Work Text:
The smell of blood is poignant in the air. With how humid it is, the sweat clings to Gordon’s tired face as if it's too afraid to fall. He’s knee-deep in blood and the stench of Benrey’s strong cologne mixes with the stale iron scent. Gordon breathes out heavily, staring out into the darkness that threatens to swallow him whole with each passing second. No sound, no movement. Just him and the darkness. Where is he? Where’s that damnable man? Clenching his teeth, Gordon tries not to fall apart at the slightest sound of sloshing water beneath him.
Holding his arm gun close to his chest plate, his eyes dart around for a sign, for anything. Sweat drips from his hairline, running down the bridge of his nose. Glasses askew, he whips around at a particularly human-like croak. It’s getting hotter, unbearably so. The tingles going up his spine is an unwelcome addition to his growing paranoia. Underneath him, the water turns to sludge and then thickens to a tar.
Gordon suddenly finds it hard to move at all. It sticks to his legs, clinging as if they’re Koalas to a tree.
He yelps, feeling the cold tar seep into his HEV suit and touch his skin. It’s burning red hot, despite the initial cold feeling. To his right, an old croaking of a voice, unused for decades, calls out to him. Alluring, Gordon can’t help to blush at the low baritones of the voice. The tar is eating him up now, feeling like tiny worms snacking on the soft flesh of his legs. They’re painful, but Benrey’s voice soothes the discomfort. The darkness is threatened and ripples as someone steps through the veil.
In front of him, Dr. Coomer stands motionlessly with his arms folded behind his back. His dead stare gives Gordon the feeling that he did something terribly wrong. Like the sins weighing on his back will kill and consume him if he’s not careful.
“ Gordon Freeman,” Dr. Coomer purrs, a mischievous glint in his eye twinkling as he speaks, “are we only mere puppets? What do you see when you look at us?” The scientist takes a careful step forward, eyes narrowing as he watches Gordon struggle against the black tar. It’s crawling up his chest. “Code? Your friends? ” He spits the word out like it was poison in his mouth, grimacing before he recovers smoothly. “We know there’s a world outside of here, Wayne-”
Wayne? Who is that? His name is Gordon fucking Freeman! As he tries to open his mouth, the black tar crawls in and sticks painfully to his gums. It burns. Gordon’s hand flies up to the tar, yet it only sticks to his fingertips and burns the flesh off. Dr. Coomer takes out ‘The Big One’ and points it menacingly at Gordon. His grin is sickening, making Gordon’s stomach twist and turn in all the wrong ways. The pain, becoming unbearable, makes him sink to his knees as he screams in pain. He claws at his head, trying to rip the tar-like substance off of his face. Tears freely flow down his reddening cheeks, looking up to the scientist as a last-ditch effort to-
“-AND WE WANT IN!”
Gordon’s eyes shoot open, chest heaving as he stares up at the popcorn ceiling. A gentle hand rests on his shoulder and a familiar man shifts their weight on the bed. Benry’s concerned face hovers over his sweat-drenched body, eyes traveling over Gordon’s pale cheeks as he wipes some tears that fall from his red eyes.
“Gordon?” He whispers, voice soft and low in contrast to Freeman’s screaming and thrashing. Weary and weak, a shaky hand lifts towards Benry’s cheek as he cups it and leaves it there. The very fact that he was there calms him ever so slightly. Benry tries to smile, his lips not quite reaching the tips of his ears like they always do. With a soft sigh, his lover grasps Gordon’s clammy hand and kisses the inside of his palm. Gordon decides that he likes the feeling of Benry’s stubble brushing up harshly against him.
Sitting up, Gordon uses his pillows to support him as he stares lovingly into those two chocolate eyes that stabilize him. Ever since the incident at Black Mesa and the events that unfolded in front of The Science Team™, they’ve all had their share of nightmares that plague them. It always seems to be worse for Gordon, though. Of course, it is. He’s been through hell and back, had his arm forcefully lobbed off, and had the people he trusted betray him. Well, all except Tommy. A soothing hand rubs at Gordon’s bicep and Benry moves to sit down next to him. His soft, ache-free face twists Gordon’s stomach into knots. He feels good when Benry rests his head against his chest, listening quietly to his heartbeat.
Silently, he presses a keen kiss to Gordon’s chin.
Benry haunts everyone’s dreams, of course. The way his claws sink into the water, eyes bright as the tidal waves of blood come down upon them are etched into everyone’s minds. Fuck, Gordon can still clearly hear Benry’s gut-wrenching screams as it echoes throughout his lair. It’s mind-bending to think about how the man beside him, who’s kissing away all of Gordon’s worries and fears, tried to utterly annihilate them because of a fucking… dick slip? He’s still not happy about that one. Gordon pauses his train of thought, eyes narrowing as he thinks back to their harrowing fight with Benrey.
Wait.
