Charge

by 98z

Summary:

Twenty-one year old Benson cleans up the shit at a run-down inner city zoo. He’s in the giraffe enclosure, when he sees the group of second graders that were supposed to come in today. One is a bit taller than the rest. The kid is not looking up at the giraffes in wonder—he’s looking directly at Benson.

 

Benson and Randy first meet at the zoo. 

Notes:

Benson meets eight-year-old Randy and unintentionally changes him.
This is a slash fic between adult Randy and adult Benson.
This fic discusses potentially sensitive and/or triggering topics like death, alcoholism, depression, and CSA.

Chapter 1: One

 

The teacher took a headcount. He couldn’t help but measure up this one to Miss Beard.

His former teacher had pretty blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes. His stomach clenched uncomfortably, eye. This new one had red fiery curly hair.

Miss Beard wore dresses and heels. This one wore open-toed sandals and colorful skirts that dragged against her ankles.

Miss Beard had one eye after Randy. This one still had two.

Mom held his hand tightly in her sweaty palm as she dragged Randy behind the others. She volunteered to chaperone again. Mom was scared he’d have another fit.

“I need to keep you safe, honey,” she’d say.

Randy thought she really meant, ‘to keep everyone else safe.’ He glanced at the alligator enclosure briefly as they passed. The animals too. He was dangerous to them all. Even the big ones with teeth.

Their guide took them around the little zoo, the other teacher joined in, but he was so tired of walking and looking. He tried to be grateful for both of his eyes, he really did, but all he could see was blood. His mom babbled about the animals, her pale orange lips were saying a bunch of nothing. Randy was tired of tripping over his feet when his mother’s strides got too wide.

He ate his lunch with his mother at a far away picnic table. Nobody wanted to sit with him. The other kids traded snacks from their brown lunch bags. He ate the apple sauce he didn’t like, and the sandwich that made his stomach hurt.

He felt like one of her little designer handbags. Only not as pretty.

The last stop was the giraffe enclosure. The biggest one. Their necks reached up so high he could see them from the very back. His classmates all rushed forward, sticking their heads right up against the cold bars. Even his mother got excited. She went too fast, strode too far, and he hit the concrete with a loud smack, scraping both his knees.

He looked down at the blood and rolled skin, like it was one of those peelable cheese sticks. His mother gasped and picked him up, comforting him even though he wasn’t crying. She rubbed his back, cooing and rocking him.

“Oh honey, be careful!” She carried him to an isolated corner and set him down. “Now you stay here, okay? Do you understand? Do not move.”

Randy nodded. It stung, but it was fine. He didn’t want help. He really just wanted to go home. His mother rushed off to fetch someone, or maybe a first aid kit.

The giraffes were slow-moving, lazy, and reaching with their long necks to grab bunches of leaves from the tree. A mother giraffe leant down to nudge her baby. The long purple tongue caressed its little head. He looked away.

There was someone in the enclosure. A man, clouded in the only patch of shadow. His head was down, a cap pulled low over his eyes. He carried a large shovel and a bucket. Randy watched him for a while. He was inside the enclosure with the giraffes, slow-moving and lazy, almost like he was one of them.

Then, the man’s head lifted, and his eyes scanned the crowd of children before falling on him. His grip tightened on the shovel and bucket as his eyes flicked over to the loud, squealing group of kids, and then to him, alone.

The man disappeared around the corner. Randy sighed and turned, leaning against the bars. Maybe the first kid to ever look away from the enclosures.

“You lost, kid?”

Randy backed away from the bars. He turned and looked up. It was the man who moved like a giraffe. He shouldn’t get too close. He didn’t want anything bad to happen.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” the giraffe-man said gruffly and backed up. His tone was a bit rough and animal-like. Nothing like the soothing cadence of Miss Beard and the other teacher.

“I’m not scared,” Randy replied with an even tone of voice in an attempt to match his. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

The man tilted his head curiously, like maybe he was speaking another language. Then his eyes caught the blood staining the scrapes on his legs.

“Looks like you’re the one that’s hurt.” He jutted his chin to the mess. The human giraffe’s eyes turned hard and steely for a moment.

Randy looked down at himself. It was okay if it was him. Not this stranger though. Not anyone.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Randy replied. “Do you work here, sir?”

The man snorted. “What gave it away?”

“You’re inside with the giraffes,” he pointed out.

“Maybe I’m a giraffe.”

Randy cracked a small smile. He thought so too. This man was funny.

“Wait there, kid.” The man came outside after a moment, and was carrying a little white case with a red cross on it. “Even though I’m just the shit-scooper, I still gotta take first aid classes to work here. Ain’t that bullshit?”

Randy didn’t know whether it was or not. He leaned against the gate once more, stuffing his tiny fists in his pockets, so he wouldn’t get any ideas to be bad.

“I won’t touch you if you don’t want help,” the man said. Randy could see a little bit of worry in his eyes, like how Randy looked when he was afraid to hurt someone. “I can go get someone else.”

Randy shook his head. He’d rather the man bandage his knees than his mother or his teacher, who might find him troublesome. At least this was sort-of his job. Even if he thought it was bullcrap. “It’s okay.”

The man kneeled down in front of him and put on some medical gloves. Up close, he smelled like trees, dirt, and smoke. Randy found it soothing. Unlike the sharp perfume his mom wore. The one that made his head hurt.

The man’s eyes darted up to look at him briefly, then back down. He was crouched so low to the ground, purposefully making himself smaller than he was. “Lift your knee up,” he wiped the area with a cleansing wipe, then sprayed some antibiotic on the wound. Randy didn’t flinch or cry or move. He balanced on one leg, and then the other.

“Superheroes or princesses?”

Randy peeked at the options of bandaids. There was spiderman, or Cinderella. He always thought the cat, Lucifer he was called, was funny, so he pointed at the princess.

He thought the man might scold him for it, a girly choice, but he didn’t comment. He covered his knee in the princess bandaid, and repeated the same on the other side. When he was done, he slipped the gloves off and closed the case. “Sorry, don’t got any candy for you.”

Randy shrugged.

“You bored of the giraffes?”

As if finally noticing them, he looked at the towering creatures. With the man beside him, he felt a little less of a danger. The man seemed like he would stop him if he did. He was responsible and strong, trained in first aid.

“I like them,” he said quietly.

“Yeah?” The worker looked up too.

“Mhm.”

They watched in companionable silence from behind the gates for a moment. “Come on, kid. I’ll show you something.”

Randy looked at the 38th bar, where his mom told him to wait. She was only doing that so he wouldn’t get into trouble, but if someone was watching him, like this employee who was trained in lots of bullcrap, he would be fine. He followed the man to a locked gate.

“By the way, after this, if anyone tells you to follow them somewhere–I don’t care who it is–you get the hell out of dodge, hear me?”

“Dodge?” Randy asked.

“It means run away. Back to your mommy…or whoever the fuck.”

“Okay,” he shrugged.

The man led him behind the gate, through a concrete hallway, and then through a tall doorway. They emerged into the enclosure. He was inside. He was a giraffe too now.

“I won’t hurt them?” He wondered, as he stood there. The man lifted an eyebrow.

“You’re tiny, what the hell d’ya think you’re gonna do?”

Randy didn’t know. Miss Beard seemed as tall as a giraffe once too, but he hurt her.

“Here.” Before he could react, the man reached down and hauled him up high. He squeaked as the man settled him on his shoulders.

“Wait!”

The man ignored him and walked closer to one of the female giraffes. The one with the baby. Even sitting on the man’s shoulders, he was so small. He was powerless. But he knew what happened when he felt that way. “Please, I don’t want it to get hurt!”

The giraffe noticed his protesting yells. It sniffed his hair, his jacket, and then a powerful tongue stuck out and licked him across the face. He gasped in surprise and laughed. The tongue was so powerful it nearly pushed him off the man’s shoulders, but the strong hands merely held tighter to his legs, right over the princess bandaids. He could hear the man laughing from below him too. He watched as the giraffe turned away and walked off, its glorious large, heavy body was beautiful. It wasn't lazy at all, he thought. Just big and powerful.

“That one’s name is Carter. She weighs 2,000 pounds. You can’t hurt her even if you tried.”

“I can’t?” he questioned. The eraser seemed harmless at first. He used his own tongue to lick inside his mouth, feeling how weak it seemed in comparison to the giraffe’s. Maybe the man, the one who knew the giraffes best, was right.

He looked down, just as the man looked up. From up close he could read the name tag on his shirt. Benson.

“Nope. You’re harmless, kid.”

Harmless?

A terrified shriek carried over the entire zoo. His heart dropped as he recognized it. His mother was pointing at him in the enclosure and causing a panic. She was clutching a handful of bandaids in her hand.

“Well, looks like mommy found you. Now, what’d I tell you about strangers?”

“Get the hell out of dodge,” he said almost proudly, though he did hesitate a bit on that one word.

Benson swooped him down back to his feet and steered him by the head back the way they came. “Then ‘git.”

Benson walked him back to the gate and let him out. He gave a great big, charming smile to his mom. “I didn’t mean to cause a panic. The kid was hurt and I was trying to cheer him up.”

His mom was fretting over him now, completely ignoring Benson. She took out a wet wipe from her purse and wiped his face off where the giraffe’s slobber dried. Randy never took his eyes off of the dark gaze that watched them. That look was different from the animals inside. Where they all radiated a sense of calmness and peace, Benson didn’t. He was like a predator living with the prey. He was watching a mother fret over her baby, unaware of the danger watching her. Unaware of the danger watching him back.

“Let’s go Randy.” She took his hand and he stumbled off after her.

____

 

Whenever Randy became afraid of himself, he’d think of the strength of the giraffes. His nightmares got worse, but sometimes, he’d have nice dreams of the time he sat on the zookeeper’s shoulders in the giraffe enclosure. Carter licked his face. The sun shone down on them both as he laughed at his powerlessness.

He was 9 years old now, but still couldn’t fit in. His 8 year old peers all knew what he did. They said he was a killer. That Miss Beard didn’t go on leave, but was actually dead. He tuned them out, but asked his mom if that was true after she came home from work.

“It’s been two years, Randy,” she’d say with a sigh. And he’d stop asking or saying her name. Instead, he thought hard about it. That and the nice zookeeper named Benson.

The vice principal, Mr. Sheppard, took him aside one day and asked him to follow him somewhere to talk about Miss Beard. He really wanted to go, just to see if she was really dead or not but he remembered Benson’s words clearly.

Get the hell out of dodge. That’s what Benson said. So Randy ran away.

He realized he trusted the man who worked at the zoo a lot more than anybody else. Even his own mother.

It was the first time anybody had ever seen him. Was the zookeeper also afraid of hurting people? Is that why he knew the giraffes couldn’t be hurt? Or did he know what it felt like to be hurt? Maybe both.

When he was 14, his mother signed him up to be a chaperone for his sister’s second grade zoo trip. He was excited. He wanted to see the giraffes again. He wanted to know if the man was still there.

____

 

Benson finished his smoke break. The zoo was going to close next year. He’d have to find another job. He had to admit, he grew to like the company of animals. It was a hell of a lot better than the company of humans. Animals had more humanity, ironically.

Another second grade class was touring the area. A pain in the ass. He hated working on those days. High-pitched squealing of happy children, untraumatized by the world. At least this would be the last one.

He climbed the ranks over the years. At least as much as an uneducated dropout could climb. He wasn’t patient enough to give tours, but he was responsible enough to feed the animals, monitor their health, and keep their enclosures clean. He was officially promoted to handler last month. A bunch of good that’d do him. He was tempted to just cover himself in pig’s blood and dangle over the alligators, like an even more fucked up version of Carrie.

He was transporting a few of their monkeys into crates to be shipped off to their new home at fuckknowswhere. He made sure the little guys were calm, then locked them up, strode back to the gate, and headed to check on the giraffes.

The second graders were making a fuss. He ignored them dutifully and picked up the clipboard hanging on the inside of the gate. He checked off a few things, then went to hang it back up when out of his peripheral vision, he saw someone staring. He looked over, thinking it was another one of those girls who asked for his number last week. No, it was a teenage boy this time. He turned away. Probably just some pathetic motherfucker who got roped into chaperoning.

Benson held the infrared, steadily taking the temperatures of each giraffe. These guys were going to need to update their vaccines before transport to the new zoo. Carter had died months ago from an illness that his supervisor caught too late. Even though Benson insisted she wasn’t well. Maybe that’s why he was given the bastard’s job. Now he was making sure none of the others would get the same illness.

Carter’s baby was all grown up. At least a part of her still lived on in some way. As he watched them from the shade, he noticed the same teenager watching him. What the hell was his problem? He was holding a little girl’s hand and half-heartedly listening as she pointed at the giant beasts above. Something about the gaze on him was familiar. It was rare that anybody ever looked at him, rather than the giraffes. Except…

He did the mental math. Surely, that couldn’t be…

The kid smiled hesitantly and his hand gripped that same bar his mom left him at 6 years ago. He made his way over. This time, the kid didn’t step back.

“Hi,” the teenager said, his face a little pink from the heat. “It’s um—I don’t know if you remember me—”

Benson crossed his arms. This kid. The same one he put on his shoulders. The same one Carter licked. His overprotective mom had called him Randy like it was a cuss word. “Randy: prefers princess bandaids,” he greeted.

The boy blushed for real this time, the tips of his ears grew red. “You remember that…”

“Couldn’t forget it.” He finally gave a polite nod. “Good to see you.”

