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Understandably, they do not trust him. When advanced technology used for inhumane purposes is as common as rain, body snatching is not out of the question. It still pisses him off because he bleeds red, he has severe injuries that are most certainly there. An existential crisis is, understandably, nigh.
An alternate--he’s not lingering on that, he refuses--version of your friend--a close friend he gathers--pops up and starts yelling--keep it hush, keep it hush, but he can’t--and crying and acts so pathetic isn’t a common… common fucking thing…
Gordon groans through gritted teeth, clutching his head. Stop thinking, he thinks, and nearly bursts out laughing from the irony. He falls against the chair, ignoring the dull ache from banging his head against the wall, and closes his eyes.
“Hey, bud,” A soft voice speaks up. Gordon’s up in an instant, eyes frantic and searching before settling on Benrey. Barney. This-- this is Barney. Not Benrey. Barney. Gordon thinks about sitting back down but his body doesn’t move. He’s locked in place, unbearably tense, and only realizes he’s in a fighting position when Barney puts his hands up. “I didn’t mean to startle ya. Thought you could hear me.”
Gordon hears more than he wishes. The bombardment of arguing, yelling, scraping, all from this crumbling apartment leaves him drained. “Yeah,” He croaks and finally sits back down. His back hurts. “I guess I didn’t.”
An uncomfortable silence has Gordon shifting in his chair. Footsteps neared him and somehow, he tensed moreso. A chuckle laced with pity and concern leaves Barney as he moves in front of him. “Can I, uh, see your arm? Prob’ly needs to be changed, yeah?”
“I already did it.” He forced. It came out harsher than he expected. He needs to relax his jaw.
“Oh, alright. Lemme uh, know if you need anything, alright?” Barney says instead of the question on his mind. Gordon can tell he wants to ask, to know, and he can’t blame him. It hurts to be suspected of a crime you don’t understand. Briefly, Gordon opens his mouth to explain--his stomach is churning, he needs to divert suspicion--but paused when Barney groans and leans against the counter.
Upon instinct, Gordon is by his side, grasping his arm with surprising gentleness and feeling his hip. He only realized this is not something you should wordlessly do when he hears a strangled noise deep in Barney’s throat. “Shit,” Gordon mumbles, backing away instantly. “I-- I’m sorry, it’s just--”
“‘s fine, I--”
“It’s instinct, just, you-- you, uh, fuck. Sorry.” Gordon breaths shakily, running a hand through his hair. His greasy, unkempt, knotted, bloodied hair. He looks away because Barney is looking at him in a way he can’t handle. A soft yet intense look of-- of pity and sorrow. God, he’s a mess. He’s gonna run away like a fucking child.
He doesn’t end up running away, but he does end up alone . Compared to this world, to post-Black Mesa, he grew a newfound appreciation for the white noise in his ventures. There’s nothing stopping the occasional yell, occasional whirl of machinery, occasional something that, compared with everything, is not so occasional.
A tang of unholy, metallic substance flooding his mouth occupied by a pang of agony makes him whimper and curl into a ball. He swallows the leaking blood reluctantly. He doesn’t want to make a mess, doesn’t know and doesn’t want to tempt any tracking devices these Combine fuckers have. The blood stays on the inside, he reasons. It’s suppose to be there.
He feels light-headed. The room is spinning and he’s unbearably hot, burning, searing, and desperately want to take off his HEV suit that won’t fucking work. He misses hearing her voice, even if it’s the heart-shattering formal one. Gordon swallows, hyper aware of the saliva-blood mixture going down his throat. It still feels dry.
A door creaking open oh so quietly has him bolting to the kitchen and grabbing a knife. Barney-- oh, it is Barney. He’s home early. And looks like shit. Looks a bit shit. Barney doesn’t seem to notice him as he drags himself to the couch, a faraway look in his eyes. For a moment, he worries the glossiness is from death and he’s being patrolled by a Headcrab until he notices no, Barney’s rat nest is unoccupied. He should brush it sometime.
Gordon is unsure if he should say anything. He doesn’t want to startle the man who didn’t see his attack pose--thank God--and already doesn’t trust him. He ignores the bitterness swelling up. He cannot ignore the shallow breaths from the other side of the couch.
With a sigh because he will feel bad doing nothing, he delicately puts the knife away, rinse his mouth, and tip-toe over. He peers over the backboard, staring at a bruised face with furrow brows.
