Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Rain plinks off the hood of Gordon's car, the road ahead of him empty and shrouded in the darkness of night. After the six hour drive he'd just embarked on, Gordon wanted nothing more than to pull up to his apartment, take the snacks and drinks he'd picked up along the way up to his apartment, and relax. Throw off his shoes. Bum around in some sweats. It wasn't like anyone was around to notice; not since he'd dropped Joshie off at his mom's.

His apartment isn't anything special. At this time of night—around eleven, judging by the digital numbers on his lockscreen—most of his neighbors are asleep, leaving him with nothing but the streetlights near the parking lot and his phone flashlight to guide him up the stairs to his door.

After such a long drive, his brain is utterly numb, partway to being asleep already. It's not until he's right outside his door that he realizes it's ajar. He freezes, eyes scanning the opening, like perhaps his mind is just playing tricks on him—it did that, sometimes, especially in the early-post Black Mesa days. He's learned to pause before reacting with too much panic.

But his eyes aren't tricking him. His heart begins to pound, and he reaches for the switchblade in the back pocket of his jeans. If all else failed, he could swing his groceries around like a morningstar, or launch the drinks as projectiles.

Gordon thinks through all this as he creeps inside, as quiet as could be expected with the crinkling of a plastic bag in his hand. Aside from the doorway, and the open curtains of a window on the opposite end of the apartment, there's no light. That fact has him hesitating to step any further than the doorway. He reaches for the light switch near the door, but no matter how many times he flicks it, nothing happens. Power outage. Great.

Closing the door, he takes a tentative step forward, freezing at the sound of a wet squelch beneath his boot. Images of corpses and puddles of blood flash through his mind unbidden, panic lacing through him. For a moment he stops to take a deep, steadying breath as quietly as possible.

Though he knows his own apartment enough to get around in the dark, that doesn't mean he doesn't take baby steps, eyes darting around but finding nothing. In the upper right is the kitchen, and he stops just outside upon hearing a bit of noise from inside. He adjusts his hold on the knife three times before he's satisfied, stepping inside with the blade poised for a good stabbing.

Immediately he notices something odd; a glowing pair of eyes highly reminiscent of a cat, only far too large. They blink slowly, aimed somewhere away from him.

At first, he swears his eyes are playing tricks on him, for real this time. It could be a normal cat someone let in, thinking it was his, and they just forgot to close the door afterwards. His landlord could have unlocked it for them, or maybe it was his landlord that let the cat in. He only thought the eyes were abnormally large. And, with it being a totally normal cat, there'd be no harm in setting his bags down, aiming his phone flashlight at the feline, before picking them up and setting them back outside where they belonged.

Except he doesn't do any of that, because—if it wasn't a cat, and he had to believe there was a very slim chance of it not being a cat… the alternative is something he doesn't know what to do with.

He hasn't wanted to face much of anything that happened back at Black Mesa now that it was gone. Sure, he had remained in contact with the Science Team, they were all in a group chat, they go out sometimes, and they've all been over at least once. But they didn't talk about the facility, and if it was brought up, Gordon simply wouldn't engage with it. Why bother? They were free now. No longer threatened by weird aliens, or the United States military.

At least, he hoped the military wasn't about to be on their asses. The weird aliens, however…

Just when he thinks to back out, pretend he hadn't seen anything and pray it all just, goes away on its own—the glowing eyes suddenly snap in his direction, a trio of glowing teal orbs appearing alongside a high note. The orbs illuminate a pale, blue-gray face, making their eyes glow such a bright yellow it washes out the pupils.

The voice that breaks through the silence is extremely at odds with the tension hanging in the air. "Ohhhh, yoooo, Feetman's home. Hey your bathroom's sucks, bro, there's, uh, no seat."

Flabbergasted, Gordon can't bring himself to do anything for several long moments, remaining perfectly still, stiff, beneath the kitchen archway. For all the fear making his heart pound like crazy, hearing such absurd words in a voice he had hoped never to hear again is so bizarre it has his brain short circuiting. How the hell was he supposed to respond to this? Eventually, he bewilderingly states, "…Dude, this isn't a bathroom. It's my kitchen."

"What?"

Gordon slowly shakes his head—what the hell was going on? They were supposed to be dead!—and sets his snacks down on the table to his right. Retrieving his phone, he shines the flashlight into the dark kitchen.

There's something so distinctly uncanny about seeing Benrey standing in his apartment in full uniform. Or just Benrey at all, but the padded security vest and helmet shadowing their eyes makes it a hell of a lot weirder. Rainwater, or so Gordon assumes, drips off them and into a sizeable puddle on the floor, where Gordon also spots a mess of muddy footprints on the tile. That explained what he'd stepped in earlier, but still none of it made sense.

"What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were dead!" Gordon exclaims, fingers tightening around the knife, keeping the weapon in mind should he end up having to use it. Not that it was likely to do much good if a mini-gun couldn't even affect them.

"I got better," Benrey says, like that somehow explains everything. Instead, it just makes Gordon want to scream. As they speak, their attention quickly slides off Gordon, glancing around the kitchen instead. Gordon follows suit, noticing nearly every cabinet or drawer hanging wide open. "Obviously. Hey, you got any towels?"

"What?"