The boy brightened. “You too! I didn’t know if you’d be here.”

A chorus of squealing children broke out at one of the friendly giraffes that leant down to look at them.

The conversation lagged then. “Uh, this your…” Benson motioned to the little girl that was pulling wildly at the kid’s hand.

“My sister, Hailey.”

Hailey ignored them both in favor of jumping up and attempting to reach the giraffes.

“Hailey and Randy, huh?” Benson asked, leaning against the bars. The teen’s fingers tensed, almost flinching away. “Your mom’s a creative one.”

Randy shrugged, embarrassed. “And you’re…?” He gripped tighter to the bar, in a nervous sort of way.

“Benson.”

“Right. Benson,” Randy said his name almost reverently. It seemed almost practiced, like he said it often. “Um, I was looking for Carter,” Randy said. His eyes looked up at the bright blue sky in search of that spotted head.

“She died a few months ago.” He probably could’ve led up to that better, but oh well. His people skills could use some work.

“Oh…” Randy’s eyes grew wide and misty. “It’s just…I was um…”

Hailey pulled away from his hand and ran to her classmates to join them. He was about to go after her. “Let her be,” Benson said.

Randy and Benson watched Hailey jump up and down with her classmates, fitting in perfectly.

“Yeah. Uh. Fuck, I’m sorry.” Randy rubbed his eyes. “I was really hoping to see her.”

“You’re good,” Benson comforted. “I’ve got lots of pictures of her. If you want them.”

“Yes!” The kid fumbled forward, then backed up, then stepped forward again. Benson wondered if he was that awkward at his age. Nah, no way.

“One second.” Benson reached over and tore off a corner of the time sheet to write down his email. He slid it through the bars toward the delicate, shaking hands.

Randy smiled. “Thank you, Benson.”

“Don’t mention it. At least Carter’s baby is still here. Though not exactly a baby anymore, is he?”

They turned to look at the large male that blocked out the sun. Randy smiled wistfully. “He looks just like Carter.”

“Yup, got the spots, the neck, n’ everything,” Benson said a little sarcastically. He liked teasing the boy. It was nice seeing a teenager that wasn’t completely full of angst and attitude for once.

“Four legs too. That’s rare,” Randy played along. They laughed quietly together.

Benson reached his arm through the bars and patted the kid’s shoulder. “Well, I gotta get back to work. See you around Randy.”

“Bye Benson,” he said quietly.

Benson gave him a nod and went back inside. He had the insane urge to go back in time and relive that memory. The terrified boy, who relaxed at Carter’s gentle albeit forceful greeting. The only child who was not afraid of something so strong, but rather relieved. Strange. Scared to hurt anyone, but with the softness of princess bandaids on his own wounds. He was curious about what kind of person he was growing up to be.

 

Chapter 2: Two

After the zoo closed, Ma got sicker. Benson moved back home to take care of her, belatedly realizing that meant he’d have to take up a job nearby. There were diners, fast food joints, gas stations, or other bullshit jobs. One place was called Burgers Burgers Burgers. No, not just one BURGERS but three. He fucking hated being back home. He hated working with a bunch of zombified pieces of shit. He especially hated his boss, who reminded him of the supervisor who killed Carter.

He spent most of his time hunting for small game. He didn’t do anything with the carcass. He didn’t even eat them. He just wanted to play God for a while. Sometimes he’d drive up to the mountains for days with his rifle. He contemplated the idea of entering and not coming out, but then he’d get a little blood on his hands and feel lighter. Maybe next time, he’d tell himself. He wasn’t a pussy.

The pay at Burgers wasn’t enough, but it was better than any of the family-owned places around. Those ones expected the tight-knit community to make up for a shit paycheck. Yeah fucking right. Him and his Ma had been on their own for awhile now. There’d been no more well-meaning, nosy neighbors peeking around, not since Pa died.

He survived off of cigarettes mostly, heavy metal music sometimes, and lots of filthy sex. What else was there to do? What—was he gonna have another flashback? Drink himself to death like his Pa? Nah. He was just gonna think about Carter, fucking work, and waste away.

Princess, whatever the hell the kid’s name was, had thanked him for the pictures of Carter back then, and they sometimes checked in with each other through email, but Benson had better things to do than shoot the shit with a teenager. They shared one decent memory together and suddenly the kid acted like they were bonded. It was pathetic, but Benson didn’t dare challenge that. He wasn’t that bitter. The kid would be around 20 now. God, he was fucking 34 already. Time was a dirty bitch.

So he fucked some strangers slow, and he fucked some fast. He sped on desolate roads at night, blasting his music so loud he couldn’t hear the engine. He drank, fought, and stumbled home to kiss his Ma on the cheek. Then he’d have a few nightmares, force them down dry like placebo pills, and wake up laughing at their memory. Fucking hilarious. Then it was time to dry heave into the sink.

At 5:00 a.m., he drove to work.

____

 

Randy couldn’t believe it. He would recognize that silhouette anywhere. Whether behind the enclosure bars, or through the glass doors of a fast food joint. He froze in the middle of the road. And, just like before, Benson’s eyes found his. They widened in surprise, immediately recognizing him despite his growth spurt. He didn’t know if he was pleased or pissed.

Randy forced himself to breathe and put one foot in front of the other. Everything was fine. He jumped back in surprise when Benson came barreling out of the doors.

“What the fuck,” Benson accused as he rushed outside. “No. Don’t tell me you’re working here now. Christ! Tell me you're here for a goddamn burger.”

Randy looked down at his very obvious uniform. “What gave it away?” he murmured, a little smartly. The same way Benson did all those years ago.

Benson huffed a laugh, like he was being ridiculous. “How the hell did you end up here?”

He often wondered that himself. For a while, he thought he might want to be a veterinarian, but his mom said he was too fragile for that. She said vets had one of the highest suicide rates out of all professions.

“You need to be a conscientious, careful person to work with animals,” she said with a pitying smile.

His mom apparently didn’t think he was capable of any of those things.

“Same as you, Benson. I don’t exactly have a lot of options,” Randy shrugged.

“Bullshit! You’re 20 fucking years old, you can do whatever the hell you want.”

“So can you!”

Benson’s jaw clenched, and a muscle protruded. His nostrils flared as he held his hands up and backed away. “Forget it.”

“Benson!” Randy jogged over to him before he could go back inside and grabbed his arm.

“If you try and touch me I swear to God I’ll fuck you up, kid.” Benson wrenched his arm away. “Do not,” he pointed his finger at him, “fucking touch me.”

Randy felt like crying as he watched Benson go back inside. What the hell was this?

This was a far cry from the zookeeper that held him on his shoulders. This man was…dark, violent, and angry. He took a deep breath and went in after him.

He orbited around Benson cautiously as he was trained on his new duties. The other was eerily silent. Benson had gathered a handful of new tattoos since the last time he saw him. He had facial hair now that Randy found to be oddly appealing. Still, even though it was awkward, he was elated to share the same space as Benson again. Even if it was inside a new cage.

When he caught sight of him ducking out back, he quickly followed. The back door was propped open with a cinderblock. Benson was sitting on the concrete steps with a lit cigarette already in his mouth.

A heavy, exasperated sigh filled the air. More growl than breath. “Go back inside, Bradley.” He mouthed the last name mockingly in reference to the error on his name tag.

Randy didn’t go, though. He wasn’t so great at listening anymore. On the way home from the zoo that day, the word harmless echoed in his brain and rattled around like one of his baby sister’s toys. Harmless was what they used to describe kittens and puppies. To a giraffe, he might’ve been. But surely not to other humans? In any case, it planted a seed of doubt in his brain. As he grew older, more self-aware, he could see what Benson meant. He was just a kid. He was harmless. His actions were not harmless, though. So he dived into the action. What caused it and why?

Anger without an outlet. Misunderstood anger. He wasn’t angry at Miss Beard for getting upset at him. He was angry that it was only him. He couldn’t process that, and the one time he did, it ended in disaster. He went over that day so many times. The people he told laughed at him, joked about it, it’s nothing, it’s just an eye. Maybe it was just an eye. It only didn’t matter because it wasn’t theirs.

He could see that same anger in Benson. The kind where you don’t know what to do with it, so it gets pushed down. Further and further, until it digs a canyon of rage. If you fall into it, you don’t get back out. Benson was angry at him for being here with him. Randy wasn’t. Randy was thankful.

“I just wanted to say thank you.”

The man’s back tensed, stained in sweat, as he took another deep drag. “For fucking what?” He spat out.

Randy approached him cautiously. He made sure his steps were loud so as not to startle. “For giving me that memory with Carter.”

Benson’s shoulders relaxed. He hung his head. It was as if saying Carter’s name completely disarmed him. Randy understood that. Carter made him feel better too.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Sure.”

“I took this job to save up money,” he explained tentatively. He didn’t know why, but he absolutely had to or he’d die. He needed Benson to know this. “I want to move out of my mom’s house before I start college. I’ve been saving up for awhile. It’s…” He stopped himself from rambling. “It’s not supposed to be forever. It won’t be.”

“Yeah?” Benson asked, a little suspiciously.

That must be it. Maybe Benson hoped he’d be someone great. Instead, he saw the situation as a lamb entering a starving den of wolves. What he didn’t understand was that Randy was a wolf too, and in order to stop starving, they’d have to leave their den one way or another.

Randy smiled at the side-eye he gave him. “Yeah.”

“Hm,” Benson grunted. He rolled the cigarette between his fingers back and forth. “So, what’re you planning to study then?”

Randy lowered himself into place beside him and breathed the smell of smoke in deeply. “Wildlife biology.”

Benson gave a hearty chuckle at that. “Oh yeah? Gonna run your own zoo one day?”

He shook his head at the familiar teasing. “No. I want to study the ones outside the cage.”

“Outside the cage,” Benson repeated, like he never considered such a thing might exist. “Huh.”

 

____

 

After work, they both sat in Benson’s car and Randy listened to him talk while the other smoked. “Donnie and Carla are alright. Hardy wants to hire younger people, like that’s not fucking illegal,” Benson scoffed and continued. “Hardy just wants to find a little girl to sink his teeth into. Fucking sicko.”

Randy nervously played with his fingers. For some reason, Benson both comforted and terrified him. His dark eyes were so intense when they watched him. It made his stomach tie itself into knots. He was watching him again.

“Enough about those jackasses. How’s life treated you, Randy Bradley?”

He thought Benson probably already had a theory about that, considering where he ended up.

“I thought about you a lot.” He realized how creepy that sounded, but it was already out. It was true, anyway. He did think of Benson and Carter. It was therapeutic.

“The fuck?” Benson laughed. “Why?”

“Why what?” Randy looked away from that sharp, alarming gaze. His skin erupted into goosebumps. Retreat his brain told him. Lay on your back. Show your belly.

Benson reached over and grabbed his chin roughly, turning his face back to meet his eyes. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

“Sorry,” Randy breathed out. His body went slack as it obeyed. He was a little disturbed by what he saw looking back.

Disgust.

“Listen,” Benson finished his cigarette and flicked it out the window. Both of his hands were occupied on the stationary steering wheel now, gripping it almost violently. “I’m glad I helped give you a good memory at the zoo. That’s great. It’s good you wanna study wildlife and shit. But you gotta stop.”

Randy felt his face drain of color. “Stop…what?”

“Stop looking at me like that. Like you…” Benson shook his head and abandoned the sentence altogether. Randy had a sick feeling in his stomach.

“Like what?” He asked, a little shakily now; thin, and wavering.

“Nevermind. Just get out. Go home, Randy.” He waved him off like he was nothing more than a horse fly.

Randy dug his nails into his palm. He steeled himself. He breathed in deep. “What were you gonna say?”

“Get out of the fucking car before I make you get out.” Benson grabbed the front of Randy’s uniform shirt in a tight fist, right over the incorrect nametag that said ‘Bradley’, and shoved him against the door.

“Why are you…” he struggled, “so…” grabbing the man’s thick wrist with both of his hands and holding it there, “angry?”

“You’re pissing me off, that’s why I’m fucking angry.”

“I’m not doing anything!”

“No?” Benson laughed cruelly. “You’ve been looking at me like you wanna suck my dick all damn day.”

Randy flinched. Benson’s eyes tracked every single little twitch of his.

“Yeah, and you know what? It makes me sick, so stop. And get the fuck out.”

A few tears of shock welled up in his eyes. Was he? Did he make Benson uncomfortable? “I’m…”

“Randy,” Benson said slowly, eerily calm. His neck jerked to the right in a tell-tale sign of warning. An attempt to release some kind of tension. The same kind of warning an animal gives before it attacks. “Get out of the car. Now.”

This time Randy listened. He barely stepped out before Benson peeled out of the parking lot, the scent of burning rubber tires pushed his tears right over the edge.

 

Chapter 3: Three

Randy cried himself to sleep that night. Then he had a nightmare. He wanted to think of Carter and Benson, but he felt too guilty, dirty, and wrong. His mom asked him how his first day went and he lied through his teeth.

The worst part was, Benson was right. He first began to think of Benson that way when he saw him for the second time. He finished chaperoning that trip in a daze. He didn’t know what it was then, or why his obsession was so strong, but after Lisa, well—it was pretty clear. He did want to do things like that with Benson. Things he should’ve wanted with Lisa but didn’t. Was it sick? Did Benson still see him as that eight year old from the zoo?

