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It wasn’t supposed to go like this, they thought in the back of their mind.
When the lights shut off, Benrey knew to step aside and let nature take its place. The ambush he and Bubby both planned went off without a hitch—or at least that’s what they thought.
That’s what Bubby thought before they cut off Gordon’s hand, the man-made scientist yelling seemingly offended at the action, confusing Benrey.
“This wasn't the deal!” He yelled, striding angrily over to one of the soldiers in the dark, pointing fingers.
Benrey tuned out their arguing, stepping over to Gordon who—previously writhing in pain ( ‘did it really hurt that much?’ )—was now still.
“psst,” he poked him, “wake up man, you're missing the action.” Benrey poked him again. No response. Was he ignoring him?
He briefly glanced up to survey the dark room again, chaos starting to brew where both Dr. Coomer and Bubby were arguing and starting to get physical with the soldiers. Tommy was nowhere to be seen, ‘probably wandered off’ , Benrey thought.
Turning his attention back to Gordon, the man was still motionless, ‘seriously?’
Benrey poked him again, “come on man, so rude to your pal benrey,” he pouted, sitting back on his haunches for a moment, tail swishing lazily in slight irritation behind him.
Ignoring the sound of crashing behind him, he continued to watch Gordon; the way his glasses framed his face, the messy curls framing his face, that stupid long ponytail that Benrey had to admit suited him beautifully, and his rapid, shallow, barely there breathing.
.
.
.
.
‘shallow?’
Immediately Benrey leaned over Gordon, inspecting the man in front of him. The extraterrestrial didn't know much about humans, a given with how often the currently incapacitated scientist was so frequently upset with him, but he knew breathing was important to humans enough to know this was bad.
“hey man, gotta wake up now,” he shook Gordon’s shoulder, absentmindedly using his other hand to feel for a pulse—it was fading, “c’mon man, this isn't funny.”
For the first time since being given free rein of Black Mesa, Benrey was wracked with nervousness, flipping the scientist onto his back to see what was wrong.
Immediately Benrey saw the problem, Gordon's right hand was still missing.
‘why didn't it grow back?’
Benrey picked it up, keeping a hand to Gordon’s pulse— ’still fading’— staring at the stump as if telling it to fix itself.
Blood was still leaking steadily from it onto the ground, Benrey’s eyes following the flow down to a sizable, and growing, pool of maroon.
His tail swung wildly, biting his lip with a creased brow before shaking Gordon again, “c'mon c'mon— this isn't funny, man! wake up!”
A loud fwoosh drew his attention away for a moment, seeing the first bit of light in the dark room.
While Benrey was busy panicking over Gordon, Dr. Coomer had been knocked out, and Bubby was about to attempt to retaliate with his flame.
Keyword attempt , as the doctor was subdued by another soldier sneaking up on him, a taser to the back before he fell to the ground.
Benrey flinched in sympathy before directing attention to Gordon again, even in the dark (not like it affected Benrey’s vision much) the man looked deathly pale.
And the pool of blood was bigger than before.
The alien focused on his pulse again, his fingers briefly moved from when he was distracted, but he can’t find it.
….he can’t find it.
“c’mon c’mon—” Benrey muttered to himself, desperately searching for a pulse, something, anything, “not now we haven't— haven't beat the game yet, need to- need to beat the final boss, and, and get home to that—that shit kid of yours—” he rambled.
There was a stinging sensation in his eyes, foreign and awful. Perfectly encapsulating how the eldritch felt in that moment.
And then, a feeling of shock washed over his body, prickly, stinging like holding an ice cube in his hand.
It wasn't that he couldn't find Gordon’s pulse, no, far from it.
He couldn't feel his pulse.
Benrey couldn't feel Gordon Freeman’s pulse.
.
.
.
.
“Gordon..?”