's busy worrying, Benrey silently gets up and starts looking around. Gordon just lets him. Though he may have an assertive personality, he's not actually all that great at coming up with plans and acting under pressure. He just says what he thinks is obvious, but apparently no one else does. Right now, nothing is obvious, beyond not running out unprepared into a horde of zombies.

But he doesn't have to tell Benrey that. He's had more than his fair share of run-ins with the undead, and acts with far more caution than he ever did at Black Mesa.

Probably because he takes damage and feels pain now—he didn't do much of either back then, bouncing back from being shot in the head like it was no big deal. "Never hurt before" is what he said, all that time ago crammed under a desk nearly succumbing to his wounds. "Didn't hurt 'til you got here"

…Something about that doesn't sound right.

Benrey comes back, tugging Gordon out of his thoughts. "Got bathrooms," he informs Gordon. "Grody public, but whatever. Water's on."

"Oh. Thanks, man."

Benrey nods, grabbing his bag and dipping back out of the office. With a sigh, Gordon prepares himself to get back up, not looking forward to the day ahead. But it's gotta be done. Grabbing one of his pills and a knife, he heads out, easily finding the bathrooms Benrey was referring to. There's two, by gender, no surprises there.

Though it no longer matters, he still heads into the men's room, finding Benrey already there, shaving off an incredibly small amount of stubble. The sight has Gordon wondering if he should trim his beard. Since the Resonance Cascade, it's turned from a basic goatee into a full beard, and it's not always the most appealing. But if he's in an apocalypse, he might as well look the part.

Disregarding that, he glances around the bathroom. It's a single, with a toilet out in the open, a urinal, one dinky little sink, a bin with maggots feasting on a dead rat, and a full bag of toilet paper. So at least there's that. Blue eyes catch his in the mirror.

"Sorry, I'll use the other one," Gordon says, about to leave when Benrey speaks up.

"Why? You, uh, stinky little piss boy, don't wanna pee in front of your best pal? Your apocky partner?"

"My—" Gordon lets out a startled laugh. The childish nicknames were a little unexpected given the direness of their situation, and he can't even be mad. "I'm not peeing in front of you, you're probably into—getting golden showers or something."

"S'almost a million bells, bro, gonna make me rich," Benrey says, leaving Gordon at a total loss as to what he's saying, as usual. "What, you don't wanna pee on me? Near me? You don't wanna pee near me?"

"I'm leaving," Gordon announces, before moving to do just that. Maybe it's the way he's laughing as he does so that has Benrey let him go without issue, but either way, he's able to relocate into the women's restroom. It's not especially different, it just replaces the urinal with a metal box on the wall he has no idea the purpose of.

Approaching the sink, Gordon chops the pill in two with his knife bfore scooping water into his glove to swallow both halves. With just that small amount of water, he feels lighter than usual. Though he doesn't look it. In fact, he's never looked worse, his reflection in the mirror showing him just how pale he's gotten, with eye bags deeper and darker than ever.

Stepping back out, he finds Benrey stood by the railing overlooking the bottom floor, which doesn't show much considering it's only wide enough for about four people to stand side-by-side. But it doesn't need to. The downstairs is packed, leaving next to no room for anything to get through the crowd of zombies. No doubt the rest of the place looks the same, windows shattered and doors smashed down.

Even worse, Gordon can see the vending machines, same ones he spotted last night. There's two, one for drinks, the other for snacks. The sight of it makes Gordon want to cry.

Instead, he takes a deep breath and heads into the center of the room, which is very open since Benrey chucked all the furniture into the stairwell. Benrey watches him pace, hands gripping the railing.

"Okay," Gordon says, keeping his voice low. "I—There's, a few ways we could get out of this. If we start throwing sh*t, maybe shatter some windows across the street or something, the zombies will head over there. We just… gotta space it out."

"You, um…" Benrey starts, looking around for a moment before continuing, "Gonna smash some glass with a ballpoint pen?"

Gordon's mouth opens and closes. f*ck, that's a good point. There's nothing in here that even could make that amount of ruckus, probably the heaviest projectile he could find would be a stapler. A file cabinet isn't exactly going to make it very far if he throws one.

"Okay, good feedback," he says, placing his hands together and pointing them at Benrey, who looks a little surprised. "So, then…" Pacing for awhile longer, he eventually comes up with a second plan, whipping back around to gesture at Benrey again. "You could just shoot them, right? You have, like, thousands of rounds on that assault rifle. It's not like we could make it any worse, right?"

"Uh…" Benrey says. The fact he's not grabbing his bag and, therefore, his rifle, worries Gordon greatly.

"What? What is it?"

"…Don't have it," Benrey admits. Gordon blanches.

"You… what? What do you mean you don't have it?"

Pointing to the nearest window, Benrey says exactly what Gordon was dreading. "Left it in the van."

"Whuh—Why—Why would you—" Gordon hisses, before cutting himself off to take a calming breath. If he freaks out, it'll all get worse for them. Holding the bridge of his nose, he gesticulates with his free hand as he says, "Alright, fine. Then… We'll, uh… Check the other windows, maybe there's a good spot to climb out."

Though Benrey looks like he wants to protest—worrying—he doesn't, instead hesitating for a moment before heading around to check each window while Gordon does the same. There aren't a lot, but the few they do find show a lot of the same. This building isn't very large, and it's surrounded by zombies.

Wherever they are appears to be some kind of construction site, though it's in very early development. For a moment, he considers how they could jump from a window onto one of the support beams, but the risk is too high and it wouldn't even accomplish anything. The site, and the road in front of it, is swarming with only a handful less zombies than the office building. In fact, it's the most popular area around. In the distance, over by the house they left behind last night, the zombies thin out considerably.

Gordon looks over to the barricade. That probably made a sh*tton of noise, attracting everything to them, and convincing them to stick around. Not that Gordon would've done any differently. There would've been zombies either way. At least now, they're safe enough to have gotten more sleep.

Still, his pacing resumes, more frantic than ever. Nearby, Benrey merely stands and watches, occasionally glancing around. It feels like forever that Gordon spends descending deeper and deeper into panic, struggling to keep his head above the water long enough to figure out what they're gonna do. It feels like the type of thing most characters in zombie shows would solve with… no, Gordon's not ready to die just yet. Especially not when it means Benrey won't go with him—he'll still be here, struggling to survive on his own. Probably start talking to inanimate objects for company, or something.

Leaning back against a nearby wall, Gordon sinks to the ground. There really is no way out of this, is there? All they can do is wait the zombies out, or maybe start chucking furniture out the window and hope that attracts zombies and keeps them there so they can sneak out. But they'd make so much noise and take way too long to get over the barricade that it wouldn't be worth it.

Benrey sits down across from him, legs pulled close to his chest. With a sigh, Gordon meets his gaze head on. "At least tell me your injuries are doing better," he says.

Surprised, Benrey just stares at him for a moment before answering. "Yeah," he says. "Uh… think they're gone, maybe."

"Okay. So at least we're at… as close to peak performance as we can get," Gordon says with a sigh. Though he doesn't know what good that does them, they're still stuck here with nothing to eat, and just sink water to drink. Who knows what f*cking chemicals are in the water around here? But they won't dehydrate, which is important. "I don't suppose you have any ideas?"

They lapse into silence for awhile, with Benrey sitting so still, Gordon would swear he was dead if not for his infrequent blinking. "Dunno," he eventually mumbles. "Wanna jack each other off?"

Gordon's head hits the wall behind him. "No, Benrey. An escape plan."

Benrey scoffs. "Coulda said that…" he grumbles.

Irritation briefly spikes in Gordon's gut, but it fizzles out just as the conversation does, and the two sit in silence once more. It feels like half an hour passes of Gordon zoning out, resigned to his fate, when Benrey's voice tugs him back out of his daze.

"Could… uhhhh," Benrey says. "Get a big… nerd stick, tape a knife, start poking over the railing."

The look Gordon levels him with is so tired that it feels heavy on his eyelids. "No."

"Why not?"

"Ohhh, god," Gordon groans, pressing his hands to his face and turning to lie down on the floor. It's therapeutic, to just lie on the floor like a loser and feel like one, too. This town felt so insignificant, like they'd be in and out so easily. Instead, he's stuck in a f*cking office building with Benrey for company. And all their food is just down the street, taunting them. He might've gotten co*cky after the last few places were so easy in comparison. But, this one? They haven't even looted anything edible, and already they're f*cked.

"Hey," Benrey says suddenly, snapping Gordon out of his thoughts. "I got… an idea. Big epic plan, save us both."

"What?" Gordon says, dragging his hands away from his face. "You got more fireworks?"

"Whuh?" Benrey looks confused for a moment, before shaking his head. "Was gonna… can deal with the crowd, clear it out. Got, uh, second phase." Gordon squints at him, puzzled. "Just, you gotta… get to the van, I think. Try and start it. I'll clear path and then come join."

This plan of his is barely a plan at all. Gordon doesn't see a single part of it that clarifies how he's going to do any of that, just that he will and Gordon has to, what, trust him?

"Yeah, but how?" Gordon asks, not sure why he expects a direct and honest answer.

In lieu of a response, Benrey gets up and approaches the balcony overlooking the first floor. Gordon just watches, not wanting to waste his energy following after him. Benrey examines the bottom floor, packed with zombies in the exact same places as before, standing around or slumped down on the tile floor.

"This is gonna be really bad," Benrey warns in that usual lackluster tone of his. "Uh. Sorry. I might die."

"What?" Gordon blurts, alarmed. "No, what? Don't f*cking die, what am I supposed to do then?"

"Uh… also die, I guess."

"Wh—You cannot be—Benrey—!"

Pushing up off the ground, he trips forward in his haste to stop Benrey, who's already climbed the barricade well out of reach. The zombies lift their heads, curious. Cursing under his breath, Gordon darts over, struggling to find a way to go after him when he hears something. Agonized grunts and growls. Pained hisses. Bones snapping and skin tearing.

Gordon feels himself go pale as his eyes land on Benrey. Balanced on one of the couches he chucked into the barricade, he doubles over in pain, gripping one arm while his skin stretches, bones snapping out of place and distorting like cancer. He screams as pieces of his spine break out of his back to form spikes, teeth jutting out of his mouth, nails fusing to his skin and elongating into blades. Red sweet voice bubbles out of his mouth in thick streams while his body grows larger, reforming its shape to give him satyr legs and a big, hunched back. Somehow, his clothing perfectly stretches without tearing.

Sweat pours down Gordon's back as he watches the creature that vaguely resembles Benrey roar, red flowing out of his mouth like wisps of smoke. He charges into the crowd, tearing apart zombies with his massive claws. Heads go flying, decaying organs strewn about the floor, blood soaking into every surface. It's brutal yet efficient, like bodies diced up by the blades of a harvester.

The thought that something this terrifying and deadly could exist has Gordon dry heaving onto the floor. The smell. He scrambles to get his gas mask out, hands shaking as he fastens it to his face. Taking a few deep breaths to get his stomach under control, he double checks all his weapons—handgun, knife, crowbar—and starts scaling the barricade. Easier said than done. Trembling and dizzy, he trips countless times just to catch himself on something or other, bruises forming all over his body with the HEV suit only making it worse, or so it feels.

By the time he stumbles off the end, it's eerily still in here. Not quiet, with the distant cacophony of monstrous groans, growls, and roars filling the air. But still. It's like a nightmare he's had before, knowing something's out there, but not knowing where it is, when it'll get here. Lifting his head, he finds himself face to face with the two vending machines, both covered in blood, completely obscuring their contents. Stepping closer and squinting through the glass, he realizes both machines are empty.

Not that he has much of an appetite anymore.

Stepping through the gore, he crosses the remains of the front door out onto the pavement. Everything is so much louder out here, the horrible noises directing Gordon to the road. Everything between him and there lies dead. As he navigates through the piles, he realizes all of their heads have been destroyed, stomped to bloody bits like a crushed watermelon. Well… that's one way to do it.

He feels like he's stumbling in a daze, a nightmare he's toughing out in hopes it'll turn back into a regular dream. There's no way this is real… but also, why wouldn't it be? He knew Benrey wasn't human. And this isn't even the scariest sh*t he's seen before, Benrey pulled a lot of forms on Xen so incomprehensible, it made Gordon's brain hurt to look at him. It's just… well, that was like pulling Benrey's form into whacky shapes like he's nothing but a wet block of clay. This is different.

Suddenly, he recalls the claw marks tearing the door off its hinges back at the police station he raided on his first day. Benrey hadn't been far away, back then. Then there was the deer… no, he was waiting for this, waiting to find out what sort of beast Benrey really was.

What sort of beast he's been poking and prodding at, that is, like a child jabbing a lion with a stick and expecting not to get eaten. God, how f*cking stupid can he get?

Looking out over the square of houses they left behind, it's easy to spot him, Benrey, towering over a pile of decaying bodies. With nothing more to take down he sits there, chest heaving, before turning to look at Gordon from over his shoulder. The second the beast's eyes are on him, his body goes cold, goosebumps blossoming all over his arms. Every footstep Benrey makes is rumbling and loud, causing Gordon to flinch away from him as he approaches, a big, lumbering beast with far too many teeth and a hunched, spiny back, his claws dragging along the ground. He walks on all fours, approaching Gordon like a wolf cautiously inspecting its prey.

Frozen in place, Gordon stares, sweat pearling on his brow as he anticipates the beast's massive jaw ripping open wide to tear his head right off. He wants to ask so many questions—why hasn't Benrey done this before, if it's so efficient? Why doesn't he do this all the time?—but all Gordon can do is whimper as the beast lowers its head down towards him, huffed breaths strangely cold against his skin.

He should run. That would be the smart thing to do, it would be what he's always done before, but he'd been backed by three other guys at the time, and he just doesn't have that kind of confidence right now. Much less the ability to think with this thing close enough for one of its teeth to scrape against his jaw.

And then, Benrey lays down, curled up like a dog taking a nap, and begins to change shape again. Animalistic grunts and groans escape him as muscles shift back into place, teeth rescinding into his gums, bones snapping and reforming. Cries of pain fill the air, shifting Gordon's horror to alarm in a very dizzying way. He thinks to approach, to ensure Benrey's okay, but he takes one step and immediately takes it back, frightened by what he's seeing.

Soon, though, Benrey's back to normal, curled up on the ground twitching and writhing, skin pale, eyes bloodshot. Blood lazily drips from his nose, ears, and mouth, and he shivers, his heavy breaths interspersed with sounds of agony. Quickly, Gordon understands why he doesn't usually do this.

"Holy sh*t, Benrey," Gordon curses, tension snapping as he drops to his knees. He moves to pick Benrey up, but the instant he touches the other man, Benrey lets out a sharp cry of pain, jolting away from him. His boots push at the ground, arms wrapping around himself, the muscles in his thighs taut as he struggles to find a position to lay in that doesn't hurt. "f*ck—Hey, hey—We need to get you off the road, okay?"

Benrey responds with a harsh, almost aggressive huff through his nose like a wild dog. Gordon doesn't know what to do, exactly. No part of the HEV suit is gonna feel all that great, and he doesn't even understand what's wrong. Did all those teeth and bones break skin? Puncture a lung? Maybe every muscle in his body is cramping, maybe it feels like every bone broke at once, it could be anything, everything!

While he's busy struggling for a solution, Benrey starts to move, struggling to lift himself up off the pavement in a way that isn't total agony. Gordon moves to help, deciding to ignore the way Benrey convulses and struggles to get away like he's being branded.

"Ow, OW!"

"Stop—Just deal with it and stop complaining!" Gordon snaps. Though the noises and complaints don't stop, and it seems as though Benrey has no control over the way his limbs spasm, making this difficult for both of them. Gordon ends up having to pick him up and carrying him into the back of the van, where there's a couch and black bedding that smells of old sweat and things Gordon doesn't want to identify.

Gordon settles him down there, yanking off his shoes and helping him out of his jacket. It's a lot like trying to dress a toddler, limbs flailing everywhere, but Gordon's had practice, so it's not that bad. He just has to avoid Benrey's nails gouging his eyes out.

With that done, Gordon gets out his kit, cleaning the blood from Benrey's face with a cloth he wets down with some bottled water. Benrey groans and whimpers as Gordon works, clearly displeased at having anything touch him, but, well, tough luck. Though Gordon still makes it quick, not wanting to make this torturous for him. Or, well, more torturous.

While cleaning, he figures out that Benrey's shapeshifting did, in fact, break skin, giving him wounds to patch up around his mouth. He also has to get Benrey undressed, as his back is covered in wounds, and he's also bleeding from several limbs. Shockingly, nothing's bad enough to require stitches.

Benrey predictably f*cking hates the entire process. Every touch is the worst pain imaginable, and he fights it, like he doesn't even know where he is or who's with him. Nothing Gordon says or does helps.

Finally, when at last he's done, he leaves Benrey patched up, redressed, and bundled up in a blanket on the plush suede couch Benrey's stuffed in here for some reason. Like this, he looks so small, almost pathetic. It's hard to believe he was ever some hulking monstrosity, just like it was hard to fully grasp that he could ever become such a thing when he's usually just some whiny emo dude that sleeps with teddy bears and dresses weird.

Gordon takes a moment just to stare at him, his head peaking out of the blanket cocoon where his beanie's fallen onto the floor, hair stuck up every which way, breathing shallowly, eyes corked shut. The beast he saw earlier might as well have ever existed at all. Yet, the fear remains.

He could take a pillow and smother Benrey right now, defeat the monster before it turns around and kills him. But Benrey would just come back angrier than ever, and who knows when the last straw might be? This is a problem he's stuck with.

Noise from outside the van draws Gordon's attention. Sticking his head back out of the trunk, he looks around, finding a few stray zombies slowly coming towards the van. A lot of them have no legs and are dragging themselves along the ground, and not very well, at that.

Closing up the trunk, Gordon deals with them before approaching the front door to the van. He manages to pull himself inside despite the ache in his arms, fumbling for the keys that he left shoved into his bag. Several attempts to fit it into the ignition later and he's turning it, groaning and cursing when there's no response whatsoever. The engine is dead, there's no way they're moving this thing. He has to find something else, get everything they need transferred as fast as possible… or maybe find something with a hitch.

He looks to the storage units nearby. There must be autorepair stuff in there, at least one of the units has to have tools in it. After hastily grabbing a drink and shoving a granola bar down his throat, he jumps back out, searching for a way in. As he does so, he has to dodge or take down a few zombies heading for the source of all the noise Benrey made on his little rampage. Luckily, this isn't hard to do if he just takes the right route, avoiding the road. There's plenty of broken down spots in the fence for him to fit himself through, heading towards the outer storage units and using his crowbar to pop open the doors.

First unit's vacant. Second one is full of boxes of random personal belongs, mostly books, clothes, and childhood toys. Next is nothing but furniture. He curses while tossing aside junk in search of anything useful.

"Come on, toss me a f*cking bone, already," he grumbles under his breath as he approaches the final storage unit. Against all odds, this one's packed with boxes and shelves filled with garage tools. Everything they'd been struggling to find, it's all right there. Toolsets, a car jack, heavy duty tires… and a full vintage collection of Playboy. Yeah, okay, he gets it, this guy's a real man's man.

Grabbing everything that seems relevant, he finds ways to stack and pile things until he can transport it all back to the van. From there, he tracks down a truck to attach a hook to. There's a few, actually, and one of them actually starts, allowing him to maneuver it to the van and hook everything up. Though, the road is a complete mess, so he has to spend time lugging bodies out of the way all by himself. There's no time to stop for a snack, not when he has to smell the death surrounding him, even through his mask.

It's ten minutes later, when Gordon's driving along the road in search of an autoshop, or at least some form of shelter, that he realizes just how crazy his morning's been. Memories race through his mind, reminding him of just how f*cked they were, and, even worse, just how dangerous Benrey is. He's travelling with a literal monster.

The thought has him start to freak out, face crumpling as he finally just lets himself cry. It hurts, but he won't hold it in. This is so much more horrifying than he ever realized. Everything's getting worse, and he can't seem to avoid it like he used to, ending up in higher density areas with less resources while everything just keeps f*cking breaking, and what is he even doing? Where is he going? What's gonna happen when he gets there? Nothing? Because it's starting to feel that way.

Finally, after driving through the town trying not to crash either of the cars under his control, he finds what he's looking for: an autoshop. Hopefully there's something he can use to fix or replace the engine inside, not that he even knows what to look for. Exhausted, he allows himself a minute just to process his emotions. To cry, to breathe, to close his eyes and not exist.

Then, once he's done, he sucks down half a bottle of water, shoves some canned peaches down his gob like a f*cking savage, grabs all his weapons, and hops out.

Chapter 18: to a dream, you don't wanna hear

Chapter Text

The autoshop isn't a popular place to be. This is how Gordon's able to stay there until the sun dips low on the horizon, spending his time reading instructional books, digging through tools, and watching how-to DVDs in the backroom. Everything he needs is right here, like no one thought to raid the local mechanic for their apocalypse needs. It was probably worse at the Home Depot, people raiding two-by-fours to block their windows and doors with.

But that doesn't mean Gordon knows what to do with all the tools at his disposal.

The van was probably sitting stationary for a long time before Benrey found it, because it's not in too bad shape. It's a little worn considering Benrey loves to hit zombies with it on the highway, but aside from that, it's looking pretty good. Gordon does what he can to make it as close to brand new as possible. Refilling the tires, smoothing out dents, cleaning the windows, clearing out the trash inside, and so on.

The engine, he comes back to every now and then, perplexed by it so much that he needs regular breaks to keep frustration at bay. He's not a mechanic. Just because his dad took him out to the garage to "teach him" how to do "a man's work" doesn't mean he actually understood. Most of the time, he was zoning out. But it's the most pressing issue, and they can't fit all their stuff in the truck, nor does Gordon wanna be hitching a van forever. It makes driving far too awkward, especially in their situation.

Still, as the sky starts turning shades of pink and gold, he knows he has to stop. This place is completely empty, being a decent ways out of town, so it's harmless for them to rest here. For now. He's only seen three zombies wander in, which is pretty good compared to earlier.

With all that in mind, he gets the portable stove working to cook up some stew for him and Benrey. Like it or not, he makes Benrey a bigger portion, hoping he won't notice and fuss about it. Once the food's done, he seals them in some tupperware containers, grabs two spoons, and heads back to the trunk.

He finds Benrey exactly where he left him, fast asleep on the couch. He's wheezing, chest rising and falling in strained motions, but still asleep. Setting the food down on the black coffee table in front of the couch, Gordon puts the portable stove away before finding some more pain pills for Benrey, setting those on the table with their meal.

There's other things he does, too. Like shining a flashlight up at the ceiling to brighten up the area, and preparing his first aid kit, just in case he needs it. He even finds a bucket inside the autoshop, for if Benrey's in the throwing up kinda mood. But, soon, he realizes there's nothing more he could possibly do. The stew's cooled to a safe temperature, there's no zombies nearby, he doesn't need anything more.

Which means… he has to wake Benrey.

It's not that Gordon's scared to do it. That he's imagining that sickly, prone body as a trap to his more nurturing side, one that'll spring into a monstrous form and tear his throat out. He doesn't think that, really. This is Benrey! When has Benrey ever been so brutal and vicious, ever? This morning. He's just a lazy asshole! If he can't shoot some guy in the face like it's a funny joke—which all of them were doing, anyway—he's not going to put in the effort! Except for today.

Gordon steps back, sitting down on the rug behind the coffee table. He… can't do it. Sure, in the moment, he'd sprung into action to help Benrey as best as he could, but this… this is… all the adrenaline is gone, leaving him with nothing to bolster his actions. It's just fear. Blind, bone chilling fear.

And then Benrey jumps, sending Gordon jolting into the wall and bashing his skull into the metal. He groans, cradling the back of his head as he watches Benrey choke, blood trickling over his bottom lip. Wriggling around, Benrey manages to turn his head towards the blanket, hocking up a huge wad of blood onto the fabric. He shudders, sticking out his tongue and spitting smaller amounts of blood until it's all out.

The sight is morbidly ridiculous, and Gordon finds himself relaxing. Right, this is just Benrey. Not the monster. The… monster that is also Benrey. But Gordon hasn't angered the monster yet! He's doing everything right.

Dizzy, dull blue eyes land on him as Benrey turns around more fully, shuddering with every movement. His breaths are heavy, every inhale wheezing and painful. Gordon merely watches him, unsure what to say.

Luckily, he doesn't have to say anything. Benrey spots the food on the coffee table all on his own, seemingly unaware of how far Gordon is from it.

"Hhh—" Benrey erupts into another coughing fit, blood splattering onto his lip, though it's very little, this time. The sound kickstarts Gordon into action, tracking down a bottle of water to bring him. "Ow," Benrey rasps, holding his chest and clearing his throat. As Gordon crawls over to the couch, he weakly lifts his head, spotting the uncapped bottle. No words need to be said. Benrey lets Gordon lift the water to his lips, tipping his head back in time for Gordon to pour it into his mouth. It's a very delicate thing, and Gordon's surprised no water spills, nor does Benrey choke. After drinking a generous amount, Benrey holds up a hand to tell him to stop.

"You good, man?" Gordon asks as he caps the bottle and sets it within reach of Benrey.

"Ughh," Benrey groans, though his voice is much clearer now. "Yuh." His hand remains clutching at his chest, closer to his ribs than his sternum. "My f*cking lungs…"

"What's wrong with your lungs?"

Benrey shakes his head. "Hurt. S'fine. Just gonna be an—" He coughs, a small amount more blood spilling onto his chin. "An anime boy for awhile, whatever. Ow."

"If you'e sure," Gordon says, reaching for the pills he set out earlier. "'Cuz I don't know how to, f*cking, I dunno. Do surgery on your lungs or whatever if that sh*t gets punctured."

"Oh, it did though," Benrey says, hands shaking as he takes the vicodin from Gordon's palm.

"What?"

"sh*t's punctured, bro. Big hole. S'fine though, jus' a little blood 'fore it got patch… oww… talking… shut up."

"I'm not—" Gordon sighs, sitting back as Benrey melts into the couch, pills dry swallowed. While definitely concerning, as far as Gordon can see, either Benrey dies and it's not Gordon's fault, or he recovers just fine. So Gordon's not going to bother worrying about something he can't fix.

Even if he's admittedly a little worried. If Benrey can't stop coughing, it'll attract attention—and if he dies, will he turn into a zombie? Will a f*cked up alien zombie be harder to kill? Gordon doesn't want to find out.

A little on edge, he moves back to the other side of the table where he can start digging into his stew. It's nothing special, and the steam doesn't feel great on his throat, but it's still a tasty reward for the troubles of the day. All he's been eating are granola bars, so this feels like a f*cking feast in comparison.

Meanwhile, Benrey takes some time to breathe before pushing himself up with no small amount of effort. He clumsily climbs onto the floor, groaning as his knees hit the carpet and biting his lip to muffle the sounds of exertion and pain coming out of him as he gets himself settled. Once he's done, he heaves a huge sigh, tipping his head back and focusing on his breathing.

"Where we at?" he eventually asks, looking out the open doors of the trunk to the grassy fields and cracked roads. Some markets and fast food places can be seen, but not enough to make out any details. Except for which fast food joints they are, that sh*t's designed to be seen from space.

"I took us to an auto—hh," Gordon cuts himself off as Benrey suddenly gets up, sending a spike of fear through his chest. But Benrey just closes the doors before coming right back, breaths heavy.

Gordon tries not to show his fright, but when Benrey gets back to the edge of the table, fear prickles up the back of his neck and he freezes in place. Countless images flash through his mind, of Benrey cutting him on sharp claws, mangling his body, devouring him. No matter how irrational, he can't stop thinking it.

"What?" Benrey says, causing Gordon to jump. It's so quiet, yet he reacts like it's violent, like Benrey just snarled at him. A frown creases Benrey's pale features, eyes dizzy, and he quickly sits back down to avoid passing out.

"Nothing, man," Gordon says, immediately panicking as he realizes how weird of a response that is. He's basically admitting there is something by lying about it. It's not like he made a noise Benrey could've mistaken as conversation.

Avoiding the other man's eyes, Gordon stuffs more stew into his mouth, hand shaking and food messily dribbling down his chin. He scrambles to clean it up, desperate to seem casual.

Across from him, Benrey leans back against the couch, uninterested in the food. Gordon can feel the weight of his stare, his hands shaking worse to the point that his spoon keeps clattering noisily against the plastic walls of bowl. What's Benrey seeing? Did he do something to offend him, something to make him want to get rid of Gordon once and for all? Maybe he didn't do a good enough job taking care of him. sh*t, he should have handed him his food instead of making him get it himself. Of course he wouldn't want to do that, he can barely breathe, reacting to everything like he has glass bones and paper skin.

"You're weird," Benrey notes, taking a sharp, wheezing breath. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing!" Gordon unconvincingly insists. "Noth—Hey, you should eat that." He points his spoon at the other tupperware container. "Should be good on your throat, got lots of healthy sh*t in it, even if it's mostly canned. Sorry I couldn't find the rest of our venison, but we'll eat some tomorrow. Need those proteins, right, haha. We're gonna have to leave soon so we need to be in tip-top shape…"

He continues rambling, saying anything that comes to mind—anything mundane, that is. He's definitely not going to share his thoughts about Benrey's sharp teeth, or how he thinks they'd feel if Benrey's massive jaw clamped down around his head, teeth digging into his throat, hot, wet breaths suffocating him…

Suddenly Benrey's right beside him. Gordon jumps, elbow knocking into something that makes an awful clatter, setting his heart pounding even faster. The look on Benrey's face is hard to read, but as Gordon leans away, Benrey leans closer.

Wetting his dry mouth, Gordon asks, "What?"

"You sick or something?"

"Huh? No, I—" He sharply cuts himself off as Benrey crawls closer, hastily moving back to put more space between them. "H-Hey, there… Ben. We're friends, right?"

Benrey blinks, startled. "Friends?"

"Yeah! Friends, goooood friends, right? Uh… pocky buddies or whatever. You wouldn't—" Benrey scoots even closer, sending Gordon jumping to his feet, taking several steps back. Confusion clouds Benrey's dull blue eyes. "Hey! So, I gotta go take a piss, man, you, uhhhh—"

Benrey gets up to his feet. Every step he takes is two Gordon takes back, haunted by the sound of Benrey's struggling, raspy breaths like a slasher movie killer.

"Hey, man, let's just… We don't have to—Whoa!" Something trips him, sending him crashing into the corner of the trunk where he catches himself with both hands on either wall. He can't get out before Benrey's boxing him in, his heavy breaths warming Gordon's brow. He feels small, a helpless rabbit cowering beneath the gaze of a mighty wolf, only much, much worse.

Something clatters to the ground, sending the flashlight onto the floor where it rolls to illuminate Benrey's back, casting his massive shadow over Gordon. It's hard to tell what face he's making, the only thing clearly visible the glowing yellow-blue of his inhuman eyes.

"What are you doing?" Benrey asks, his tone hard to read through the ringing in Gordon's ears. His heart pounds. If Benrey doesn't get him first, it'll probably just explode and kill him.

"Uh—H-Hey, don't… I just, uh, just let me go, right? I'll be back in a sec, man, just…" Benrey leans closer, and Gordon slips, a sharp gasp escaping him as his ass hits the cold, metal floor, unable to process what happened, that it wasn't Benrey shoving him down to tear him apart. Snapping his head up, all he sees is Benrey looming over him with those strange, glowing eyes of his, a whimper escaping Gordon as he draws his legs close to his body. "Don't kill me…"

"Whuh…"

Benrey jerks back, the light flooding over his face to reveal the shock painted across his features. His hands tremble, and he sways, eyes flicking up and down Gordon's body with a growing sense of horror. There's something so sad in his eyes, something Gordon can't understand the meaning of.

"What?" His voice is so quiet, barely above a whisper. Drawing in a sharp breath, he drops to his knees with a wince, missing the way Gordon flinches and presses tighter into the corner. His mind races, wondering if he could make a break for it if he kicked Benrey in the chest. Would that buy him enough time? Would he ever be able to outrun Benrey, to escape him? Is this his special hell, to be at Benrey's mercy forever?

Benrey scoots forward, close enough for his knees to brush up against the thighs of the HEV suit. As he raises his hands, all Gordon can see are sharp, knife-like claws despite the dull, chipped black nails Benrey actually has. Gordon trembles, hunching his shoulders to protect his neck, but Benrey doesn't go for that. In fact, he hesitates, visibly unsure of himself before placing his hands on the shoulders of Gordon's suit with a pained hiss.

"Why did you say that?" Benrey asks, uncomfortably settling his fingers against the hard metal of the suit. Meeting Benrey's eyes, Gordon feels his stomach churn at the hurt in his expression. What's going on? The room's spinning, Gordon's chest aching, lungs burning.

"You're—" The word escapes Gordon in a cracked squeak. Taking a shallow breath, Gordon wets his mouth and tries again. "I don't… I just don't know what you want with me."

The look on Benrey's face starts to change, smoothing out into something resembling his normal resting face. Yet there's something else there, something Gordon can't decipher. Glowing eyes flick over his face, shifting yellow-blue-yellow as they catch the light.

Then, his hand moves to the nape of Gordon's neck, pulling him forward into a kiss. Shock crackles through Gordon's system, stomach flipping and sparks popping as he registers the shape of Benrey's thin lips against his own, cold and tasting of iron. Gordon doesn't know how to react. The neurons in Gordon's brain just aren't firing off correctly, overheating and crashing down as he fails to reconcile his previous fear—or the fact that it's gone—with the notion that Benrey's kissing him. His heart's pounding so fast, all that panic and fear compounding into something a lot more like excitement.

He doesn't move—but this doesn't seem to matter. When they part for air, Benrey grabs his face, tilts his head, and kisses him again with twice the passion, coaxing out a low noise that doesn't even sound like him. He's inundated with a warmth and softness he hasn't felt in far too long, a feeling that makes him want to tip forward and drown in its depths.

It's far too soon that Benrey pulls away. Their eyes meet, Benrey's blue-eyed gaze blazingly intense, and then—

Benrey chokes, blood splattering over Gordon's face. The tender moment instantly shatters, Gordon sputtering as he struggles to get the blood out of his mouth, pushing Benrey away and rubbing at his face with his gloved hand. There's a grunt as Benrey falls back onto the floor, catching himselfon his elbows. "f*ck—Benrey, jesus!"

"Oh my god," Benrey groans, wiping his chin off on his sleeve. "f*ck, that's so embarrassing. This is why I don't have a date to prom."

A startled laugh bursts out of Gordon. "What?! Shut up!" he says, playfully kicking Benrey and regretting it instantly when he groans and hisses in pain. "sh*t, sorry."

"S'okay," Benrey grunts. Gordon huffs, focusing on cleaning the blood from his face while praying the traces on his tongue don't give him a deadly disease.

It's dizzying, just how different he feels in such a short span of time. Yet he doesn't pause to consider how afraid he'd been only moments before, and how light he feels now, despite the lingering lightheadedness.

Instead, he grabs Benrey to heft him back up, ignoring his complaints as he ushers him onto the couch. The stew's opened and placed in his lap, where Gordon ensures Benrey's got a good handle on it before handing him the spoon. However, while the warm bowl is apparently very nice on his hands, the metal spoon is torture and he refuses to hold it. When Gordon catches him slurping his stew and getting it all over his chin, Gordon chides him, getting up to clean him and feed him by hand, despite Benrey's obnoxious comments about it.

"Thanks, honey," Benrey says, opening his mouth wide for another spoonful, just for Gordon to withhold it at the last minute. "Heyyy-uhhhh…"

"Do not call me honey," Gordon warns, before following through on feeding him the stew. "I will smother you in your sleep."

Luckily the stew is pretty stubborn, meaning it's still warm when it's time for Gordon to finally eat his. He drags the container closer, sitting on the floor by the couch to keep an eye on Benrey. He makes sure Benrey knows where his water is, pointing out the bucket as well.

"Can you…" Gordon starts, stirring his stew around. "Tell me about… I mean, what's going on with you? Other than your lungs. Like, you're clearly in pain, but what's actually wrong?"

"Uh…" Benrey sinks deeper into his blanket cocoon, nothing below his eyes visible. "Yeah… everything just hurts. My f*cking bones." His joking tone has Gordon huffing a laugh. "Skin hurts. Drugs are kinda kicking in though."

"Good," Gordon says. "How's your stomach?"

"Cramp," Benrey groans, turning his head towards the back of the couch and closing his eyes. "Not gonna hurl. S'just… like, can we not go into places? Need sleepy, please."

"Bwuhhh. Yeah, buddy, no arguments there." If Gordon has to see another zombie again, much less a huge crowd of them, he might cry. Though he knows it's inevitable, he dreads what happened today and yesterday ever happening again. Or what went down at the church.

"Need to pee, though."

Pausing with his spoon halfway to his mouth, Gordon turns to look back at Benrey, making zero move to get up. Taking another bite, Gordon mulls over his options as he chews. "Bottle, or… there's a bathroom in the autoshop?"

"Bwuhh…" Benrey groans, though he doesn't move, nor is he giving off any signs that it's urgent, so Gordon just keeps eating until he's done. Piling up all the dirty dishes, he tucks them into a bag for later, and bends to help Benrey up.

"C'mon. I'll help you get down there."

"Thanks…" Benrey mumbles. Though he's mostly dead-fishing it, he isn't totally useless as Gordon hefts him up, careful not to touch him where skin's visible or press too tightly against him.

He's not sure if that's actually helping, though. Every step has Benrey making some kind of noise, muted, but still. Getting out of the trunk is the worst part, even with Gordon hopping down first so he can lift Benrey and set him down onto the pavement. Maybe it's a lost cause to think anything can be made pleasant or even tolerable for Benrey, but Gordon wants to try.

Luckily, Benrey quickly finds his stride once they head inside the autoshop, needing no further assistance. All Gordon does is show him where to go. And while he's busy taking care of business, Gordon takes the time to check for zombies. None have wandered in, but he makes some noise just to be sure. When he's done, he turns to head back inside just to find Benrey already at the entrance, watching him. Gordon jumps, startled.

"f*ck. You're too quiet," he groans, pressing his hand to his chestplate. "Hey. You ready head back?"

Benrey looks him up and down before nodding.

"Can… you wanna play some games?"

Gordon glances over Benrey's frame, taking in his slightly damp, sweaty skin, his unfocused eyes, his heaving chest and open mouthed breathing. "No offense, man, but you sure you can hold a console right now?" Gordon asks.

There's a pause before Benrey gently shakes his head once. "Watch you play," he says. "Please?"

Something fuzzy tickles Gordon's chest at the request, especially with the way Benrey's looking at him. It's a little kicked puppy-esque with how shiny and sad his eyes are, so of course Gordon can't say no. Not just because Benrey's being such a wet paper bag right now, but also, why not? He could really use some video games right about now.

"Yeah, man," Gordon says. It's too dark to work on the engine right now, anyway. "What do you wanna watch?"

A certain light comes over Benrey's features as they head back to the van, settling in as they were before. Gordon ensures Benrey has enough fluids on hand before getting his Switch ready. Keeping it angled so Benrey can actually see the screen is tricky, but he doesn't seem to have much trouble following along as Gordon plays through Bayonetta. It's a title he's played before, obviously. So he doesn't have much trouble, even if some of the levels are f*ck-off hard; or maybe he's just bad and needs to "get good" as Benrey keeps saying.

"She's so hot, man," Benrey comments, his fingers stroking through Gordon's hair—something Gordon hasn't even noticed. Or maybe he has, but he doesn't mind enough to really notice it.

Gordon sighs. "Of course that's why you asked for this f*cking game."

"Goh—" A sudden cough cuts Benrey off, prompting Gordon to glance back and nearly get Bayonetta killed. "Goth girls got me actin' up. Like nerds more, though." This comment doesn't even phase Gordon. "Don't, uh… you don't like goth girls?"

"I don't like girls, Ben."

"Whoa, you hate women?"

"Whuh—!" Gordon sputters. "That's NOT what I said, and you know it, you little gremlin!"

Fingertips graze against his nape, a shiver rolling down his spine. Benrey pauses, waiting to see if Gordon will tell him to stop before he starts playing with the little hairs under his ponytail.

"So…" Benrey starts, clearing his throat and adjusting the position of his head. "What, like… what're you into? Boys?"

"That's pretty clear at this point, isn't it?" Only once the words have left his mouth does Gordon regret them. Not outing himself as a gay man, obviously. But the reminder that he'd been receptive to Benrey's advances yesterday, which feels like so much more now that they… he tries not to touch his lips like some kind of lovelorn school girl, but the memory flashes by regardless, his stomach doing flips and heart racing at the thought, which is… alarming.

"What kinda boys?" Benrey presses.

That question has Gordon reeling. Too many thoughts crowd his mind, all fighting for dominance no matter how much he struggles to tell himself not to overthink this. It's an innocent question. Literally everyone asks their friends sh*t like this. Gordon's been there countless times, and he'd usually just pick a random cartoon woman he thought was cool to base his answer off of so they'd leave him alone.

But Gordon can't bring himself to answer this time. He's not sure if it's a good idea, considering the way Benrey's playing with his hair right now, the things he's done, the things he's offered.

"Yeah, I bet you'd love to know that, wouldn't you?" Gordon says instead, keeping his tone as light as possible. Benrey scoffs. "Focus on sleeping, Benrey."

"Whatever…" Benrey drawls.

Things get quiet after that. Every now and then, Benrey mumbles something about the game, and Gordon responds if necessary, matching his volume. But, at some point, Gordon realizes just how long it's been since Benrey said anything, and lifts his head up from the game to find Benrey fast asleep, his hand resting on Gordon's shoulder. The console's running out of battery, anyway. Gordon shuts it off and puts it away, placing Benrey's hand back on the couch and tucking the blanket up over his shoulders.

He wishes Benrey wouldn't get hurt like this so frequently. Especially when it means Gordon has to be alone—it's pretty f*cking eerie out here with no one to talk to. He never feels completely safe knowing a zombie could show up at any moment to ruin his whole day, but having someone around as company makes the fear easier to manage.

For now, though, there's no zombies to worry about, so Gordon does what he can to productively kill time before heading out to the truck. The bench is uncomfortably small and thin, but he'd rather not sleep in the trunk with… whatever dark secrets Benrey's keeping in there. There's too much junk back there for him to even find it—or was it ever real to begin with?—but it still doesn't sit right with him.

Not that sleeping in the back of a truck with windows all around him and no one to turn to is much better. He regrets this choice the instant he's laid down, but he has to commit to it. It'll probably be better on his back, anyway. Besides, this keeps him close to the wheel if he needs to make a quick getaway in the middle of the night.

With that in mind, Gordon closes his eyes and tries his best to go to sleep.

Chapter 19: over and over

Chapter Text

To say that Gordon isn't successful at falling asleep is an understatement. Every second that ticks by fills him with more dread than before, his mind racing with the thought of everything that could be going wrong. Is there a zombie hanging around outside that he just doesn't know about? Maybe there's hundreds flooding the road out of town, all converging on his location. He wouldn't know when he's laying down on the backseat of a truck. A few times, he sits up just to check, but there's never anything to worry about. It's all in his head. But telling himself that doesn't have the effect he needs it to. Namely, the effect that puts him to sleep.

And that's not even his only worry! Every now and then, when Gordon thinks it'd be better just to head back to the van and sleep on the floor next to Benrey, he panics. While it had been so easy to brush past what happened between them at the time… he can't do that anymore. Benrey kissed him. That was his answer in regards to his intentions. Gordon can't cover his ears and go lalala I'm not listening when the truth is so undeniable. Benrey likes him. Benrey's interested in him. Benrey probably wants to have sex with him. This information has him reeling.

Yet again, he's left completely recontextualizing every single thing Benrey's ever done. Though he doesn't know when Benrey started to feel… that way, he goes all the way back anyway, wondering if Benrey's behavior was all boy-bullying-girl-he-likes from the start. It's a clumsy and f*cked up way to flirt with anyone, but it is still a method people use.

Was every insult just negging? A ploy to get his attention? Was there something romantic to Benrey about the concept of a hero taking down the villain at the end of a story, is that why he did it? Because Gordon doesn't believe he was the one behind it all. Not anymore. If he was, then he should have more power to get them out of this situation.

Gordon remembers every moment Benrey spent nagging him to hang out, every kind gesture, all the times he went out of his way to protect Gordon, even to the extent that he cut off—…There's no reason he'd go that far for someone he hates.

So he has to face facts. It might be too presumptuous to say that Benrey's… to proclaim anything too intense. But there's something there, and Gordon doesn't know how he feels about it. What's terrifying to him is that he thinks he might like it. But does he really like Benrey, or is this all just hormones and the natural desire to breed? Because there's a difference, and it feels really important that Gordon knows the difference.

All that, plus the usual nonsense has him lying awake all night, every now and then passing out just to wake in a panic. He'll jump up, frantically searching the area around him, at times thinking he sees something, but it's just his sleep-addled mind playing tricks. At one point, he wakes to the sight of a zombie clawing at the window at his feet, but when he jumps up to deal with it, it's gone. In fact, it never was.

By the time the early morning light's turned to the warmth of the midday sun, Gordon calls it quits. According to his watch, it's a few hours before noon. If he'd slept through the night, that would be pretty good. But he didn't. He can't tell when he was awake and when he wasn't, but he feels like he's been run over by a truck, so.

