Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“I had this teacher. Miss Beard. And she was like this- Everyone loved her. I mean, I loved her. Only, there was this game we would play..” 

Randy hears Benson stop breathing for a second. Anticipating. Like he knows what’s going to come next. 

Maybe he does. Maybe looking Randy in the eye shows what happened. A scar on his soul they can all see. Makes it sting worse that Lisa brought it up. What happened to him in second grade. Like she knew anyways, but didn’t want to bring it up first. Maybe everybody knows. 

He wants this off his chest though. Lisa had brought it up and he didn’t think for one second he wanted her to know. It made him nauseous when she said the words. But for Benson, it’s different. When he looks at him, there’s such a depth to his stare, but he’s not looking past, trying to see into what Randy holds close. He only wants what Randy gives him. There’s trust there. And nobody’s ever really trusted him. After how he’d reacted. His mistake. 

The longing to be heard, it comes with a desperate ache for forgiveness. He has to tell his story to be absolved. And the only person he’s ever wanted to tell is Benson. Talking about it feels like it uncaps the well, and it all comes out at once. 

“I… thought- I thought she would.. love me too. Y’know? ‘Cause.. when you’re so- seven.. That’s what it means. You don’t have words.. For it.. It’s just. What happens. When people love each other. And.. Since she.. since we…” There was a lot. That was shared, just between him and his teacher. He doesn’t go into more detail, because the actions aren’t important to anybody but him. It’s about how attached he got. “I got hurt because she didn’t.. I mean, sh-she must not’ve thought about it like.. like I did. Because I thought.. that.. if she loved me I wouldn’t get in trouble. I wanted.. I wanted to be special. That’s.. that’s my fault but..” 

Voice cracking, Benson interrupts, “Don’t say that.” It sounds restrained, not like himself. So quiet it hardly registers. Even though the word choice could’ve very well been a command, it wasn’t. Just a soft request to be nicer to himself. 

And even that makes Randy’s skin crawl. Sympathy he doesn’t deserve. He has to finish explaining himself,  “But it.. maybe not the.. what we did but.. how I felt it was.. i-it was selfish. It was.. bad I shouldn’t have… Because I got upset when she.. she- she punished me for this thing the whole class was doing and I.. I hurt her. I wanted so badly to special that I hurt her. Bad.” 

Nausea sits heavy in Randy’s mouth on his tongue. An ache in his stomach. The nightmare from when he woke up this morning so recent it serves as the clearest reminder in his brain of what he’d done. All the blood and the screaming. 

It doesn’t horrify Benson. He looks affronted that Randy’s even upset, insisting, “Good. Randy that’s.. she deserved it. You know that, man…” 

Feels like having his heart torn out. It’s not that easy for him. Desperate, sad, Randy cries, “No. It- It could’ve just stopped. I didn’t have to.. to keep playing with her I could’ve.. I could’ve-“ 

That’s where Benson can’t take it. He’s angry, and adamant that Randy hears him. So he reaches out, putting his hand on the back of Randy’s neck, dipping his head so he can look him in the eye. “Listen to me. I don’t give a fuck about that. You were.. Randy you were a fuckin’ baby. Jesus..” 

Randy looks down at the floor of the car because it’s too hard to look to his left anymore, his lip wobbling with emotion, “There was a lot.. a lot of blood. That’s bad, Benson, it’s- I was bad. She didn’t-“ 

“What’d you do? What could a kid that fuckin’ small have done?” Benson doubts him. Somehow that just hurts worse. That he’s so willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Wiping Randy’s tears while he tries to articulate it. Too gentle. Even though he’s angry it’s for him. Not at him. 

The opposite of how everybody else Randy ever knew reacted. His mistake had always meant he was bad. Even though his teacher was the one breaking rules. The withdrawal of her affection set off a violent streak. But he’d had that inside him first. Jealousy and rage and hate. It’s nobody but his own fault that it ended so badly. 

Because he meant it. And he tells Benson that, “I.. I launched a- With a ruler I.. I pulled it back and.. I hit her with this.. this eraser. And it.. It went right in her eye she- she lost it, Benson.” 

It doesn’t get through to Benson. Or at least, not how Randy expects. He wants him to wince, or gasp, or tell him it’s gross or something. Like everyone else did. The way he just keeps looking at him, waiting for him to tell him his story, because that doesn’t sound that bad. It’s.. scary. 

Randy’s knee jerk reaction is to just keep talking, to try to horrify him more, “A-After, people would.. they’d call her names and- and she couldn’t teach because.. the kids didn’t- they didn’t respect her anymore they.. they thought it was cool I did that to her but it.. it’s horrible, I don’t- They didn’t even know. About the.. the games and stuff.” 

But his takeaway is simple, “It wasn’t games, Randy. It was rape.” 

“N-No.” Maybe technically. Randy just doesn’t like that word. He defends his outburst with denial, “Don’t.. don’t call it that. She never hurt- It didn’t hurt me. She was nice to me, she.. she loved me like- like I said..” 

Benson takes a long inhale. Bracing himself. Trying to sound calm and careful while he explains his side then. “That’s what you were told. Doesn’t make it fuckin’ true. They.. that’s how they get ya. And it’s not fucking acceptible I don’t- I don’t wanna hear that shit anymore, Randy. Don’t fucking defend her. Nobody that does that shit is worth your fucking breath.” 

He can put it like that and it sounds so painfully simple. Randy knows it isn’t. What he lived through, compared to some simplified advice, he knows it’s not. The fear. The guilt. The shadow of touch that made him sick every time anyone put their hands on him. Chris especially. The fact he was grateful when Benson brought that gun into work and handled it this morning. He knows that’s bad. And why he reacted like that. There’s no good excuse. No matter what was done to him, he can’t justify it fully. His heart is broken that Benson tries. 

Reminds him of the part of himself that used to do that too before giving up, and it hurts. Randy sobs, losing the little bit of control he had over his tears. It comes out ugly and harsh and loud in the car. A real crying fit, snot and tears and struggling to breathe at all. 

More touch to try to fix it. Benson rubs his neck and then moves to his chest, making him sit back a little and rubbing across his sternum softly. It’s good touch. It doesn’t make his head go fuzzy. The worry he shows him, it counts as some kind of care. Maybe that makes Randy vulnerable. Weak. Trusting affection again when he knows what happens. But Benson got so upset for him, it feels right to accept it. To let him calm him. 

“Randy.. c’mon. You didn’t do nothin’ wrong. It’s her. It’s always the grown up, man. They know better. You didn’t.” His sweet tone helps. When he talks like that, Randy would probably believe anything he says. So earnest he obviously really believes it. And Randy almost can believe it too, which is what makes it hard. When Benson says to him again, “You didn’t know.” 