"Towels, please? Come on, bro, I just got rained on. This is some pretty shit hospitality. Uncool. Zero stars."

"Wh—I didn't even invite you!"

"Well yeah, I was dead. G, Gordon Freeman forget how die works? Baby nerd brain can't remember die?" Though he fumes at their words, they ignore him completely, stepping over to the only remaining cabinet left unopened, quickly rectifying that by flinging it open. "Yoooo, you got fruit loops?"

"Get out of my house!!" Gordon yells, catching himself as the heat of anger flares a little too hot—it was just so easy where Benrey was concerned. But he couldn't fly off the handle, not when he had neighbors who could file a noise complaint against him.

Worse is that his demand goes entirely ignored. The box of cereal is in the security guard's hands, and he's picking at the flap with the tip of one claw like he's never encountered one before. It's when he makes a move to open it with his teeth that Gordon swoops in, snatching it out of their hands. "Dude, what the hell? You can't just break in and start fucking with things! Why are you even here?"

"Huh?" Blinking up at him, their attention quickly slides away again, spotting the snacks on the table nearby. "What's that?"

"It's not yours, is what it is," Gordon responds, putting the cereal back where it belongs as Benrey makes their way over to examine the bag's contents.

There's a bottle of coke in their hands that they're observing very closely as they say, "You steal this?"

"The receipt is literally in the bag!" Gordon exclaims, frustrated; why now, why tonight? He just wanted to rest and now he was dealing with… this. The guard's eyes stare blankly towards the plastic bag, blinking slowly.

Sighing, Gordon slams his phone down on the counter a bit rougher than intended so the light illuminates the whole room, then storms over to extract the receipt himself, holding it up for Benrey to take. Instead, they lean forward and start reading it, taking such an enormously long time that Gordon's tempted to just reach out and choke them instead. "Dude, just take it."

"Mmm," they hum in consideration, holding that note for an obnoxious length of time before smacking their lips. "Looks good."

"I know it does! Just—Eugh."

He crumples up the paper and tosses it into a bin nearby. It bounces off the rim, ending up on the tile floor instead. They both stare at it for a moment before Benrey says, "Pick that up." Gordon groans.

"You pick it up! I don't have the patience to deal with you tonight."

"Little rude. And after everything I've done for you."

"What—What have you ever done for me?!" Gordon exclaims, angrily gesticulating as he speaks. He waits for an answer, every bit like an upset parent demanding an explanation from their misbehaving child. Instead, Benrey looks away almost immediately, their bored expression making it impossible to tell what they're thinking. A beat passes before they look back up at Gordon.

"Huh?" They look around again. "Hey, you got any towels?"

Gordon could scream.

He doesn't know why he's doing this. There's no reason for him to be doing this. Both the logical and emotional parts of his brain scream at him to get the eldritch being out of his apartment as soon as possible. And yet, he's done the opposite. Benrey is even deeper inside his home, poking nosily around his bathroom as he grabs some clean towels out from a shelf by the sink. Their shoes were off, dangling from one of their hands since Gordon had refused to let them roam around with muddy boots on. This was a rental. They can't go mucking up the carpets.

And of course they teased him about just wanting to see their feet. The barrage of "Feetman" only stopped a few moments ago, as Benrey grew more interested in looking at everything in his surroundings instead. They turn at the sight of him holding out a pale yellow towel toward them, but instead of taking it and using it to dry off, they incline their head forward expectantly.

"Wh—Dude, no. I'm not gonna dry your fucking helmet, do it yourself."

"Mean," they whine. "Mean to me." Though, they take the towel anyway, staring at it for a moment before sniffing curiously at it, like a fucking rabbit, or something. Gordon sighs, gritting his teeth to try and hold down his temper.

"Just, put your uniform in the tub or something and I'll get you some clothes." He should have something, something old he doesn't really care about, though the pants might end up a little too long. They weren't that short, but in comparison to Gordon? Night and day.

They mumble some sort of answer. Gordon doesn't really care to figure out what it was, leaving them behind so he can go dig through his closet. The power had come back on along the way to the bathroom, thank god, though there was still a stream of purple to green Sweet Voice along the hallway that had yet to fade away. He's not sure what it means, but it doesn't matter right now.

His bedroom is tiny, only a bit wider than the bathroom but just as cramped in the other direction. He digs through the wall closet, finding some old, navy blue sweats and an MIT hoodie with some tears in the band at the bottom before returning to the bathroom with them draped over his arms.

Considering Gordon had just instructed Benrey to strip, he keeps his eyes directed too high up to see anything he doesn't want to see as he steps back into the bathroom. "Dry off and change into these," he says, placing the clothes on the back of the toilet.

"Already dry. Slow. Slow boy. Taking forever, leaving me all alone. Worst host."

"Yeah, whatever," Gordon grumbles, refusing to let the alien's words get to him. Leaning back against the sink, Gordon remains by the door, not trusting Benrey anymore than he already has. They don't seem too bothered by his presence; whether it's because they have zero shame, or they've just noticed his aversion to looking at them, he isn't sure.

Either way, they finish up pretty quickly. He only notices because of how they move to stand right in front of him, leaning into his sightline bit by bit until he finally notices, and nearly jumps out of his skin at the same time.