With a groan, Gordon pushes himself up, ignoring the ache in his body. For awhile, he just sits there, adjusting, watching the world around him. Once he runs out of excuses to keep doing that, he forces himself out of the truck. First up, a perimeter check. It's a good excuse to get a morning walk in while ensuring they're still safe here. There's nothing to find, quite literally nothing at all, not even a bird.

Once Gordon's done with that, he hits the bathrooms inside the shop, then cooks up some breakfast in the form of venison and canned veggie stir-fry with fried rice, unsure of how it'll taste, but it smells alright. He has to restrain himself from sneaking a few bites, or else he'll stand here eating the whole thing, and then Benrey won't be left with anything.

Weird, that he even cares if Benrey gets anything.

The other man's already awake when Gordon approaches the van. Though, the thick smoke cloud is what Gordon sees long before he sees Benrey, sitting on the edge of the trunk, doors wide open. The scent wafting into Gordon's nostrils is a familiar one.

"Are you f*cking—where did you get weed?!" Gordon quietly exclaims. At least he hasn't walked in on Benrey doing something worse, like cigarettes or crack. In fact, if he pauses to think about it, he's not mad. Benrey's in a bad way, and Gordon would prefer Benrey doesn't go raiding the very addictive pain meds at his leisure, so of course he's found a better way to self-medicate. But like, also… how the f*ck did he find weed?

"Huh?" Benrey blurts, his voice even slower than usual. When he turns to look at Gordon, his eyes are a different color, more purple than blue. "Uh… what?"

Gordon shakes his head. "Whatever, man. Just… uh… hey, you know what? Can I have some of that?"

It occurs to Gordon, then, that all the anxieties that kept him awake last night could just… vanish. The entire night came and went without a single issue, and he has to stick around to fix the van, so what's the problem if he gets a little high?

That thought come crashing to a halt as he realizes something else. If it had been only a week earlier, he would've been screaming at Benrey not to f*ck around, that they can't be indulging in substances that alter their brain chemistry. They don't know what could happen next! What if there's a horde just around the corner, and they're both too faded to properly react? Benrey might be able to come back from that, but Gordon can't!

"Actually, maybe I shouldn't. I—"

"Bro. Sit."

Somehow, for some reason, Gordon obeys, his ass planting itself on the edge of the trunk next to Benrey. He feels stupid, like a trained mutt following Benrey's spoken commands. But he's already here, and he'd look even stupider if he got back up.

And Benrey's passing him the blunt, so despite the warring factions of his mind struggling to decide on whether he should engage with this or not, Gordon takes it. He does so with the bravado of someone that's never smoked weed in his life. Like he's proud to show off that he knows how to hold it properly, his movements bordering on cartoonishly cool as he holds it to his lips and inhales the way he's pretty sure you're supposed to. Sure, he was around plenty of it in college, but did he ever partake? No, like an asshole, he was too busy studying and exploring his sexuality.

So he doesn't expect to start coughing uncontrollably immediately, having assumed there'd be a moment where he could suppress it and look like less of a moron. And, right on cue, Benrey erupts into a fit of mocking laughter.

"OH MY GOD HAHAHA—"

Gordon's face burns with embarrassment as he waves the cloud of smoke away from his face. "Man, shut up," he gripes. "This is—It's too strong."

Benrey gets his cackling under control just to say, "Gordon Weedman."

Gordon flushes even hotter, but as he tries to take another hit just to prove Benrey wrong, the blunt's taken away from him. "Wh—Hey, what the hell, Benrey?"

"You're, uhhhh, cut off," Benrey says, looking way too cool and relaxed as he takes another hit. As if to show off, he exhales the smoke in a ring shape.

Gordon huffs. It's probably for the best that he listens to the guy that knows what he's doing, but it doesn't stop riling Gordon up to know that he's not the guy who knows best. Or, rather, it pisses him off to know that it's Benrey, specifically, who's better than him, more knowledgeable.

"Whatever," Gordon grumbles. "Let's just eat this before it gets cold." He indicates to the tupperware full of food he's got sitting beside him.

"Oh, yooo, you got the munch and crunch? Why'n't you say say so?"

Gordon doesn't respond to that, instead rolling his eyes before handing one of the meals off to Benrey. Luckily, they aren't even close to cold yet—in fact, they have to wait for the air around them to cool the food down.

During all of that, neither of them talk. It takes Gordon awhile before he realizes why he's feeling so relaxed. Apparently a single pull is enough for him to feel something, a lot like when he'd first started drinking. Now that he's noticed it, he tries to focus on it, but he can't manage to for long. It's like he just doesn't care enough to be so watchful of himself. It's not like he's suddenly jumping for joy or anything, but all that anxiety bogging him down earlier just feels so distant now.

"Do you do this a lot?" Gordon suddenly asks, staring up at the sky overhead. It's just so grey, showing more clouds than anything else. "Like, recently? You're always so calm, and you got, like, torn apart… two separate times? f*ck, I'd be freaking out all the f*cking time."

It takes awhile for Benrey to respond. How long is difficult to discern, but it's not immediate.

"Got depression or whatever," Benrey says, causing Gordon to look down at him. He's lying flat against the floor of the trunk, legs dangling off the edge, his food set aside, still steaming. The tip of the blunt glows a bright red as he takes another hit, his eyes having turned more firmly purple, or… blue-violet… that's a color, right? He wonders how much Benrey's going to smoke before it's enough.

"I don't think depression works that way, man."

"S'cuz I jack off," Benrey retorts, a slight edginess to his tone as he makes a crude gesture. "You could, too. Could jack you off."

"Somehow, I don't think you're joking," Gordon says with a faint chuckle.

Benrey abruptly sits up, an act that would've made Gordon flinch any other time. Turning to Gordon, he glances over Gordon's face before leaning in closer.

Gordon's breath hitches. There's a moment where they're both just staring at each other in tense silence, before Benrey starts getting closer. Is he gonna kiss me? Gordon wonders in something approaching panic. Do I want him to kiss me? Right now, he doesn't think he'd actually mind it so much… it's not like kissing him yesterday was terrible. It wasn't good, either, but he's not so sure he'd refuse an encore.

One problem. Benrey's holding the blunt between his lips like a piece of hay, a fact Gordon hadn't registered until it's nearly close enough to burn his skin. The heat is what draws his attention first, and he's quick to shove Benrey away, where he sways too far backwards before steadying himself.

"You're gonna f*ckin' burn me on that thing, man! Put it away!"

The tension snaps, leaving Gordon wondering what Benrey was trying to pull with that. Was he testing him? Trying to see how close he could get before Gordon did something about it? Or was it just some fun little game to him? It doesn't make sense.

"Tch," Benrey says, taking another hit and blowing a ring of smoke into Gordon's face. He cringes, uncertain if he should move away; can't he get, like, a contact high or something? God, he should have taken the chance to delve into weed in college, he sounds like such a f*cking idiot right now. He coughs again as he inhales the smoke from the ring, his eyes watering.

Any questions he might have for what that was go unanswered. Benrey gets up, heading deeper into the trunk to do… something. Whatever it is, Gordon doesn't pay much attention, instead watching the clouds pass by and doing what he can to feel at peace for once. There's always too much going on, too much to worry about… he'd like just a few minutes where there's nothing at all.

And it sure is a peaceful few minutes. How many minutes is unclear as time begins to feel like it has less meaning, with nothing sneaking up on him and the only sounds being whatever Benrey's doing. Though that part stops at some point, and Gordon isn't really sure when; he just turns to see Benrey lying beside him, propped up on his elbows to watch the clouds pass by. Or maybe Benrey's seeing something else out there that Gordon hasn't spotted yet.

But he doesn't want to. He doesn't want to notice, he just wants to be. Just for awhile. He deserves that, right? Doesn't everybody?

To his disappointment, that feeling doesn't last for long. Soon, anxiety creeps back in. He shouldn't be wasting time doing nothing, they could be f*cking themselves over by sitting on their asses like this. What if there's a horde of zombies headed their way? There's more than just zombies, too. He has to think about what else is out there, slowly rotting or being feasted on by animals and bugs.

They don't have time for this.

When Gordon glances to his watch, he finds it's actually only been around forty or so minutes since he sat down. Not even a full lunch break. He sighs. Whatever. At least he got what he got before he has to throw himself back into the thick of it again.

Looking down to the food in his lap, Gordon discovers that he's devoured his breakfast down to every last grain of rice, though he doesn't remember doing so. There's also a mug of coffee resting beside him, a similar drink resting on Benrey's waist, his pale hands cradling the warm blue porcelain. Trying to remember when this happened is difficult, so Gordon decides to just roll with it, lifting up the mug and taking a slow sip. It's exactly how he likes it.

Without thought, he reaches over to pat Benrey's thigh. "You gonna be good, buddy?" he asks, licking the coffee from his upper lip. It's a question with a lot of variables behind it; is Benrey too high to go do something serious? Is he still hurting? Some secret third thing?

But all Benrey says is, "Are you?"

It feels like such a grade school comeback that Gordon can't see any sincerity behind it. He just scoffs, grabs Benrey's knee, and pushes to his feet, taking the coffee with him. "C'mon," he says. "We gotta wash up and get the van running again."

After hitting the bathrooms, taking his medicine, and so on, he's right back at the van's engine again. It's like looking at an unsolvable equation knowing someone in the world could actually solve it, but he can't ask them how. They can't stay here much longer; he doesn't want to stay here much longer, sleeping outside an autoshop while knowing he has to tackle this again in the morning. There must be a way to fix this. He'll figure it out.

Unfortunately, Benrey's zero help. He looks under the hood and goes "Huh" before standing there doing nothing of value. Just… hovering. Every now and then, Gordon uses him as a sounding board for ideas. Or, he'll mutter to himself about wishing he had some kinda tool, which causes Benrey to dip and come back with the exact tool at a time Gordon no longer needs it. A lot of the time, though, Benrey comes back with an item that definitely isn't what Gordon asked for. Benrey doesn't seem to understand this, either, that the wrench Gordon wanted is, in fact, not a rubber chicken (where the f*ck did he find that, anyway?). At least it makes him laugh.

At some point, though, Benrey becomes nothing more than an unbearable distraction. The task is aggravating enough without fielding off Benrey's attempts to be funny or "helpful".

"Can't you find something else to do?" Gordon finally snaps. "This f*cking sucks enough without you distracting me."

Hours of work with basically no instruction or prior experience were really weighing on him. This should've been done with a long time ago, yet it continues to confound him. He just doesn't know what he's looking at. Sometimes, it's obvious when something's dented or otherwise damaged, but this thing? It always looks fine, and then he tries to start the car, and it never turns out in his favor. Feelings of inadequacy pile on top of the frustration and impatience, creating a miserable experience.

It takes longer than anticipated for Benrey to respond. "Whuh?" he says. Before Gordon can blow a gasket over him pulling the oblivious routine, he slowly continues, "Uh… do what, though?"

"Dh—" Gordon starts, quickly stopping to think. Even a few minutes away from his current task to find something for Benrey to do feels like an incredible respite from how much he hates automechanics.

But… what is there to do? Benrey can't leave the area alone, especially not if he's high, and Gordon can tell that much from the color of his eyes. Gordon wouldn't trust Benrey with taking stock of what they have in the trunk, either. But there's nothing useful nearby to loot. No forests to forage through, no other stores to explore.

Something clicks as Gordon's eyes fall upon Benrey again. He's wearing the same thing he's been wearing since his last resurrection, that black SWAT uniform with a tuque in place of a helmet.

"What about your wound, man? Is it still there?" Gordon asks.

"Mmh?" Benrey eventually responds. "Uh… nah."

"Then we gotta take the stitches out. After that, you can go clean the bandage, and your uniform, while you're at it. That thing f*cking reeks, man."

It doesn't, actually. Likely because Gordon's unfortunatelly gotten used to the scent of blood, or it's just set in, or something. But he likes using that excuse more than the fact that he just doesn't like the thought of Benrey wandering around in blood stained clothing all the time. Doesn't seem right.

"Laundwy duty… yes sirrrr," Benrey slurs.

Taking the stitches out is a quick affair. Gordon just has Benrey sit on the edge of the truck's flatbed, jacket undone and pink heart shirt rolled up, so he can get this done fast. Benrey's hand rests over his waist, head tipped forward to watch.

Something about it, the way he's slouched, how close their lower halves are to each other as Gordon removes the stitches, has him feeling unbearably warm. This is merely an act of medical caretaking, yet he's gripped with the urge to hold Benrey's waist, the mere thought of it causing his stomach to flip with excitement. Benrey… he's weird and annoying, but there's some other quality that keeps drawing Gordon in.

He knows what that quality is, and it's desperation. Annoyingly, Benrey's an attractive man who dresses somewhat provocatively and clearly has no issue letting Gordon see him nude. And all the jerking off comments—how can his mind not wander like that? Especially after the k—

"Gonna go soak this," Benrey says, wrapping the bandage around his fingers and fully snapping Gordon out of his thoughts. They've finished up, the wrap replaced with a square adhesive bandage and Benrey's clothes all fixed up.

Which is good. He should stop thinking about this, put some distance between them, and think about something else. And one day, he'll escape from this place, and never have to see Benrey ever again. The feeling will fade. He'll find anyone else, or he won't. Because that's all this is, an infatuation. Not even that, it's a means to an end, and not an especially good one considering Benrey's… intentions. Whatever they are.

Regardless, they're done now, the both of them stepping away from one another. "Take some clothes with you," Gordon says. "I don't wanna find you curled up on a gross bathroom floor in the buff again."

Benrey makes some kind of noise that could go either way. Not that it matters, Gordon's not his babysitter. If he wants to be cold and uncomfortable, fine. Gordon has better sh*t to be doing.

Like… urgh, this f*cking car. It would be so much easier if they could just abandon it, but they have no other working vehicle with enough space and it would take forever to transfer everything, not to mention Benrey's weird attachment to the van.

So he keeps working, downing a second cup of coffee when the first turns out to be not enough. It's only when he encounters a particularly tough failure that he thinks to stop for a proper break, before he starts beating this stupid engine with a wrench. Hopping back out of the vehicle after his latest attempt to start it, he angrily marches back out front just to find Benrey already there, staring under the hood.

"Wh—When the f*ck did you get here?" How is he always so damn QUIET?

There's no response. This gives Gordon more time to observe Benrey and his choice of attire, which is always interesting. Sometimes it's tacky, sometimes it's fashionable, sometimes it's really weird and inappropriate. But rarely ever boring. Case in point, he's wearing a black crop top and distressed white bootcut jeans with fishnet tights sticking out over the top. Like this, Gordon can plainly see the silver jewelry adorning his navel, different from the ring he was wearing before. Gordon tries not to stare at anything in particular too long, but the tights are really bugging him.

"Fishnets?" Gordon says. "Really? You're wearing fishnets right now, of all times?"

"Whuh…?" Benrey asks, briefly glancing up from where he's staring under the car's hood, his eyes a little more blue than before. "Wha' you mean?"

"Don't your bones hurt, or something? And you're wearing the most uncomfortable sh*t in the world?"

Lifting his head back up, Benrey stares at him for a few seconds, nearly unblinking, before saying, "You would know?"

Gordon opens and closes his mouth. His face burns uncomfortably as he realizes that there's no answer to that that makes him look good. He decides to drop the subject, awkwardly turning back to the car. "What are you doing out here?"

Luckily, Benrey doesn't press him on the fishnets thing. "Seen your little uhhhh… thingy," Benrey says, pointing down at the engine. "That part… it's messed, bro. And you ain't never touching it, you try it? Please?"

"What?" Gordon says, eyes narrowed in confusion. He investigates the part Benrey's talking about, a piece Gordon wouldn't know how to name in title or function. It doesn't even look important. But it's true that he hasn't tried doing anything with it, and at this point, he'll accept absolutely any source for an answer. f*ck, if a bird sh*t in the right spot, he'd think it was God sending him a message.

So he toys with it, finding quite a bit wrong with it, actually. Or, well, in his uneducated opinion, it seems in need of fixing. Some things, anyone could figure out. So he fixes it up to the best of his ability, now unbothered by Benrey breathing over his shoulder—much quieter, but still raspy and strained—when it means he has a second pair of eyes looking out for whatever he misses.

Once he's finished, he gestures for Benrey to step back so he can climb back into the van and see if he can get it started. He tries not to get his hopes up, but they're real up anyway. If this doesn't work, he'll probably have to replace the engine, and how will he even know what to look for? What if he messes something up taking the old one out or putting the new one in?

As Gordon turns the key, his excitement peaks before dropping deep into disappointment… prematurely, as the engine roars to life, proving his inherent pessimism wrong. The… it's working. It works!

"Whoo!" Benrey's quietly cheering from the front of the car. "Let's GOOOO! WHOOOO!"

Gordon laughs, something about Benrey's dull tone paired with his indoor-voiced frat boy cheering too hilarious not to enjoy. With the immense relief Gordon feels knowing he's finally out of this situation, how could he not feel a little elation?

"f*ck yeah, baby! We're back in business!" Gordon cheers, softly slapping the steering wheel in celebration.

After switching the car off, the two prepare to leave. Gordon doesn't have to do much, just put caps back on some things, tighten up a few screws, and close the hood. Benrey comes back with mostly-dry laundry and a blow dryer fifteen minutes later. Gordon greets him with some snacks, agreeing to hand over his "munchies" once Benrey's put his clothes away, even if it means chucking them on the trunk floor. Which is exactly what he does. Gordon doesn't care, gladly handing over the treats while Benrey cheers and loudly gobbles them down in less than a minute. How Benrey doesn't choke is beyond him.

As for Gordon, he just munches on a granola bar to keep his energy up, sipping at some coffee here and there. Now that they're ready to leave, they need a good idea of where they're going, what they're looking for, and what kind of threats they'd consider too much. More to the point, how they're going to properly assess threat levels from here on out.

But none of that is the right conversation to have with Benrey right now. Gordon might not know the slightest f*cking thing about being high long-term, but Benrey's noticeably weirder than usual right now. He keeps petting the car seats and had a full-on conversation about GamerGate with a bug on the ground. Or maybe that's nothing to do with the weed, and everything to do with Benrey.

Either way, they need to figure something out. Gordon mentions as much to Benrey, and they get out their rifle to start investigating the town nearby. It's been completely still from what Gordon can tell, but that isn't really much considering there's some fences and a few trees blocking his line of sight. Even Benrey has to climb onto the van to see properly, doing so with an impressive ease given his… long list of status effects, to put it simply.

"What do you see?" Gordon asks.

After a short pause, Benrey responds, "Uhh… got a WacDonald's. Tha's it, I think. Nothin' else looks good."

Though Gordon insists Benrey tell him everything he sees even if it doesn't "look good", he ends up agreeing that nothing else Benrey points out is even remotely useful to them. Fast food places aren't the best place to go looting, but they've got a lot of salt, which is going to be exceptionally useful when the only food left is stale and tasteless.

"Let's check it out," he says.

Though they don't have a plan in place for how to assess threat levels yet, and this town is exceptionally cursed, Gordon doesn't feel right letting all of Benrey's efforts go to waste. He basically took himself out to mow down hundreds of zombies, and they don't get anything out of that? Bullsh*t.

After some time spent pacing and mapping out a fairly mediocre plan, the two of them start heading into the van. That's when Gordon realizes something.

"Wait, you're not going out there dressed like that, are you?"

"Huh…?" Benrey looks from Gordon down to his outfit, which leaves so much skin bare. Not to mention how easy it'd be to rip that shirt off of him. Not that Gordon's thinking about how easy Benrey's clothes would be to remove! "What are you, my dad?"

"We're going out into a potentially zombie infested street, a f*cking crop top and low rise pants isn't gonna protect you from getting bitten!"

"Jus'… throw on a jacket," Benrey mumbles.

"And get blood all over your white pants?" Gordon points out. Not that that's the most pressing thing in the world, he just wants Benrey to get back into something more protective. "You know how f*cking hard it is to get blood stains out of sh*t?"

"Easy. Club Soda."

"Wh—Club—How would you know that?"

"You ever met a woman, bro?"

"How—What does that have to do with—?"

"Not even some boy puss*, bro? Spread some red wings and, uh, fly? To the grocery store? Pick up some Clubbed Sody Pop for all that ails you—your clothes?"

Suddenly, what Benrey means clicks. As disgusting as his explanation is, Gordon feels stupid for not getting it until then. Maybe he deserved to hear all that.

In his stunned silence, Benrey tsks and reaches for the door. "Whatever. Gonna… gonna go ride in the trunk," he announces, hopping out to do just that.

Gordon sighs. If this is Benrey throwing a temper tantrum by refusing to sit up front with him, this is gonna go so much harder. But they gotta try, no matter how difficult Benrey's being.

So, after Gordon hears the trunk doors open and close, Gordon counts to twenty and pulls out of the parking lot, leaving the truck behind. The drive is short, and as he arrives outside the fast food joint, he can see a nearby grocery store that's definitely worth checking out. Probably got blocked by trees or something—the logo is facing away, after all.

Parking where they could easily make their escape, Gordon gears up and hops out. Walking around to the back of the van, he gives a gentle knock to the closed trunk doors and a hissed out, "Come on, man, we're here." There's no response, and Gordon doesn't wait for one, spotting a few zombies hanging around which he takes the time to clear out. Felling one calls forth another, and Gordon keeps luring them out into the open until he hopefully runs out.

He's about to take down another when there's suddenly an axe splitting open the zombie's head, the weapon effortlessly tugged back out and lightly tossed in a showy gesture. Gordon turns to find Benrey stood next to him, now in full uniform, his other outfit completely absent.

"Yo," Benrey casually greets, his voice muffled by his mask. "We goin' in… that?" He points back to the grocery store.

"Yeah," Gordon agrees, taking a moment to catch his breath. "We're gonna empty it out first, bound to have better sh*t. Just don't take anything pointless, we don't need a full pack of toothbrushes or… a… f*ckin', yoyo or whatever."

"'Kay," is all Benrey says before they break open the locked doors with Gordon's crowbar; again taking it without asking and putting it back when they're done. Gordon huffs, but doesn't complain. Benrey's better at the more physical stuff anyway, and it's not like Gordon gets a kick out of doing it himself. Well, he did the first few times, but he's over it now.

The store isn't anything to write home about. Generic, save for, you know, the blood and corpses. There's more stuff to kill, especially in the back where they've wandered off for some f*cking reason. They take the time to check every nook and cranny for danger, bagging useful stuff along the way.

Gordon only catches Benrey f*cking around a handful of times, like when he spots him chewing an entire pack of gum and blowing bubbles instead of taking down the zombie five feet to his right. It's annoying when Gordon's already so f*cking exhausted, and lugging around canned goods and bags of rice or pasta isn't helping matters. Benrey's stronger than he is, he should be doing all this!

Despite that, looting goes surprisingly well. The place wasn't super well stocked, but it's far better than the last few places he's been to, with no horde to chase him away from it. They even got some good salty snacks out of it.

"Yoooo, check it outtttt," Benrey's saying, presenting Gordon with a bag of…

"Takis? What—Those are gross, dude!"

"WHAT?" Benrey softly exclaims, sounding more genuinely offended than Gordon's ever heard. "How could you say that?"

"They're not even hot! They're sour!"

The two of them bicker over chip flavors for awhile, with Gordon grimacing at the amount of blue Takis Benrey manages to cram into a bag. That's when Benrey starts calling him a cuck for being excited about a box of Milk Duds.

"What are you? Uhhhh, senior discount boy?" Benrey mocks. "You got your, card carrying… membership package?"

"f*ck you, man, I'm only twenty-seven!"

"Whoa, an old? More olds than me?"

"Wh—" Gordon pauses, mulling over that information. Benrey's younger than him? Or is that just another joke? "Wait, how old are you?"

Benrey blanches. "Uh… twentyyyyy—…" His gaze wanders, and he wanders off as he spots something in the distance, using another found snack to change the subject with. In this case, shrimp flavored Pringles, which is a whole new argument. Gordon refuses to believe Benrey would eat that sh*t, it has to be a prank he's pulling.

Either way, they load up the car a decent amount with some cloth shopping bags from the checkstands inside. A few more zombies have wandered in since then, and the two work to take them out together before they move on to the McDonald's.

The place looks even worse, and Gordon's happy he remembered to put his mask back on when they left the grocery store. It looks like someone's already been by on a zombie killing massacre, but he gets the feeling that if he looked closer, it would be a different story. Which is why he doesn't.

Benrey does, though. Luckily, he doesn't share what he finds.

"Yo, this dude's got a sick knife on him."

Except for that. But Gordon can tolerate that, and Benrey tolerates him talking about game execs and their knife collections—again—so they're roughly even.

The kitchen is in a sorry state as well. This place feels sickeningly familiar—Gordon's not so sure he'll ever feel comfortable in a restaurant kitchen again, not after what happened last time. He can still smell the blood and hear the screams as Benrey had… Gordon shakes his head, not wanting to relive it.

Even if there were fresh food here, Gordon's not sure he'd want it with the amount of blood and bile on everything, not to mention the rat that runs past on their way in. It doesn't make it out—Benrey chucks his new knife and pierces it to the floor with stunning accuracy. It's distressing seeing the little guy struggle, the blade not quite killing it fast enough. Not that Gordon does anything about it, because he'd rather not get near that disease infested thing.

"Man, how did you get so f*cking…" Gordon pauses, making a circular gesture as he searches for the right word. Benrey doesn't wait, already digging through cabinets. "Accurate? You never did this sh*t at Black Mesa. But you're a f*cking pro at this, man, you even do those… police takedowns and sh*t."

"NOT police," Benrey scoffs in total disgust. Gordon doesn't get the chance to point out that he's in riot gear, because Benrey's suddenly chucking something at his head with zero warning. The familiar motion sends a brief spike of panic through him. He manages to avoid a concussion by snatching the thing out of the air at the last second, where he finds a full, unopened jar of pickles. Great. More pickles. Like they aren't finding enough of these, already.

"Goddammit, Benrey. Did you have to throw it at me?"

Again, there's no response. Grumbling some more, Gordon fits the bottle into his bag and gets to work.

There's not a lot to find, not really. Most of the good sh*t is infested with bugs or chewed through by rats, and that's not counting all the rotten meat in the freezers. Gordon has to slap a rotten apple pie out of Benrey's hands, and again some apple slices, and again some moldy apple juice. By then, they've just about grabbed everything there is to grab, and he's in the middle of scolding Benrey for being a freak over apple products when Benrey's suddenly placing a hand over his mouth.

"Hear that?" he whispers.

Gordon goes right into panic mode, struggling to detect what Benrey already has. At first, there's nothing. A single moment of hope where he dares to believe that Benrey's being paranoid, for once.

And then, there's everything. Groaning and snarling fill the air, followed by loud bursts of shattered glass out in the main restaurant. A door splinters, chairs and trash cans are knocked down, and banging starts up on the back door leading out of the kitchen.

Gordon doesn't know where to look with everything happening all at once. He should tell Benrey to handle one of the exits while he handles the other, it's basic math, after all. There's two entrances and two of them. But he doesn't think to suggest that, not when zombies are flooding into the kitchen before he can so much as utter a single syllable. Benrey's got his gun out, the sound of each shot deafeningly loud.

All Gordon can do is react. His gun leaps into his hand and he starts firing, heart hammering away in his chest as he focuses on whichever zombie is the closest to chomping his face off. One after the other, they fall, more lured in by the cacophony of snarls and gunshots until the swarm feels endless. Gordon's shoulders ache as he fires round after round, struggling to maintain his accuracy through a haze of exhaustion and panic.

"f*ck… f*ck!" Blood rains over his head as he shoots a zombie's head into multiple pieces from point-blank range. The blood showers over his glasses, making it even harder to see when two more swarm in to take the first one's place. "sh*t!"

He shoves another away from him, taking it down with a boot to the skull. He didn't expect that to work, but it splatters open like a watermelon in a single kick.

"GORDON!" he hears Benrey yell, turning to find him pressed into the corner of the counters, struggling to fight off a zombie that's trying to take a bite out of his face. It's even worse on his side of the room, the island counters dividing it in two with the bulk of the zombies cramming into a line converging on Benrey's location.

With the blood covering half of Gordon's glasses, he can't tell exactly what he's leaving behind as he rushes into the crowd, grabbing the zombie snapping its teeth alarmingly close to Benrey's face, and slamming its head into the wall, surprised when it dies on impact. Whipping around, he throws up his left arm to block his face as another zombie charges forward. Teeth clamp ineffectually around the sleeve of his HEV suit, bits of molar breaking off as the zombie struggles to bite through. A quick shot from his handgun silences the thing permanently, at the cost of getting even more blood and brain matter all over his suit.

Through it all, he can feel the weight of Benrey behind him, pressed into the counters, safe from harm. He also feels it when Benrey drops into a crouch, firing his pistol from there. It's an odd choice from the man who's so much taller than Gordon, but he won't question it right now. It works in their favor either way, with Gordon acting as a shield and Benrey working to immobilize the enroaching threat.

When the last zombie falls, Gordon's vision is spinning. Blood rushes in his ears, his pulse pounding hard and fast, unable to comprehend the reality of his situation. It's over. And as his eyes scan over the fallen, he realizes it really wasn't as many as it felt like, all bunched together into a small space like that. Though even one zombie is enough to kill, and these ones are tough. The adrenaline is the only thing keeping Gordon from falling apart into a heap of aching limbs and overworked lungs.

It's the same for Benrey, gun held at the ready, prepared for another to come limping in. Panting from the exertion, it takes them both a solid minute to realize no one is coming. It's well and truly over, even if it doesn't feel like it.

Gordon's hands shake, hesitating to place his gun back into its holster as he keeps his eyes trained on the two entrances to the kitchen. Each motion is like fighting through tar as he puts his weapon away and turns to face Benrey, noting the shell shocked look on his face, the way he shudders as he eyes the corpses lining the tile floor.

"You okay, man?" Gordon manages to say. All he gets out of Benrey is a nod. Not trusting that reaction entirely, Gordon tries observing Benrey for any signs of injury, but his vision is unfocused, his glasses are drenched in blood, and he can't tell anything apart when Benrey's covered in blood and bits of viscera, so he decides to save the medic routine for later. Reaching out, he helps Benrey back to his feet. "Why'd you duck?"

"What?" Benrey breathes, not quite on the same page yet. Feeling much the same way, Gordon gives him time to figure it out, wiping down his glasses in the meantime. "You like gun shotting in your ear? I'm nice."

"You're nice?"

"Yeah. Real nice."

Though skeptical, Gordon decides he doesn't care to question it. The room's spinning and he can't shake the feeling of dread and panic clinging to his skin. So he grabs Benrey's hand, giving no thought as to why he felt the need to do that, and leads them both out, through the now-broken exit door and into the open air.

It feels like the temperature's dropped a few degrees, the sky greyer than Gordon remembers. He walks them both back to the van, surprised to find the streets around them devoid of threat. Maybe, if they're lucky, every zombie within hearing range just died in the recent battle.

Releasing Benrey's hand, Gordon chucks his new loot into the back. It only amounted to one bag with mostly sauce and salt packets, with Benrey's loot not much better. Though he hasn't made a move to toss his in, yet. Probably still reeling from the sudden attack. Gordon shrugs it off, turning to do another perimeter check just to be safe when he's stopped by Benrey's hand gripping his fingers. Letting out a surprised sound, Gordon whips around to stare down at the point of contact, unable to feel its warmth or texture.

"Are we friends?" Benrey's sudden query throws Gordon for a loop, causing him to do a double take, unsure what to think of the way Benrey's looking at him right now. He can't place the emotion behind his eyes, but it makes him squirm with discomfort either way.

"What… why are you asking that now?" Benrey merely stares down at him, his gaze weirdly intense, prompting Gordon to search for a proper response to give. But is it really the right time to go talking about what they are to each other? There's hardly a more loaded question that that. Gordon decides to just go for the simple answer to get this over with. "I mean, yeah, I guess?"

Benrey visibly relaxes, the look on his face softening, turning almost friendly despite the lack of smile or really any emotion at all. "Really?"

Gordon squints at him. "Yes?"

The look on Benrey's face, with his lips parted and eyes wide, has Gordon growing even more tense. What is this? What's going on right now? Who even asks sh*t like that at a time like this? Once again, Benrey utterly confounds him, leaving him at a total loss. At least he's not being asked anymore questions. Benrey even releases his hand, signalling the conversation as over. So Gordon leaves it behind.

Or he would. But a gunshot suddenly rings out, sending Gordon nearly jumping out of the f*cking suit as a bullet impacts his thigh, ricocheting off the metal and into the pavement. He falls back against the van, heart pounding deafeningly loud in his ears. It's been… a long time since anyone's shot at him.

"Wh… What the f*ck, Benrey?!" he exclaims, seeing the bullet in the concrete, the smoking gun in Benrey's hand, the borderline clueless look on his face.

"Huh?" Benrey says, because of-f*cking-course he would.

"You f*cking SHOT ME!" Gordon nearly shrieks, even less prepared to handle whatever the f*ck this is, and right after the friendship talk…! "Can you make sense for FIVE SECONDS?"

"Whuh… just trying to make a circle," Benrey says.

Utterly perplexed, Gordon looks from Benrey down to his thigh, where a very faint dent has been left in the metal. Or maybe it was already there, it's not like Gordon's memorized this sh*t. The suit's covered in tiny dents and scorch marks anyway.

"Well I guess you got one?!" Gordon says, his voice bordering on hysterical while Benrey doesn't even look phased. "Now stop f*cking pointing guns at me and put that thing away! With the safety on, Benrey!"

"Ghh… whatever, not my dad…" Though Benrey still does it, Gordon grinds his teeth in agitation the entire time, anyway.

"Christ, man. What's wrong with you?"

"Mental illness," comes Benrey's immediate response as he steps up to toss his loot inside the trunk. Yet again, Gordon finds himself at a loss.

With a tired sigh, he turns and heads for the front seat, grumbling under his breath, "What am I supposed to f*ckin' say to that…"

Their little… spat, whatever the f*ck that just was, has drawn even more zombies their way, expediting their escape. Hopping into the front seat, Gordon calls for Benrey to hurry up before more zombies are on their asses. There's no argument, just the trunk doors slamming shut and Benrey rushing to catch up with him in the front. The instant both doors are closed, Gordon slams on the gas, leaving this awful place behind them.

Chapter 20: all of these, all of these racing cars

Chapter Text

"If we spend another hour in tree hell I'm gonna scream," Gordon says.

In no universe has he ever experienced a road trip that was more wilderness than civilization. Having to go through more boring, nonsensical travel sends his already volatile emotions on a cracked out ride through the worst rollercoaster in the world. The reminder that this sh*t is some alternate reality is relieving—it's scary—it's nauseating—it comes with far too many implications—it's annoying because nothing makes any f*cking sense anymore, and so on, and so forth.

Never a dull moment. Not even in tree hell.

"Think I saw a squirrel a mile back," Benrey idly comments, as if this will make Gordon feel better. It doesn't; he lets out a closed mouth cry of agony, lowering his head onto the steering wheel. It's not like he's gonna hit anything, it's all straight roads with zombies preferring the grass to the concrete.

Eventually, they're forced to stop upon encountering a congestion of broken down vehicles. Some look totalled to the point of sheer unbelievability: no tires, no paint, burnt to sh*t. When they get out to investigate, one of them has the door fall off the instant Benrey tries to open it. Yet there's about three totally normal cars, still crunchy looking, but believably so. It's like a prop in a cartoon, less detailed than the environment so you know exactly which item the characters are gonna interact with. Or, in this case, they're the only cars with paint jobs.

And, yeah, they interact with those ones. If they wanna get past this stuff—in lieu of turning around and driving an hour back to the last intersection—they're gonna have to clear a path. Should be easy if they just move two of the "real" vehicles aside.

Though thinking of them as "real" is making Gordon more jittery and rambly as the two work through their task, looting before pushing the cars aside. Benrey's looking at him… not weirdly, but he's staring more than usual, which is Gordon's first clue that his anxiety is showing far too much.

He tries to self-soothe through a method that isn't pacing and never shutting the hell up, looking for things in his environment to focus on, to ground him. Things that are real. The air smells real, for instance. There's the slight scent of petrichor hinting at rain. The cars have readable license plates, a few novelty, but all unique.

"Wait," Gordon says, doing a double take at the license plate on the red sports car they just finished pushing out of the way. "Hey, you f*ckin' see this?"

He kneels down to check out the plate. Behind him, Benrey bends to check it out as well, looking entirely nonplussed. "Numbers…"

"No, not the numbers! Look!" Gordon points at the name of the state attached to it, something that hasn't been present on a single other car they've found. It's a detail Gordon noticed but didn't really notice until now.

"México," Benrey says in a bored tone.

"New Mexico!" Gordon exclaims, throwing out his hands. He jumps to his feet, racing from car to car checking every plate. The (not real) destroyed ones have no plates whatsoever, but the (real) only mildly damaged ones all say "New Mexico" on the license plates. Benrey merely stands back to watch as he does so, brows furrowed. "That… That has to mean…!"

He stands still as he lets this revelation wash over him. If this is all here… is it like the map, which claimed to place him in New Mexico, but turned out to mean nothing at all, or is it a real clue that he's right outside the state? Gordon's never been to any of the states bordering New Mexico, so he can't claim to know what any of it looks like. (Though he could point out that the forests surrounding the road don't even remotely line up with being right outside a literal desert, but he won't, not right now.)

"Let's go, we gotta get moving," Gordon urges, jumping into action to push the car by himself, but it won't even budge. "C'mon, help me!"

"Uh… what if we… didn't," Benrey blandly suggests.

"What?" Gordon stops, looking back at Benrey like he's crazy. Benrey glances around, his glowing blue eyes landing on the forest to their right. He gestures off in that direction.

"Could… go camping… Got tarps and some roasty toasty—uh, marshmallow."

"What the f*ck… can you shut up for a second and help me push this sh*t?"

Benrey's shoulders slump, but he moves to help Gordon with the car. The act becomes immensely easier, and Gordon isn't sure if it's their combined strength or if Benrey could do this without him, but it doesn't matter. They have a path forward, and that's all that matters.

Gordon doesn't waste a moment, darting for the van and yelling after Benrey to stop dragging his feet. If they're close to New Mexico, that means they're close to Black Mesa, and to getting the hell out of here. Gordon refuses to consider any other possibility.

After a half hour of driving, during which Benrey keeps nagging him to stop shaking his knee so much, they find a city. It doesn't look familiar, not at first. Then Gordon starts noticing things. A sign, a shop, a familiar driveway. It's only bits and pieces here and there, could mean nothing. After all, it's not like he knows New Mexico especially well. He's lived here such a short time. But he notices these things anyway, wondering what they could mean.

Everytime he points out one of these things, Benrey either keeps quiet or immediately changes the subject in a glaringly obvious manner. It would be more annoying if Gordon didn't have other sh*t to focus on. There's always zombies to fight and stores to loot, which takes precedence over the two of them bickering like children. And like always, the town's dense enough to take a whole day to work through.

Luckily, they're better prepared for the next few towns they sweep through on later days. Wanting to avoid a repeat of the last town, Gordon devises a plan. With some input from Benrey, but it's mostly him.

Each town they encounter, the two of them will map out with Benrey's rifle scope and a notebook, making plans for where they're heading and how to draw away hordes, or take them out with Benrey's assault rifle. It wouldn't be the first time he's cleared out a whole block that way, after all. They just have to make sure he has room to run.

A few of the towns they employ this method on over the next week, they get creative with—setting off car alarms or activating police sirens and simply waiting before rushing in to take everything the zombies leave behind.

But it's still not easy. Every time they think they'll get out of something unscathed, there's a zombie there to ruin their day. And one zombie always means more. There's plenty of close calls, a few injuries to patch up, and one building Gordon sets ablaze with a misplaced bullet. But they lived.

After that last major mishap, they escape to a roadside motel covered in ash and soot to get washed up. The last thing Gordon wants is for everything they own to get covered in the stuff—the smell is worse than he expected, and the texture is twice as bad, even if it's only on his face. And although Benrey acts unbothered, Gordon still catches him aggressively rubbing his hands on anything he can. A bath is sorely needed.

The motel's only got a few zombies to take down, the combination of ash and blood making Gordon a little nauseous from the sheer discomfort alone. For once, he's glad he's got the HEV suit on to protect him from this.

And then he catches Benrey trying to clean his hands with blood, to which Gordon slaps his hands away. "There's showers, like, right in there!" he sharply gestures to the motel. "You can wait a minute, dude."

"Urghhh…" Benrey groans, wiping his hands on the old brick building as they travel from room to room in search of one that's suitable. Apart from running water, Gordon's only requirement is that the bathroom isn't dirtier than they are.

Finally, Benrey locates one that satisfies Gordon's tiny list of requirements, throwing his off clothes as he darts into the bathroom, Gordon scurrying after him. The door's broken thanks to Benrey's haste to get inside, so Gordon has to block it with a nearby dresser to keep it closed. He's quick about it, though, not wanting to spend anymore time covered in filth than he has to.

"Bro, come onnnn-uhhh," Benrey calls from the bathroom. The sound of running water fills the air behind him, and judging by the trail of clothes leading into the bathroom, Benrey's already stripped naked.

There's a moment where Gordon automatically obeys, walking towards the bathroom with thoughts of gym locker rooms in mind. But he stops halfway there as reality crashes down upon him. The HEV suit. Benrey. A tiny bath that would hardly fit two people. Gordon's face burns; what was he thinking? As if he really wants to step into a shower wearing a full f*cking suit of armor with a guy that's totally nude, and completly annoying. How f*cking weird would that be? As if he needs more reasons to feel like a robot with a human head slapped on.

No, that's insane. They don't shower together.

"I'm gonna drink all the water and it'll be GONE," Benrey calls.

Gordon barks a laugh despite his sour mood. The thought of Benrey stood in there, naked, aiming a detachable shower head into his open mouth is too funny not to enjoy. His tone is light as he calls back, "I'm not showering with you! You'd do something weird, like last time!"

"Dumb little Ash Ketchum boy too straight to shower with his bro, BIG sads."

"I am NOT—! Oh, you're gonna get it, you little gremlin."

Marching into the bathroom, he discovers that Benrey's not actually nude—he's wearing swim trunks and a tight black camisole, both lightly soaked from the water, which is all over the floor. The shower head is held in Benrey's hands, leg propped up on the rim of the tub to clean the filth from his body. Surprise flickers across his face as he stares down at Gordon.

The shower head is snatched out of his hands, and he throws up his arms to block a spray of water Gordon sends his way. "Waahhh!" he cries out.

"Call me straight, I'll f*ckin' show you straight," Gordon grumbles. "C'mere!"

Chasing Benrey around the tiny bathroom creates a huge mess, but fortunately, no one slips. Instead, there's laughter, the glow of green sweet voice, and childish teasing.

It reminds Gordon of nicer times, better times, when he'd chase his son around the yard with a hose in the middle of summer. The way he'd squeal and giggle as he ran around, splashing in the mud and the little kiddy pool Gordon managed to fit in the backyard of his old apartment. This feels similarly innocent. For once, Benrey isn't in some skimpy nonsense, and there's no bickering, no come-ons, just good ol' fashioned fun.

Benrey yanks the water away, going on the offensive. "Benrey, no, not the f—!" Gordon throws up his hands to protect his glasses from the blast of water Benrey shoots him with, his villainous cackling filling the air.

It's the only time he tries that, even if Gordon doesn't get as much enjoyment out of having the HEV suit get blasted. He can't feel it. But he can hear it, and it's soaking his hair by proxy, and in the game with no rules Gordon somehow feels like he's losing if he gets hit at all. Which makes it entertaining when he does, and even better when he gets the water back to start blasting Benrey with it again.

Soon, they're both tuckered out, and Gordon gives Benrey one last power wash to ensure he's actually clean before they move on, with Benrey hosing down Gordon's suit until he's just as squeaky clean. From there, they wash Benrey's clothes in the tub, pass some towels around, and work together to thoroughly dry the HEV suit.

"Can't have my bro rusting," Benrey says, while kneeled down scrubbing the ass of Gordon's suit. It would feel so much weirder if it could feel at all, but as it is, Gordon isn't bothered by the act itself. Though the part where Benrey goes, "Heh heh, nice" as he cups the front of the codpiece is a little annoying.

As some sort of thanks, Gordon urges Benrey to sit down on the toilet seat so he can dry his hair for him. They're helping each other out after all, having fun, bonding. And after Benrey put so much effort into wiping down the HEV suit, which isn't a short or easy task, Gordon would rather give the guy a moment to rest than make him dry himself, too. Feels selfish.

Luckily, Benrey doesn't have a lot of hair to work through. It's grown since this whole mess first started, but not in any significant way, keeping it a short and easy task.

Once Gordon's done, he brings the towel down to rest along Benrey's shoulders, watching as his glowing blue eyes turn up towards him, a softness in his gaze. Even sitting down, Benrey feels tall, tall enough that Gordon wouldn't have to lean very far down to kiss him.

The instant that thought pops into his head, Gordon burns hot with embarrassment. Hastily averting his gaze, he quickly finds some other task to busy himself with, not wanting to look at Benrey while his heart's pounding like an idiot school girl.

Once they're all washed up and Benrey's clothes are hanging from the shower rod, they retire back to the main room. It's… gross, but Benrey clearly doesn't care about how stained and smelly the mattress is, flopping onto the bed once he's exchanged his swim trunks for striped baby blue and white pajama pants. Figuring that, in the HEV suit, Gordon can't get too filthy laying on a dirty mattress—it's not bug infested, from what he can tell—he shrugs and joins in. There's only one bed, but it's a double and easily fits them both.