Makes Randy cry harder. Pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes to relieve the pressure, he sobs out a weak apology, for breaking down so hard, but also for not pleasing Benson, “I’m sorry-“

He’s pulled close, held around his neck and shoulders in a grasping, desperate hug. Benson speaks directly into the top of Randy’s head, holding onto him like he’s afraid he’ll run away. Almost begging, “Do not fucking apologize to me. I don’t need an apology. Not for shit.”

Randy leans into it. Selfishly choosing to take the peace he’s offered by Benson’s touch even if he should be more critical of why it works like that. Not really though. He knows Benson’s heart now. From how strongly he’s reacting to this, compared to how carelessly he’d ended several lives. Like all that even matters to him is Randy. He’ll hope that’s true and accept his comfort. 

Because it’s innocent. Hugging him, wiping his tears. It makes Randy’s heart flutter but it doesn’t really mean much. There’s nothing to read into a full fledged, genuine embrace of comfort. Randy’s tears wet Benson’s shirt, and he wants to apologize again. But he was told not to, so he bites the inside of his cheek. Teeth clenched together and breathing heavily through his nose, trying to stop the tears too. 

Must be obvious that he’s holding back. Benson encourages him softly to, “Let it out. C’mon. You’re alright.” 

He rubs his back until he gets his breathing under control, firm, warm pressure over the ridges in Randy’s bony spine and ribs. His hands feel hot, burning along his skin even through layers of clothes. But Randy thinks that might just be because he hasn’t had this kind of contact with another person in so long that hadn’t made his blood run cold. 

There’s no reason to keep crying, and he’s trying so hard to calm down. He’s safe. He trusts Benson. He doesn’t know why he still feels so bad. It’s supposed to be a relief to get it off his chest. But it just aches. Randy’s so hollowed out  inside his heart from having it used he doesn’t have anything left. He holds onto Benson tighter, digging his nails into those soft, fuzzy threads, bunching up the baggy fabric. 

They stay like that until he’s calm. At least done sobbing so hard his lungs hurt. He coughs into Benson’s shoulder and gets spit and snot on that sweater of his. He’d feel worse about it if Benson hadn’t been the one to offer it. It’s sorta nice, being allowed to react. His tears can’t be hurtful. Not a dangerous way to react like when he’d thrown that eraser. But he didn’t usually show them. Afraid he’d manipulate things. Cry his eyes out and get sympathy he didn’t deserve, detracting from who he’d hurt. Nobody ever told him that putting his teacher first was the wrong thing. Well, except for Benson. The only person he knew that hadn’t insisted he had gone too far with his outburst and done something worse than bad.

Benson's the one who double checks Randy’s tears are drying, his wet, shaky breaths coming a little easier, before he does the talking again. “Don’t gotta use your words, but you alright to listen?” 

He wants to be. He really wants to be good and listen. Randy nods, reservedly because he doesn’t want Benson to think he’s over eager. Just in case he’d take that the wrong way. Think he’s lying or something. 

What Benson wanted is to propose a plan. Past comforting Randy, they have to talk business, now. “She’s only got one eye, right? That means people’re gonna know her. We can get some clueless assholes to point her out to us. Then I’ll take care of it.” 

Firm. Final. Cold. Not towards Randy just.. not kind either. All facts. 

“You’re gonna..? But- but-“ Randy tries to protest, but his words fail him, stuttering a mess of betrayed confusion. Benson immediately settling into threats wasn’t what he wanted. 

But Benson is unwavering. Turning that dangerous warning into something much gentler for Randy, “You don’t have to do nothin’, Randy. Don’t even have to watch. You can stay in the car. But I’m doing this. You’re not changing my mind.” 

Panicking, Randy tries to come up with something. His breath catches in his sore throat, and the car feels small. Or maybe he does. Shrunken down to the exact size he was at his most vulnerable point. He tries to shy away from Benson, leaning into the car door. Benson lets him go, but he doesn’t seem happy about it. Sitting back with a sigh, his mouth pressed into a tight frown. 

Defensive, Randy argues again, “She never hurt me, she was.. she was careful. It didn’t hurt. Benson you can’t-“ 

He’s not listening to a word. Interrupting those pleas with calm, “It’s alright. S’alright. Calm down, Randy.” 

Silently, there’s this insistence that Miss Beard isn’t worth his sympathy or his effort. Being objectively true doesn’t make that easier to stomach. Randy had been told he had to forgive her because he was worse. He drew blood and pain and grief. What she did to him, at least there was gentleness. Again with this idea of love. Benson told him she never meant that, but it was all he had. Fourteen years of feeling awful about it, that was what he gave himself the harshest punishment for. Lashing out against her, because he didn’t feel loved enough, just to never get that level of feeling again from anybody else.. It rewired his brain. Made him feel like he’d ruined his only chance by being jealous and bitter over getting called out on in class. Like that proved anything. It was so stupid. 

It messes with his head now, that Benson is being kind to him. Holding him but not touching. Listening to him without claiming to have the answers, if he just did this or that. Benson doesn’t have rules and conditions and a system. Just pity. It feels like what he thinks of love like, like how it was. But it doesn’t scare him. And after so long missing what he had, regretting what happened in school, it feels like the revelation. That it wasn’t so good from the start. Like he wasn’t as bad as he thought for freeing himself from what the thing he thought of as love actually was. 

Still, he hadn’t known any of that then. Even if it was the right answer somehow, he hadn’t done it for the right reasons. He wanted her to hurt. Because it was better than her setting him aside, scolding him and then moving on to other kids. He was so scared of being unloved he’d gouged out a grown woman’s eye. He can’t be trusted around Benson’s sweetness. No matter how much these interactions have made him long for it. Besides, there is a consequence. It’s just not for him. Benson doesn’t threaten him. Just everyone else. 

The way he freezes, struggling to process, barely even breathing as it breaks his heart apart, it disappoints Benson. He shakes his head, sympathetic despite his frustration, “You see what she done to you? She’s gonna pay for that. She- I have to kill her, man. You understand why I have to.” 

“No! She-“ Before Randy can even finish his thought, he’s cut off. 

Benson tells him flat, shifting to look at Randy seriously, harsh and dark under a heavy brow. “She didn’t love you, Randy. They all fuckin’ say that. You don’t know shit about love, man. You.. Nobody showed you the real thing. I’ll- Just- I’ll take care of it. Alright? Lemme fix it.” 