"Jesus! Say something, next time."

They give him one of their little smug smiles. Their expressions only ever happened in small increments, yet, somehow, Gordon found it easy to recognize each and every one and exactly what they meant. This says they're about to make fun of him, and, sure enough, they say, "Gonna have a heart attack on me, Feetman? Gonna keel over, right here?"

Gordon refuses to stoop to their level and engage with their childishness. Instead, his unimpressed look turns to one of confusion as he realizes—they're still wearing the helmet. It wasn't dripping wet anymore, but, still.

"Dude. What's with the helmet?"

Blinking, their eyes go wide like a cat on high alert, staring up at him. "Whuh?" Both their hands are busy toying with the strings on the hoodie, though they stop very abruptly.

"We're not at Black Mesa anymore, you don't have to wear that. Just take it off, man."

There's another long moment of silence, which doesn't surprise Gordon, but it is starting to wear on his patience. The avoidance of eye contact just makes it even harder to tell if they're paying attention. If they're trying to annoy him, or…

"You keep tellin' me to strip," Benrey says, a small grin on their face as they stare up at Gordon. "Got the hots for me, huh? Gay boy? Wanna kiss or something?"

In response, Gordon loudly groans; if there were more space in the bathroom, he might be tempted to start pacing. "Knock that shit off, man. Too late at night for me to deal with your weird flirting bit." Neutrality falls back over Benrey's expression, eyes dull beneath the shadow of his helmet. Not once do they look away. "Just figured it must be pretty uncomfortable, that's all. I wouldn't want to sleep in a shitty helmet."

The staring continues for a prolonged moment, during which Gordon gets real close to just giving up and leaving the room, before they turn away. He can't tell if they're pondering his suggestion or just trying to annoy him. If they look back and go "huh?" one more time, he's going to chuck them out a window.

Instead, they reach up for the helmet, carefully easing it off their head. Bit of an anticlimax, that they'd just go right for it like that, but, at least they could move on—Gordon does a double take, watching as the curly black hair under Benrey's helmet unfurls more and more as the helmet is removed. Once its fully off, their hair flows down to reach the center of their back. Its unruly and greasy, hanging in the middle of their face like some kind of Ringu shit. Gordon can't help the stupefied look that comes over him.

"Dude."

Benrey stares down at the helmet in his hands before raising his head. Gordon would describe his expression as blank, if not for the slight edge of discomfort he's doing way too good of a job at hiding. That Gordon could even spot it at all has him feeling a little annoyed. He doesn't want to be good at reading Benrey, he wants them to leave. They just aren't making it easy to get rid of them, and he doesn't trust that bodily forcing them from his apartment would end well for him.

"I had no idea you had so much hair under that thing," Gordon says, honestly pretty amazed just by how much of it there was. Never in a million years would he have pictured this; a buzzcut or something, maybe. Benrey blinks up at him, their eyes more black than blue. "But when was the last time you washed that thing, man?"

"Uh, a normal amount of time ago," Benrey answers, like it's obvious. "When do you wash your hair, huh?"

Gordon wisely decides not to dignify that with a response. Instead, he considers offering to let them use the shower, but promptly shuts that train of thought down. This was too far already. They weren't buddies. Benrey tried to kill him. Tried to kill all of them. Got his arm cut off (even if it did come back, through some method he'd rather not think too deeply about). Not to mention, Benrey's an obnoxious ass. He has to remember that, or his natural sense of hospitality is going to go way too far.

In the morning, though Gordon currently has no reason to need to be up at any specific time, he drags himself out of bed at the blaring of his alarm around seven in the morning. He doesn't remember sleeping, which is either a wonderful blessing or a horrible curse. Either way, he trips on his way out of bed, going about his morning routine as normal.

It's when he stumbles, exhausted, into the living room that the previous night comes crashing back down upon him. On the living room couch was Benrey, hood pulled up over his head, sprawled out with one leg hanging off the side. There's a 3DS in his hands that definitely isn't his. Gordon would recognize his 3DS anywhere, considering he'd let his son decorate it with stickers, little pups decorating the top cover. He's also pretty sure he'd left that in his bedroom desk, not the living room.

"You steal that?" Gordon mockingly asks, so exhausted that he unintentionally makes himself sound like Benrey. They glance over at him briefly.

"Whuh? Yeah—No."

Gordon can't help but laugh, too tired to notice the way Benrey's attention sticks to him like glue the entire time. Maybe the lack of sleep was making him delirious because it takes far too long to get himself to calm down, dragging a hand down the side of his face.

"Just don't break it, man," he says, before heading into the kitchen nearby.

Moving through the act of cooking breakfast on autopilot, he ponders his current predicament. He needed to tell Benrey to leave. Their uniform should be dry, and even if it isn't, well, they can keep the clothes Gordon gave them. With no excuses left, maybe ordering them to get out would actually work.

He's halfway through a boring, traditional American breakfast when he notices a presence behind him. Soon after he's registered that, there's a pressure against his back he quickly realizes is Benrey leaning on him. Startled, he jumps away from them, nearly flipping his eggs directly onto the stovetop. As expected, they're right behind him, staring at him perplexingly.