After a moment of much needed relaxation, Benrey rolls onto his back and says, "Diablo?"

"f*ck yeah," Gordon responds.

For the rest of the night, they do nothing but play video games. The hours blend into each other until Gordon's too tired to continue, which is when they head to bed, each with their own pillow on separate sides. Laying flat on his back, Gordon closes his eyes, doing his best to ignore the acrid smell and discomfort that comes with sleeping in the suit.

In the morning, he gets up to discover something strange. He's well-rested, waking easily and with only a dull ache in his joints. But that's not the weird part.

The oddity comes in the form of Benrey, curled up at Gordon's side with both legs thrown over his thigh, head laid on his chest plate, and an arm draped across his waist. Though the only part he can feel is Benrey's hair tickling his jaw, he can see enough to know that Benrey's cuddling him.

Gordon sucks in an unsteady breath, face burning hot as his heart starts racing. This is… new. They've slept in the same bed once before and never ended up this way, but maybe that's too small a sample size. Benrey's slept with a plush bear before, so this must just be what he's like; gotta hold something to sleep properly. Yeah. No reason to freak out about it!

Beyond the obvious embarrassment, Gordon's left wondering how the f*ck this could possibly be comfortable for Benrey. His cheek's pressed into the cold, hard metal of the chest plate, the fabric of his pants ridden up so his ankles and bare feet are exposed to the plating on his legs. It's like cuddling an action figure.

Gordon shifts, hoping to wake Benrey up. Though he stirs, he doesn't wake, instead curling up tighter and dipping his fingers into one of the divets on the chest plate. Gordon holds back a sigh. This isn't gonna be easy, is it?

"Benrey," Gordon hisses, continuing to shift about in an attempt to either dislodge, or wake the man stuck to his side. "Benrey, wake up. Benrey!"

"Huh?! Whuh—" Benrey wakes with a start, lifting his head up and revealing the small puddle of drool he left on the chest plate. Finding nothing threatening, Benrey lays his head back down, smacking his lips and curling up tighter, hand more firmly grasping the chest plate. The tug Gordon feels there, however faint, makes it extra clear to him that this was intentional. Benrey even rubs his cheek on the metal, seeming to find something enjoyable about it.

Flustered, Gordon does the only thing he can think to do. He yells, "Can you get the f*ck off me?!"

"Whuh—!" Benrey startles, before burying his face in the center of the chest plate with a loud groan. "Ughhhh finnnnnnne-uhhh." When he pushes himself up, Gordon immediately scurries away, uncertain why his skin tingles beneath the suit when Benrey never laid hands on his actual body.

Benrey doesn't seem to notice his reaction, too busy yawning and rubbing his eyes. There's a line across his face from where the suit pressed into his skin, on his ankles, too. Heat floods Gordon's face, his gut churning with something like longing and regret.

"S'too early for this," Gordon grumbles under his breath, getting out of bed so he doesn't have to look at Benrey for awhile.

Heading into the bathroom, he gets his normal stuff done, no longer needing to care for the wound on his face. It's healing nicely, no longer stitched up or inflammed. Thank god, because those pills were a f*cking nightmare.

When he exits the bathroom, he nearly immediately turns back around. Because out in the main room is Benrey, in the same outfit with the tight camisole that barely covers anything, doing his morning stretches. This would be fine if not for the fact that it means Gordon's greeted to the sight of the muscles in Benrey's back and abdomen flexing as he moves, his chest nearly spilling out of his shirt. His nipples are hard. God, why did Gordon have to go and notice THAT?!

"Oh. Hey, bro," Benrey casually greets, slightly out of breath. Gordon's seen this before, though he usually tunes it out after his reaction to seeing it the first time. But tuning it out gets more difficult when he's actively trying to stop thinking about Benrey and Benrey's body and Benrey's lips and—

This trip couldn't just be easy, could it?

"I'mmmm gonna make us some food," Gordon says, coming up with an excuse to leave as he speaks. Benrey doesn't seem to notice this, letting him go with nothing beyond a request for more rice. A request Gordon willingly fills when it means it'll take even longer before he has to look at Benrey again.

Beyond that, there's no further incidents, the morning progressing in a typical manner. With breakfast eaten and Benrey properly suited up, they're good to get back on the road towards their next adventure. Though calling them "adventures" is awfully generous, given they're life or death situations that keep Gordon awake at night.

But they're getting more and more efficient, with less close calls and bigger successes. There's even time to f*ck around a bit, steal a few things purely for the entertainment value. Though, Gordon doesn't think he'll be around long enough to play all these games they're grabbing. He can feel it. They're getting close to something important.

Ever since they got separated back at the farm, Gordon's been the one doing all the driving. Outside a few fringe cases where Benrey offered to drive to keep Gordon's strength up (or because he wasn't focusing properly), that hasn't changed. It's still Benrey's car, though, even if it's just something he stole from a bank somewhere. Even Gordon isn't willing to debate him on that.

So when Benrey gets more and more insistent that Gordon let him take the wheel over the next few days, it doesn't feel like an argument worth pursuing. No matter how Gordon feels about it, it's not his vehicle. He can't hog it.

Doesn't mean he doesn't backseat drive Benrey every step of the way, though, directing him to wherever he wants to go, scolding him when he starts mowing down zombies again, and generally pestering him until he does whatever Gordon demands. He just, he has to. Benrey keeps taking weird routes and completely missing where they're supposed to be going. Oftentimes, it feels like he's doing it on purpose just to be irritating.

It's not just the driving, either. Take now, for instance. They've stopped outside another city, far enough away to avoid drawing attention, but close enough to do their usual surveyance. It's first thing in the morning, the two of them having slept in the back of the van. Gordon starts preparing breakfast when he notices Benrey, fully suited up and hopping out with a rifle slung over his shoulder and a notebook in hand, blue ballpoint pen slid into the rings.

"Whoa whoa, hey, where the f*ck are you going?" Gordon asks, scrambling to stop Benrey from wandering off.

"Up," he says.

And he's gone before Gordon can stop him, pulling himself onto the roof like it's easy and taking all his tools with him. Mapping things out on paper like that is an inefficient system they both suck at, but it's enough just to make a crude reference before traipsing out into dangerous territory.

But that's an activity for them to do together. With only Benrey doing the work, Gordon just has to trust whatever he says, and regardless of what they've been through together, Gordon does not trust him on this. Gordon can only trust himself, his own eyes and his own experiences. Benrey will probably miss something important; he usually does. This isn't Gordon being arrogant, either, they need two eyes on this!

But trying to call Benrey back down only creates unnecessary noise, and trying to lure him down with food just results in him snatching the bowl out of Gordon's hands before he can react. Only once Benrey's done with his work does he come back down, joining Gordon at a nearby stream to wash his dishes. It's awkward. Gordon can't figure out what's happening or why Benrey's suddenly so closed-off.

"Finally, you got off the f*cking roof," Gordon says in lieu of a greeting.

"Good morning," Benrey blandly says.

"Lemme see those." Without waiting on a response, Gordon reaches for the notebook tucked under Benrey's arm, just for Benrey to move it high up above his head. With an annoyed huff, Gordon crosses his arms. "Really? We're doing this, now?"

"Gotta wait 'til, uhhh… meeting."

"A meeting? So, what, I'm just supposed to trust you did everything right and go off your word? No f*cking way. I'm taking a look myself, and you can't stop me."

Turns out Benrey very much can stop him. Though Gordon can get to the roof of the van by climbing onto the hood, Benrey hops into the driver's seat to start lurching forward and back until Gordon falls off. It's childish, and Gordon makes his anger very clear.

"What the f*ck is wrong with you?" he snaps, standing yelling at Benrey through the open driver's side window. Benrey doesn't even look at him. "Are you trying to get us both killed? This isn't about whatever stupid f*cking reason you're doing this for, this is an apocalypse. Where we could both DIE."

"It's my car," is all Benrey says.

"I don't—CARE! We agreed on this, Benrey. It's worked just fine for us so far, and now you're being a total ass about it for no reason?"

"It's my car," Benrey insists. "And I'm leaving."

"Whuh—" The car starts forward a few inches, making Benrey's threat feel all the more real as Gordon scrambles to stop him. But… they can't have another repeat of before, when they were exhausted and nearly died trapped in an office building. It can't happen again. "Wait! I—I'll kiss you again! That's what you want, right?"

Even like this, Gordon doesn't miss the agitated grimace that comes over Benrey's face. "Gross," he says. "No one wants that."

"What? You—Ughhh, whatever! Just let me in the f*cking car!"

At least Benrey doesn't protest that, probably because he won the argument with his childish antics. Though Gordon makes his displeasure very clear as he climbs into the passenger's seat in a huff, remaining fidgety and agitated while they go over the plan. It's normal stuff, although they usually don't bicker and insult each other as much while going over it.

Though, it's mostly Gordon doing that. Benrey seems like he doesn't want to be doing this with so much hostility between them, but Gordon doesn't know what he expected.

Still, Gordon does what he can to internalize the information in their plan so he won't f*ck this up with his anger. It's a difficult thing to reign in, but as they get to driving, it fades naturally into anxiety. Which actually isn't much better.

As they drive, Gordon looks around. There's something familiar about this place, but he brushes it off. It's a feeling he's felt a lot lately, to the point that it's losing its effectiveness. Most American cities look similar, anyway. And this one's got a lot going on that isn't familiar at all, aside from the death and decay, obviously. But it won't stop nagging at him. It's like stepping into your childhood home and finding completely different furniture arranged in a totally different way. He feels like he should know where he is, even more than the other towns they've been through in the past week or so. But it's just not clicking.

Until he spots something. There's a couple of them, lining one of the streets they briefly pass by, but Gordon saw it, sitting up and craning his neck around to try and get another glimpse of it.

"Wait! Stop! Did you—You f*cking saw that, right?"

"No," Benrey's too quick to say, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.

"The alien streetlamps! We're in ROSWELL!"

"What?" Benrey blurts, his shoulders tense and knuckles turning white where he's gripping the wheel. "Roswell's not real, you're crazy."

Gently slapping the window, Gordon spins back around to point out the windshield. "Take that turn up there! It'll—"

Suddenly, Benrey slams on the gas, wildly swinging the steering wheel to send them careening down the street in the opposite direction, tires screeching loudly against the pavement. Gordon's body jerks, saved from flying into the backeat only by his seat belt.

"What the f*ck, man! Slow down!" Gordon screeches, gripping onto whatever he can reach.

"Uh, it—It's broke, bro, uhhhh, out of control… broken, oh no…" His voice is far too calm given the situation, the van just barely avoiding crashing into obstacle after obstacle as they careen down the street at a breakneck pace. Zombies and gunshots may have no effect on Gordon with the suit on, but having his neck snap when Benrey crashes the f*cking car sure as f*ck will!

"STOP THE f*ckING CAR!" Gordon shrieks over the roar of the engine, impulsively reaching out to grab the wheel and creating a struggle that sends the car zigzagging.

"Bro, stop!" Benrey shouts, as Gordon struggles to stretch his leg towards the break pedal. "STOP! You're acting crazy!"

Shoving Gordon away, Benrey moves his foot to the break, harshly jerking the wheel to one side and sending the car spinning to a stop. It tips to one side, with Gordon screaming, "Oh, sh*t!" as he falls towards the door. Panicked, Benrey hastily unclicks Gordon's seatbelt to yank him into his lap, shifting the center of balance so the car rights itself.

Both men heave a sigh of relief. Then they turn to look at each other, and it's like some kind of sh*tty romance movie, the both of them turning red before Gordon jumps away from him.

"What… the f*ck was that about?" Gordon asks, panting from the sheer terror of it all as he flops heavily back into his seat.

"What was what about? Huh?"

"Don't f*cking start with me!" Gordon snaps, partially standing up to give himself a height advantage over Benrey. He pokes Benrey in the chest as he rants, "You could've gotten us BOTH killed! Are you f*cking insane?!"

Benrey shrinks back against the door, brows furrowed, eyes having trouble figuring out where to look. It's hard to tell if he's ashamed, or looking for a way out. Gordon isn't sure of anything right now. He's used to Benrey being nonsensical, but this was too f*cking much.

"How am I ever supposed to trust you again when you pull sh*t like this?!" Gordon yells, watching as Benrey shrinks even lower. "If you think I'm letting you behind the wheel again, you're dumb as sh*t. Get the f*ck out, I'm driving."

"But—"

"NO! Get out!" Gordon starts pushing him towards the door as he scrambles to turn around, calling out, "Alright, alright! I'm going!"

Gordon opens the door for him, shoving him out onto the pavement where he trips and lands flat on his ass. Not that Gordon cares, slamming the door shut and taking his place.

Moments later, as Gordon's checking for signs of anything wrong on the dashboard, Benrey climbs into the passenger's seat, quietly shutting his door and sitting pressed up against it. Gordon sighs, having no patience left for the man's childish pouting.

"We'll talk about this later," he says, glaring at Benrey one last time before turning the car around and heading back.

Chapter 21: my mind is tricking me and I don’t know what’s going on

Chapter Text

The town is all off. Where Gordon remembers there being a Wendy's, there's now a McDonald's instead. A park becomes a line of shops. Locally owned businesses are entirely new, made-up ones Gordon's never heard of before. Some streets end when they should've lead to other neighborhoods, others branch off into more or less exits than usual. It should also be warmer, and he shouldn't be seeing all these lush forests surrounding the outskirts of town.

It's so vastly different yet similar at the same time, enough that Gordon feels like he knows where he is and where he's going, even if he gets lost a few times. The layout never changes, it hasn't become that kind of a confusing hellscape, even if he often fears it will for how uncanny this all is.

Benrey's silent the entire ride, barely moving if not to blink or breathe. But that doesn't matter. Gordon's destination is in sight, even if it looks slightly to the left of how he remembers it. The building's a different color, with different bushes and trees planted out front, but the address and general layout are identical.

"Holy sh*t, there it is," Gordon says as he pulls into the parking lot out front. Only now does Benrey react, sitting up and looking both surprised and apprehensive of where they've ended up. "Stay here. I gotta go check inside."

Gordon spins around to practically burst out of the car, just for Benrey to grab his arm and halt him halfway out.

"This is a bad idea," Benrey blurts, shrinking back when Gordon aims a deadly glare over his shoulder.

"Why would it be, Benrey?" Gordon coolly asks. "You've been awfully f*cking weird lately. Got anything you wanna share?"

He's been suspicious of Benrey all day, but he hasn't known what to think about it. Seeing Benrey gulp in response to his query is at least confirmation that something's afoot, but what? He looks guilty, like he's done something. Or… like he knows something, but won't share it. It's an expressiveness that reminds Gordon of the boss fight on Xen; the pouting, the whining, the exaggerated glares, all so animated it's nearly cartoonish. There's no doubt in Gordon's mind. Benrey might not have done something, but he's hiding something.

"You shouldn't go in there," Benrey insists.

"You don't even have a f*cking excuse?!" Gordon says, throwing his hand to the side. "You've been f*cking pushing me all day. I'm not letting you dictate this, too. Take the van for all I care, I'm going in."

"Wait—!" Benrey yells, scrambling after Gordon as he yanks his arm back and hops out of the car, sending Benrey face-planting into the driver's seat. "Todd…!"

His fumble allows Gordon a headstart to reach the building before Benrey can mess things up for him. It's a brick and plaster building as a lot of American buildings tend to be, painted a pale yellow when Gordon remembered it being a dull brown. Taking the stairs up to the second floor, he walks to a familiar door, golden letters on the front reading 207.

His fingers graze the doorknob—and he's knocked to the floor, a weight barreling into him and sending him skidding across the harsh stone floor. In struggling to escape, Gordon's wrestled down, catching sight of Benrey looming over him, grabbing his wrists, restraining him.

"Ben—Get the f*ck off!"

"You can't go in there!" Benrey yells, just for Gordon to break free and elbow him directly in the teeth. He lets out a cry of pain, reeling to give Gordon a chance to buck him off. His back hits the railing, creaking under the sudden weight. "No!"

Benrey leaps for him again, grabbing his leg and refusing to let go even as Gordon kicks him in the face. Though he doesn't try to kick hard, he spots blood trickling down Benrey's chin anyway.

"What the f*ck is your problem?!" Gordon shouts for what feels like the hundredth time this month. "I'm trying to find a way out of this mess! It could be—"

A hand grasps onto his codpiece, yanking him back down to the ground where he lands with a harsh thud. "It's not!" Benrey yells back, wrestling Gordon in an attempt to subdue him. "We're stuck here, just get over it already!"

"YOU'RE A f*ckING LIAR!" Yanking one of his arms free, Gordon rears back for any kind of attack, a slap, a punch, whatever, but Benrey catches his wrist before he can land it. He fights against it. "Maybe you're stuck here, but I'M getting out!"

With a growl, Gordon desperately searches for anything he can do to get Benrey away from him. To get inside his apartment, find out what awaits him there. A clue. Another person. A magical portal. Anything! Hell, he doesn't even care if there's nothing, there probably isn't—but if Benrey won't even let him in his own f*cking house, how is he ever gonna get to Black Mesa?

"GET—OFF!" Gordon yells, yanking his arm out of Benrey's clutches and reaching for his freedom.

The gunshot is deafeningly loud. Complete silence follows in its wake, save for the flight of a few birds escaping the sudden explosion of noise. Benrey freezes. As Gordon takes in the look on his face, eyes wide with horror and lips parted in shock, he feels sick to his stomach. Yet he also feels utterly cold and hollow as Benrey slides off of him, reaching for his side, where…

A tear splits open the unprotected side of Benrey's padded jacket, leaving no trace of blood or other sign of injury. Gordon's shot… missed.

But it doesn't matter, because the message was received loud and clear.

Benrey crawls away from him, sitting on the ground several feet back looking frightened. Cautious. Like if he made one wrong move, Gordon would raise his gun and put a bullet between his eyes. Or worse, somewhere he'd be left to suffer as it healed.

The sight of him makes Gordon feel like a total monster.

But he doesn't say anything about it. Because whether or not he feels any guilt, shame, or regret doesn't change the fact that he's so close to finally getting out of this place. To leaving behind all the violence, the fight for survival. To seeing his son again, to seeing all his friends again, to being able to live again. What does Benrey matter?

So he gets up, unable to stop looking down at Benrey until he's forced to in order to open the door. And he steps inside.

Unlike everywhere else, there's nothing different about this place. Well, that isn't completely true. The plant Gordon was struggling to keep alive is dead, the pot knocked over to spill dirt all over the floor. An acrid stench wafts out of his kitchen. The place is covered in dust and the ceiling's been leaking. But it's mostly intact, with all the furniture and video games he remembers.

As he steps inside, he glances around, searching for some sort of sign, a clue, anything. Once he's stood in the center of the living room, the door to the apartment clicks shut, drawing his attention over to where Benrey's followed him inside. He stands there refusing to look at Gordon, not uttering a word.

That's fine. Makes this easier.

The place is dark, the light switches not responding to Gordon's input. Benrey even wanders off to try and turn on the PS3 in the living room, but none of it works. Doesn't mean he doesn't stop trying to troubleshoot, fixated on the problem while Gordon investigates the other rooms.

It's a small apartment, not tiny, but small. Smaller than his last place, anyway. As he checks each room, he finds the kitchen looking mostly normal, apart from the rotting food and all the flies surrounding the dirty dishes in the sink.

Beyond that is the bathroom. There's a first aid kit left on out the counter, hastily pushed back with the toothbrushes and other products when normally it's kept in the medicine cabinet. Searching a little more, Gordon finds a towel draped over the side of the hamper with a small patch of blood on the corner.

He… doesn't like these hints. But he keeps digging, heading to his bedroom, next. The door's ajar, the bag he took to work with him every day tossed at the foot of his bed. He approaches it, digging through the bag for anything interesting, but finding nothing. Well, apart from one item that he stuffs into his holster for later.

Returning to the hallway, Gordon finds there's only one room left to check. But he doubts this one's worth bothering with when the rest of the apartment hasn't given him any answers. After the fight he went through to get in here, though, he has to be thorough. There must be something substantial in here somewhere, something revelatory. A map, a note, even a voice recording would do, as unlikely as that is.

So he approaches the final door, his boots scuffing against the carpet. Standing before it, he looks over the colorful sign made of construction paper and star stickers taped to the front that reads "Joshua's Room".

Pushing open the door, Gordon jumps at the unexpected sight of a person stood in the center of the room. For a moment, all Gordon does is stand there and stare, struggling to comprehend what he sees. It's just… a guy, stood there facing away with a depressed slouch, his body blocking Gordon's line of sight to the bed in the upper corner. His hair, dark and greasy with patches of grey, hangs over his shoulders in frizzy waves. He doesn't turn as Gordon pushes open the door, not appearing to notice.

And Gordon doesn't know what to do. Is this the guy he's looking for, the guy that'll show him the way out? Because he doesn't look like The G-Man, which is kinda what he was expecting, that the light at the end of this tunnel would be Tommy's dad, here to say, "Oh, oops, wrong reality! Let me fix that for you!" But it isn't. Or he just looks different. Maybe he's older now, grown his hair out. What's he looking at, anyway?

Stepping into the room, Gordon peers around the guy, too nervous to greet him verbally. As he does so, his eyes are instantly drawn to the bed.

There's this game he played once, some big viral thing about school girls that was labelled a "psychological horror". He hadn't found it frightening so much as shocking, but there's a moment, right at the end of the first half, that he feels like he's living through in real time.

The sight before him is too grotesque to comprehend. His mind breaks like a screen filling with read errors and white noise, vision going dim and fuzzy. Everything else, every bodily process, every speck of dust in the room, it doesn't exist. All that remains is one thing: His baby boy, Joshua… tiny body tucked into bed, blankets kicked every which way, his throat torn out and blood soaking every surface. It's even worse than that, so much worse, but Gordon can't make himself pick it apart, to analyze every single detail of what he sees. He can barely even tell if he's alive anymore.

A loud snarl reaches his ears, but it's so far away to him, so unimportant. He can't bring himself to look away from the most horrific scene of his life to investigate, can't sort out a single mental process towards assessing a nearby threat. So he doesn't see it coming when he's suddenly knocked to the ground, his limbs automatically moving to hold the danger at bay.

Line of sight broken, Gordon manages to snap out of it, looking up at the zombie struggling to reach his face, stuck at a distance with Gordon's legs folded against its chest. The sight of it is only marginally less horrifying. He recognizes this person, despite the greying skin melting from its bones, missing chunks of hair, and glazed over eyes. He'd recognize them anywhere.

It's him, Gordon. With his long brown hair, the creases around his eyes from years of wearing glasses, the faint smattering of freckles, and eyes so green that nothing could dim them. His goatee is patchy, most of the hair having fallen off, and there's old blood stains around his mouth, bits of flesh stuck to his beard.

In an instant, Gordon pieces it all together. And in an instant, Gordon realizes that he's never known true fear until this moment.

He's frozen. Stuck staring at the ghastly visage of his decaying corpse snapping its teeth at him in a frenzy, knowing only feed and kill and nothing of love or protection. He remembers the sight of a father and son locked inside a barn, embracing in their final moments together. Back then, he'd wondered if a version of himself existed that had done the same, protecting his son until the very end.

But he was the end. Maybe, just like how Benrey looked at Gordon out on the balcony, he's always been a monster… and he's always been here, feasting for who knows how long before waiting for his next opportunity to ruin something.

He was never a good father, nor a good friend. He wasn't even a good partner. That's why he's always alone. Even now, when it would've only been him and his son against the world, he couldn't wait to ruin it all again.

It could all end here. He could move his limbs aside, let himself be devoured. It would take so long until those teeth finally tore away at enough of his brain to kill him, but maybe he deserves it. All the pain he put everyone through, it would only be a fraction of that. He deserves it. He deserves to die this way.

Blood splatters across his face as the zombie's head splits open, an axe tugging its body to the side and allowing Gordon to scramble out from under it. Benrey stands beside him, a boot pushing the corpse down to allow him to retrieve his weapon. The sight has Gordon's breaths speeding up, nausea churning in his gut. He trembles, afraid of what he'd see if he turned to look in any other direction. All he sees are Benrey's legs shifting as he turns, spotting…

"Oh," Benrey says, his tone hollow. Gordon manages to lift his head despite how little strength he has left, taking in the haunted look in Benrey's eyes, a slightly bloodied hand covering his mouth. "…Gnarly…"

Gordon lets his head drop back down after that, feeling too much and nothing all at once. Until it becomes far too much, and he shoves to his feet, darting out of the room with the sound of Benrey's voice calling for him at his back. He throws open the bathroom door, dropping to the tile right on time. With a violent heave, he empties his stomach into the toilet bowl, eyes corked shut, tears streaming down his face, and sweat soaking his skin. He gags until there's nothing left, and keeps going even after that, stomach struggling to settle down.

Faintly, he hears the sound of a cup filling with water before there's a cool, slightly damp hand on his nape, brushing up under his hair, seeking skin-to-skin contact. Finally, Gordon's stomach calms, clinging to that ounce of comfort for dear life.

Turning his head, he finds Benrey sitting beside him, a glass of water in his hand. He doesn't speak a word, just holds the glass out for Gordon to take. He does so, grimacing at the taste of bile on his tongue before it's washed down, slowly cleansing him of the putrid taste. Yet it doesn't fully go way, not even after he's emptied the glass.

"Uh… th… thirsty boy…" Benrey says, so weakly that it's clear even he doesn't want to be joking around right now. Maybe he doesn't know what else to do. Gordon turns away, discarding the glass on the floor nearby, and Benrey lets out a held breath. "I'm so sorry."

He didn't expect those words to come from Benrey. For him to be sitting here, trying, instead of cracking wise at the worst possible time. But for as much as Gordon appreciates it, he can't bring himself to respond. Too much energy is required to even think of a response, much less voice it, and he doesn't want to do anything right now. f*ck social conventions, f*ck "doing the right thing", f*ck everything. f*ck it.

He reaches up to wipe the filth from his beard, wincing as the wiry hairs catch on the harsh material of his glove. The pain sends a spike of rage through him, a spark igniting into an inferno in an instant, and he tries to tear the plating off his hand, sounds of effort escaping him. He needs it off, he's so f*cking tired of this, of all of this bullsh*t, of having no control over his life, over his bodily autonomy, over his family's safety. He smashes his hand against the toilet, startling Benrey, who blurts out a "Dude, chill" before Gordon resumes tearing at the various plates, biting the tough wiring of the bodysuit, slamming his hand against the side of the sink, growling as it doesn't work.

"Hey, whoa, c'mon, stop… uh, doing, that," Benrey says, standing up and kneeling behind him in an attempt to help him back to his feet. But Gordon shoves him off.

"Get it off," he breathes, nearly sobbing as he tugs at the sleeves and chestpiece, screaming at the top of his lungs, "GET IT OFF!"

With a startled sound, Benrey drops to his knees, scrambling to get a proper hold on the chest piece. Tugging hard, the metal snaps like a plank of wood, tearing the fibrous body suit off with it. A burst of air hits Gordon's back, and he chokes on a sob. Metal clangs against the wall where Benrey chucks pieces of the suit, screws rolling across the tile, the tiny, chainmail-like pieces of the bodysuit falling to pieces all over the bathroom floor.

As the top half is removed, Gordon trips attempting to get up, desperately flailing his legs in an attempt to throw the boots off. Benrey grabs onto him to keep him stable, since words aren't getting through to him anymore. The guard's fingers are long, with big, dangerous claws and veins popping on the back of his hands, allowing him to better grip the metal plates and screws he's tearing off like bits of fabric. When the last boot is yanked off, Gordon loses his balance, catching himself on Benrey's shoulders. Benrey uses the positioning to pick Gordon up over his shoulder, carrying him some place else.

Closing his eyes so he won't see anything on the way, Gordon opens them as he's deposited onto something soft, finding himself on the living room couch. It's all so much so fast, his heart racing and breaths coming out too quickly. He pushes himself up, tearing his hands away from the cushions at the over-sensitive feeling on his skin.

That's when he realizes, he has hands. Bringing them up in front of his face, he stares at the appendages, trembling and covered in sweat. Both are paler than his face and neck, with all manner of filth mixed into a gross paste clinging to his skin. The nails are uneven, broken, and filthy. His right… is flesh and bone. He yanks up the sleeve of his aquamarine dress shirt to find a jagged scar in a ring around his forearm, the skin warped from where the gun attachment had burned his flesh, but only on the upper half. Touching it makes his fingertips hurt, unused to feeling anything after being deprived of touch for so long.

It's all so overwhelming that he doesn't know what to do. Another flood of tears begin anew, clogging his throat and sinuses. He pulls his legs up against his chest, letting out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob when he realizes he can feel the pressure and warmth of his arms wrapping around his legs. Though it hurts, he keeps rubbing the beige fabric of his slacks, smiling through his tears just to crumple again as he remembers. He can't even think about it in words, just…

He's broken. There's nothing left.

Gordon doesn't notice Benrey stood nearby, looking completely lost. Doesn't know what he does, how much time passes. All he knows is the pain wracking his body as he sits there sobbing into his knees, feeling the weight of the world crashing down on him. He doesn't want to be strong anymore. To try. It all feels so pointless now, so hopeless. He really thought he could get out of here? What a stupid, brainless idea.

A loud bang startles Gordon out of his protective ball, whipping around to face the door to the apartment. It rattles and creaks with the force of the banging, a cacophony of undead groaning filling the air. Somehow, he hadn't noticed it before. He watches as Benrey rushes over, pushing the entryway table in front of the door.

An undead arm bursts through the door, sending bits of wood flying across the floor. "sh*t…!" Benrey hisses. He stumbles back, drawing his handgun and preparing to fire as more of the door breaks down.

Seeing all this, Gordon's tears stop. His breathing slows down. The racing of his heart grows quiet.

And it all fades away.

Taking a deep breath, Gordon bows his head, closing his eyes and ignoring the group of undead fighting to get inside. The door collapses, zombies piling in, at first tumbling over the table where Benrey could easily stab them to death, but that stops working when the table is eventually pushed out of the way. Cursing, Benrey swaps guns, his rifle firing in bursts to take down zombie after zombie after zombie in a seemingly neverending horde. But after awhile, even that isn't enough.

With the doorway flooded with corpses, that buys Benrey some time to kick the table back into place and rush over to get Gordon. But as Benrey grabs his arm, hearing the wheezy gasp he lets out, it's just yanked out of his grip.

"Bro, c'mon," Benrey says, glancing repeatedly back to the door, where the zombies are starting to clear out the grotesque barricade by force. Gordon just looks up at him, then down at the carpet, shutting his eyes again.

"I already told you," he says, barely audible above the noise. "I'm getting out of here. With or without you."

Benrey's breaths stutter, staring down at Gordon with eyes wide and mouth agape. His lips move, struggling to form words, but all he makes are choked noises easily swallowed up by all the banging and inhuman groaning.

The sound of splintering wood tears his attention back to the door, raising his gun and firing away. Where he goes, Gordon doesn't know. If he's smart, he'll leave out the balcony and forget all about Gordon. It'll all be better once he's gone, anyway—Benrey said so himself.

Didn't hurt 'til you got here.

And it won't hurt once he's gone.

Gordon tries not to listen as the zombies swarm the room and the sound of gunfire ceases. If he doesn't know when they're coming, maybe it won't be as scary. Not that he expects it to be. He's already feeling more peaceful than he has in months. Afterall, it's over. He can finally leave.

Or so he thinks. When he's suddenly yanked off the couch by a strong pair of hands, he goes into panic mode, terrified of being ripped apart and devoured piece by piece.

Until he realizes what's really happening. It's not the zombies that got him, but Benrey—he hangs draped over the man's shoulder, the scenery blurring as Benrey rushes to the balcony doors at the back of the room.

"Wait—No, no, no!" Gordon shouts, balling his fists and hitting Benrey in the back. "Stop! Benrey!"

The glass door is thrown open and slammed shut as Benrey rushes onto the balcony, placing Gordon on his feet nearby. Dizzy, Gordon leans on the railing, nauseous churning in his gut as his vision spins. Breathing heavily to calm his stomach—and racing heart—he watches Benrey's head dart around like a bird out of the corner of his eye, frantic to find a way out of this mess. The balcony's tiny, barely fitting the two of them at once, and there's no pool to break their fall on the way down. Just grass, concrete, and some patio furniture.

"Benrey…" Gordon rasps, jolting at the sound of zombies bashing on the glass behind him. He doesn't dare look to see how many there are. "What are you doing?"

A bead of sweat rolls down Benrey's cheek. "Saving us," he says.

"Why?!" Gordon demands. "We were—I was so close… I could've gotten out…!"

Benrey yanks him forward by the front of his shirt, bunching up his red striped tie in the process. "Shut up!" Benrey yells, shouting just to be heard over the horde. "You can't respawn outta bounds, bro! And 'm not lettin' you die like that, it sucks!"

Stunned, all Gordon can do is stare back at him as the door behind him starts to give, the entire panel bursting off the railing, sending Benrey jumping back with a shout. Cursing, he lifts Gordon into his arms, ignoring his vocal complaints and panicked squirming as he climbs atop the railing, searching for the ideal spot to jump towards.

"Wait, Benrey—! No, no, NO!"

Wind rushes past them as they fall, Gordon clutched tight against Benrey's chest. Benrey twists around to land on his back, a sh*tty cloth patio chair breaking his fall, and breaking in general. This sends the two men tumbling to the patchy, dry grass. Benrey groans, arching his back up off the ground before rolling onto his side, where Gordon's sitting up on his knees.

"You good, man?" Gordon asks.

"Hhhh… yuhh," Benrey responds, and then, "Oh, sh*t—" He scrambles back as a zombie falls off the balcony overhead. His first instinct is to grab Gordon's hand, stumbling to his feet and yanking Gordon up after him.

They put some distance between them and the rapidly forming pile of corpses on the ground, watching as they drop one-by-one onto the pavement, heads bursting open all over the concrete. That could've been me, Gordon thinks, unsure if the sentiment is one of relief or disappointment.

"What now?" Gordon hisses.

"Uhhh…" Benrey looks around, spotting a nearby gate with some zombies hanging around. Yanking a knife out of the strap on his thigh, he chucks it, missing completely as the blade lodges itself into the wood fence. "Oh. That woulda been cool if—"

"CAN YOU BE SERIOUS?" Gordon loudly whispers, sending Benrey cringing into himself as if it had been so much louder.

Surprisingly, Benrey doesn't complain, instead grabbing the axe strapped to his hip and dragging Gordon over to the zombies with him. He takes the lead, swinging his axe at one zombie and kicking it into the other, which is swiftly killed in much the same way. Putting the blade away, Benrey retrieves his knife and kicks down the gate like some kind of action hero.

"Did you have to do that?" Gordon asks.

"Was locked," is all Benrey says.

With an annoyed huff, Gordon shakes his head and does his best to keep up as Benrey rushes forward, a hand wrapped around Gordon's, other swinging his knife around. The van's close by, though there's a grossly large horde of zombies all over the place. Many of them seem to have lost interest in the apartment, leaving the two men a huge problem to deal with in the parking lot. Benrey pauses, looking around to assess the threat.

Not wanting to leave everything to Benrey, Gordon reaches for his gun just to realize he isn't wearing his holster. All of his gear was stuck to the HEV suit… but his crowbar is tucked into Benrey's belt, and with that realization, he spots his holster clipped there as well, brown to Benrey's black. He reaches for it, startling Benrey as his knuckles brush the man's hip to yank his handgun out.

Gun in hand, the two of them look at each other, nod, and draw their firearms.

While Benrey handles crowd control with his rifle, Gordon focuses on the zombies that get too close. Or, well, he tries to. The gun feels awkward in his hand, skin oversensitive and finger having a harder time squeezing the trigger than ever before. When at last the bullet fires, the recoil, even from a generic pistol like his, has his hand jerking back, pain flaring up to his shoulder. Benrey looks at him oddly, and Gordon tries to ignore him, lining up another shot with both hands wrapped around the grip this time.

The next shot is marginally easier, definitely less stressful on his shoulder, and each one gets a little easier. But it's never easy, not like before. He doesn't have the HEV suit around to strengthen and fortify his every action anymore.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of thinning out the crowd, a big enough opening clears for them to make it back to the van. "Benrey! Let's go!" he calls, waiting until Benrey's on the same page before they take off for the van.

Gordon leaps into the passenger's seat and frantically yanks the door shut, Benrey automatically getting behind the wheel. As he switches on the ignition, Gordon watches zombies pile out into the parking lot from all over the apartment building, letting out a held breath as a sense of relief and pain alike wash over him.

He's safe… but he didn't want to be safe, he wanted to be free.

The horde gets smaller and smaller as Benrey drives, Gordon never once taking his eyes off the spot where they used to be, his head leaned against the door. He slumps in his seat, the cushions so comfortable and the texture so smooth and cool, he immediately feels a sob breaking its way out of him. It's all just so nice. He's smaller, lighter, set free from the confines of the suit, but is it enough? He doesn't know if his sudden weeping is born of immense relief or a deep sense of grief, but it doesn't seem to matter when it's all pouring out of him anyway. He lets the tears flow freely, forgetting that he can wipe them away, that he doesn't have to worry about hurting himself on the HEV suit's gloves anymore.

"Whoa," Benrey says, glancing over at him as he breaks down again. "You okay?"

"Don't," Gordon chokes out. "Don't ask me that."

Despite the look of concern in his eyes, Benrey doesn't speak, instead merely nodding and turning back towards the road.

The van keeps on driving, though to where, Gordon isn't sure. He can't see through the tears that never seem to end, they only pause before he finds another reason to break down again. It feels like there's a neverending list of reasons, and even when he runs out, he just gets upset over something else all over again.

Eventually, finally, it all comes to an end. There's no more tears to shed. Finally, he understands what it means to run out, to still feel such pain, but without an outlet for it. He feels… weary. Drained. Like he never wants to do anything ever again.

"Sorry," he rasps, his throat dry and sinuses clogged up, making him sound odd. Benrey doesn't comment on it.

"Nah," Benrey says. "S'fine, bro. Gotta… gotta exorcise those demons."

Gordon closes his eyes. "Where are we going?" he asks. When nearly a minute passes by and he doesn't get a response, he sighs and says, "Just answer me. For once."

At least it's audible when Benrey hesitates, this time. "You know where," he says.

Gordon doesn't respond to that. Yeah… he does know where.

Chapter 22: you can't wake up, this is not a dream

Chapter Text

Black Mesa Research Facility is a government labratory miles out of Roswell, New Mexico, nestled in the Rocky Mountains where no one who shouldn't can ever see it. It's an Area 51 type facility people know about, but would be shot on sight for attempting to approach without the proper clearance.

What it isn't is a long trek through the woods. But the desert road that normally lead to the facility is gone, the dry, cracked earth now fertile soil covered in grass and other plants. Benrey's forced to park the van nearby so the two can continue on foot.

Though it take the both of them awhile to even work up the energy to get out of the car. All of Gordon's hopes have been dashed. He knows, for so many reasons, that the facility doesn't exist. Why would there be a proper exit for him in a world that's forced him to see such horrors? If the person who put him here wanted him to leave, wouldn't they have done it already?

It isn't until Benrey's hand lands on Gordon's knee that he snaps out of his spiralling thoughts. The touch sends a jolt through his body, the warmth of Benrey's palm suffusing into his body a comfort he hasn't felt in far too long. The two look at each other, holding eye contact for a moment before Gordon looks away, reaching for the door handle. Outside, the air is cold, the scent of rain growing ever stronger. He stands still, right where he stepped out, staring at the sky overhead. Always grey. Always cloudy. Never a celestial body in sight.

Distantly, Gordon registers the sound of Benrey opening and closing the trunk, but he doesn't check to see what's going on until the sound of Benrey's boots scuffing against the pavement draw his attention. He's wearing the yellow raincoat again, hood down, with the black raincoat hung from his arm for Gordon to take.

But he just stares at it, lacking the energy to do anything with it.

After while, Benrey tsks and starts to put the raincoat on Gordon. "Gotta do everything," Benrey grumbles, a certain lilt to his voice to show that he's kidding. But Gordon doesn't care, anyway.

The fabric of the raincoat isn't his favorite, but he can't stop rubbing it between his fingers anyway. He feels like a newborn babe that's never touched a thing in his life—maybe this is what Benrey meant when he talked about his skin hurting and feeling oversensitive after his transformation. This borders on pain, at times. Yet it's already not as bad as it was at the start.

When Benrey takes his hand, he finds none of that discomfort in the warm, smooth texture of the other man's skin, like a healing balm on his aching flesh. He makes himself comfortable there in Benrey's grasp, earning a few curious glances as Benrey leads him through the woods, along the path that should be here, but isn't. Twigs snap beneath Gordon's brown dress shoes, his gaze focused more on the leaves, roots, and small rocks they're stepping past than wherever they're going. Benrey's already leading the way, so why should Gordon bother?

The walk goes on long enough that Gordon's legs and back begin to ache, each step a concentrated effort. He tells himself to suck it up and put one foot in front of the other, over and over and over again, no matter how much he hates this. How pointless it all feels. How he's going to have to do it all again on the way back.

Eventually, after what feels like an eternity, they stop walking. Gordon dreads lifting his head up from where he's been staring down the grass and dirt. But all he's doing is delaying the inevitable.

Lifting his head, Gordon stares up at the jagged rock jutting into the air high above them. Droplets of rain shine on its surface. Reaching out, he dares to brush his fingers against the stone, momentarily afraid that he might slip right through and clip into the facility. But of course he doesn't.

Black Mesa doesn't exist.

Hand falling away, Gordon stands there, staring blankly at the stone as the rain begins to fall harder. There's a knot in his throat, his head aching from the stress. Taking an unsteady breath, he blinks away tears, turning away and stumbling into the forest. Here, he catches himself on a nearby tree, scraping his palm against the bark as he bends over and dry heaves into the grass. His glasses slide down the bridge of his nose, but he does nothing to stop it. If they fall and shatter and he never sees properly ever again, so be it.

Tears sting his eyes. The aching in his head and throat grow worse, his breaths coming hard and fast as his stomach roils violently, yet he has nothing more to give. He shudders, placing a hand over his mouth in an attempt to calm himself.

An arm drapes over his shoulders. The weight of Benrey's partial embrace has Gordon sucking in an unsteady breath, the confusing mix-up of comfort and distress drawing another shudder out of him.

"Sorry," Benrey says. His hand rubs Gordon's shoulder, a soothing gesture that makes his chest hurt. Gordon hangs his head, glasses slipping further just for Benrey to reach down and push them back up.

For awhile, the two of them do nothing but stand there. It's miserable here, the bark digging into his clammy skin, feet sore from walking so far, for… nothing. He doesn't want to be here anymore. He should sit down, eat something, rehydrate, maybe take a nap. But he doesn't want to put in the effort to do anything. Where would he even go? Another filthy motel? A house he has to defend from the undead morning, noon, and night? To what end? What's the point?

Benrey wraps an arm around him, guiding him away from the tree. All Benrey says is, "C'mon," and Gordon just lets him, uncaring as to where they're going or why. Though the answer quickly turns out to be a nearby fallen tree, where Benrey has him sit down before digging a granola bar out of his pocket to present Gordon's way.

Gordon turns away, uninterested.

The two of them stand at an impasse, Gordon tuning everything out as he stares, unseeing, at a blade of grass, Benrey continuing to hold out the treat. He starts poking Gordon in the cheek with it, pressing and rubbing the hard plastic into his flesh and really being a nuisance about it, sending small spikes of agitation through him. But that feeling morphs almost immediately into tears he has to blink away, a knot tightening in his chest. Benrey stops after that.

Putting the treat back in his pocket with a heavy sigh, Benrey sits down beside Gordon and leans back on his hands. He stares up, watching a bird hop around a branch while Gordon leans on a nearby tree, too weary to hold himself up anymore. Rain falls on his head and drips down his brow, until Benrey reaches over to yank his hood up.

How long they stay there for is lost on him. He's pretty sure the watch he was wearing didn't survive the HEV suit's destruction, not that he'd have the energy to check it even if it did. But at some point, Benrey gets up, dusts himself off, and grabs Gordon's hand to lead him back to the van. The return trip is so much worse on his body, but Gordon keeps going, forcing himself to ignore how tired he is, how much it hurts to move.

Once they reach the van, Gordon climbs in without bothering to remove his damp rain coat or muddy dress shoes, merely slumping into his seat and leaning his head on the door. Benrey has to buckle him in, muttering something to himself that Gordon doesn't catch.

Then, they're off again. To somewhere.

The next thing Gordon knows, they've parked, and Benrey's urging him out of the car. Zombies loiter throughout the area, but Gordon only moves to do anything about it when Benrey moves first. Though his melee weapons are gone, he still carries a small pocket knife that comes in handy here. Taking down zombies has become second nature by now—kick leg, stab head. Move on.

When the threats are cleared out, Gordon turns at the sound of Benrey's boots darting up a set of concrete steps. There's a small two-story house before him, painted light blue with a wooden fence taller than he is boxing in the backyard. Wilted bushes sag miserably around the deck. Benrey kneels to start picking the lock on the front door, and Gordon leaves him to it, taking the time to glance around and figure out where he is.