Yeah the memory was nice and helped him get over the worst of his fears, but it wasn’t the sole reason why he liked Benson. When he looked at Benson, he didn’t see Carter or the zookeeper, he simply saw a man who resembled a wild animal more than he did a human—just like Randy.

He pulled his pants on and brushed his teeth, neglecting to fix his hair or even care, then drove to work at a snail’s pace. He was scheduled to work with Benson again. He felt like vomiting. 

Benson’s tan Chrysler was already parked in the lot across the street, the same one he sat in hours ago. He could vaguely see the movement of a mop on the floor from inside. Fuck. Fuck! Randy rubbed his eyes when tears sprung forth again. He sniffled and took out his wallet and keys.

Benson didn’t look his way, or even acknowledge him as the doors slowly dragged open and fell closed with a quiet click.

Randy had to get this out quickly while they were the only two still here. “Um, Benson?”

The mop sloshed back and forth along the floor. Back and forth. Back and forth. Cleaning nothing.

“I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable.” His voice broke. “I swear I…I won’t look at you like that anymore. I’m so sorry.” He quietly wiped his eyes.

The mop stopped moving. Then, it was picked up and put inside the bucket with a splash. Randy turned to go start a miserable second day of work when Benson grabbed the back of his hoodie and stopped him.

“You crying?” Benson asked.

“No,” Randy mumbled, but his voice cracked in that telling way.

Benson turned Randy by the shoulders, grabbing his face again. The same way he did in the car. “I didn’t mean to make you fucking cry, Randy. Christ.”

“I’m not crying,” he sobbed openly. Benson’s lips formed a frown. He looked from eye to eye, then down at his body, and back up.

Benson held his arms open, ”C’mere.” Randy fell into him and cried. “You’re okay,” he comforted. “We’re good. Hear me? It’s all good.”

Randy nodded into his shoulder. “I’m really sorry,” he hiccuped. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You didn’t do anything, kid.” Benson sighed like he was in physical pain. “It was me.”

Randy shivered and made a small imploring hum.

“It was me that was looking at you like that all day. I felt like a goddamn pedophile. I was,” he hesitated, “what’s the fucking word? Projecting or some shit. I don’t fucking know.”

Randy pulled away from him, his eyebrows furrowed. “I’m…I’m twenty-one Benson.” 

“Yeah, but you weren’t when we met.” 

“Were you having thoughts like that about me back then?” Randy already knew the answer, but he had to prove a point.

“What? Fuck no.” His face grew pale, his jaw worked like he was grinding rocks into dust. “I’m not a sick piece of shit.”

“Then it’s not the same. I’m a grown man now, Benson. It’s okay.” Randy looked away. “It’s okay to…have thoughts like that about me.”

Benson shook his head. “You’re only saying that because you’re confusing me for something I’m not.”

“Like what?”

“A twenty-one year old shit-scooper who still had hope and faith in the world. Who was nice to you when nobody else was.”

“That was 13 years ago. You’re not the only one who grew up,” Randy huffed an exasperated sigh. “And I’m not a terrified eight year old that’s scared of hurting his own shadow. Don’t treat me like I am, Benson.”

Benson considered him carefully. He neither agreed nor disagreed. 

They cut their conversation short when Hardy came in. He gave them a strange look, but ignored the scene in favor of watching his morning porn in the back.

Benson taught him how to man the grill. It was nice standing side by side with the only noise being the sizzling of meat and a rickety wall fan in the corner.

 

____

 

After work, Benson invited him over to his house—or technically, his porch. All they really did was sit on the old couch outside and talk, but it was the most fun he ever had with anyone else. He never particularly cared about any of his friendships or relationships. Benson made him want to care about this one though. It seems he’d been caring about it for an awful long time.

They didn’t talk about what happened. Randy figured Benson must still be tossing the possibility around in his head. He didn’t mind being just a thought. That meant he occupied space in some way. He existed beyond physical things. Randy tried to cut his staring down but it was nearly impossible; especially since he started noticing when Benson stared back. And when their eyes met, maybe once or twice, Benson wasn’t afraid to look away.

And Randy. Well. Randy had some thoughts of his own about that. The kind that was acted on in private, in the darkness of his room.

On the third casual invite, ‘see you in an hour’, Benson finally let him inside the house. He was going to get him a sweater and a few blankets and beers. After a moment of thought, he jutted his chin toward the door.

“Come help,” he opened the door and pushed Randy in first. 

Benson had a habit of leading him places. Sometimes by the neck, sometimes by a push on the lower back, sometimes with a shove. At work, he once grabbed his hip to slide past in the stock room, ‘behind you’. Randy had to cool himself down in the freezer.

There was a bed in the living room to his immediate right where Benson’s mother was napping. Clutter covered every available surface: a beautiful antique wooden table, one of those glass cases every mom or grandma seemed to own, and a plush orange couch in the corner was sprinkled with it. It would probably be easy to organize if Benson had the energy.

They quietly walked past the bed and down the hallway to the very last room. Benson closed the door behind them.

“That’s my ma,” he explained. “She ain’t left that bed since…” Benson got a faraway look in his eye. It was like his body moved on autopilot, gathering a few blankets from the bed and a pullover hoodie from the drawer. Benson had no intention of finishing that thought if the way his lips tightened was any indication.

Randy took in the bedroom. It was so…Benson. It was clear he put no real effort into the decor, and it was just a place to sleep rather than relax. 

He gently helped him fold up the blanket on the bed, giving his hands something to do. He let the sentence drop without prying. 

“You take care of her?”

Benson’s neck cracked like it often did when he was calming himself down or stopping himself from doing something. Randy sort of became used to it after the third day of Hardy hounding them about their shifts.

“I guess.” Benson pulled the sweater over Randy’s head, put the hood up and squeezed his hands right over his ears. “Looks good,” he muttered with a small laugh at Randy’s messy curls.

“Smells like you,” Randy ducked his head into the collar as he pulled his arms into the sleeves.

“That okay?” 

“Yes. I like it.”

Benson hesitated at the door, his knuckles tightened around the handle for a moment. “Good,” he said breathily, and then exited the room with the bundle of blankets beneath his arms. He ducked into the kitchen for a second and pulled out a case of beers, then led Randy back through to the living room.

“Benny?” His mom was half-awake.

“Shh, it’s just me Ma.” Benson leant down to kiss her forehead.

“My cigarettes?” Her voice was frail. 

Benson sighed and pulled his own pack out of his pocket. He tossed it into her lap. Randy fidgeted awkwardly, unsure if he should pretend not to be there.

Her hair was up in a wild bun, she had a few curlers halfway in her pale brown hair, sort of like she started and then gave up. She had purple eyeshadow on and drawn eyebrows. 

Her piercing gaze slid behind her son and looked at him. Ah, those eyes were the same. 

“Who’re you?” she grumbled.

“That’s Randy, Ma. We’re gonna drink on the porch. Go back to sleep.”

His mom’s eyelids fluttered heavily. “I’m hungry, Benny.”

“Well, I didn’t get anything for you to eat, so just…” he sighed. “Go back to sleep or heat up something in the microwave.”

His mom groaned, as if she was in pain. “Y’know I can’t Benny.”

Benson spared a glance back at Randy. He was frustrated and exasperated. 

“I can help?” Randy offered. 

Benson threw the blankets and beer down on the bed by his mother’s feet. 

“Fucking hell.” He led him back to the kitchen. Benson slammed open some cupboards as he made a measly peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He put it on a paper plate and Randy put the ingredients back where he saw Benson take it from.

While Benson was gone, he quickly washed the butter knife and set it to dry. He returned to the living room. 

“Just eat the goddamn sandwich, Ma. For fuck’s sake, I’m not making anything else!” Benson huffed and wrenched a single beer from the case, handing it to her. “Let’s go, Randy.”

He slammed the front door shut behind them and they both awkwardly stood in the silence of the evening. It was cold. The air was biting, and Randy really didn’t know what to say.

Benson pushed him onto the old striped couch outside and covered him in a blanket. Randy smiled at him in thanks, but he wouldn’t meet his eyes. Benson went to the metal porch posts and opened up his beer with the edge of the decorative flower motif. He slammed the heel of his palm over the top, and it popped off. Randy noticed there were lots of little chips there where the paint wore off. Maybe hundreds. He downed half of the beer and continued to face away, leaning against the post, breathing in and then out in measured beats.

Benson often showed him his back. Usually to keep him out of whatever situation was going on in his head. Randy stood up, took the other blanket, and draped it over Benson’s shoulders slowly. The other was shaking.

Randy went back to the old worn couch and sat down, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. He didn’t open them, not even when Benson spoke.

“She’s not sick,” Benson explained. “Not really. Pa drank himself to death and she gave up trying. Sometimes I love her so much that I hate her.”

Black. He saw nothing but black. He heard only Benson’s soothing voice and the noise of the evening crickets.

“She acts like she’s dead. It pisses me the fuck off.”

Randy didn’t like it when Benson was in pain. Didn’t like it at all. “Grief is an ugly thing.”

“I was fucking grieving too!” Benson’s voice rose. This was maybe the first time he ever spoke about it out loud. “My Pa taught me all his bad habits, but he was still my Pa. I wasn’t allowed to give up, was I? No. I’m not gonna let my Ma die too. She’s all I got.”

“You’re a good son, Benson.”

“Yeah?” He scoffed. “How’dya figure?”

Randy finally opened his eyes and lifted his head. Benson was only halfway facing him, but it was enough. “All those beer cap marks,” he pointed. Benson glanced at them as if noticing them for the first time. 

“The fuck are you saying?” Benson flopped back onto the couch next to him like he was buckling up for whatever shit Randy was about to say.

“They’re in the exact same place. It’s not a habit, it’s routine,” Randy explained. “It’s something you do out of necessity.”

Benson was quiet.

“Those marks tell me you’re coping, because you have to. In the only way you know how. I used to make these crescent marks in my palm when I was angry. You calm down out here to protect your mom from...” Randy looked, really looked, those eyes were a mirror of his own, “yourself.”

“And being an alcoholic makes me a good son?” Benson snarled in derision. “I’m supposed to pat myself on the back for not fucking losing it on her?”

“It makes you a son that worries. A son that’s scared. A bad son wouldn’t make those marks. He wouldn’t have a reason to. A bad son wouldn’t have even come back; wouldn’t have to stop himself at all.”

Silence. Crickets. A gentle heave of an exhale, spilling out the rest of his tension.

“You confuse the fuck out of me, Randy.”

“So do you.”

“I don’t wanna leave her,” he admitted quietly. “I fucking should, but I can’t.”

“I know,” Randy put his hand over Benson’s own tattooed one. He took the beer out of his hands and set it down on the porch. Benson watched him, a little stiffly. “I can help. I want to help.”

“How?” Benson asked.

“I can cook. I can clean. I can spend time with her,” he offered.

Benson laughed loudly at that. “You’re insane, kid. I’m not gonna let you nurse my fucking Ma.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s a grown ass woman! And you’ve got better things to do than waste your time here.”

“Like what?”

“Hang out with your friends?” 

“I don’t have friends.”

“Goddamn it, Randy.” Benson rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, fucking study the stray dogs or some shit.”

“Studying stray dogs is better than spending time with your mom?”

“Actually? Yeah. Fuck yeah it is.”

“I’m not spending my time with the strays. I’d fit in too well.” Randy crossed his arms defiantly. “I’m helping your mom whether you want me to or not.”

“Is that so?” Benson gave him a look. He took Randy’s hoodie strings and pulled, tightening them and trapping his face inside. Randy sputtered.

“Oh screw you,” he grumbled as he struggled his way out of the hood. “I’m keeping this sweater.”

Benson gripped the back of his neck securely with a big grin on his face. It made Randy melt in relief. He felt like he was taming something wild.

 

Chapter 4: Four

Randy was shut out of Benson’s porch for the next month and a half. Which really meant Benson stood watch after work and made sure he went straight home.

“You’re downgraded to the car again,” Benson said it like it was a joke, but Randy knew he was genuinely feeling a little apprehensive about his offer. Benson might’ve been okay with letting him see a glimpse of his life, but he was not okay with anything more.

He missed the porch. He liked when Benson told him about the stray cats. How they were all fat because he couldn’t stop feeding them leftovers from his shitty job.

“They’re just so fucking hungry—like I can see their goddamn ribs. What am I, a monster? So what if it’s bread, they eat mice for fucks sake!”

A very fat cat emerged onto the street just then as he finished his tirade and Randy lost it.

“I don’t know what you find so fucking funny, Bradley, this is gonna be your job one day. Take care of the wild or whatever the fuck.” But Benson was struggling not to laugh too.

They spent the next minute coaxing the cat towards them who, up close, was actually very much pregnant.

They both looked at each other when they realized and laughed so hard they scared her off.

But more than that he missed time with Benson. At work, they’d talk on breaks. When their breaks didn’t line up, they’d talk in between refilling cups or flipping a burger. They could barely get a sentence out before Hardy was on their asses. Hardass was Benson’s nickname for him.

“We’re bringing on two new hires. Christian Laureano and Jessie Sherley.” Hardy announced. “I’ve already told the second shift. Y'all'll be training them tomorrow morning.”

Benson shared a deeply distressing look with Randy as he leaned against his spot against the wall. His eyes moved first, and then his head. The only other time he saw that was when a customer was reaming him out for forgetting extra pickles.