"Dude, don't touch me," Gordon snaps, heart hammering; he's not sure what exactly they were just trying to pull, but a quick scan down their body reveals no weapons in their hands, or any sort of offensive stance. Still, it's hard to calm down after that. It could have been anything. A stab in the back, a broken neck, wire wrapped around his throat. His voice wavers a bit as he continues, "Gonna make me fuckin'—burn my eggs or something."

"Uh, calm down, maybe? Yeah?" They point at the eggs. "Can I have some of that?"

"No! Dude, if you're hungry just go home and make your own fuckin' eggs."

"Can't," they say, watching the eggs fry with total focus. Gordon squints down at them.

"Uh, why not?"

Nearly a full minute of silence passes, and Gordon sighs, frustrated. He goes back to cooking, pointedly pretending to ignore his unwanted guest. Not an easy task, when the weird eldritch abomination that tried to kill you is now stalking you around your kitchen like a lost puppy, dead silent. If only he was just dead, then Gordon wouldn't be dealing with this.

"Stop staring at me!" Gordon eventually snaps, now sitting at the small round table inside his kitchen with his food while Benrey hovers nearby. The guard alternates staring directly at him, and at his food. "Don't you have somewhere better to be? How'd you even find my house, anyway?"

"S'got your name on it," they say. Gordon frowns, taking a moment to think back on what his doorplate looks like; it was just some brass numbers above the peephole. Not even the mailbox downstairs had any of the resident's names on them.

"No, it doesn't?" Gordon argues, bemused.

"Uh, yeah. 'Property of Gordon Freeman', says so right on the door. Like, uh, get your eyes checked, bro."

Squinting perplexingly up at the alien who shows no hint that they're joking anywhere in their expression, Gordon decides to just let it go. Just more nonsense, like everything else that came out of their mouth. He's not sure why he ever expected to get a straight answer out of them.

After one of the most uncomfortable bites of a piece of toast he's ever experienced in his life due to how intensely Benrey is watching him, Gordon groans, throwing down his silverware. "If I make you some fucking eggs, will you stop being such a creep?" he asks. Looking up, he catches them nodding eagerly.

He's not sure what, exactly, happened in his life to bring him to this point. Maybe this was karmic retribution for something he's done, though he's not sure what he's done wrong. He certainly hadn't asked for this, and he's not sure how to get out of this with his life intact, either.

Yelling at Benrey to get out would either alert the neighbors, yield zero results, or, potentially, piss Benrey off. Not that it tended to in the past, but. The being now sitting beside him at the breakfast table had immense power the likes of which Gordon couldn't possibly comprehend, and they clearly couldn't be killed. Threatening Benrey with violence wouldn't work either, they clearly couldn't feel pain judging by how often Gordon had shot them directly in the face to absolutely no effect.

So, what? Was he stuck like this? He couldn't even call the police for breaking and entering. He didn't trust uniformed men with firearms to help him, and attracting attention towards a being that couldn't pass as human under closer inspection wouldn't result in anything good. There's only so much they could call a body mod before the excuse stopped being believable.

Maybe the Science Team would have some kind of answer for him. He'd have to tell them about Benrey, anyway.

Should have done that already, actually. He was just running on fumes the previous night; too much to do, too many thoughts racing through his mind, and he'd barely slept. If he'd slept.

It would have to wait, though. If he started texting in front of Benrey, they'd probably start interrogating him or try to take the phone or… something. Something stupid and childish. They're already annoying him far too much just by existing; and as he looks over at them, he feels the urge to start a fight at the way they're mixing all their food into a mushy pile. Though, he can't help but wonder if it's just a provocation, something Benrey's doing to piss him off intentionally, so he doesn't acknowledge it.

And then they eat the fork, somehow, giving some nonsense as a reason as to why when Gordon scolds them for it, prompting him to place his head on the table and scream into the wood.

"Shit table manners, bro," Benrey says, and Gordon's screaming transforms into something between manic laughter and distress.

The upside to this situation is that Benrey is quite possibly the most easily distractible person Gordon's ever met.

"Yooo, you got a PS4?" they ask, kneeling on the floor before the living room TV. Gordon's not sure how the fuck they didn't notice it before then, or maybe this was just another one of those things they were doing to be annoying. The console in question was inside a glass case just below the TV, and Benrey starts setting it up without asking permission.

Gordon can't help but feel his life has just turned into the plot of The Cat in the Hat movie. Except instead of his apartment being invaded by a top hat wearing anthro cat, it's an alien with experience wielding firearms.

With an excuse about needing to use the restroom, Gordon makes his escape, locking himself in the bathroom (not that a lock is any match for Benrey, apparently) with his phone. Through some method he'd prefer not to think too deeply about, every member of the Science Team had been added not just to his contacts list, but his Discord, and just about every platform any of them were on, he was now following, all through no effort on his part. They just appeared.

The group chat on Discord was their primary contact method. It was the easiest way for all of them to communicate at once, though no amount of additional channels would make it any less of a clusterfuck. Gordon's not so sure he'd have it any other way, though.

Hey guys, he types. Bad news.

While waiting on any sort of reaction, he sets the phone aside, staring at his own reflection in the mirror. He didn't look quite alive, his olive skin paler than normal, green eyes bleary behind his glasses and hair sticking up every which way. And after all the months he'd spent trying to relax and regain some semblance of good health. Gone overnight! Fantastic.

