Chapter Text
An aggravated groan escapes Gordon when Benrey leaves, releasing all the anger he can't throw in their face anymore. How can they be so fucking frustrating? And of course, Benoit vanishes with them, the two of them off having some fucking tantrum upstairs, or wherever they went.
"Fuuuuuck," Gordon groans, struggling to get his legs rearranged without agitating his injured one. It's a futile effort, and he quickly gives up, sitting there like a discarded puppet. "What the fuck do I do now?"
There's so much anger boiling beneath the surface that Gordon doesn't know what to do with himself. He wants to tear his hair out, break something, hurt someone—but they're not in Black Mesa anymore. He can't just swing a crowbar at some crates or takes down hordes of soldiers to let his anger out. There's nothing to do here now that Benrey's gone. And of course they're gone. They can never just stick around and face the consequences of their actions, can never just deal with a problem head-on, nooooo. They run away, probably blue themself into not caring about anything. Life is so fucking easy for them, isn't it?
But it isn't easy for him. Why can't they see that? Have all those guilty looks towards his scar been nothing but performance? Does he mean anything to them, or do they just not get it yet? If only he knew what as going on in their head. Not like they'd tell him!
With a growl, Gordon does his best to push himself up off the ground and back onto the couch, cursing loudly as the movement agitates his leg. And, well, the pain he's experiencing just about everywhere, even if the alcohol does make it hurt a lot less. Not that Benrey could relate, they don't even feel pain. Fuck, they weren't even in any danger in Denver. They can just run out and make stupid fucking decisions that get everyone in trouble, because what does it matter to them, really? Death isn't permanent, pain isn't real, limbs grow back. If anything, they got something out of it: someone new to run off with while they avoid responsibility.
"They're probably off playing video games right now," Gordon scoffs. "Like it's too much fucking effort to—To give a shit about anyone else. And they've got their fucking yes-man around to enable them."
It's only when he lifts his head that he remembers the other person in the room. Benny had completely slipped his notice, and he's not even sure when. Benoit's smug domination of the game and Benrey's mocking laughter were all he could see, not Benny's polite and, at times, apologetic gameplay. When was the last time he heard them speak? His brain is too fuzzy to recall.
Now, though, he sees Benny curled up in the corner of the couch, as far into it as they can get, curled up in a ball with their hands held protectively over their head. All the anger floods right out of him.
Suddenly, he feels like such a fucking bastard for exploding right in front of them. How much did they hear, before they presumably muted their hearing to escape from it all? Unlike Benrey, this isn't something they need to face. They've done nothing wrong. Yet they haven't run away, when they'd be well within their right to do so.
"Benny," he says, though they definitely can't hear him. Doing his best to scoot closer to them, he gathers them up in his arms, tears welling up in his eyes and guilt suffocating him when he feels them flinch. Luckily, they're quick to melt into his arms, lifting their head to look up at him with such fear and concern that the tears overflow down his cheeks. "Benny, i-it's… it's okay, I'm sorry."
Fuck, he always does this. This is all his fault. He knows Benrey can't handle big talks, yet he pushed them to run away. It's no wonder they're so fucking pissed at him that the walking personification of their inner feelings has been hissing at him all day. Is that not proof enough of how they feel about him? He thought that if he just explained himself the right way, if he screamed loud enough or cut deep enough, they'd understand what they're doing to him. But maybe he should've stopped to think about what he's doing to them.
But he never does. Not now, not with Alex, not with anyone he's ever known. As always, he's left alone, with nothing but the memory of how Benrey looked at him etched into his mind's eye. At least Alex's glares held frustration and exasperation, something that made sense, something he could deal with. Not pain the likes of which they should never have to feel again, least of all from someone who swore to protect them.
Leaning back against the couch, he allows himself to cry openly, letting it all out. Cries for his failure to protect Benny, for how helpless he'd felt chained up in that warehouse, for how shitty and broken he is now.
"Why do I keep fucking up?" Gordon sobs. "Everything I, d-do is—I make everything worse. I didn't, I wanted to p-protect them, but I'm just h-hurting them. I couldn't let—What if he hurt them? I thought I, that I finally did something good, but… And now Benrey hates me. You saw it, right? The—Benoit. They fucking despise me, and, and that's… Benrey's feelings… it's like sweet voice, they can't hide that!"
The thought that Benrey might actually hate him, that he's fucked up so badly as to drive yet another person away… it plunges him right back into the darkness. It was too good to be true. He should have known. It must be a new record, he made it a whole week this time before he ruined everything, before he pushed Benrey so far that their dislike for him took physical form.
The room spins, the lump in his throat traveling down into his stomach and turning to nausea. What's the point, what's the point of anything? He should just disappear, let Benrey be with people who can love them the way they deserve. Not broken people who hurl poison at them until they can't bare to be around him anymore.
"You… you should go be with them. I don't deserve…" Gordon tries to pull away, but Benny's fingers curl around the back of his shirt, refusing to let him. Not that he even could. All his strength has left him, and every move is agony. He's just been trying to hold it in, to stop being a burden on everyone.
"I won't," Benny says, kissing Gordon's ear. "I love you. I know I'm not, who you want, but… no matter what, Benrey loves you. More than they love themself, or Tommy, or… video games. I don't… know, what's going on, but, Benrey doesn't hate you."
Gordon lets out a humorless chuckle. "Of course you… you'd think… you're too sweet." Even if they once had a direct link to Benrey's feelings, they don't anymore. Benoit does. Benny doesn't know how Benrey really feels.
"No," Benny insists. "Benrey loves you so much… I love you so much. The… sweet voice… Ben-wah doesn't, they're not… um." They close their eyes. "Black means stay back. Green means, they're not mean."
Puzzled, all Gordon can do is sit there in stunned silence as the tears flow sluggishly down is cheeks. "The, the green… it was—They didn't laugh at me?" Somehow, even with someone as sincere as Benny, it just doesn't sound right. "It looked like it, like the one you make when Ben-Benrey does something stupid."
"Green is… you're thinking of this." Benny turns their head to hum a few notes, forming a pale, leafy green. "Green like a snap-pea means, I'm happy. Or, you make me happy, this makes me happy…" They hum another color, very similar, but more vivid. The song is softer than the bouncy notes of the previous. "This is, green means I'm not mean."