Night has fallen, streetlamps illuminating a neighborhood full of nearly identical houses. Some corpses line the streets, with more zombies trapped behind a tall wrought iron fence bordering a nearby park. It's still raining, though much harder now, sending the trapped zombies into a frenzy as they struggle to track down where the noises are coming from.

The sound of a door clicking open draws his attention back to Benrey. He watches Benrey head into the house, instinctively following along and stepping inside right as an overhead light flicks on. The house around him isn't especially large, though it's bigger than his apartment was. A sectional in the living room wraps around a cheap TV, the stand full of DVDs with a few assorted books. A potted fern rests in the corner by the door, looking lively by virtue of being plastic. From here, he spies an entrance into a kitchen/dining room combo, and a staircase leading to the second story.

As he shuts the door behind him and makes an attempt to step forward, he's stopped by Benrey's arm. "Manners," Benrey chides, gesturing to a coat rack along the wall near the plastic fern, already with a purple hoodie hanging from it.

It takes a moment for Gordon to figure out what relevance this all has: his raincoat's dripping water all over the floor. Mechanically, he pulls open the buttons and hangs his coat up to dry, leaving him standing in nothing but the outfit he last wore to work.

Benrey takes a moment to look him over. Gordon hasn't bothered to examine the state of his clothing, though he's sure it's discolored from months of blood and sweat and who knows what else.

"Weird," Benrey says. "Didn't expect such a loser nerd under all that metal."

Gordon frowns at the insult. "What?" he says, too tired for much else.

"So aggro, man," Benrey continues. "Shoulda had spiked cuffs and a ripped tshirt or sum'n. But you're just some boring loser in khakis. White boy lookin' ass. Look like some guy's math teacher."

Benrey's comments would bother Gordon a lot more if he actually cared about any of it. His son's dead along with any semblance of hope or sanity he was clinging to, and Benrey thinks he cares about how his clothes are perceived?

"Almost was," Gordon mumbles. "Thought about teaching college level math. Instead I got head hunted out of school by the facility that would ruin my life, cut off my arm, kill my son, and trap me in an apocalyptic hellscape. Are we done here?"

The bitterness behind his words leave Benrey at a loss for words, staring at him for a long time before turning and walking off without a word. The tension in Gordon's body eases, allowing him to look around.

He assumes they're staying here and not just looting. It's been a minute since they've picked a house instead of a motel or the back of the van, but Gordon isn't complaining. There's a kitchen with a washer and dryer, a downstairs bathroom, and two bedrooms plus another bathroom upstairs. The backyard has nothing but a small concrete deck.

While he's checking out that last thing, Benrey bumps into him, sending him nearly stumbling into the window he's looking out of. Whipping around, he finds the fridge and freezer wide open with Benrey sweeping things into a garbage bag, the counter full of stuff he found salvageable.

Gordon should help. He doesn't know how good Benrey is at cleaning, but when it comes to their food storage, he'd prefer to at least supervise the task, if nothing else. But he can't bring himself to do it. His stomach aches for a meal to replace what he forfeited to a toilet bowl earlier, but he can't muster up the motivation to fix this problem.

Instead, he turns and heads up the stairwell. The master is definitely where Benrey's gonna end up sleeping tonight, and Gordon wants nothing to do with him or anyone else right now, so he heads deeper down the hallway, into the guest room at the end. At least, he assumes by the lack of personalized decor that no one lived in here. There's just a bed with a generic twenty dollar bedding set, a cheap wooden dresser, and nothing else. The window offers nothing but a view of the house right next to it. Gordon closes the curtains and collapses into bed, where he stares at the carpet below until sleep forces him under.

You'd think that after such a traumatizing event, you'd sleep for days and never want anything again, but this isn't the case. Gordon wakes from a dreamless sleep to find that it's still nighttime, and he can't focus on getting back to sleep. It barely feels like he slept at all. Typical.

Getting up, Gordon grimaces at his filthy, sticky clothes, yanking them off and onto the floor without a care. Finally left as nude as the day he was born, he steps into the hallway, seeing a faint blue light travelling up the stairwell on his way to the bathroom. He steps into the shower, letting out a luxurious sigh at the feel of the warm water cascading down his skin. f*ck, he missed this. For a few minutes, Gordon just stands there under the water, daring to enjoy himself.

Then, he grabs every soap he can find and starts scrubbing his body down. The task takes up so much time and requires so much effort that his arms and back ache.

As he works, he can't help but notice all kinds of things about himself. Namely, the fact that he's so much smaller than he remembered. Still flabby and out of shape, but he's clearly lost weight since the resonance cascade. Certain parts of him are even tighter than they were before, which he guesses he should feel happy about.

But he doesn't. Not when he knows the only reason he's more in shape is because he's been stuck fighting for his life, running away from certain death, and eating whatever scraps he can find. It doesn't matter if he has a tighter ass or whatever else. He felt healthier before this happened.

When he's done washing, he doesn't quite feel done, like there's layers of filth he'll never wash away. He ends up taking a second shower, scrubbing his body until his skin feels raw. By the time he's done drying off, he's good and sore.

After blow drying his hair, Gordon stares at his reflection in the mirror. At the hollow, dead-eyed stare he greets his double with. The thick eye bags, the lack of color in his pale brown cheeks.

While mulling over what to do with his hair, he spots a pair of scissors on the counter.

It's been years since Gordon cut his hair. The long, luscious locks were always his favorite thing about himself appearance-wise, even after he started finding premature grey hairs. So why is he suddenly gripped with the urge to chop it all off? It's an impulsive urge his brain insists will fix his mood, the most tempting option out of a list of intrusive thoughts like cut off your arm and electrocute yourself in the bath.

He grabs the bulk of his hair, smoothing it back into the right shape for a ponytail, before reaching for the scissors… just to hesitate. Short hair won't make him feel better in the long run. It'll take so long to grow it back, and in the meantime, he'll hate looking at himself in the mirror. More than he already does.

Gordon grabs a band instead, wrapping it around his hair until he's got the same low ponytail as always. Before he can change his mind about that, he turns and exits the bathroom.

Digging through the various storage compartments in both bedrooms, he comes up with enough clean clothes in his size to get himself dressed back up. Wearing some other guy's boxer briefs isn't ideal, but he's not putting his own back on when he's been wearing them for months. At least these have been washed.

Donning a red tshirt tucked into some grey sweatpants with plain white socks, he heads for the stairwell to see what Benrey's up to. Not like he has anything else to be doing right now.

Downstairs, he easily spots Benrey in the living room, wearing some zebra print jeans and a black hoodie. He's sitting on the floor instead of the couch, legs pulled close and focused entirely on the video he's got playing on TV. Gordon quietly approaches, trying to figure out what he's watching. Only once he's directly behind the couch can he tell that it's a home video, depicting a teenage girl at a sweet sixteen party hosted by her mother, judging by the dialogue he can just barely make out.

I told you I wanted to go out, mom, not hang out at home with a bunch of kids all day, the daughter complains.

You know money's tight right now, the mother responds, And your niece was so excited to see you.

I don't care about my niece! All she does is cry and throw things! You didn't even get me a car like all my friends' parents did.

And on and on the argument goes. As Gordon stands there watching, he feels his throat grow tight. But it isn't until he thinks about how much he'd have loved for Joshua to grow old enough to complain about not getting a car for his sixteenth birthday that he finally breaks down and lets out a sob. With tears streaking down his face, he claps a hand over his mouth to cover it up, but it's already too late.

Startled by the noise, Benrey whips around, staring up at Gordon with his brows furrowed and… wait, is he crying? The two lock eyes, staring at each other in shock. Gordon's woes are momentarily forgotten as he tries to process what he's seeing, before Benrey hastily turns way. He wipes his eyes on his hoodie sleeves, quietly sniffling.

Swallowing past a lump in his throat, Gordon takes a deep breath and asks, "Benrey, why are you crying?"

"'m not, you're crying," Benrey poorly lies, rubbing his wet sleeve off on the carpet. He takes an unsteady breath and asks, "Wha's wrong with you?"

Lacking the energy to rise to Benrey's taunting, Gordon sighs and gestures towards the TV. "This. I just…" He pauses, taking a calming breath and letting the tears flow despite how hard it makes it to speak. "I'd give anything to be able to throw a sh*tty birthday party for Joshua. But I won't ever get to see him grow up." His voice breaks, covering his mouth to conceal the sound of his strained breaths.

Through his blurry vision, he sees Benrey pat the space on the floor beside him. Gordon doesn't hesitate. Sitting on the floor isn't comfortable, the floor's made of some really cheap, scratchy material that feels bad on his hands, but it's better than the HEV suit and he doesn't want the bar any higher than that right now. He should feel uncomfortable, he deserves to.

Neither of them speak. Benrey's thigh is pressed up against his where he sat a little too close and didn't feel like correcting it, legs crossed and hands laid limp in his lap. The video keeps playing, and the two of them keep watching.

The daughter only looks satisfied when she's talking to what few friends actually showed up, giving paper thin smiles to all the relatives she doesn't seem to recognize and nearly exploding with rage when her toddler cousin blows out half the candles on her cake, with no one doing anything to stop it. Her mother scolds her for her reaction, continuing to film her daughter's miserable party where she sulks and complains. Because of that, most of the video doesn't even feature the birthday girl. Yet it goes on for hours anyway, showing the rest of the family enjoying themself considerably more.

"Why's she gotta act like that, man," Benrey comments, startling Gordon out of his focus. Looking over, he's surprised to find Benrey silently crying again, a fresh tear dripping down his cheek that he makes no attempt to wipe away.

"It's a pretty sh*t party," Gordon says.

Benrey pauses, tucking his fingers inside the sleeves of his hoodie. "Yeah," he agrees. "But she's… gonna be deep of regret, thinkin' 'bout how she just left and never call again… didn't enjoy when her moms was around… when she's tryin' the best, even got balloons. That's baller. I want balloons."

Gordon stares at Benrey as he speaks, struggling to parse what he's on about. "You don't know she's gonna cut contact, man. This could be a one time thing."

"She's gonna, though," Benrey insists, never once taking his eyes off the screen. He sniffles, loudly. "Find a cool new friend playing online, move to the big city, feel a bad when her moms isn't anymore. Then who's taking care of the cows?" Suddenly, his face crumples up, a hand reaching up to grip onto his hair, elbow leaned on his knee.

It's the playing online bit that makes it click for Gordon—they aren't talking about the video anymore. Gordon's eyes widen, shocked at the discovery. He'd kinda thought Benrey hatched from an egg on Xen, or spawned in fully formed with f*cked up powers. Knowing that isn't the case is maybe the most shocking thing he's learned about Benrey since seeing him shapeshift on Xen. Or trying to. Looking directly at him back then hurt Gordon's brain.

"Why are we still watching this?" Gordon asks. "It's just making both of us miserable."

Benrey doesn't respond, nor does he make a move to stop the video, either. To be fair, neither does Gordon. The two of them sit there and watch until the DVD ends, at which point they proceed to stare at the TV until the screensaver pops up with a little brand icon bouncing around. Though Gordon soon gets bored and takes to looking around, Benrey's eyes follow the icon as it plinks off the edges of the TV.

Gordon looks up as Benrey says, "Nice."

"What?"

"It hit the corner," Benrey explains, pointing to which corner it hit.

"Uhh… that's, nice, man," Gordon says, unable to force a speck of enthusiasm into his voice. Benrey's arm drops back down, and he pushes up onto his knees to dig through the other DVDs on the TV stand. He's halfway through the meager collection when he stops suddenly.

"Oh, forgot." Leaning back on his haunches, he reaches behind him to where his bag, weapons, and uniform are lying.

"Why is your bag on the couch, but you're not?"

Benrey doesn't acknowledge this question, and Gordon huffs in vague amusem*nt. Soon, Benrey's got what he wants in hand, turning to hold out a few items Gordon's way. Glancing them over, he sees his holster, the knife he borrowed from Benrey and never gave back, and his watch, undamaged. The crowbar isn't there, but Gordon sees it sticking out of Benrey's bag for later.

"Saved your inventory for you," Benrey says. Gordon picks up each item one by one, uncertain if he's pleased to see all of it again. It's convenient, but he struggles to feel any joy or relief about that. It is what it is.

Mechanically, he stuffs the knife into his pants pocket with the watch, about to set the holster aside when he notices the item stuffed inside it. It's really crammed in there to get it to fit, but Gordon didn't care about damaging it when it's useless to him now. Except in one way.

Benrey's gone back to searching through DVDs when Gordon places a hand on his shoulder, pulling his attention away from the movies. "I got you a gift," Gordon says, earning a skeptical look from Benrey.

"Whassit?"

Gently, he urges Benrey to sit back down with a hand on his shoulder. Once settled, he pulls the item out of the holster, flattens it against his thigh, and holds it out for Benrey to inspect. "Here it is," Gordon says, a slight smile playing at his lips.

With a confused frown, Benrey looks from Gordon to the small blue item in his hands. He sees the exact moment when Benrey realizes what it is, his eyes going wide and lips parting. Slowly, he takes the item, holding it up to stare at the cover in something approaching disbelief. Gordon watches as he flips it open to start inspecting the pages, not that there's very many.

"Bro," is all Benrey says. Despite everything, Gordon laughs, a brief, quiet thing, but a laugh nonetheless.

"Well? You asked for it, now you have it."

"You—" Benrey starts, pausing to stare at the passport in his hands as the gears turn behind his eyes. That's when something appears to click, his expression going blank as he says, "You stole this?"

"Wh—Did I what?"

"You stealing… indentities? From this guy?" Benrey's eyes flick from the tiny photo inside the passport, which Gordon hasn't even checked, to Gordon himself.

His lips part, but he hesitates before speaking. It occurs to him, then, that he knows exactly what Benrey's doing. This isn't a real accusation. It's a joke. A return to routine, to old bickering, to a more comfortable familiarity. Not that Gordon would say he looks fondly on being hassled for a form of identification he shouldn't have needed to have in the first place.

So he laughs. It's just as small as the last one, but he sees the effect it has on Benrey in the way his features soften. "Gonna hafta… uh, keep this," Benrey says, tucking the passport into his back pocket. "For… inspection."

With a smile, Gordon says, "Sure, man."

He turns away, prepared for that to be the end of it, when Benrey suddenly says, "Got you a gift, too. Uh. Don't know if you want it, though."

Curious, Gordon turns to him with a frown. "You did?" he asks. "Well, you can't just say that and not show it to me."

Benrey makes a show of being very put-upon, grumbling as he sits up to dig through his bag again. "Urghh whatever. Nagging me." Gordon even finds the will to laugh at that, too. Soon, Benrey's found what he wanted. It's a thin, flat object that catches the light from the TV, obscuring its identity until Benrey holds it out for Gordon to take, tilted for him to see exactly what it is.

A gasp escapes him. It's a DVD, a lot like the ones on the TV stand—blank, save for a title written in sharpie that reads "Joshua's 1st Birthday". The knot in his chest tightens, and his eyes instantly flood with tears. With shaking hands, he reaches out to accept the gift. He remembers this. Or, well, his version of it. No doubt if he actually watched this, it wouldn't be exactly what he remembered.

No kid remembers their first birthday, so the party's more for the parents than the child. To get a break, to eat some cake, to catch up with family members. To dress your kid in a cute outfit and smile watching him delight in smashing a cake before you bring the real one out. Things were so simple back then. He was still in school, living with his ex back when they'd actually been good for each other. It didn't last, obviously. But for a few hours of home video footage, everything was okay.

Holding the case against his chest, Gordon takes a few slow breaths and wipes the tears from his eyes. He doesn't know how to express how grateful he is that Benrey decided to take this with him, wondering if he did it because he knew Gordon would want it, or if he's just some gremlin hoarding other people's home videos.

But rather than try to express his thanks, he just smiles and says, "You—You stole this?"

Benrey blinks at him for a moment before the corners of his lip twitch briefly into a smile. "No, I'm… good citizen," Benrey says. "You dropped it. I'm just giving it back, doing… civic duty."

That's obviously a lie, but Gordon doesn't call him on it. He's starting to feel like he understands Benrey a bit better, that they're learning to speak each other's language. "Well, thanks," he says. "F-For… returning it to me."

"Yeah. Cool." Benrey fidgets for a moment while Gordon sets the DVD aside, making a mental note to find somewhere safer for it later.

The two of them stay up watching random DVDs after that, at least until they're both too tired to go on. After tucking his gift away somewhere safe, Gordon heads right for the master bedroom, where Benrey's already there changing out of his pants. The two make eye contact, Benrey's pants halfway down his thighs. Gordon thinks nothing of it, barely able to see anything in the dark anyway. Aside from Benrey's eyes where they catch the light from the streetlamps outside.

The moment lingers for just a moment before Gordon's turning away to check out the bed. It's nothing fancy, but nothing cheap, either. Gordon feels like he shouldn't sleep in it, like he should say his good nights to Benrey and retreat back to the sh*ttier twin bed in the guest room, but his legs won't carry him there. So. Double bed with Benrey, it is.

Though he got a nap in earlier, it isn't until now, when he climbs under the covers in clean clothes actually suitable for bed, that Gordon registers just how amazing this is. He sinks into the mattress, feeling every inch of his body cradled by the memory foam. The sheets are just normal cotton sheets, but they feel incredible against his skin. The quilted blanket is especially heavenly, lulling him into a sense of comfort he hasn't known for so long.

Admist all the comfort, guilt seeps in, like blood in shark infested waters. He shouldn't be feeling this good. He shouldn't enjoy himself, he shouldn't know comfort, he shouldn't get to feel peace ever again. Sure, he didn't actually cause what happened to his son… but he's hurt so many other people, and he could end up hurting his son in the same way. Maybe he already has. Maybe he yells too much, maybe he's too strict, maybe he's used anger when he should've used compassion. Some way, somehow, it always gets to him, that anger and hate boiling just beneath the skin that turns him into a raging asshole.

And then Benrey hops into bed behind him, and Gordon realizes he's locked in. If he tries to leave, either Benrey will stop him, or he'll spend all night wide awake wondering why Benrey didn't stop him. All the while feeling sorry for himself and wallowing in guilt and regret until he's throwing up from the anxiety.

Yeah… why bother? At least it feels good here. At least Gordon feels safe here. At least… he doesn't have to do anything here. Just close his eyes and go to sleep.

Chapter 23: I've lost it all, I'm just a silhouette (I'm a lifeless face that you'll soon forget)

Chapter Text

Gordon doesn't recognize the feeling that washes over him the next morning. He's known grief, as most people have—the death of a grandparent at a young age, the family dog in his tweens, or even just partings of friends and lovers. Leaving a beloved place behind. Having something he treasured stolen from him. A piece of himself, sawn off and discarded into a pile of blood. He's felt panic, he's felt fear, he's felt like the only way out of the hell he'd found himself in was to die.

What he's never felt is hopelessness. There was always a fight in him, even if that fight was towards a pair of rotating saw blades. But right now, all he wants is to stop moving and never get up, ever again. To waste away until the day he doesn't have the energy to wake up again.

Through it all, there's an ounce of struggle. A voice saying, but what about the future, all the things you could do? To which he merely answers, What things? What is there to do but fight and die?

Even if he had dreams left, they'd be bookended with pain, strife, and unimaginable terror.

So Gordon stays in bed, pretending to be asleep when Benrey gets up after him, dresses, stands at the door for a weirdly long time, and leaves. Gordon listens to the ambient noise of Benrey going about his day, until he heads downstairs where Gordon can no longer hear him at all.

And it's almost peaceful. It's comfortable here, where he can close his eyes and not have to exist for at least another hour once sleep claims him again. Which it does, again and again without ever becoming difficult to achieve. It's probably the most he's ever slept in his life. In that way, time loses meaning. The longer it goes on for, the less he's sure he understands what's happening, sleeping through Benrey getting up the next morning and struggling to figure out if it's the same day or if last night was dream.

What breaks through the haze, however, is how much he desperately needs to take a piss. So he pushes out of bed, stumbles into the bathroom as a headache begins to bloom in his temples, and does his business.

And right back to bed he goes. These moments become checkpoints in the perplexing haze of his depression coma, amongst the other checkpoints, like when he cries into his pillow or stares at the ceiling contemplating death. Day turns to night turns to day turns to night again. He doesn't even feel the hunger anymore. The dizziness, headache, and joint pains, yeah. Plus the congestion from crying and nausea from the mucus running down the back of his throat, paired with a mild fever to make him feel really ill. But those symptoms are only present when he's up and awake, so he just doesn't get up.

This stops being an option. Seems he forgot one little detail about his predicament: Benrey.

One day, the blankets are ripped off the bed, baring Gordon to the sudden cold. As he grumbles in discontent, pushing himself up on an elbow to figure out what the f*ck is happening, he's suddenly lifted up over Benrey's shoulder and carried out of the room.

"What—" Voice hoarse, Gordon struggles to clear it amidst his rising agitation. "What the f*ck, Benrey? Put me down!"

He's ignored, up until Benrey drops him onto the living room couch downstairs. Some of the furniture's been rearranged, TV pushed back against the wall beneath the window and a new, matte black coffee table taking its place. A meal is placed on said table, still steaming. Rice, hashbrowns, eggs, and beef are arranged in a way Gordon doesn't recognize, but it looks f*cking amazing. All the bullsh*t he's been throwing together pales in comparison.

Benrey plops down on the sectional adjacent to him, plate in hand, remote in the other. It's like watching someone's beer-bellied dad turn on the game over dinner. Except far more attractive, loathe as Gordon is to keep acknowledging that, and… he's watching an old DVD on woodworking. Okay, so maybe Benrey is like someone's dad.

Staring down at the food, Gordon makes no move to eat it. He just… doesn't want it. It looks amazing, and he hasn't eaten in so long, but he just doesn't have an appetite. He doesn't feel like he should, either. This is punishment, depriving himself of anything that could allow him to feel good when his son won't feel anything ever again. Yeah, it's an alternate reality version of Joshua that Gordon didn't directly do anything to, but that doesn't matter. Because he could have done it. And he has done it, just not to his son… to Benrey. He's an awful person, and he should die for it.

Tears sting his eyes, and he quickly wipes them away with his thumb before Benrey can notice. Bad plan, Benrey's inhuman blue eyes flick his way at the first sign of movement. He might be busy stuffing his face, but not busy enough to miss a detail like that.

"Bro," Benrey says, a pit forming in Gordon's stomach. "It's been three days, you ain't hungy?" Though Gordon's lips part to respond, he doesn't actually know what to say. "One bite? Please? For bestest friend Benny?"

"It hasn't been three days," Gordon finally speaks up, an excuse dawning on him. It's a bluff, but… "I ate something yesterday, you just weren't here."

His excuse goes over like a lead balloon. "Gotta eat every day," Benrey says. "You don't even… I'm doin'… C'mon, man. Spend all morning cooking nice meal, won't eat a bite. I'll suck your dick? Suck it so weird and good every day, just please eat something?"

Gordon stares back at Benrey, perplexed. Benrey could be hogging all the food for himself, doing everything his way, and when Gordon's finally gone, he won't feel pain anymore. Right? That's what he meant, wasn't it? After all the trouble Gordon's caused him, why would he want some like him to stick around? For extra labor? For someone to spot him in a fight? Someone to drive when he's tired?

But, no, that doesn't check out, and for one reason and one reason only: Benrey's into him. Whether that's sexually, romantically, or some weird third option, Gordon isn't completely sure. But after shooting Benrey in the leg, getting him killed at least twice, trying to shoot him in the abdomen, breaking his nose, and so, so much else, he's still got some kinda crush. What's wrong with him? Why is he like this?

All these thoughts have Gordon's eyes pricking with tears again, because what it all boils down to is that he's worse than Benrey. He's bad enough that he deserves to die to let Benrey live in peace. And isn't that so f*cking backwards? The guy he thought was the big bad villain behind it all, when really he's just an impulsive and provocative idiot who just so happens to have alien superpowers. A few tears drip down Gordon's cheeks that he hurries to wipe away. The sight has Benrey sputtering.

"Whoa, bro, it's not—I mean, it's sloppy head, but people like that—"

"It's not that," Gordon says with a slight laugh. This is so stupid. Everything is always so absurd with this guy. "I get that I'm the only other guy on earth right now, but… you gotta raise your standards, man. I'm not any good…" Getting choked up suddenly, he pauses to try and swallow past the lump in his throat. "There's something so f*cking wrong with you, Benrey. I've done so much sh*t to you, and you're here making me breakfast and offering, f*cking, sexual favors to make me eat it. What's wrong with you, seriously? Do you like it? Are you into this? Is this some sick sexual fetish for you, you like big mean guys pushing you around all the time? Can you at least try to respect yourself?"

"Uh—" Benrey stares back at him, eyes wide and mouth agape. Good. He should take the time to actually think about this sh*t, because clearly he hasn't before. Too busy thinking with his dick, or… whatever reason he's had for doing all this. Sticking to Gordon like glue, calling them "best friends", it makes no sense, no sense at all.

Black lashes flutter as Benrey appears to come out of his trance, setting his plate down before reaching over to wrap his fingers around Gordon's, holding them gently.

"We're both bad, bro," he says. "You're just loud about it. S'why I like you, you're like me."

Hearing those words might've made Gordon inconceivably angry at one point in time. To be compared to the annoying, obnoxious, borderline diabolical dickwad that is Benrey would've been an offense that got Benrey punched across the room. Now, Gordon's not so sure. His stomach twists into knots and he's not sure what that feeling is or means, but it's not anger.

"I'm… What are you talking about…" It isn't phrased like a proper question, with Gordon trailing off into thoughts of how he could compare to Benrey. To say that he's more "loud about it" starts to make sense when he considers that all of Benrey's offenses tended to include him "accidentally" pushing Gordon off a box or into some toxic waste as a prank, while Gordon's offenses were fully-on-purpose punching Benrey off a tower or shooting him in the face with a minigun.

As if sensing his thought process, Benrey doesn't respond, instead scooting over to sit next to him. Gordon lets out a gasp as warm lips press into his brow with a soft sound.

"Sorry 'bout what happen with the son-boy," Benrey says in a low voice. "You didn't do that, though. Wouldn't take bite off nobody without… uh… on purpose. Had food in the kitchen y'know. You're not… that bad." The slow, somber tones of his voice cease completely as he adds, "Still kinda sh*t, though, but you can make it up to me if you eat Benny's super delicious brekky like mama used to make."

Despite everything, Gordon exhales a laugh. "Like mama?" he asks, turning to look Benrey in the eye. Benrey doesn't respond to that, but he doesn't have to—it doesn't matter. Not really. Gordon lowers his gaze, staring at the strings on the front of Benrey's hoodie. "So, what? We're just two f*cked up guys stuck in a zombie apocalypse together?"

"You're f*cked up, I'm normal," Benrey says, and Gordon huffs a laugh. "You gonna eat now or what?"

"Man, shut the f*ck up," he chuckles. "You're so bad at this. What is this, anyway?"

Benrey returns to his spot on the couch, grabbing his plate while Gordon leans forward to pick up his own. No answer is ever given, but Gordon decides not to press. It's rice and a chunk of beef with a sunnyside up egg on top and a side of hash browns, both seasoned with some kind of herb. Or maybe they're just leaves. Does Benrey even know the difference?

Though Gordon feels weak and not especially enthusiastic about the concept of eating, he halfheartedly raises a spoonful of the hashbrowns up to his mouth, chewing slowly. The flavor that pops over his tongue is delightfully salty and a touch spicy, seasoned to perfection to avoid that boring potato taste. Maybe Benrey does know what he's doing. Or he only knows this one dish. It's a pretty good dish, though, so Gordon can't complain.

The day passes in a blur as all others do—Benrey's always busy with something, while Gordon just curls up by the window in the living room, watching the still, empty streets. Sometimes he'll see Benrey wander past, usually on a skull-patterned skateboard with a helmet covered in stickers, all rainbows and smiley faces. Where he gets the motivation to go on, Gordon doesn't know, but he can't bring himself to do it. Instead, he lays down under one of the many blankets that've spawned on the couch, and takes a nap.

Only when dinner rolls around does Gordon get up. He's slept through more of Benrey's decorating, and now there's an icecream freezer up against the wall leading into the kitchen, and not the kitchen, for whatever reason. There's enough glass jars in cardboard pallets stacked atop of the freezer to make a modern hipster jealous. The sight of them have thoughts creeping up along the edges of his mind, thoughts about what they're gonna have to do to survive.

But Gordon refuses to open the door for them, instead looking over the food Benrey's placed on the coffee table. Gordon doesn't know what it is, other than a lot of breaded, herb-covered shrimp and sliced lemons. It smells nice, though, savoury yet sour.

Rubbing his eyes, Gordon sits up, placing a hand over his stomach as he feels it rumble. The feeling brings with it incredible guilt and shame. He wouldn't feel the hunger if he hadn't eaten that morning, though he also wouldn't feel it as strongly if Benrey wasn't bringing such pungent meals into the house. But the embers of Gordon's agitation flicker out before he can breathe more life into them, so all he's left with is hollowness, a headache, and a ravenous appetite.

"Mornin'," Benrey mumbles as he portions out two plates of the stuff, which looks like a f*ckton of fat breaded shrimp covered in herbs and laid atop… rice? Gordon adjusts his glasses. No, cauliflower. "Sleepyhead."

The nickname sends an odd current of attraction through Gordon that he promptly ignores. Easy, when he's quickly faced with a dilemma. Benrey's loaded up a plate for him, and he's holding it out for Gordon to take, which puts him at a crossroads. Does he keep being stubborn and feel better that he tortured himself by refusing food, or does he admit that this is unsustainable and he doesn't want to be miserable? He just can't escape the feeling that he should suffer, that nothing should ever be easy, or fun, or enjoyable ever again.

"Bro." The sound of Benrey's voice has Gordon cringing. He's clearly just missed his timing to make a choice without this being an issue. Turning away, Gordon focuses his attention out the window, at the still neighborhood bathed in the oranges and pinks of dusk.

"I'm not hungry," Gordon lies, moving to sit closer to the window, exactly where he's been all day. He's not allowed in the bedroom, after all. Not after Benrey so purposefully dragged him out of it.

For awhile, Benrey continues to sit there holding the plate out towards him. He can feel the weight of Benrey's gaze boring into the side of his head, but he refuses to crack, and Benrey ultimately gives up. Deflating, Benrey sets the plate down and gets started on his own meal, eagerly chowing down on the breaded shrimps with loud crunches and wet, slobbery sounds. It feels like he's trying to entice Gordon into giving in, and it almost works. The hollow pit in his gut fills with regret and shame. He wishes Benrey would push him on this, a lot more than he's relieved that Benrey didn't.

And when the meal's over, and Benrey puts the rest in tupperware containers for later, Gordon buries his face in a pillow and miserably falls back asleep.

The next morning, Gordon's awoken by a nudging in the back of his shoulder. A savoury scent wafts past his nostrils, and though Gordon's already given himself away with how his body jolted back to awareness, he makes himself go limp, pretending to be asleep. The thought of having to go through this again makes panic flare in his chest, his stomach twisting into knots. Benrey growing increasingly insistent doesn't help matters.

"Bro." Benrey's voice comes right by his ear. There's more nudging with what feels like the grip of a controller pressed into his shoulder. "Gordonnnnnnnn. Come on. Wakey wakey, eat… get Benny Breakfast Special in your mouth. Gordon. Gordon. Gordon."

This goes on for an agonizing length of time before Benrey gives up with a frustrated sigh. Though him stepping away settles Gordon's panic, what he's left with is a nauseating whirlpool of anxiety in his gut. Fortunately, there's just enough threads of sleep left in him to grab onto and pull himself back under… only to be woken up half an hour later.

"Bro, come on. Is daytime, idiot. Get up and play game with your best pal." A sigh. "Know you're awake, dick."

Despite the accusation, Gordon keeps some plausible deniability by refusing to drop the act. He just doesn't have the energy to be entertaining Benrey; he barely has the energy to be mad that Benrey won't leave him the f*ck alone. All he has is the regret that he didn't go back upstairs last night to avoid this pestering, and even that dies once Benrey finally gives up nudging him. It's with a very frustrated sigh and some grumbling, but Benrey does leave.

Finally alone, Gordon manages some fractured, dreamless sleep. It feels like no time at all before he's awake again, but all he does is stare at the ceiling and wonder what comes next.

When Benrey comes home an indeterminate amount of time later and Gordon's in the same place, but visibly awake, the pestering shortly resumes again. "Hey, you're finally awake," Benrey says in a vague Nordic accent. "You want a sammy? Good ol' egg sammy for launch?"

"I'm not hungry," Gordon listlessly responds.

All traces of jovialty leave Benrey's face when he says that, his expression going blank from where he stands leaning on the back of the couch adjacent to Gordon. He stares down at Gordon for a solid twenty seconds before leaving without a word.

He's back an hour later, looking peeved to find Gordon in the same spot, but he doesn't say anything. Just starts up a game with some type of early 00's music playing on the title screen and starts poking Gordon with a PlayStation controller. "Ya wanna co-op with me, friend? Or ya gonna lay there and be sad, idiot?"

The structure of Benrey's request has a spark of panic igniting in Gordon's chest, and he can't even figure out why. It just makes him feel like something really, really bad will happen no matter what he chooses. He sucks in a breath, his vision flickering, the world around him shifting as the nausea in the pit of his stomach violently churns, and…

Before he knows it, he's on his knees emptying his stomach into the toilet behind the kitchen, with Benrey kneeled behind him holding his hair back. Benrey keeps talking to him under his breath, little comments here and there like he's rating each gag out of ten, but Gordon can't really hear him. Soon, when Gordon's stomach calms down and he stops puking, he hears the tap run, followed by something cool and wet brushing over his clammy face, wiping away sweat, tears, and the bile stuck to his beard. He lets out a pitiful noise and shudders, while Benrey just coos at him, like he's a dying bird Benrey's nursing back to health.

"B-Benrey," Gordon rasps, his throat aching. He still feels it, the notion that he isn't safe here, that he's just waiting for an attack to happen. But he doesn't know how to express this, to explain why his hands are shaking and the ugly scar on his arm hurts so much.

"Yeah?" Benrey says, pausing to push Gordon's glasses back up his nose before continuing to dab at his face. "'m here, Freakman."

That shouldn't be comforting, but it is. This isn't the Benrey that laughed as those soldiers ganged up on him, this is the Benrey that stands between him and a crowd of zombies. Yeah, they're the exact same person, but this experience has changed him in a way that causes a sudden split in Gordon's mind. Suddenly, he's entertaining the thought that Benrey the apocalypse survivor would protect him from Benrey the villain, Benrey the mastermind, Benrey the jackass. Even though they're one and the same, and Benrey could just decide to do it again.

Right now, though, Gordon finds himself calming down knowing that Benrey's here to keep them both safe. That, even if there were other survivors out there, a whole ass military or whatever else, Benrey wouldn't let it happen a second time.

Right?

Does Gordon actually know that for sure?

Even when Benrey helps him out of the bathroom and up the stairs to the bedroom, Gordon doesn't relax. Perched on the edge of the bed, he panics as Benrey turns to leave, his duty fulfilled, reaching out to grab his wrist and come up with some sh*tty, fumbled excuse for him to stay.

The cold way Benrey looks at him, then, has Gordon second guessing everything. Does he know who Benrey is, really? Does Benrey actually care for him at all, or is he getting real sick of this sh*t?

"Lil' baby, need my help," Benrey mocks, though he still kicks off his shoes and climbs into bed. He lays on Gordon's other side, knees bent, and pulls a PSP out of his pocket to start playing with. Gordon moves to sit beside him, listening to the sounds of video game violence while glancing around the room, flinching at shadows and the movement of trees out the window until he finally relaxes enough to breathe evenly.

"Sorry," he says, in the ghost of a whisper, but Benrey merely tsks before tugging Gordon against his side, where he can rest his head in the crook of Benrey's shoulder.

"Big baby," Benrey says. "Whatever. Lucky your cool best friend here to save you from… boogeymen."

Gordon just nods, not sure what to say to that. Everything is such a tangled up mess that he doesn't know how to sort through it all, and the best he can do is watch Benrey play Assassin's Creed until his eyes grow too heavy to continue.

The last thing he hears is Benrey complaining about his sandwich getting cold before he's out like a light.

That night, Gordon wakes in a cold sweat, sucking in a breath and banishing the vestiges of a nightmare from his mind. Yet, in the darkness, it's all he can see. The zombie that looks just like him, dragging his son away and tearing the flesh from his bones. Gordon tries to reach out and help as Joshua cries out for him, but before he can, dozens of arms grab onto him, pulling him into the darkness.

Gordon jumps up, hand shaking as he runs it up over his face, brushing strands of hair out of his eyes where it sticks to his sweat-soaked skin. Frantic, his eyes dart around the room, searching for him, for his little boy, for Joshua.

But he's not here. A flash of a zombie biting into his son's face flashes through his mind, and Gordon throws the blankets off, rushing into the bathroom where he drops to his knees and dry heaves into the toilet. It's getting agonizing familiar, now, the way he keeps ending up here. But he can't exactly stop his stomach from violently churning, nor his sobs breaking through during every pause as he remembers his dream and connects it back to reality, to what he really saw.

Like before, it only takes a minute before Benrey's there holding his hair back and speaking to him in a low voice, though Gordon doesn't know what he's saying. Could be the bee movie script for all he knows. Step-by-step, it plays out the same, even down to the part where Gordon refuses a drink, but Benrey still leaves it there for him anyway.

This time, though, Benrey hesitates, before placing his hand atop Gordon's head and stroking through his hair, stubby nails raking over his scalp. A shiver runs down Gordon's spine.

"Wanna talk about it?" Benrey asks, standing next to Gordon where he's still kneeled on the floor, taking deep breaths.

There's nothing Gordon would like less than having to explain the terrors still flashing through his mind. Putting them to words makes them far too real. So he shakes his head, his throat burning too much to attempt speaking. Benrey accepts this, giving Gordon's head a little pat before heading back to the bedroom.

After Gordon's calmed down and knows for sure he's not gonna throw up again, he wipes his face down with a towel, stares at the glass of water for a long time, then opts for brushing his teeth, instead. Ignoring his pitiful reflection, Gordon walks out into the hallway, hesitating by the door to the bedroom. No doubt Benrey's gone back to sleep already. The window at the end of the hall shows him just how late it is. And Gordon could do that, too, he could climb back into bed and pretend this never happened, but he's too afraid of seeing it again. He's dealt with a lot of nightmares since this whole mess started, but it's never been that bad.

Weighing his options, one thing quickly jumps to the forefront of his mind. Stepping away from the door, Gordon heads into the other bedroom. He stashed his bag in here and never thought to move it, making it as safe a place as any to hide his greatest treasure. The cover shines in the light of a streetlamp outside the window, showing him the label written in sharpie that reads "Joshua's 1st Birthday".

The DVD player downstairs is easy to operate, even if he's always been more familiar with VHS players. He removes a disc for some type of woodworking program and carefully replaces it with the burnt disc inside his case, labelled the same thing in someone else's handwriting. A joint effort.

He sits down on the couch as the DVD starts up, already noticing a few inconsistencies in what he finds on the recording, but they're so insignificant that he hardly cares. No, what matters is the sight of his son's face coming into frame, alive and well where he's held in Gordon's arms. Gordon, the real one, gasps as he sees Joshua, all curls and freckles and flailing arms in the cute little pan collared shirt and shorts they got for him.

"Say Happy Birthday, Joshua," the man behind the camera says, and the Gordon in the video snorts, his eyes crinkling behind his glasses as he looks at the cameraman with a fondness that would soon die out. That attention's quickly shifted to Joshua, with Gordon lifting up one of the kid's chubby arms to have him "wave" to the camera.

"Happy Birthday, Joshua," video-Gordon says. His voice takes on that sort of mock-excited, almost theatrical tone you use to hype up beings that only understand your tone. "It's your birthday, Josh! Aren't you excited? Give us a little clap."

The kid, completely clueless, giggles brightly while Gordon moves Joshua's arms to make him "clap". The kid quickly understands and starts doing it himself, or as close to it as he can figure out. The way Gordon looks down at his son in the video is so full of love that the real Gordon feels himself get choked up, his eyes burning with tears. He feels like he's there, like he can remember what it felt like to hold Joshua in his arms like that. It was only three years ago, after all.

The backyard's filled with balloons, plus a big, cheap table with an equally cheap table cloth for hosting a whole slough of guests, mostly family on his partner's side. Gordon watches with his hand pressed over his mouth as Joshua's passed around between relatives, entertained with funny noises and silly faces and the like before the main festivities begin.

When the cake is brought out, Joshua's given a smaller one to smash into rainbow chunks and shove into his slobbery mouth, the sight causing Gordon to let out a watery laugh. He was so silly about it, making those big "omnom" noises and putting his whole fist in his mouth just to get at the cake. He made such a mess, too. But he loved it, kicking his little feet and giggling and shrieking in that toddler way that Gordon used to find so annoying before it was his own son doing it.

The cake was his own creation, the smaller one, that is. He'd never made one before and couldn't trust himself to make a bigger one without disaster striking, but the small one went perfectly. At least, Joshua loved it.

Gordon smiles as he watches Joshua play with his presents, all of which his dads have to help him open. He sits in Gordon's lap as he's handed gift after gift, not quite understanding the ritual, but loving all the colorful and soft new toys to chew on and throw around the picnic blanket. Getting to see him just enjoy himself, just enjoy being alive and the kind of fun he can have surrounded by family…

Gordon's tears shine in the light of the TV. His head hurts with the force of his sobs, throat painfully tight. He should be watching this with his son, watching him laugh as he sees his younger self smash apart a cake before begging for another cake to smash when he turns five next year. And Gordon would cave, because how hard is it, really, to do one simple thing for the sake of Joshua's happiness?

But he won't do that, because he can't do that. Even if a version of Joshua is alive out there, he'll never get to see him, because he's stuck here where his son is gone and nothing can ever change that.

He just… he wishes he'd done something more significant, told Joshua how much he loved him or was proud of him or, or something, before he stepped out of his life forever. But it's not like he knew it'd be the last time he ever saw him.

As the video draws to a close, Gordon shuts his eyes, nails digging into his cheek as he muffles the sound of his sobs. He doesn't know whether that made him feel better or worse, but he's glad he did it. Even if it means he's sat there crying until his chest hurts and his head throbs with pain. In the end, he picks up the remote, hesitating before pressing play again.

He doesn't notice Benrey watching from the stairwell behind him, arms and legs slotted between the bars of the railing.

Chapter 24: you're part of a machine, you are not a human being

Chapter Text

It's been a week now. A week of Gordon lying around feeling a bad, or locking himself up in the bathroom for a really sad jerk, whatever he's doing in there. Not like he does anything else, so busy ignoring Benrey serving him tasty home cooked meals and offering to play games with him.

Whatever. Benrey doesn't even care. He's very busy, too busy to be forcing Gordon out of his depression hole.

The first day after they get here is spent surveying the neighborhood, checking for safety risks. It feels semi-safe here, and Benrey doesn't want to find out a month down the line that there's actually a huge hole in the fence, and all it took was one loud session of Call of Duty to send a horde on their ass.

However, none of the cars Benrey checks are drivable, and he doesn't feel like putting more stress on his van. As luck would have it, one such car he breaks into has a small collection of skateboards in the back.

"Niiiice," Benrey says, picking up his favorite of the bunch, a black board covered in skulls. There's a plain black helmet resting nearby, and Benrey nabs both, using them as his new transportation method. "Gonna Tony Hawk this sh*t."

The neighborhood is way bigger than expected, ranging from smaller cereal box shaped houses to literal mansions. Benrey would've regretted not picking a mansion to bunker down in if not for how obnoxiously ritzy they are. Not passing the vibe check, there, pal.

Place has got a big park, too, which advertises paid catch-and-release fishing. Benrey makes a note of that.

There's some zombies to take down, which Benrey handles over a few days while picking up loot here and there. He starts to get back into the swing of things, or so he thinks. He's even doing some real unimportant sh*t, like taking this nerd's collection of Devil May Cry manga and hauling over a wooden shelf for the living room. It's fun, decorating a space with no limit on cost. Benrey's old apartment was nothing but a stained mattress, milk crates, a couch that smelled like cat piss—he's never had a cat—and a fridge full of Monster Energy. Plus all the bugs and mice, can't forget that. (Maybe he should have had a cat.)

He's going a little overboard, maybe, using some kid's sticker collection to decorate his new helmet and even spending a night painting his nails black, not that Gordon notices. Won't even eat the food Benrey makes with all the ingredients he's working so hard to get. The shrimp weren't easy to find! And Gordon didn't even try one!

The thought has Benrey pressing a hand to his chest, unsure how to name the ache that stabs through his ribcage whenever he thinks about Gordon. It sucks. He hates it. Stalking off, Benrey stops by the kitchen for some drinks before returning to his work. It's been redecorated like everywhere else in the house, now with more cookware, some vintage curtains, and this wooden, cow-shaped wall hanging over the stove with an incomprehensible cursive message written below it.

As Benrey reaches for the fridge, he notices the magnets he stuck to the door. There's some cow-shaped ones to match the painterly cow wall-hanging, plus the normal bubbly rainbow ones every fridge has. He'd used them to spell out "the cake is a lie" hoping Gordon would notice and laugh, or call him cringe, or something. Anything. Now, the magnets say, "all your bases are belong to us". Benrey doesn't remember doing that. Leaning to one side, he peeks out into the living room where Gordon's still all curled up on the couch. Did he…?