His phone screen doesn't even manage to dim before there's a response.

Tommy: What's going on, Mr. Freeman?
Dr. Coomer: Good morning, Gordon!
Gordon: It's Benrey. He showed up at my apartment and I don't know how to get him OUT
Tommy: Have they tried to do anything bad yet? Maybe they just wanted some company!
Gordon: I wish I had your boundless optimism, Tommy, but no. I'm pretty sure he's come back from the dead to annoy the everliving shit out of me and who even knows what he'll end up doing next? He could end just be playing the long con, you know, and next thing you know he's suffocating me in my sleep
Tommy: I don't think they'd try to do that, Mr. Freeman!
Dr. Coomer: They always were fond of you, Gordon!
Gordon: What the hell are you talking about? Benrey's never wanted to do anything but annoy me not to mention he TRIED TO KILL ME and GOT MY ARM CUT OFF
Tommy: Well, Bubby and Dr. Coomer did those things too! And you're friends with them.

That… was a good point, but it didn't quite sit well with him. That was different. Somehow. For some reason. Ugh, he didn't want to spend time thinking about this!

Gordon: That's not the point! I just want him to get out of my apartment
Dr. Coomer: Now Gordon, this sounds like a perfectly fine bonding opportunity for the two of you!
Tommy: Yeah!

…What?

Gordon: I'm sorry, whose side are you guys on?
Tommy: Do you want me to come over later, Mr. Freeman? I'll bring soda!
Dr. Bubby, PhD: Do you want us to come kill him or something?

Those last two messages pop up so fast one after the other that Gordon can't help but snort-laugh at the sight of them right next to each other.

Gordon: No, we can't kill anyone in my apartment. I'll get evicted or arrested or something
Dr. Bubby, PhD: Then stop whining!

With a sigh, he sets his phone aside, contemplating his answer to Tommy's question as he works on brushing through his hair. The wavy mess was making its way down his shoulders now, though it had been a little longer before. He'd had to cut off a lot of it after it got singed or otherwise ruined by the events of Black Mesa. Once he's got it pulled back into a low ponytail, he picks his phone back up.

Tommy: Mr. Freeman, are you still there?
Gordon: I can't help but feel like you guys are underreacting to all this. He did try to kill us, you know?? All of us
Dr. Bubby, PhD: Then do something about it, bitch.
johnwicklover1994 has joined the chat. Welcome!
Gordon: Wait who the fuck
johnwicklover1994: TOMMMYYYYYY
johnwicklover1994: ayy yo bring PIZZA
Tommy: Hi Benry !
Tommy: What kind? :)
Gordon: How the fuck
Gordon: DID YOU INVITE HIM???
Dr. Coomer: Good to see you again, Benrey!
johnwicklover1994: uhhhhhhhh fuckinnnn pineaplles and bring those uhhh dew from the little fridge
Gordon: FUCK OFF YOU ARE NOT BRINGING PINEAPPLE ON PIZZA INTO MY HOUSE
Tommy: It's okay! I can bring separate pizzas for all of us :) Do you want anything to drink, Mr. Freeman ?

For one long, long moment, Gordon contemplates cutting off all his hair, changing his name, and moving to France. But motherfucking Benrey would find some way to teleport into his house, so what was the point?

Fuck it.

Gordon: Diet coke please

It's not even noon yet and his day has had too much in it. After getting properly dressed in a patterned button-up shirt tucked into high waisted roll-up jeans and plain white socks (like hell was he about to let Benrey see his feet), he heads back into the living room. Benrey's laying on the couch upside down, a PS4 controller in his hands, playing…

"Are you playing fucking Fortnite in my living room?"

"Huh?" Their attention strays from the game for just a moment, looking up at him as he rounds the side of the couch and plops down unceremoniously on the opposite end. Gordon crosses his arms and legs, not about to show anything but displeasure at his current situation while he glares up at the screen. "Your other games are sucks, bro."

"What's wrong with my games?" Gordon demands.

Maybe forty-five minutes of pointless arguing and teasing later, there's a knock on the door. The game gets paused immediately, Benrey's attention snapping over to it as Gordon gets up to answer. Checking the peephole first, he opens the door to reveal Tommy standing on the other side, balancing two boxes of Dion's pizza in one hand and a bag of soda in the other. His bold orange shirt tucks into flared pants, a white turtleneck visible underneath.

"Hi, Mr. Freeman!" he greets, with a bright smile almost as sunny as the color of his shirt. "I brought the pizzas!"

In the background, Gordon hears, "TOMMMYYY!!!" in Benrey's usual monotone. With a sigh, Gordon steps aside to let Tommy in, closing the door behind him as he heads right for the living room, where Benrey's leaned over the back of the couch watching everyone closely.

"Dude, quiet down! I don't want the neighbors calling the cops," Gordon scolds as he heads into the kitchen to get some paper plates, cups, and a salt shaker for the pizzas.

"Hi, Benry!" Tommy cheerfully greets, setting the food down on the coffee table. "This one's yours," he says, opening one of the takeout pizza boxes. While Benrey cheers, immediately reaching for a slice, Gordon looks on in disgust.