"Then—Then why—I don't understand, that doesn't make sense," Gordon hiccups, leaning his head against theirs, where their soft, silky hairs tickle his skin. "They didn't like me from the start, and—And Benrey wasn't mad at me, then. 'memeber when, when they hugged, and wouldn't let me—And then in the bathroom. Benrey wasn't mad at me then… I think. They were just… confused." Lifting his head back up, Gordon looks at them, his face red from crying and eyes filled with confusion. "What did I do wrong? If Benrey doesn't hate me, why doesn't Benoit like me?"
"I don't know," Benny admits. "We… just have to wait until, they can tell us… sorry. I like you, though. Does that, help…?"
It does help, knowing that he's not universally disliked, that he hasn't fucked up everything by showing his true colors in front of everyone. If anything, the love Benrey had for him will be forever preserved inside Benny, a fossil of what he could've had. The thought has him drawing Benny tighter against him, clinging like they'll disappear if he doesn't, just like Benrey did.
In the end, though, the problem is that… he still loves Benrey so fucking much. All this fighting and separation, it's like a gaping hole in his chest. Though he doesn't deserve it, he still craves their love. Without it, everything feels cold, and… wrong.
"Mmmh… I miss them," Gordon admits. "I don't—I ruined everything again. We were supposed to, this was going to be fun. Help us forget all the stupid—But I was the stupid. Got angry because a skeleton beat me in fucking Mario Party. Pathetic." Gordon's voice is slurred, thoughts mangled. "I wanna—Do you think I could… apologize? Is it too late? Can I—Benny, I wanna see them…" The last part comes out as a whine, like a child begging for candy.
"Oh… um. What do you… should I… uh," Benny stutters. "Let's, um, get you laid back down, okay?" Carefully, they ease Gordon down onto the couch, supporting his weight as much as possible. They have to brush the JoyCons aside before grabbing up some pillows for him to lay back against.
"Where… where did Benrey go?" Gordon presses. "I wanna… I need to see them…"
"Benrey is… um, Benrey is… with Benoit, they're outside. But, um, duh, directly outside, in the street, you can… um, well, not from this room but, from the window… Do you want me to go get them?"
"No… no, I, I don't care. Don't need—I hope they choke." Benny flinches at those words, not that he notices, laying his hand over his eyes and blocking out the look of shock on their face. "Not like they need me anyway, they have… fucking… new, stupid… Ughh. I don't—I don't feel so good."
"Do you need… um, peanuts?" Benny asks. "Are you gonna throw up? Should I get a bucket? Um, I don't—How do you find… which room has bucket…?"
"Water," Gordon says, turning his head to try and bury his face in the pillows. "Just… I just need some water." Sobering up will help him sort through the maelstrom of emotion swirling around inside him, so he can stop freaking out and start finding solutions. Sleeping would be even faster, but there's no way he could sleep, right now.
At least having Benny here helps him calm down. Once they get back with water, they help him sit up enough to drink it, stabilizing his hands for him and ensuring he doesn't make a mess of himself. The cool liquid extinguishes the last flames of his anger, and leaves him a cold, hollow shell.
"I—They'll come back, right? They haven't…" Just the thought has tears gathering in Gordon's eyes. Benrey wouldn't leave him over this, right? Not after everything they've gone through. They're only out for a walk, clearing their head and getting some much needed space. Right? "I don't want them to leave…"
With a sigh, Benny reaches over to brush Gordon's hair out of his eyes, removing his glasses and setting them on the end table. "They'll be back," Benny answers, grabbing some pillows to elevate Gordon's injured leg. "I don't, don't know when, but they're not gonna leave. I'm sorry they're not here… If they don't come back, I'll, um, go get them and be really mad at them and they'll have to come back then."
Benny is good, so good, better than Gordon deserves—No. Inwardly, he shakes his head, forcing those thoughts out of his mind. No, it's not about deserving.
Looking up at Benny now, Gordon observes the sadness in their bright blue eyes. This must have been hard on them, and yet they've shown nothing but love and patience. They really are the best. He holds out his arms for them.
"C'mere," he says. As they crawl into his arms, he holds them close, pressing a kiss to the top of their head. "I love you, and… 'm sorry. Thank you for, for taking care of me." He nuzzles into their hair. "'m gonna try to sleep some. If… when Benrey gets back, can you… wake me up, then. I wanna… I'm gonna say I'm sorry for being such a bitch. And, and, tomorrow… I'll make Benoit like me. I can do that, I got jokes and shit."
That last part, he isn't so sure off. If Benoit's dislike is branded into their DNA, is it even possible for him to change that? Gordon sure fucking hopes so, otherwise the rest of this trip will be awkward as fuck.
"Okay," Benny says, a small smile playing on their lips. With a soft purr, they lay their face beside his, lips pressed to his cheek. Soon, his breaths slow, and the world fades away.
- ♡ -
The dead of night is a cold and lonely mistress, but Benrey's never felt like they belong in a place more. Or maybe that's just something they're saying right now, when they feel so empty inside. There's probably a Linkin Park song about this. Whatever. Benrey turns their head, watching as some headcrabs jump across the street, struggling to scale a fence where several other headcrabs are hanging out on top. Benrey points, though their aim is drastically off.
"Tha's dinnertime right here," they slur. Though Benoit just stares at it, until Benrey stumbles across the street, scaring the headcrabs like a flock of birds. "Whuh… where'd dinner go?"
Stumbling again, they collide with Benoit, who's suddenly right behind them, supporting them with their skeletal hands. This is really funny for no real reason, causing them to break out into giggles. They reach up and boop the skeleton's nasal cavity as Benoit guides them over to sit on the hood of a nearby car. Clueless as to why they're here, Benrey curls up on the hood in a little ball, arms folded on the windshield where they lay their head.
Here, they watch Benoit phase through the chain link fence. The headcrabs pause and put up their dukes, causing Benrey to let out a stupid little chuckle under their breath.
Then Benoit picks up a shovel, swinging it into one of the headcrabs and bashing it into the ground. Startled, but intrigued, Benrey sits up, watching with rapt interest as Benoit bats one headcrab out of the air before brutally mauling three others. One of them nearly gets away, but they chuck the shovel in a perfect arc, the metal slamming into the retreating headcrab, killing it instantly. Benrey watches as Benoit gathers up each one to carry back to Benrey, like a cat presenting their owner with a dead rat.
