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The place was supposed to be safe, stocked, and inhabited. A little refugee hideaway, he’d been told. A good place to stop quickly to stock up on the bare necessities.
So they’d gone out to it-- Gordon, Barney, and a smallish crew, figuring on it being an easy time for once.
It was anything but.
The house was quiet from the outside, but the consensus had been that that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Hell, Gordon was quiet on the outside and he was the closest thing they had to a real hero. He’d been quieter than usual though, if that was even possible, relatively non-reactive to just about everything, singularly focused on the task at hand.
It hadn’t raised any red flags, Gordon could get like that. His focus tended to be what got him through tough situations, so no one was going to be the one to question it.
The door was unlocked, and it swung open with only the slightest effort. They entered, with Gordon at the front, ever in the position of leader, and the optimism that had been carrying the group forward fell like rain out of the sky, leaving dark clouds of mourning in its wake.
The place was empty. Utterly barren. Even from the limited view from the doorway, it was apparent that drawers had been left hanging open, as if the house had been systematically cleaned out, any chance of benefiting from it swiped out of the cabinets, scraped out from between the tiles.
In the middle of the floor was a body, long dead. Belly up like it’d been blown backwards. Impossible to tell how long exactly it’d been in the poor approximation of a final resting place, but it was more than apparent that it’d already started to decay.
It was a depressing sight, and the group looked out on it in silence, save for the occasional gasp as someone pushed forwards and got a glimpse.
No one really dared to speak up, caught up in the shock and disappointment. There wasn’t a single word that felt appropriate. For a while, time seemed to slow to a screeching halt, and it almost seemed likely that the silence would continue forever.
Until Gordon, of all people, broke it. The sound that escaped him was quiet at first, small and breathy, little more than an exhale or a sigh. And then it repeated. Again. And again. Desperate and haggard in a way that shook his whole body.
Barney put a comforting hand on his shoulder, assuming at first that he was crying. Gordon shrugged it off, and that’s when it became clear: he was laughing.
His mouth had twisted into a terrifying wolfish grin that carved itself across his face like an open wound.
The laugh reverberated off the walls of the house, distorting in unnerving ways as it came ringing back with the acoustics.
He took a step forward, breaking away from the group. And then another step. And another. Walking forward and away, as if he were possessed. He didn’t spare a glance down, didn’t mind his step, and didn’t seem to care when his foot collided with the chest of the body. Didn’t seem to notice that bringing his full weight down on it like made its chest cave in. Didn’t look back to see Barney and the rest of them wince at the disturbing auditory experience of bone crunching underfoot followed closely by the sickening squelch of trampled flesh.
The group watched, rapt and stunned, as the man they’d thought of as the hero of the resistance tracked blood out the back door of the abandoned house.
The remainder of the team left in the house seemed entirely unsure of how to proceed. Nervous fidgeting spread like ripples through water. As did hushed whispers, questions and rumors-- hey, was he always like this? For many of them, this was their very first close encounter with the Gordon Freeman, and what they had seen was a man that choked his emotions down, buried them much in the same way they hadn’t properly done to a body in too long. A man who they’d heard about killing enemies and didn’t think anything beyond positive associations that ranged from “action hero” to “the literal second coming” who just laughed at the corpse of someone he didn’t know, and would never know, and didn’t deserve what happened to them. The One Free Man just put the boot of his HEV suit through a human chest cavity and not only didn’t mind, but thought it was funny.
The most prevalent emotion in the room was fear.
Barney pushed past the rest of them, growing restless where he stood. He couldn’t stand to hear them talk about Gordon like that. He’d known him longer than they had, way longer. Knew him back before the whole world went to hell. And he knew this wasn’t exactly normal behavior for him. Sure, he didn’t have a great reference for Gordon rocketed into the future, dropped into the apocalypse. But the Gordon from Black Mesa who asked him to take a spider outside instead of killing it on more than one occasion wasn’t exactly the type to fall into hysterical laughter over a dead civilian like the villain in some B-tier slasher movie.