"You're really eating that shit. Man, I thought you were fucking joking with that pineapple bit."

"Uh, no?" Benrey says, slightly muffled with their mouth full of pizza. "Not my fault you don't have any fuckin' taste, bro."

"They're really pretty—not that bad, Mr. Freeman!" Tommy pipes up. "You should give it a try!"

All Gordon can see is Benrey enthusiastically devouring the cursed pizza with shark-like teeth. The sight unsettles him for multiple reasons; if they were twenty times their current size, those teeth… Gordon shakes that thought away, which just left him with the unspeakable horror that was fruit on pizza.

"IIIIIIIII'm in the Twilight Zone," Gordon hysterically sings to himself, lowering his head into his hands.

Tommy sits on the other end of the couch, sandwiching Benrey in between them. That brings the guard a lot closer to Gordon than he'd prefer, not quite trusting him not to try and pull something nefarious. Sure, he didn't do anything last night when he had a perfectly good chance to, but that didn't mean anything. Maybe he wanted to toy with Gordon first, or traumatize one of his friends in the process.

Except. What follows is so fucking normal that Gordon can't quite believe it. Tommy and Benrey talk like old friends—turns out they are—and then they put on some awful Netflix movie just to trash talk it. No one gets hurt. There's no property damage. Just a lot of talking over a movie while sharing some junk food.

"Yo this movie's fuckin' weird, dude," Benrey says. Pulling their legs up onto the couch, they turn, flopping back against Tommy and putting their feet in Gordon's lap, essentially taking up the entire couch. While Tommy doesn't seem bothered at all, placing his arm comfortably across Benrey's waist, Gordon immediately shoves them away.

"Dude, don't put your gross feet on me."

Bad move, considering that just encourages them to start wiggling their toes directly in front of his face. After a bit of annoyed protesting from Gordon and some witch-like cackling from Benrey, they eventually relent, curling their legs up close to their body.

They tilt their head back to look at Tommy. "Explain movie please," they say.

The scene before Gordon is just… off. As Tommy clumsily stumbles over some semblance of an answer to Benrey's question, Benrey curls up in his lap, getting more comfortable rapidly, and Tommy just… lets him.

Tommy was innocent, but he wasn't stupid. Gordon couldn't wrap his mind around it. Did everyone else just… forget about Xen? About the ambush? Being an irritating person is one thing, but it's a whole other thing to be outright malicious. Old friends or not, there had to be limits. Benrey's bridge to the rest of them should be in fucking ashes, washed away months ago when they'd all gotten out.

Was Tommy really so forgiving? He didn't seem threatened or afraid.

And was this whole hang out meant to… what, make Benrey seem soft and cuddly or something? Just a weird dude that ate garbage and casually snuggled up to his friends?

If that was the case… then was it a ploy? Were they working together? Tommy would never try to hurt him, right?

There's no way. Tommy wasn't good enough at acting.

Unless…

Something touches his cheek; something rough and sweaty smelling, and Gordon immediately recoils away from it. Benrey's foot is inches away. "Dude, gross!" Gordon exclaims, watching as Benrey cracks a smug, toothy grin. "What the hell is wrong with you? Keep your feet to yourself!"

"Sorry, Mr. Freeman. I tried to stop them," Tommy says, though judging by the smile on his face that speaks to a poor attempt at containing laughter, he doesn't seem too sorry.

"Yeah, whatever. Just don't do it again, seriously."

"Bbbbbbb," Benrey responds.

Though Gordon tries to keep an eye out, vigilant of Benrey's every move, it's hard not to engage with the movie. To laugh at its absurdity, or at the commentary provided by the others on the couch with him, even Benrey. They had even less of a grasp on the movie's paper thin excuse for a plot than Tommy did, and it provides for some hilarious moments.

Every now and then, Gordon glances over at the two of them; once or twice he sees Tommy's fingers absentmindedly running through Benrey's hair, and it makes him feel some sort of way. He's not sure what sort of way, but he's going to settle on uncomfortable. It made sense. Seeing Tommy letting his guard down around Benrey was dangerous, but Gordon wasn't about to fuss about it, knowing it wouldn't work out for him.

After the movie, they spend some time chatting before Tommy suggests they play Animal Crossing, which Benrey wholeheartedly approves of, claiming he's the "mlg pro of crossing animals", whatever that means. Luckily Tommy brought his own Switch, with its vibrant orange skin.

Benrey gives Gordon this look that's eerily similar to those sad animal commercials, but Gordon sighs and tells him, "Dude, I'm not letting you ruin my town, my son plays in it."

"That's okay! You can move into mine," Tommy, the bastion of goodness, says. Benrey flops against him in a side hug, prompting him to laugh in response.

"Hell yeah, friendship ended with Gordon now Tommy is my best friend," Benrey says.

"Uh, what?" Gordon starts, "We were never friends, dude."

"You mad, bro?" Benrey says, prompting another cyclical argument as Tommy gets everything set up.

Once Gordon's fetched his own Switch from his room, they roam through Tommy's town together, where Gordon's unsurprised to find not only Goldie as a villager, but a lot of colorful attractions decorating the scientist's island.