“Extreme--critical--heart--loss--”
Barney jolts with a half-suppressed scream, frantic pupils darting until landing on HEV’s flashing interface, then slowly look up to Gordon’s horrified expression. His cheeks color in embarrassment and he plops back down, noticeably wincing.
“Don’t say it.” Barney wheezes, half-heartedly waving his hand. Gordon swallows his apology.
“Do you need your, uh, inhaler?”
“... I will, yeah. In the cabinet above the fridge. Please.”
Gordon lingers before shuffling to the spot. He discovers he can’t reach, not even on his toes, and glances at the couch. He slowly picks up a chair from the table and places it in front of the fridge. One foot up, no noise. Two feet, nothing. He leans forward, it creaks as if sentient.
He feels Barney staring at him. Gordon ignores it in favor of retrieving the inhaler, which has scratched out stickers on it. He closes the cabinet and climbs down, ignoring the chair for now as he hands the inhaler over. “Thanks.” Barney mumbles. Gordon gives him a moment to replenish before opening his mouth.
“No, no, c’mon, sit.” Barney’s voice is exhausted and even though Gordon feels guilty for disrupting his rest, he sits without arguing. His words die on his tongue as they sit in silence. Gordon wasn’t sure if it was tense or neutral.
“Didn’t realize you weren’t taller than me.” Barney abruptly says, so casual that Gordon has to double-take.
“What?”
“I--I mean,” Barney waves his hands as if the words would appear. “I’m the small one. Compared to Gordon. My-- our Gordon.”
“Oh.”
There’s silence again.
“.. He’s--”
“Is--”
“Sorry, continue?”
“No, what were you saying?”
“‘s fine, it’s fine, what about your Gordon?”
“Uh… He’s lanky. Towering, really. Always the tallest in the room. A beacon, really.”
Beacon of hope. Kleiner’s hushed words repeat in his mind. Gordon swallows his irrational jealousy. He questions, “What did he do?”
“Hm?”
“What did he do that was so important?” He didn’t swallow all of it, as his tone made Barney flicker from irritation-confusion- pity .
“Survived Black Mesa single handedly. Freed a whole species of aliens. Fought a fucked up fetus god. Not in that order, but in the same week.”
“Okay.” Gordon abruptly got to his feet and left the room, ignoring Barney’s calls.
The following afternoon, they head to Kleiner’s lab. The chilly breeze did nothing to calm Gordon’s nerves. Every crunch of a Autumn leaf, every rock he felt through his deteriorating soles, even the breeze made him pause momentarily before stiffly continuing. He doesn’t know how Barney is faring, but he imagines that God-awful pity in his gaze. He forces himself not to look, he can trust Barney not to kill him here and now.
The thought made him pause. The pause made Barney sigh. The sigh made Gordon look. The eye contact revealed how Barney was feeling. A lot, a-fucking-pparently.
“Listen, bud, I don’t…” Barney fidgets. The twitch of his fingers make Gordon back up and stare intensely at them. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I swear on my fuckin’ life I do not want to hurt you.”
“You treat me like a wounded rabbit.” Gordon surprises himself by responding.
“You act like a wounded rabbit. You-- we’re all traumatized here, but you… You went through some serious shit--”
“And you pity me, yeah, okay--”
“--and I’m angry about that.”
What?
“What?” Gordon’s voice cracks.
Barney heaves a sigh and that pity-- no, no, he looks closer and it’s not pity. It’s sadness, yes, but there’s a slight twitch of the brow, of the eyelid, and Gordon realizes Barney’s upset.
“Has anyone told you they’re pissed for you? Not at you, but what happened to you? Because, frankly, I shouldn’t be the fuckin’ first. You’ve been here for a week and not at all have you calmed down. You haven’t-- you haven’t even spoke much . And Gordon-- my Gordon--doesn’t speak, er, sign, when he’s upset. You two--”
“We’re not the fucking same.”
“You aren’t, but you’re similar. And that’s all I need to know to honestly say you don’t deserve what happened to you.”
The remainder of the walk is silent. Barney’s attempts at communication are met with silence. HEV’s voicebox is improved but still malfunctioning. He gets proper bandaging. He tries to leave without Barney, thinking he can remember the way home, muscule memory, but Alyx stops him.
“Not a man of many words, huh?”
Gordon bites his tongue.
“... You wanna see something cool?”
He clutches the doorknob.
