Work Text:
Randy was having a terrible day. He’d gotten stuck working a double shift because Donnie called out - said he was sick but Hardy didn’t seem to buy it when he came to ask Randy to stick around until closing - and his mom had been pissed about it. She liked knowing his schedule and when to expect him home, and didn’t like surprises. Not when it came from Randy. But he didn’t have a choice, he’d agreed to stay before the idea of saying no even flitted through his thoughts.
He probably would’ve said yes even if he had thought to say no…
Anxious about his mother promising she wasn’t mad when she clearly was and tired because he’d been expecting to work a short shift today, he kept fumbling. Miscounted customers change, burned himself on the griddle and from the hot oil, nearly tripped on his own laces in front of a packed restaurant, and now…
Now his car wouldn’t start.
It’s enough to make him want to cry, eyes stinging from fatigue and body sore from… Everything. He doesn’t want to call his mom and tell her. He could just get it towed but it’d take forever for a tow to come and then he’d have to explain why he was late on top of why his car was gone… He doesn’t have jumper cables, either, but maybe someone else did.
Chris is sitting in his truck, picking the perfect song to drive home to. Randy absolutely does not want to ask Chris for help. Even if he does have jumper cables, there’s a chance he’s just going to laugh in Randy’s face, flip him off, and drive away… That left Benson.
Benson was making sure the doors were locked, shirt untucked and hair damp with sweat. He looked as beat as Randy felt. There’s a hesitation to the idea of asking him for help. It’s not that Randy expects him to be a dick about it, it’s that Benson sort of intimidates him.
The guy keeps quiet and does his job, flashes a polite smile when customers are looking, but Randy’s seen it drop faster than a lead anvil the second he’s not facing them any more. He doesn’t complain, so long as he gets his smoke breaks, but there’s something intense about him that makes Randy uneasy this late at night.
But between asking for a small favor from Benson, and facing the wrath of his mom… It’s an easy choice.
Benson approaches his car, face flat and unreadable, and Randy gets out of his.
“H-hey, Benson!”
The older man looks at him, brows creasing in confusion. The single streetlamp from across the street casts dark shadows in his face, the lines of weariness reading clearly. When he doesn’t reply, Randy nervously keeps talking.
“My car won’t start. The engine won’t turn over, I was- I was wondering if you could jump me?”
For a minute Benson just stares at him and Randy feels the urge to vomit forth a ‘nevermind, I’m fine, sorry to bother you’ rise behind his teeth. His fists reflexively close tight, nails biting into the palms of his hands.
Then Benson bobs his head and opens his door. Golden light spills out of Benson’s old Chrysler as he reaches in for a lighter and his cigarettes. He pops the trunk, but before bothering to open it, he pulls out a cig and lights it up. The orange glow makes his face more haunting, Randy trying not to stare but still feeling like this was a mistake.
“Pop th’ hood,” Benson says, teeth clamped on the cigarette as he procures a jumper cable - red and black, each other tipped with shining teeth.
“Oh- right,” Randy feels stupid, but Benson doesn’t say anything about it. He just pops the hood of his own car before using a flashlight to hook the cables on the battery.
Chris peels out of the Burgers Burgers Burgers driveway loud enough that Randy flinches and looks at him. Instead of driving off, he rolls down the passenger side window and laughs.
“No juice in your car, Bradley? Sucks to suck,” as expected, he sticks up a finger and smiles as he drives off.
Good choice on not asking Chris, Randy watching as the tail lights of the truck fade down the road.
“Prick…” Benson mutters, Randy flinching again because he hadn’t heard the other man slide over to him. He also hadn’t heard Benson shit talk their coworkers before.
Randy sticks to nodding in agreement and Benson hands him the red and black cords that are already hooked up to his car. He moves to sit in the open drivers seat, waiting on Randy.
It feels like ice melts in his stomach as he looks down and realizes he can’t remember what color goes to what part of the battery. He hasn’t had to jump a car in ages, but the knowledge should be rudimentary. He should know. One side of the battery is positive, the other is negative. Red goes to… Fuck, he’s sweating and feels like he’s going to throw up.
It’s so stupid, it should be so easy, and he’s just stuck here-
Benson laughs, a small exhale through his nose as he stands up and taps ash from the cigarette.
“You ever jump a car before, Bradley?”
“No- Yes- it’s just… It’s been a while-”
He’s grateful it’s dark out, that the tiny light in the hood that’s lit up for situations like this doesn’t illuminate his face and show how red he is. The urge to cry is back, fear gnawing at his stomach.
“Jesus Christ,” Benson comes over, and Randy can’t tell if he sounds annoyed or amused.
He gets close, the smoke thick and making Randy want to cover up his nose to avoid it. Cigarette smoke always gave him migraines… But a migraine is the last thing he’s worried about as Benson’s hands close over his and guides the copper teeth of the jumper cables to the battery.