Randy closes his eyes, like that helps. Hearing his own voice distant in the dark as he speaks, “What if we- We could just leave.. Please?” 

He doesn’t get another denial. Just a musing, that serves as the final warning and an explanation. For why this matters so much to Benson. “After. I gotta kill yours first. And who knows, maybe when we’re done, we’ll go get mine too.” 

Tagged onto the end, he quickly adds an actual warning, “Just don’t ask me no questions.” 

Understood. Randy gets it. Feels awful now for dumping his story on Benson as soon as he got the chance. He’s at least a decade, fifteen years older than Randy. At least that much. His own miserable past, he’d have sat with it for so much longer, and didn’t feel the need to complain as soon as a reminder from his past popped up. Randy swallows hard, feeling like he’s choking on the guilt. His apology stays stuck, because he worries that too would be making it all about him. When, if he thinks about it, he can’t blame this confessional all on feeling safe with Benson. 

Not when Benson had a gun and he knew it. 

He knew what he’d do. Arguing against it now, begging him not to do anything violent. He doesn’t know why he does it so impulsively, when he knew how Benson was. Being the only one he was nice to, it always was going to go like this. And knowing now what they have in common, it only doubly confirms that. Like somehow he knew and exploited that to get some kind of petty revenge he didn’t even want. Randy hates himself. None of this is how he wanted it to be. 

While his self-misery does laps around him, Benson has settled into his idea. Planning. He asks suddenly, “You know this bitch’s address?” 

“No.. my- my mom does, though.” Another thing that sort of just slips out. The simple denial not enough. He didn’t even think about just stopping at saying no. He’s horrible. 

Benson doesn’t think so. He beams, smile aimed right at Randy for making his scheming easier, “Alright. Good. You wanna call your mama?” 

It doesn’t feel right that he’s so casual about it. After he’d just pointed a gun at Randy when his mom called before, “..What?” 

Fishing the cellphone back out from the pocket he’d shoved it into, Benson holds it out to Randy. “I trust you not to tattle. Call ‘er up. Ask her for the address. Nice ‘n easy.” 

Randy stares at the phone but doesn’t take it. Warily voicing his concern, “She- She’ll be suspicious. I was supposed to be almost home already. And.. she probably doesn’t want me talking to Miss Beard.. anyways so.. She won’t- I don’t think she’ll give it to me.” 

Benson glares, a pause while he’s trying to figure that out. And he does, guessing, “Why? She know?” 

“I… sorta. She- I told her but.. she never really. Believed it..” Admitting that comes easy. His mom was.. difficult. Benson already knew that. But Randy put up with it because it wasn’t as bad as the other thing. Mom never got inappropriate. She just.. clung too tight. Maybe because she actually had believed Randy but just didn’t tell him that. Tried in an odd way to keep him safe by denying it ever happened. 

But no. Randy’s pretty sure it’s actually that she’s afraid he’ll lash out again. She just assumed his confession about being bad-touched was an attack of its own kind. A lie, a way to get back at Miss Beard. Since he only told her after the incident. Years after, actually. Mom smacked his mouth for bringing it up at all at that point, especially to drag the name of the innocent woman he hurt through the mud. Randy wasn’t just bad, he was being evil. All of that her own words. 

Calling now seems like a bad idea. Randy’s palms sweat and he’s not even holding the phone yet but it feels like it’s burning a hole in his palm. 

Since he won’t take it, Benson escalates, waving the cell around, “Fuck her. You want me on the phone? Give her a piece’a my mind..” 

It ignites the panic in Randy again, a shock of it to his system, “No! She won’t.. She won’t trust you.” 

“There’d be nothin’ to trust. I’d be threatening her ass anyways.” Benson says so without any irony or humor. Randy sort of thought he’d say that just because he could and it would be intimidating, but he’s so blunt it’s definitely honesty. Nothing about his threats are ever hollow. He’d scare mom and set her off if he had a chance. Out of spite, for how she handled things with Randy. The total opposite of how he’s been. And because, “Fuckin’ mothers, man..” 

So many stories within him, these tiny details coming out. Randy wants to grab each one and remember it to ask later, but his head’s too all over the place. He’ll probably forget everything about today in a couple weeks. He loses memory of his panic attacks quickly, and he’s had several of those. It’s exhausting. His body feels weak and sore, his joints locked and aching. Whole system in overdrive. 

He doesn’t exactly take the cellphone so much as getting it dumped into his hand. Benson cups his over the object between their palms, making sure it won’t be dropped to the floor, while he looks Randy straight in the eye and asks, “D’you want me to kill your mom, Randy?” 

Instantly he shakes his head for denial. He knows he doesn’t want that. It won’t fix what happened to him. Mom and him weren’t ever gonna have a normal relationship. It’s over now. Not like he’s going back home at the end of the day and facing anything other than a whole fit. She would probably hate him for being taken against his will. Well, Randy doesn’t wanna think about it that way. He could’ve tried to run. Flagged for help. So she’d have to hate him for choosing to ride with Benson today. 

Killing her doesn’t change that she’s already not happy. It’s not some emotional, cathartic blindside as revenge. Just the expected outcome. It’s a waste. Of time, of a bullet. Of his little sister having a semi-normal life. Her best chance is having mom there and Randy gone, rather than the opposite. He doesn’t want mom to die. 

Reaffirming it before his mind is made up, Benson wants verbal confirmation, “Need your word. Yes or no?” 

This time Randy gathers the strength to speak. Rather than admitting all his thought process, he covers it up with excuses, about how he’ll handle the phone call, “No.. No I’ll.. I’ll lie. On the phone I.. I’ll lie. And she’ll tell me. And then we never.. never have to see her again. If we.. if we killed her I’ll think about her. I don’t wanna think about her.” 

It works. Benson nods, raises his brow for a second like he’s impressed. Must be, because he finally lets go of Randy’s hand with the phone, transferring it completely and reaching out instead to cup his cheek. Instead of wiping his tears, just gently patting his flushed, sweaty skin, “You make a good case, y’know. Smart boy.” 

The praise feels good. In ways he doesn’t really wanna think about. He lets it encourage him and relieve some of his fear though. Nodding along, he tries to muster a small smile for Benson. It wobbles and he probably looks miserable with old tears shining in his eyes, itchy pale tracks on his face where they dried on his skin. A wreck. 

Benson doesn’t mind. He cares too much to. “But you be careful callin’ her. Smart don’t mean she can’t dig her claws in somehow. You want out, just hand that shit to me. Done and over. Promise.” 

