Chapter Text
“Hello, everyone! It’s your host, Gordon Freeman, and welcome back to another episode of Bubbyfreeman: Unsolved! Today we’re checking out some
supposedly
‘haunted’ houses in the middle of Lost Springs woods.”
Gordon waves just beyond the camera.
“Everyone say hello to... Bubby, BFU’s dedicated cameraman.”
A voice, disdainful and muffled behind the camera -
“Just get on with it, Freeman.”
Gordon rolls his eyes, but continues. “Anyways. Some background info - seven years ago, there were three families living - “
The perspective shifts, just enough to plant it in reality.
Gordon Freeman was sitting at his computer in the middle of the night with his editing software. He rubbed his eyes before setting to work.
God. Why did Bubby ask for so many visual gags. This one’s gonna take forever. Why doesn’t he - ugh. Sometimes I regret ever making the stupid show. … It’s fun, though, usually.
Gordon leant back in his chair to stretch. Oof. I don’t want to know what that w - BANG. Gordon fell backwards onto the ground as something slammed into his balcony window.
Gordon yelped. Oh, what the fuck. Was that a - a bird? He stood up and rubbed the back of his head. Ouch. Gordon moved to open up the door to his itty bitty shitty apartment’s balcony - cautious. He heard something . Something very much Not A Bird moving outside. Something far, far bigger, from the sound of it.
He opened up the door to - What is that…? Oh. - to something that Gordon would recognize anywhere - No fucking way. - with slick, slightly iridescent black skin and glowing red eyes, the jumble of limbs lying on his balcony was irrefutably - Is that the Mothman?
It was, apparently, the Mothman. The being was somewhat humanoid - if not for its extra set of arms and massive pair of wings. Its arms looked to me more stick-like than its fat body would suggest they be. It had what looked like a helmet on its head with two antennae sticking out of it. Those look… soft. The Mothman was covered almost head to toe in downy fur. Well, except for...for... - Holy shit, is it bleeding?
It spoke, in a deep voice, slightly muffled by its inhuman mouth shape.
“he- hey. you got, uhhh, playstation plus?”
And then it collapsed.
Oh, what the hell - Gordon dashed forward to check out whatever The Mothman was bleeding from. Right at the base of its right wing, between - shoulder plates? Was what looked to be a bullet wound. Fuck. Shit, what am I supposed to - Gordon tried to concentrate on what he learned about open wounds in his college health class. Uh - Pressure, stitches - Do I have any - A lightbulb. The first aid kit he kept in his bathroom! Gordon let out a sigh of relief before remembering the task at hand. Mothman. Right.
Gordon put his arms around the limp body of Mothman and hefted it into his arms in a princess-carry. Mothman was surprisingly light, and Gordon deposited him on his slightly-trashed couch.
The Mothman let out a whine of pain, shifting uncomfortably.
Oh, no.
Gordon thought.
I’m getting Attached.
Gordon’s mind was a bit of a blur as he scrambled for the first-aid kit. It’s only after he cleaned the wound and took out the needle and thread before he realized what, exactly, he was about to do. He winced as he began to put in the stitches, paying close attention whenever it began to shift or squeak. Since it was a smaller, almost surface wound, he was able to take out the bullet when it seemed like the Mothman needed a break.
“You’re lucky you’ve got those plates, little guy…” Gordon was somewhat uncomfortable using the same voice he used for injured animals, but he didn’t know what else to do.
“You’re gonna be super alright. Stay still for a while, and then I’m gonna get the last stitches up.”
“huh…? wha?”
“Shit. Uh, don’t worry about it, I’m gonna get you patched up in - in no time.”
“stop... stop bro that h… that hurts.”
“It’s, uh, it’s going to be fine. It’s gonna hurt a hell of a lot more if I don’t get this fixed.”
The Mothman, fortunately, had only roused to mumble that before going unconscious again.
