Chapter Text
A deep regret courses through your veins, you can feel it in your bones.
This isn’t fake.
The fear and desperation for air couldn’t have been faked, especially not by Benry. He’s seriously hurt and you just choked him out.
Oh god, is he dead? Can Benry permanently die?
You press your fingers to his neck. Trying frantically to remember which way to position them to feel a heartbeat.
You finally get it right and-
There it is, it’s faint, but it’s there.
You let out an almost involuntary sigh of relief. What the fuck were you thinking? He hadn’t even tried to attack you.
He doesn’t even look like he can.
You stare at him for a moment.
Now that you weren’t fighting for your life in the depths of Black Mesa or blinded by fear and rage, you realize how painfully normal Benry looks. How were you ever scared of this guy?
Scratch that, you know exactly why.
You shake your head and try to clear your thoughts. What matters right now isn’t how dangerous or eldritch Benry looks.
He's hurt, most likely dying, and you don’t want to add killing him again to your heavy emotional baggage.
You pick him up and move him into the living room.
Then you dump him back onto the kitchen floor and go get some towels to put on the couch.
The first thing you notice when you wake up is the pain. Your whole body feels like it’s burning, but the worst is coming from your throat. It aches and throbs along with your heartbeat.
You have never felt this bad in your entire life.
On the upside, you’re laying on something really soft.
… and itchy.
You reach up a hand to itch your arm but stop when you notice something taped to it.
You try to itch your skin through whatever it is but let your hand flop back down with a huff when it doesn't work.
Instead, you choose to bask in the feeling of whatever you're laying on.
When was the last time you’d felt something this soft?
When was the last time you’d been in Black Mesa?
Why can’t you remember the last time you died?
You shoot up from where you’re laying and immediately squeeze your eyes shut, it’s way too bright in here.
Did you die again? No … you passed out … but what happened before that?
You were in a forest, you were walking (more like stumbling), and then you were in a kitchen with … Gordon? It was all too fuzzy.
What you do remember, very clearly, is the need to breathe and something- no ... hands around your neck.
Ok, no more thinking.
You hesitantly open your eyes and look around the room you’re in.
A TV is positioned across from the couch you’re laying on, and a precariously stacked tower of games is leaning against the coffee table. You stare at it for a moment before tearing your eyes away.
An archway leads into a kitchen and another looks like it leads into a hallway in one corner of the room. There are various decorations and pictures positioned all over the place, but you’re squinting too hard to make anything out.
And last but not least, there are way too many fucking windows and all of them let in way too much fucking light.
You debate whether or not you’d be able to walk the distance to close the blinds. You try to move your legs, but they won’t budge.
Nothing left but to wait and hope whoever put you on this couch has good intentions.
Unlike Gordon.
You can’t even bring yourself to be mad at him. A part of you knows you deserved it.
A door opens and closes somewhere in the house. You can hear footsteps slowly approaching.
You don’t move, It’s not like you can anyways.
Leaving Benry on the couch had been an oversight.
You were tired, your hands were starting to hurt from treating his wounds, and the sun was just about fully risen. All you wanted to do was fall asleep and hope this was all a bad dream.
So you left him on the couch, and now he‘s probably gone.
He couldn’t have gone far, you hope he didn’t go far.
The blood would attract animals.
You enter the living room and just barely catch yourself before flinching.
So he hadn’t left.
For a couple of minutes both of you just stare at each other.
He looks marginally better than he did last night, minus the new bruises on his throat. A tight ball of guilt starts to build up in your chest and you look away.
“Uh … you’re awake.”
What do you even say in this situation? What could you even say in this situation?
‘I’m sorry?’
No, you wouldn’t say it before Benry.
What you did doesn’t even hold a candle to what he put you through.
You look down at the towel on the couch and cringe at how much blood had seeped into it. More guilt builds up until it’s unbearable.
“I- … I’m sorry.”
Fuck.
“I shouldn’t have choked you, and … I shouldn’t have just- just kicked you while you were down and couldn't fight back ... I'm sorry, Benry” You paused, hoping for some kind of response.
He was staring down at his lap.
The guilt dissipates and quickly gets replaced by anger.
“Y’know, it would be nice if you apologized for all the shit you pulled in Black Mesa.”
Still nothing.
“It would be nice if you apologized, Benry.”
Silence.
You bury your face in your hands.
Why did anything involving Benry make you so fucking angry?
Why did he have to be so difficult?
You try to calm yourself down. Giving in to your anger just led you to where you are now.
A bloody towel that will probably stick to your couch if you don’t pull it off soon, and an ex-guard that tried to kill you sitting on it.
That thought had you glancing up at him.
He stared back.
“Close the windows? Please?”
It took a moment for what he said to register.
“What?”
“The windows-”
“They’re already closed.”
Benry frowns and rubs at his eyes “too bright, can’t fucking-” he grumbles to himself.
You let out a long exasperated sigh and drag a hand down your face. The anger goes just as quickly as it had come, now, you’re just tired.
“You mean the blinds?” Benry nods.
You begrudgingly walk over to the windows, close the blinds, and condescendingly say “better?”
He rubs at his eyes one last time “yeah.”
You suddenly feel the overwhelming urge to go back to bed.
You’ve been trying to say something for the last minute. Even with the blinds closed, it was still almost impossible to formulate your thoughts.
You were always abysmal with apologies. Especially if the person you were trying to apologize to was 10 seconds away from bursting a blood vessel any time you opened your mouth.
What finally motivated you enough to ‘talk’ was Gordon making his way towards the hallway.
You let out a stream of sweet voice.
He whips around to look at you with barely concealed fear.
“Orange to gray like an extinguished cigarette means I’m filled with deep regret” you mumble, watching as the bubbles float up and pop against the ceiling.
Gordon watches too. Staring up at the ceiling for a couple of seconds after the bubbles have disappeared.
“Is that … really what that means?” he starts to cautiously walk back over.
“Yeah, ask Tommy.”
“I will.”
Gordon stands at the back of the couch, not wanting to stain his pants with blood.
“M’sorry, for everything” more orange to gray sweet-voice spills out before you can say more.
“Thanks, Benry”
After a moment Gordon glances at you.
You don’t look back.