It’s hard to be thankful. Randy’s so sick with all of it he’s not sure that Benson’s assurance comforts him, or makes it worse. Knowing that if he slips up, his mom is a target too. They’re lucky Benson walked away from the stuffed animal store without threatening Lisa. Or, maybe that’s what that last part of the conversation was. Just a disguised one. Nobody in Randy’s life has gone unscathed by Benson’s criticisms. His hate. But it doesn’t exactly feel wrong, that he feels that strongly. It comforts him at the same time it makes his anxiety spike. Knowing he’s looking out for him. 

Slowly, Randy flips open his phone. For a long time, his mother’s number was the only one he even knew. It was the only reason he had a mobile phone. Actually, until he got the burgers job a year or so ago and needed his coworkers numbers, he‘d never called anybody but his mom. She handled everything else. 

The numbers are all faded on the key pad. Barely visible anymore. His phone is pretty old. This call to mom is probably the last thing he’ll ever do with it. 

Benson’s watching him just look at the phone in his hand. Waiting for him to make the call. They don’t have forever. If Benson’s calculations are wrong, and they don’t have seven hours. They’ve already wasted so much time. He has to do this. Taking a sharp breath in, trying to brace himself, Randy starts typing. 

The first ring isn’t even finished before the phone is picked up and his mom is talking. Randy answers in any little gap in her yelling his voice can occupy. “Hi, mom.. um.. No, I know. Listen- No- Please, this is important.” 

“Randy Avery Bradley this’d better be life changing. If you’re not injured or dying already.. oh I’ll make sure of it. Oh… You just said to me you’d be home soon but no sign of you!”

“But that was- mom that was like, minutes ago-“ Just talking to her is suffocating. Randy feels his voice get tight and whiny, his irritation showing like a child’s, “I.. I have- I talked to um.. someone from.. from school today while.. while me and Benson were out and-  N-No I’m not.. he’s not with me anymore I’m just- I want- I want to do something I’ve been thinking about for a while and.. I wanna talk to.. To Miss Beard..” 

“Do you have to do this today? Of all the days, as if I’m not stressed enough. Haley is right here, I’m still curling her hair, and you’re still nowhere at all trying to- God, Randy…. Why now?” 

He can’t tell her. Randy knows that. For a moment he flounders, stuttering and struggling to speak his sentence, before he composes himself again, hoping she blames his nerves on being in trouble with her, “No, I know.. I know it’s a bad time I just.. it’s been bothering me I just.. I feel really bad about.. about her eye and stuff and I know.. I know you’ve kept in touch with her and I was.. too scared to ask or a-anything but I.. I need to do this, mommy..” 

Her sigh crackles in Randy’s ear so loud he flinches away from the phone, battered down by her next comment before it lands, “Don’t you bother her, Randy. Don’t you dare ruin that woman’s life again.” 

Randy’s face goes hot, embarrassment crawling across his skin. It makes his eyes water and his nose fizzle like the tears already dried were warmed and reawakened. Choking past the emotion, he forces himself to answer her, the both of them ignoring the sob at the beginning of his words, “I won’t say anything about.. a-about the other thing. I promise. I won’t.. I won’t bother her, I just.. I wanna apologize.” 

A long pause, and then, “Fine.” She lists the address after, talking slowly like Randy’s stupid. Helpful still, because Benson leans closer and listens, nodding and taking it in for himself. So Randy can’t lie. 

Wanting off the phone then, he hurries his words, “Okay, um. Th-Thank you, mommy. I’ll be.. I’ll be home before dinner’s over. I-I promise.” Doesn’t matter that it’s a lie. Mom hangs up anyways before he finishes. 

That grates on Benson too. Her bluntness not going unnoticed. He seethes, “Didn’t get no ‘I love you.’ No fucking ‘Goodbye’ even?” 

Avoiding talking much about it, and how he and mom just work like that, he shrugs it off, “She’s.. Probably not happy with me, so..” 

“Whatever, man. If you change your mind. ‘Bout y‘know-“ Benson demonstrates slicing his thumb across his throat, clicking his teeth to make a sound, murder as his offer, “I’m down. I’ll do it. You know I will.” 

“Yeah but- No. I.. I don’t want you to. We’re.. we’re not gonna do that to anybody else.” Randy says it firmly. Even though it’s not fully true. 

Since Benson still wants to hurt Miss Beard. 

Talking him out of it doesn’t seem safe. Because it wouldn’t work, and that would just frustrate Benson. Keeping him angry at a woman he doesn’t know seems better than turning it back onto himself on accident by back-talking. Randy’s just afraid. Staying hopeful that, maybe instead he’ll reconcile with his teacher once they get there and Benson will change his mind. It doesn’t seem right for her to die. 

Out of them, she should get to live. Randy’s died inside hundreds of times over by now. One of those times being today, watching the shooting at work unfold. Blindsided, terrified, he’d left his body and gone somewhere else. A habit of his, sort of. It’s what he’d done when he hurt her. That makes them even. She lost something and so did he. It’s done. 

But then, Benson’s probably right that he’d lost more. Since it always started with him giving up his innocence to her. The school wasn’t air conditioned back then, but Miss Beard’s hands were always cold. Sterile and cool and dry like at the doctors office. When his skin is hot and itchy in his humid bedroom, he misses it. That’s his price. The conflict. The longing. Generally, he doesn’t think about how he didn’t like it back then. How it was bad. Because parts were good and he decided that was all he wanted to keep.

Everything after Miss Beard was worse. The reactions to what he’d done, accidentally hurting her. A temper tantrum thrown because he’d been shown gentleness and then had it revoked. Afraid to be forgotten. Bad. Now he can never forget. Longing for it back, because he’ll never know how it would’ve happened if he hadn’t chosen the evil option. That’s what makes it even. Leaving her alone. 

Randy doesn’t know what he’ll say to her. Probably more crying, with some pleading for forgiveness. He knows if she asked him to do anything, he’d do it immediately. Benson would be disappointed in that. He’d hate him for not being angry enough or fighting. And end up hurting somebody anyways. 

His hope for no death isn’t strong. But he clings to it while he can. Randy can’t look at Benson. He doesn't know his way around town and wants to ask him if they’re close to the address he gave him. How long it’ll be. Anything to soothe his weary heart. But he can’t. Instead he watches, silently fearing every turn they take, every road sign gleaming the lowering sun in his eyes burning the names into his head, just in case it’s the one. 

He knows when he sees it anyways. A giant yellow house. In a dingy, crumbling area all around it. Of course it’s Miss Beard’s house. Some kind of beacon of.. he’s not sure. If that’s yellow for happiness or warmth. Or yellow for caution, like on road signs. Approaching danger. 