It doesn't take long before Benrey is chasing Gordon down with a bug net, cackling and exclaiming "You're mine!" or some variation every time they land a shot. It's a good thing this newest entry doesn't have pitfalls, or else he's certain Benrey would find a way to corner him with an endless number of them despite having just started playing. Already, they've tried digging holes around Nook's to make it harder for Gordon to get out.

Then Benrey acquires an axe, and their next favorite activity is chasing Gordon with it, complete with cartoon villain cackling. It's funnier than it should be. Though Gordon flinches and nearly drops his Switch upon hearing Benrey yelling (in a, thankfully, muted voice) "I'm gonna kill you!!" in the middle of that cackling. They stop everything at the sight of his reaction, their little cartoon interpretation of them staring at Gordon's character, completely idle.

Though it made his heart pound in distress, he quickly realizes it's a dumb baby game where the axe doesn't even connect unless it's to a tree. They were just playing around. There was no reason to get so worked up. Benrey didn't even sound remotely serious when he'd said it.

Exhaling slowly to cool his nerves, Gordon has his character pull out a slingshot, aiming it in Benrey's general direction. "Square up, motherfucker," he taunts.

Glancing over at them, he catches them grinning at the screen, Tommy right behind them watching Gordon with something between confusion and concern; but he's smiling too once the slingshot vs. axe brawl starts up. Though it rapidly turns into the two of them standing in one spot hitting each other with nets as quickly as possible with no end in sight. Tommy starts setting off party poppers over the top of them until he runs out.

It's glorious.

The sun is setting by the time Tommy gets up to leave, promising to come visit again soon. The day felt like it passed in no time at all, surprising Gordon to see how late it'd gotten. He follows his friend to the door, standing with him just outside where Benrey hopefully won't be eavesdropping on them.

"They seem fine to me, Mr. Freeman," Tommy says, lightly bouncing on his heels, where Gordon is pretty sure he's got on a pair of light-up heelys. Hopefully he won't try to use them going downstairs. "You should give them a chance. You know they just, just wanted to, to be friends with you."

"Friends? Like hell. He's probably just waiting for the perfect opportunity. Wants it to be funny when he kills me."

Tommy shakes his head. "I don't think so. But even if, even if they do try something, you know we can come help you out, Mr. Freeman! And you can, can always text me if you need anything!"

They wave to each other as Tommy leaves, and once he's out of sight in his candy colored Volkswagen Beetle, Gordon sags back against his apartment door, exhaling slowly. So much for the rescue wagon. He wasn't going to be able to pawn Benrey off on anyone else when they're all acting like this is some kind of magical bonding opportunity. At least Tommy likes them! Gordon doesn't even have that, but he's stuck on babysitting service??

The scene he returns to is basically the same as how he left it, except Benrey's now kneeled on the floor going through the games and DVDs arranged on the shelves surrounding the TV. There's a mess of plates, cups, and empty pizza boxes; though Benrey had been drinking directly from the two liter Mountain Dew™ bottle like a fucking animal, and eating right out of the box, so they didn't contribute quite as much to the accumulation of trash.

Gordon sighs. If this was the bed they were all making him lie in, then Benrey had to start acting like a roommate.

"Dude, help me clean this up," he says, picking up several bottles of soda—they all had different tastes—in the process. The guard turns to look at the mess over their shoulder, staring at it blankly for several long moments. "The silent treatment is getting old, man. Just get up and clean your shit."

To his surprise, they don't protest, mock him, or fuck around. After a brief pause, they scoop up both pizza boxes, one of which still has some slices left, and carry them into the kitchen. For a moment Gordon is too stunned to react.

Then they poke their head out of the kitchen, long strands of messy black hair hanging off their shoulders. "Dude come onnnn don't make me do this by myself that's meannnnn bro," they whine. Rolling his eyes, Gordon sighs and follows suit.

Between them, the clean up is over in just a few minutes, and then Benrey is, predictably, onto the next game. Gordon weighs the pros and cons of leaving them unsupervised, but they seem so completely absorbed in the task that it's easier than he'd expected to leave them alone. If all they ever did was hog his TV, it might not be… the worst thing in the world to have them around?

He has to admit that today was pretty fun. It still doesn't… quite make sense, and at some point he has to wonder if there's something obvious he isn't understanding, but everyone else is. He just can't put his finger on it.

Maybe that's the point. Maybe nothing about Benrey is supposed to make sense. Maybe it's all random.

But how the fuck is he supposed to deal with completely random nonsense?!

When he goes to bed, Benrey is still playing games in the living room, not very responsive to Gordon telling him he was going to sleep. That made it a lot easier to shower, change, and promptly pass the fuck out.

Though he only actually remains asleep for a few hours before he wakes to some kind of music playing from what sounds like the living room. Half asleep, Gordon pushes himself up, grabbing his glasses off the nightstand and putting them on. He was going to have to tell Benrey to quiet down whatever he's watching, or else no sleep was going to be had, and there's a good chance his neighbors would complain.

It's in the process of shuffling into the living room that his mind wakes up enough to register exactly what he's hearing. A soprano opera, though none he's ever heard, not that he generally listens to opera. The room at the end of the hallway is lit up in an array of colors; blinking away sleep, he's able to take in the sight of dozens of colored orbs floating through the air. The only part of Benrey he can see is a pale hand reaching limply up over the back of the couch, gently prodding one of the nearby orbs.