Except, Benrey actually likes this gift. Headcrabs are pretty tasty, and this is… wow, six of them.
"Whoa." Lifting their gaze back to Benoit's face, Benrey stares at them with wide eyes, gazing deep into their eye sockets and expecting to find something. But there's nothing. Not yet.
Making a move to pick up one of the headcrabs, Benrey stops just short. Why bother? They don't have to do shit, that's Benoit's job! They're tired of doing everything wrong, and who cares, anyway? The skeleton doesn't have feelings yet.
Finding this to be a very logical conclusion—good job, Benrey—they hop off the car and say, "Le's go cook these… friend."
Walking down the street, it isn't long before Benrey finds something good. It's a teal building called Tony's, which is a bar, according to all the neon lights in the window, anyway. Benrey laughs as they see it, making all kinds of dumb Mafia jokes on their way to the front door. Tugging on the handles reveals that it's locked.
"Ughhhhh dumb," Benrey says, completely forgetting they can phase through solid objects. Instead, they walk off, grab onto a nearby public trash bin, and tear it out of where it's screwed into the ground to smash it through the window. Glass rains all around them, leaving a few cuts and scrapes, but they don't mind it. Kinda like it, actually.
Shoving all the glass out of the way, Benrey chucks the bin aside and climbs in. This places them atop a small, round table, where they turn and hold out their hand for Benoit, helping them in.
The inside is very macho. Got that somewhat industrial vibe, dark floors, black chairs, stripper poles… well, they aren't stripper poles, but Benrey can't tell the difference and ends up grabbing onto one and swinging, kicking over a bunch of chairs in the process. Benoit watches for a moment before heading behind the bar. There's a kitchen back there, Benrey can see it through Benoit's eyes.
While Benrey's busy dancing—well, mostly falling and hurting themself over and over, but whatever—Benoit cleans the headcrabs, tears their teeth out, and cooks them in the oven.
While that's underway, Benrey climbs over the bar to raid the drinks. They don't know much about different kinds of alcohol, since they usually only had beer at Black Mesa. But they gather up a collection of red wine and whiskey for later.
When Benoit gets back with the food, Benrey's laid seductively on the bar drinking directly from a bottle, just, looking around. The place is kinda simple and not as cool as they thought a bar would be, but it's still fun being here and knowing what it's like to step foot inside a real bar. Even if no one else is here. And there's no bartender. Or music. Why isn't there music?
As if on cue, a song starts playing from who-cares-where, and Benrey laughs as they hear What's New Pussycat start playing. They drunkenly sing along to it as pan upon pan of roasted headcrabs are laid out for Benoit to feast upon.
"Hell yeah, doin' it right," they say, turning to lay on their front, legs curled and swinging.
They pick at some of it, but they're not that interested. They just want Benoit to grow big and strong so bad, see what they look like, what they act like, what they're into. For some reason, Benrey doesn't even think to wonder what Benoit sounds like.
Giggling drunkenly as they hand-feed Benoit some pieces of roasted headcrab here and there—they eat so fast, and Benrey's so easily distracted by every single thing—the meal is quickly devoured, leaving Benoit with more mass, but not enough. Not nearly enough. Chugging the rest of their bottle, Benrey chucks it at the nearest wall, causing it to shatter on impact. Afterwards, they skip out into the streets in search of more food.
Waltzing down the street, they swing around lamp poles, walk over benches, and kick everything they see while Benoit tracks down more prey, usually headcrabs. Clusters of zombies crop up here and there, and Benoit will tear the headcrabs right off their faces to devour as they scream and die. It's pretty hot, a demented part of Benrey thinks.
But they're still baby. As red lights fill the air, Benrey turns to find Benoit picking a piece of themself up off the ground, the corpse of a large headcrab zombie with massive claws laid disposed on the floor beneath them. Before they really know what they're doing, Benrey's feet have carried them over to Benoit, who's holding the last two phalanges of a finger bone in their hand.
"Bro, what happened to your finger?" Benrey says. "Lemme get that for you."
Taking it from them, Benrey grabs onto the skeleton's wrist, holding up their hand to search for which finger's been severed. No need to regrow this when Benrey has the old one right here. Finally, they find a missing finger on their left hand, the ring finger, to be exact. Slotting the bone back into place, Benrey leans in to sing cyan around it, binding Benoit's finger back together. A little extra work is required to shape the cast properly, but it's a small target, real easy to do.
Soon, they're done, and Benoit takes their hand back, experimentally flexing their fingers. It takes awhile before their freshly reattached one responds, but it does eventually.
Benrey takes Benoit's hand again, just to kiss their fixed-up finger. "Booboo all better," Benrey says. Benoit watches them for a moment, before humming the equivalent of a thank you and getting right back to hunting.
Though, as night firmly settles over the city, the temperature drops. Benrey can't feel it in their alcohol-induced haze, but they still experience the effects. They're slow, lethargic, and way stupider. Benoit has to tug them away from a street lamp so they don't run right into it. But then they're breaking into more stores, and Benoit's making them sit with a warm drink—that Benrey pours whiskey into—as more clothes are urged onto their body.
It feels very dad. They never had one of those, before. But sitting there, idly kicking their legs with some shittily brewed Irish coffee while Benoit gets them dressed in a fur-lined jacket and other warm garments, they feel all warm and fuzzy. Cared for. It's as Benoit's tugging a wool pompom hat over Benrey's head, their movements much more natural than before, that Benrey gets the urge to kiss them. Leaning up, they plant a big ol' smooch right atop Benoit's skull.
"Thankies," they say, grinning as they go to take another drink. Looks kinda pink with the song Benoit sings.
Lifting their head up, they let their eyes flick over Benoit's face, studying their features. There's not much to see—mass is forming over their skull, with tendrils climbing inside their eye sockets, but it doesn't resemble anything yet. Their body is much the same, a skeleton covered in a black goop like those dead adventures in fantasy stories, their bones overtaken by moss and vines. Except, like, the goth version of that.
"Hi," Benrey says, unsure what they expect in return. For no reason, this is very funny, a dumb chuckle erupting out of them. "HAHAHA! Hiiiiii."
They reach out, brushing one of their hands against the side of Benoit's face less filled out, where they can feel smooth bone. It's taking on a different shape, just like the teeth, now sharp and pointy. But it's a different shape than Benrey's cheekbones and jaw, making them wonder what the end result will be like.