Looking to his side, Benson’s sweater, that’s already representative of comfort. He’d clutched that thing when he was desperately sobbing in the car and just looking at it soothed him. Nice yellow, safe and pretty. The house is the bad kind. The toxic shell around his teacher warning him not to come any closer. But they have to. 

Benson gets out of the car first. Adjusting his pants and the gun tucked into the back of them. Nodding towards Randy, their quiet, mutual understanding that it’s still okay. The assurance Randy needs to calm down, and that’s what gets him to step outside too. He’s not expected to go that far, but he’s determined to at least try to make peace. 

Randy opens the door, pushing against his painful joints, and gets out of the car across the street from Miss Beard’s house. 

Chapter Text

Just outside the door, Benson makes him a promise, “Anytime you want out. You tell me. We’re not fuckin’ around in there.” 

Putting himself in front of Randy, he acts as a barrier between him and whatever, whoever is on the other side of that door. Not leaving a hand on him to steer him inside or keep track of him like before. Benson couldn’t care less about that right now. He knows Randy won’t run but even if he didn’t, it’s not about that to him. His mission is clear. 

Without any sign of his good natured, sweeter tone that he used before, he makes a promise, coming out harsher than he probably means it too, “It’s gonna be alright, Randy.” 

And then he rings her doorbell. Waiting for only half a second before beating on the screen door with his palm. A dog starts barking, then gets told to quiet down. The scolding from the woman’s voice inside, Randy recognizes immediately. That it’s her. He winces, sucking in a harsh, nervous breath. He wants to turn and run. It’s already processed that Benson isn’t going to stop him. Even Benson didn’t actually really expect him to come up here, for what he planned on doing. He needs to run or he’s going to be sick. 

He can’t move. 

The door opens. 

“May I help you? It’s a little late for visitors.” 

Her voice is sweet and light like it always was. Lispy, and airy, like each one of her words is well practiced. Formal for their area, clearly not a deep southerner at heart. Hearing it again, unique as it is, makes Randy feel like he’s been dunked under water. Gasping for a breath he can’t catch. 

He tries hard to be normal, unaffected. Since Benson can’t and they need to get past blind rage to get inside. Something bland and thoughtless and unassuming tries to rush out of his mouth all at once, “Hi. Uh, we- we- we- Hi.” 

He’s completely disarmed by her. Miss Beard recognizes him, with a smile on her face, “Randy? Randy Bradley, is that you?” 

All he can do is nod. Like when he was little and too shy to use his voice. Like when he was sobbing in the car because of her. Just totally shut down. 

It’s awkward but it doesn’t affect Miss Beard. She steps forward, over the threshold of her front door. She wants a hug. Despite Benson blocking his body slightly, she opens her arms, expecting him to move into her embrace. Randy’s knees almost give out, fighting the bodily impulse to accept. Benson is his savior again by shifting and blocking the contact. Forcing himself between them more fully and letting Randy back up. 

His excuse, “He’s sick. Not supposed to touch nobody.” 

Believable, with how ragged and miserable Randy probably looks after crying so hard. He could pass off pretty easy as though he had some disease. Like they came here because he didn’t have much time left. It’s a good lie. He’ll try to keep up with it if it comes to that. Not if he can’t force himself to speak. 

“Oh, if he’s not feeling well, he can come inside. Do you wanna come inside, Randy?” Miss Beard offers her sympathy, genuine concern in the way her mouth turns down into a frown. 

It’s now or he loses his chance. Randy taps Benson’s shoulder, signaling they should go in. If something violent is about to happen, he can’t have it happening out here on the porch. They can’t lose everything because of it. Instead of just having Benson barrel in either, Randy steps with him, gently holding onto that sweater again, and speaks up, “You don’t- I’m.. s-sorry. About.. you didn’t have to-” 

“No, there’s no reason to apologize. Come in.” Said even though they’re already a few steps into her front hall. All casual niceties, and Randy can’t even tell if they’re fake or not. After shutting her door she hums, stepping around them to get in the lead and show them in, “It’s kinda chilly out. I can make some hot tea. You know I have a pitcher in the fridge of sweet tea but if you’re unwell maybe-“ 

Hand on Randy’s shoulder, Benson interrupts. Solemn, but fake. Customer service style grief. Almost sounding cheerful to inform her that, “Warm tea don’t fix this one, ma’am.” 

So he was thinking the same, about the fake illness they decided he has. That makes Randy feel slightly better somehow. Being understood without having to try as hard as he can. Silent communication that’s actually listened to. 

The tone of voice and fake bad news, it works on Miss Beard. She asks them, looking at Randy but talking to Benson, “Is it.. is it serious? God, it’s not terminal is it?”

More lies, “We’re not too sure. S’why Randy wanted to come. Y’know. Get some stuff off his chest ‘fore it happens.” 

Her one eyed stare drags slowly from Randy, who’s avoiding eye contact entirely, to lock onto Benson. Taking him in truly for the first time. Caution in that look she gives. She knows something’s off. To grasp it, she asks, “You’re his caregiver?” 

“Mhm.” An easy hum from Benson. Almost mocking Miss Beard’s tone and demeanor. Plastering on sweetness as defense. Warning her that he knows there’s something darker underneath. 

It’s tense and Randy doesn’t like it. Every time the energy in the room shifts towards something ugly he wants it to stop. The peace might be pretend, but Randy doesn’t know how much of the kindness is. It’s hurting his head and his heart. So Randy interrupts, with what he hopes might distract from the building strain, an introduction- “His um.. His name is Benson.” 

Her turn for silence. Miss Beard nods, stiff and skeptical. She’s losing faith that this is a well-intended visit. Something a regular teacher wouldn’t worry about so much probably. She knows what she did and it’s making her nervous too. 

As they sit, Benson decides to keep standing, leaning close, hand never leaving its place on Randy’s shoulder. He never stops staring at Miss Beard for a single second either. One arm behind his back, it’s safe to assume he’s got a grip on the gun too. Standing guard if anything goes wrong.

Nervously, Miss Beard settles, across from him only the distance of a coffee table away. It feels further, when he knows what closeness is like. Randy tries to focus on the burning hot hand on his shoulder and not let anything else stick with him. Knowing the interior of her living room, the way she dresses casually at home, it’s not really any more intimate than what they’d done, but it feels worse. Even more exposed here. Paranoid, Randy looks down at himself to confirm he’s still grown up. Not tiny and bare. He’s sure Benson can feel him start to shake. 