Slowly, Gordon turns to Benry with utter confusion, hand on Benry’s own arm as if to feel the authenticity of his warm skin. The man merely smiles awkwardly, one eyebrow raised as he watches Gordon fondle his muscles. Soft, sweet, and warm. The hairs on Benry’s forearm react to Gordon’s rough touch, bristling as he runs the calloused pads of his fingers across his scar-freckled skin. Moving his hand upwards, he cups Benry’s stubble-ridden cheek. The man smiles, leaning in to kiss the palm of his hand. Benry’s eyelashes flutter against his palm as he looks towards Gordon with a sugar-sweet stare.
The twisting of his stomach and the heartbeats of his poor little heart says something completely different from how he really thinks. With his fingers dancing across Benry’s gaunt cheeks, he leans in for a quick peck on the lips. Warm and chapped, their lips move in tandem with each other. The feeling in his chest is swelling to astronomical heights, leaving him light on his toes as he fights back the urge to press deeper; to explore this man’s body from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. Gordon feels flushed as Benry’s hands smooth out across Gordon’s wide shoulders before stopping at his neck, where he hooks his arms around him with the intent to make him forget.
Hook, line, and sinker. Mind full of haze, Gordon backs away with a breath, face flush to the tips of his ears. He’s real. He’s real when he shouldn’t be. The body under him is breathing; a real replica of the person who followed him to the end of their journey. Here Benry is, cherry red with a sickly sweet smile plastered haphazardly on his face. The memories of Benrey’s nightmarish form clears the fog from his mind and makes him realize something.
Benry should be dead.
Slowly, Gordon untangles himself from Benry and holds him at an arm's length. Eyes wide, his eyebrows furrow in confusion as his hand tightly grips the other’s shoulders.
“Who… are you?” He asks. It takes thirty seconds for Benry to respond and all he does is tilt his head and mutter a small ‘huh?’ under his breath. This annoys Gordon to no ends. Shaking his head, he pushes the topic further. “You’re not Benry. No, you can’t be. He’s… dead .” Eyes blank, the man just stares back at him as if it’s calculating and planning. The first sign of life that comes out of him is the narrowing of his eyes and the constant tapping of his left pointer finger. Before Gordon’s eyes, the man who had once peppered him with kisses with the sweetest face turns into something darker. Somehow, it’s much more suited to the Benrey he had fought in the lair.
“He wouldn’t be dead if you had just followed the script, Dr. Feetman.” The man spits out heinously, hissing through his sharp teeth. Hey, when did he get those bad boys? His teeth gleam in the darkness, sharper than a fucking knife’s edge. Gordon imagines those canines digging jaggedly into his flesh, ripping skin from bone as he savors the iron flavor with delight. It makes him shiver, and not in a good way. Gordon stumbles out of the bed, knocking into the end table with a yelp. The lamp and alarm clock merely rattle and he’s quick to try and catch anything that threatens to fall.
Gripping the edge of the end table, he sighs out of his nose and whips his head over to Benrey. Snarling, the corner of his lips is downturned as he spits out a reply. “What script? There was no fucking script! We were fighting for our lives, not performing in a goddamn play!” Benrey watches him carefully with narrowed eyes as Gordon paces the room with clenched fists. The man—is he really a man now? With those teeth?—scoffs and rolls his eyes.
“Y’know, we could have been the best of friends. We could have worked together as a team. We could have been THE power duo; the yin to my yang. The Bonnie to my Clyde. But NO,” the room trembled due to Benrey’s powerful voice. It knocks over paintings and nearly moves furniture. Gordon has to stabilize himself before his knees give out under him, one strong hand on the end table as support. Benrey hesitates to open his mouth again, eyes trained to the bed as he lowers his voice considerably, “you just had to ruin it all. You just had to deviate and become a bigger problem than Dr. Coomer.” His eyes—there’ two more now, piercing red—sink their claws into his soul and hook onto him firmly. His eyes were akin to a predators and it seems like Gordon is his small little prey.
Fear is an emotion he has become quite acquainted with over the past week in Black Mesa. It filled his chest with uncertainty and all he would want to do is curl up in a corner and disappear. But with a gun in his hand, he had the power to eliminate the pain and he used it to its best capacity. But now? He stares down the face of pure evil, half-naked and shaking.
Gordon is vastly unprepared for this.
So vastly unprepared that he makes up his mind and just starts sprinting for the bedroom door like a fucking lunatic. Benrey chokes on his spit, launching off of the bed as Gordon’s hand grazes the doorknob. He stands in the middle of the room, a blanket tangled around his body as he speaks with exasperation.
“ Gordon! I swear to fucking god, if you open that door, I’ll-” Benrey pauses, looking quite hesitant as he shakes his head. “ Babe, just don’t open that door. Pretty please?” The attempt is pathetic enough and Gordon is partially disgusted by the fact that he’d be this soft with him. Fuck, after he gets out of here he’ll have to find his way to Bubby and Coomer’s place without a phone. With a hand firmly grasping the knob, he takes one last sore glance at Benrey before twisting the knob properly. Unbeknownst to Gordon, Benrey narrows all four of his eyes and mutters an “ oh wow alright ” under his breath.