Benrey watches him for a moment, before returning to the fridge. He grabs a bottle, tucks it into his bag, then rearranges the magnets, now spelling out "fine dwarven crafts direct from Orzammar".

With a soft smile, Benrey returns to work. He's a very good apocalypse survivor, and one day, Gordon and his dumb magnets will welcome him home with a smile and say gee, thanks, Benrey, you're such a cool guy, do you wanna kiss with tongue?

So Benrey has to keep working. And he can't stop. Not for any particular reason, it's just what you do. He's not avoiding anything.

Now that he knows the neighborhood is fine, Benrey heads into the backyard, climbs the eight-foot wooden fence, and busts in through the back door of the neighboring house. Every house has a near identical layout, making it easy to traverse, and Benrey goes through every single one for food, meds, and bathroom stuff. It's deeply tiring climbing fences several heads taller than him to use Gordon's crowbar to break into each house, but the thought that he could do it any other way never crosses his mind. It's just the fastest and most direct method.

Besides, there's something he likes about it. The adrenaline, the sweat, the act of working himself to the bone. The sense of accomplishment. The idea that he's doing something hard, that he's capable, that he can take it… whatever. He's normal. Really normal about climbing fences.

In the process, Benrey gets a few nasty cuts from zombies jumpscaring him from behind closed doors. Those all suck super hard, a few of them requiring him to sit in a crusty bedroom stitching himself up with some mom's sewing kit.

He used to be better at this. Used to clear whole neighborhoods, no problem. Got nerfed or something. Need new strats, update patch. New skill unlock: he starts tapping Gordon's crowbar against sh*t to see if a zombie reacts nearby. Foolproof. Good job, Benrey.

But that doesn't work for everything.

Today, one week after leaving Roswell, Benrey's efforts to gather everything in the neighborhood and clear out all the zombies inside the community start to go awry. It's really stupid—he's doing everything the same as always, but he forgot to account for one really obvious thing: that there could be zombies in the backyard.

As Benrey pulls himself up over the top of the fence to drop onto the other side, it's not grass or dirt his feet collide with. No, it's a zombie, the two of them collapsing to the ground on top of each other. The shock makes him stupid, sitting still for far too long as he adjusts to what happened, earning him a nasty bite on his left hand that has him letting out a yell. Despite having sh*tty blunt human teeth, they cut with the force of a truck colliding into him at top speeds. The pain swiftly goes from stinging to mostly numb, allowing Benrey to grab the axe clipped to his belt and bash the thing's head in.

Killing it takes a few swings, but is ultimately easy. Prying its jaw open to get his hand free sucks major ass, however, the numbness flaring back to a sharp pain as each tooth is drawn out.

"Urghhh—nnnghh—" he groans, deep and guttural, kicking the zombie away as he pushes to his feet only to trip and get dirt all over his uniform. Benrey thought he was being careful, but he always thinks that, just like he always thinks the fun food he finds in a plastic container in the fridge won't give him food poisoning, and check out what happens to him every time. f*cking… bullsh*t.

Harshly gripping his wrist, he staggers to his feet, rushing into the nearest kitchen. The door is locked, requiring him to pry open the window and climb in despite the throbbing pain in his hand. Now that the teeth are out of him, the pain is hitting him full force, blood oozing down his wrist while he looks for a big enough knife. He quickly finds one stuck to a magnetic rack. Humorously, it's the exact same kind he used to chop his arm off last time. Or maybe that's not funny.

Despite how bad pain sucks now that Benrey knows its name, he doesn't hesitate to get set up to deliver the final blow. Belt as a tourniquet, check. Sterile environment—the bathroom—check. An appy juice that supposedly hasn't expired yet, check. Cauterizer, well, no, but he'll figure it out.

Taking several deep breaths, Benrey reminds himself how much more awful this will get if he waits too long and the infection spreads. Then, either he gets sick and dies, or he has to cut off more of his arm. It's the motivating factor he needs to go from practice runs and deep breaths to rearing back and slamming the blade halfway through his wrist. He lets out a loud scream, ears ringing, stomach churning, body suddenly breaking out into a sweat. Every neuron in his brain is yelling at him to stop, but he can't. Gotta 100% this game before he returns it to GameStop. Haha. Funny.

Oh, f*ck. His vision's going dark.

Another chop is all it takes, his wrist much slimmer than his forearm and therefore, much easier to cut through. And now that he's started, it's a lot easier to keep going. Slamming the blade back down severs his wrist in two, blood spurting out all over the bathroom counter and onto the floor. Dropping the blade, Benrey bites his lip until it bleeds to muffle his cry of agony, stumbling back until his legs crash into the side of the tub. Tumbling in, he curls up on his side, relishing in the feeling of the cold porcelain against his clammy skin. Clutching his arm against his chest, blood sluggishly pours out and down the drain.

The pain feels neverending, his whole body shaking and threatening to pass out, but he can't. If he did that, he'd probably die, which would render this whole thing pointless.

With a tortured sound, Benrey pushes himself back up by the elbow. It's a struggle to get out of the tub, lightly bruising his elbows and knees. First step has him falling into the counter where his hand slips on the blood he left behind, but he still manages to make it out into the kitchen. Here, he cranks the stove all the way up and waits for the burner to glow orange before pressing his stump to it.

This pain is so, so much worse, spiking through his arm up into his skull, but he holds steady until the wound's sealed up.

Then he passes out.

When Benrey next wakes, he's on the kitchen floor with a throbbing headache and a zombie knocking on the door. It takes a second before the full brunt of the pain hits him, giving him time to call out, "Just waiiiiiit you're so BOSSY…"

He stumbles as he gets to his feet, gripping the edge of the dining table and grunting as he pulls himself up. Ignoring the zombie for now—it's just one, and it's not especially motivated—Benrey heads into the upstairs bathroom to clean and dress his wound the way Gordon did. This part sucks, but Benrey remains calm and finishes up his work in an efficient and timely manner. Looking at himself in the mirror, he takes in his haggard expression, hair sticking to his face, blood dried against his chin.

Shrugging it off like it's no big deal, he splashes water on his face with a nearby cup, scrubbing himself clean with a cheap towel. Once he's all clean, he heads down to deal with the zombie. Not like he needs two hands for the ol' kick and stab.

Despite his injury, Benrey finishes up his looting before heading back home. When he gets there, he drops everything on the kitchen floor, vowing to put it away when his body doesn't ache so much. Which is as soon as he gets his hands on some of Gordon's funky little white pills. Luckily, he knows where they are, and Gordon's either fast asleep on the living room couch or pretending to be, so he can easily sneak some out.

Creeping up the stairs, Benrey heads into the spare bedroom, where Gordon's duffel bag sits on the floor by the bed. Benrey kneels down to start digging through it, not really caring if Gordon knows he's been here. The pills are stuffed into an even smaller bag… with a lock on them.

"UGGHHHH," Benrey loudly groans, not caring if Gordon hears it. Maybe he should, maybe he should wake up all annoyed, feel a fraction of what Benrey does. Asshole.

Miffed, Benrey scoffs, digging around for something small enough to fit inside the lock. It's too tiny for them to grip properly, and too hard to chew through. So picking it is his only option, or so his muddled brain believes. Pretty hard to think with how much this hurts.

Unfortunately, the only thing Benrey can find is a metal nail file, and it doesn't even fit. Maybe there's something else he could find, but Benrey's too tired to keep looking, and his arm is just one big explosion of agony, something he really didn't want to have to revisit. Real 0/10, do not recommend.

He struggles to make the sh*ttiest sandwich imaginable and sucks down a full bottle of water in one go before even thinking about what to do next. That's when he pauses, and turns to look at the couch where Gordon lies fast asleep.

"Gordon," he says, jamming his fingers into the man's shoulder. "Gordon, come on. Gordon. Get up. You're so annoying, get UP! Always doing this. Come on, bitch, you sleep like this?"

None of this works. It never does. Benrey's not even sure he can tell when Gordon's awake or asleep anymore. Is that jerk when Benrey pokes him a sign of Gordon waking up, or does he just do that sometimes? f*cking, dumb asshole actually gaslit Benrey into getting tripped up over this. With a loud sigh of frustration, Benrey throws up both hands—well, one hand—and storms off.

Without thought, he starts grabbing his things, helmet included, using his teeth to get the strap fastened. Hanging his rifle from his shoulders, he stuffs a few magazines into his pockets, grabs a smaller bag he picked up from one of the other houses, shoves Gordon's crowbar into it, and packs some supplies before heading out.

If Gordon won't give him access to the painkillers, he'll get his own. Even if he can barely stand long enough to remain on his skateboard. Whatever. Agitation floods his chest like a nest of angry hornets, but it's fine, he's honestly fine with it.

This is Benrey's first venture outside the gated community since driving them up here, and it's a bit of a nightmare. Some streets are totally empty, while others are so crowded that Benrey can see the horde from miles away. Even on empty streets, he hears zombie noises inside all the buildings he passes by, loitering. Waiting for something to wander into the middle of them. Benrey clutches his wrist. Not gonna happen, he's real smart, done this a long time.

Even if he can barely see, or stand up properly, and falls off his skateboard more times than he can count leading to countless bruises and a few minor cuts. He's really, really good at this, those times were just, uh, network lag.

Finally, Benrey scouts out the perfect place to visit. Not far from the place he's chosen to bunker down with Gordon in is a hospital, which is bound to have more than enough supplies. And, as far as Benrey can tell, it's empty. Though the scope on his assault rifle is sh*t compared to the sniper, but he doesn't see a single zombie anywhere near there, so it'll be fine.

It takes an eternity to get there, though. The best path forward is rife with zombies, and Benrey doesn't feel up to shooting his way through hundreds of these guys, not when the rifle is so loud and he doesn't have a getaway car. No, if he brought a car, he'd have crashed it and died already. Too smart for that. Instead, he has to sneak around, climbing fences as his chest heaves with the exertion, every part of his right arm aching from having to support so much of his weight, ignoring his body begging him to slow down. But he won't, because he's really strong and capable, just like he's always been.

His whole arm aches as he pulls himself up over another tall fence, landing on his opposite shoulder in the grass below. Heaving a breath, Benrey pushes to his feet, deciding to stop for a moment, take a drink of the water he brought—and there's a zombie right next to him. Benrey acts fast, twisting his body around and kicking out his leg to send the zombie falling to the ground. Leaping on top of it, Benrey jams a blade through its skull, momentarily struggling to get it back out before pushing to his feet. There's more, wandering over to investigate the noise. Stupid, f*cking, sound triggers—Benrey takes off, ignoring his exhaustion as he scales the other fence, trips, and uses that forward momentum to shoot off down the road.

The hospital isn't far, now. Only problem is that it's fenced in, because whoever designed this map is a hack that wants Benrey to die. Groaning, he sticks his remaining fingers and the tips of his boots through the holes in the chain link fence, not thinking about how much noise it makes as he hauls himself onto the top. It takes forever when he can only grip with one hand, especially when he's breathing so hard he can barely see. When he finally pulls himself onto the top, he sways, vision spotty, and falls hard into the dirt below.

Spitting grass out of his mouth with comical phtooey noises, Benrey pushes himself up, falls down, and tries again. One of these times the button combo will work. Now, his elbows and knees sting and his vision is spinning. At least he didn't land on his left arm.

As he sits there panting, chest hollow and head aching, Benrey suddenly wishes he were back home. This was stupid. Bad plan. But he's already here, with no easy way to get back home, and he's got a sunk cost fallacy or whatever to go grab… what was he doing? Pushing himself up on his left hand—OW, left hand gone, f*ck—he remembers, oh, right, the drugs.

It feels like it takes an eternity to cross the parking lot, even worse when Benrey stops halfway to grab onto some metal pole thing—light? Red light? Streetlight?—and catch his breath. Leaning back against it, he sucks down some more water, nearly half the bottle, hand shaking as he puts it back. Taking a deep breath, he looks around, trying to discern the objects in his environment. I Spy… red car. Green car. Whuh, green car? Ugly f*cking car. Sidewalk. Front doors. He looks up. When did it become night time? Shooting star. Looks back down. Road, gravel, f*cking… cracks…

Fine. He's fine. Nodding to himself, Benrey pushes up off the streetlamp and heads for the door to the hospital, pulling dozens of times before he realizes it's a push door. Duh, he knew that. Was… joke.

All the lights are out inside, which isn't ideal, but Benrey can see just fine, it's just very, very gray. He can't tell if the fluid all over the floor is blood or a big Dr. Pepper spill, but he can guess. Stepping forward, he finds bits of shattered glass along the right side of the building, so he goes left, his wavering vision making it easier to resist the various distractions he passes by; he barely sees them, and barely remembers them. Easy. Suuuuper on task right now.

Somewhere towards the middle, he locates an open area with a bunch of scales and other sh*t that doesn't matter, checking through the window of every door in search of a medical storage closet, whatever that looks like. Finding only janitor's closets, he's starting to wonder if he should've hit up a pharmacy instead.

Oh, well, he's already here. Stepping forward, Benrey immediately stops as he hears movement from the other end of the hall. He glances behind himself, left hand reaching for—right hand reaching for a weapon. He creeps forward, each step as careful as he can make it, shoulder to the wall. The noise quickly identifies itself. All the doors into the examination rooms are wide open, allowing Benrey to spot the two zombies loitering around one of them, a doctor and patient. Pretty straightforward stuff. Though Benrey wonders why these two never wandered, but it doesn't really matter. He walks over, quietly pulling the door closed—

And another suddenly bursts out from around the corner. Jumping back, the door falls closed much louder than he wanted, alerting the two zombies inside the room as Benrey struggles to push this new one back with an elbow. Vertigo strikes so suddenly that Benrey nearly allows the creeper to take a bite out of his face, and he kicks wildly before finding its knee. It goes down, and Benrey buries his blade into the zombie's skull right as the other two start banging on the door. These doors seem thick and heavy and everything, but in his experience, that doesn't matter when you're got two very determined beasties.

Benrey takes off down the hallway, getting winded quickly. As he does, he tries his best to figure out where the med supply is, and that's when he runs into the rest of the first guy's group. There's… a lot, Benrey can't count this fast when his head aches so f*cking bad. Can't think good, either, which is why he grabs his handgun and fires into the crowd, striking one of them in the side of the head. Good shot, Ben—

BAD SHOT, bad idea, why the f*ck did he draw his gun? That was so f*cking loud—

If any part of the group wasn't paying attention before, they sure as f*ck are now, and more start piling through broken windows and out of open doors. Benrey turns to run back the other way, right on time to hear the door he pulled closed splinter into a dozen f*cked up pieces. Okay. Okay. This isn't so bad, yet. Except that he still doesn't know where the meds are, and… there's a door on the left that looks like it'll lead him out into the other side of the hospital. Without thought, Benrey darts inside, pushing the door closed and forcing a nearby cabinet into the path of it.

Looking around, he spots a line of beds with cloth dividers between them, plus a lot of counters, cabinets, and sinks. He spares a moment to dig through them, finding nothing but gloves, cotton swabs, and generally useless sh*t. That gives the zombies time to start bashing down the door, so Benrey quickly stops and runs out the other end.

Just to hear shattering glass as more zombies break in through the back and front of the building. Benrey's head whips around, searching for an exit. A pharmacy was a better idea, he gets it now! You can cool it on the zombies, Jeezy!

Panicked, Benrey picks a direction—all of them are bad, anyway—and starts running, slowing his movements once a group of zombies are in sight. There's… oh, wow, there's a lot of them. Paramedics, doctors, patients, and a bunch of complete randoms that have nothing to do with hospitals. There's even a cop in the back, and one of them's in a McDonald's uniform. Not that Benrey should be playing Where's Waldo with the zombie horde. He draws his rifle, balancing it against his shoulder to better make up for the lack of his left hand, and starts firing into the crowd. This is old news, he's cleared a crowd before.

By the handful, the zombies start going down, each burst having a pretty good chance of hitting something that matters, even if it's also breaking windows to let more zombies in. But Benrey doesn't notice that part. The crowd is getting smaller and that's a good thing.

And then it gets bigger again, and again, and again, and Benrey remembers another important rule. There's always more zombies. Including the ones closing in on him from other angles, forcing his back to the wall. Strafing along said wall, he tries his best to keep his distance, going one way, then the other depending on which end of the room looks worse. It's stupid and bad and he can't keep up, his heart hammering away in his chest to nearly deafen the sound of each rifle shot.

As Benrey goes for another magazine, his vision sways and his knees start to buckle, shoulder aching so bad it makes his whole arm shake. He can't find his pocket, and he's forced to lift his head to knock a zombie back with the butt of his rifle. But it isn't hard enough, and the zombie comes right back with a buddy, tripping Benrey up and sending him to the ground.

He throws up both legs, keeping them at a distance on the heel of his boots, struggling to find his handgun, a knife, anything. Their arms flail, a decaying hand grasping onto his face and digging their claws in as they try to pull his head closer, or peel his skin off, whatever happens first. The pain is sharp, too sharp, making his face turn numb as he finally grasps onto a knife and shoves in through the creeper's skull. It hurts even worse when the claws dislodge from his face. The other zombie's trying to tear his jacket off, and Benrey kicks it back just for several more to take its place.

Benrey doesn't recognize the whimpers of terror that are coming out of his mouth as he kicks and slashes and does anything he can to keep them away, sliding back along the tile until he collides with the side of a counter. They're tearing at his legs, peeling back skin and struggling to drag him towards them. From somewhere, Benrey grasps ahold of his handgun, firing into the encroaching horde while he kicks at the ones crawling at him.

When the last one falls, Benrey struggles to latch onto the counter, legs wobbling and trickling blood into his boots as he pulls himself up to his feet, slipping on blood and bruising his only available hand on the edge of the counter. Leaning his elbows back on it, he reaches for the wall to steady himself. Instead, he finds something cold, metallic, and… DOOR.

He yanks the doorknob down, pushing himself through the now-open doorway. He tumbles to the floor, twisting around and kicking the door closed. A zombie's hand gets caught in the doorway, but Benrey pushes and pushes with all his might until it snaps off, and he can jump up to twist the lock closed.

Not that that'll hold for long. There's not even enough time to breathe as countless zombies pile in on the same location, the wood of the door beginning to crack under the weight. Benrey crawls back, panting, his vision blurry as he searches for anything that'll help.

That's when he spots some counters in the corner of the room, turning around and staggering to his feet as he makes a break for it. He's a big guy, but adrenaline does f*cked up things to you, and somehow, he manages to cram himself underneath. Luckily, it's a long f*cking cabinet, even if most of it is pipes that leak all over his clothes, already soaked with blood and sweat. He has to hold one of the doors closed where his head doesn't quite fit, but it's… it better be enough.

The door bursting open makes him jump, nearly hitting his head on the roof of the cabinet. The sound of growls and roars are louder than Benrey's own struggling breaths, but he tries to quiet them down anyway, even if it makes his chest burn. He can take it. He never had to breathe before, he can do it again, now.

Closing his eyes, he waits and listens as the zombies pile into the room, searching for him. Not that Benrey's afraid or anything, because his hiding spot is really good, and he doesn't afraid of anything. Yet his heart's pounding and the blood is rushing so loud past his ears that he's getting dizzy, his throat is tight, and he thinks he might piss himself. Maybe? Do people really do that? Well, not him, because he's NOT afr—

He jumps and lets out a pathetic yelp as some zombies start pounding on the outside of the counter. He has to hold the door closed tighter when one of the crawlers tries to get it open. Though opening doors isn't exactly what they're capable of. No, what he has to be worried about are all the fists raining down upon the doors, trembling under the force of their blows. Not as many as before, most of the zombies are standing and too dumb to sit down, so they're bashing their bodies against the whole counter. Which isn't gonna… wait, can this WHOLE THING collapse with him inside of it? Breathing heavy, Benrey looks at the pipes. That couldn't, uhh… like, stab him? Right?

Choking on air, Benrey starts to hyperventilate, the cabinet suddenly way too tight. His body trembles and spasms, the world around him growing distant as fright takes the driver's seat. Someone—him?—screams as part of the counter begins to collapse in on itself, not quite breaking through, but exerting a lot of pressure on his legs.

What does he do? Clip through the floor? That stopped working months ago. Benrey corks his eyes shut, letting go of the door to press his hand over his mouth. Suddenly, he's not in a hospital, but a dentist's office, crammed under a desk sick with fever. The zombies are pounding on the door, eager to bite his face off. He got out of that. How… what happened back…

Gordon. Benrey whimpers, biting back the urge to call for him, because he isn't here. Where is he? Why isn't he here?

As he ponders this, the pounding and gurgling begins to stop. There's another noise, so far away that Benrey can't figure out what it is, but it's rumbling and loud and far more interesting to the zombies. There's a moment of pause, when Benrey feels his chest seize up. Then the zombies are wandering away, filing out of the room until none remain. Benrey counts the seconds. At thirty, he finally lets go of his mouth, allowing himself to breathe freely. When nothing reacts, he cracks open his eyes and peeks out through the cabinet door. There's blood and some stray bits of organs that must've fallen outta somebody, but no zombies, not even a dead one. Not that he can see the whole room from here, but…

Benrey lets himself sag against the ground. It all crashes over him at once, just how close he was to dying. Yeah, it's never permanent… but it's worse than living through severed limbs and stitches and infection and whatever else. He'd rather get hit by a car three times in rapid succession. A heavy one, uhh… monster truck.

Turning, Benrey buries his face in his arm as his eyes flood with tears, choking on a sob as his throat constricts. Crying is so hard, his head hurts, his eyes hurt, his throat hurts, his chest hurts, it's like there's a new problem every few seconds. Isn't this sh*t supposed to be easy? Instead, it's an active effort, pushing every ounce of bad out of him and into a puddle on his sleeve. He tries to curl into a tighter ball, but his knees bang against the wall and it hurts to shift his arms around, so he lifts his head, the tears still pouring down his cheeks, and starts looking for a way out.

Getting in was much easier and faster than getting out. Benrey spends so much time struggling to figure it out that he starts to freak out, kicking like he can break out of here, only to meet a sharp pain in his left leg as something pierces the skin. Gritting his teeth to bite back the scream, adrenaline shoots through his system, giving him what he needs to drag himself back out, stubby nails clawing at the tile and smearing blood around.

Finally freed, Benrey darts away from the counter to collapse on the floor nearby, finding himself in a much more open space. He lays down, staring up at the tiled ceiling. For a long time, he doesn't move. He takes the time to let everything process, to let the tears pour down his cheeks, to let his body relax, to let the sounds that were once so distant come into sharper focus. That's when the shock begins to pass and the pain hits in full.

Sitting up, Benrey assesses the damage. There is, in fact, a pipe stuck through his leg from where the zombies must've broken the sink, his thrashing having snapped it off the rest of the way. Or something. Probably. He doesn't know, he sees the pipe and that's what he knows.

And it's hollow, too, so blood is leaking through it, which makes it useless as a blood stopper or whatever. Gripping tight to the metal, he grunts as he pulls it out, arm shaking with the effort, and chucks the rusty metal aside. If Benrey knows anything, and he doesn't know a lot, that sh*t's going to get infected real fast. What does he do about that? More horse pills and lots of cleaning? No, he's pretty sure he knows what people do when a wound gets infected and there's no doctors around that know what to do about it. He looks down at his left wrist, the stump beginning to lazily ooze blood through the bandage. Cool. Yeah, he loves that, it's his favorite.

His only saving grace is that the wound is pretty low on his calf, so he doesn't have to lose a lot. He's not gonna do it right away, sh*t doesn't get infected immediately, he… thinks? Shaking his head, Benrey grabs onto a nearby counter and pulls himself to his feet. There's a whole list of suck to get through and he doesn't wanna think about it right now. Instead, he looks around, piecing together where he is and god f*cking dammit.

It's the medical storage. Shelves upon shelves of stuff, all neatly labeled in terms Benrey doesn't understand, but the bottles themselves are more specific. How this sh*t's organized, Benrey doesn't know. But he picks up something that says "codeine" with a hand that shakes so bad it rattles the entire bottle, and that means pain go away, right? He starts shoving them into his bag, tracking down the other analgesics (ha. anal.) from hydrocodone to methadone, which sounds fun.

While he's at it, he grabs a bunch of other sh*t, too. Antibiotics, muscle relaxers, add—yoo, they have adderall in here? Though not sure what he's gonna do with it, Benrey tries to find the amusem*nt in it, like he's just lite Walter White, Walter Lite, peddling those speed pills to college kids or something.

He needs it. He needs to laugh right now.

Toss in some sprays, bandages, ointments, and a bunch of other sh*t that'll probably be helpful to clean up the mess he's made of his body, and he's ready to go. Anymore and his bag will be way too heavy, not to mention LOUD. It's already rattling around way too much, even when he takes off his jacket and stuffs it inside to muffle the noise, leaving him in nothing but a tight y2k-style camisole, pale blue with a white flower on the front. Lowering his body armor isn't the best idea, but the better idea is to not get hit at all. He's not the tank right now, he's the cleric in the back whose objective is heal and avoid damage. Benrey doesn't enjoy playing the cleric, but he has no choice.

The trip out of the hospital is slow going. There's zombies shuffling out of the building, and he has to wait for them to get much farther away before he can head out. As he does, he sucks down a lot of water and cleans his hands in a nearby bathroom so he can eat the sandwich he packed without getting gore in his mouth. The smell of viscera makes it difficult, but he can't breathe very well with the mask on anymore, so he doesn't wear it. At least he doesn't blow chunks like Freeman loves doing these days. Using some tap water cupped in the palm of his hand, he swallows one of the hydro-whatever pills, and heads out.

Worse is that, after leaving the building, he can't remember where he left his skateboard. He's not wearing the helmet, either, and he doesn't remember when that happened. Didn't even notice it until now. At least retracing his steps is easy when the path he took is emptied out. Why that is, he can't remember. Car alarm, maybe.

By some miracle, Benrey finds his helmet in the grass in someone's backyard, and his skateboard abandoned on the side of the road. He grabs both, sitting on the board and pushing himself home. It's, uh, cool new transportation… land boat. No gas.

Benrey heaves a sigh. That isn't funny, it's just tiring on his arm.

After an eternity of land-boating, he makes it back to the gates. Though for a while, he just sits there with his back to the wrought iron bars and stares up at the sky, breathing long and slow.

Everything hurts. He's losing blood. Probably getting infected all over, have to cut off his everything. Ha. Funny, stupid, funny Benrey, gonna have to roll him around like a piece of sausage now.

It's not funny. Nothing is funny. He sucks in a breath and tries not to cry before getting to his feet. Been sitting still too long, it's dangerous. He uses his shoulder to push open the gate, gently kicking the skateboard through.

It's a short walk past cobweb-infested hedges to reach their house, it being the literal first one on the right side of the block. Benrey's been playing kick-the-can with his skateboard, and it gently whacks against the front porch as Benrey heads for the steps. He tosses off his helmet, not caring where it goes.

Stepping inside, he doesn't know what he hopes to find, yet anticipation swells in his chest as he steps over the threshold and closes the door behind him. Looking around, his hopes are dashed when he finds Freeman in the exact same spot, same position, same everything, with nothing in the house moved around or otherwise changed. Benrey's hand shakes as he pulls it away from the doorknob, his fingers flexing at his sides. He stares at Freeman's back, feeling something else flood his chest: rage.

Heart pounding, Benrey quietly seethes, hand twitching with the urge to do something, something only the bad guys do. His body's taut with the urge to throw himself across the room, yank Freeman out of bed, and chuck him at the nearest surface. Maybe he'll drag him outside and make him sleep in the grass. And when he's all sprawled out and angry, Benrey will… Benrey will… he'll…

Benrey swallows past a lump in his throat. Forcing his gaze away, he stiffly walks deeper into the house, going through the motions as his mind retreats somewhere else. He sees himself undress and hop into a bath, cleaning off all the blood and other filth before he tries disinfecting what needs to be, stitching up wounds, and so on. He doesn't feel any of it. And there's a bottle of red wine in here with him, where'd that come from, haha…

There's a belt around his leg, and something in his mouth, teeth dug into the tough material. He's holding a saw, really not sure where that came from, and now he's not in the tub but in the middle of the floor. The bathroom around him doesn't look familiar—it's not the one he shares with Freeman. Okay, cool. Caught up to speed. His pant leg's rolled up and he can see the gaping hole where the pipe pierced clean through through his leg, bleeding from both sides. Must be why he's so f*cking dizzy. Or it's the drank, or some third thing. Was he supposed to drink with the painkiller? Whatever.

He lines up the blade and just goes right for it like it's no big deal. It stings, but nowhere near as much as it should. So he keeps going. His hands spasm, and he drops the blade, but he picks it right back up and keeps going. At one point, though, he has to stop to throw up, and he nearly blacks out despite the lack of pain. It's weird. Like a really weird movie he can't turn off.

Benrey blinks, and there's a big pool of blood on the ground, his lower leg laid separate from his body like a prop, something he'd use to hit people with as a joke. His body moves on its own, using a barbecue lighter to heat up a different, clean saw blade, the kind without the big hole in the middle, and cauterizes his wound with it. Again, his body spasms, and he gags, but he doesn't throw up, instead leaning back against something as he resists the lightheadedness and nausea. Once its done, he tosses the blade aside and works on the rest. He doesn't know what that entails, he goes away for that part.

Eventually, everything is done. What happens next is a blur, each step forgotten once he moves onto the next one. The next thing Benrey knows, he's waking up the next morning, and everything hurts. Somehow, he hasn't died of anything. And when he goes to take a shower and change all of his wound dressings, nothing is infected, either.

No more horrors. Just a lot of drugs to cope with the aftermath. He wishes he had someone here to tell him if he's allowed to smoke weed, too, because he could really use it.

Instead, he has Freeman, except that he doesn't have Freeman, but he won't wake up when Benrey tries to shake him. He doesn't say anything to wake him, this time, because he already knows what's happening. He's being ignored. And he doesn't have it in him to keep trying, anymore. If Freeman wants to waste away… Benrey doesn't want that to happen, but he can't take care of both of them forever.

The next week is complicated. Benrey finds something to tape to his ankle that fits into a boot well enough to act as a prosthetic, though he limps everywhere and can't ride the skateboard without tripping. This is probably what physical therapy is for, but the guys who teach that sh*t are all dead, and this isn't permanent, anyway.

In the meantime, Benrey will just keep going despite all the odds, because he's better than this. He's strong, he's big, and he's shrugged off injuries all his life. It doesn't matter that it hurts now, that he gets dizzy now, that he has trouble breathing and he's so sweaty all the time, now. That's, what do they call it? All in your head. And on your skin and sticking to your clothes, but, whatever. It's summertime, he'll just dress lighter.

The zombies that fled from the hospital took everyone else with them, because Benrey doesn't encounter much on his trips outside the community. And he does take trips. Seeing Gordon laze around like a miserable asshole going waaa, my son ahhh my son, is really pissing Benrey off. He'll show Gordon how much better he is. Just wait until he shapes up and sees everything Benrey's accomplished. Ahhh, you're so cool, Benrey, he'll say, how can I make it up to you? And then they'll kiss and Benrey will give him another son somehow, he'll figure it out, and they'll be NORMAL again, and…

Benrey nearly crashes the car thinking about this. Well, whatever, it's just a slight dent in the bumper. He flicks off the ignition and hops—carefully steps—out of the vehicle. Here he is, at the combination pharmacy/alcohol store/gardening shop. Or, well, they're three separate buildings, but he's here for all of them.

Several trips over several days later, and he's back at the house working in the backyard. He dresses lighter, all breezy jeans with a lot of pockets and cropped shirts like he's Kim Possible. His stumps have barely grown out, but he has enough hand to drape things over his left wrist now, which is useful, if tiring. At least it's enough to hold something in place while he dismantles the fences dividing up each backyard, making for a much larger space. And that's after he cut the grass and had to pick ticks out of his legs, not fun, do not recommend. At least those guys moved out so Benrey doesn't have to worry about them for the rest of his yard work.

There's piles of stuff back here, now, a yellow tarp covering all the fertilizer, metal pipes, and boxes upon boxes of tools and seeds he brought back with him. There's even a cute lil' scarecrow in the back that he's been sticking spiked jewelry and chains to, just because.

Benrey hasn't started the farm yet, but he has three wooden barrels catching rainwater for him. Though it hasn't rained in a while. Might not do that again until fall rolls around. But it's ready.

Anyway, the fence is taking a lot of f*cking work. Benrey has to keep stopping so he won't pass out, which is annoying, but at least he gets some apple juice to go with it. The farming supply store had a bunch of saplings, and Benrey's brought back all of them, which are now cluttering the corner of the yard in a nice, sunny spot. The apple and cherry trees had a few fruits ready, another, some lemons. Which is pretty dope, since a lot of his recipes use lemons, and he's running out of the meager amount he found in some guy's backyard. The rest are all goopy and brown and will kill him, according to Gordon.

Benrey's carrying some of the fence pieces he's torn down over to the alleyway between houses when he starts to feel himself black out. Pausing, he waits, taking deep breaths until his vision clears. Yeah, that's body saying it's time for a break. Setting his tools aside, but leaving his gloves on—one's taped to his wrist so it won't fall off, and it would take too long to remove and reapply it—Benrey heads for the backdoor, debating over what kind of drink he wants as he steps over the threshold.

And right into Gordon. Well, not really, they're a few feet away, but Gordon is here, up and awake and looking back at him in surprise, like he hadn't expected to be caught. Caught rearranging the magnets on the fridge, that is. This keeps happening, though Benrey stopped "replying" a few days ago. Not for any particular reason, he just forgot. He's always doing something, even if that something is video games. Which he was planning on doing now, but not if Gordon's gonna be here being a huge downer all day.

(He knows that isn't true, that he's going to beg Gordon to play with him anyway.)

"Oh. Hey, Benrey," Gordon greets, giving a sh*tty little wave.

"You look a bit sh*t," is Benrey's immediate response. Because, well, it's true, and it's hard not to notice. Gordon's pale, his face almost blending into his sh*tty farmer's tan, clothes dirty and covered in sweat, hair unbrushed, sh*tty neckbeard, cracked lips. It actually tears and starts bleeding when Gordon offers him a small smile and a laugh, not that he appears to notice.

"Yeah," he says, trailing off like it's too tiring to speak.

They stare at each other for a moment longer, before Benrey decides he doesn't have time for this, to stare at Gordon and feel bad, and longing, and bad because why is he being like this? Benrey shoulders past him to the fridge, grabbing some of the apples stashed lazily on the shelf and tracking down the juicer he got from one of the neighbors. It's the kind where you just toss sh*t in and hit a button, easy.

"Where'd you get fresh fruit?" Gordon is asking, now nosing through the fridge, which just tells Benrey that he hasn't looked in the fridge on his own in two weeks, because there's been fruit in there for about that long. Probably the only reason he's still alive is the same reason Benrey keeps finding stuff going missing in the cabinets. His gut twists as he simultaneously thinks stupid idiot can't even kill himself right and maybe I should get more stuff for him to find.

The conflicting emotions make Benrey's eyes burn, and he refuses to turn around as he tracks down some sugar for his drink. It's never sweet enough with all the skins still on it, but he can't peel good with only one hand.

"Benrey?" Gordon presses.

"Huh? What?" Benrey says, hoping he doesn't look any sort of way when he turns to look at Gordon from over his shoulder.

"Are you listening?" Clearly he looks fine, because Gordon just seems annoyed, his dumb—cute—little face all scrunched up.

"Whuh? No," Benrey lies. "Who wants to hear you, all nasally and sh*t." Turning back around, he hides whatever look his face is making as his gut gets all twisted up again. "Uh, speak up? Maybe speak up? Wheezing like, uhhh, engine. Car engine."

"What are you… nevermind." The fridge closes, and he flinches as Benrey turns on the juicer, feeling a mix of vindication and regret that makes his stomach hurt. He likes to hurt Gordon. He doesn't like to hurt Gordon. He doesn't know what he likes. With a huff, Benrey fills his glass up and pours in a spoonful of sugar, the metal clinking loudly against the sides as he stirs. And it's weird, because Gordon keeps standing there. Benrey can feel his presence. Growling under his breath, Benrey speaks up.

"Go away, maybe?" he snaps. "Hobbies, you got hobbies? Like sleeping? All you do anymore."

"What… Man, leave me alone. I'm trying, okay?"

"Eughh, I'm tryyyying, Benrey, I'm trying sooooo hard," Benrey mocks, throat constricting as a dull ache blooms in his temples. He pauses stirring just to make a lewd gesture as he continues, "f*ckin' crankin' your tiny, sad hog all day, act like you're trying. f*cking asshole." Chucking the spoon into the sink, Benrey starts taking a sip, letting the odd taste distract him from how much he wants to cry right now.

"What's your problem?" Gordon says, as Benrey sets the glass back down. "I'm messed up, okay? Is that what you wanna hear, Benrey? I'm barely holding it together—"

Anger flares up in Benrey's chest, whipping around to shove Gordon back into the fridge. Shock passes over his features, before it turns to anger, and he surges forward, grabbing Benrey's shirt and shoving him back. He staggers, barely catching himself with the sh*tty prosthetic foot he's using.

And Gordon comes at him, fist colliding with Benrey's face right where the zombie's claw dug into his skin a week prior, now reduced to angry red lines. He doesn't feel anything but disoriented, the hydrocodone keeping them numb. But that's not nice, either, especially not when Gordon follows it up by shoving Benrey back into the counter, nearly knocking his juice down.

"What, why you hitting me…" Benrey slurs, getting really, really dizzy suddenly.

"You've been on my ass all f*cking—I don't know! But I'm getting sick of it!"

"Ohhh, booo, man who lie in bed all day has worst life—"

"Shut up! I'm up all f*cking NIGHT with this—f*cking—I can't sleep, I can't keep food down, sometimes I don't even know where I am, and all you care about is f*cking, video games and bugging me to play some stupid sh*t—"

Benrey spits in his face.

And all hell breaks loose. A punch is thrown, and then Benrey's on the ground, and he doesn't move. Gordon takes out all his anger right then and there, and Benrey doesn't move. Can't even feel it, just like old times. Wasn't it so fun and funny for everyone when Benrey was just a punching bag? Wasn't it so GOOD? Wasn't that the only time anyone liked him, when Gordon would laugh at his jokes and pay attention to him instead of ignoring him all day, for weeks? Wasn't it better?

Suddenly, nothing's happening anymore. Or maybe it's been like this for a while, and he just didn't notice. Benrey shifts his jaw around and one of his teeth comes loose, so he reaches in, plucks it out, and marvels at it in the light. Huh. Been awhile since he's regrown one of these. He chucks it into the sink, misses, and pushes himself up.

Oh, Gordon's still here. He's sagged back against the counter looking like he's gonna pass out, for some reason. Benrey doesn't remember what happened. Did he just get his ass kicked? He can't feel anything.

"Huh…" he mumbles, feeling over his chest for bruises, which is dumb because he can't feel the bruises, he can only see them, and he can't see them. What's happening? Were they just fighting? "What… Why'd you stop?"

"Shut the f*ck up, Benrey," Gordon wheezes.

"Did… huh?" Benrey looks around, then back at Gordon. "What happened?"

"God, you're so annoying."

"What?"

All he gets in response to that is an agitated sigh. He watches as Gordon pulls his legs closer and presses a hand over his eyes, teeth grit like he's crying, and Benrey says nothing about it, because he… doesn't care.

"Bet this is why your boyfriend left you."

Something like that, he expects to get hit for it, maybe lose another tooth or something, but that never happens. Gordon looks stricken, head snapping up to look him in the eye.

"No! That isn't—I don't—This isn't—f*ck, man." He places his head in his hands, taking a deep breath while Benrey just stares at him. "I've never, I don't get into fights, I—I don't f*cking hit my partners either, Jesus Christ. It's just you that I can't f*cking stand."

"Wow," Benrey says, sarcastic. "Feel so special."

"And—But, you—"

"Could at least f*ck me if you're gonna smack me around," Benrey spits, giving a little pelvis thrust just to be crude. The annoyed, but regretful, restrained look on Gordon's face makes it clear he didn't like that.

"No! Benrey, look. Stop—Stop acting like this is f*cking spousal abuse! I don't even like you, you're the sick f*cking asshole that wants to f*ck the guy who flies off the handle and—and… it's you that's sick."

"Nah, you like me," Benrey says, kicking Gordon in the chest, not hard, just pestering. And he kicks again and again. "You liiiike me and you wanna f*ck me so bad, it makes you SO mad you gotta get your dukes up. You some home of phobic, bro? Feel real secure when you're jackin' it to my busted up face? Could at least spank me or something, most one-sided sick sh*t—"

"Will you stop f*cking talking?" Gordon snaps.

Benrey doesn't. "Maybe I wanna piece, huh, maybe I wanna piece of the Gordon pie, maybe you piss me off, bro. Maybe I'm sick of you. I do everything around here and it's not good enough for you, Benny lose everything while sad man sit in bed and cry, won't eat the sh*t I make for you, hitting me for no reason, not my FAULT you're so miserable. Could make it my fault, though, you want it be my fault? Huh?"

"Benrey—"

He kicks Gordon in the face, hard enough to have him letting out a noise that makes Benrey wanna throw up, hard enough to make him tumble over onto his side, hard enough that there's blood coming out of his nose when Benrey pulls his boot back. The sight of it makes Benrey feel good—bad—and he kicks again, in the chest this time, before shoving to his feet. Benrey stumbles, catching himself on the counter as Gordon tries to do the same, but Benrey's faster because Benrey is BETTER and he grabs a knife off the magnetic rack, the shing making Gordon flinch and stumble back to get away from him.

"Hey, whoa—Benrey, that's a bit much—Put that f*cking thing away!"

"No, bro, you wanna be actin' crazy, you wanna see crazy? I can be crazy." They follow him as he tries to skitter away, tackling him to the ground with their elbows and knees. "You like this," Benrey says, their stump pressing into his chest as they hold the blade down over his face, his nose, not even broken or anything, lazily oozing blood. "You like me bad, s'why you do this."

"No—No, I don't…! Hey, stop—"

They hold the blade to his throat, close enough for him to feel the sharp tip, not enough to cut. Their breaths grow faster and everything's hurting, but not like that, not in the way the drug can prevent, but they don't stop.

"Could cut your heart out, bro, bet it's all black and nasty," Benrey taunts. "Bet that would make me sick. And we could both die, and you could leave me alone, maybe, get out of my f*cking house—"

"It's not—Why are you f*cking complaining?! You don't have to do ANYTHING, Benrey!" Gordon shouts. "I don't know what you're doing all f*cking day, but you don't have to! You could just be sitting around—f*cking, jerking off!"

Benrey's hands shake around the knife, the blade knicking Gordon's soft brown flesh. You don't have to do anything, Benrey. Oh, that's funny. Benrey pulls the knife away and punches Gordon square in the jaw hard enough to have his head snapping towards the tile, quickly grabbing onto his face and holding him in place. The knife is positioned over his eye, his glasses having gone… somewhere, whatever. It doesn't matter.

"Maybe I'll cut it out, huh, maybe you—maybe—" Benrey starts getting choked up, but he fights through it. "Be like—Feel like me, huh? Getting hurt for you, getting you stuff, got my insides all on the outside, and you don't ask, how was your day, Benrey? 'Cuz you don't care, you don't CARE that Benny's all hurt, that's funny for you, I bet. 'Cuz I don't have to do anything, can jus' be like you, and DIE like a f*cking loser. Ahhh, boohoo, so sad, don't care I'm doing this sh*t for you, don't care that—you—I'm—that you're, just, f*cking… you're… scary, you're scaring me—" Droplets of something land on Gordon's cheek, not them, not theirs—'cuz they aren't, they aren't—"I just want you to be okay! And you don't even care!"

Pulling the knife back, Benrey lets it drop to the floor with a clang, covering his face in what remains of his hands. Choking on a sob, Benrey tries to keep ranting and raving, but his throat hurts so f*cking much that it all just sounds like garbled noise. "Do, it's—All—And you… hhh… I…"

Gordon just stares at him, slackjacked, before starting to sit up. Benrey doesn't stop him, awkwardly sliding off and crawling away to curl up against the side of the counter.

"Benrey…" Gordon starts, one of his hands held out like he's trying to pacify a wild beast. "What happened to your hand?"

There's no hesitation. In a flurry of anger, Benrey rips off both gloves and chucks them at Gordon's face. With a startled noise, he flinches as the gloves hit him, looking first to those, then Benrey's hands. The right one's normal save for some little knicks here and there. But his left? It's like a sh*tty little ginkgo leaf, just an inch off from his wrist and no more. The end is mishapen and bruised, and it's itchy as f*ck when he isn't rubbing cream all over it. At least it doesn't need to be bandaged anymore.

"What…" Gordon breathes. "Benrey, when did that… Hey!"

Jumping up, Benrey finds his juice spilled all over the counter, just another mess that Gordon isn't gonna help clean up. Lotta wasted apples. Benrey growls before storming off, throwing open the back door and limping his way to the adjacent house, the one with all his blood stained on the tile in three different rooms. The bleach makes him wanna throw up too much to do anything about that.

Benrey heads upstairs to the master bedroom. He's been in here a lot, lately. He doesn't know what he's doing in here right now, though, other than getting away from Gordon. Same reason he's always in here.