That very specific look made the customer back away, tossing out a last ditch threat to save his pride, and leave. 

It took him the entire day after to calm down. He went through two packs before the day was over. Randy counted.

“Okay? So, business as usual. Benson, you’re in back. Bradley, you’re on window.” Hardy clapped, way too loudly for 7:00 a.m., then closed himself in his little office.

“Fuck. Fuck!” Benson cursed and threw his hat against the wall.

Randy jumped. “Benson?”

“Fucking what Randy? Jesus fucking Christ, can you just give me a minute? Do you need me to hold your hand? Go to the goddamn window!”

Randy deflated. Logically, he knew. He did . Of course he knew why Benson was like this. But it still hurt. He put his jacket on and left to stand outside for a while. The place could wait another 15 minutes to open.

He smelled the smoke before he heard him. He could see the shadow standing a few feet behind him.

“After work,” Benson said, resigned. “Ma wants lasagna.”

Randy perked up. He turned to look at him. “You serious?”

“So dead serious I shot it twice,” he rolled his eyes. “Need me to go on?”

Randy reigned in his excitement. “Okay, Benson. I’ll be there.”

Benson pulled him by the arm and slung his own over his shoulder. They walked back in companionable silence.

____

 

Randy’s mom was wary when he told her about the woman he’d be helping take care of. Benson was still trying to wiggle his way out of it, but Randy had a real stubborn streak going ever since reuniting with him. It might’ve had something to do with the fact that Benson still felt guilty about blowing up at him. Either way, he was determined to take care of Benson’s mom.

Even his mother seemed a bit confused by the spirited way he spoke of the two.

“As long as her son says it’s okay,” his mother said cautiously. “Does he know…about?” She motioned to her eye.

“No, mom. He doesn’t need to know and he wouldn’t care anyway.”

“Well, you should still tell him, Randy.”

He wasn’t going to, but he agreed to cut off the argument before it began. He swore his mom always pictured him taking everybody’s eye out.

His mom scribbled down her lasagna recipe and sent him off. Now all he had to do was stop at the store, the gas station, and then to Benson’s. Randy found himself jogging to the car with a grin.

____

 

Benson was smoking out front with his arms crossed. He made his way down as Randy parked. The kid was absolutely fucking insane. He already wasn’t in a good mood to begin with. That morning his Ma was on his ass about something. It was one of her moods. Sometimes she fell into these moments where she thought she was still getting cheated on by Pa. It sort of reminded Benson of his own flashbacks, so he tried not to be too hard on her.

She’d throw shit, cuss, tire herself out, and refuse to eat. It was a constant cycle since 3:00 a.m.

“I’ll cook you dinner tonight after work, Ma, alright? What the hell do you wanna eat? I’ll make it.”

Ma was on her back, clutching at her hair and groaning.

“Ma. What do you wanna eat?”

“Hm? Oh, Benny. My cigarettes.” She sat up. “I need my cigarettes.”

“You gotta wait until I get home, Ma. Tell me what you want to eat.” He kneeled down by her bed and held her hand. “What? You want pasta? Steak?”

A little bit of clarity came back to her. “Yeah, Benny. Pasta. That’d be good. Pa likes lasagna. He can have some…when he gets back.”

Benson got up and turned away so only he knew of the devastation her words had on him. “Okay, Ma. Whatever you want.”

He followed Randy to the trunk and peeked in as the younger dragged a few bags out. “Hey,” Randy smiled at him. Always so fucking beautiful.

“Give me those,” he grabbed the grocery bags. “You really need all this shit for lasagna?”

Randy shrugged and closed the trunk. “I got a few other things too.”

“Fucking hell. I’m gonna regret this.” He considered warning Randy about the shitstorm in the house, but why ruin the surprise? He wanted to help his Ma so badly, after all.

Randy politely folded his hands in front of him like he was meeting Ma for the first time. Benson almost snorted. He shoved the door open and dodged the slipper that came flying at his face. “Get the fuck out! James’ fucking spawn! You motherfucking bastard.”

“Yeah, hi to you too Ma.” Benson kept walking. Randy was frozen at the door.

“Get the hell out! Call the cops Benny, call the cops! Get the fuck out! He’s gonna rob us, Benny!”

“Uh–” Randy froze, wide-eyed.

Benson dropped the bags off in the kitchen and came back. “Rob what, Ma? You got a fucking pot of gold I don’t know about?”

“You go to your room. You’re grounded, Benny.”

“Ma, Randy is gonna come home with me every day after work. He’s volunteered,” he rolled his eyes, “to domesticate himself for us.”

“My cigarettes, Benny,” she ignored his speech as she reached out weakly.

Benson gave Randy a look, as if saying see?

“I didn’t have time to stop for any, Ma.” Fuck. He really should have. He didn’t need Ma going off the rails any more than she already was.

Randy rooted around in his jacket pockets and pulled out two packs of his Ma’s brand. He handed them to her. Benson’s eyes widened.

It seemed this had shocked even Ma. She looked Randy over from head to toe. She gave a minute grunt. Not much of a conversationalist. But Benson knew the fact that she was quiet was strange enough.

“Mind if I use your kitchen, ma’am?” Randy asked politely.

Ma shrugged, “Fine.”

He headed to the kitchen with a small smile. Ma’s eyes followed him as he left.

“What the hell, Randy?” Benson pulled him aside in the hallway.

Randy seemed genuinely surprised at the tone. “What?”

“Don’t fucking spend your money on her cigarettes for Christ’s sake. If you need to buy something for her, you ask me. Got it?”

“If that’s what you want, Benson.” Randy turned away and entered the kitchen.

“And quit with the fucking attitude while you’re in my house.”

He didn’t mean to say that but it slipped out. Fuck, maybe he really was just like his Pa.

Randy started organizing the groceries on the counter, briefly sparing him a look. Benson was trying to handle things by blowing up at the kid. Even he could recognize that. Shit.

“I’m sorry,” Randy placated. “I’ll ask next time.”

Benson’s shoulders relaxed. He sat himself down at the kitchen table and rubbed his face. “You’re playing me like a fiddle, kid.”

A small smile settled on his face. He started prepwork. Benson didn’t realize how long it’d been since they used the oven. When Randy turned it on to heat up, it smelled old, like from another time. Randy simply shut it back off. He put his hands on his hips and considered for a moment.

“What’s wrong?” Benson got up from his chair and stood next to him.

“Oven’s greasy.”

Benson thought ovens were supposed to be sort of greasy. “So?”

“I need you to clean it.”

“You want me to…clean the oven? Now?”

Randy gave him a look.

“Okay, okay. Goddamn. Didn’t know I invited in Martha fucking Stewart.” Benson grumbled as he went to get some supplies.

His knees were not young enough to be doing work like this. He took out the racks and tackled it like he did everything else. With a lot of force and muffled cuss words.

____

 

Randy figured now would be the best time to ask. If he got angry, at least he was stuck halfway in the oven.

“So…this morning?” Randy pulled up a chair nearby.

“Ah fuck!” Benson hit his head on the corner. He spared a bereaved glance at Randy, and kept scrubbing. “What about it?”

“Why did you react like that? About the new employees?”

Benson sighed and it echoed a little funnily. “I fucking hate new hires, that’s all.” 

His shoulders were tense. His neck was twitchy. His scrubbing grew more intense. That wasn’t all. “Doesn’t seem like ‘that’s all.’” Randy paused at the same time Benson did. Uh oh.

He threw the sponge down and slowly picked himself up off the ground. “You wanna repeat that?” Benson crowded him against the chair.

“It just…” Randy gulped. “It seemed like…something more.”

“If I say ‘that’s all’? I mean thats fucking all.” Benson gripped his shoulder. “You hear me? That’s all means what, Randy?”

Randy sighed. “That’s all.”

“That’s exactly fucking right.” Benson left the room and a door slammed somewhere down the hall.

Randy guiltily took over cleaning the oven. When it was finished he opened the window and put the lasagna in. He called his mom.

“Hi honey, everything okay?”

Randy smiled. “Yeah, all good mom. Just put the lasagna in. Thanks for the help.”

“Sure, sweetie. Let me know how it is.”

“I’m probably gonna be home later than usual. I had to clean the oven and I might organize the living room a bit too.”

His mom sighed. “Okay, Randy. Don’t overwork yourself, you hear me? You still have work tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, I know mom. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Love you, honey.”

“Love you, mom.”

He took a moment to compose himself and then went to the living room. Benson’s mom was reading a dime novel.

“Sure smells good,” she commented.

Randy brightened. “Yeah, it does.” He approached the glass cupboard and looked at all the pictures inside. They were placed in very specific order. “Is it okay if I clean this table off?” 

Benson’s mom looked up and pursed her lips. “Ask James first,” she said.

“James?” Randy asked.

“Uh-huh. Bastard’s out cheating again, probably. Tch. Might as well throw all that out. Go ahead and clean it.”

Oh. Benson’s father? Wasn’t he…dead?

“Um, I won’t throw anything away. I’m just gonna…”

Benson’s mom turned away on her side, facing the wall. She kept reading. The book was upside down.

Randy got to cleaning. Just as he suspected, it only took several minutes to clean it all up. Rather than trash, it was just items that needed places to go. When he was finished, he was left with the tablecloth of a jolly chef. It was cute. He had a bit more time left.

He went down the hall to Benson’s room and knocked. He could hear soft rock playing.

“Just get in here, Randy. Fucking hell.”

Randy opened the door. Benson was laying on his bed with one leg off. He was smoking and staring at the ceiling.

“What do you want?”

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Randy closed the door and sat down on the bed. Hanging on the wall at eye-level was a picture of a young Benson and Carter. Benson was grinning, his arms and legs stretched out in a giant X-shape. Carter’s neck was bowed, almost as if she was posing too. He got on his knees and moved closer. Benson seemed startled.

“Oh , Carter…” Randy’s eyes grew heavy with tears. Benson looked just like he did in his memories.

The bed creaked as Benson sat up. “That was my first week,” he commented.

Randy reached to caress the picture but couldn't. Didn’t. They belonged in the past.

“Thought it was the coolest fucking job on earth,” he snorted. “Waste of time.”

Randy looked at the joy in that picture, and then he looked at the shell on the bed. The husk of something else. He slowly stood up, wiping his eyes.

“I’m gonna go.”

“What?” Benson looked alarmed. “You just said dinner is almost ready.”

“It is. Just…take it out in 5 minutes and let it cool.”

“You’re not gonna stay?”

“No,” Randy said. “No, I’m not.”

Benson’s thick eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”

Randy’s brain told him the words I can’t but instead his lips formed, “I don’t want to.”

Maybe that stunned Benson into silence. Randy didn’t stick around long enough to find out. He didn’t say goodbye to Benson’s mom. He packed up and left.

Notes:

when the rose-tinted glasses come off but hes still rose-tinted 😋

Chapter 5: Five

sry bout 2nite

Randy was almost asleep when his phone beeped. It shattered his slowly-forming fog of a dream.

The message was clearly from Benson, but when did he even save his number? A vague memory of Benson screwing around with his jacket popped up from a week ago. Ah.

its fine

His cell phone started to ring. He answered it before it could wake his mom or sister up.

“Hello?”

There was the sound of a glass bottle falling in the background. Benson’s distant voice echoed shit!

“Are you drinking?” Randy asked, worried. He lowered his voice into a harsh whisper. It was past midnight already.

“No. I’m just outside. Don’t wanna wake Ma,” Benson sighed. “Listen, sorry about tonight. Really. I thought about all the shit you did for us and I was just…”

“Being an asshole?”

Benson gave a tired laugh. It sounded nice over the phone. “Yeah.”

“It’s fine, Benson.” It just shook him a little, realizing that Benson might’ve been right. He might’ve been remembering a false memory this whole time. He couldn’t tell this to Benson though, it would wreck him. Wreck them both, really.

“So we’re cool?” 

“If you tell me what I’m walking into in a few hours, we will be.”

Benson groaned, but he could tell the other had already acquiesced. “One of the new hires is my fucking ex. That’s all. For real this time.”

“Um.” Randy was about to ask ‘the man or the woman’, but figured that probably wouldn’t go over well. “Jessie?”

“Yeah. Fucking Jess.” He grumbled her name like it tasted bad. “She’s a real piece of work.”

Randy didn’t know whether to be jealous or not. Benson’s ex-girlfriend had either broken his heart or stolen his money. That was the only way he could imagine Benson might hold a grudge of some sort.

“I’ll train her tomorrow then, okay?”

“Nah, it’s fine Randy. I’m a big boy. I’m just not fucking looking forward to it.”

Do you still have feelings for her? He wanted to ask.

“Okay then.”

“So? We cool now?”

“We’re cool.”

“Good. See you at 6:30.”

“Goodnight, Benson.”

“Night kid.”

____

 

Jess was pretty in a small-town kind of way. Or maybe Randy really was just pissy about it. She looked like someone Benson would date. Sort of alternative, with tattoos and attitude. 

He found himself analyzing her, watching her, which turned out to be a really bad idea.

Chris, her boyfriend, pushed him up against the wall on their break outside. Randy was glad to see he looked just as stupid in his new uniform as the rest of them. He couldn’t help but flinch though. He didn’t know these hands. Not like he knew Benson’s.

“You wanna fuck my girl, huh, Bradley?” Chris was inches from his face, breathing out some awful mix of redbull and orange soda. “That why you keep watching her?”

Randy barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. “No.”