“Oh, thank God you’re zonked out. I was worried.” The rest of the procedure went smoothly, but Gordon kept an eye on the Mothman’s consciousness. Shit. Will- if I pat his head, will he stay asleep? Gordon tentatively supported Mothman’s head with his own arm. Holy shit. This is.. This is a soft… thing. That’s probably weird.
Once the stitches were in place, Gordon left the Mothman lying on the couch.
Gordon took a seat at where he was previously editing the video - Hah, like he was going to get any work done now - and just. Took a moment. It’s - It’s not even like any of this is real. I’ve gotta be dreaming. I mean, the Mothman? Completely fake.
Gordon takes a look at the Mothman currently lying on his couch.
… Probably fake. This is probably just some crazy lucid dream. I mean, what kind of Mothman looks like -
“bro were you staring at me? that’s… kind of gay.”
“I - What? No, I - “
“at least take me to gamestop first, not cool man.”
In the however long Gordon took to gather himself, It appeared that the Mothman had woken up. It was staring at his bright computer screen with big, red eyes. It had shifted its position slightly so as to be in a more upright position.
“so? you gonna say anything but little baby gargle words?”
“What? ...Oh, fuck off. I - nevermind. Are you - okay? I just stitched up a bullet wound . I may be a little rusty with my med skills but - you probably shouldn’t be moving like that after getting stitches.”
The Mothman was silent. If Gordon were any closer, he might have noticed a soft chht-chht-chht noise coming from the Mothman. But he wasn't. So he didn’t.
“...Also, are you the - the Mothman?”
“you know the name the mothman is actually really offensive to me. name’s benry.”
“... Benrey? Are you fucking with me?”
“benry.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Benry makes a mocking ‘mmmeh-mnyeh-nennehh’ sound as he jerkily gets up from the couch. There are visible bloodstains on it.
Fuck, I don’t think those are coming out
. Mothm- Benry looks around Gordon’s small apartment before siccing himself on Gordon’s kitchen.
“nice crib. anyway bro you got any Flamin’ Hot Doritos™?”
“Those are… those are disgusting. I haven't eaten a Dorito in years. You have a problem, Benry.”
“fuckin loser doesn’t even have Flamin’ Hot Doritos™ …”
“Hey, no, you don’t get to fucking say that to me. You’re the one who crashed into my house, bleeding everywhere from a fucking bullet wound, and - wait. Hold the phone. How the hell did you even get shot in the first place, Benry? Aren’t you supposed to be elusive or something?”
“hey don’t diss my brand maybe i meant to get shot huh maybe i was jumping in front of a - in front of some dog in the street you don’t know me.”
“I know that is a lie. God. Why do I even bother.”
Gordon would drag his hands down his face were it not for the fact that he had to watch Benry, as he had already ransacked three of Gordon’s cupboards. He apparently didn’t find what he was looking for. As he made to open a fourth cabinet and unwind more of Gordon’s patience, Benry’s focus locked on to something. He made a beeline - or, well, I guess moth-line is more appropriate - for whatever it was that he had - was that one of my old shirts? What is he - oh. Eugh. … I guess that’s on brand, though.
Benry’s voice was muffled around the shirt that he was currently eating.
“why didn’t you tell me you had this kinda grub in the first place bro you're holding out on me.”
Gordon stared at Benry. He scrubbed his face in exasperation. It’s far too late for this kind of bullshit. He checked his computer’s clock - 1:27, jeez - and sighed. Gordon let out a sort of - breathy giggle. The sort that only really sees the light when you realize that your life is a mess and Mothman is eating your shirt and God, no one’s ever going to believe me.
“Alright. Fucking - you know what? I’m too tired for this. Do what you want. Just - don’t eat any more of my shit, Mothman. Goodnight.”
Gordon took one look at the slightly-bloodied couch and plopped himself on it. He fell asleep almost immediately, but not before hearing the soft
chhtt-chht-chhht
of something near his head.