It's hard to be annoyed. He's always thought Benrey's singing was beautiful, even when it was being used against him. Though admittedly it was a little hard to appreciate it then.

There doesn't seem to be any danger right now, though; he doesn't understand these colors, if they mean anything at all or if Benrey's just entertaining himself. But they don't seem like anything that're going to immobilize or mind control him or something. They're just… pretty, and he stands at the end of the hallway enjoying the sights and sounds.

After awhile, it starts lulling him to sleep. He manages to catch himself, jolting back to awareness. With that burst of energy, he thinks to take a picture and ask Tommy what the colors mean later. Unfortunately, after he's got the orbs in focus on his phone, he forgets to turn off the flash before taking the picture. The singing abruptly stops, and Benrey's hand twitches, startled. The orb pops like a bubble, leaving behind some goop on the couch that slowly vanishes, and their hand disappears back behind the couch.

"Hey. No flash photography," Benrey whines.

Cursing under his breath, Gordon starts to apologize. "Sorry, man, I didn't realize the flash was on." Quickly checking the photo he'd taken, which luckily isn't so washed out by the flash that the colors aren't visible, Gordon puts his phone to sleep and tucks it back into the pocket of his joggers. Gesturing vaguely, despite the fact Benrey can't even see him, he asks, "What's all this mean? Assuming it means anything at all."

"It means…" They reach up, prodding at the orbs again. The bubbles don't move at all; if Gordon looks really closely, he can see the way they stick slightly to Benrey's finger, leaving a slight smudge on their skin. They're silent for a really long time, during which Gordon, for once, waits patiently for a response. If he never gets one… well, maybe it was just too complicated to find the words to. There was a lot going on, afterall.

The orbs are blinking out of existence one by one. All the artificial lights were off, apparently, bringing them closer to total darkness much faster than Gordon's comfortable with. That, plus his eyelids growing heavy, has him giving up. "It doesn't matter. I'm going to bed, sorry to interrupt."

Once he's back in his room, he flops into bed, leaving the beside lamp on. For awhile, he just stares at the ceiling, thinking of nothing, but eventually he pulls his phone back out, glancing over the picture again. There's many varying shades of purple, blue, green, and a bit of pink. After a bit of staring, during which he mostly just spaces out and tries to recall what he knows about Sweet Voice, he closes the photo and opens Discord instead.

It's late, or early depending on your perspective. He doesn't expect a prompt response when he sends the photo to Tommy with the message " What does any of this mean? ", and yet he gets one only five minutes after he sets the phone down to go to sleep.

Tommy : That's a lot of colors, Mr. Freeman. I can't really decipher it without knowing which ones came first or what the song sounded like, sorry
Gordon : Wait, the song matters?
Tommy : Of course!

Well, in that case he'd have to start using video, instead.

Over the next few minutes, Tommy tries explaining more of the Sweet Voice to him, though not a lot of it actually registers in his sleep deprived brain. He manages to cut off the infodump by pointing out that, despite not having a job anymore, they should both be sleeping. After some quick good nights in their dms, Gordon sets his phone to Do Not Disturb and sets it down on the pillow on the other side of the queen-sized bed. He used to prefer sleeping on that side; but now, if he wasn't in a position to easily flee the room, he wasn't comfortable enough to fall asleep.

Nor could he manage to relax if there wasn't a light on. The window right by the bed was locked (he'd checked more times than he could count that the locks still worked), and he kept the curtains open always. The early morning glare of the New Mexico sun was better than total darkness, where the shadows could jump out at him before he has a chance to defend himself.

Gordon never thought he'd turn into the kind of crazy person that slept with a knife under his pillow, and yet.

Borderline unblinking, he stares up at the popcorn ceiling, his thoughts slow yet drifting fluidly into dangerous territories. Every time he steers them away, they find something else to crash into. There's a never ending list of things and they all strike him like it's the first time, like it's happening all over again.

He realizes his mistake a little too late; leaving his mind open when there was so much to get it going off the rails. That he'd spoken to a friend, or listened to a soothing opera, feels like centuries in the past instead of several minutes ago. He's not spiralling too badly—it's certainly been a lot worse than this before. He can still salvage it. But it's in this state that he remembers something important.

A lot of these things, the worst of these things, were because of Benrey. He slept with a knife under his pillow because of Benrey. Had nightmares most nights. Checked all his locks at least once a day.

Locks which clearly weren't good enough, if Benrey got through them so easily.

He's at his desk looking at deadbolts online before he's even registered getting out of bed. He's not even sure if his landlord will let him install more locks, but thanks to Black Mesa he has more than enough funds to pay any fines she sends his way. It doesn't matter. He's doing it anyway.

In the middle of checking out, he hears the singing start up again. It's quieter, and sounds a bit different. Like a different genre, or mood, or something. He's too tired to figure it out. But it's slow and soothing, almost ambient, and he stares into space listening to it for ages before getting out of his chair. The click of his door is quiet as he tip-toes back out into the hallway, reaching the end before leaning against the wall and sliding down to the floor.

He doesn't know what these colors mean, either, and as he sits there watching and listening, he thinks to record it, but his body won't move. It doesn't feel important.