“No?” Chris grinned predatorily. “You fucking virgin. Never saw a hot piece of ass like her, I bet.”

Small-town pretty was right on the tip of his tongue. He needed this job. “I just like her style, that’s all.”

Chris backed away, roughly patting his shoulder. “Her style. Right. Keep watching her style like that and you’ll regret it.” He spat at his feet, barely missing his beat up vans.

He watched Chris go back inside, and with a bit of vindication, heard Benson say, “fucking move,” to Chris before emerging from the door himself.

He glanced at Randy suspiciously as he lit a cigarette. “He say something to you?”

Randy huffed a small, almost nervous laugh. He considered lying but knew it would be worse for him if he did. “He just thinks I wanna have sex with Jess.”

Benson raised an eyebrow and approached him. He looked him up and down. “You?”

“What? You don’t think I could?”

A grin took over Benson’s face. “Well, to tell you the truth Bradley, she’d give it up for any warm body in a two foot radius. So yeah, you most definitely could.”

“But?”

Benson stepped closer to him and blew smoke in his face. “I think your tastes are a little more masculine.”

Randy wrinkled his nose and coughed but didn’t pull away. He shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. Y’know, Chris is pretty masculine.”

Benson grabbed his waist and pushed him against the wall. He pinned him there with his pelvis and watched him from under his hat. Randy grew redder the longer he looked. 

His hips slowly grinded into Randy’s. “Right. Chris.” Benson laughed and then backed away. He glanced down at the twitching bulge in Randy’s pants.

“Fuck off, Benson.” Randy adjusted himself awkwardly.

“You’re too fucking fun,” Benson laughed. 

“My break’s over,” Randy announced and walked past him with as much dignity as he could muster while half hard. He really hoped Chris didn’t see him like this.

____

 

Benson was actually holding it together pretty well. Jess was a fucking bitch, but apparantly she was in a steady relationship with the tall motherfucker Chris. They talked nonstop about fucking, which was hilarious because Randy turned beet red every time. 

Jess was a lot easier to tolerate now that she was sober. They didn’t acknowledge each other at all, which was fine by him. He actually wasn’t even sure if she knew who he was. If she remembered what she did to Pa’s car. Not like it really mattered in the end. The car was fucking gone. Pa was gone a year after that. The only one who was hanging on to that memory was Benson.

The only real issue was that Chris seemed to have little dick syndrome. Which meant, in order for him to feel like a man, he had to posture like a douchebag. It was amusing the first week, but then Jess started bonding with Randy in a really weird coworker way.

They apparently had some things in common. Benson didn’t know and really didn’t fucking care. What he did know was that Jess’ boyfriend wasn’t happy about it. What Chris really wanted was a threesome between him, Jess and Randy. That much he could tell, but he wasn’t gonna lay that out on the table in the middle of fucking Burgers Burgers Burgers. So he let Chris whip his little dick around for now. Just as long as he didn’t touch what was his. Things would be fine.

Unfortunately for everyone, a day later, he did just that.

____

 

Every other day after work, Randy went over to Benson’s for dinner. The first time they had dinner at the table in the living room was a bit overwhelming for everyone. Apparently the last time they ate together at the table was when Benson’s dad was still alive.

Randy dished out the steak salad and sat down. At home, his mom would usually have Hailey say the prayer. Here, though, there was no praying. Benson’s mom had taken her hair down for the dinner. She looked so much younger with her hair like that and Randy complimented it.

Benson gave him a sly look. “Yeah Ma, real pretty.” 

The nice atmosphere didn’t last for long though, because she was crying into her salad a minute later. When the salad was thrown at the wall, Benson had to take a breather outside. 

He figured out her name was Susan Slaughter while organizing the junk drawer earlier that day. It was such a unique name. He never really asked for Benson’s last name, so finding out was exciting in its own way.

Susan was sitting on her bed, sobbing. Randy got on his knees and cleaned up the broken plate and salad. He went to the kitchen and sat down by the window. The Slaughters were a dysfunctional family at best. Randy didn’t really know where he fit in. Didn’t know why he wanted to so badly. Maybe because it was the stark opposite of his own.

There was no yelling in his house. Only very mild disagreements or short-lived arguments. No screaming matches. No slamming doors. But there was also no life. It was quiet.

So it shook him up, to see the plate thrown at his face; her eyes full of grief and rage. It scared him, and maybe, strangely, pleased him—making them uncomfortable, pushing them to limits they never dared approach on their own.

What right did he have to do that? Well, because Benson was his, he decided. He wanted to live so far beneath his skin that he’d enter his bloodstream. He didn’t want to be considered a ‘waste of time’ he wanted to be time itself to Benson. Something that ticks every hour, every day, nonstop, forever.

He could hear shuffling come down the hallway. He thought maybe Benson had come in already, but when he turned to look it was Susan. Her hands shook as she messed with the silver bracelet on her arm. Tears flowed down her cheeks with no sign of stopping.

“For a moment there,” she started, her voice scratchy and wet, even rougher than usual, “I saw James.” 

Randy figured it was probably something like that. He nodded sympathetically.

“The way Benny looked at you…like you was made of gold. Same way he looked at his daddy. Hopeful. Happy.”

Her eyes were seeing something he couldn't.

He wondered how many more times he was going to cry in this house.

“I shouldn’t’ve done that,” she said. “Sometimes…I can’t tell what was 20 years ago, and what’s right now. I hated that man. I don’t hate you, though. Y’hear?”

Randy nodded. “Yes ma’am, I hear you.”

“Good. Take this.” She took out a 20 from her pocket. “Take Benny to Kutzberg. I’d like to be alone for a while. He probably needs time too.”

She shuffled back down the hallway to her bed. Randy made sure the remaining food was put away, and then turned off the lights and stepped outside. Benson was sitting on the front lawn this time, staring out into the barren street.

“You hungry?” Randy asked. 

Benson looked over at him with lowered eyelids. “Fucking starving.”

They took Benson’s car to the diner off route 100. Basically the only diner that wasn’t completely rundown. They talked a bit on the way there, but mostly just listened to Benson’s heavy metal.

When they sat down Benson ordered coffee and waffles. Randy ordered the same but with orange juice.

“Ma kick you out?” Benson asked, finally, once he had some coffee in his system.

“Yeah,” Randy sipped his juice.

“Hah. Welcome to the fucking family.” Benson muttered sarcastically.

Randy took out the 20 and put it on the table. “From your ma.”

A shocked look came over Benson. “You’re shitting me.”

“Nope.” Randy spun his cup around, swirling it lazily in the little wet puddle around it. He was drained.

“Huh.” Benson sat back in the booth and considered the money on the table. 

They both fell silent for a second.

“I can’t believe this. She actually fucking likes you.” Benson was in awe. Genuine awe.

“Surprise. I can be likeable sometimes,” Randy rolled his eyes.

“No you don’t get it, Randy. That woman hates everything that breathes.”

“Maybe you just think she does.”

Benson cackled, gathering a few awkward stares from the other patrons. “She told me that herself.”

“Well, guess she changed her mind.”

Benson grinned maniacally. “Nah. You’re just special. Fucking Randy Bradley, who knew.”

“You knew,” Randy muttered. He tried to muffle it into his juice but Benson heard it loud and clear.

“Damn right I did.” He clinked his coffee cup with Randy’s orange juice, spilling a little of both onto the table and mixing together into a shade of dry blood. 

Benson dropped Randy off at his house afterwards, promising to pick him up in the morning. Randy decided he’d leave his car parked at Benson’s since he’d be over later anyway, ‘yeah ma tried to take your head off, but you still owe her dinner, kid’.

Despite the stressful day, Randy had quite a peaceful sleep. He drifted off to the memory of Benson laughing at the lopsided pineapple smiley faces on the waffles. The diner lights, blueish and purple made him look ethereal.

If he knew what the next day held he likely would’ve stayed awake just a little longer, before he fell completely.

 

Notes:

Was reading cast info when I saw Hardy's actor's last name was Slaughter. I thought that was perfect for Benson's family, so Benson Slaughter it is.

Chapter 6: Six

Notes:

CW: attempted sexual assault, non-graphic flashbacks of CSA

Benson held open the door for Randy and they walked in together.

“Oh, coming into work together, hm?” Jess teased as she refilled the napkin dispensers. Randy spared her a look.

“Morning,” he greeted and headed to the back. 

Benson ignored her altogether.

He sighed when he heard Jess follow after him, her heeled boots clicking on the cheap linoleum floor. “So…what’s the story?” She raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Come on Bradley, you know this place bores the fuck out of me. I need gossip.”

Randy hung his jacket up. “There’s no story.”

He headed to the front again to spray down the trays.

“I knew Chris was full of shit when he said you had a crush on me. I have, like, a crazy good gaydar.” Jess hopped up on the counter beside him. “Is that offensive to say?”

He inwardly rolled his eyes.

“But I’m surprised it’s y’know, with him,” she tilted her head to where Benson was already prepping to mop the floors. “I mean I know he's not gay, like duh. He’s like an insanely good lay…and has a huge—”

“Jess, seriously,” Randy glared at her. “Quit it.”

“Sheesh, someone’s grumpy.” Jess hopped off the counter and started helping him.

Chris came out from the bathroom and looked at the two of them. He came closer, licking his lips. “Aw, baby. You giving to charity again?” He came up behind Jess and groped her.

“Babe,” Jess complained. “I’m literally working.”

“So? Bradley can fucking do the trays.” He squeezed her breasts lewdly. “Blow me in the bathroom, I just cleaned the floors.”

“Ugh, you’re such a pig, I already brushed my teeth.” She squirmed in his hold and bit her lip, giggling.

“So? Think of it like a protein shake. You want your nutrients, don't you?”

Randy looked at Benson to see if he was hearing this shit too, but the other was across the room absorbed in mopping.

“Baby, leave me alone. I’m talking to Bradley.” She escaped his hold. Chris scoffed, slapping her ass, and going to the back to do god knows what. “He’s always ready to go. I swear, ‘cause he’s like 23. I mean, I’m in my thirties, right, no big deal. The older woman or whatever. You know. I bet you have the same situation.”

No, he very much didn’t actually. Benson was content to eyefuck him to death.

“Chris is great and all. He knows how to party, but I swear, he’s a little lacking downstairs.”

Randy couldn’t smother the cackle fast enough. Jess seemed unbothered by his laughter, but Benson looked up at them with a confused expression. Oh fuck. He only laughed louder.

Chris must’ve heard because he came from the back like there was a fire. “What’s so funny?” He demanded.

Jess rolled her eyes.

“Nothing babe.”

“What’s so funny Bradley?” Chris approached him. 

Randy looked down at Chris’ pants, right where his crotch was and exploded in a fit of giggles. A hand came out of nowhere and gripped his shirt, pulling him from between the couple and outside. It’d been awhile since Benson manhandled him, but he knew it was him immediately.

“You tryna get your teeth kicked in?” Benson threw him against the gas pump and Randy stumbled. His laughter didn’t stop though. “Randy.”

He tried to calm down by leaning over on his knees and taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I just—”

“Just what? Just trying to piss off a guy that already wants to kick your ass?”

Benson was serious.

“He won’t hurt me.”

“I work overtime with him, Randy, I assure you, he absolutely fucking would." Benson stepped closer. “And he’d love every second of it.”

Randy looked past Benson into the window. Chris was glaring bullets at him. “Shit.”

“Yeah, ‘shit’. What’d Jess say anyway?”

Randy smiled a little. “That you have a huge dick and Chris is lacking downstairs.”

Benson scoffed. “Yeah well, any idiot could tell that from a mile away.”

Randy couldn’t help but glance down. Benson grabbed his jaw and kept him at eye level. 

“Have some decency,” Benson grumbled. He let go of him. “Get back inside.”

Randy hurried back. Chris was still glaring at him. He did his best to ignore him. That method worked right up until the end of the day. Randy was in the bathroom, washing his hands, when Chris came inside and grabbed him by the neck. He threw him to the ground and got on top of him.

Randy tried to fight him off but he was too big. He groaned under the weight. At first he thought Chris was just going to beat him, but the next words sent a coil of disgust in his stomach.

“You think my dick is small huh? Let’s fucking see yours.” Chris held a hand over his mouth. With his other hand he grabbed at his belt and pulled. Randy tried to buck him off. He got his pants unzipped when Chris was suddenly thrown off him. 

Randy gasped and sat up, pulling his pants closed and catching a brief glance of Chris’ sneakers being dragged away out the door. He zipped himself up and followed. Benson was dragging him by the shirt to the middle of the empty restaurant. Both of their hats had flown off. All he could hear was blood pumping in his ears, Jess screaming, and Benson eerily silent except for grunts of exertion. 

He couldn’t recognize what was happening until a fist flew up, and blood flung off it and splattered on his cheek. Benson was going to kill him.

“Stop! Stop!” Jess screamed. Her piercing shrills pulled him back to the present. He pulled Benson off of Chris. The rampaging beast let him. It was too easy. 

Benson’s boots trampled over Chris’ bloody body and stalked off out the door, heading to the car.

“Benson!” Randy yelled. Fuck.

Jess was sobbing as she slipped on Chris’ blood. His nose was broken–shattered really–his lip busted, his ear lobe hanging off, his eyelid torn. Randy ran outside.

“Benson!” He watched as Benson unlocked the trunk and took out his shotgun. “Benson, no!” Randy ran up to him with his hands out. “Stop!” 