“I’ll help you back to the apartment without Barney if you follow me.”
He lets go.
The end up on the roof and Gordon stares at the sky. Pitch black. He thinks back to the times he took a moment to stare up at night, complaining internally about the few stars Joshua will see, then compares to this sky.
“It’s a canvas, kinda, right?”
Gordon looks at Alyx. She laughs.
“I know, weird comparison, right? But …” She sighs, almost fondly. “We have paintbrushes to fill in the sky. Make it pretty again. Just not a lot of artists around, not… Anymore, anyway.”
Gordon shifts, folding his legs to his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Alyx glance at him.
“If you’re anything like the Gordon here--at least from what I’ve heard about him--you’re probably confused to why I’m telling you this.” He nods. She pauses.
“We’re secretive because we don’t-- we don’t trust you not to get yourself caught or slip.”
That makes Gordon look over, rage igniting, but before he could speak, Alyx hastily added, “Gordon, you, you Gordon,” which made him stop dead from the… Odd phrasing. “the Gordon that is you, and the Gordon from here, you’re both the type to fight danger head-on, right? No questions first.”
Gordon eased and Alyx was visibly relieved. He looks up at the sky. He strains his eyes, hoping to see something different from the void.
“We can’t risk you getting hurt. You look and feel similar, but not the same, to our Gordon Freeman. Imagine someone in power, someone bad, recognizing you? Or think it’s you? And they end up hurting you or extracting information? Or all these other probably far-fetched worries we have?”
“... They’re not fer-fetched.” He mumbled.
“Maybe not, maybe they are. But my point is, and I’ve digressed from it, we’re ‘artists’ here. Fighters, but artist sounds better.” She chuckles nervously. Gordon remains glued to the sky. “Ahm… We’re trying to repaint the sky, bring back our stars. In a literal and metaphorical sense.” Another pause, but briefer. “The superportal is a weird thing that makes our stars just… Not visible. It’s also a threat that the Combine utilized.”
“You didn’t think about this before hand, did you?”
“... No.”
Gordon couldn’t help but giggle. Chuckle. Laugh, laugh, laugh, until he’s so loud he’s sure the other two inside, the other two probably gossiping about him, about missing their Beacon of Hope, can hear him lose it on the fucking roof looking up at a “blank canvas” and feeling so, so hopelessly burdened.
He doesn’t realize he’s crying until his breathing slows. He doesn’t realize he’s being held and patted and shushed until he feels Alyx’s hand re-enter his hair. He doesn’t realize the prickling warmth in his chest isn’t an injury until his frantic patting is stopped by Alyx.
“It’s okay not to feel okay. We know you’re not our Gordon, trust me, even I can tell you’re not that nerd, but we still care about you. You. You, Gordon.”
“Why.” He croaks. It doesn’t sound like a question.
“Why not? Does anyone need a reason to care about someone else? Did you ever need a reason?”
“... no.” His voice is so quiet even he could barely heard it.
“Why didn’t you need a reason?”
“Just… I don’t fucking know.”
“Exactly. You don’t know, no one knows, but that doesn’t stop us, does it?”
“.. No. No, it doesn’t.”
“So don’t let not knowing stop you. Don’t let anything stop you, especially that self-loathing crap your Goblin brain makes up.”
Gordon laughs. It’s light as if the shackles of guilt were gone. It’s genuine, as genuine as an artist with their canvas. He doesn’t care to comment on the self-loathing part.
“Goblin brain?”
Alyx giggles. “My dad says that. He says a lot of what I’ve just said to you… Which means I’m definitely right!”
“Uh-huh.”
“You have to pass down that kindness, just so you know.”
“Mmm. To who?”
“Yourself?”
Gordon snorts. “Yeah, okay.”
“I’m serious! Being kind to yourself is an option. If you lose sight to self-kindness, how can you be kind to others?”
“You’re gonna give me diabetes here, Alyx.”
“Awww! How sweet!”
“There, kindness passed down.”
“No!”
His lopsided grin never left his face, not even when it was time to go.
Gordon thinks about last night’s previous events as he fiddles with loose fabric. His thought process is cut short from stomps and a slam of the front door. He flinches, but resists the urge to grab a knife. Barney notices him this time and gives an apologetic grimace. Gordon merely shrugs.
“You’re not asleep?”