He’s warm. It’s the first thing Randy notices, his own skin clammy and cold.
“Red goes to the positive terminal, right here,” Randy squeezes the the jaws of the cable open and clamps it onto the left terminal. “And black to the negative. Easy.” Randy follows suit, Benson pulling back and raising his hands up like he’s just done some magic trick.
“Your old man should’ve made sure you knew,” Benson chides, taking a smoke and lighting up his face with the ember orange glow.
“He did… I just. Forgot,” Randy mumbles. If Benson hears him, he doesn’t say anything, just goes to his car and starts the engine.
The rumble of the car cuts through the awkward silence of the night, Randy feeling better now that he’s just that much closer to getting him. He checks the time on his phone. His mom shouldn’t be worrying yet, she knows sometimes on busier nights, he runs late…
Benson leaves the door open and walks back to Randy.
“Give it a minute, then see if your car starts,” he says, taking another drag. Randy nods, fist balling up again.
The silence feels like it stretches on too long, Randy too afraid to speak and shatter the odd peace between them as Benson leans against his car. He finishes his cigarette and drops it to the dirt, crushing the butt beneath his heel.
He looks around and then his head rolls towards Randy.
“Got any plans tonight, Bradley?” Small talk, but the way it comes out of his mouth makes Randy unsure. A genuine curiosity as opposed to just being friendly and filling the silence.
“No, my mom’s already mad that I stayed late,” he blurts. He doesn’t mean to; Benson didn’t ask for details and he was pretty sure the guy didn’t care about his mom.
It makes Benson laugh again, more than just an exhale this time. His face lights up as much as the dim light of the moon and the streetlamp allows. When Randy stares at him, he crosses his arms.
“You serious? You’re, what, 20 and mommy wants you home by nine o’clock? Fuck off,” Benson says.
“She just likes knowing I’m safe,” Randy says with a shrug, trying not to feel defensive and failing. It makes Benson laugh again.
“Can’t let your mom drag you around by the dick like that,” he says, shaking his head. “Shit’ll mess you up.”
Randy doesn’t bother replying, just slides into the driver's seat and gives the key a turn. The car sputters a little, then comes to life, Randy’s shoulder’s sagging in clear relief. He stands out of the car and Benson gestures with open hands.
“Give it a bit to make sure the charge sticks,” he says. Randy nods.
“I’m 21, by the way,” Randy says. Another bit of unintentional information, but for some reason it felt important. Benson looks at him, caught off guard. “You said I was 20, I’m actually 21.”
“Alright,” Benson says, shrugging like it's not that big of a deal. Maybe it’s not, to him. “Well, mister ‘I’m 21’ Bradley…’ Wait, what’s your last name?”
Randy opens his mouth and closes it again.
“It’s- It’s Bradley.”
Benson stares at him like he’s stupid.
“What, like, Bradley Bradley?” Benson asks, face splitting in another laugh.
“No, it’s not- my first name is Randy,” he says. No one else at Burgers Burgers Burgers bothered to check if Bradley was his actual first name. Hardy had given him the nametag and they all went with it. This was the first time he ever admitted it or corrected anyone.
Benson takes a moment, eyes going to the side as if he’s thinking before his brows bunch up and he looks at Randy again.
“Your name is Randy?” Randy nods. “And you never bothered to correct anyone who’s just been calling you Bradley?” Another nod. “After what, almost a year of working here?!”
When Randy nods a third time Benson barks out a laugh that sounds almost manic.
“Jeeesus Christ…” he wheezes, like it's both the best joke and worst thing he’s ever heard. Randy sits in more humiliated silence while Benson keeps laughing.
After clutching his stomach for a bit, Benson finally calms down and looks back at Randy.
“We can unhook the cables,” he says, mouth tugged into a half smile like he’s still enjoying the joke that Randy couldn’t see. “In reverse order, okay? Black first, then red.”
Randy nods, keeping his head low and carefully removing the clamps as Benson does the same. He hands them Benson who rolls them up and tosses them back in his trunk.
They close the hoods of their cars and Benson moves towards Randy.
“Well, Randy Bradley,” Benson smiles like he’s trying it out for the first time. Randy supposes he is, but he still doesn’t get why it’s a big deal. “Drive home safe, and if you want to do something after work and away from your mothers grip on your balls, you let me know.”
He claps Randy on the shoulder, hard enough that he thinks he’s gonna fall over, and then gets in his car without another word.
Randy watches as Benson drives off before sliding into his own car and taking a breath. The offer doesn’t even register for a full minute before he’s making his way down the street.
Benson invited him to hang out.
It’s a small thing. Isn’t it normal for coworkers to sometimes be friends off the clock? But it feels big to him. Randy smiles.