Benson pushed him out of his way and kept walking until he was within a few feet of the door. No. No. Not again. Not because of me. A snapshot image of a bloody eraser sticking out of Miss Beard’s eye socket assaulted his vision.

“Please don’t,” Randy sobbed. “Don’t, Benson. Let’s have dinner…I wanna have dinner tonight. At your place. I don’t want to be alone. Please.”

Benson made eye contact through the window at Chris. He was being held up halfway by Jess, crouched on his knees and heaving. Chris’ one eye was well enough to see what Benson’s intentions were. 

He raised the shotgun and aimed—pivoted to the right and shot through Chris’ truck’s windshield. The shotgun going off was like a clap of thunder. Randy jumped and covered his ears. Benson calmly reloaded and shot again. He reloaded. The empty shells framed his bloody boots.

All of them watched without stopping him. Everyone there knew what had just happened. They knew the truck should’ve been Chris. Would’ve been, if Randy hadn’t been there.

Benson was all out of shells. The truck was riddled with holes. The power of the shotgun completely totaled it.

An ambulance was called, but nobody dared blame Benson. The shotgun was already locked up again; the shells were gone. It was a rampaging customer, Jess said, her fearful eyes darted to Benson who was watching with those predatory eyes. Chris didn’t say anything at all. Shock, they said it was.

Benson hid his bloody hands in his pockets and since they all had Chris’ blood on their shoes, nobody even noticed his boots. They both watched from the car as they loaded Chris in the ambulance and took off.

When everyone was gone, Randy got out of the car and bent over to retch. He panted. He couldn’t believe it. Benson almost fucking commited homicide for him. He was one second away from doing it. He could still do it if he wanted. Randy knelt there for a while.

When he was ready, he got back in the car, and climbed over the seat to hug Benson. The older hugged back tightly, and huffed a breath into his neck. Randy couldn’t tell if it was a kiss, but found he didn’t care either way. He wasn’t gonna let go. He nuzzled his face into Benson, smelling the coppery scent of blood, sweat, and the wax of the shotgun. It was the sweetest thing he ever smelled.

“You were right to intervene,” Benson said evenly.

Randy was right to intervene. But the unspoken was loud and clear: He still should’ve died.

Benson genuinely believed Chris deserved to die for touching him. Randy shivered.

“Can we go now?” Randy asked in a small, fragile voice. He made up his mind to call his mother later and tell her he was staying at Benson’s. He didn’t care if he had to tie himself to the older man, he wasn’t leaving his side for a second.

“Yeah. We can go.”

Randy didn’t move away, even when Benson started the car and began to drive. It was slow-going, but he found he didn’t mind. All he needed to feel was Benson’s breath on his neck.

____

 

They got home late, not that Benson was complaining. It was better that way. Randy felt so pliant and warm in his embrace. They both smelled like blood and sweat. His hands were throbbing, every single knuckle was split. He tried to only think of Randy safe in his lap. He tried not to think of anything else. Especially not anything in the past.

There were remnants of leftovers on Ma’s bedside table. She was already sleeping. Benson led the way to the bathroom. They both stripped down to their boxers and wiped themselves down. Half of his brain was hyperfocused on Randy. The other half was dizzy with rage, grief, and the urge to dry heave.

When he saw Chris with his hand over Randy’s mouth…Randy’s legs struggling underneath a larger body…the clinking of a loose belt, he…

 

                    Red.

   

                                          Heavy.

 

                         Central.

 

        Suffocating.

 

                                      Vomit.

 

Disgust.

 

                                             Wrong.

 

                             Sick.

 

Warm.

 

                                    Too warm.

 

Get off.

 

Benson had to shower. He had to. Now. Without warning Randy, he turned on the shower to the hottest setting and stood under it, boxers and all. Randy inched closer and put his hand under the spray. He frowned and adjusted the temperature.

He closed the curtain for him. Useless, really. Benson turned the cold water off again. He made sure his skin was all red and it matched the pain in his hands before he finally shucked off his boxers and stepped out. Randy was sitting cross-legged on the fuzzy rug on the bathroom floor with his eyes closed and his head back. The steam of the bathroom made his hair a little more damp and curly. Benson wrapped a towel around his waist lazily while watching him.

“Randy,” he called.

Randy jolted awake.

“Let’s go to bed.”

He helped Randy to his feet. They were both so weak they stumbled into each other and struggled to balance one another. When they got to his room, Benson dug out some shorts and a tshirt for Randy. He dressed himself in boxers, sweats, socks, a long sleeve shirt, and a hooded sweater. Randy didn’t question it. He was already curled up under Benson’s blankets with his phone in his hands, typing out a short message. Probably to his micromanaging bitch of a mom.

He put on some music, turned low, and flopped down next to Randy. He lit a cigarette. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, and what little he might manage would be riddled with nightmares. He couldn’t get the image out of his head. He still wanted to pummel Chris’ face. He wanted to shoot his guts out. Make his face freeze in morbid fear. He wanted to skin him alive. Hang him upside down by his entrails.

But the expression Randy made in the reflection behind him, when he begged Benson to stop, was the rawest, truest expression he ever saw. He wasn’t looking at Chris. He was looking at Benson’s back. Just as he always had. Staring at him. Yearning for something neither of them understood.

‘I wanna have dinner tonight.’ But Benson knew neither of them was capable of eating anything. Still, Randy managed to bring up the future, himself, and his Ma all in one. It was effective. He didn’t know what would’ve happened had he said anything else. He turned on his side, his cigarette glowed in the dark between them.

The younger put his phone away and looked at him in the orange light. 

“You okay?” Benson asked in a whisper. He remembered how much he wished someone asked him that after. After. For years he wished that.

Sweet, gentle Randy whimpered in reply. Almost like his body couldn’t contain what he was feeling. “Thank you,” he struggled to say. The small pinpoint of fire reflected in glassy eyes. Familiar eyes.

He couldn’t quite touch, not now, but he let the back of his hand graze Randy’s damp face, letting the bitter tears sting his own wounds. Benson comforted him until he fell asleep. The Smiths 'Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want" played next.

Chapter 7: Seven

Notes:

Ngl this one hurt.

Jess came to work the next day. Benson dropped him off but didn’t go in, ‘just in case the pigs show up.’ He was reluctant to let Randy go in at all, but Hardy was hounding them like crazy about the incident the day before. Randy needed to save face, make up lies, do whatever he had to in order to keep Benson safe.

Jess met him at the door, her hair was messy, and she had no makeup on. She glanced behind him at the tan car. They both stood at the threshold, watching Benson grip the steering wheel with swollen knuckles. One of his hands raised in a sarcastic wave.

“It’s too early for this,” Jess closed the door and turned to look at Randy. Her arms were crossed. “Can we talk?”

“Uh—” 

“It’ll just take a sec. Let’s get some coffee. Fuck Hardy, I’m dead on my feet.”

She rounded the corner and poured them both a cup of coffee. Randy awkwardly put some milk and sugar in his. Jess leaned against the counter. “Chris is so fucking stupid. I told him not to mess with you. He didn’t believe me when I said Benson would fuck up his pretty face.”

“You…knew?” 

“What? That Chris had it out for you? Yeah I knew.” She rolled her eyes. “Benson hasn’t changed. He still uses his fists to talk. I just didn’t think that he’d…” 

“Yeah.” They both remembered Benson standing with the shotgun aimed at Chris.

“He’s so far gone for you. Like, fuck, for real.” 

Far gone? Randy wondered if that meant what he thought it did. More than that, he was curious about something else. “Why didn’t you call the police?”

Jess pursed her chapped lips and tapped her nails against the cheap paper cup. “Benson probably thinks I don’t remember. Too coked out of my mind.”

“Remember what?”

“A long time ago, I took his daddy’s car for a joyride right into the river,” she laughed. “He broke up with me ‘cause I cheated on him or whatever. He left me on the side of the fucking highway. So I wanted to get even. He loved his dad’s car. He loved his dad. Two birds, one stone, you know?”

Randy almost wanted to punch her in the face. Jess saw the look he gave her. 

“I was fucking tweaking out back then, okay?” Jess explained. “Anyway, yeah, so apparently that caused a huge shitstorm between him and his dad. They still weren’t talking when he died a year later.”

The pieces clicked together about why Benson was so cagey about her. Why he blew up at him that day Hardy announced the new hires.

“That’s awful," Randy put the cup of coffee down, suddenly sick. He wondered if he should be hearing this at all, but he knew Benson would never tell him. Besides, the status quo had changed quite a bit since yesterday.

“I know. After I got sober I felt so fucking bad.” Jess shrugged. “I don’t want to be responsible for fucking up another thing in his life, y’know? Maybe it’ll ease my conscience about the whole making-his-dad-hate-him-before-he-died thing.”

“Or you could just apologize,” Randy said bluntly. Jess gave him the finger. “Then what about Chris?”

“I’ll deal with Chris, don’t worry, loverboy. I’ll handle my man, you handle yours.”

Randy blushed. “He’s not my man.”

“Well he was gonna kill my man for you, so if he’s not your man then I don’t wanna know what the hell he is.”

A thrill of pleasure, possessive and obsessive shot through him like lightning. He hoped it was true. That Benson thought of Randy as his. In the same way wolves defended their territory; bloody, violent, all teeth.

 

____

All ok

 

Benson sat at the Kutzberg with a cup of coffee in front of him. He didn’t sit at the same booth he had with Randy. The metal stools up front hurt his fucking back, but that was fine.

He looked at Randy’s text message. They argued on the way to work. Well, Benson argued. Randy sort of just made snide little comments. Benson wanted to wait in the parking lot the entirety of Randy’s shift. Randy was absolutely certain that would not end well.

“Are you insane?”

“Well I almost just fucking shot a man yesterday. You tell me.” Well, not much of a man. More like a flaccid cock.

The somber mood from last night wore away. Now Benson was jittery from dry-heaving into the sink, the non-stop nicotine, and no-sleep. That, pissed, and a little fucking feral. He didn’t want Randy going in at all, but the conniving little shit must’ve taken debate in high school or watched a weird amount of TED talks because the things he said were so damn convincing.

The deal was that Randy would check in every hour. 

“I don’t have unlimited texts,” he said.

“I’ll fucking buy you the goddamn minutes then!”

“But–”

“It’s either that or I watch you from across the street.”

“Fine. Eight texts. No more.”

Which meant Benson wasn’t allowed to text back. Whatever. He had other things to do today. Benson had to make sure Randy was safe even if he wasn’t there. Jess was stupid but mostly harmless if you weren’t a car. She was fine. Hardy was a fucking pervert but wasn’t into men. That took off two from the board. 

The issue was whether Chris was going to quit or not. If he was stupid enough to stay, he wouldn’t be scheduled with Benson. Randy would have to take that place instead. Benson was not okay with that.

Aside from tying Randy up in his house, the only actual way to protect Randy without being there was to make sure the kid had a way to protect himself. 

So, a gun it was. He’d have to dig out his Pa’s revolver, clean it, find a place to practice with Randy, and hope he didn’t absolutely freak on him.

Only then would the danger of actually killing Chris subside. The best way to make sure he didn’t reoffend was to take him out entirely. Too bad that wasn’t an option.

 

____

Randy was halfway in the hallway closet, voice muffled, but still talking as he pulled out piles of junk.

“So Jess said that he only needed stitches on his earlobe and eyelid.” Randy reemerged with his hair sticking up and cobwebs everywhere. “Nose is all screwed up though.”

“I don’t fucking wanna hear about that dick.” Benson held the flashlight up behind him, shining it into the closet and illuminating a bunch of nothing. “What the hell are you even looking for?”

Randy turned to look at him. “The sewing machine.”

“For fucking what?”

“You know you can just talk like a normal person,” Randy rolled his eyes. “The sewing machine isn’t your enemy.”

“Watch your—”

“Fucking attitude,” Randy finished. “Yeah, yeah.” He turned back to keep digging.

Benson nudged his butt with his boot.

“Ouch,” he glared at him. Benson shone the light in his eyes.

“You’re an asshole,” Randy snatched the light away and watched Benson retreat back to the kitchen to check on the food.

“You find it?” Susan called from the living room. She hacked on her cigarette smoke and coughed. 

“Not yet!” Randy sighed and dusted himself off. “Any other ideas?”

“The attic, I guess,” came her reply.

“I’ll check,” Randy pushed all the crap back inside and closed the closet door. The entrance to the attic was in the kitchen pantry. Benson glanced at him as he came in.

“No luck?” He asked, a smirk on his face.

Randy didn’t know whether he wanted to smack it off or kiss it off. Probably a bit of both. “No, but I could use a little help if you’re not busy.”

Benson was clearly not busy.

“I’m busy,” he said.

Randy didn’t even bother to argue. He went to the pantry, but before he could even begin to reach up, Benson was behind him. “What’re you going up there for?”

He very much wanted to be sarcastic, but he recognized that tone of Benson’s. After being around him and his mom, that tone usually came before someone got a verbal lashing.

“The sewing machine.”

“Just forget it. Tell Ma you couldn’t find it.”

Randy turned around, his expression searching. James’ things were probably stored there. “You know I can’t do that,” he whispered gently. “I’ll be careful. I won’t touch anything. Okay?”

Benson considered his words. He could tell he was still uneasy.

“Trust me?” Randy trailed his hand down Benson’s arm to his wrist and caressed it. “Please?”

“You play dirty,” Benson groaned. “Fine. You get two minutes to look.”