He sniffles, trying and failing to hold back his tears as he yanks open the mini-fridge in the corner hard enough to slightly f*ck up its placement, tearing open an energy drink with his teeth. Maybe a few hours spent with some video games will fix him. Then it's back to building a fence while Gordon acts like he's having the worst time and deserves to make Benrey do everything, 'cuz he's the tortured hero and Benrey's the villain who doesn't get to be sad. He doesn't get to pause, cry, nap all day—he doesn't get to.

Gordon doesn't get it.

Chapter 25: there's something dark inside, so don't let in the light

Chapter Text

A heavy weight falls over the room when Benrey leaves. For awhile, all Gordon can do is sit there, on the tile, thumbs rubbing over the smooth brown fabric of Benrey's gloves, unable to process the mess that's just gone down. The mess he created.

He thought he was improving, with the dumb magnets and all the times he's convinced himself to eat or drink something. He thought maybe he was finding a reason to go on, or, failing that, realizing he was too much of a bitch to actually kill himself. Maybe he's just making excuses to do nothing. Maybe he's just being dramatic. Nevermind that he wasn't exactly having fun, spending all his time sick, scared, and hurting.

At least he still has his hand. Gordon clutches his right arm against his chest. That's happened to both of Benrey's arms, now, and he was limping as he left, not to mention all the cuts on his fingers and all over his arms. He doesn't understand why Benrey doesn't just take the opportunity to relax, to not have to do this anymore. Why did he go out? Isn't it safe enough to just stay indoors and play games all day? Do they really need fresh food when they'll live just fine on canned stuff?

But, of course they can't. The stuff they have won't last them forever, and this city might not have much to last them, either. Gordon called it "year one", but what if this is closer to year three, or six? All the crashed cars, rotten food, dead plants…

No, he can't go on like this. Like it or not, the reality is that he's stuck in this apocalyptic hellscape, and he needs to get over it. More than that, the two of them are stuck here together.

And they're both bad people. Only difference is that Benrey has some degree of control over his impulses. Gordon rubs a hand over his throat, feeling the tiny cut Benrey's blade left behind. If Benrey was like him, he'd already be dead. That's… a chilling fact to consider.

He can see it so clearly now, and it makes guilt churn in his stomach. While he's in here hiding from the world, Benrey's confronting it head on. Whether Gordon thinks it's necessary or not, Benrey does, and Gordon doesn't see how he has any right to claim that what he's doing, avoiding it all, is better when Benrey's actually putting in effort.

Though dizzy, Gordon picks himself up, setting Benrey's gloves down on the counter and retrieving his glasses from where they fell onto the floor. Turning, he sees the glass of apple juice Benrey prepared, now making a sticky mess of the counter and dripping all the way down onto the floor. This… he'll start with this.

Gathering up everything he needs, Gordon cleans the mess, including the glass and the juicer. That's when he spots the tooth sitting on the counter nearby, a speck of blood following its trajectory. Gordon winces. He didn't realize he hit that hard. He felt so weak, like his punches had no impact, and that just made him angrier, until… "until he tired out" really shouldn't have been his stopping point. He shouldn't have done it at all.

Opening up the fridge, he cleans in there, too, tidying the mess Benrey's made of his edible loot. In the process, he makes himself a sandwich before mopping the floors, doing Benrey's laundry—including tossing his own frankly disgusting outfit into the mix—and heading upstairs for a shower, shave, and a fresh change of clothes. Slathering himself in deodorant and the least offending body spray he can find, Gordon brushes his hair and heads into the backyard.

He doesn't know what he expected to find out here, but this wasn't it.

There's gardening supplies everywhere, most of it tucked safely under a bright yellow tarp, and the yard's three-backyards bigger than it used to be. Though nothing's been planted, there's over a dozen saplings in big pots, some of them flowering or with fruits in various stages of turning ripe. Stunned, Gordon walks through them all, each with a label stuck to a branch for him to read. Apples, lemons, cherries, peaches, oranges, bananas… Jesus. All this, and Benrey only had one hand, and a limp.

…And Gordon locked up his medical supplies. sh*t, has Benrey been going through this without painkillers? Is that why he's so busted up, did he go to find more? He could've just torn the bag open! A knife would've done the trick!

Gordon plucks a few ripe cherries, popping them into his mouth and spitting the pits back out. The taste is so juicy and sweet that he finds his eyes pricking with tears, but he refuses to let them out. Crying is all he's been doing lately. It needs to stop.

Investigating further, he finds a few ripe apples and carries them back to the house. These will become part of the meal he makes later, after deep cleaning the house, that is.

There's always something to do, since apparently Benrey doesn't clean jack sh*t when left to his own devices. God, how did Gordon not even notice it before? This place is a mess. Clothes and trash all over the floor, dirty dishes piling up in the sink, countless items Benrey's brought inside but never put away, just left wherever he felt like, clearly. Gordon would be more agitated about it if he weren't so busy.

Before he knows it, dusk rolls around, the sky turning dark outside. He's got rubber gloves, an apron, and a handkerchief for his hair, and he's scrubbing the downstairs toilet when Benrey finally strolls back into the house. Gordon only notices when he speaks up.

"Why're you awake?"

The sound of Benrey's voice startles him, and he jumps, pressing a hand over his chest to calm his beating heart as he looks back at the guard. Benrey's stood in the doorway, dressed the same as before—cropped black hoodie, matching cargo pants, combat boots. Gordon tries not to grimace at the sight of his bruised face.

"I'm cleaning," he says. Like that isn't obvious, like he's not currently on his knees scrubbing the toilet surrounded by a bunch of cleaning agents. Yet Benrey tips his head to one side like it's confusing anyway. The two of them stare at each other for so long that Gordon feels compelled to say, "What?"

A beat passes in silence, before Benrey turns and walks off towards the living room. His sudden reappearance has Gordon wondering what time it is, checking the watch strapped to his wrist. Eight o'clock. sh*t, he was supposed to make dinner.

Quickly finishing up, Gordon rushes into the kitchen, pleased to find that Benrey hasn't gone and cooked himself anything in Gordon's absence. That defeats the purpose. Digging through the kitchen, Gordon assesses what he's got to work with, surprised by just how much there is. It's still mostly canned and dry foods, but there's eggs in the fridge and some meat frozen in the freezer. He saw this earlier, even threw out some stuff Benrey must not have known was rotten. But it continues to baffle him. Benrey really put in so much effort that he either found, or hunted for meat and eggs. With one hand. Gordon remembers how much not having a hand f*cking hurt, how dizzy it made him, and that was with the suit's morphine injectors.

Gordon shakes himself before he can go down a guilt spiral. No, he's spent too long having those. Grabbing a bunch of eggs and some fruit, he gets to work, adding in canned vegetables where needed with plenty of seasoning. The kitchen is stacked, like Benrey grabbed everything that looked edible no matter what he felt about it and loaded up the kitchen with it. Gordon's only seen a spice rack this full on store shelves. His mother would be so jealous.

Well, all that makes it far easier to come up with stuff to make. And he's not cutting corners on this one, except for where he has to. Not everything he wants is here, but he can easily replace them or make them from scratch with other ingredients. Good thing he's made all of this before.

Soon enough, everything's ready, and Gordon carries it out balanced on a tray—he does not trust himself to do it any other way—to place on the coffee table. Benrey's here, feet kicked up, controller in hand, playing Grand Theft Auto V. But with the introduction of a fresh meal, Benrey immediately sits up and sets the controller aside. There's two plates of food already divvied up, though the dessert is stacked on a separate plate for later. Gordon hands Benrey his plate, plus a fresh glass of apple juice with one spoonful of sugar.

"Here," he says as he hands over the glass. The look on Benrey's face is almost comical, eyes bulging and lips slightly parted. Gordon winces slightly as he sees Benrey set the plate aside to accept the drink. Right, one hand. Gordon'll get used to it soon.

There's loud slurping from Benrey as Gordon takes his seat on the adjacent end of the sectional, like always. A sense of wrongness comes over him as he does, returning back to the spot he's spent so long lazing about in, but he doesn't dare move any closer to Benrey.

Instead, he grabs his own plate and gets started on eating. The food looks delicious, better than it should without any fresh vegetables to go into it. Yet he doesn't want it. He feels sick thinking about raising the fork to his mouth and chewing. Benrey watches him over the rim of his glass, pretending to drink, though Gordon doesn't notice when he's fighting his own battles, over here.

He's… doing good, today. After getting in a huge about it, but that was just the shock he needed to get over himself, right? So he forces himself to pick up the fork, scoop up some food, and eat it. Every movement is slow and halting, but he still does it.

The flavor that washes over his tongue is his reward. Yeah, this really is better than it has any right to be. The taste is completely off, not in the rotten way, just in the way that these eggs didn't come from chickens, but from whatever birds Benrey's been robbing, so Gordon isn't used to it, yet. Once he takes that first bite, it gets easier to keep going. Not easy. But easier.

"Bro, what is this?" Benrey's voice draws Gordon's attention, looking over to see the guard stuffing his face so fast, there's egg stuck to the corner of his mouth. Gordon lets out a soft chuckle.

"Well, you've been making a lotta sh*t, like—'like mama used to make'," Gordon explains, pushing food around on his plate. Benrey pauses to watch him as he speaks. "So, I made this. Huevos a la Mexicana—like mamá used to make."

This information has Benrey's cheeks turning blue for reasons Gordon can't decipher. He looks to the dish, expression unchanging, then over at the dessert stack on the coffee table. "What's that?" he asks.

"Buñuelos," Gordon answers. "Or, you know, it's just scrambled eggs and fritters. I didn't even have everything I needed, and all that stuff's probably gone bad, anyway. This is close enough, until… uh, I guess until we start farming, since you already got that started. Uh… good… job, by the way."

It feels awkward to directly address Benrey's accomplishments now of all times, but he makes himself do it anyway, promptly stuffing more food into his mouth so he doesn't have to keep talking. It's silent, after that, Benrey staring at the buñuelos for a while before he goes back to eating. Between bites, he keeps playing his game. Though he ends up letting Michael stand around a lot after long taxi rides and cutscenes so he can keep eating, instead.

Then, after a decent pause where Gordon keeps telling Benrey he needs to wait before eating dessert or he'll get sick, Gordon lets him go at it. Benrey fingers the fluffy disc of cinnamon and sugar, sniffing it loudly before placing his mouth on it. Gordon laughs when his eyes go wide, and he bites off a big chunk, chewing slowly and licking the remnants from his lips.

"Yo, wha' the hell, this f*cks," he says, eagerly devouring the rest of it. Pride swells in Gordon's chest, and he reaches for one of his own without much thought. He's a little too old to be eating sweets like this, but he can handle one or two. The rest can go to Benrey.

And they do, as Benrey spends all night munching on them while playing his game. Gordon sits back and watches, and it's as if nothing ever happened between them. Conversation slowly starts up, at first stilted and awkward. But before long, the air is full of laughter, teasing, and energetic commentary. Though every now and then, Gordon gets this jab of guilt in his chest that says he shouldn't be having so much fun, that he's a bad person for enjoying himself, but that's quickly swept away. It's like Benrey's refusing to give him any time to think. And for once, that's appreciated.

The game is played late into the night, at which point, Gordon pats his thighs and gets up to leave. He takes their plates and glasses with him atop the tray they were brought out on, back into the kitchen for clean-up.

It's not a lengthy process. But he hears boots on the tile behind him not long after he gets started, followed by arms encircling his waist and a warm body pressing into his back. He sucks in a breath, body tensing up as he feels Benrey lay his chin down atop Gordon's head.

"Benrey."

"Mmh?"

"What are you doing?"

"Hugging."

Gordon sighs, feeling Benrey's hands shift around on his waist, tugging him back tighter against Benrey's body. The warm, giddy feeling that thrums throughout Gordon's body has his mouth clicking shut to avoid making some sort of noise about it. It's just hormones, oxytocin and all that. He can't help that his body likes having Benrey touch it.

"I can see that," Gordon says.

"You can? Wha, you got eyes on the back of your head?"

Despite the urge to complain, Gordon merely grits his teeth and continues working. It's not like he hates it. Benrey's body is warm and big, soft in all the right places. The more they stay like this, the more Gordon comes to enjoy it. Relaxation washes over him, and when he's done working and Benrey has to leave, Gordon immediately mourns the loss of his embrace. Benrey doesn't even say anything, either, just gives him a slight squeeze like the punctuation at the end of a sentence, and leaves, returning to his video games.

Gordon grips the edge of the counter. Is everything forgiven, is Benrey not mad at him anymore? Or did something inside him snap during the past few days, and now he doesn't care about boundaries? Gordon places his hand over his waist, remembering what it felt like to have Benrey's hand there. This… oh, wow. He doesn't know if he has the spoons to think about this right now, but he'll have to eventually.

Exhausted, Gordon heads up the stairs to get ready for bed.

In the morning, Gordon wakes to find Benrey asleep in bed with him, sprawled out on his front drooling on his pillow. One of his legs is thrown over Gordon's thigh, the other sticking out from beneath the blanket.

Gordon only gets a moment to find this amusing before he does a double-take at the leg that's hanging out. Much like Benrey's hand, there's nothing there but a misshapen stump, bright blue where the flesh is regrowing itself. Gordon curses inwardly. What the hell happened to him?

Pondering this, Gordon sits there staring for a few minutes, long enough for Benrey to wake up and stare back without a word. For a few minutes, anyway.

"You got a thing for ankles, Freeman?"

The mumbled and drowsy sound of Benrey's voice catches Gordon by surprise, not having noticed him wake up. There's the urge to ask, to find out what happened. But if Gordon knows Benrey at all, he knows he won't learn anything by asking questions. Either he'll find out, or he won't.

Regardless, one piece of information is clear: Benrey's had a bad time since they got here, and Gordon did nothing to make it any easier for him. Not exactly brand new information. But seeing just how bad it is really puts things into perspective. Benrey's gone through the worst pain of Gordon's life three times in as many months, and because Gordon wasn't around to help him like he was last time, he's just had to keep doing everything on his own.

"Does it hurt?" he finds himself asking. It was so long ago that Benrey first lost his arm, Gordon can't remember what it was like. Gordon was too hopped up on morphine when it happened to him, and the injury didn't stick around long enough for him to experience the healing process.

As he thinks about that, he finds himself tracing over the scar, over the jagged keloid encircling his forearm, and the warped skin where the gun would overheat and melt his flesh.

"Do you need—"

"'m fine," Benrey mumbles, deep and tired. He stretches out before flopping back down, face planted in his pillow, uncaring of the puddle of drool sticking to his face.

Gordon doesn't get a bigger response than that, so he leaves it alone. Pestering Benrey right now would only make it worse, and he doesn't need that energy first thing in the morning. Neither of them do.

With a soft sigh, Gordon brushes the hair out of his eyes, places his glasses back on his face, and stares blankly into the middle distance. Neither of them make any attempt to get up, nor do either of them try going back to sleep. The sun shines through the windows, and his watch says it's early morning. But Gordon doesn't wanna get up. Another few hours of sleep would be nice—but that would turn into more and more sleep until it stops feeling good at all, until everything stops feeling good. So with another sigh, Gordon gets out of bed.

Grabbing a change of clothes without a care to whether it looks good or not, Gordon heads into the bathroom to start his morning routine. There's less steps in said routine than usual, as Gordon no longer cares to put in the effort he used to. The sight of his own reflection makes for a pretty big deterrent these days. Though he pauses when he spots red in the middle of his throat, tipping his chin up to see the tiny cut over his Adam's apple. The sight makes Gordon shudder, remembering how close the blade had been to his throat.

And he would've deserved it, wouldn't he?

Heaving a sigh, Gordon shakes his head and turns away. No use in dwelling on that now. He'll just get depressed and curl up on the couch again, and there's no way Benrey will let him do that.

Stripping out of his clothes, Gordon steps into the shower, fiddling with the faucets to get a warm, but not scalding temperature. It's right where he wants it when suddenly, the bathroom door opens.

"Dude, occupied!" he hisses, thankful for the tacky shower curtain separating his nude body from Benrey's wandering eyes.

"Huh? Nice."

"No! Not nice! Go take a piss outside some other window!"

"Wow, that was one time…"

The rest of his complaints fall on deaf ears, as he has to stand there listening to Benrey brush his teeth and take the world's longest piss. Then there's the soft fwump of fabric hitting the floor, and Gordon barely has time to react before Benrey's stepping into the shower with him. With a sputtering sound, Gordon moves to cover his dick, then his ass, then his dick again, unsure what part of him he should be the most worried about Benrey seeing—oh, it's definitely his feet, isn't it? It would be just his luck that Benrey wasn't joking about the feet pics.

"Dude!" Gordon exclaims.

"Huh?" Looking totally unbothered, Benrey, stark nude, grabs onto a metal pole attached to the wall and uses it to sit himself down along the inner rim. "Why you showering, man… can't f*ckin' stand up, rude, uhhh, ableist…"

"No one invited you in here!"

"What?" A dazed glance is aimed Gordon's way. "Who's gonna… uhh, bath me? Otherwise?"

"You can bathe yourself, when I'm done!"

"Nope," Benrey says, popping the "p". Then, he lifts his leg and waves his ankle-stump at Gordon, putting a grimace on his face. "I'm disabled. Got the mirror card and everything. Can't wash for sh*t, bro, you gotta do it for me, remember?"

Gordon opens his mouth to point out that missing a hand and foot isn't going to make bathing impossible, just difficult and tiring, or so he imagines. But then his eyes rake over the rest of Benrey's body, finding cuts, bruises, and even more nasty sh*t to remind Gordon of just how recent this all is, how it wouldn't be this bad if he'd been there to help. Benrey probably hasn't taken any meds yet, either.

Not to mention, the last time this happened, Gordon showed a lot more care than this. Bathing him, dressing him, feeding him, finding him a cane to increase his mobility. The difference here is that he's not finding Benrey in a pitiful state with injuries that require immediate medical intervention. It's just… f*ck, it shouldn't have to be sympathetic for Gordon to care. He should just care, automatically.

So Gordon shuts his mouth and looks around the tub.

"Fine," he says. "But you say one inappropriate thing to me and I'm drowning you."

"Maybe I'll drown you," Benrey immediately bites back.

Gordon sputters. His threats usually aren't met with more threats. That kind of zero to ten hostility when Gordon knows he has no moral high ground leaves him fumbling, struck with the urge to defend himself, but also the knowledge he shouldn't even try.

"Hey, wash my feet, idiot," Benrey urges, kicking him with the stump.

Heaving an annoyed sigh, Gordon gathers up what he needs and gets to work cleaning the both of them. "You can be so annoying sometimes," he grumbles.

"Says punchman, puncher of Benrey in the face."

Again, Gordon chokes on his retort. It takes him awhile to gather his wits about him when Benrey keeps reminding him of his guilt, and the guilt just makes him angrier.

"What do you want me to say, Benrey?" Gordon asks, exasperated.

"'Sorry' would be nice," Benrey says.

That gives Gordon pause. He's forced to reexamine everything he's said or done in the past twenty-four hours or so, because that can't be right, can it? He went out of his way to make things right. He got out of bed, fixed himself up, cleaned the house, made dinner and dessert. But he never just said he was sorry, did he? He kinda assumed everyting would be fine if he changed his behavior, but that's not how this sh*t works.

"I'm sorry, Benrey," he says, after a considerable pause. "Happy?"

"No," Benrey immediately retorts. "You're not sorry and you never been sorry, 'cuz everything's about you, bro."

"I'm trying to—"

"Uhh wahh I'm tryyyyyying Benrey—man, shut up." Pushing off the rim of the tub, Benrey sits down in the ankle-deep water Gordon's filled the tub with, landing hard like he's trying to get it to overflow, but there's not nearly enough of it. "Ow."

With a sigh, Gordon swaps the shower back to a bath and sits down with him. "You make this really difficult, you know," Gordon says, grabbing Benrey's left arm and tugging him forward a little to check over his stump. It looks agitated, but fine. He's got a lot of dirt caked onto his arms—garden work, maybe. So Gordon gets to work cleaning that up. "If you would stop annoying me all the time—"

"Wow, victim-blaming, cool cool cool. I can do that, too. Hey maybe if you weren't so mean to me you wouldn't have guys beating you and stealing your arm, huh? You like that? Idiot?"

Gordon flinches at that, his grip on Benrey's arm tightening.

"Uh, ow? Ow, maybe?"

"sh*t," Gordon curses, quickly loosening his grip. "Sorry." Benrey blows a raspberry at him.

Getting his arm chopped off was more extreme than the one-sided fights he's been getting into with Benrey, but the more Gordon mulls over it as he washes his and Benrey's body, the less inappropriate the comparison feels. Benrey really only did the one thing. It wasn't even his hand that did it, either. Gordon tries to think of other transgressions, like when Benrey pushed him into that pit of toxic waste, but he can't come up with much. Especially not on the direct bodily harm front.

Meanwhile, he can name a whole list of things he's done to Benrey. It's to the point that he starts to zone out, wondering what it would've been like, if Benrey felt pain and took damage back at Black Mesa. Like when he decided to take his new minigun to Benrey's face. What kind of disgusting, not to mention disturbing, result would that have had? And in front of everyone, too, in front of Tommy, who really shouldn't be exposed to that kind of sh*t, and Darnold, who clearly couldn't handle violence. Gordon still has trouble watching all the bombing scenes in Breaking Bad, but he would have had something even worse on his hands if his minigun had destroyed Benrey's face.

The thought of it makes him sick. That's too far, even for him. He only did it because he was pretty sure it wouldn't work, but…

What if it… did? Would he get used to it? Would he like it? Would his aggression travel to new heights, until one day, he can't get back down again? What happens to Benrey then, who does he become, and when does he snap back?

"Yo, earth to Freeman," Benrey says, snapping his fingers in front of Gordon's face. Gordon blinks, looking around to take in his environment in a daze, reminding himself of what he'd been doing before getting lost in his thoughts.

"Huh? Oh, sh*t, sorry."

Benrey observes him for a moment, but doesn't say anything. Eventually, he looks away, and neither of them speak again as Gordon cleans them both up. Once they're done, Gordon helps Benrey out of the tub, ensuring he doesn't slip on the tile. The two dry off and get dressed in total silence, neither of them wearing anything especially complicated—Gordon went for a tshirt and roll up jeans, while Benrey's got the same outfit as yesterday. Or maybe it's different, but Gordon just can't figure out how.

It's while they're dressing that Gordon notices the prosthetic Benrey attaches to his ankle. It's sh*tty and homemade, with what looks like a mannequin foot, a very thick sponge, and a lot of duct tape to keep it attached to his leg. No wonder there was so much sticky sh*t to wash off his ankle. But Gordon doesn't know what else to recommend, so he keeps his mouth shut.

"You need help getting down the—" Gordon starts, just for Benrey to shove past him and head downstairs. He takes a breath to cool his nerves before calling out, "Yeah, cool, nevermind, I guess!"

Although he really wants to lie down, Gordon heads for the kitchen to get started on breakfast, instead.

Chapter 26: nails on a chalkboard, nails down your face (you make me want to)

Chapter Text

The breakfast Gordon puts together for them is fairly simple. The list of what he knows how to cook is a short one, but he manages a fried rice with some eggs anyway. With the food done, Gordon loads up a tray with two plates and some pineapple juice he found in the freezer, carrying it out to the living room where Benrey's already waiting. He's in one of Gordon's usual spots, right by the window, which is wide open, his elbow leaned on the sill. And there's a lit blunt in his hand.

Setting the food down, Gordon hurries over to snatch the weed out of Benrey's grasp before he can take another hit.

"Whuh—Hey, wha' the hell—"

"Benrey," Gordon says, firmly. "Are you on painkillers right now? You can't mix weed and opiates, you'll—" He doesn't actually know. "It's bad!"

"What?" Benrey says, half-confused, half-concerned, like he started to understand halfway through. "Uh… sh*t."

Gordon rolls his eyes. "Whatever. I'm getting rid of this."

"Hey, hey, no—" Benrey jumps up, trips, and falls onto the floor between the couch and coffee table. Gordon curses, scurrying to help him back up as Benrey mumbles something into the carpet. His prosthetic's snapped off, the tape not sticking as well as it used to. "You can't—Gimme my weed bro you're gonna mess it up. You gotta… little… chicken hat, dumb, dummy…"

His complaints get quieter and less coherent as Gordon helps him back onto the couch, just to snatch the blunt out of his hand, bite the tip of it off, and spit it out the window. Gordon merely watches in a mixture of awe and disgust. The rest goes into a little tin in Benrey's pocket, at which point Gordon shakes his head and decides to just forget this happened. Too much f*cking weird for first thing in the morning.

"Just… f*cking… I don't know, drink some water or something," Gordon says. "Whatever gets you less high." The sound of Benrey laughing has his face heat with embarrassment. He turns away to avoid the smug look on the guard's face as he finds a good spot to sit down. Not that it matters, but it feels weird, sitting on opposite ends of the couch from where they normally do. Might be a good weird, though.

As Benrey reaches for his plate, Gordon starts to apologize for making such a plain meal when Benrey says, "Yooo, rice, hell yeah." He eagerly shoves the food into his mouth, only pausing to drink his juice. Though flattered, Gordon cautions him to slow down before he gets sick.

While they eat, Gordon decides to ask, "So, you, uh… you wanna work on the garden today? I've been reading a lotta stuff about that sorta thing, we could get something going."

Benrey stops, some rice stuck to the corner of his lip, and turns to stare at Gordon like he's said something truly bizarre. His tongue peaks out to swipe up the rice. "Uhhh… yeah," he says. "'m… uhhhh…" He smacks his lips. "Buildin' a fence."

Though Gordon waits for him to say something else, he never does. "Oh. Uh, so what are you planting, then?" More blank stares ensue. "Well, it's… uh, sh*t, what month is it?"

"October," Benrey promptly answers.

Gordon stares at him. Though he hasn't been keeping track of the days like he should have, he knows it's only been about three months since they ended up here, and it was April when that happened. Right now, it should be July at the latest. "What the f*ck do you mean, it's October?"

"Uh… y'know. Like, spooky. Halloween…"

"No, I know what—How is it October?"

"My mans doesn't know how days work—"

"Benrey!" Gordon snaps. "It was APRIL when I got here. How is it already almost winter?"

Benrey huffs, scooping up more rice. "Ask me a question, don't like the answer… lame ass…"

"WHY has this never come up before?" Gordon presses, while Benrey keeps eating, seemingly uninterested in this conversation. "You never thought to tell me we're this close to winter? How the f*ck did we just skip the summer, it's been f*cking cold as sh*t since I got here—"

"Uh, duh. World settings. Max rain, low temp, you even looked at the manual, bro?" Benrey smacks his lips as Gordon tries not to explode. "Shoulda turned off the fog though…"

"WHAT ARE YOU f*ckING TALKING ABOUT?!"

His exclamation has Benrey flinching and leaning away. "Ow. My f*cking ears."

Gordon tosses his plate back onto the tray with a loud clatter. "Explain. Explain right f*cking now."

"Uh, getting kinda aggro, bro…"

"I'M NOT—" Gordon stops, taking a slow breath as he realizes he's halfway out of his seat with Benrey leaning away from him. He's not aggressive, okay, he's just reasonably upset. "I'm calm. I'm perfectly calm so long as you explain what the f*ck you're talking about."

"Don't know about that one," Benrey says. Though he relaxes anyway, hesitating before taking another bite of his breakfast. He chews slowly, and Gordon tries not to get impatient as he waits for Benrey to respond. "Had, like, mod powers, cheat menu, stuff like that 'fore you got here. Tp, spawn item… whatever. Had world settings, change the weather, day length… f*ckin' uhhhh… spawn rates. Can't change it, though, multiplayer server now, not the, the admin… anymore."

As this information washes over Gordon, he sits there staring at Benrey, so busy eating like nothing's wrong. Meanwhile, in Gordon's world, everything is wrong. Now he's faced with solid proof that Benrey always knew they weren't in their proper reality, all the way down to having had a say in how this reality functions. That first part isn't so bad, Benrey's always been cryptic, and Gordon's already had time to process that sort of thing. The second part, however?

"You… Wait. Spawn rates? Of what?"

"Huh?" Benrey blurts, setting his now-empty plate aside. "Oh, zombies. Duh." While Gordon blinks, gaping at him in total disbelief, Benrey grabs his juice, swirling it around in the glass. "Used to group 'em together and throw bombs. Was funny."

"YOU CHANGED THE ZOMBIE SPAWN RATE?!"

"Ow."

Gordon jumps to his feet. "Are you seriously telling me it's YOUR fault there's so many zombies? You could've just turned them off!"

"No," Benrey says, a glare forming on his face. "'Cuz I don't have mod powers, BRO. Didn't know it'd be a problem 'til you got here, messed up everything. Sit down, maybe."

"Are you serious? We could be sitting pretty if you weren't out there exploding zombies like some f*cked up kid melting ants."

"I said SIT DOWN."

Gordon's ass collides with the couch as Benrey jumps to his feet and shoves him back down. Though he tries to get back up once the initial shock passes, Benrey doesn't let him, boxing him in with his fully-formed hand on Gordon's shoulder, claws digging into his skin. Not nails, claws, thick and piercing through the fabric of Gordon's t-shirt. That's what has Gordon freezing in place, reminded of just who Benrey is and what he's capable of. His intentions won't stay that way if Gordon keeps f*cking up and antagonizing him.

"Are you calm now?" Benrey condescendingly asks. "Is baby calm now?"

Gordon sighs. "Man, f*ck you."

"Uh, you wish, idiot."

Drawing his claws back out, Benrey shakes out his hand, now looking perfectly human, grabs his dishes, and stalks off into the kitchen. Though Gordon thinks to follow him, there's nothing good that would come of that. They both need time to calm down.

Later, when Gordon's finished eating and cleaning up after himself, he heads outside to find Benrey in the backyard. There's an alleyway between the first two houses on their street, and Benrey's installing a fence to block it off using the boards from the fences he's already torn down. As he steps out onto the grass, Benrey turns to look at him for a moment before going back to work. Though Gordon observes him for a while longer. He's using the hand with no fingers to hold things in place, which is all fine and dandy when he's just digging and hammering boards into said holes.

But the nails give him pause—he can grip the nail or the hammer, but not both. After some deliberation, he places the nail between his teeth and aims it over the board. That's when Gordon decides to step in.

"Dude, just let me do it," Gordon says, hurrying over to pull the nail out of Benrey's mouth and reach for the hammer.

But before he can even come close, Benrey strikes the nail, pushing it partially into the wood and sending Gordon jumping out of his skin. Yanking his hand back, he lets out a startled, "Jesus!" as Benrey tsks and says, "Bro, hold still."

"Are you serious? You could break my f*cking finger with that thing!"

"Good. Now put your hand back, puss*. Nail's falling out."

"Just gimme the hammer! I'll do it myself!"

"Wow, saying I can't do it?" Benrey accuses, tipping his head to one side. "Think I'm too, uhh, busted? To build a fence? That's pretty messed, bro, kinda ableist of you not gonna lie."

"That is NOT what I'm saying!" Gordon retorts. "I'm just offering to make it easier for you."

"Then hold the nail."

The two of them stare each other down, both waiting for the other to crack. Until Benrey's cold and unblinking stare unnerves Gordon so much he gives in. Grabbing onto the nail, he's about to caution Benrey to be careful when he just goes ahead and starts hammering away without pause. Gordon has to snatch his hand away when the nail's in deep enough, because Benrey truly does not stop or slow down.

But it gets done. And without injury, at that. With a huff, Gordon concedes, "Okay, fine. I'll hold the nails, just hand me another and tell me where to put it."

"Grab it yourself. Right here, please."

With an annoyed sigh, Gordon does so, and they repeat the process several more times. Each strike of the hammer reverberates through Gordon's core, and he fears each one will be the one where he gets hurt. Where Benrey "accidentally" hits him with the hammer and breaks his f*cking finger. But even though it gets close a few times, it never happens.

By the time both fences are complete, Gordon has nothing more than some mild soreness in his thumb. Benrey had the perfect chance to break it, the perfect chance for revenge, and he didn't take it. Gordon doesn't know what to think. But as they get to work on the garden, he finds it a lot easier to trust that Benrey isn't going to drop something heavy on Gordon's feet or drown him in a pot of water or something.

"I don't understand you," Gordon says.

"Cool," Benrey smoothly replies, setting down another garden planter and chucking a pack of seeds at Gordon, which he manages to catch after it hits him in the chest. He huffs, tearing the packet open and getting to work planting seeds.

Rather than what Gordon assumed they'd be doing, which is digging a lot of holes, Benrey's got enough planters in just about every shape, size, and material to turn the expanded backyard into the gardening center of a Walmart. There's exceedingly specific mixtures of fertilizer that Benrey puts into every single one, and the placement seems specific, too. Gordon isn't following any of it, despite all the horticulture books he's been studying. But Benrey doesn't let him stop to think, just gives him more to do until he's too out of breath to ask questions.

They only pause to take necessary breaks before it's right back into more yardwork. The two continue working late into the night, heading back inside when there's no more planting left to do. By then, Gordon feels like he's just run a marathon. Fighting hordes of zombies is tough work; but this somehow felt worse.

Yet, in the morning, when they head back out to check on their work and water whatever needs it, Gordon's stunned to get a good look at what they'd actually accomplished yesterday. By the time they stopped, he could barely see. Now, with the early morning sun shining upon their garden, he can see just how packed it is. There's baskets hanging from all four houses, shelves full of pots along each wall—including the fences—and what used to be nothing but a plain field of grass is now rows upon rows of garden planters. Sure, nothing's sprouted yet, so it's just a lot of dirt. But with how much is here, he can only imagine how lush it's gonna look when sh*t starts growing.

"Damn," he says as they get to work on watering, Gordon with a fairly normal metal watering can, Benrey with a blue one covered in stickers. "We did a really good job, didn't we?"

Benrey actually cracks a small smile at that, though it's gone quickly. "Yeah, bro," he says. "Look what happens when you listen to Benrey."

Even laced with bitterness, Gordon can't help but agree. Though he wants to ask how Benrey knows the first f*cking thing about gardening, he decides to keep his mouth shut, instead. Whatever it is, be it something about his mom and the cows or just an interest in hobby gardening, he knows Benrey won't tell him either way. And it doesn't really matter, either.

Work concludes faster than yesterday. Though Gordon suspects it's because he's still so sore that Benrey takes pity on him. The rest of the day is spent gaming, with chores split between the two of them based on who'd have an easier time completing them. Benrey's fingers are only just starting to grow back, but Gordon's also the kind of tired that's making him sluggish and easily distracted. He tries to push through it, but Benrey calls him "soooooooo-uhh slow oh my GOD" and urges him to sit so Benrey can do it. Gordon isn't sure if it's a kindness he's being paid, or just Benrey getting impatient.

Over the next few days, it's all yardwork and video game breaks. Benrey wants the plants to water themselves, in other words, an irrigation system. Gordon can't help but agree, rambling about the invention of agriculture being humanity's greatest mistake when they were doing so much better as hunter-gatherers, a rant he's pretty sure Benrey doesn't care about in the slightest. But he doesn't tell him to shut up, either.

At least this task is less taxing on his body. A lot of it is sitting around making the pipes they need, and calculating how much they need, which is a task Benrey leaves up to Gordon. Or, well, the math nerd who lives inside his brain takes over, and Benrey gladly leaves him to it.

At the end of it all, they've accomplished quite a lot, and now all they have to do is check the plants each day as they begin to sprout to ensure they're not being eaten by bugs or pecked at by birds. Though the first pest they find becomes dinner when Benrey sees a crow and chucks a knife at it so fast it gets skewered to the wall. The suddenness of it all has Gordon's heart pounding.

"So how 'bout a scarecrow?" he nervously asks as Benrey yanks the bird back out of the fence. One bird probably won't feed both of them, but Gordon'll let Benrey have this one, he earned it. "There's probably one out there somewhere, right? Or a mannequin, at least."

"Already got one," Benrey mumbles, looking back to him with the skewered bird in hand. "I get to dress it, though," he adds, flicking his eyes up and down Gordon's jeans and a t-shirt look. Gordon would say it seems like a judgemental look, if not for the fact Benrey immediately follows it up with, "Your fashion sucks, bro." So, Gordon doesn't even have to say it.

"Great. Cool. I actually don't care."

"Obviously," Benrey mockingly mutters, not that Gordon gives a sh*t about his middle school grade insults. Benrey looks down at the bird and says, "I know, bro, he doesn't even got cool boots."

"Can you stop talking to dead animals so we can finish this up, already?"

Benrey mockingly repeats him, but does as he's told either way. It's after they're done and Gordon's assigned lunch duty that he notices just how bad their food storage is looking. Sure, they've got a lot of canned vegetables, but they're running out of rice and pasta, not to mention how quickly they go through proteins. Can't live on canned peas forever.

As Gordon cracks a few random bird eggs to make them some egg salad sandwiches, he starts to reconsider his hunter-gatherer rant. Sure, farming is a lot of work and takes awhile… but he doesn't have to go out into the zombie infested wasteland to maybe find an animal or some wild berries if they're living completely vegan. He mulls this over, out loud, while Benrey occasionally grunts or mutters something incoherent in response. When he goes to set their lunch down on the table, he finds Benrey chewing on the stumps of his forming fingers, which are looking red and slightly swollen in a few places.

"Knock that sh*t off," Gordon scolds, pulling Benrey's hand away from his mouth. He feels Benrey try to resist him, but he also feels his hand twitch with the willpower required not to resist. That's when it clicks. "Where the hell's your cream, man?"

"Can show you my cream, bet you'd like it—"

"Benrey. The itching cream, why aren't you using it?"

"Ran out," he reports.

Gordon sputters. "You didn't think to tell me—No, nevermind." He sighs, dragging a hand down his face. "f*ck. That means we have to go out… I assume you haven't already bled every pharmacy in this place dry."

"Nah," Benrey says, staring down at their hands, where he's sneakily trying to scratch his agitated stumps without Gordon noticing.

"Go put some lotion on that or something, man," Gordon says, pulling Benrey's hand further away. "And put on gloves. We have to go, f*cking… somewhere, I don't know yet."

"Why?" Benrey asks, picking up his sandwich and beginning to eat.

"We're running out of… everything, apparently." As Gordon explains, the list only seems to grow longer as he realizes they're also missing this or that. As if shopping for boring sh*t like dish soap didn't suck enough already, now there's an angry mob that wants to tear him apart on the way there.

Somehow, at the end of his ramble, he finds himself seated across from Benrey, lunch eaten, and he's still holding Benrey's hand. Wait, no. He quickly pulls his hand away from Benrey's fully formed one.

"How the f*ck did you—Nevermind. Get dressed, we're leaving."

Getting ready is quick and efficient, and soon, they're back on the road. Gordon would say it feels like they never left, but something's off. All he can think to attribute it to is how long it's been since he stepped foot outside the gate. Or even just into the front yard. He actually forgot what it looked like; the living room window doesn't give the best view.

As usual, they drive to a nice spot and survey the town, mapping out a plan of action. Where to go, in what order, with what gear, and so on and so forth.

"That seems like a nice spot," Gordon says, pointing out a mall that actually isn't that far away. There's a ton of advertisem*nts outside, large enough for people to read them from a distance and stop by. "Looks like it's got a sporting goods store, skincare… oh, there's a pharmacy, see? 'Get your prescriptions filled'. And it's looking pretty empty."

"Bro," Benrey says.

Gordon lowers the rifle he's using the scope on to find Benrey shows just sitting there, leaned back on his hands. "What?" Gordon asks.

"It's a mall," says Benrey. "In zombie land…?"

Expecting there to be more, Gordon stares at him for a while before replying with, "Uh, yeah, I know that, Benrey. What's your point?"

The two continue to stare at each other awhile longer, before Benrey looks away. "'kay. You drive."

Gordon squints at him as he climbs back down off the roof of the van, before shaking his head and following after him. The drive is slow and uneventful, with some discussion of what they're gonna do if certain things happen. Fairly standard stuff. The mall has a few zombies both along the way and in the parking lot directly, but that's not a big deal.

As Gordon parks the van facing the road, Benrey hops out before they've even stopped, clearing out the entire lot by the time Gordon catches up with him. Not that Gordon's complaining. Between the two of them, Benrey's significantly more geared up to fight a zombie with his stolen SWAT gear, versus Gordon tossing on a bomber jacket and a turtleneck. Is that tough enough to stop zombie teeth? Maybe. He hopes it is.

Catching Benrey's eye, he silently gestures towards the back door to the mall, and they head over together. Locked, of course, so Benrey pushes Gordon out of the way and kneels to pick the lock with what looks like a bobby pin and a nail file. Gordon looks around while he does, noting a few far off zombies that have already forgotten the noise of the van's engine. Doesn't mean they won't find their way over here eventually, though. Would it be smarter to take those down before they go spending too much time in here? Or is that the gateway to exhausting themselves clearing the whole city?

f*ck, there'll always be more, won't there? He can't stop himself from glaring down at Benrey as he thinks this, even if it's not exactly fair. It's not like Benrey chose more pain on purpose.

Eventually, there's a gentle click and Benrey pulls the door open. They head in together, finding themselves in some kind of storage room, big and gray with nothing of interest inside. Up ahead is a set of double doors that Gordon steps torward to take a peek through, finding a few stores bathed in darkness. There's enough windows letting light in for them to see just fine, though. Maybe it'll even make the zombies see less, though he doubts that considering past experiences.

"Looks empty," Gordon quietly tells Benrey. "Let's head in. Just be quiet, okay?"

He isn't sure if Benrey's lack of response should please him or annoy him, considering it is quiet. But Benrey shouldering past him to go check out the various shops definitely pushes that scale towards annoying.

The place is small as far as malls go. Doesn't even have a food court. They pass by a furniture store and a salon before finding a sporting goods store, which Benrey stops outside, grabbing Gordon's bicep.

"Fishing rods, bro," Benrey says, dragging Gordon a few steps inside the store before letting him go.

"What—What do we need—Are we anywhere near a body of water?"

Benrey holds Gordon's gaze for a moment, and though Benrey's not making any sort of face, it still feels like he's questioning Gordon's intelligence with just his eyes. "We're on the coast, idiot," Benrey says.

"How would I know that?"

Without a word, Benrey turns and stalks off into the back of the store. Throwing his hands up in frustration, Gordon bites back a groan and stalks off after him. This place just reminds him of long, boring trips with his father, and he's not exactly thrilled to be here or thrilled by the idea of going fishing. While Benrey digs through rods and tackle boxes, Gordon considers the possibility of fishing nets or some other traps. Anything to keep him off a f*cking boat for hours on end.

"What are we looking for, exactly?" Gordon asks. This all looks the same to him. Despite his father's efforts, he doesn't remember the difference in each tackle and what kind of fish it attracts. It was the most boring thing in the world hearing his father talk about movement and color and whatever else the toddlers of the ocean world find attractive enough to die for.

"Dunno," Benrey admits. "Feesh are into… worms… or f*ckin', something…" His speech trails off into incoherent mutterings that Gordon tunes out.

"Great. So neither of us know how to do this."

With a shrug, Benrey moves right back into what he was doing before, which is neatly fitting as much stuff as he can into the largest tackle box he can find. Gordon joins in, building a separate box for repair equipment, just in case. It's probably for the best that they don't have to leave their gated community again, at least not for a while. Hopefully they have access to a good fishing spot inside the gate, too. Spending hours fishing in a zombie infested wasteland is simply not feasible.

He's packing up some supplies when he notices Benrey stood still a few feet away, back turned. Squinting at him, Gordon wonders what he's up to. Did he notice something, a zombie or some kind of informational poster Gordon can't see in this lighting?

That's when Benrey raises his hand up to his mouth, glove off to reveal the stumps of his still-forming fingers, and starts chewing on the inflamed skin. Cursing, Gordon leaps forward to grab his wrist and yank it away from his teeth.

"Don't put it in your mouth!" Gordon scolds. "Stop f*cking scratching it!"

"Noooooo-uhhh come onnnnn," Benrey whines. There's a tone of actual anguish there the likes of which only a three year old could muster.

"Benrey, come on. Stop being such a child."

"Whatever," Benrey retorts, snatching his arm back. "Bet you wish I—" He immediately stops, teeth clicking as his mouth snaps shut. Bemused, Gordon squints up at him, following the slightly panicked look in his eye in search of a threat, but there's nothing.

"What?" Gordon says. "What are you looking at?"

"Huh?" Benrey blurts. "Look… looking at an ugly ass nerd, duh. Bye."

Spinning on his heel, he hastily walks off to continue looting, leaving Gordon to roll his eyes and groan. Whatever that was about, it doesn't matter. He's got a box to fill up.

Before long, they've got everything necessary for a fishing trip—he thinks, anyway—from tackles, to bait, repair lines, and some collapsible fishing rods. Benrey shoves everything into his bag, which somehow doesn't snap and fall apart under the added weight. Gordon knows how heavy his bag is all the time, shouldn't he be tired? How does he carry all that sh*t around? No, it doesn't matter. So long as Gordon doesn't have to be the one to carry Benrey's sh*t again, he doesn't care how heavy Benrey's bag gets.

With that task done, Gordon starts checking out the rest of the store for anything useful. The camping gear is a good idea, and he pockets a couple smaller items, like a fire starter and compass. The rest, like tents and archery equipment, probably aren't a good idea to be carting around right now. The van's getting kinda packed.