He followed him outside, taking care himself to step over the body, though he had a hard time looking at it all without his stomach flipping. He tried as well not to let his sight linger on the one set of visible bloody footprints that led him outside.
He found Gordon where he’d expected him. He hadn’t kept walking, hadn’t run off. Just stood on the back porch of the house, staring vaguely into the distance. He’d been able to zone out deeply for as long as Barney had known him, his mind seeing connections that no one else’s could, jumping from topic to topic in ways that he couldn’t always keep up with, but was excited by regardless. It did let him tease him back in the day (“and you call me the conspiracy theorist…”) but it also meant he was never fully sure what Gordon was thinking about. His eyes were locked somewhere in the space between the nearby trees, but his mind was likely somewhere else entirely, tangled up in its own deep maze of thoughts.
He waved a little to get his attention as he stepped out to meet him, not wanting to startle him. “Hey Gordon,” he started, keeping his voice as gentle as he could without betraying exactly how worried he was.
Gordon said nothing (typical), but gestured towards him with his crowbar in a way that might have been returning the wave, but read more as a signal of don’t fuck with me.
He noticed how Barney watched the movement, didn’t flinch per se, but kept his eyes trained on the weapon.
“How about a little respect for the dead?” Barney tried to continue, his tone half-joking, as lighthearted as he could manage with the display he just saw.
Gordon fixed him with a black look, something dark swirling in those green eyes of his. “[Respect for the dead?]” he echoed in sign, the ghost of that horrifying smile still tugging slightly at the edges of his lips, He hadn’t dropped the crowbar yet and adapted what signs he could to be one-handed while the rest got the weapon wrapped into them, almost as if it were an extra appendage.“[You got that vest off a corpse, Barney.]”
He looked down, half on instinct and half out of shame, because it was true. But it wasn’t the damn gotcha Gordon was treating it as. He wasn’t proud of a lot of the things that had become necessities for him, and didn’t want it compared to the overt and uncalled for display of wanton violence he just witnessed. “That’s different.” he muttered.
Something in his stomach twisted uncomfortably. He’d seen so much death in the recent past that he couldn’t stand it. What’s the difference between beating a zombie into the ground, between looting a body, between treating a corpse like a doormat. It all relied on the same premise, to pretend that it doesn’t matter, to ignore that they ever were a person. They’ve all had practice at it, more than he had; they were all more desensitized to it. What’s the difference, really, if this is how he could start to cope with it all: to go forth with anger guiding him and morality tucked away? “[How is it different?]”
“You’re really starting to piss me off, Gordon, you know that?” He sighed loudly before gritting his teeth and continuing. “You know damn well how it’s different. You’re being ignorant on purpose, and you’re not acting like yourself.”
He rolled his eyes. The smile, which had faded some, flickered back for a second. “[I’m just asking a fair question. If you don’t have an answer, you can admit that.]” He was testing him, and he knew it. He knew Barney all too well, knew that implying he was incompetent grated at him like nothing else. This was deliberate: picking at him, pushing his buttons. It’s not quite out of malice, but it is because he could, because he knew how, because he got started and now he couldn’t just stop, not in this kind of headspace.
It worked. Of course it did. Barney’s voice picked up in both volume and anger when he spoke up again.
“Look we don’t all get fancy HEV suits, alright? The rest of us non-messiah types have to make do with what we can find.”
His eyes widened. “[I didn’t ask for this.]” There was an almost petulant defensiveness in his movements.
“I know you didn’t. But it’s what you’ve got. So maybe you should play the part and stop acting like a little--”
Barney heard the clang of the crowbar hitting the ground in the same instant that he saw Gordon lunge at him, practically tackling him, and felt the push on his shoulders sending him down with it.
His back hit the ground with an awful “whumpf” sound that sent dust flying up around him.