“Five?”

“Three.”

“Four?” Randy looked hopeful. He stepped closer. 

“Fucking hell.” Benson manually turned him back around to face away from him. “Someone ‘oughta drop a house on you.”

Randy laughed. He pulled down the string to the attic and lowered the ladder. He was aware of Benson’s gaze on his behind, but figured he deserved a reward for giving him four minutes.

He stuck his head up and shone the flashlight around. It turned out he really didn’t need to look very hard at all. It was there, stuffed in a bag against the far wall. He ventured in further, feeling a warning squeeze on his calf. He ignored it and climbed all the way up in a crouch, shining the flashlight at the easiest path.

He was probably around minute three when he saw it. An old page from a yearbook. He didn’t mean to see it. It was torn out. It was a third grade class. The teacher’s hands, mouth, and pelvis were crossed out with a red pen, so violently that it tore a hole through to the other side. A small flare of familiarity lit up his brain. Then, he saw it. He felt bile rise up in his throat.

A child, standing in line with the other kids, was completely gouged out with the same red ink. The third from the left. An empty spot, lined with red. The bottom of the class photo listed him as Benson Slaughter. 

“That’s four minutes, Randy.” Benson’s dead voice came from behind him. He had climbed the ladder and was staring at the photo too, his eyes empty. Even without saying anything, he promised violence.

Randy gripped the nearby sewing machine and handed it to Benson. Benson dropped it on the kitchen floor and waited until Randy was near enough to grab. He took him by the collar and dragged him down the ladder. Randy squeezed his eyes shut. He expected a fist in the face or in the stomach, but what he got was worse. 

Benson caressed his face with shaking, gentle hands. An onslaught of raging tears flowed so quickly they dropped to the floor heavily, plick, plick, plick.

It was like he was searching, begging, hoping that Randy hadn’t seen what he thought he did. Hadn’t pieced it together. A child’s small act of secret defiance. 

Benson knew that he knew. Randy couldn’t pretend he didn’t see that. He was expecting a photo or two of James; anything else—not that. He never imagined it might be that.

“I’m so sorry Benson.”

His nostrils flared like a caged bull on its last run. “Don’t.”

“You were just a kid,” he whispered.

“Shut up!” Benson had a hand around his neck, but it never tightened. It didn't hurt at all. “I swear to God, I’ll fucking kill you. I will.”

Benson’s teeth grit, his veins bulged, and still his grip was light as a feather.

“You were harmless,” Randy said, and he meant it. He meant it from his very soul.

Benson turned away and kicked the stove, the glass of it shattered. He upturned the table, and screamed as he punched through the glass window. He screamed a cry of agony. “Fuck!” He gasped for air. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” 

Randy flinched every time but didn’t run. 

“What the fuck do you know, huh?” Benson yelled. “You don’t fucking know who I was! You don’t know shit!”

Randy pushed Benson’s pulsing body against the wall and pinned him there with an arm over his shoulders. They wrestled for a second until Benson slipped on some glass and they both slid to the floor.

“When I was eight, you said that to me. You did!” Randy kneeled on the ground where Benson found himself. “When I thought everything bad that ever happened around me was my fault. When I thought I was evil. Full of anger. You were the only one who said differently.”

Benson looked so lost, broken, and confused. His chest pumped up and down like he had just trampled the streets of Pamplona.

“‘You’re harmless, kid.’ That’s what you said. Were you lying?” Randy asked, his fists wrapped in his favorite Metallica shirt. “Did you lie to me? At the zoo, when I was on your shoulders? When Carter licked my face?”

Randy implored him to get it. To remember. To understand. 

Recognition passed over Benson. The words unlocked a distant memory of the sun, of princess bandaids, and a gentle peal of surprised laughter. Of the only child who turned away from the giraffes. Benson shook his head.

“I was just a kid,” Randy approached Benson’s broken heart with his own, slowly, beckoning. Calming and quiet. Coaxing it out of hiding and into the sun. “You were just a kid.”

"I was fucking harmless," Benson echoed brokenly, choking on his emotions. “I was. I swear, I was. I swear. I swear.”

“That’s right, Benson.” Randy tucked a piece of hair up out of his eyes, like his mom used to when he was upset from wetting the bed. When the nightmares were too much. “You were harmless.”

Benson leant over, nearly tackling Randy as he collapsed against him and screamed into his stomach, writhing and sobbing his heart out into his lap. The screams were from the depths of an adult. The tears were innocent and eight years old. His body was 34 now; his split knuckles, his eyes. But the hurt was still eight. Would forever be eight.

Chapter 8: Eight

Randy sort of understood what kind of mom Susan was, because she pretended like she hadn’t heard glass breaking or Benson sobbing. At least Randy’s mom wouldn’t have ignored him. Smothered? Yes, but never ignored.

They were on the porch again, sitting side by side, a handful of new marks littered the motif. Benson was holding a wooden box by his hip. The edges were being picked at by tattooed hands.

It took him a while to come back to himself. Randy knew how hard it was to navigate a fog that thick. When he did, he looked over at Randy.

“I did something fun,” he said with that familiar, tired grin. The voice that escaped him was gravelly.

Randy was relieved to see it. But Benson’s idea of fun usually involved a crime of some sort.

“What’d you do?”

“Come on, I’ll show you.” He took something small and black out of the box, tucked it into his jeans, and hopped off the side of the porch to round the house. Randy rushed to follow him.

They passed a pile of old bricks, a few rusty rakes, an old wheelchair, and old bags of shoes. Benson always took long strides like he was certain of where he was going. Randy never got out of the habit of hunching over, taking small steps.

There was an old abandoned building behind his house.

“Crackheads fuck in there. It’s nasty,” he pointed. “A goddamn biohazard.”

“Gross,” Randy wrinkled his nose.

“Yeah, it is gross. Say, I never asked, I mean—I think I know the answer but,” he looked back with a wink, “you a virgin?”

Ah, so that was it. Benson wanted to hound Randy to make him as uncomfortable as he felt. He wanted to get personal. Take out the knife in his body and stab someone else with it.

“Yeah.”

“Good! That’s good.” Benson nodded to himself without giving any reason as to why that might be good. “So I have a question. You were in second grade when we met, right?”

Fuck. “Yeah.”

“But you said you were eight. Did you start kindergarten late or some shit?” Benson led them to a wooden fence and pulled back a few broken slats to let Randy through. He drank in his pinched expression with sadistic glee.

“No, uh, my mom. She held me back.”

Benson let the slats fall between them so he was hidden on the other side. All Randy could hear was collapsed laughter. “What the fuck do you mean she held you back?”

“She didn’t think I was ready.”

Benson finally came out the other side. He looked about geared up for one of his long talks. “Now that is a bunch of bullshit,” Benson passed him and led him down an alleyway, away from the residential area and into the thick of the woods behind. There was already a trodden pathway.

“Yeah, I guess,” Randy muttered.

“You guess?”

“I don’t know, I mean. I know she had a reason.”

“Oh yeah?” He snorted. “And what reason was that? You color outside the lines?”

Randy didn’t wanna be out here talking about this. Didn’t want to be left alone when this inevitably blew up. “There was an accident. Incident.”

“An accident-incident? What the fuck are you saying?”

Randy kept his head down, staring at the still reddish-stained boots ahead of him. “I ruptured my teacher’s cornea.”

Benson stopped. He turned around. “Her what?”

“Her eye. The left one.”

“You took out your teacher’s eye?”

“With this stupid eraser. I didn’t know it had lead in it and—”

“Fucking hell, Randy.” He laughed in disbelief. “That’s metal as shit.”

Randy turned around so he wouldn’t have to look at Benson. So he could see the way they came. Just in case. “It wasn’t funny. I ruined her life.”

“That’s why you were so afraid you were gonna hurt Carter,” Benson realized. A heavy hand settled on the junction between his shoulder and back. “Oh man, Randy. That’s…”

“I know. It’s terrible. I thought I killed her for a while after. The last time I saw her she was being loaded into an ambulance. Nobody would tell me anything and she never came back. The vice principal, Mr. Sh—” Randy nearly gasped. 

Holy shit. 

Holy fucking shit. The yearbook picture. That’s why he seemed so familiar. The teacher that hurt Benson. Randy’s vice principal. Fuck.

“What is it?” Benson stood closer, peeking around his shoulder to look at his face. Randy was pale. “What?”

“Nothing,” Randy swallowed his gasp. He closed his eyes shut tight. He remembered that day. Mr. Sheppard wanted to talk about Miss Beard. Randy chose to listen to Benson instead. He’d been protecting him even back then. He grabbed Benson and pulled him into a deep, grateful hug.

Benson hugged back, startled. 

“You have no idea how many times you’ve saved me,” Randy muttered. “No idea.”

“What do I have to do with your teacher’s eye?” Benson wondered. He grabbed Randy’s face and looked at him.

“Nothing,” Randy laughed. “Nothing at all.”

“You’ve got some screws loose,” Benson leaned in and kissed his forehead tenderly, lingering for a long moment. His facial hair tickled. Randy flushed from his head to his toes. “You still feel guilty, huh?”

“Yeah,” Randy shrugged. “I always wondered what happened to her. I could’ve found out…but I’m just too scared.”

“Hm,” Benson nodded. He was thinking about something. “Maybe one day you will. And I bet it won’t be as bad as your pretty little head seems to think.”

“Maybe.”

“Nah, not maybe. It will turn out better than you think.”

“Fine.”

Benson gripped his waist in a tight hold. “Not fine. It’s gonna be fantastic. And the more you brood, the better it’s gonna get. Wanna go for marvelous?”

Randy threw his head back and laughed. “Alright. It’ll turn out better than I think.”

“Good boy,” Benson nuzzled his exposed neck. Goosebumps erupted all down his body. “Now, let’s go,” he patted his hip and walked on.

Randy was dizzy with the rush of grief and elation. That was Benson after all: grief, elation, and Randy Bradley.

____

 

“I really don’t think this is a good idea,” Randy called from behind. Benson was loading a gun. A series of wooden planks were set up far away, they were spray painted in the shape of a human body, and a Burgers hat balanced on its head. 

“Stop whining and get over here,” Benson motioned for him. 

“I’m not whining,” Randy whined.

Benson gave him a look. It made the hairs on his arms raise up. In a good or bad way? Randy didn’t know and didn’t care. It made him feel good either way. When he was close enough, Benson pulled him over by the neck and settled him in front.

“Pay attention.” Benson held the gun and pointed out key pieces. “This here is the hammer. Don’t pull it unless you’re ready to fire.”

“I don’t think I’ll—”

He clicked open the barrel and showed him the bullets inside. “Keep track of your rounds. This here is your cylinder. Six chambers, here y’see?”

“Benson—”

“When you need to reload,” Benson pointed to a long thin piece, slammed his hand down on it, and the cartridges came flying out. “Use your extractor rod. Gets ‘em out quick.”

“Wait—”

“Randy! Repeat everything I just told you. Reload the gun.” Benson passed the heavy revolver to him. The weight was intimidating in his grip.

His hands were awkward as he fiddled with it.

“It’s not a fucking woman, Randy, Christ.”

“I’ve never held a gun before,” Randy grumbled.

“Never held a woman before either,” Benson grumbled back.

Randy rolled his eyes but finally got the chamber reloaded and clicked back into place.

“Good. When you fire, hold it with both hands. No sideways faggot shit like you see in the movies.”

Randy side-eyed him. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Don’t let the sound startle you. There’s gonna be a little bit of a recoil. Just take it like a man," his voice dipped lower at the end.

“I can’t concentrate when you say things like that.”

“Oh Randy, you dirty boy.” He patted his back teasingly. “This is just training you for high-stress situations.”

“High-stress…” Randy took a deep breath and aimed. “Can I shoot now?”

“You ever take physics?” 

“Uh, no, why?”

“Newton’s third law of motion.” Benson shoved Randy, and he fell back, the gun falling out of his hand. “You just lost.”

“What the hell, Benson?” Randy groaned and rubbed his back. He sat up, disgruntled and covered in sticks.

“You still think this is a joke, Randy?” Benson picked the gun up. “Spread your fucking legs, plant your goddamn feet, bend your knees, and fucking shoot.”

He took all six shots, unloading them into the spray-painted person who was supposed to be Chris.

“If you don’t fucking learn, I’m gonna have to do it myself–” Benson pointed at the wooden person filled with holes. “Do you get it?”

“...what?”

“Either you learn to defend yourself or I take the target out.” Benson tossed the empty gun at Randy and a pack of ammo. “Now fucking reload.”

They practiced for about an hour, taking turns. Benson shuffled the targets around a bit here and there. Most of his shots hit where he wanted them. When the sun was nearly down, Benson called it quits.

“I’m proud of you, Randy,” Benson said as he traced the several holes that made it onto the board. “You did good.”

“I can defend myself, Benson.” Randy held the gun with more confidence. “So don’t take any targets out for me. Okay?”

“Yeah, kid.” Benson ruffled his hair. “You little badass.”

____

 

“Your boss called me.”

Randy froze in the doorway. He hoped his mom was still out. He was covered in mud still from him and Benson’s trek out to the woods.

“What on earth have you been doing?” His mom fussed over him, picking out some leaves from his hair.

“Just some yardwork. For Mrs. Slaughter.”

His mom raised an eyebrow. “Your boss informed me of a dangerous customer that came in yesterday and put one of your coworkers in the hospital. When were you going to tell me about that?”