Miss Beard doesn’t acknowledge it if she sees it. And if she can tell he goes pale, probably just assuming it’s his sickness. Polite smile back in place, she extends an olive branch, “So, Randy, you.. you wanted to talk?” 

“I- Y-Yeah I just… I-“ For one, he doesn’t know what to say. In his head, he wants to be able to fix it. They make up and Benson has no reason to hurt anybody. But the words keep escaping him, each time he tries to look up at Miss Beard’s face his stomach twists and his mind goes blank. He’s almost gags because his throat feels like it’s closing off his ability to form words at all. All he can do is apologize, for the past and for his current incompetence, “I’m sorry. I’m.. sorry..” 

And yet Miss Beard still finds a way to not hear him, misinterpreting his guilt as being for showing up at all, “You don’t have to be sorry about visiting. If I knew it was you I would’ve let you right in.” 

At not recognizing him immediately, Benson has a nasty remark as to why, “Not so little anymore, is he?” 

The uncomfortable silence is deep, loaded with the understanding of what he knows. If Miss Beard had her suspicions about his niceties being faked, that’s her confirmation. Benson knows. Which means Randy told. And she doesn’t actually know him anymore, to know Randy would never tell another soul, only Benson. Her face drops, clearly upset, but she turns her head so he won’t see it. A gesture of consideration that makes Randy ache. 

Benson feels safe looking away from her briefly now. Taking in her space, letting her feel an intrusion by them being there, after such a digging remark. He wanders towards her bookshelf, where family pictures sit in tidy little frames. Something catches his eye, a staff photo from her work. A school picture, with several others. 

Recent, because she has the eye patch. Benson carelessly takes that picture down and looks hard at it, displeased by something he notices. It gets set back down hard, the glass against the shelf so the picture can’t be seen anymore, hidden on its face. It sounds like it maybe cracks from being slammed. 

He asks sharply, the first to break the still-lingering silence, “You mind if I use your bathroom?” 

But he wanders off without an answer. Heavy boots muffled by the carpets, but still loud and thumping. A presence that can’t be ignored. Randy can tell he’s looking for something now. Unclear what, but he seems uneasy too. Checking her house for threats of some kind. To more kids, maybe. Investigating her polished image of innocence. Skeletons in the closet and all that. 

Knowing she has no leg to stand on, no way to accuse Benson of not using the bathroom without raising suspicions that she has something to hide, Miss Beard tries to just ignore him. Which puts all her attention directly on the one in front of her, settling into her chair, as she asks, “Randy, honey.. How have you been?” 

He could lie. Say he’s been just fine so she doesn’t think he’s affected by his childhood at all. But that would ruin the cover of Benson’s lie about being ill, and make her somehow more doubtful of them. Alone, he can’t do that. Randy just admits, “Um not.. not too good.” 

Her lips pursed tightly, she nods. Tears shine in her one eye, but don’t spill down her face yet. Control. All about control. 

Randy cries freely. Not sure when it started again, his face basically numb to it after how much he’s cried today. He pulls the sleeve of Benson’s coat over his hand and wipes away his tears rapidly. Doesn’t want her to see any more of his shame. 

Her kindness extends past that slight defense anyways. Reaching out with her sympathetic, careful tone, “I was worried about you. For a long time. What happened it.. it shouldn’t have. And that whole experience, I couldn’t imagine how that was for you. Such a sweet little boy.” 

That she hurt. Randy feels this flash of anger at her for not holding their relationship on the same pedestal. Always just a little boy to hurt. She knew he was easy to break and assumed he’d be done in by the accident. Never did anything though. She left him by himself in all the bloody, horrible aftermath. He thinks for a second he hates her. 

Only a second. In the next, he regrets it at all. Calling his outburst the same jealousy that had even led him to acting out. Like that’s all this is. Some temper tantrum he’s throwing right now. Miss Beard in harm's way again because he can’t control himself. Now he hates himself. 

Randy is so sorry he can’t choke it back, an attempt at an apology slipping out, “I didn’t mean to..” 

Genuinely, she accepts that. Shaking her head like it hadn’t even occurred to her that Randy would’ve meant to hurt her, “Of course not.” 

Even though she didn’t expect him to be bad, Randy knew he had been. His impulse is to compensate for it. His horrible nature. He tells her how he’s been good instead. “I never told on you. Just to my mom. I-I didn’t want.. I- I- I was bad enough.” 

Miss Bears blinks, and then stares emptily. Pulling this tight expression while she lies through her teeth, “What are you talking about, Randy?” 

Pretending she doesn’t understand. Even though Benson’s weird comments were making it clear that she did, from the emotion that had crossed her face. Maybe she hoped he’d forgotten all this time. Fourteen years enough time to build a mental block. Protected from her hands on him. Meaning she knows it was never as sweet and innocent as Randy might’ve hoped. She anticipated it being so traumatic he couldn’t remember. 

A painful sob interrupts his quiet crying, Randy pressing his knuckles into his eyes to block everything out. It breaks Randy down to his soul, confusion on top of the sting, “..What? What do you mean..?” 

Still shaking her head, Miss Beard tries to find her words. Anything that could possibly explain her angle to the, in her words, sweet little boy she’d done wrong by. “Randy. I.. have a family. I have a daughter. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk about that.” 

It means nothing to her. A dirty secret from her past. 

Randy wants more than that. Needs more. His ears ring and he feels faint. Heart beating so fast it rushes to his head and threatens to make him pass out. Fragile, after an already devastating blow to what he’d believed all these years, “But.. But you- You were- I thought you-“  

“I know. I’m sorry. I am.” Miss Beard reaches across and puts just the tips of her fingers on Randy’s knee, any more contact crossing a line to inappropriate. Considering the very history she won’t acknowledge. Her comfort seems genuine, but he knows better. That this is all surface level, not the care she’s capable of. Shoving appeasement in front of him because his grief disgusts her. “But I've moved on. I’m not angry at you. Can’t you forgive me?” 

No. He already had. This was about more than forgiving. He came here because he didn’t want her to die. It wasn’t supposed to be for him. But then she just kept pushing and making it worse. And now Randy doesn’t know what he wants. Her injury used as leverage against him, that had always hurt him the worst. Not being angry about that, it doesn’t mean anything to him now that that pain has run its course. Forgiveness either. He longed for more and more because he grew selfish, but she didn’t just deny that. That would be one thing. She might as well have just told him she never loved him. And if that is true, he has to accept that he was just molested. 