Gordon kept his weight there, essentially pinning him down. When Barney looked up at him, he was practically snarling, his gaze angry and his chest already heaving. Still, it was immediately apparent that he was holding back. He went in without his weapon, for one, but for two, he seemed intensely aware of the advantage the suit gave him, and Barney could tell that he wasn’t being held down by the full force of the both of them, but by a calculated effort to only use as much as needed.
It was his turn to smile.
“Well, if all you wanted was to take it out on me, you coulda just asked.” His grin was a challenge, his words deliberate. Knowing the right buttons to press was a two-way street. His voice was edged with deceptively sugar-sweet sarcasm as he went on, “I would have obliged. I’m sure I make a great punching bag. Hey, would it help if I put on the mask?”
Gordon pulled his hands back to sign, “[Shut up!]”
And Barney took the opportunity with himself briefly free to push up and flip them. Legs around his waist and hands around his wrists, he took a moment to feel a little self-satisfied at just how caught off-guard Gordon looked blinking up at him. He spared a second as well to make sure he didn’t damage his glasses with the impact. He didn’t, and he was grateful for that, but he realized the shove might have put a scuff in the suit, and just as quickly realized that he wouldn’t lose sleep over it.
He looked down at Gordon expectantly, eager for an answer to his unasked but apparent question: What the hell has gotten into you?
Gordon’s expression darkened once more, and he flexed the fingers on both of his hands in unison. It was a careful motion, and it drew Barney’s attention exactly as intended.
The silent communication continued as his meaning was easily understood: I can’t sign like this. If you want a response, you have to let go.
He huffed and drew back, and Gordon got one good swing in.
It happened so quickly that he barely even had time to process that it was happening before it did, but Gordon’s right fist made contact with his face, and the shock of it all sent him tipping backwards for just a half second, but he didn't budge from his position on top of him.
“Ah! Jesus!”
He brought a hand up to touch the site of impact and found that his nose was bleeding. He wiped at it with the back of his hand as he turned back to face Gordon. Haphazardly, he reached with his unoccupied hand for one of Gordon’s wrists to pin it like before, and found that Gordon fully accepted it with no resistance, his arm going limp in his grasp.
Silence enveloped them as they made eye contact.
Gordon’s eyes were wide, his expression almost panicked as realization dawned on him of what he just did.
Barney stared back just as intensely. He wasn’t the scientist of the duo, but he watched with scrutiny, studying every detail of the face below him like he’d catch some twitch of his eyebrow that would suddenly make everything make sense.
Both of them were near panting, heavy breaths making their chests move in time with each other.
They stayed like this for a few moments that felt like slow eternities before something changed.
Barney’s expression softened. He tilted his head just slightly and raised his eyebrows as his mouth eased into something almost resembling a smirk. “Feel better?”
Gordon seriously considered the question. He felt like dirt for hurting Barney, but he wasn’t as angry as he was before. He was calmer, possibly only by virtue of being worn out, but he figured he’d take what he could get.
He quirked a lip as he gave a noncommittal half-shrug. “[Kind of?]”
“Heh.” A breathy chuckle of surprise escaped Barney as he climbed off of him, shaking his head to himself and not bothering to look over his shoulder, fully trusting Gordon to let him go peacefully. “You’re something else, darlin’.”
He dusted himself off and stood up, ignoring the unfriendly feeling in his joints as he did so.
From the ground, Gordon sat himself up onto his shoulders, and then took the arm that Barney reached out for him, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet.
There was a tinge of embarrassment evident on his face, which only worsened when he was met by understanding and sympathetic eyes.
“You’re gonna have to apologize.”
He’d already brought his fist to his chest to make the sign for it when Barney cut him off.
“Not to me.”