Randy made his way to the kitchen and tried to clean up before going upstairs. 

“Randy, I’m talking to you.” Her hands were on her hips.

“I was just a little shaken. Me and Benson. That’s why I stayed at his place last night. I didn’t feel…safe,” Randy explained.

“Susan Slaughter’s boy?”

Randy wouldn’t exactly call him a boy. He nodded, crumpling up the wet muddy paper towels and throwing them away.

“I don’t know if it’s such a good idea to keep working there, honey,” she sighed and ran her fingers through his messy hair, trying to tame his curls. “That crazy man is still out there.”

Randy almost laughed. “I can’t leave Benson. Or Jess.”

“I suppose not. Jess is the girl?”

“Yeah, mom. Can I go upstairs? I really need a shower.”

His mom considered him. “Fine, but I think we need to talk about the amount of time you’ve been spending at the Slaughters. I still need you to help around the house, Randy.”

“Sure, mom.” He didn’t look back as he climbed the stairs by twos. After his shower he closed his door, plopped down on the bed, and took out his phone.

Mom wnts 2 tlk abt u

Only a second later, the phone rang. 

“About me?” Benson asked.

“Yeah. She thinks I’m spending too much time at your place.” Randy rolled over in bed and stared at his collection of vinyls, wondering when the last time he played one was. “She said she needs me at home.”

Benson chuckled. “For what? You gotta do the dishes or some shit?”

“No. I think to look after Hailey, probably.”

“Your sister?”

“Mhm.”

“Isn’t she old enough to take care of herself?” 

“She’s 13.”

“So?”

“I just…don’t want her to…have nobody to rely on. Like I did.” He sat up and thumbed through the vinyls.

Benson sighed heavily over the phone. “You’re going to college soon. How is that gonna be any different?”

Randy winced. “Well, nobody knows about that yet.”

“Randy…” He said in that familiar dragging tone. In a disappointed, fed up way.

Randy always felt awful, like he was doing the wrong thing. “Stop, I already know what you’re going to say.”

“Do you?”

“Please, can we just…not. It’s been a long day for both of us.”

A crackling, heavy sigh. “Nobody’s gonna do it for you, Randy.”

“I know.” 

“You keep going like that, your head buried in the goddamn sand, you’re gonna end up like every other sad sack of shit in this town. Trust me kid, I’d fucking know.”

“You’re…” Randy hated how he talked sometimes; like Benson was just gum on the bottom of someone’s shoe. “You’re not–”

“I am, Randy.” Stern. Not self-deprecating in the least. Just a neutral assessment.

“Not to me.”

Benson tch-ed like he saw that response coming a mile away. Still, he sounded pleased. “Well, your judgement’s flawed as fuck.”

“Look—I have time. I’ll tell them soon, okay?”

“Don’t make promises to me, Randy. This ain’t about me. This is about you.”

“Yeah,” Randy swallowed. “Okay, Benson.”

“We good?”

“Yeah, we’re good.”

Notes:

I decided to base Benson's post-breakdown activities on my own. Even though I really wanted to give him a nice long nap. Oh well, weird manic shit it is.

Chapter 9: Nine

“You’re so ridiculous,” Randy scoffed as he entered Benson’s room and saw the wooden board hanging up. The one Randy used for target practice a few days ago.

“What? It’s decor. Call me fucking Queer Eye.”

Randy laughed. “Okay, you can keep one bullet hole. That’s it.”

Benson walked up to the board and pointed. “This one seems good?” It was the one that he nailed straight in the crotch.

“You want the dick hole?” Randy asked in a very serious tone of voice.

“I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life,” Benson said, just as seriously if not more.

“Fine, frame the dick hole for all I care.”

Benson kissed him on the forehead again with a laugh. He was doing that an awful lot lately. Forehead kisses. Even when he was being rough with him, he gave him a forehead kiss. It was definitely crossing some of his wires.

“I gotta go,” Randy turned. “I have sewing class.”

Sewing class was basically him sitting at the table across from Benson’s Ma while she worked. She said it was a good life lesson to learn how to sew. Benson had a field day the first time he came home and saw them huddled by the sewing machine. Randy took his ribbing like everything else, ignored the hell out of it.

“Fine, go be a good little homemaker,” Benson crossed his arms and watched him head back down the hallway. “I’m gonna go cut this shit out.”

He distantly heard the electric saw outside but it was mostly covered by the noise of the sewing machine.

“The hell’s he doing out there?” Susan asked, the side of her mouth full of needles she used to pin some fabric in place.

“Cutting out my di—” he coughed, “my um, first target practice.”

“He teaching you to shoot?”

“Well, not exactly teaching. He sorta just threw the gun at me and cursed a lot.”

Susan’s lips lifted at the corner. “You’re good for my Benny,” she said. It was the warmest expression he had seen yet from the usually cold woman.

“Oh,” Randy blushed. “Well, yeah, I—he’s um, he’s a good friend.”

Susan looked at him. “Uh-huh.” She immersed herself back into sewing. Randy had forgotten about the subject they were discussing until she spoke again. “Never saw the boy love anyone that much. Not even me or his father.”

Randy was shell-shocked. Love? He looked away. He didn’t need to start crying again. He’d done enough of that for a lifetime.

“I thought this was it, y’know. I’d die alone, Benny’d die like his Pa. And that would be it.” She stopped the machine. Randy looked at her. “Then you…this tiny slip of a thing came in the door and handled Benny like nobody ever did. Tender-like. So damn enthusiastic too. Caring about us. Making us feel like we exist again. I threw a plate at your head and you came back. I don’t know if you’re just stupid or what—but I’m damn—” her voice caught in her throat.

Ah. Shit.

“I sure am grateful you did,” she grunted and started the sewing machine again. Randy pretended something was in his eye.

They finished the pillow case that day. It was cheetah print. Randy put it over her pillow. Benson came back inside with a little wooden square. The dick hole.

“Well, would you look at that,” Benson strolled over and slung his arm around Randy. “Beautiful.” They all stood around the bed and looked at the pillow like it was the grandest treasure on earth. What Randy didn’t notice, was the Slaughters were both looking at him.

____

 

Benson didn’t even realize how much home actually started to feel like it until he returned from Birdies with cigarettes and saw his Ma and Randy outside. His Ma rarely ever went outside. She was looking up at the trees, occasionally closing her eyes and breathing in the fresh air as she sat in a garden chair on the lawn. Randy was pulling weeds or some shit nearby.

“Well hello Home Improvement,” Benson came over and handed the cigarettes to his Ma. She waved him away. “What?”

“I need fresh air,” she waved him away again. Benson’s jaw nearly dropped open. Fresh air? Ma never rejected cigarettes before. She could be bathed in gasoline and still smoke one.

“I was doing some reading,” Randy spoke up from where he was piling up weeds. “It said cigarettes cause lethargy. I thought maybe cutting down might help Susan with her energy. Then, if she gets better we can go to the farmer’s market. She’s never been before.”

Benson was still dumbfounded.

“I gotta lie down,” Benson walked past. His head was spinning. Randy was…fixing his Ma? Just like that? Her own son couldn’t do it, but Randy, a stranger, could? He laid down on his bed. He didn’t know what to feel. Excited? Afraid? Things never went well for the Slaughters. Ever. What did it mean for the future?

He must’ve fallen asleep while thinking about it, because when he woke back up, the house smelled like something delicious. 

It was dark out already. Randy didn’t even knock. He peeked his head into the room. “Benson?”

“Hm?” He grunted.

“Dinner’s ready.”

“Hm.” He rubbed his eyes and forced himself awake. He felt oddly energized. “What’d you make?”

“Stew! Since it’s cold out.”

Benson stared at him. At how lovely he was. How hard he was trying. It made Benson want to try harder too.

“What?” Randy wiped his face insecurely. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen that look on your face before.”

Benson laughed. “Guess I’m just hungry.” For life. For the future. For Randy Bradley.

“Good. Me too,” Randy pulled him up. “Let’s eat.”

When he was following Randy down the hallway, he noticed pictures hanging up that he had never seen before. He stopped to look at one. It was his Ma, on a fucking horse. She was young, maybe in her teens. He made a mental note to ask about it.

When they sat down at the table, he saw the new tablecloth. There was an embroidery on the corner that said ‘Randy.’ He traced it with his pointer finger. 

“You made this?” Benson asked as Randy served him some stew. Ma was already halfway done with her bowl.

“Oh! Yeah! I finished it today.” Randy grinned. “Susan helped me a lot though. My stitches are all crooked, but ‘never be ashamed of the work you’ve done, only what you haven’t done’ right?” 

He was clearly quoting something his Ma told him. He looked at his Ma. She seemed embarrassed.

“It’s nice,” he complimented. “Thanks for dinner.”

Randy smiled bashfully. “You’re welcome.”

When he returned to work, he wore the apron Randy made him. It was patterned with sunflowers. Jess threw wisecracks at him all day about it, but it didn’t get under his skin like it normally would. No, he felt proud.

Every single inch of his life was Randy. The house smelled less and less like smoke. The beer bottles cleared away. The weeds stopped growing. The porch had a new pillow. The curtains were bright. More and more photos were hung up. Randy’s things began to spread around his room. His clothes began to smell like Randy’s fabric softener. There was fresh fruit in a bowl on the table. The broken window was patched up. The closet was organized. Everywhere he looked there was an expression of love.

Not just for him, but for his Ma. Randy learned how to roll hair from his mom and spent most nights doing it for Ma. Even when Randy wasn’t around, they talked about him. It was all he and his Ma had in common, really. He was part of their lives now.

So, maybe, that’s when he made up his mind. Randy had proven just how responsible he was. How well-adjusted and smart, and mature, by many times more than Benson. It was time to stop being a pussy and ask the kid out properly. Do something right for once in his life. For the only good thing he ever had.

____

Things finally settled down at work. Chris was put on second shift. Jess really was telling the truth about handling him, but she was also so bored out of her mind without him working with her that she gossiped about it to Hardy, not including the whole murdery part.

It was fine, Hardy wanted to save his own ass anyway, so he moved their schedules around and gave Chris a salary increase to make sure he stayed on and kept quiet.

Randy thought Benson might be set off by that, but he just smiled, “Good. Maybe he can save up for a new nose.”

Benson was forced to come in a half hour early in order to clock out before Chris clocked in. Everyone was pretty much skirting around landmines all day, but it was Burgers Burgers Burgers, so that wasn’t very different from the norm. Besides, Randy knew Benson was satisfied with how things turned out. Randy was secretly satisfied too. Chris got his ass beat. Benson got off scott free, and neither of them had to see him again.

Other than that, Benson’s attitude started to change. He was especially quiet at work, on breaks, just thinking about something. Usually, he’d have a rant prepared to amuse Randy. Not these days, though. Sometimes he’d sigh like he wanted to say something, then shake his head and look away.

Randy waited patiently for whatever it might be. Maybe Benson wanted to cut down on the amount of time Randy spent at their house. He noticed Benson looking at all his belongings scattered around his room the other day. Maybe he went a little overboard. He never even asked how Benson felt about him intruding into his space. He just sorta did it. Maybe Benson was finally getting ready to discuss that with him.

He did have to spend more time at home anyway, so it wouldn’t exactly be bad timing. Hailey’s dance season began so she needed more rides to and from the school. Besides, Susan was slowly improving. She spent more time out in the fresh air and cut down on the packs she smoked. Benson seemed so proud of her.

They spent the ride back to Benson’s in silence. No music. Just the windows down and Randy bundled up in Benson’s coat.

When they got home, Susan was holding a flier. “Farmer’s market ends tomorrow Randy,” she said. Randy tossed the jacket off and hung it up.

“Already?” 

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you feeling up to going?” Randy had a big grin on his face because he could tell she was gonna say yes.

“Maybe if you and Benny clean that old wheelchair up in the back.”

Benny came up behind Randy with a pensive expression. “I’ll go do it now.” He sped off back outside.

“What’s burnin’ at his heels?” Susan wondered. She went back to caressing the flier with red painted nails.

“I’ll be here tomorrow morning then. Say, 9:00?” Randy asked. “I gotta get home. Mom wants me back.”

“I ain’t going nowhere else,” Susan said. She looked up at him from over the flier with her eyes sparkling.

“Good. See you, Susan!”

“Ma.”

Randy stopped halfway out the door and turned. “What?”

“Call me Ma. Only one who ever called me Susan was James.”

Randy gripped the door in his hand and nodded. “Sure. See you, Ma.”

“Go on home already.”

Randy closed the front door. He could hear Benson around back shuffling things around. He peeked around the side of the house. “I’ll be here tomorrow at 9:00 Benson!” He called. “To pick you and Ma up!”

The shuffling noise stopped. Benson rounded the house. “Ma, huh?”

Randy grinned and waved. “See you tomorrow!” 

“See you, kid,” Benson winked.

He found himself laughing as he alighted the stairs and crossed the street to get in his own car. It was looking more and more like a stranger’s the longer he spent away from it. There were no cassette tapes, no empty cigarette cartons, no silly drawings of Burgers sitting on the dash—the ones Benson liked to slip in his pocket to make the days easier.

Well…except one.

He thumbed the drawing on the back of a receipt after his first irate customer. Benson slipped it into his pocket when he found him crying out back. He only realized it was there when he got in the car and it fell out of his pocket with his keys.

It stayed on the dashboard since then.

He smiled to himself and drove home.