The door is flung open and Gordon simply sways uneasily at the edge of the floor. Oh my god. There’s nothing. The surroundings are empty, devoid of any life or sound. Eyes wide and mouth open, he takes a cautious step outside of the [map] boundary. It’s cold and all of the hairs on Gordon’s body stand up on edge as he peers out into the darkness. His ears are ringing from the eternal silence and he doesn’t think his human body can take such a mind-bending feeling correctly. A pounding headache blooms behind his eyes as he thinks.
A pair of steady arms wrap around his waist just as Gordon nearly collapses to his knees, reeling at the loud, static-y ringing encompassing his entire being. Benrey pulls him back into the room, throwing him onto the floor before he’s closing the door with a slam and a click from the lock. Benrey breathes heavily to catch his breath as Gordon leans his head against the bed frame. The ringing fades into obscurity and the headache dies down into a slight buzz.
“ What is your fucking damage?” Gordon gasps, feigning surprise.
“Wow. Rude. ” Benrey groans, holding his head in his hands as he paces toward Gordon with a grimace. Running a hand through his short tousled hair, Gordon notices that his four eyes have been reduced to two. His teeth are still there, though.
“You should have listened to me. I told you not to open that door.” He hisses out, pointing to the menacing door looming in the distance. “But you still fucking opened it… A-Are you okay, babe?” Gordon blinks slowly, staring up at Benrey who cautiously pats his head out of comfort. Beside him, the alarm clock is blaring loudly. Doesn’t Benrey know that? It’s so fucking loud. Deafening, even. Gordon gets up, steady on both of his legs as he grabs the alarm clock on the end table. He presses the button to shut it off, but it doesn’t. Pursing his lips, he presses it again. And again. And again.
Benrey merely watches him with crossed arms, eyebrows furrowed as he watches Gordon fiddle with the silent clock with growing annoyance. It gets to the point where Gordon takes out the batteries and, when it wouldn’t stop screeching at him, throws it against the wall out of frustration. He groans, shutting his eyes as he drops to his knees. Great, now it’s too loud instead of too silent.
Benrey gets on his knees too, holding Gordon’s weary face in his hands as he kisses the top of his head. His cold hands gently cup Gordon’s cheeks, planting his lips on every piece of exposed skin on his face as he can to help erase the pain. They’re chapped to all hell but the comforting touch soothes him little by little. Eyelashes fluttering open, Gordon sees Benrey’s collarbone as he reaches up to kiss his forehead.
Gathering the man into his lap, Gordon just holds him silently in his embrace. It’s soft as hell and Benrey finds himself quite enjoying it, especially with his arms hooked around the man’s neck. With his face buried in Gordon’s hair, he mumbles out a small apology, eyes lowering as he breathes in the comforting natural scent of his lover.
“Gordon?” Benrey whispers, softly leaning away from him. Gordon looks up at him with curiosity. “You don’t know how lucky you are, being able to…” Benrey shuts his mouth for a second, eyes blank before he continues. “I think…” he hesitates as if he doesn’t want to spit it out, “... it’s time for you to wake up.” With a hand caressing the back of his head, Benrey’s lips press against the shell of Gordon’s ear. “Wake up and…”
“...smell the ashes.”
Gordon Freeman wakes up to an empty bed and a racing mind. The mattress squeaks under his weight as he sits up and puts on his glasses. Holy shit, he’s sweating and it’s one in the morning. He groans, arms resting on his knees as he rubs his eyes out of pure exhaustion. The familiar weight of the USB stick hangs heavy off of his neck as he goes to stretch his back. It’s the nightmares he’s been having recently. He believes those are causing his troubled nights. Gordon has tried everything to have a good night’s rest but he can’t quite achieve it.
It’s odd.
Rising to his feet, the buzz of the city keeps him grounded as he shuffles out of his bedroom and into the hallway, where the moonlight shines through the windows and illuminates the family pictures hanging on the wall. He passes by them mutely, hardly sparing a glance at any of them. Instead, he stops in front of the bathroom door and knocks first. Gotta make sure the spirits know you’re coming in.
Twisting the knob, he slams it shut behind him and flicks on the orange light. He’s bathed in the light, narrowing his eyes at the brightness before he’s soon adjusted to it. Those vivid green eyes stare back at him, watching his moves carefully. He scratches his chin idly, staring at the long stretch of his jawline before it reaches his ear, all covered in a healthy, growing beard. Damn, he’s sexy. He winks at himself before he turns on the faucet.
The hum of water fills the room and Gordon cups his hands under the stream, filling it with water before he’s bending over and splashing it all over his face. It’s cold and it’s exactly what he needed. He takes more brief washes, reveling in the cold nip as he turns off the water and sighs. Gripping the edge of the sink, Gordon spits into the sink and looks up at himself in the mirror.
With a soft smile, he looks down to the USB stick and rubs at the outside with a nostalgic look. Yeah, he should go back to sleep before he drops dead in the hallway. With a sigh, he flicks off the bathroom light and closes the door behind him.
In the gloom, disturbing the blanket of darkness, Benry stares at his own reflection with a frown. He needs a good goddamn shave.