His crying just gets harder and harder. Until he can barely breathe. Sobbing and sputtering so hard he thinks he might vomit right here on her cream carpet. Randy wants Benson back. He doesn’t know where he went in the house. The thought that he was left behind, Benson thinking that hopeless, longing Randy would be better off here, taught a lesson about his attachments, makes his stomach ache. His knees shake so badly he can’t even stand to try to fix it if he wanted to. All he can do is cry. 

Miss Beard awkwardly shifts from her seat to the big plush couch where Randy is half bent over and sobbing. She still doesn’t touch him, but she sits close, her voice thick and scratchy with tears too, “Oh, Randy. I’m so sorry.. This isn’t how you thought this would go, is it?” 

More insult to injury. This that he’s getting from her, it was her planned response. What she always knew she would say. At least expecting certain reactions implies that. He wonders how many times she ever even thought of him over the years. If it was only ever because of her eye. If that’s what it was maybe. That she grew to hate him after so much time having nothing but the mark he left. The way he should’ve felt too, but could never bring himself to. Because again, he means nothing to her anymore. Nothing. He has to bite his lip to not wail with grief. 

Even her upset seems ingenuine now. The way she talks to him in hushed tones. She doesn’t care if he’s sad. She's just afraid of Benson probably, trying to make Randy be quiet, “Calm down, Randy. You don’t have to cry for me. It’s okay. It’s over.” 

He doesn’t understand. What he did wrong. Never really did. What made him different from the other kids that day that she snapped at him, when before there was something special about him? For her to just.. want him gone. To stop reacting and let her go back to the peace she hid behind. It doesn’t comprehend in Randy’s mind. Like there’s a split between the two halves, between sense and emotion, all he can think is that she told him she loved him once. A plea to hear that again chokes up in the back of his throat, nothing at all coming out but a small squeaky whimper. 

Just the slightest bit closer. Miss Beard shifts and puts her hand on Randy’s back, rubbing in soothing circles. He wishes he could say it didn’t work. There’s a shock, a chill across his skin because he knows this isn’t safe, or good, but it eases the thoughts, a little. She’s not afraid to be near him. He’s not so horrible that she won’t even show him any affection either. 

And then she throws a curveball. Sliding her hands up to his shoulders, both cradled as leverage, to lean in and ask, “Did you imagine me making it better? Is that why your friend left?” 

Sorta like she’s offering something. 

The fact she thought the same thing about Benson though, it breaks Randy out of convincing himself this is what he wants. Not flinching away, just shaking his head rapidly, he starts to deny it, even though he was afraid of the same, “He didn’t-“ 

Doesn’t matter. Because Benson wandered off to find something and Randy’s here and Miss Beard’s got her hands on him again. Silly to compare it to a spider's web when he walked right in. More like a mouse trap maybe. There was a treat inside he thought he’d wanted. Old promises that permanently messed up his brain leading him here. Just, now that the trap snapped and the bar is crushing his neck, it’s not what he wanted. He’s not little anymore. He’s not confused. Randy knows too much about manipulating circumstances and the way adults talk to get what they want, to let it affect him the same way. Even though he wanted to, just to feel calm and safe like he had pre-accident. 

Apparently that just doesn’t exist for him anymore. 

Because Miss Beard is asking even quieter in his ear, “It’s okay if that’s what you thought. Did you want to, Randy? Do you want me to?” 

No. But now he doesn’t know for sure. If she’s offering, maybe it would be like a bandaid. Smother the problems with more affection to close the wound. Let him leave here without hate in their last interaction. But he knows it’s fake. That she doesn’t mean a word of it. And that’s the part that had mattered to him, more than anything else. She acts like all he wants is pleasure. Like he’d even understood that at all when it first happened. Randy looks at her and feels as confused and small as he’d been before. 

All part of the game. 

He remembers the rules. Defaults to them on instinct from her even hinting at touch. 

Close his eyes until he was told. 

Try to stay quiet as long as he could. 

If something hurts, tell Miss Beard. 

But sit very very still. 

She explained it as pretending to be asleep, and she was doing things to try to wake him. Randy would win if he kept ‘sleeping’ through her little challenges. He always lost. His pants slowly shimmied down to his knees, her hand between his legs, he could never stop himself from gasping and opening his eyes to look. 

He wasn’t ever in trouble. Miss Beard would just stop until he went back to pretending. Smiling brightly, doing her own pretending, where she acts like she didn’t know what was ‘waking him.’ Blaming it on fairies teasing him or something equally as silly. Unless he was able to catch her. He’d get big kisses for that. 

Even as a shy kid he’d squeal and giggle about the way it felt. Because it was good. It didn’t hurt. It made his tummy warm and his knees shaky and between his legs, he’d never known what to say about that. Not really funny, cause he could tell this wasn’t regular play time. He knew it was special and it all made his heart happy. So he took it seriously. Not funny. But the feeling is so weird and strange and nothing like he felt before. 

Randy would go home and play and fidget all day, because he had so much excitement left over from Miss Beard making him feel too good. He’d have so much energy he’d never stop shaking his hands or running in circles or bouncing. After it stopped, Mom would say she missed when he was happy. Like Randy wasn’t missing it worse. He was so empty now. 

Over time the specifics got blurry. But he always longed for it back, so he could know. What it was like to feel excited again. So hollowed out and broken up after being used. He should’ve been angry at Miss Beard for that, but for so long he was angry at himself for hurting her and making it stop. Their time could’ve lasted if he hadn’t messed up. 

But it’s all so messed up. Randy knows that now. Less and less sure he’d want her to touch him. The childish glee wouldn’t be there anymore, now that he knows better. He’d feel used. Being in her house alone is enough to feel uncomfortable. It’s furnished and cozy but it feels like it’s just him and Miss Beard, and he’s exposed again. This time not for fun. Cold and clinical and humiliating. How it always should’ve been. Would've been if the game wasn’t all about tricking Randy out of feeling vulnerable. Twisting it into choice, making him want it. 

He’s so confused. Miss Beard is beside him making her advance and he doesn’t know what to do but let her. His turmoil would be solved if he just accepted his choices didn’t really matter. Benson might’ve been wrong about standing up for himself. Letting something be inevitable would absolve him of his participation. Not his fault this time. 

Randy closes his eyes and decides to let whatever was meant to happen, happen. Her hands wander from his shoulders. Bracing him at his lower back, she puts her other hand on his chest and has him lay back some, since he was tense on the edge of his seat. He doesn’t know if she’s going to do anything or if she just wants him to stop being so anxious, but it scares him. His body jolts and a miserable whimper sneaks out before he has the sense to stop it. 