After a breath, he added, “I already believed in you against my better judgement for twenty years, I can manage one more day.” He smiled good-naturedly, but it quickly faltered. “But for them, you’re all they’ve got. And I know you didn’t ask for it, and I know it isn’t fair. Believe me, if I knew a way to make it better, I’d do it. It can’t be easy being a symbol.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “So just… collect yourself. Go back in there. Apologize for scaring ‘em like that. And then tonight, you and me, we can take a little time to ourselves. If you wanna pick this fight right back up, we can settle it like men. If you wanna kiss and make up, fine by me. You can cry if you need to-- you can do anything you want. Just as long as it’s not bottling it all up and stuffing your feelings down. ‘Cause when it comes back up, it ain’t pretty.” He gestured vaguely around. “I’m here for you-- we’re here for you, alright? Does that sound like a plan?”
Forgoing an answer, Gordon simply pulled him into a hug, relaxing into it when he felt Barney return it.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Gordon broke the hug by pulling away, laughing, now genuinely, and nodding. He sobered up suddenly, looking remorseful. “[What do I even tell them?]”
“Tell ‘em the truth. Listen, they don’t just like you because you fight your way through things-- they like you because you’re human. We’ve all seen and done horrible, horrible things. Honestly, it might be really refreshing for them to have someone like you acknowledge that it hasn’t been easy. We could all stand to be more open about that kind of thing.”
Gordon hesitated before nodding. “[You’re right.]”
“Yeah, I am. And you know what else I’m right about?”
He looked at him quizzically.
“I’ve told you before to take your glasses off when you’re cryin’. C’mere--” He thumbed at the stray tears that Gordon hadn’t even noticed were present on his cheeks, wiping them away. “Can’t take you anywhere…” he mumbled to himself, smiling faintly.
“[Thank you.]”
“Don’t mention it. Did I get all the blood off of me?”
He gave him a once-over. “[You did. I’m really sorry.]”
“Hey, it’s fine. It’ll heal.” He shrugged. “Everything heals.”
He signed it back to him. “[Everything heals.]”
“Yeah, doc, you got it. Ready to go back in?”
“[Not really. But I want to make things right.]”
“That’s the spirit. Come on.”
He brought his arm loosely around his shoulders, gently guiding him back into the house.
The small crowd hadn’t moved much, and they watched the pair’s return anxiously. Many seemed visibly confused and shaken.
Barney took a step to the side to give Gordon the floor, only piping up to translate the occasional sign that he could tell they didn’t recognize.
“[I’m sorry,]” he started, his posture awkward and apprehensive, “[for reacting like that. It’s always hard to see innocent death. And to have it be so unexpected, after having so much hope, only made it worse. I felt like something inside of me broke. I’m trying to be strong. But I’m so angry at the people who keep taking from us. They took the world, and they keep taking lives. I’m angry, and sad, and upset, and there’s never enough time to mourn. Or to process anything. It’s so hard, and it’s so much. I struggle with it too. All I’ve got is that we have to keep going. What other choice do we have? And maybe, try to put all that anger into something worth it, use it for motivation. If I find some better advice, I’ll let you know.]”
That earned a small laugh from the group.
He finally let go of the tension he was holding in his body when he saw that his little speech had been well received.
A warmth returned to them. A cautious warmth, not the brightness of immediate sunlight, but a timid and hesitant feeling that was enough to replace the frost of disappointment and panic that had frozen over them all.
It was enough to get conversation moving again, voices speaking openly, some sympathizing, sharing their own stories, others eager to move forward, plan for the rest of the day and then the rest of the future.
As the group fanned out to look through the house and see if there was anything at all worth scavenging, Gordon stole glances at Barney over his shoulder, who returned them with optimism and kind eyes.
For the time being, he put his anger to the side. It made room for a lot of numbness filling him up like television static, but with the promise of an outlet that night, he allowed himself to focus on the present, and even to indulge occasionally in a fleeting burst of something close to happiness. He tried to think of his emotions less as a death-sentence, a time bomb waiting to go off and take those around him with it, but like an injury, a fractured bone, something that wouldn’t take him down but would need to be treated, and that he needed to admit was aching. Just because it hurt, didn’t mean it’d be fatal.
Everything heals.