Chapter Text
Gordon Freeman wakes up at exactly 10:00am, glares at his clock, and buries his face back in his pillows.
When he finally drags himself out of bed and into the kitchen, it’s only to discover that his fridge and cupboards are woefully empty.
“Great start to the day already,” he grumbles, slamming the fridge door shut, and makes the executive decision to go out just like this. He pulls on his sneakers and walks out the front door to his apartment, phone shoved in his pocket.
It’s a short walk to the 7/11- shopping for the week is for Later Gordon. Now Gordon just wants some damn caffeine, and maybe something to stop his growling stomach.
It’s a short enough walk, just a block away, and Gordon makes it comfortably, glancing both ways before stepping into the crosswalk and--
WHAM!
Gordon flips over the hood of the car, landing on his back on the asphalt with a sickening crack . The car screeches to a halt and the driver hops out, yelling before he’s even all the way out. “LOOK WHAT YOU DID TO MY FUCKING CAR, ASSHOLE!” He screams, pointing at something Gordon can’t see.
Pain pounds through Gordon’s skull, and his vision tunnels, darkness rapidly closing in.
Don’t pass out , he thinks wildly just before it all goes dark.
. . .
He opens his eyes in his own bed.
“... What?” He mumbles, sitting up and blinking at his alarm clock.
10:00am.
“Weird dream,” he says, throwing back the covers and slipping out of bed.
His day only gets stronger as he goes through the exact same motions, hesitating while crossing the street.
Sure enough, the car from his dream whizzes by at way-too-many miles per hour, and the same man leans out the window, flipping Gordon off, shouting “WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING YOU DUMB FUCK!” before screeching out of sight.
Classy.
Gordon rolls his eyes and brushes the incident from his mind despite the nagging worries plaguing him. He pushes into the 7/11, and, surprisingly, recognizes the first person he sees.
“Oh, hey Dr. Coomer,” he says, shuffling his feet in embarrassment as he realizes Dr. Coomer is in his pristine work uniform. “How’s it going?”
“Ah! Hello, Gordon!” Dr. Coomer beams, gripping his styrofoam cup of coffee a little too tightly. “Another day, another dollar, am I right?”
“Yeah,” Gordon agrees, despite the fact that he had Saturdays off. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”
Dr. Coomer’s grin, as always, never falters. “See you tomorrow, Gordon!” He lifts his cup and strolls out of the store, humming merrily.
Gordon rubs the back of his neck, thoroughly unnerved in the way most interactions with Dr. Coomer leaves him. He grabs a package of doughnuts and walks to the back of the store to the wall of refrigerators, pulling one open and bending to grab a drink from the bottom shelf.
Someone bumps into his side. “Shit, sorry,” they say, “didn’t see you.”
Gordon straightens, makes eye contact with the offending stranger, and feels his heart drop like a stone to his feet.
Because of fucking course the person staring back has to be hot.
Granted, Gordon has very little to be embarrassed about- in his oversized hoodie and gray sweatpants, they’re practically matching.
The stranger raises a single eyebrow. “Yo,” he says.
Gordon, somehow, manages to be embarrassed anyway. “Hey,” he says, heat crawling up his chest and flushing his face.
Their eyes flick down to the red bull in Gordon’s head. “That shit’ll rot your brain,” they say, then pop open the fridge and pull out a 2-liter mountain dew, twisting open the cap and taking a swig.
Gordon is immediately annoyed. “What the hell, you can’t just do that.”
They lift a shoulder. “Sure I can,” he says, “I’m going to buy it anyway. Plus Tommy and I are cool.” He twists to look over his shoulder at the cashier, lifting two fingers in a wave.
The cashier returns it enthusiastically, pushing up onto his toes and waving wildly.
Gordon looks from the cashier- Tommy?- to the person in front of him and sighs. “Fine. Whatever.” He turns away, determined to put the whole day and the weird dream behind him for good, when the person speaks again.
“Do I… um. Do I know you?” They ask, shuffling their feet. “I feel like I’ve, uhm… I’ve seen you around or something before.”
Gordon squints at him, slowly shaking his head. “... no,” he says. “I don’t think so.”
The man’s face twists, and he takes a step back. “Uhhhh yeah you’re right, it’s whatever. Well, see you around, bro.” They turn on their heel, pausing on their way out to push a five on the counter at Tommy, muttering ‘keep the change’. The bell to the front door clangs cheerily as it clicks shut.
“Wow,” Tommy says, turning to Gordon, “you must’ve really made them upset! Benrey’s never that quiet!”
“Benrey,” Gordon mouths, the name tugging insistently in the back of his mind. He frowns, shaking his head to clear it. “Just this,” he says, sliding the food and red bull across the counter.
Tommy rings him up. “Yknow, soda is much better for you,” he says. “You should try Sunkist! It’s my favorite flavor!”
“Sunkist isn’t a flavor,” Gordon corrects, “it’s a-” brand . The word dies on his tongue as the cashier’s megawatt smile dims. “Uh… forget it.”
He beams again, handing Gordon his change. “Have a good day, sir!” He says brightly.
“You too,” Gordon says, taking his plastic bag in one hand and walking out the door.
“Benrey,” he mumbles under his breath as he crosses the street. “Benrey, Benrey, Benrey…”
“You called?” A voice says in his ear, and Gordon reels back with a shout of surprise as a very-much-not-there person makes himself known next to Gordon. The bag hits the ground as Gordon’s arms pinwheel helplessly. Benrey reaches out, concern in his eyes, and a sharp pain cracks across the back of his head, filling his vision with white--
And Gordon sits up in bed, gasping for breath.
He blinks, disoriented, at his alarm clock, disbelief growing when 10:00am blinks back at him in neon green print.
“ What the fuck. ”