“Asleep?” Gordon parrots dumbly, eyes moving to the window. It’s dark, been dark, probably. There’s no clock to truly tell. “No.” He says, looking over to Barney. “How’s your hip?”
“M-- my hip?” Barney blinks, touching the area. “I patched it up three nights ago, ‘s fine.”
“Oh.”
Gordon digs his nails into the fabric, cursing himself for being so awkward. If he had talked sooner, hadn’t been paranoid, this would’ve been fine. He would have known Barney’s hip was okay.
“Want to sit?”
“I’m all sweaty.”
“Who isn’t?” Gordon says with a tone that makes his joke obvious. He gets a chuckle and mentally fist pumps as Barney sits next to him. He groans once he made contact with the cushions, slouching and nearly sliding off. Gordon quietly laughs, then bites his cheek and looks away.
“What’s so funny?” Shit.
“Nothing, just… Your face.”
“My face?”
“Your face.”
Gordon cringes at himself. His only relief is Barney’s snort.
“Well, you’d be making this face too if you couldn’t sit all day.”
“Oh my God, you don’t know half of it.”
“Oh?”
“ Oh is right. If I slept they’d roll me down a fuckin’ ladder again, probably.” Gordon smiled. It faltered with Barney didn’t respond, and fell completely when he looked at Barney.
“What?”
“You’re joking, right?”
“... It’s in the range of possibilities?”
“Why-- why would they roll you down a ladder? ”
“I don’t know, they’re insane, remember? Two of them were in the test chamber, remember? Willingly? No HEV suits?”
“Still…”
Gordon huffed, leaning into the couch. He crossed his arms. “They don’t… I’m--I’m not honestly sure if they know how to properly socialize or interact with people that aren’t like them.”
“What do you mean?” Barney’s voice was quieter. Gordon’s eye twitched.
“They’re not fucking evil.” He snaps, glaring at Barney. “I mean, their morals are a roulette wheel but we genuinely care about each other.”
“Okay, okay, I apologize.” Barney raised his hands, scooting back. “It’s just… All I’ve heard about them is them being dicks.”
“Well, yeah, they are. Especially Bubby and Benrey. ”
“Benrey.”
“Yeah. Benrey. Dumb name, isn’t it? Fucker probably made it up.”
“Yeah…” Barney mumbled, going quiet.
Gordon sighed, digging his palm into his forehead. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fuck up the mood.”
“Don’t apologize.”
“No, I will.”
Barney looked at him with utter bewilderment.
“What?”
“You’re not at fault? I’m the one that made assumptions.”
“Yeah, well….” Gordon didn’t have a response to that.
“Can you tell me some stuff you like about them? Just so I can not diss your friends?”
Gordon laughs breathily. “Dr. Coomer is an enigma who may or may not have brain trauma. Also incredibly strong and nigh invincible. A lot of him is robotic, I think? But he’s funny and jovial. Santa Claus if he was more violent and soda-addicted. Tries his best to help, sometimes he does. Overall? Second most bearable member.”
“Mhmm. Who’s the first?”
“Tommy, hands down. He’s super sweet, intelligent, and caring. He says weird things sometimes and is obsessed with soda like Dr. Coomer, but has his heart in the right place. Fuckin’ insane trigger finger, though. All on instinct, he says.” Gordon laughed, his smile slowly returning. “He’s a sweet guy. Also has a dog he’s mentioned once or twice.”
“Nice. Glad you got someone like that.” Barney hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “Whose, uh..”
“Bubby?” Gordon rushes because he does not want to talk about Benrey. “Bubby, the asshole supreme. Chaotic motherfucker that has done nothing but insult everything in a hilarious way. Born in a tube, I think? Born and raised in Black Mesa.”
“Yikes. No wonder he’s like that.”
Gordon laughs, light, genuine, and brushes strands out of his face. “God, yeah.” He moves his hand to his knee, drumming his fingers. “... I thought we were friends--said I got in his way, though. I don’t know what I did, honestly… I remember, remember him saying he didn’t tell them to cut my hand off, but did tell them to beat me shitless.” Gordon laughs again, humorless this time. He can’t look at Barney.
“Who hurt you?” Barney suddenly demanded, moving closer within seconds. “Who cut your hand off?”
Gordon blinked, looking at Barney’s intense eyes. Livid eyes. His mouth twitches into a frown. “Military, but it’s-- it’s not like--”
“Military?”
“Yeah, but, listen--”
“What the fuck that’s--”
“N--no, let me speak--”
“Don’t make excuses for them!”