Still, his curiosity does get the better of him, and, like any unsupervised child, he starts testing out the bows. This wasn't a part of his father's hunting lessons. Not that he's surprised, it's way harder to hit a target accurately with a bow as opposed to a hunting rifle with a scope on it. Much quiter, though. Regardless, he does not know how to use it, nor does he have a use for it when they're nowhere near the forest, so he puts it back once he's satisfied with his exploration.

That's when he notices something: Benrey's not here. Glancing around the shop—Benrey's taller than all the displays—he can't spot the guy anywhere. Calling out for him is a bad idea, but the temptation is there. Where the f*ck did he go? Wandering off in a place like this is probably the worst thing he could do. What happens when zombies start breaking in and they have no one to watch their backs?

A little ticked off, Gordon storms out of the shop in search of Benrey. But he doesn't have to look far. For whatever reason, there's a Toys R Us directly across from the sporting goods store. Within the colorful neon and pastels, Benrey's black uniform and hair stand out like a sore thumb.

"I thought they closed these things," Gordon mutters to himself as he heads inside. Shaking his head with a sigh, he adds, "Why am I expecting anything to make sense?"

The shelves are easy to see over, yet Benrey doesn't notice Gordon at all. And Gordon knows this, because when he's finally caught up to Benrey, all he has to do is say, "What the f*ck are you doing?" and Benrey jumps, hand flying to his gun before his mind can catch up. They're right by a display full of large stuffed bears, one of which is in Benrey's arms.

"Huh? Nothing," Benrey says. Glancing down to the toy in his grasp, he continues, "Just inspecting these for…" he pauses for a considerable length of time. "…Drugs."

"Drugs," Gordon says.

"Yeah. They're up to no good."

The two men stand there staring at each other for a solid few seconds before Gordon says, "You don't have to lie about wanting a teddy bear, man."

"What?" Benrey blurts, feigning bewilderment. "Ted—Who wants that? You want that? Uh, grow up, maybe." He carefully places the bear back on the shelf while Gordon just sighs.

"Sure. Whatever, man," Gordon says. "Can you just stop wandering off? f*cking anything could've happened in the time it took me to get here." Benrey doesn't argue that point, instead glancing around the store with his hands held at his sides. "Let's just get to the pharmacy, take what we need, and go home."

"Fine, whatever," Benrey says, turning on his heel and heading back for the entrance. With such a grating attitude, Gordon's left glaring at Benrey's back as he leaves. Despite what he just said they should do, Gordon takes a moment to breathe. Being around Benrey when Gordon's in a sh*t mood has never lead to anything good.

Taking deep breaths, Gordon looks around, taking in the sight of the stocked shelves all around him. This place was always too expensive for him to shop at. Taking Joshua inside would just get his hopes up, and the last thing Gordon ever wanted to do was make his son sad. So he probably hasn't seen the inside of one of these since he was a child, getting his hopes up and then swiftly dashed when they left with nothing. He can't even recall what he wanted back then, the memory hazy like so much of his childhood. It was just a novel experience to a kid that played with hand-me-downs and thrift store toy bin trash.

Things were easier when Joshua was growing up. Didn't have to worry about stepping on LEGOs when you could give a kid Minecraft and walk away. Though he always worried he was making a mistake letting Joshua have so much screen time. The kid was just such a handful that a tablet with a few games on it was often the only way for Gordon to stay sane—or get anything done. Josh was a rowdy, somewhat needy child.

Yet, thinking about him now, Gordon regrets not spending more time with him. Not giving him everything he wanted whenever he wanted it, taking the tablet away so they could play in the backyard together, or go to the park, or watch a movie. Anything.

Because he can never do that again. In his limited time with his son, he didn't spend enough time doing the right things. Maybe, if they played together more often, if he held Josh more often, listened to him ramble about cowboys and fish more often, maybe, just maybe, it would feel like enough. Enough that he wouldn't feel so much grief and regret. It would be enough, and he'd be satisfied.

He knows that isn't true, that he'll always want just one more moment in time. But damn if he doesn't regret not doing everything differently.

Feels like he regrets a lot of things lately. It's not just Joshua, but Benrey, too. While he might've done okay as a father, he's been a terrible friend, and… Joshua might not be here, but Benrey is.

Gordon turns back to the plush bears, spotting the exact one Benrey was just playing with placed neatly back with its friends. Hopefully they won't mind losing one of their own. Though it's quite large, Gordon still finds a way to stuff it into his bag, praying Benrey won't mind if it's misshapen and flat by the time they get home.

He finds Benrey waiting outside the store scratching his ass, of all f*cking things. Resisting the urge to snap at him for being crude, Gordon instead approaches him and says, "Let's go."

"God, finally," Benrey says, storming off down the hall right as Gordon starts to point out where they have to go. A little agitated, Gordon sighs to himself and follows, jogging to keep up with Benrey's long steps.

Where they end up is a typical drug store; blindingly white with long rows of shelves filled with first aid and hygiene products alike. Benrey's quick about it, ignoring everything in favor of tracking down the cream he needs. Trusting him with that, Gordon peruses the rest of the place. A lot of shelves are empty, and a lot of products are expired. But Gordon still grabs whatever he can find. Vitamin gummies will come in handy, they always need deodorant, and some good cough medicine might be the difference between life and death. You never know.

Soon, he hears the sound of Benrey swiping an entire shelf full of products into his bag. It's noisy, but everything makes it in. Watching curiously, he sees Benrey nearly frantically open a bottle of hydrocortisone with his teeth to apply the cream to his swollen red stumps. It takes mere seconds before he's sighing with relief. That's the kinda sh*t Gordon's never used, even after his mom took him to one of those chickenpox parties as a kid. But it must act pretty f*cking fast if Benrey's already getting some relief out of it.

"You ready to go?" Gordon asks. The place is more or less completely looted; everything left behind is irrelevant to their current needs, like face masks and big bags of cotton balls. Not that there was much to grab in the first place.

"What about the back?" Benrey responds. He nods towards the front counter, where there's a bunch of shelves stocked with prescription drugs, plus a door that leads to what Gordon can only assume are even harder drugs. Or it's just a staff room, he doesn't know. Never worked one of these places before.

As much as Gordon wants to get out of this place and back to the safety of their townhouse, he doesn't want to turn down the opportunity to get as much as they can. Medicine is hugely important in times where bloodthirsty monsters roam the earth and all medical doctors are dead. It's all that separates them from the dark ages, from scratching your finger and dying of sepsis. Well, that and bathing more than once a year. Gordon could probably stand to add some new stuff to his first aid kit, anyway.

"We don't need a lot, okay?" Gordon says. "If we go taking the entire pharmacy, we'll have way too much sh*t to take care of, and a huge bottle of Tylenol expires faster than you can use it. So… name one thing you need, that way we won't overstock—"

"Codeine," Benrey's quick to say, in fact, he's already scaling the counter.

"Co—Benrey, you cannot be taking narcotics all the f*cking time, how much have you been taking?" He hurries after Benrey, though climbing over the counter like Benrey did quickly proves impossible. Trying to raise his leg over the counter or hop onto it backwards just isn't working for him, so he, embarrassingly, gives up and steps through the employee entrance. During all this, Benrey doesn't answer his question, busy digging through shelves, which are much better stocked back here. "Benrey. You can't take those all the f*cking time, man, addiction is some serious sh*t."

"Oh my godddddd shut uppppppp-uhhh," Benrey says, tossing a few bottles aside in his search for painkillers. "That doesn't happen to me, okay. Stupid… you try getting… limbs chopped off, hurt all the time, don't even give me the f*ckin'… epidural…."

"Epi—That's for giving birth… You know what, nevermind. If you f*ck yourself up, I'm not helping you." The thought of that actually happening gives Gordon pause. "But you better f*cking not! We're supposed to look out for each other, and I'm not dying because you're too messed up to fight when we need to."

Benrey just mockingly makes noises at him before stalking off, not that Gordon expected any better. He merely rolls his eyes before perusing the rest of the shelves for anything of value. A lot of stuff he doesn't recognize in the slightest. But a bottle of Xanax might do him some good. He's about to see if he can find some sort of stimulant or mood stabilizers when Benrey suddenly appears at his side.

"Can't find sh*t in here, bro, let's check the back," Benrey says.

It doesn't surprise him to hear that all the really good sh*t is locked away. But Gordon's also not entirely sold on the idea that Benrey should even have access to that sh*t when he's already used so much of it in the, what, three months they've been here together? Then again, if he claims he can't get addicted, and he keeps getting so horribly injured…

"Take my crowbar and see if you can get in," Gordon says. "Just hurry up. I'm getting antsy staying out this long." He doesn't bother unhooking his crowbar from his belt when he knows Benrey's just gonna take it himself, anyway.

And he does, without hesitation. With little else to do, Gordon follows Benrey to the locked door at the back of the pharmacy, thinking through what he might hope to find in there while he waits. It's not difficult, Benrey's done this a few times before. Certainly a lot better than Gordon can, which feels almost insulting. The crowbar's his thing. For as much as he can even have a thing.

Soon, the door cracks open, and—an alarm blares overhead, loud and grating and sending the both of them jumping back. In the peace of a looting run with no danger, they'd both forgotten about alarm systems.

The shock of the noise freezes them both in place for a moment, just a moment, before they look to each other and start running around like chickens with their heads cut off.

"f*ck, f*ck, f*ckf*ckf*ck," Gordon curses, sprinting out of the shop to assess the damage, because he's definitely not getting that alarm off anytime that matters. That it went off at all is already too late to be worried about it. Though he sees nothing right now, he can, just barely, hear the groaning of the undead outside the emergency exit doors nearby. The doors begin to shake as bodies are slammed against it, eager to get at whatever's making the noise. "Benrey! We need to f*cking leave, man, NOW!"

There's no response, but he doesn't let it stop him for even a second. He checks every gun, ensuring they're ready to fire at a moment's notice. Reminds himself of where he stashed his knife. Reviews his battle strategy. All while rushing back to the storage room they came in through.

But that turns out to be a mistake. The doors on this side of the mall are mostly glass, and the zombies have already broken through to pour into the shops ahead, knocking over mannequins and shelves full of wares to flood the hallways. Seeing the crowd, Gordon's body runs hot-cold. As he reaches for his handgun, his hands brush over the fabric of his shirt, and he's reminded of just how little protection he has if these things close in on him. Which it looks like they will if he wants to find a way out of here.

With arms heavy as lead, he raises his shotgun instead, hands shaking as he aims into the horde.

But he can't bring himself to fire. He can't bring himself to move at all. All he can think about is what happens when they're right on top of him, how they'll grab him by the hair and drag him down to tear off his skin and devour his flesh, just like what they do to Benrey. Benrey, a tougher, stronger, faster, and more determined fighter than he's ever been and ever will be. But he still gets massacred all the time. And he's scared of it, the immortal shapeshifting alien with enhanced healing abilities is scared of what these things can do.

And Gordon's just a guy. A squishy, pathetic, out of shape human with a doughy body and essentially zero combat experience prior to the Resonance Cascade. The pain will last, some wounds will never heal, and if he dies…

Yet. He doesn't do a single thing to mitigate any of these issues. No shots are fired, help isn't called for, he doesn't even turn and run to safety. Where even is safety? They're at his back, he knows they are. They're everywhere, because they always are, and there's always more of them, and he's so hopelessly fragile and stupid and scared and alone—

Until he isn't anymore. An arm winds around his waist, yanking him back several feet and tossing him behind the cover of a nearby kiosk. Through his struggling breaths and wavering vision, he looks up to see Benrey there beside him, and he doesn't look happy.

"Bro, what are you doing?!" Benrey snaps, loading a magazine into his rifle and beginning to fire into the crowd.

"I-I… I, uhh…" Gordon stammers, heat flooding his face. He really, really can't be having this crisis right now, but the sight of the zombie death horde has him paralyzed. Why did he ever take off the HEV suit? "I'm f*cked, man."

"What?" Benrey calls over the noise of his rifle. Whether he can even hear Gordon's voice or not, he doesn't know, but he keeps talking anyway.

"The—The suit, I shouldn't have—I'm f*cked without it, I'm dead I'm dead I'm dead, they're gonna—"

He yells out a curse at the sound of shattered glass nearby, sweat beading on his skin, rapid breaths burning his chest and throat. It was so easy to be a cool guy in a suit of armor, but it's completely f*cking different without it. With it, he was still getting grabbed, claws and teeth damaging the metal of his suit, but without it? All those attacks will actually land. They'll tear his clothes from his body to get to his flesh. And they'll win, easily. They'll always win.

"Benrey," he whimpers.

All Gordon wants to do is curl up into a ball and wait for everything to be over. It would be so easy. He'd never have to deal with anything ever again, no fighting, no back breaking labor, no arguments, no grief, nothing. It would hurt, god, it would f*cking hurt. But he'd probably go into shock and be dead long before he had to suffer through most of it. Why is he fighting just to die another day? Why not today?

"Will you f*cking STOP IT, bro," Benrey snaps, snapping Gordon out of his daze as he grabs him by the chin, fingers squishing his cheeks. He looks really angry, now, but all it does is make Gordon feel even more pathetic and useless. "What's wrong with you?"

The crowbar is shoved into his hands, and he's shoved a few steps back. In a panic, he whips around, crowbar brandished, but there's nothing. Well, nothing close. zombies flood the store right behind him. how they even got in there, he doesn't know and doesn't spare a single second thinking about, instead struggling to remember every step of his strategy. Stab the head, and—No, you have to—How close can they get before—And would his boot even be enough—What if it doesn't—And—No, no, no, f*ck—

As a zombie lurches for him, he turns and runs away from its outstretched hands. And keeps running. He runs and runs and runs, ignoring Benrey yelling after him amidst the wailing of the undead. It doesn't matter. He has to get out of here, and he has to get out of here NOW.

Running like his life depends on it, because it f*cking DOES, Gordon dodges falling displays and skids across the tile to avoid zombies as they flood out of stores and employee hallways. Finally, he spots a pair of doors not unlike the ones they came in through, and he throws himself at them, whimpering and gasping for air as he yanks on the doors. It takes forever for him to register that they're locked. A keening noise escapes him as he realizes what that means, that they're all closing in on his back and he can't turn around, now, he has to get them open. Fumbling for the crowbar, he fits it between the doors and starts pushing.

"Please, please, God if you're listening, gimme that freak strength to—f*cking, adrenaline, f*ck—Open the f*cking door!"

A shot rings out right behind him, and he whips around to find Benrey with Gordon's shotgun in hand. He smoothly steps out of the way of a zombie's leap and elbows it in the back of the neck, all while stuffing more shells into the gun before he pumps it and fires. A zombie's head explodes, showering Gordon with blood as he throws up an arm to shield his glasses.

Rushing over to join him, Benrey rears back and kicks open the doors with a loud bang. Stunned, Gordon stands there gaping for a moment before Benrey grabs him by the collar and shoves him inside. Glancing around, Benrey finds a metal pipe on the floor nearby, hurrying to slot it inside the door handles. But that'll only buy them time. Gordon's seen enough of the zombies' supernatural strength to know nothing can hold them forever.

Spinning on his heel, all Benrey says is, "Get up," before searching for an exit. It's a small space, with a set of exit doors and lots of crates, metal lockers, and so on. The obvious solution is quickly ruled out—Gordon nearly trips getting to his feet when he hears the banging start outside the exit doors. Gasping for air, Gordon frantically searches for a solution when he hears a metallic clang and spots Benrey scaling some containers nearby. Up above, there's a short, rectangular window that Benrey struggles to stick his fingers under, before clasping his fists and shoving his elbow into the glass. It shatters, raining shards over the parking lot outside. With the shotgun, he starts brushing the remaining glass aside.

Meanwhile, Gordon looks for a way to join him. Parkour isn't even remotely in his wheelhouse, much less grabbing onto the top of a tall stack of boxes and hauling himself up. That's when he's reminded of the crates he'd climb back at Black Mesa. Right, it's just a block puzzle, he can do this. Rushing over to a nearby container, Gordon shoves with all his might, but the thing won't budge. Adrenaline or not, the crate was clearly meant for only a forklift to move.

He's about to search for an alternative when the exit doors suddenly burst open, sending bits of shrapnel flying into the room. Gordon just barely avoids it by ducking behind the crates.

With shaking hands, he draws his handgun, breathing in and squeezing the trigger. Though his shot lands, it doesn't hit anything that matters, and he doesn't know if he'll be able to do any better in his state. So he turns to Benrey for help, sprinting over to the pile of crates and shouting, "Benrey! Pull me up!"

Benrey whips around to face him, quickly holstering his gun and leaning down to reach for Gordon—just to stop, freezing in place for a moment. Cold blue eyes rake across the crowd before returning to Gordon.

Crossing his legs, Benrey leans his head in his hands and watches as the zombies close in.

"What—Benrey!" Gordon shouts, doing a dumb little hop to try and reach the top of the crates, to no avail. "Come on, man, this isn't funny!"

Benrey gives a cute little wave that pisses Gordon off more than anything ever has.

"You—Oh, you motherf*ckER!" Gordon growls, turning with a yelp at the sound of a zombie knocking over a nearby stack of palettes. His gun leaps into his hand, and he starts firing like mad, managing to blast a few kneecaps even as he's aiming for the head, but he'll take what he can get. As they close in, he kicks and flails and chucks whatever he can to buy himself time to figure something else out.

And then the doors leading into the mall burst open, allowing even more zombies to swarm in. Seeing no other option, Gordon, in one last act of desperation, does the only thing he can think to do.

He runs for a set of metal lockers, tearing open the door to one and cramming himself inside. It's an extraordinarily tight fit, but a fit nonetheless, and blocks line of sight for the most part. It doesn't stop what little object permanence the zombies have, however, as they start bashing their heads into the door, denting the metal in their fight to break it open. Gordon yelps, clasping both hands over his mouth and pressing as tightly into the corner as he can. The compact space gets even smaller with each dent, the metal beginning to warp and burst apart.

He's never been more terrified in his life, not even on Xen. Darkness clouds his vision as the lack of oxygen to his brain throws all ambient noise out at a distance, throat closing in on itself as tears stream down his face.

This is it. He's going to die here. That thought which once brought him such peace now only brings terror. He should have given up, he shouldn't have tried to fight, now his stupid monkey brain is in survival mode and he's terrified of dying here. All because he's so much of an asshole that Benrey would rather watch him be torn apart than take two seconds to reach down and pull him to safety. He'd rather be alone, satisfied with his revenge against the man who's basically abused him since the day they met.

With each ensuing slam against the locker, Gordon realizes more and more how this is his fault. His doing. His repentance. He deserves this, and Benrey deserves to put him through this, to decide when and how he dies. And how fitting that he'd die like this, just like how he'd pushed Benrey to his death back at the farm. It's almost poetic.

Gordon screams as the locker is pushed over, a loud noise roaring in his ears before everything gets even more distant. In the darkness of what will soon become his tomb, he curls up and sobs his eyes out, tightly hugging his chest as he waits out whatever happens next. There's an odd staccato beat in the distance, as everything gets quieter and quieter. Is this it? Is he dying? But he can't feel any pain, nothing significant, that is. He can't even feel the rumbling and sharp jerks of the zombies bashing into the locker anymore.

But that confusion is drowned out by the distress pouring out of him in droves, face wet and snotty, drool dripping into his beard as he struggles for air amidst his sobs. He's lower than he's ever felt, an insignificant little rat buried under the rubble.

It feels like an eternity that he spends there teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, before finally, finally, there's a creaking noise, a bang, and the locker's pushed onto its back. Light streams through the holes in the metal, and the door begins to tremble before it's ripped right off its hinges. Gordon remains strangely calm, squinting against the sudden brightness as he watches a dark figure take form, haloed by the light streaming in from behind him like a divine being.

Benrey reaches out towards him, grabbing onto his arms and pulling him out of the ruined hunk of metal onto the blood-soaked pavement outside. Corpses litter the floor, the smell hitting Gordon like a kick to the gut. He gags, yet somehow resists the compulsion to vomit.

"Hey," Benrey says, grabbing ahold of Gordon's jaw and turning him to face Benrey. "Are you—"

Gordon leaps into Benrey's arms, grasping tight to the back of his padded vest like he could bury his fingers inside if he tried hard enough. He presses his whole body against Benrey, a frightened little rabbit huddling up to its mother for protection. And he cries, his whole head aching from the force of it.

"I'm sorry," Gordon wails. "I'm sorry, I'm so f*cking—" He cuts himself off with a sob, uncaring to just how hysterical he sounds. "I get it, I get it now. I'm sorry, Benrey, I'm so f*cking sorry! This is all my fault, you should hate me, I don't wanna die, I'm sorry—"

Strong arms wrap tight around him, a hand cradling the back of his head and pressing him impossibly tighter against Benrey's chest. And everything floods out of him at once. A warmth so hot that it threatens to burn his skin fills the emptiness left behind, and he turns to burrow into Benrey's neck as he snivels and cries all over the fabric of his vest. His throat clogs and he feels faint, but he keeps holding on, and he wishes he could stay there forever, or at least until he's purged this sick from his system. But that's not the world they live in.

"Gordon," Benrey speaks low into his ear. "We gotta go."

The best he can manage is a nod and a gross, snotty sniffle before he's pulled to his feet. Several items are pushed into his hands, things he lost along the way without even realizing. His bag is heavy, but it's a burden he's willing to bare if it means they can get out of this mess. The gun, though, makes him flinch and nearly drop the thing onto the concrete. He would have, if not for Benrey grasping onto his hand and making him hold it.

"Come on," Benrey says, taking Gordon's other hand and pulling him along.

The world around him hardly feels real as he's guided out of the mall and back into the parking lot. Even out here, zombies cover the pavement like a sick blanket of snow, more shuffling about in the distance. The sight of them makes Gordon want to run again. He knows how fast they can go from being in the distance to right beside you, when you think you have all the time in the world and you grow careless with it.

But Benrey won't let him. His grip on Gordon's hand tightens in warning, and he's pulled along, back to the van where he's shoved into the passenger's seat. He gladly curls up into it, thinking nothing but how much he wants to go home, back into bed where nothing bad ever happens. He wants to retreat into himself, just for awhile. Not forever. Just right now.

By the time they make it back to the gates, Gordon's gained enough lucidity to register where they are and where they're going. Benrey has to hop out to open and close the gate, leaving Gordon to scan their surroundings for danger, but he doesn't find anything. No, they drive in just as safely as they'd left, like nothing ever happened. Like Gordon doesn't feel chewed up and spit out, pain lacing through his gut as he considers just how badly he f*cked up, how stupid and useless he is when he used to be so much better. All because of a f*cking metal suit that was designed for radiation, not combat.

Staring out the window, he watches as they approach the house, just to keep driving right past it. Perplexed, Gordon turns to ask Benrey what he's playing at when the guard speaks up.

"Got somewhere better," he explains.

Too tired to argue—and how could he, after everything—Gordon merely nods and settles back in his seat. Benrey watches him for a moment, likely waiting for a retort, but none ever comes.

Soon, the van pulls up outside a house. Or, well, Gordon might be tempted to call it a mansion if it was a little bigger. A combination of hedges and wrought iron fences wrap around the lot, the yard filled with weeds, dead flowers, and dry grass, though it likely looked verdant and neatly trimmed once upon a time. They hop out here, and Gordon tries not to drag his feet following Benrey inside. He's made things difficult enough already.

The interior is just as fancy as he expected. Pompous, ritzy old furniture, grandfather clock, family portraits painted in oil, the works. The only difference is that this place is actually pretty small on the inside. The distinction between it and a regular family house lays entirely in the design style, making Gordon feel a little more at home.

"What are we doing here?" Gordon asks, watching as Benrey sets his things down in the entrance to the living room. Turning, he pulls Gordon's bag off his shoulders and sets it down next to his.

"You look a bit sh*t," Benrey says. He turns towards the stairwell nearby. "I don't feel good, either."

As he heads up the steps, Gordon quickly sets all his gear aside and follows. The upstairs is all dark wood, another vintage clock hung on the wall gently ticking away. This space, too, is cramped, leaving just enough room for two adult men to make their way around the double set of stairs, one leading up, the other back down.

Yet the room Benrey leads them into is anything but small. It's a bathroom, but it's sized like a master bedroom. There's a shower stall in the back that looks like it could fit five people at once; tight fit, but it could. There's enough towels, robes, and hygiene products in here to make a Bath & Body Works jealous. f*cking rich people, Jesus Christ.

Shrugging that off, Gordon steps forward, shutting the door behind him. Only then, when he sees Benrey start removing his jacket, does Gordon start to wonder why the hell they're in here.

"Benrey, seriously," Gordon says, too tired to sound mad about it. "What are we doing in here?"

"Coping," Benrey says, setting his jacket on the toilet before yanking his powder blue camisole off. "You're stinky. And you never heard of uhhh… depression shower?"

Gordon blinks at him, standing there staring dumbly as Benrey continues to undress. "That… uh," he mumbles. "No, yeah, I mean—I used to, when…"

"Then take your pants off, idiot," Benrey says, turning to give him an unimpressed look before his eyes rake down Gordon's body. Somewhere around his jeans, Benrey's eyes widen, and he incredulously blurts, "Did you piss yourself?"

"What?" Though he doesn't really want to know, or fall for some stupid prank Benrey's pulling, Gordon, well, he looks. And unless someone spilled their drink on him recently… no, it's warm and sticky and deeply uncomfortable, so it's definitely not that. He just didn't notice it with how much sh*t is going on. "Aw, f*ck."

"Bro. Didn't you piss before we left? That's, like, basics. Of go out."

"Is that really important right now?" Gordon snaps. "I nearly f*cking died and you're picking on me for being scared."

"Well you wouldn't be pee-your-pants boy if you'd just go to the bathroom, idiot."

Biting back his knee-jerk response to that, Gordon grits his teeth and glares as Benrey sits on the edge of the top to yank his boots off, prosthetic and all. "You're not even gonna ask if I'm hurt?" Gordon says. "You're just gonna make fun of me?"

"You're not hurt," Benrey smoothly replies.

"And how do you know that?" Gordon retorts.

"Because you're not bitching and moaning about it."

Parting his lips to refute that point, Gordon promptly closes his mouth. Because, well, it's true that he can't feel any pain. Aside from the general aches of being thrown around a metal box, or shoved to the floor, or all the running, that is. Still, if only out of spite, Gordon checks over his body as much as he can while undressing.

Surprisingly, he finds he's not all that embarrassed about… well, any of this. After what he just went through, he thinks he deserves to be a f*cking disgusting, snivelling little baby about it. Though when he turns to set his clothes down on the sink counter and sees his reflection in the mirror, the sight that greets him has him hastily averting his gaze. Even still, the sight of his face, eyes red from crying, snot caked to his nose, dried drool against his chin gets burned into his eyelids. It's one thing to call himself a baby, and another to see just how true that is.

It's a bit of a blur as they climb into the stall together, individually soaking their bodies under the spray of the shower head before sitting on the tile floor letting the air fill up with steam. Benrey sits against the side of the tub, hugging his legs and letting the shower soak his hair, while Gordon leans against the back. It's not the most cleansing or relaxing shower, but there's something therapeutic about the sound of the water hitting the tile, the warmth, even the nudity. He doesn't look at Benrey and Benrey doesn't look at him.

And, at first, neither of them do anything but sit there, taking the time to unwind and empty their minds. Or, well, Gordon would if he could. But that's never been his strong suit.

"Why did you come back for me?" he blurts.

From where Benrey's laid his head on his knees, eyes closed, Gordon watches as a sliver of blue peeks out of the shadow cast over his eyes.

"You were gonna leave me there to die," Gordon presses.

"Yeah," Benrey says, flicking his gaze down to where Gordon's hand rests curled up on the tile beside him. "But I didn't."

"Why?" Gordon asks, a pleading lilt to his tone. He turns to face Benrey directly, struggling to find anything in his expression with so much of his face hidden, what little remains visible to him utterly blank, almost cold.

"I didn't like it," Benrey admits, lifting his head and reaching for the detachable shower head. "Don't like you getting hurt, feels bad. Dunno how you do it."

Gordon sucks in a breath. He watches as Benrey ducks his head and soaks his hair under the spray from the shower head, eyes closed. As the water sluices off his head and down his body, Gordon's vision starts to blur. He pulls in an unsteady breath. His skin crawls, the memory of what it felt like to be trapped and helpless with no way out slamming into him. It's so easy to lose, to get overwhelmed and subsequently torn apart. He's seen it happen to Benrey. But it always felt so distant then, a pain he'd never have to experience because he just isn't like Benrey. Benrey deserved it, Gordon doesn't.

But that's not true, and has nothing to do with anything, anyway. Everyone's the same out here—even the strongest, like Benrey, fight and die in the blink of an eye. It's happened so many times already… it could happen to Gordon next. The chances are so high.

He knows what it feels like, having those rotting hands grasping at his hair, reaching for his face, his neck—and now he imagines it all over his body. Dozens of hands pinning him to the ground, humid breaths preluding sharp teeth piercing his flesh and ripping it away. If it's anything like skidding your knee, then it's an agony he can't fathom, but his brain wants him to anyway, and he shudders, digging his nails into his side and shoulder where he's started hugging his torso. He blinks, trying to remind himself of where he is, but the stark white tile is so hard to focus on.

And then there's water hitting his knee. He jolts away from it, unable to parse what it is right away. "Hey," he hears. "Want a wash? It's free."

"What?" Gordon mumbles. Frowning, he looks away from where Benrey leans into his vision, now sitting a lot closer than Gordon remembered, and pushes his hand up through his hair. "What are you talking about?"

"You stank, bro," Benrey says. "Lemme give you a bath."

Setting the shower head down, he places his hand on Gordon's knee, but it's all claws and blood and death and Gordon flinches away from it with a near-violent shudder. "Don't—Stay away from me."

"Whoa," Benrey says, holding up both hands in a show of peace. "Hey, it's cool. Not gonna hurt you, just wanna help you get clean. Is that cool, Gordon? Do you… uhh, do you get it?"

A hand lands on his hip and the side of his torso, coaxing him into turning and lowering his legs, but it's all danger in his mind, and he kicks and flails, choking on a sob as he fights off the imagined assailant. He doesn't hear Benrey's startled and apologetic words, nor the way he scurries to put distance between them. The force of his own heart pounding thunderously loud in his eardrums is too much, and he scoots away, curling his legs and hugging his body like it'll protect him.

"Sorry," he rasps, "I'm sorry…"

He crumples against the wall of the tub, crying his eyes out as the shower head sprays against his knees. It's all just too much, and he doesn't know how he's going to get over it. The military ambush was awful, but at least he had things to do then. He didn't have time to sit around having a panic attack; instead, he had to climb and jump and fight while having a panic attack. This, though? It's too little, too relaxing, too easy to spiral into his own mind.

As he tries to focus on his breathing, Benrey lifts the nozzle back up, hesitating before gently guiding the spray of water along Gordon's legs up to his lap. This time, he doesn't flinch away. He watches the water plink off his legs, flabby and hairy and covered in stretch marks and freckles. The sight of his own body repulses him, especially now with all the scars from where the suit pressed too tightly into his flesh. He should trim his hair, work out, spend more time in the sun… but he'd rather put on a lot of clothes and pretend he doesn't see it.

Yet, right now, he doesn't care. He doesn't care that he hates living in his own skin. That he doesn't want Benrey to see him up close, or to get an even remotely good look at his penis. None of that matters. All he can do is pay attention to the way the water pricks his skin as Benrey washes away grime, sweat, and other stuff. Blood, even. And that fourth thing he's too embarrassed to acknowledge. It helps, helps Gordon feel so much less sticky and disgusting, but it's like there's a layer of filth surrounding him he can never wash off.

Benrey hesitates a moment before scooting closer, back to where he was. By the time he's moved to washing Gordon's chest, it starts feeling weird, too slow and almost sensual, so Gordon ducks his head, meeting the spray head-on to soak his curls. Maybe not the best idea. But he doesn't care anymore. It feels nice and he needs to feel nice, even if everything's wrong. He lets out a humorless chuckle as he realizes just how often he's thought that exact same thing lately.

"Wha's funny?" Benrey asks.

"Nothing," Gordon says, hair curtaining his face as he lifts his head, heavy and dark with the water clinging to each strand. Though there's a smile on his face, the look in his eyes betrays his true feelings. "Everything—We're so f*cked, you get it? I'll die if I go out there again, I can't do it. You're so much stronger than me and you get your ass kicked all the f*cking time, what am I meant to do—I'm completely useless. How are we supposed to live like this?"

Surprised, Benrey stares at him for a moment before taking Gordon's hand and pressing the shower head into it. "Dunno," he says. "But we gotta, y'know. Don't have a choice. It just sucks for some people and you gotta put up with it."

There's a basket hung above the faucet, and Benrey gets up to retrieve it, bringing back bottles of body wash, shampoos, and conditioners with some sponges. He sets it down on the tile beside them, smelling bottles one by one.

"That's not… it can't just be bad all the time," Gordon says. "That's not living."

"Guess not," Benrey says. "What else you got, though?"

Lips moving soundlessly, Gordon ponders this, watching without really seeing Benrey scrub down his body with soap. He doesn't even even use the shower head he was given, so Benrey takes it back, rinsing his body before returning it to its rightful place, water plinking off the tile between them. Gordon sticks out his legs, letting the water soak his lower half. And he looks at Benrey again. Water clings to his eyelashes, dark hair stuck to gaunt cheekbones that lead down to split lips. Gordon studies the swollen flesh, wondering what it would be like to cause those bruises. It won't fix him. But wouldn't it be nice?

As Benrey turns to put the soap bottle back in the basket, Gordon grabs the back of Benrey's neck and yanks him down into a kiss. He hears the other man suck in a breath before the bottle's clattering against the tile, his hand flying up to cup Gordon's jaw. They part for barely a breath before Benrey surges back in, kissing like he'll never get the chance to ever again.

A knee ends up between Gordon's thighs as he moves closer, sighing against Gordon's lips before slipping his tongue between them with a barely audible moan. Arousal pools low in Gordon's gut at the sound. Resting his hands along Benrey's biceps, he focuses all his concentration on matching pace with Benrey as his tongue dances against Gordon's, putting their last kiss to shame. And just like their last kiss, Gordon feels his anxieties swiftly melting away.

Or, that's what he'd like to say. But the truth is, every time Benrey pulls back to breathe, Gordon squeezes his arms, scared of losing the security he feels whenever Benrey's close to him. In an attempt to rectify this, he tucks his legs closer against Benrey's sides and snakes his arms around Benrey's back, trapping him against Gordon's body.

Not that he's going anywhere. Quite the opposite, he presses as close as he can get, and Gordon shudders pleasurably at the feel of his wet pectorals sliding against Gordon, nipples hard and perky. He might feel compelled to touch, if he could get himself to do much of anything right now. A sentiment clearly not shared by Benrey. One of his hands, the only one with any fingers on it, slips down between Gordon's legs to grab his co*ck, half-hard and aching under his touch. Gordon gasps, bucking his hips into the tight circle of Benrey's fingers with a groan.

"f*ck, you're so hot," Benrey moans against Gordon's lips. His thumb brushes against the head as he strokes Gordon's dick, feeling out the shape of him before beginning to pump him in earnest.

"Mnnghh—f*ck…" Having Benrey's hand wrapped around him like that is better than f*cking anything Gordon's felt since this whole sh*tshow began. The concept of reciprocity flies out the window as he loses himself in the dizzying pleasure, wanting nothing more than to chase after that sweet bliss Benrey's offering him so freely. They've barely done anything, and Gordon's already on the verge of cumming, dick full and heavy in Benrey's hand as his tongue slips back inside Gordon's mouth.

And then, that touch is gone. Benrey pulls his hand back, giving a breathy chuckle when Gordon makes an annoyed sound in response. Benrey kisses his lips in apology, then kisses along Gordon's cheek to his jaw and neck, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. As best as he can, he moves Gordon's legs to wrap around his waist, and Gordon does what he can to work with him so they can get on with this. He knows where this is going, he's not an idiot. And wouldn't it be nice to just let it happen?

Fumbling for the bottle of soap he was using earlier, Benrey coats his fingers with the stuff, using them to prod at Gordon's asshole. What comes next is a bit of a blur, a pleasant haze of kissing while Benrey's finger pumps inside him, one, then two, then three scissoring him open with an unexpected degree of patience. It's relaxing, slow and hazy and safe. Not especially good, to say nothing of the effort Benrey puts in. Gordon's just never really enjoyed this part all that much.

"Gonna give you what you want," Benrey says, rolling his hips forward to where Gordon can feel the impressive size of his co*ck sliding against his. Gordon curses, grabbing fistfulls of Benrey's ass and trying to push their dicks together, desperate for relief. The feeling has Benrey's head dropping onto Gordon's shoulder with a sharp gasp. "f*ck, Gordon…"

Grabbing ahold of his co*ck, Benrey taps it against Gordon's like they're in some cheap p*rno before guiding it down to replace his fingers. As the thick head of his co*ck pushes past the tight ring of muscle, Gordon's breaths stutter, nails scrabbling at Benrey's back for support. It's slow going as Benrey buries himself to the hilt, resting there with a shuddering laugh and laying his hand over Gordon's abdomen, like he expects to feel a bulge there. Obviously not. Gordon's not thin enough for that.

Still, Benrey's easily the biggest thing Gordon's ever had inside him, and he focuses on that feeling of fullness, breathing slowly to adjust to the intrusion. For someone who hasn't gotten laid since his divorce several years ago, he handles it pretty well.

"Fuuuuck, you take my co*ck so well," Benrey says, his words drawing an embarrassing moan from Gordon's throat.

Benrey lifts Gordon's hips up, letting him see the way their bodies connect, the way Benrey's hips rest flush against Gordon's thighs. The sight is dizzying and insane and so f*cking hot that Gordon's dick gives a sharp twitch in response. Is this really happening? He feels delirious at the thought of having Benrey's co*ck buried deep inside him like this. He can feel every inch of it stretching him open, and he likes it.

Gripping the edge of the bathtub, Benrey leans over Gordon to kiss him again, and again, punctuating each one with more nonsense and a sharp thrust of his hips. "You feel so good, Gordon," he purrs. "f*ck, thank you, thankyouthankyouthankyou—"

"Shut the f*ck up," Gordon growls, clenching around Benrey's co*ck and causing several pearls of orange sweet voice to slip past his lips in an autotuned moan. Not that it helps any, because he keeps f*cking talking.

"Gordon…!" he moans, resting their foreheads together as a look of complete and total bliss washes over him "So good, f*ck—Love f*cking you," he babbles. His palm draws along Gordon's leg as he rolls his hips harder and faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the air and driving Gordon totally mad. "Wanna do it again, please, please let me…"

It's hard to think, much less respond with Benrey driving into him like that. His co*ck feels like it's about to burst where it's trapped between their bodies, Benrey's thick co*ck pounding him into the tile being maybe the hottest thing that's ever happened to him. Every hard thrust of his co*ck has him brushing up against Gordon's prostate in a way that sends fireworks shooting across his body. Worse is how hot Benrey's words have him. This shouldn't be so incredible, it should be gross and awkward, and yet…

He cries out as Benrey's hips snap sharply into him, nearly sending him over the edge. But it's not enough. "Nnnghh… f*ck, Ben—Benrey…"

"sh*t, say my name again," Benrey groans, wrapping his arm around Gordon's shoulders.

"Buh… uhhh, Benrey… Benrey, f*ck, I'm gonna—Please, man, you gotta…" He doesn't have to say a single syllable more, Benrey's hand flying down to grip his co*ck and stroke him to completion. He c*ms with a sharp cry, Benrey's fingers jerking him near the head and keeping the pleasure rippling through him for that much longer. As his co*ck spurts against his waist, Benrey watches it happen with adoration and lust in his eyes.

"So good, Gordon, you're so good," Benrey moans, picking up the pace and pressing his face into Gordon's cheek, breaths hot against his skin. "Ahhh—f*ck, f*ck, I'm gonna cum—Gordon….!"

It's with a choked out cry of Gordon's name that Benrey buries himself to the hilt, hips jerking as Gordon feels something warm fill him up from the inside. The sensation has his co*ck giving a weak little twitch in response. Benrey, meanwhile, throws his arms around Gordon and squeezes him tight, fingers buried in his hair as his hips buck through his org*sm.

With a breathless moan, Benrey finally falls limp, and the two collapse in a sweaty, satisfied heap, Benrey's chest heaving into Gordon's as he pants heavily against his shoulder. Gordon feels like a pile of jelly where he lays slumped against the back of the tub, dull tingles running through his body and mind blissfully clear. He lies there, unmoving, even as Benrey lifts his head to kiss all over Gordon's face, neck, and chest. It's so nice, he wants to bask in the afterglow for as long as Benrey will let him—and he seems content to stay right where he is, softening co*ck stuffed inside Gordon's ass. He could sleep right here.

Except obviously, he can't. And obviously, this can't go on forever. It doesn't take long at all before before everything goes from sexy to sticky and uncomfortable, and he pushes Benrey away, ignoring the other man's complaints.

"Gordon needs a real shower," he grunts as he picks himself back up, grimacing at the feel of cum all over his waist and dripping out of his ass.

Benrey curls up at his side, leaning on his hands while watching Gordon with a dazed look in his eyes. That kind of attention has Gordon a little hot under the collar despite his recent org*sm. Or maybe because of it. It's even worse when he looks over to see Benrey's co*ck resting against his thigh. f*ck, he's huge soft and even bigger hard—wild to think that seriously fit inside him.

Heat floods Gordon's face at the realization that that was inside him. He actually just let Benrey f*ck him. The line's been crossed, and who f*cking knows what's gonna happen next.

Can't sit here thinking about that for long, though. The water's getting cold, and he doesn't want to be sat on this tile any longer. His body won't forgive him for that. Among many other things his body isn't gonna forgive him for come tomorrow morning.

Chapter 27: I'm so ugly, that's okay, 'cuz so are you

Chapter Text

The sound bleeding through the bedroom window has Gordon disoriented, whisked away to another time, another place, another world entirely. Birds. Birds singing their little heart out like the world hasn't ended, because their lives are all so simple compared to his. He can't live off the worms writhing around in the dirt, can't fly away from everything that seeks to harm him. It's f*cking disgusting he was born into all this, forced to struggle for a life not worth the fight, while a robin or a bluejay could just sit there singing without a care in the world.

Heaving a sigh, Gordon pulls his gaze away from the window. The bedroom around him is uncomfortably large, enough for a kindergarten classroom to gather around and laugh at him. The silk sheets keep his nude body cool and comfortable while the duvet adds a layer of security he doesn't really believe, but it's nice he gets to pretend every now and then.

When he turns to the side, Benrey's there beside him, naked as the day he was hatched or crawled out of the earth, whichever one it was. Gordon takes the time to look at him, to really look at him. His hair's grown out a little, leaving him in the awkward transitionary phase between crewcut and rockstar, and his once pale skin has turned a deeper shade. Though not quite tan in the human sense, given the purple hue of Benrey's flesh has only grown more apparent as its burned darker, leaving behind a ridiculous pale patch of skin in the exact shape of his stupid f*cking camisoles. How did he even find so many that fit an adult male so snugly?

Allowing his eyes to trail down Benrey's body, he notes the appearance of little black hairs dotting his chest all the way down his waist to his co*ck. Besides the patch on that last part, they're all short and stubby, recently grown. Of course, Gordon's noticed this about him already, but not really noticed-noticed only just now. He wonders why. Why he's only recently started seeing Benrey shave in the morning. Why his skin's only recently started to tan.

"Gonna turn me on, you keep staring," Benrey mutters. It doesn't startle Gordon as much as it should. Of course Benrey was awake, of course he noticed, of course he doesn't care.

All he does is roll over onto his front, where Gordon's eyes instantly gravitate to his ass, a dimple on each cheek. If he was younger and Benrey brought less baggage with him, this would be really exciting. For all intents and purposes, Benrey's body is perfect. He's fit and masculine with an ass that jiggles slightly when he moves and a chest Gordon could cup in both hands. Aside from the litany of scars, there's no imperfections, a flawless model's body. Although he can hardly be celebrated when he clearly just shapeshifted into this, but that doesn't change the fact it's what he looks like and what Gordon looks at every day.

Frankly, it's f*cked up he has this on a silver platter and can't even appreciate it. He'd be f*cking drooling if they were anywhere else and Benrey was anyone else. But here and and now, looking at Benrey is like staring at a painting you can't comprehend, but was good enough to go on display at a museum. Like the summer sky you see every morning on your walk to work. Something Gordon could only appreciate if he remembered how to see life as anything more than a burden.

Gordon sits up, aching for a change of scenery. To feel something else, to do something else. Silently, he climbs out of bed, absently scratching at the unruly stubble on his cheek he's neglected for… some length of time, who cares. The clothes he wore yesterday aren't something he cares to ever wear again, so he rummages through the closet, annoyed when that closet is the size of his old bathroom and filled with suits. Obnoxious. At least this guy also left Gordon some golf shirts and cargo shorts to change into.

It's after he's tugged on the shorts and is in the process of buttoning the shirt that he hears the floor creak and sees Benrey appear in his periphery. "You look so white," Benrey says. Gordon scoffs, offended.

"Excuse you, I'm half M—" The wood panel behind him creaks as Benrey closes in, elbows propped on the shelf, effectively boxing him in. In one fluid motion, Benrey's crowded him, body pressing into his, lips mere inches away. And he doesn't even do anything there. He just breathes, slow and weary. Gordon anticipates a kiss, or maybe something obnoxious, like a big lick or a raspberry blown into his cheek. But he never does anything. "What are you f*cking doing?"