"Tanks for da outfit. Like the hat," Benrey slurs, leaning sideways in their chair and slumping down a little. One of the pompoms on the hat gets squished into their cheek, the yarn soft against their skin. It feels nice to be all bundled up. They've never felt this before, they realize with a sudden ferocity. They've never been a cozy little kid waddling out in their snowsuit, like in Beyond Two Souls. Seemed like it would suck given the movement restriction, but this fucks. Like wearing a blanket everywhere you go, except not quite as warm.
Once Benrey's warm and bored of sitting around in here, they get up, looking around the store they've ended up in. It's a furniture store, and they take the time to lay on the beds, inviting Benoit to try each one with them. The skeleton's still stiff, but getting more natural in their movements, like a baby bird waddling out of the nest for the first time. Benrey lies there on their front, smiling over at Benoit.
"This bed sucks," they brightly declare. Yet they make no move to get up. Instead, Benrey wriggles around under the covers, the skeleton following suit with a bit more noclipping. Benrey cuddles up to their bony chest with a pleased sigh. It's nice. The bedding's a little scratchy, but they barely feel it with most of their skin covered. What's great about it is how thick the quilt is, though it's kinda ugly.
Eventually, they ask Benoit, "Which one you like?"
There's no response. Instead, Benoit places their hand over Benrey's.
"Cool. I like the cake bed," Benrey says, thinking of the one with the foam mattress resembling a sponge cake. "Not really. The big white one was better actually. Can we hang skeletons from the walls?"
Though Benoit never responds except to doot out a single green orb meaning yes, Benrey goes off on a meandering ramble about decorating a house as if they're a newly married couple. Their ideas are weird and impractical, featuring something about a trap bookshelf leading into a secret sex dungeon and candles that all turn on at once when you flip a switch.
They're on a fever dream-esque rant about mixing the blackest paint the world has ever seen when a noise draws their attention away. A flock of peeper puppies have wandered into the shop, though none have noticed them yet. Instead, they're knocking over some display signs and trying to jump on the couches.
Sitting to watch them, Benrey observes how one manages to get onto the couch by tugging itself up on its front legs, before promptly flopping over and going to sleep. The others look on covetously, but none manage to join.
"Lookit dat one," Benrey mumbles, keeping their voice low to avoid startling the flock. They point out the smallest one, which is maybe half the size, or less, of the others. "Lil' baby. Bet it tastes really dope."
A beat passes. Benoit stares at them, and they stare at the peeper puppies.
In a flash, Benoit teleports onto the flock, teeth sinking into the largest one before their claws have killed the other two. A spike juts out of their body, impaling a fourth Benrey hadn't even noticed. They audibly "oooh" and "ahhh" at the display of raw power.
Gathering up their prey, Benoit carries them back, setting them on the ugly quilt where their blood stains it even uglier. Benrey gathers up the small one, digging their claws in to start popping out its eyes, which all tumble out into a pile. Compared to the adult-sized ones, it's like olives to oranges. Though, just as they expected, it's more savory and even a little sweet.
"Nice," Benrey mutters as they continue digging in. The headcrabs were whatever, but these are so delicious, they can't resist gobbling them down. Benoit's doing it, too, as they should. Growing boy, or girl, or whatever they are. Can they be a girl? Can they be anything different from what Benrey already is? The thought is quickly shrugged off in favor of shoving handfuls of peeper puppy eyes into their maw. The bigger ones get munched on, too. They're a nice shape, smooth texture and juicy flavor. Feels nice to hold and to eat.
While they sit there eating, Benrey forgets all manners and talks with their mouth full. It's about nothing, really, and they keep forgetting what they're saying, thus changing the subject. Only once everything's gone do they start to get up, but not without flopping against Benoit, first.
"This is nice," Benrey says. "Way better 'n stinky GORDON."
Except for all the reasons why it isn't, a feeling that has Benoit watching them with… well, no look, really, but it's like Benrey can sense that Benoit knows something's wrong and they're calculating how to correct it. It's a warm, fuzzy kinda feeling, like the static from an old TV screen. But nothing's said, and after a few moments, Benoit places their arms around Benrey and helps them get back to their feet. The rest of the furniture store is passed up—what does Benrey care about shelves and lamps, anyway?
From there, it's right back to hunting. They make games out of it: Benrey challenges Benoit to kill a group of zombies with a street sign, and they do, to boisterous cheering. Next, they're bowling by pushing cars down inclines into groups of zombies while Benrey calls out completely random scores. Then, it's how many headcrabs can Benoit catch before Benrey finishes a bottle of wine (too many to count).
All throughout these games, Benrey cheers and calls out ratings from zero to ten. Lower ratings make Benoit more frenzied and therefore more entertaining, but Benrey can't help telling the truth when their protégé does something impressive. And they are impressive; the black mass bulking out their body and solidifying into a masculine human shape makes Benrey hot under the collar, taking in Benoit's voluptuous chest, hulking muscles, and large gut.
"Think it got hot out here," Benrey says at one point, comedically tugging at the neckline of their shirt as Benoit pounces on a fleeing headcrab like a cat hunting mice. The way their body moves, flexes, bends, goddamn. They don't even have skin (or genitals) yet, and Benrey's already gagging for it.
But since they are getting pretty filled out… that necessitates some clothes. Seems Benoit already thought of that, though, because one minute, they're breaking into a store to devour a bunch of bullsquids, and the next, they've got a leather jacket and a black tank top tucked into some distressed gray jeans, rolled up over a pair of black boots with spikes on the buckles.
"Niiiice," Benrey says, noting the chain hanging from the belt that flows nicely as Benoit tackles more zombies to the ground. Climbing onto the hood of a nearby car, Benrey sits to watch, laughing and chucking empty bottles of wine into the streets as they do so.
That's how they notice even more to admire about Benoit. The teeth on Benoit's exposed skull are long and sharp, but compared to Benny's, they're sharper, deadlier. As Benoit devours a stray bullsquid, Benrey lets out a lust-fueled sigh, observing how Benoit's teeth puncture the flesh and easily tear it from bone. Not just that, but Benoit's hands are big and square, with thick, sharp claws. On one such swing, those claws tear deep gashes through the side of a car. The noise it makes is ugly, but the raw power required has Benrey twirling their hair and biting their lip.
"Hey, come over here," Benrey says, turning to lie sexily on their side—though it doesn't look sexy at all—as Benoit lifts their head, alien blood soaking their teeth, and walks over to stand before Benrey.