“Didn’t you ask about the-- first of all, it was just Bubby and Benrey that plann--”
“The other two--Tommy, Coomer--they should have help--”
“They couldn’t!”
“Why?”
“I-- I DON’T fucking know!” He bellows, standing up so first he fell. He swatted Barney’s hand away with his one hand. “I don’t! Maybe they’re just fucking sick of my dumbass bossing them around and yelling at them! Maybe they didn’t like the sight but liked seeing me gone so they could leave quicker! I don’t fucking know, Barney, I didn’t think to ask why my only fuckin’ friends betrayed me and left me to fucking die with-- with!”
Barney pulls him down and squeezes him. Gordon hit his back, thrashing and squirming and sobbing and-- and--
“You’re hurting, please, let me fucking help you.”
“Not a fucking burden-- ”
“I never said--”
“Not a vessel for your good intent!”
“Jesus Christ!” Barney pulls back and holds Gordon by his shoulders. “You aren’t! You aren’t a burden, you fuckin’ matter to me and this sick habit of putting yourself down and believing everyone wants you dead isn’t ok! I don’t want you dead, I see you as a friend--”
“I’m NOT--”
“I KNOW!” Barney shouts, sucking in shallow breaths. “I-- I fucking know you’re not Gordon because Gordon doesn’t talk so fiercely, doesn’t act confrontational, doesn’t hate himself so unapologetically like you fuckin’ do!”
Barney continues talking but Gordon can’t piece together what he’s saying. It’s syllables and vigorous hand movement mixed with a river of tears and snot. Gordon’s head throbs in sync with his heart. He stares, frozen, helplessly, and briefly wonders if he’s not here.
He isn’t, but I am.
“Barney?”
No acknowledgement.
“Barney.”
Nothing.
“I’m sorry.”
Barney stops, looks at Gordon, looks at his hands, feels his cheek, and looks mortified.
“It’s okay to feel not okay. I’m…” He stops, Barney stares, frozen like he was. He waited. Gordon didn’t want him to wait long. “I know they were wrong for doing that to me. I know they’re shitty at times-- most ,” He corrected at Barney’s scrunched face. “most, of the time. I yell at them constantly for scaring me. I-- they, Bubby and Benrey included, don’t.. They do reckless shit and I’m yelling at them because they worry me. I swear and yell at them and insult them to their face at times. I’m not… Completely innocent here, I swear, but you also gotta understand things are different. ”
“... you’re still hurt by it.” Barney says quietly, wiping his tears with his grimy gloves. He pulls them off after.
“I am. But they don’t understand that because I don’t say it right.” He pauses. “I like spending time with you, here, in this apartment. You’re a breath of fresh air, you and Kleiner and Alyx, but I promise it’s not as bad as it seems. They’re, my guys, my family, probably fucked up too.”
Barney stares, eons of exhaustion seeping into his features. His hands lower, falling limply to his side. His hair is disheveled, his eyes are red and puffy, his scarred face is stained with dirt, blood, and tears. Gordon reminds himself this is an undercover man who feels too much and, possibly, has survivor’s guilt.
Like me.
Gordon slowly scoots over, inch by inch. Barney makes no move to stop him, no move other than breathing. Gordon wraps his arms around Barney, staring him in the face. “Is this okay?” Gordon asked quietly. Barney nods his head. “Can I put my head on your shoulder?” Another nod. Gordon could feel the tension even with the heavy protective gear on. “Can I touch your hair? I’ll be gentle. I’ll stop whenever you want, if you let me.”
“Don’t even bother asking. Just do it.” Barney mumbled, his arms loosely around Gordon’s waist. Gordon slowly reaches up and brushes his fingertips against strands, testing the waters. When no reaction was given, he allowed his fingers to go deeper, deeper, until they were threaded in Barney’s hair. He pet, slowly, rubbing his thumb against Barney’s temples, feel him lean into his body, his warmth, his touch.
Gordon paused when fingers began to massage his nape. He shuddered, melting into Barney’s hands. “Bastard, you’ve done enough for me.” Gordon earns a breathy laugh. He doesn’t stop Barney and Barney doesn’t stop him.
Eventually, Barney is lying his head on Gordon’s chest while he plays with his hair. Judging from his deep breathing, he’s asleep. Gordon, on instinct, uses this free moment to flex his jaw.
It’s already slack.