"Nothing," Benrey says.

"Yeah, obviously. I'm trying to get dressed, can you f*ck off?"

"Mmmhh," Benrey responds, huddling closer with his arms sliding around Gordon's back and his chin resting upon Gordon's shoulder. The embrace partially traps Gordon's arms against his sides, yet he doesn't find himself compelled to break free. The heat of Benrey's nude body is enticing. Warmer than he remembers it being, while his skin, despite his scars, is smooth to the touch. Gordon's hands find the curve of Benrey's spine, distracted by the musculature of his back. His hands slide forward, feeling out Benrey's abs, the shape of his chest, the messy ring of scar tissue around his ribcage.

"You're hard," Benrey says. Gordon chokes, sharply drawn out of his trance.

"f*ck—Get off me!" It doesn't take much to shove Benrey aside. He goes willingly, grumbling under his breath about something or other before turning and exiting the walk-in closet. Gordon sighs, looking down to discover Benrey wasn't lying. He's not just a little hard, he's embarrassingly rigid.

Groaning to himself, he finishes getting dressed, thinking of baseball and rotten onions and old women to get his boner to go down. Once he's dressed, socks included, he tracks down the ensuite bathroom, brushes through the tangles in his hair, and gets to work shaving some of the mess his beard's become. He doesn't bother checking any of this in the mirror. There won't be anything there he wants to see.

He's midway through shaving off his neckbeard when Benrey strolls in, encircling Gordon's waist with his arms and bending to rest his chin on Gordon's shoulder. He has to retract the razer to avoid nicking himself on the blades, Benrey's weight pressing into him and shifting his balance.

"You're awful f*cking touchy lately," Gordon says. Benrey hums, nuzzling his nose against Gordon's neck.

"You like it."

He does, which is why he doesn't tell Benrey to stop. Having Benrey's hands on his body fills him with a subtle exhilaration, the sensation of Benrey's cheek brushing against his neck bordering on arousing. Though as he resumes shaving, Benrey behaves, moving his head out of the way so Gordon can work properly. It's as Gordon's wiping his face clean that Benrey finally releases him, leaving Gordon feeling cold and strangely naked, as if layers of his being have been peeled away.

Unable to resist, he turns to watch whatever Benrey's doing, catching the getup he's donned this time. It's clearly raided from the wife's closet, yet it's not as unconventional as Gordon's used to. The black and pink ringer tee, boldly emblazoned with the word "Baby" across the front, is pretty out there, and definitely wasn't a crop top on its original owner. But the black cargo pants tone the outfit down quite a bit, even if the straps of a pink thong peek out over Benrey's hips. But he's been here watching Benrey put on fishnets and pleated skirts long enough that it doesn't feel weird anymore. Just fascinating.

"Got sum'n to say or what," Benrey flatly comments, halfway through smearing shaving cream over the slight stubble on his jaw. This, too, is normal. It's the same song and dance every time. Benrey comes out looking strange, Gordon stares, he gets caught, and then… nah, f*ck it. He's tired of acting like he doesn't stare, like it's weird for him to stare.

"You took out the ring?" Gordon says instead. The question gives Benrey pause, their brows creasing with confusion as they turn to stare at Gordon in the mirror.

"What?"

"The one in your belly button," Gordon clarifies. "I think I saw more rings in that box over there, with all the hair ties and sh*t. You know, if you want the whole look."

Benrey only continues to stare, utterly baffled. His piercing blue gaze quickly becomes uncomfortable, so Gordon pretends he doesn't see it, putting his full focus into tracking down toothpaste and an unused brush. Of course these rich f*cks have several electric ones still in the plastic, untouched. f*cking charcoal? What does that even mean? Well, at least his teeth will thank him for using whatever expensive crap they put in these tubes.

Once they're both ready, they head out of the room, leaving the mess they made behind. Who gives a sh*t if the bed's made and there's shaving cream on the sink, anyway? No one else exists to care.

Now stood out in the hallway, Gordon looks around, at a loss for what he's actually meant to do next. Where does he want to go? What does he want to do? All he can seem to accomplish is to stand there and stare at the oil painting on the wall, depicting something he doesn't have the energy to find pleasing. Soon, he feels Benrey's warm, almost clammy hand around his wrist, tugging him off towards the stairs.

"C'mon, lazy," Benrey halfheartedly taunts. All the same, Gordon doesn't care he's being insulted, he just follows along without a thought to where Benrey may lead him.

Which is the downstairs kitchen, as it turns out. This room's deceptively small, like, possibly even smaller than the one in his old apartment. Well, maybe that's an exaggeration. Either way, it makes no f*cking sense for a place Gordon once called a mansion to be so oblong with its room sizes. There's even a walk-in pantry, where Benrey drags out some canned beans and a generic canister of sea salt. The items don't seem like they belong in such a ritzy place, and Gordon says as much.

"Loot tables don't care," is all Benrey says. For all Gordon knows, the video game analogy is exactly how this works. Not that it matters how cheap food got into a rich man's pantry.

Both cans are heated up over the stove and served directly with a spoon stuck through the opening. It's miserable even with copious amounts of salt, but Gordon doesn't think he'd appreciate anything more, anyway. Looking out the window nearby, he finds a world as gray as ever. The shrubbery is infested with cobwebs and the pool is littered with old leaves and animal droppings. Even the gates have started to rust. And soon, all of that is going to be snow. Who knows where they'll be then? Will there be power? Will they have to start stockpiling wood? What about their garden, what about the fish, the birds, all the other proteins? What if they get sick? What if they can't stay warm?

These and many more questions make him f*cking sick, and he wants to cry more than he wants to eat a can of beans. But he soldiers through, even if his stomach revolts through a lot of it.

The air is chilly as they had back outside, leaving Gordon painfully aware that it's October. It makes no f*cking sense, but nothing ever does and he's sick of questioning it. Benrey automatically takes up the driver's seat in the van, and Gordon doesn't protest. Though he briefly considers it when he remembers the state he was in the last time he sat in the passenger's seat. It's not like he got piss all over it or anything, but he's still paranoid about sitting in all the fluids that were sticking to his body yesterday.

The drive home is silent, as is the journey indoors. They work to put away their new supplies in silence, and they step through their usual morning chores in silence. The garden's doing just fine, no bugs or other pests. But Benrey still brings out a scarecrow that's covered in goth sh*t from somewhere in their hoard of garden supplies, stamping it into the ground where no crow will ever wanna f*ck with it. As he's doing that, Gordon heads inside to throw together some salads and fruit juice. It's silent when Benrey heads back inside to see what he's doing, and silent when Benrey helps him carry everything into the living room.

But as they both sit there in their usual spots staring at the food, neither one making a move to do anything, that silence breaks. It takes several minutes, Benrey's head tipped back over the couch and legs stretched under the coffee table while Gordon stares at the ceiling fan overhead, just… decompressing. But it breaks. And it starts with Gordon.

"We," he begins, pausing to wet his mouth as Benrey sluggishly lifts his head to look Gordon in the eye. "Really, really gotta talk about all this."

"Can we not?" Benrey wearily mumbles.

"I mean the zombies, man," Gordon presses.

"Oh. Then, yeah."

Briefly, he wonders where Benrey thought this was going before deciding he doesn't care. "I can't keep freezing up like that," he says, "And you gotta be reliable, Benrey. I know there's a lot of bad blood, I know I've f*cked you over countless times."

"And laughed," Benrey reminds him.

"I hadn't considered how you might feel in that situation," Gordon continues. A bit of Benrey's mask splinters as he says that, revealing a hint of surprise. "I thought it didn't matter because you always came back."

Benrey's eyes dart around in discomfort. "What's happening right now…?"

"But you're just as scared as I was, huh? It still f*cking hurts, even if it isn't permanent. Even if your limbs grow back. Do you…" Gordon pauses, contemplating how to phrase this next part before he lifts his head up to return Benrey's puzzled stare. "Do you remember how it feels to die?"

"What?" Benrey blurts, utterly bewildered. "Bro, why are you asking me that?"

"I'm just wondering," Gordon says with a hint of annoyance. "If it happens to you this often, shouldn't your mind have some kind of… defense mechanism to keep you from breaking down entirely? Like—Like, listen," he becomes the slightest bit more animated, gesticulating to get his point across. "They say that, when you have a kid, right? It hurts like hell, and you think, well, I'm not f*cking doing that again! But then these people go on to have four more kids! It's like a kind of amnesia, your body gaslights you into thinking it won't be that bad."

"Okay??" Benrey says, still staring at him like he's grown a second head who speaks only in riddles. Gordon sighs, growing increasingly frustrated.

"You know what? It doesn't matter. What I'm trying to say is that I get it, and I don't want you to go through what I went through yesterday, okay? Again, I mean. So let's just work together from now on."

"You're saying this now?" The way Benrey looks at him is strange, leading him to wonder what he said that was so wrong. "What, that's what it takes? You gotta know how it feels first to give a sh*t about me?"

"I don't know! Maybe!" Agreeing doesn't exactly make him look good, but he lacks the energy to fight—or to do much of anything, for that matter. Already he regrets speaking up, wanting nothing more than to crawl back into bed and sleep for a few hours. At least his admission has Benrey backing down, their lips, once poised to shout at him, now falling silent as they settle back onto the couch. "You don't need me to say it anymore, how much you piss me off, how getting stuck in the worst situation of my life with someone like you only makes it worse. Makes me worse. And that's not how this should be, this, whatever we are right now."

"Sometimes I really hate you," Benrey admits, as Gordon turns to him in surprise. It's not often he speaks so candidly and without stupid jokes or rage filled rambling; though it's not exactly surprising to hear Benrey confess to such feelings. "But then I really want to kiss you, even though I also want to bash your face into the wall, but it makes me sick. Really sick. I don't want you to have a busted face forever but I still think about doing it and I think it makes me feel good, until I think about your busted face and I feel bad."

What Benrey's saying brings with it a plethora of unpleasant images not unlike the kind Gordon mulled over not too long ago. Benrey's face torn apart by a barrage of bullets, reduced to a vague pile of gore, no teeth, no eyes, probably not any brain matter left, either. But it had just been blood and a completely normal face, like his skin had swallowed all the bullets the way one might catch a piece of popcorn thrown at their mouth.

And here Benrey is, thinking so much farther ahead than Gordon had in that one moment of aggression. Is it because Gordon's first taste of real violence happened with someone who couldn't show him the consequences of his actions? Or is he just truly rotten compared to them?

"Maybe you make me worse," Benrey continues. "I was, like, humanitarian, saving the world, and here you come, dick out, ruin my whole day—"

"Okay, let's not bring up the f*cking dick slip again, alright?" There's no way that really happened, anyway, but he doesn't care to debate it again.

"But it's like that! All I wanna do is have fun, man, I'm a great cool, everyone love me, just wanna play the new games and not have to deal with guys like you, messing me up."

"Guys like me?" Gordon questions, unsure if he should be offended or not.

"You make me hurt, and my dick hard, but my chest hurts thinking about you, and I'm so sick of you but I need you around me and I just wish you were nice to me but I don't want you to be nice to me. It'd be so easy if you just WEREN'T here, and I'd be gibbing zombies and spawning cheese wheels, but then I'd miss you. You're a f*cking curse, bro, I hate you. It never goes away. I used to be normal until you showed up."

"I really doubt you were ever normal, Benrey," Gordon says, though everything else in there is giving him a f*cking attack. What kind of attack, he isn't sure yet. It's a confusing mess of so many things with one major recurring theme he's too scared to look directly at. He shouldn't be, Benrey is literally the last man on earth. If he doesn't invite that into his life, where he's ever going to get it? But even thinking about it makes his mouth dry out and his heart try to break out of his chest.

"I don't get it, bro," Benrey says. "You're so hot but you're crazy. Sometimes I just want you to hit me again so you'll touch me, but it feels so bad, you don't respect me."

Gordon's lips open and close, at a loss for words. This feels like more information than he's ever gotten from Benrey at once, at least outside of the complete nonsense that was the fight on Xen. Though, the battle wasn't all nonsense, was it? Obviously the part about the bomb was bullsh*t, but now, hearing the way Benrey talks about himself, all it sounds like is self-loathing and insecurity. Strange coming from a guy who looks as imposing as him.

"I mean, yeah, not really," Gordon admits. Why bother sounding good? Who's he looking good for, Benrey? "But I'm starting to, and I mean that, Benrey. Even if it was pretty f*cked up to leave me to the zombies like some sick f*cking joke, but I get that, too. And you know I never tried to kill you on purpose, right? I mean, at Black Mesa, sure, but here… you were bitten, I took the shot. And when I pushed you, that was just—I didn't think that would happen. That was f*cking terrifying, they descended on you so fast."

"You shot me on sight, bro," Benrey argues. "When we was fighting together, Charlie's Angels back to back, all cool… and I turn and you're pointing your gun at me?"

It takes a second for Gordon to remember what he's talking about. "You were bitten! There was, like—They took a chunk out of your shoulder or your back or something, that's not something you can come back from, man! I put you out of your misery! And—Look, okay, this isn't the time to turn everything we've ever done to each other into an itemized list. I f*cking suck, you f*cking suck—"

"I don't suck," Benrey says. "You don't let me, you only let me touch that dick yesterday—"

"Haha," Gordon sarcastically interrupts, glaring a little extra hard to show how little he appreciates the crude humor. "The point is, we need each other. And we're not going to keep each other if we don't look out for each other, okay? No more fighting when we're dealing with zombies, no more leaving each other behind, and, I guess no more mercy killings without a warning, at least. I scratch your back, you scratch mine. Got it?"

"So how's this gonna make you into less of a little bitch boy?" Benrey tauntingly interjects. "Little frozen treat for the zombie? 'Cuz I can't do all the work, bro, when you're off pissing your pants over a bunch of creepers that're nowhere near you. I have hobbies."

Gordon sighs through his teeth. "Yeah? And what are your hobbies, masturbating and fantasizing about my death?"

"No, that's you," Benrey says, prompting Gordon to roll his eyes. Admittedly, he did walk right into that one. Doesn't make it any less aggravating, though.

"Look, you're right, though. We do have to think about what we're gonna do the next time we face off against a bunch of zombies. It's inevitable that we're gonna end up like that again, even if our plan from now on is to just avoid them altogether. I need some kind of armor, or you gotta cover me, or, like… maybe I just don't leave the car and get really good at sniping."

"How many hours you got as The Sniper?" Benrey asks. "Lemme see your, uh, your report card."

"Okay, fine. That's f*cking stupid, I get it. Sniping is way harder than it looks and I have zero experience, happy? That doesn't help us figure this out."

"You just gotta, uhhh, stop being a-scared," Benrey says, and so matter-of-factly, too, scratching the lobe of their ear and staring off into space. "You seen that, uh… that one show, with the zombie scarecrow? Maybe I put you in front of that. Use it for, for practice."

"That's a stupid f*cking idea, Benrey," Gordon says, just for Benrey to scoff and flop back against the couch. "What happens when it gets loose, and takes a bite out of my neck before any of us can stop it?"

"What do you want, bro? A real answer, or some plate armor?"

"I—" Gordon starts, just to stop himself as his mind's eye starts going over a few concepts. There's plenty of materials and all the time in the world to learn a new trade. It wouldn't even have to be especially sophisticated. Doesn't have to look good, either. He could strap a trash can lid to his chest and cover his arms with metal tubes and call it a day. He doubts any teeth, even with a supernatural level of force, could chew through metal. "Well, actually…"

"Oh my god that was a joke that was a joke that was a joke—"

"Don't rule out the idea!"

"You're such a puss*, bro, they do this all the time in the shows, the games. Just get over it, you have a gun and they can't even walk fast."

Gordon groans aloud. "You know what? Let's just revisit this later, okay? Clearly we're not f*cking getting anywhere."

"Cool. What's in this."

Finally, Benrey reaches for the salad, and Gordon sighs before explaining the recipe to them. At least when he has fresh apple slices bursting under his teeth, he doesn't feel quite as mad—and that allows him to think about what's transpired here. Not just his spiteful concepts for apocalyptic plate armor, but Benrey's, well… he shouldn't call it what he thinks it is, but it's giving him a lot to think about. It's not ideal, but what else does he have? And who else is really going to understand him, every part of him, the way Benrey does?

Not that he feels he really understands Benrey at all, much less that Benrey understands him, in return. But there's no one else who would let him do the things he's done and still kiss him like… no, he's just gonna leave it at that. Because pondering the way Benrey kisses him is even more insane than the fact he's kissed Benrey at all.

Their day goes on like normal from there, or as normal as it ever gets between them. They eat, cool off, play games, check on the garden, eat, play games… it's messed up that this is the kind of paradise he always wanted, to call off work forever and stay home gaming with a buddy. It's just missing the luxury of a grocery store, and hitting him with brand new anxieties. Like, what happens when the power goes out? When the water goes out? When they run out of proteins, of pasta, of rice, and they're eating salads for every meal? That's not a healthy way to live.

"We should start fishing tomorrow," Gordon suggests during a little break in their borderline nonstop gaming session. "I know we have all this canned stuff, but if we don't get into the groove of doing more than just sitting on our asses waiting for the farm to be ready, we might just f*ck ourselves over."

All Benrey does is shrug, leaving Gordon at a loss as to whether or not he actually heard a single thing Gordon said. Whatever. They'll go out fishing or they won't, and they'll die of starvation, or they won't. It's hard to care anymore.

When night falls, the two of them retire upstairs, working through their nightly routine in a daze. Benrey joins him in the shower and he doesn't even blink, seamlessly passing over some soap and offering to help with anything his missing fingers give him trouble with. At least when Gordon lingers beneath the cascading water for a little too long Benrey refrains from voicing any complaints. At one point, he even rests his head on Gordon's lower back, letting out a sigh as he sits on the rim of the tub until Gordon's done.

Afterwards, neither of them bother getting dressed, opting instead to towel off and blow dry their hair before Benrey reapplies his itching cream and they head to bed.

This bed pales in comparison to the one they slept in the night prior, but for some reason, Gordon prefers it. It makes him a little sick to think of how little he deserves silk sheets and high thread counts. This is more familiar, anyway. And familiar feels pretty f*cking nice. Compared to sleeping in the HEV suit, it's flatout luxury.

Still, it takes him what feels like hours to fall asleep, too busy staring up at the popcorn ceiling while listening to Benrey's steady breaths. He's got his back to Gordon, leaving him yearning to close that gap, to put his arm around Benrey's waist and hold him. Maybe that would make it easier. But he doesn't dare, instead heaving as quiet a sigh as he can muster and rolling over to where he can't see Benrey anymore.

Sleep eventually does find him after that, but not for long, nor does it drag him especially deep. He frowns and stretches out his limbs, frustrated. It's still dark, with nothing but the moonlight through the window to illuminate his surroundings. Rolling over, he expects to find Benrey asleep in bed next to him, but all he finds is a long shadow breaking up the moonlight. The dark figure sitting in the window is definitely Benrey, even if he's just a blur of shapes without Gordon's glasses to help filter his vision.

Speaking of, he fumbles for those, bringing the image into sharper clarity. It is, indeed, Benrey sat in the windowsill, though he's wearing black boxer shorts and a hoodie while smoking a blunt with the window wide open. That last part would explain why he got dressed.

"Benrey," Gordon calls out, his voice groggy and hoarse. Benrey turns to look back at him, slowly letting the smoke exit his mouth. "Come on, man. Come back to bed."

He doesn't know why he cares or is even bothering—maybe because it's something to do, and sleep clearly isn't working, so he's gotta find something. Benrey regards him for a moment, wetting his lips before taking another hit he exhales directly out through the open window.

"Why?" he asks, sounding equally as tired. "You gonna blow me or sum'n?"

The thought gives him pause, and Benrey side-eyes him pretty hard for that pause, but Gordon ultimately shakes his head. "You need sleep, man. I can't be the only person doing this."

"Nah, bro, you love sleeping," Benrey says, hugging one leg with the hand holding the blunt. He leans his head against his knee. "Wanna hit of this?"

Slowly, Gordon rises up out of bed, taking a moment to stretch out his limbs as he sit on the edge of Benrey's side of the bed. "You're not on painkillers right now, are you?" he asks as he reaches over for Benrey to pass him the blunt. He still chokes a little when he takes a hit, but at least Benrey doesn't laugh at him for it.

"Doesn't hurt anymore," Benrey says. "Uh. Doesn't hurt enough anymore."

Gordon nods, staring down at the blunt in his hand contemplatively. "That's good," he mumbles. "Why are you up, anyway? Trouble sleeping?"

"It's whatever," Benrey mutters.

Right, yet another thing he won't address that'll only lead to a fight if Gordon presses him on it. This is typical of their relationship, and Gordon simply doesn't care enough to know the answer. He'll notice a pattern in Benrey's sleeping or he won't. It'll affect their lives, or it won't. Feels like Gordon's not bound to care until the problems have already arrived, but he can't find it in himself to care about that, either.

He takes another hit and tries his best not to choke or let his eyes water too badly before passing it back to Benrey. Two hits is probably enough to help him sleep, right? Even Benrey seems to agree, as all he does is hold it from then on.

"At least put that away and close the window," Gordon says with a sigh, crawling back to his side of the bed so he can get back under the covers. This sleeping naked thing was cuter back in the summer heat of New Mexico. "You can brood in bed like the rest of us."

He actually hears Benrey laugh when he says that, even if it's just one of those quick puffs of air. With nothing more interesting to observe, he watches Benrey put the weed away, close the window, and chuck off the hoodie on his way to bed despite it still being fairly cold in here. Disappointingly, he resumes his earlier position with his back turned to Gordon, and it takes a lot of willpower not to reach out for him. He doesn't like Benrey, but he's still an attractive and warm body Gordon wouldn't mind holding to get through the night. And he's willing to bet Benrey wouldn't refuse him.

Yet still, he doesn't go for it. Still, he rolls over to put Benrey out of his mind and goes back to sleep.

He wakes the next morning feeling like he hasn't slept at all. There's something pressing into his cheek, and when he goes to push it away, he's greeted by Benrey's foot. With a grimace, he shoves it away from him, sitting up to find Benrey sprawled out upside-down on the bed, fast asleep. The sheets are a mess around him, his boxers hanging half off. Jeez, and Gordon thought he slept bad.

Benrey turns his head towards the pillow and groans in displeasure as Gordon starts to get up, not wanting to be up, but what else is he gonna do? Lying around trying to sleep all the time sucks, and he would know, he tried to do it for two weeks straight. Granted, a lot of that was him pretending so Benrey would stop asking him questions. But it's not like he did much else.

Regardless of how little either of them want to be awake, it isn't long before Benrey joins him in getting dressed and going about their morning routine. Neither of them deviate much with the clothes they toss on—in fact, Gordon's pretty sure Benrey's wearing the exact same outfit as before, but he doesn't comment on that. He just asks Benrey what he wants for breakfast and delivers to the best of his ability while Benrey checks on the garden. He returns with another bird, which Gordon grimaces at before adding it to their meal. At least it's not a crow, so their crops are probably safe.

"Jesus, you're like a stray cat," Gordon comments, just for Benrey to smack him on the ass and wander off into the living room. He grumbles and rolls his eyes, but doesn't complain. No point in arguing with them now, they're gonna keep doing sh*t like this forever.

The meal winds up being another salad with an omelet on the side, which Gordon has to watch Benrey mix together into one unholy concoction and gobble down like he's dying. Something about that convinces Gordon not to dawdle—Benrey might steal his f*cking food if he takes too long. It doesn't feel good, even if having his stomach lined chases away a lot of the negativity in his brain. It just doesn't chase away the part that's telling him he's a coward for eating again, that he'd be so much closer to death if he just stopped. That he's too much of a puss* to follow through. Just a prissy little boy who can't handle going without the comfort of, you know, feeding himself long enough to die.

That's a sh*tty f*cking way to go, anyway. Maybe if he really meant it, he wouldn't choose the long game, the only method he could easily break out of whenever he wanted, the one that gives him too much time to talk himself out of it.

He snaps out of those thoughts as he notices Benrey joining him on his side of the couch. Or, rather, he's been laid back on the couch staring up at the ceiling thinking about this sh*t, and now Benrey's straddling his legs, his lithe hands deftly undoing the button on the front of Gordon's pants. That sends his thoughts to a screeching halt, his pulse jumping.

"What the f*ck are you doing?" Gordon blurts, leaning up just enough to get a better look at Benrey leaning over his crotch, zipper in hand.

"Uh, what's it look like?"

It's really obvious what this looks like, but Gordon fumbles for a reason to tell them to stop. Every excuse he tries to come up with is forcibly silenced by the pleasure center in his brain telling him to just shut the f*ck up, for once. With how slowly Benrey draws down his zipper and peels back the fabric of his jeans, he's given so much time to stop him, but he doesn't. And the realization that he really doesn't want him to stop has a wave of arousal crashing over him.

Something must be showing on his face, or maybe it was the way he shivered, because Benrey suddenly isn't going slow anymore. His clothes are eagerly drawn down his hips just enough to free his half-hard co*ck, which Benrey enthusiastically pounces upon. He rubs it against his lips, his cheek, nuzzles his nose into it as his tongue slips out to draw all the way up the side and suck on the tip. Gordon throws his head back and closes his eyes, a hand clasped over his mouth, losing himself in the feeling of Benrey's lips and tongue lavishing his co*ck with attention.

Benrey's not shy about it, either. He buries his nose in Gordon's pubes and deeply inhales, exhaling with a moan. He drools and spits just to get Gordon wetter like something he's seen in a p*rn before, and every time he opens his eyes to get a good look, Benrey's so focused on what he's doing that it's almost like this is more for him than Gordon. The way his lips fit around Gordon's co*ck is well-practiced, and soon, he's bobbing his head with a low moan, one hand sneaking between his thighs to jack himself off under the fabric of his cargo pants.

Yet it's over in barely two minutes, and Gordon's positive that first minute was only due to how much build-up Benrey put him through. He c*ms with a low grunt, hips pushing into Benrey's mouth as he dutifully swallows down every last drop. Once Gordon drops back onto the couch, he pulls his lips off of him, drool soaking his chin, and lays his head on Gordon's thigh, body turned to where he can easily see Benrey furiously jerking himself off until he c*ms all over his fingers moments later. He doesn't expect the sight of it to be as exciting as it is, but hearing Benrey whine like a dog as cum oozes lazily over his fingers makes Gordon's head spin.

Minutes pass as they lie there together, until finally, Benrey gets up to find something to wipe himself off with. He returns to flop down on Gordon's front, forcing a startled oof out of Gordon at the unexpected additional weight. Benrey's f*cking heavy, and he barely fits with his head tucked into the crook of Gordon's shoulder and his legs bent against the backrest where he's too tall to stretch out his legs. Yet somehow, Gordon finds he likes the pressure, even if it takes some squirming around to find the right position.

Like this, Gordon falls asleep in minutes.

The next he wakes, the sky's grown darker, and Benrey's weight against his body has vanished. Gordon spends a few minutes tracking him down before realizing he's just not here. Probably should've figured that out by the fact his shoes, bag, and skateboard are all gone. Given this is a common occurrence, Gordon shrugs it off. He's probably out finding eggs or fishing or something, which… actually just makes Gordon feel bad for not doing as much. Heading out would probably be bad, Benrey might worry if he comes home to an empty house, and it would be too disorganized, anyway.

So Gordon sets to work looking for anything that needs doing, and does it. It's easy to tune out everything else and just keep going when there's dishes to scrub, clothes to wash, and so on. Though, he's already done a pretty good job with this place. It's not like the mere act of existing is going to trash a house in the span of a few days, after all.

But Benrey's been pretty fond of the house next door. Now that Gordon thinks about it, he's actually never been over there. God, it must be a f*cking pigsty.

Gathering up all his cleaning supplies into a basket, Gordon heads into the backyard and over to the neighboring house.

The sight that greets him nearly has him dropping his basket. There's old blood stains all over the floor, trailing from the bathroom behind the kitchen to the stove, which is also caked with old blood, notably around one of the burners. That's to say nothing of the pile of dishes in the sink, the fruit juice stains on the countertops, and the trail of mud over the tile. But how he can focus on that when there's a f*cking crime scene in here?

Finding the cleanest surface he can, Gordon sets the basket aside and steps deeper into the house, doing his best to avoid walking over the bloodstains. Pushing open the bathroom door reveals a scene twice, if not three times as bloody. It's all over the floor, smeared on the counter, and pooled up in the tub with streaks heading down towards the drain. A butcher knife is abandoned on the counter. Gordon covers his mouth, an uncomfortable heat flashing over his body.

This is… f*ck, this is where it happened, isn't it? The hand or the foot, one of those two. Both, maybe. Even the arm didn't produce this much gore back at the restaurant, though Gordon didn't exactly go out of his way to observe the mess.

And Benrey had to go through all of this by himself. No emotional support, nobody to do it for him, nobody to clean up after him or bandage his wound afterward. Judging by the trail of blood, the stove is what cauterized it for him. Gordon can't even imagine the agony. All while he was lazing around with his thumb up his ass.

He knows, he knows Benrey didn't need to do all that he did while Gordon was out. But unlike him, Benrey has an actual drive to get things done, so of course he didn't follow Gordon's lead.

In fact… he should be out there right now, helping Benrey do whatever it is he's doing. But it's not like Benrey paused to wake him up and ask.

The living room is untouched, so he heads for the stairs, where mud stains and drops of blood lead him to the second floor. So far, the house has been virtually identical in layout to the one they've been living in, and the upstairs is no different. Different decor and furniture, sure, and this one has a hall closet while theirs doesn't. Otherwise? The exact same. Taking a deep, deep breath, he approaches the bathroom, hesitating before pushing open the door.

"Jesus Christ," he breathes as the sight of yet another bloodied bathroom lies before him. It's, ironically, not as bad as the first. The blood is all centralized to the center of the tile floor, where Benrey's lazily tugged a mint bath rug over the middle of it. Scant traces of it remain in other areas, notably fingerprints on the edge of the tub partially washed away by stray droplets of water from the shower.

After all this he dreads even approaching the bedroom, and he gets the feeling Benrey's going to throw a tantrum if he knows Gordon's been in his room, so he avoids that entirely. He especially doesn't want to head in and find whatever sex sh*t Benrey keeps in there. Probably loads up the trash bin by his computer with used tissues. Ugh.

In short, he's got his work cut out for him. But it's something to do. He feels like less of a burden while he's bleaching blood out of the tiles, washing dishes, and sanitizing the kitchen. Though cleaning isn't as focused as it usually is, today. His thoughts keep drifting, and when they drift, it's always to Benrey.

S'why I like you, you're like me.

My chest hurts thinking about you.

I need you around me.

"f*ck," Gordon grumbles to himself, pausing in the middle of scrubbing the downstairs bathroom to lean back on his knees and just breathe. As far as… stuff like that goes, it's never felt more intense and personal than Benrey putting it the way he did. He can't just be normal and come right out with it, he has to make Gordon feel it. To make his chest hurt when he thinks about it, over and over on a continuous loop.

And it's always there. The way Benrey looks at him, the way he begged and whined when they were together. You're scaring me, I just want you to be okay! And you don't even care!

"This is supposed to be f*cking relaxing," he curses, heaving a sigh as he struggles to banish Benrey's voice from his mind.

I hate you.

I used to be normal.

You're a f*cking curse.

Between the intrusive thoughts and his own attempts to banish them by scrubbing harder and louder, he doesn't hear it when Benrey gets home. The walls in this place are thin, and even with the alley between this house and their usual one, he should've heard the door open and close if nothing else. But it isn't until he hears Benrey's voice that he's snapped out of his trance.

"Bro, what are you doing in here?"

The sound startles Gordon into dropping his mop, turning to find Benrey stood by the back door, nose pinched and brows knit in confusion. He's in his uniform, the jacket undone to show off the crop top underneath. Seeing him in the flesh after he's spent hours tormenting Gordon's every waking thought is surreal.

"Need to put a f*cking bell on you, or something," Gordon says, though he's certain it's not Benrey being quiet so much as Gordon being out of it, today. Though Benrey is pretty good at sneaking up on him. "Jesus. I mean, look, man, you went off to do whatever you were doing, and I didn't want to be lazing around on my ass all day, so I came over to see if anything needs cleaning."

"Smells like chemical," Benrey complains.

"Well, then just don't come over for a few days!" Gordon says. "I'll wash it off and it'll air out. There's probably some kinda air freshener you can find somewhere."

They lapse into silence, Benrey nonchalantly propped against the backdoor as Gordon returns to his cleaning. Despite the awkwardness of Benrey's prolonged staring, Gordon feels a strange sense of relief in his presence. It's not because it's Benrey, but because it's anyone at all, a rarity in a world where death looms around every corner. Knowing all your neighbors are just empty houses, that the TV broadcasts nothing but static, that the shops all are unmanned—it only serves to remind Gordon of how empty and cold the world has become.

At least with it being Benrey who's here with him, there's a silver lining. The guy sure loves long silences, giving Gordon a break from his constant spew of nonsense.

In fact, he stays there watching until Gordon's finished up with the kitchen. He'll have to come back tomorrow to finish the job, but he's managed to tackle the whole house, cleaning up the worst of the mess. Well, aside from the bedrooms upstairs, but he's a little afraid of those.

"Hey," Benrey says, diverting Gordon's attention from where he's stashing away his cleaning supplies. "Got something, uh, pretty cool."

"Yeah?" Gordon says. This could be anything from a hen at perfect egg-laying age to a f*cking pog, but anything at all is interesting right now.

"Yeah," Benrey says.

"Lead the way, then."

Returning to the main house, Gordon can't be sure what awaits him, but he tempers his expectations. Yet, as he crosses the threshold into the kitchen, his cautious optimism blooms into full-fledged excitement. Atop the kitchen counter is a wide blue cooler brimming of fish, all fighting for space in the pool of freshwater. Beside it is a generic shopping bag packed with acorns, mushrooms, wild berries, and dandelions.

"Got this… idea," Benrey says as Gordon goes to inspect their haul. f*ck, there's easily twenty fish in this thing, and they're all good-sized fish, too. "We could, uh… get a tank, keep these alive. Scoop 'em out like a sushi restaurant."

"That's… huh," Gordon says, pausing to ponder the idea. He only kept fish for a short while as a child, but he had no hand in caring for them. That was all on his dad. "Could work? But I have no idea how to clean a tank or what the f*ck these guys would even need for that."

"Would hafta be…" Benrey smacks his lips. "Big. Could keep it, keep it in the, that house." He points to the house across from theirs, easily accessible from their backyard. "Like, uh… turn the kitchen into… aquarium."

Gordon stares out the window at the other house, momentarily struck by just how far ahead Benrey's thought. It feels ambitious, akin to suggesting they landscape a pool and construct a third story to their house with no prior training. But upon reflection, it's not actually that complicated. They'd just have to do some studying, track down the supplies. The van could easily accommodate a tanks, filters, and whatever else they'd need, and water isn't exactly in short supply.

Better yet, while Benrey's out foraging, fishing, and maybe even hunting if they ever figure it out, Gordon would have another thing to do to keep himself busy, to keep the two of them alive. He's shocked by just how brilliant this is, and a little annoyed it wasn't him who thought of it.

As he thinks it through, Benrey keeps talking. "There's, uhh, overpopulation," he says, making a boxy gesture with his hands. "Got, uhhh, pet store over by the… the garden… the dirt store. Go over there all the time, baby stuff."

"Benrey, this is brilliant," Gordon says, glancing up to see surprise flicker across Benrey's face before he wanders off to observe the fish once more. He can hardly believe it. "How did you even catch this many?"

There's a pause before Benrey responds, during which Gordon excitedly drags out skillets, oil, and a lemon from the fridge. "Uh… got… just threw a net and they took a lil sleepy inside," Benrey explains. "While I was… uhh…" He trails off, like he's unsure if Gordon's even listening. "Just… started looking for stuff. Berries."

"And nuts, damn," Gordon says. "I don't know what to do with an acorn, but thank god there's some f*cking variety." Benrey perks up a little. Without even glancing away from his preparations, Gordon says, "God, I could kiss you."

"Whuh—" Benrey sputters. "Whoa, really? Can you do that right now?"

Gordon ponders it for a moment, before ultimately deciding, f*ck it. Why not? It's not like kissing Benrey is a chore. Though as he abandons his prep to approach Benrey, the guard starts backing into the door, panic flashing across his face.

"Whoa, whoa—Hey, hi," he stammers as Gordon closes in, looking a little confused. "Uhhhhhh."

"What?" Gordon chuckles lightly. "Do you want a kiss or not?" When all Benrey responds with is a series of half-aborted noises, Gordon sighs, glancing down the length of Benrey's massive body to considers how he's even going to reach Benrey's mouth. "Oh, come on. We've kissed plenty of times and now you're freaked about it?"

"Bro, why aren't YOU?" Benrey blurts, his face turning a deep shade of purple. "Wha', wha' the hell…"

"Look, if you don't want to kiss me, then—"

"I DO THOUGH," Benrey interjects, a little too loudly. His own volume appears to embarrass him further, leaving Gordon to co*ck his head at him. What's the big deal? "I just—Wha's happening. You're being nice."

"Can I not be nice once in awhile?" Gordon sighs, growing a little exasperated. "What, you want me to be mean? Is that it?"

"I don't know?" Benrey says, sounding genuinely unsure, unable to parse why he's freaking out about this. If not for the way things have just… felt lately, Gordon would be asking himself the same question. But nothing feels like a big deal anymore. Except, well. Except for the big deal. But he's not ready to think about that yet, even if thoughts of it spent all afternoon harassing him.

As if capable of dispelling both his thoughts and Benrey's sudden bashfulness, Gordon seizes the front of Benrey's shirt, yanking him down to Gordon's level. He crashes their lips together, one hand curling around Benrey's nape to draw him in closer as Gordon playfully nibbles at his lip. If Benrey wants mean, he'll get mean—rough, biting, forceful, demanding. He tugs on Benrey's bottom lip as he pulls away, satisfied with the bruised and swollen nature of their newly glossy lips. Seeing the dazed look in Benrey's eye is equally satisfying.

Despite the way his heart threatens to burst out of his chest, Gordon heaves a sigh and swipes his hand across his mouth. "There," he mutters, unable to meet Benrey's eye. He's doing it again, offering up that adoring stare Gordon tries so hard to ignore. "Was that mean enough for you?"

"Huh? Yeah. One more?" Benrey reaches for Gordon's hand as he moves to retract it from his mouth, momentarily forgetting he only has five fingers right now, even if the other five are steadily growing up to the first knuckle.

Gordon chuckles. "You've had plenty, buddy," he says. "Now help me skin these fish so I can grill them."

"Yes sirrrr," Benrey obediently responds, chucking off his jacket and gloves onto the nearby washing machine before hurrying to join Gordon. Together, they select a good sized salmon to skin and chop in half, seasoned with lemon juice and served with a side of broccoli, cauliflower, and sliced carrots.

Midway through Gordon frying up the fish Benrey skinned, Benrey sidles up behind him, wrapping his arms around Gordon waist, and peppering kisses along his neck and shoulders. The second he turns his head, Benrey captures his lips, diverting Gordon's attention from the meal entirely. Each kiss draws him in deeper, his body gradually turning to face Benrey as his hands find their way to the other man's shoulders. It's not until the scent of something burning reaches his nostrils that he reluctantly pulls away, whipping around to spot the fish sizzling away on the stove. He hastily fumbles to flip it, grimacing at the slightly burnt fillet while Benrey's lips continue their assault on his neck.

"Will you stop f*cking distracting me?" Gordon scolds, lifting one of his shoulders to try and force Benrey out. "You're gonna burn the fish."

"Whateverrrrr-uhhhh…" He gropes at Gordon's midsection, lifting up his shirt to do so, only to scurry away when Gordon threatens to beat him over the head with an oily spatula.

The dinner proves to be delicious, leaving the two of them lounging on the couch utterly satisfied as another woodworking DVD plays on the TV. It's mind numbing, and Gordon tunes it out, instead trying to focus on some of the books he's been studying. Despite his efforts, he still can't quite grasp the information these books are meant to impart, but he needs to dedicate as much time as possible to studying this sh*t before it's too late.

As for the remainder of the fish, once they've stopped vegging out on the couch, they work together to thin the numbers down, storing most of the fillets in the freezer while setting aside a few in the fridge for tomorrow.

That leaves a few live fish, which they both hope will just… continue to live normally until they're ready to eat them, or until there's a big enough tank ready for them. Sounds like tomorrow's project, and Gordon can't help but admit he's pretty excited about it. Everyone loves an aquarium, or at least he does. he prospect of building one he can visit whenever he pleases is… well, it's probably the most excited he's been for anything since what happened in Roswell.

He's still talking about it as they prepare for bed, only pausing to brush his teeth. He's so engrossed in the topic he doesn't even blink when Benrey takes a piss right next to him, nor is he phased when Benrey kisses him as they're settling in for the night. It's nice, leaving him chuckling and admonishing Benrey for interrupting him even as he allows him to steal several more kisses.

Curled up at Gordon's side, the two of them lay on their backs gazing at the ceiling while Gordon muses on how big of a tank they could get, and Benrey talks about colorful aquarium rocks and other "fish swag". It's in this way that Gordon drifts off to sleep, unsure where their conversation left off.

But it isn't a long sleep. No, he has Benrey to thank for that. Around three hours later—according to the watch he left on his nightstand—he's jolted awake by the sensation of Benrey's hand colliding with his face. He sputters, shoving it away and grabbing his glasses as he sits up to figure out what's happening.

When Gordon looks to his side, he finds Benrey fast asleep, clutching tightly to the pillow half-under his head. It's been dragged out a little so he can hug it, although it looks more like he's grasping onto it for dear life. Even in the low light, Gordon can see the sweat beading on his face, can hear hear the rapid rhythm of his breaths. The hand he'd struck Gordon with quickly finds the pillow again, curling up a little tighter and turning to bury his face in it.

"Benrey," Gordon calls, reaching out to touch Benrey's shoulder. "Wake up, man."

The instant his hand brushes against Benrey's shoulder, he jolts awake near-violently, scrambling away from whatever touched him and nearly tumbling off the bed. Luckily, it's a spacious bed. His glowing blue eyes are wild as they dart around the room, reminding himself of where he is and who's here with him.

"Hey, hey. It's just me," Gordon says. "You were having a nightmare or something, so I woke you up."

"What?" Benrey breathes, staring down at his lap as he lifts a hand to brush his hair back out of his face. Though his hand is steady, his breaths are not, and he hums a few notes of sweet voice that light up the room in a soothing dark blue.

"Are you okay, man?"

"What?" Benrey repeats. "Uh? Why'd you wake me up?"

"I just told you—"

"I don't do that, you're, uh, making that up." Grabbing onto the sheets, he rolls onto his side and flops back into bed, putting his back to Gordon. Although he sighs, his concern outweighs his annoyance at Benrey's behavior.

"Sure, man. Whatever." Gordon's about to lay back down and put this whole thing behind him when something suddenly dawns on him. It's been a few days, and so much has transpired between then and now, he forgot all about it.

Glancing over to Benrey, Gordon quickly pushes the blanket aside and climbs out of bed. Though a little unsteady on his feet, it's manageable, and he quickly tracks down his bag in the corner of the room.

Honestly, it's so f*cking big he's not sure how he didn't think to grab it until now. Prying it out proves to be a challenge, but it's soft and not exactly fragile, so before long, he's popped the thing out and started fluffing it back to its original shape. It's unharmed, thankfully; doesn't smell, either.

Returning to bed, Gordon gets settled before taking the stuffed bear and pressing it against Benrey's neck and shoulders. He startles, whipping around to investigate what the f*ck Gordon's touched him with. Upon seeing the black stuffed bear with the silky blue bow around its neck, he blinks, bewildered, and continues to stare in stunned silence.

"…Huh?" Benrey mutters, hesitantly reaching back to touch the bear's soft head.

"You seemed like you wanted it, so," Gordon says with a shrug, laying back down on his side of the bed, blanket pulled up over his collar. "I grabbed it for you on the way out. Forgot about it until just now."

"It's stupid," comes Benrey's immediate, and disingenuous, retort. "I'm not five, I don't want a dumb bear."

"Uh huh," Gordon says, utterly unconvinced. "Sure, Ben. Then do whatever you want with it, doesn't matter to me."

There's a subtle hint of superiority to his tone, because he knows the second he wakes up tomorrow, he's gonna turn to find Benrey snuggling this thing. And, sure enough, after rolling over to put his back to Benrey, effectively taking him out of his line of sight… it's barely five minutes later he feels Benrey moving, with the telltale mattress dip and blanket rustle of him rolling around to grab onto the bear.

It's with a contented smile that Gordon drifts back to sleep. Six hours pass before he wakes again, letting out a sleepy groan and rolling onto his back to be greeted by the gentle morning light illuminating Benrey's slumbering form. Exactly as expected, he's fast asleep, one arm wrapped snugly around the bear's midsection and one around its head, where he's left a puddle of drool on the bear's cheek.

He barely stirs as Gordon sits up. Even when he reaches over to touch Benrey's face like it's the most natural thing in the world to do, all Benrey does is bury his face in the bear with a disgruntled murmur. Suppressing a chuckle, Gordon watches him a moment longer before getting out of bed. As for Benrey… he can sleep in a little longer.