Sitting back up, Benrey grabs one of Benoit's hands, digging their thumbs into Benoit's palm. They're filled out entirely, here, enough for Benrey to feel how firm and thick they are. Benoit holds still, allowing Benrey to prod at each finger before sliding their palm against Benoit's, fingers lined up. The size difference is stark. Benrey's always been known for their long hands and scraggly fingers, but this has them short of breath. Benoit's fingers are noticeably longer and far thicker, with a palm that could engulf theirs, easy.
"Whoa," Benrey says, wrapping their fingers around Benoit's palm. A jolt of arousal churns their gut as Benoit returns the gesture, gripping onto them with a strength that makes them weak in the knees. Good thing they're already sitting. "That's… so cool, bro."
A few pearls of rusty orange sweet voice flow from their lips as Benoit releases Benrey's hand, allowing them to explore other areas. They slide their hand up Benoit's arm, feeling out their bicep and maybe moaning a little when they feel Benoit flex in response. Travelling up to their neck has Benoit tipping their head aside to give them room, just to lean into Benrey's touch as they draw up over a square jaw to Benoit's low cheekbones. They've filled out just enough of their face for Benrey to tell, like some Phantom of the Opera mask. Benrey strokes over their face with a thumb, faintly registering the sound of a deep, rumbling purr.
Finally, they draw their fingers back down, over Benoit's chin, to their lips. Benrey only hesitates a moment before hooking their thumbs inside Benoit's mouth, forcing them to part so Benrey can observe their teeth. There's a tongue, too, fully formed, like it gets priority, or something. It's wet and slimy, and turns from teal to pink as Benrey rubs it with their thumbs before beginning to prod at Benoit's teeth. Barely any pressure is required to puncture the flesh, Benrey's blood dripping into Benoit's mouth.
"Nice… What if I put my dick in—"
Benoit immediately walks away, taking their sexy, sexy mouth with them. The reason why is lost on Benrey.
"Nooooo-uhhh come back…" Their pleas fall on deaf ears, even as they flop over all sad, giving Benoit the biggest, most miserable eyes they can muster. Nope. Benoit's too busy hunting something else.
Luckily, Benrey gets over it pretty fast.
Halfway through the night, the duo pauses to take a break in the middle of a four-way intersection. Benoit rolls over a barrel and chucks a bunch of shit into it, as Benrey goes, "Yoo, I get it, hobo barrel," and pours some whiskey into it before setting the contents on fire. Here, the two sit around on some cars they pushed over—easier than finding a chair—roasting chunks of peeper puppy over an open fire. That's when Benoit pulls out a bottle of Fireball Whiskey and hands it to Benrey, who cheers and takes a big gulp. They end up passing it around, as Benrey jokes that they "hope this isn't like pregnant" and won't mess up Benoit's development.
Speaking of… Benrey drags their backpack into their lap, digging through it for something they tucked away forever ago. (Well, a few days ago, but who's counting?) It's all fallen to the bottom of the bag, clattering noisily, making it easy to find. Scooping out as many as they can, they tap Benoit in the chest with the side of their hand, unfurling their fingers to show off their many pins. Pride flags, plus enamel pronoun pins. Things to help their new skeletons identify themselves without a voice.
No words even need to be said for Benoit to understand. An ichor-covered hand reaches out to pluck one pin from Benrey's palm, staring at it in the light. Benrey watches Benoit's face closely, wondering what they're thinking about. By now, there's gotta be a lotta unique thoughts rolling around in there. Soon, Benoit's tucking their thumb under the pin and attaching it to the front of their jacket. How deft and cool they looked doing that distracts Benrey away from noticing which pin was chosen before another is taken.
Once Benoit starts turning down the offer of more pins, Benrey pours them all back into the bag, though not before attaching an enamel pin cut in the shape of the words "they/them" to their jacket. They go for the rainbow and one in the shape of the polyamorous heart knot, too, but they keep jabbing themself with the pins, so Benoit takes over for them.
"Nice," Benrey says, leaning back on their hands and gently kicking their feet as Benoit finishes up with the third pin. "Decorated gay, now."
With a dumb little chuckle, they reach for the front of Benoit's jacket, turning them towards Benrey, knee pressing into Benrey's thigh. They almost forget what they're doing, until they spot the pins. One features blue and green stripes, the other is an enamel pin cut in the words "he/him". This all takes a long time to process in Benrey's brain properly, but once it does—
"Fuck yeah," Benrey mumbles. "I'm a gay factory, making… churning out those gay men and enbies… better than God even…"
A short burst of green and red sweet voice escapes Benoit's mouth, as if to chastise them for making a very funny joke that even they—he cannot deny was hilarious. Benrey keeps chuckling to themself as they pat Benoit on the chest and turn to lay back against the hood of the car. Gazing up at the stars, they let out a string of rosy pink sweet voice.
Benoit lays down beside them, thigh pressed up against theirs. Feels big, and that makes Benrey shiver a little. Dang. He's a big guy, huh. They can't stop thinking about that.
"Don't even… you know," they smack their lips, reaching up to trace some random stars in the sky. "Only saw… last place… the last… with the house, you know, only saw it 'cuz Benny, but… man, fuck. This is so nice. You're so cool."
With a sudden huff, Benrey lets their arm fall back down, hand landing on Benoit's massive chest. "Not like… stinky GORDON." They blow a raspberry. "He's so… hot, man, I love him… but he's… it's my fault… 'cuz, I'm the stinky smelly. The big dumb meanie. I don't know what I'm DOING. How you comfort people when they all boohoo booboo… Benrey, kiss it, pwease… except he wants… what does he want?" They blow another raspberry. "No Forzen talk, Benwy… Maybe I had a, a thing. A whole time. He doesn't get it, man, I…"
A burst of red sweet voice pops out of their mouth. Bit anime-character-coughing-up-blood of them, dumb, dumb idiot… "They're all dead," they continue, suddenly choked up. "All of… we were gonna… we had games to play, PS4, and I… I never even met in person… and they're never comin' back… EVER. 'Cuz'a me."
They pause, letting a string of blue sweet voice flow into the air like bubbles.
"Should just shut up," they say. "'Cuz don't talk about it… he doesn't… it was, and I just… I want…"
Suddenly, a hand caresses their cheek. It's big, and warm, and square, and… they turn their head, and it's Benoit. He's leaned up on an elbow, gazing down at them with… oh. There's a glow in his eye sockets, now, where the ichor's drawn over his face like a mask. As Benrey stares into the depths of Benoit's soul, they feel almost perverse, glimpsing dark secrets they shouldn't have access to. The thrum of life in Benoit's core reflects in the wisps of light forming inside his skull.
But they should have access to this, shouldn't they? They made Benoit. They're like a wizard, a… a necromancer, raising the dead and forming them into a new kind of people.
"Whoa," Benrey says, reaching up to touch the substance that writhes over Benoit's cheekbone. It's warm and wet, clinging to their fingers even as they pull away. Without thought, they suck it off their fingers.
One of his fingers trace the shape of a heart over their cheekbone. Benrey leans into the touch, traces of sweet voice thrumming in their chest, their hands reaching up to keep him held in place.
"Y'know I always, always wanted… Said we'd watch the stars like in the movies. Go all over. Show me the worl'. But he's a liar, never showed me anywhere…" A thumb swipes across Benrey's cheek, wiping away a droplet of moisture. Must be raining or something. "Wanna know what's out there, but I can't."
All of a sudden, Benoit sits up, tugging them back onto their feet. They stumble, but he keeps them steady, taking their hand and leading them off down the street.
"Whoa, Slowbro, where we goin'…"
It's unclear where they're headed, but Benrey looks around as they walk. All the excitement has kept them from looking at the world like it really is, or, like it used to be. To imagine people still going about their daily lives. What would they be up to, at a time like this? Hitting up bars and clubs? Benrey doesn't know what else there is, and they're worried they'll never find out.
A motorcycle is spotted, and Benoit pulls Benrey over to it. While they're fawning over how cool it is, he's finding them some helmets to wear before swinging his leg over the seat. Damn. That maneuver's kinda hot. Once their helmet's tugged on, Benrey climbs in behind him, where he guides their hands to grab onto his belt. They dig their fingers in, holding on tight as Benoit somehow gets the car started and zips off onto the road. At first, his driving is pretty shit. But no one gets hurt, and he learns fast, leading to Benrey cheering and whooping as they drift around corners and weave between obstacles. Soon, they realize Player Two is just as important as Player One—they have to lean with him, or the bike doesn't glide as smoothly.
The excitement doesn't last long, though. Soon, the city gives way to wilderness, and they're driving down dirt trails, along stone paths, and over wooden bridges. Benrey watches in awe at the nature that passes them by; fields of trees, long stretches of dry earth, mountains, grasslands, big rock piles—So much to take in. So much they've never seen before.
Even with Benoit slowing down or stopping to let them get a better look, it doesn't feel like enough. Benrey wants to study every inch of it, greedy to climb on the rocks, explore the forests, stay at every campsite they pass by.
Eventually, they reach their destination. Benoit clumsily parks the motorcycle, though Benrey doesn't even notice his troubles getting the kickstand to work when they're busy stumbling off to go check out what lies ahead.
A light breeze buffets through their hair and clothes as they stand at the top of a mountain peak. From here, they spy three different states glowing with little pearls of light. It's so much different from their minimap, and it strikes them with a sense of wonder so intense they don't know what to do with themself. These are all real buildings, not some small diorama. These are real places. They can just go there. They can go anywhere.
Taking a deep breath, Benrey lets the grandiosity of the world wash over them.
The sound of boots crunching in the dirt draw their attention back to Benoit, taking in the sight of him with a shuddering breath. It's raining again, or… nah, they're blubbering. They can barely see through the tears, or the alcohol, or the cyan sweet voice clouding their vision; but they're not human, and they can fix it. They can do so much, like stand at the top of a mountain and observe three separate states all at once, with a level of detail you couldn't even get with a fancy camera. They aren't gonna let dumb feelings get in the way of that.
How long they stay standing there is unclear. But Benoit never tries to hurry them along, never gets bored of it, Benrey barely even notices he's there. It's only once, when he steps up to stand beside them and place his arm around their waist, that they register his presence. And all they do in response is rest their head on his shoulder. Convenient… he's exactly their height.
The sun is rising over the horizon by the time Benrey thinks to leave. Not just yet, though. They stick around to sit right on the edge, their legs dangling, and watch the sunrise with Benoit. It's grander than they've ever seen it, with nothing to detract from its magnificence. Feeling much more sober than they have in hours, Benrey tangles their fingers with Benoit's, feeling coarse skin begin to bloom over the back of his hand.
The ride back is quick in comparison, and they take the road, because there's apparently a road leading all the way up, Benoit just opted not to take it. It's on the way down that Benrey wonders if he did it to please them. The view was a lot nicer off-road, even if it's still fascinating on-road.
They think they'd like to come back. Walk the trail a little slower, climb the rocks like they wanted to earlier. Maybe they'll find something fun.
Eventually, they arrive back in the city, hopping off the motorcycle a few miles from home. Benrey doesn't even want to ask why, because they enjoy walking down the streets with him, stopping inside shops to cook up headcrabs and watch Benoit hunt more. Keeps them warm in more ways than one.
They watch as the final bit of a headcrab's pincer disappears between Benoit's teeth. A long, forked teal tongue darts out to clean his lips, thin like Benrey's, but wider, like a shark.
"How we doin', bestieeeee," Benrey says, grabbing the front of Benoit's leather jacket and brushing a hand up over his brow. Little black hairs tickle their fingers, cut close to the head and reminding them of the style they were forced into for their guard work. Glowing eyes stare back at them, thin pupils flicking back and forth over Benrey's face, dilating more now that something nice is in his sightline, or so they'd smugly assume. His jaw is wide and square, cheekbones a different shape than theirs, but just as prominent, nose fatter and shorter.
Benoit steps closer, humming teal to gold sweet voice at them. Benrey chuckles, though there's nothing funny about it. "Yeah, cool. Lessssssssgo… inside."
As they head home, the streets are blissfully empty, most of the city's alien population now feeding the bulk of Benoit's body. Once they arrive home, Benrey turns, grabs Benoit's tank top, and backs him up against the wall by the stairs. Pressing in chest-to-chest, Benrey brushes their hand up under Benoit's bangs again, their breaths ghosting over his lips.
"Wanna kiss me?" Benrey asks.
To their surprise, Benoit's hand presses into their chest, pushing them away.
"Whuh," Benrey stammers, confused. Some pale pink to deep red sweet voice streams out of Benoit's mouth, the meaning taking awhile to process in Benrey's sluggish mind: he's telling them to sober up first. "Uggghhhhh. God. Fine." Benrey takes a step back, shivering in the cold. They hold up their arms expectantly. "You're like a big strong, carry me. I wanna go to bed."
A teal squeak escapes them as Benoit shrugs and lifts them up over his shoulder, ignoring their whines, thrashing, and complaining. Only when they realize Benoit doesn't care do they give up. He carries them up the stairs and into the house, shouldering past the door which he kicks shut with one of his boots. The stairs creak a little as he heads up them, bringing them into the master bedroom.
Here, there's a big bed in dark, dull greens and blues, neatly made for Benoit to unceremoniously deposit them upon its surface. Exhausted, they sink into the plush duvet with a groan.
Benoit kneels to remove their shoes before opening the curtains to let the sunlight stream in. That's where their eyes go automatically, pupils flicking over the pale blue sky, the trees blowing gently in the wind, the birds hanging out on powerlines. Wow. And that's all real, not just a projection on a screen.
Grabbing them under their shoulders, Benoit drags them up towards the pillows, ignoring their whines and complaints. The blanket comes next, sought out from under them and drawn up over their shoulders, their hat removed and hung up for later. Hopping into bed beside them, Benoit leans back against the cushioned headboard, scooting down until he's more horizontal, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. He guides Benrey to lay their head on his chest, arm draped over his gut. Here, they continue gazing out the window until sleep finally pulls them under.
- ♡ -
Hours of restless sleep and constant nightmares that have Gordon clawing awake inevitably take their toll. There's only so many times he can wake sweat-soaked and screaming, disturbing Benny each time, before it has to stop. He can't help it—in the darkest depths of his mind, he sees he sees soldiers holding him down and taking parts of him away. He sees Benrey's head exploding into a shower of gore while he stands frozen to the spot, unable to stop it. Once, he wakes crying when it's Benny who's being dragged away, screaming his name.
Guilt churns his stomach, knowing that it's his distress that's making Benny so frightened and tense every time he wakes to find them fretting over him. Drawing them against his chest, he feels them tremble, even as their body melts into his with utter exhaustion.
What would he do if they were in trouble? If the soldiers found them, and wanted something else this time? He can hardly walk with his leg still in the process of healing.
Eventually, Benny starts to pull away, an act that has him struggling to hold on despite lacking the strength to do so.
"It, it's okay," they soothe, though they both know that's far from the truth. Nothing is okay, and Gordon fears it never will be again. "Let's—How, h-how about some… tea?"
Getting up all for the sake of tea has Gordon nauseous, though he can't deny he doesn't want to be here, on the couch he's sweat all over in the throes of his worst nightmares. "Yeah," he says, voice hoarse. "Yeah, sure. Tea sounds great." Despite the pounding in his head, his mouth dry as sandpaper and body aching, he makes an effort to sit up, groaning with the effort required. Benny does their best to stabilize him.
As they fuss over him, Gordon takes a moment to look at them. They're pale, more so than usual. Their large eyes are like that of a frightened doe. Even their hair hangs limp, obscuring part of their face when they bend down to help him get up. He hates it, hates how much they've changed since just yesterday morning. It shouldn't be this way, with so much pain and strife.
And it's all his fault. Because he wasn't strong enough, because he couldn't protect them, because he was too stupid to stop Benrey from approaching such an obvious trap.
While wallowing in these feelings, Gordon allows Benny to lead him into the kitchen. Here, he sags into one of the barstools with a pained groan. Benny hovers a moment, ensuring he feels alright as their hands draw over his bruised arms, eyes trying their damndest not to look at his leg. Reluctantly, they part, Benny pressing a kiss to Gordon's cheek before digging through cupboards in search of tea. He watches as they manage to work an electric kettle, soon producing two mugs of tea. The gentle fragrance of bergamot rises with the steam as he lifts it to his lips.
"Thank you, sweetheart," Gordon says, doing his best to give them a smile, even as it feels more like a grimace.
"It's, um… you're welcome," Benny meekly says, speaking quietly, too quietly. "How are you… Does it still hurt?" A gentle hand lands on his thigh, leg covered in the faintly glowing sweet voice cocoon they fashioned for him yesterday.
"Yeah," he sighs. "Yeah, it does." Taking another sip of his tea, he's grateful for the warmth that spreads throughout his body, even as nausea threatens to expel the contents of his stomach. "Hungover, too. Shouldn't have… drinking was such a bad fucking idea." In more ways than one.
A spark of excitement lights in Benny's tired eyes, their hands clasping together before their chin. "Oh! I, I have—There's, um, I have… sweet voice. Can I—Do you want some?"
The offer allows Gordon a moment of relief. "Think I do, yeah," he says, not even bothering to ask what the sweet voice does. Who cares? Even if it backfires, he knows Benny will make it better somehow. Even if he doesn't deserve it, even if he should feel bad.
But regardless of how he feels, he's useless like this. If they're attacked again, he won't be able to fight, and he's obviously worrying Benny with his health. If he could fix his broken body, then he'd at least be of some use.
Maybe Benrey won't leave him, then.
Carefully cupping his face, Benny leans in close. The soft press of their lips brings tears to Gordon's eyes, so undeserving of such gentle affection after how much he's failed them, failed all of them. But he's weak and hungry for affection, so he doesn't push them away. At first, as they start to sing, the familiar taste of mint has him thinking of the heal beam. But the sweet richness of honey soon follows, and as it dissolves on his tongue, the throbbing in his head fades away. The nausea soon follows suit, taking the ache in his limbs with him. Even the pain in his leg is reduced from a pulsing heat to a dull ache.
As Benny pulls away, Gordon places a hand on the back of their head, prolonging the kiss just a moment longer. For this, he's rewarded with a hint of color in Benny's cheeks. "Thank you," he murmurs, leaning their foreheads together. "That was… I feel much better, now."
The smile on Benny's lips may be small, but it's still one of the most beautiful things Gordon's ever seen. Their eyes dart back and forth from him to his tea, timid. "I, um… I'm glad that, that I… that I could help."
They sit in silence after that, drinking their tea and letting the night pass them by. Eventually, Gordon finds his eyelids growing heavy and his every breath turning into a yawn, so with some help from Benny, he heads back to the couch.
As he pulls them down against his chest, he whispers into their hair, "I'm sorry I keep waking you."
"It's okay," they respond, just as, if not even quieter than him. "You—I'm here for you."
Gordon pulls in a breath, blinking to will away the tears forming in his eyes. He doesn't deserve that. But he's weak, and they're here. So he pulls Benny closer, and prays that his sleep will be merciful for what little night remains.
That turns out to be not much. Everything is a blur, and he can't be sure if he slept when there's just a chasm of darkness between the last time he heard Benny's voice and the gentle call of their voice now. Everything else, he feels like he might've been aware of, or maybe he wasn't. But it takes so long for him to properly register that he's being spoken to.
"Gordon." He can feel hands on his cheeks, lightly patting him. "Wuh, wake up. Benrey's here."
Those two words send a jolt through him powerful enough to shove the last vestiges of sleep into their final resting place. He's fully alert, taking in his environment with Benny laid at his side, their upper half leaned over his chest.
"Whuh… Buh… Benrey's back?"
"I… I just heard them… and, um… there's, someone… they're upstairs."
Without thought, Gordon pushes to his feet, just to stumble as his leg refuses to bend with the cast wound firmly around it. This keeps tripping him up, but he can't help it. Benrey's back, and…
Do they even want to see him? They went right upstairs without even stopping to check on him. But, no, he can't think this way. More than anything else, he wants to see Benrey, even if they don't want to talk to him. It's just the fear of rejection making his every step so much more complicated than it needs to be, even with the makeshift cane and a broken leg.
That's when he spots the seal plush discarded on the floor. He remembers Benrey holding this a few times during the game yesterday; they must've dropped it during the argument. Regardless, this'll make a good peace offering.
With Benny to hand it to him, he carries it to the stairwell, where Benny helps him up before pointing him towards the master bedroom with an encouraging thumbs up. At least they believe in him… or they're just being nice. Stepping forward with the wall to help him maintain balance, he approaches the bedroom door, slightly ajar, and pushes it the rest of the way.
In his pursuit of Benrey, the existence of their new skeleton had completely slipped his mind. Not that he forgot, how could he? But Benrey's all that's on his mind, right now.
Until he sees them. And they're obviously not a skeleton anymore. The sight of them freezes Gordon in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat. Laid tucked under a pile of blankets is Benrey, eyes closed and breaths slow. By their side… this must be Benoit. They've been busy, clearly. While still without skin on most of their body, making their features tough to distinguish, there's a stark difference between them and Benny or Benrey. Everything is bigger, rounder, hair cropped close to their head.
And then their eyes meet, and Gordon's heart clenches. Staring right back at him are a pair of smooth green eyes not unlike his own, and it's like the devil whispering directly into his ear, telling him he doesn't belong here. That he's being replaced. What else could it mean, that one day, Benrey's upset at him, and the next, their skeleton's grown to be a large man with the same eyes as him?
But he tries not to think that. Tries to battle it down. Clutches the plush a little tighter against his body as he takes a tentative step forward.
"Hey, Benoit…" he starts, awkwardness pouring off him in droves. "I—Are they asleep? I came to apologize, but…"
If they only just got back now… his eyes fall on the chullo hanging from the headboard. Of course. They wouldn't want to be disturbed if they're that cold. But what he wouldn't give to crawl in beside them, gather them up in his arms, and fall back asleep.
Except that the spot next to them is taken. There's no room for him here, not with Benoit taking over his role just fine.
"I'll let them sleep," he continues. "They obviously need it. Just… can I…"
Awkwardly, he raises up the plush. Benoit's eyes fall to it, pupils going from thin pinpricks to a slight dilation. They take a slow breath, large chests welling against the fabric of their tank top.
And then they hold out their hand, the one that isn't combing through Benrey's hair, palm up, making a "hand it over" gesture with their fingers. Their claws are sharp, fingers thicker than Benrey's, and there's a patch of skin growing on their palm and down their wrist. The blue-gray is even lighter than Benrey and Benny's skin.
It's stupid, but Gordon wanted to give it to Benrey, to stroke their hair and leave a kiss behind on their forehead. At least then, he'd feel like he started to apologize. But as always, Benoit won't even let him approach Benrey.
Reluctantly, Gordon steps forward to hand over the plush, and the second it graces Benoit's palm, it's yanked away. Placed under the blanket, where Benrey whines in displeasure before wrapping their arms around it. Benoit pats their face, brushing the hair out of their eyes. The only redeeming quality about this giant lump of an alien is how tender they are with Benrey, touching them much the same way Gordon longs to do himself.
Though Benoit's head is angled to watch them, their eyes are aimed at Gordon, thin pupils radiating hostility. It's clear Benoit desires his absence, but Gordon can't make himself leave. His eyes linger on Benrey, on their sleeping form and peaceful face, so different from the images that've been plaguing him all night. They're here, and they're okay.
And the longer Gordon takes to leave, the more impatient Benoit becomes, until they're rudely shooing him away with their hand. The gesture has his attention snapping back towards them, the urge to snap at them rising, but he bites it back. Benrey wouldn't like it if he went around antagonizing their new skeleton.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm going. Just, gimme a minute," Gordon says, a flash of agitation washing over him as Benoit gives him an unimpressed look. It's only in the eyes, but Gordon can feel it plain as day. "I… look. We obviously got off on the wrong foot, here, so, I—I don't know if you think I'm some kind of threat or what, but whatever it is, you can explain it to me once you can talk, so we can put all this behind us, okay?"
Glancing to Benrey one last time, Gordon turns and leaves the room, closing the door behind him along the way. Yet, despite his irritation, despite his big fancy speech, despite all of that… everything feels bad. It's all wrong.
Of course Benrey would go and grow a better fucking version of him. They might love him, but wouldn't it be so much better if he wasn't human? Now, they've got just that, a big, burly, green-eyed alien to cuddle up to, that won't fail at every basic task, that actually understands their sweet voice, that can keep up with them. No wonder Benoit hates him. They were made to replace him.
And there's that voice again, whispering in the back of his head, urging him to leave. Grab the keys, get into the van, and go. It didn't work last time because Benrey didn't want to be alone. But they're not alone anymore. They have two of their own kind to spend their eternity with.
Why would they miss him, when they have someone much better than him now?