Closing his eyes isn’t enough anymore. Randy brings his hands up and covers his face too, feeling wet tears and overheated skin under his shaky palms. It hardly registers as belonging to himself, the split in his heart extending to his mind too. Takes a second for him to tune back into where her touch sits then. Low on his hips, adjusting the way he’s sitting to be more lax. His legs automatically fall open, but he snaps them together before she can touch. 

Miss Beard makes a soft, disapproving noise. Reminds him that, “I just want to help you, Randy..” 

He doesn’t really understand what happens in the next few seconds. Or how. 

The click of the gun’s hammer pulling back, and a sharp gasp are what make him open his eyes. But it catches up to him, slowly, that there was a lot more in between, once he sees Miss Beard on the ground. Benson’s voice. Glass shattering as it was knocked off the table. The dull impacts of blows against a body. 

Miss Beard is bleeding from somewhere, it’s smeared across her face. She looks dazed and hurt. Randy’s first instinct is to freeze, the same way he had before. Fourteen years before, the last time he saw her with blood on her skin. He knows better than to move. Benson will fix it. 

Is fixing it. The problem isn’t her pain right now. It’s Randy’s. He’s scared, but understands this is necessary. Grief and regret might come later, when he’s not so out of it, but his head is too occupied with other bad thoughts. He can’t look at Miss Beard. He can’t feel guilty right now. 

So he watches Benson. Watches his shoulders lift when he raises his boot and brings it back down. Won’t look and see where it makes contact. That doesn’t matter. Just watch Benson. The furious grit of his teeth. His pupils blown so wide he looks like a wild animal. Sort of scary. Randy shrinks in on himself, curling up small. 

The movement draws Benson to look at him, snapping his frantic gaze over. He knows Randy is scared and doesn’t want him to see what he’s going to do. Which will be worse. He orders him gruffly, “Outside, Randy. Now. No questions.” 

All he can do is stare at first. Stuck in his body, in place where he was put. He wasn’t told to move yet. He’s following the rules. But Benson makes them now, and he raises his voice at him urgently, “Randy!”

He stands so fast he almost faints again from the blood rush to his head, stumbling halfway across the room in the first movement because he doesn’t have time to gather his balance. Randy glances back for reassurance but Benson’s moved on already. He’s bent over, snarling something low and mean at Miss Beard, even though Randy can’t see her past the table from here. Benson pokes at her with the gun and Randy knows he has to leave now. 

Purplish grey paint gets on his hands in the hall, where he drags himself toward the front door. It feels like the floor is moving under him, unstable on his feet. He's probably just panicking though. Miss Beard screams from the living room and Randy clutches at the door, needing more space between him and what’s happening in there. He can’t stomach it.  

Randy wedges it open just enough for himself to squeeze out, then shuts it tight. So the sound won’t carry outside. He doesn’t wanna get caught. 

There’s chairs out here, but he doesn’t feel right sitting in them. Doesn’t have the car keys either, and he can’t exactly go back in to get them off of Benson to go to the car. He lowers himself to the top step of the porch, sitting there to wait. He waits for Benson to come out. 

He also thinks. But now the recurring shame starts to settle. For not speaking up. For letting her almost get away with touching him again. Somehow also for being so upset about it, since his distress got Benson’s attention back. Like he’d manipulated him. No matter how he thinks about it it circles back around to being his fault. Whatever it was about him that attracted her, his face, his spirit, the fact he was easy to manipulate, he’s not sure. But he hates that too. 

Balling up his fists, Randy hits himself on the head, self-punishing for messing up again. It stings, but not enough. He pulls at his hair and scratches his own face. Trying to draw blood to make up for the blood that was spilled in his honor. The burning, the dull throbbing from his scalp, it feels nice. Familiar and comforting, rather than the touch that he couldn’t comprehend. Randy gets lost in taking fistfuls of his hair and pulling it until strands start to break off in his fingers, then readjusting and trying again. 

He startles bad when a sound interrupts his meltdown. A quick, but loud gunshot. Benson used the pistol. 

It’s scares him so much it forces a bodily reaction out of Randy. The full-body jerk it causes tightens his achey stomach, and that seizes up his bladder. It hasn’t happened since he was little, an accident like that. Usually from his nightmares, or worse, dreams about playing. But he loses control almost immediately. 

Shoving his hands between his legs and twisting his knees together doesn’t do anything but make a bigger mess. His borrowed jeans from Benson are soaked, all down his legs and his bottom and some up his back from the suddenness and force of it. The sun’s going down fast, and it’s gotten cold out. Winter nights the only time it ever really drops this low down here. The wet spot is freezing cold and Randy starts shivering. Trying to pull the bottom of his jacket down to cover the mess and somehow fix it. 

He runs out of time before he figures out how to hide it. Benson comes outside with keys. Locks the house behind them and then drops the keys into the mailbox affixed to the side of the door. Comes straight to Randy after and looks into his eyes, making sure he knows it’s him. 

Benson was too loud using the gun. They’ll have to hurry. Not a second to wait for Randy to figure out his footing and stumble to the car. He’s heaved up by his wrists, pulled into Benson to be guided there. Rushed faster than he can manage and basically being dragged the whole way across the street to the Chrysler. 

He plants his feet at the passenger side, not wanting to get into Benson’s car with his pants wet. Benson shoves him once before he realizes what he wants, pulling back, confused about the resistance. He hadn’t even actually noticed the pee until then. But he still doesn’t care. He yanks the hunting jacket off of Randy’s shoulders, then balls it up on the seat. Has him sit on that instead of right on the upholstery. 

Gives him the quick reassurance he needs to trust it, “We’ll get ya new clothes. Just a minute, Randy. Come on..” 

It works, somehow. Randy understands him through the haze of his fear and gets in all on his own. He flinches when Benson leans into the passenger side, but settles when he realizes he’s just helping. Untying Randy’s shoes and dragging them off for him, since they’re all wet too. Not like he needs them in the car. The gesture of trying to make it more comfortable for him makes Randy happy. Warmth settling back over his panicked, out of it state and grounding him just a little. 

There’s still a delay in registering that the car is moving after a few minutes. Blacked out between then. He makes a small whimper, as he realizes, because he has no idea where they’re going .

“I found what I needed. Would you fuckin’ believe it? Got his name and address pinned on her fuckin’ calendar.” Benson tells him as the answer to what they’re doing now, but he can tell Randy doesn’t understand what that means. Vaguely, he gives him more to go off but nothing that would upset either of them yet. “‘Member what I said, Randy? Said we’d get mine too. Right here. Got his address right fuckin’ here. ‘N I’m gonna shoot that mother fucker in the face, and then we’re done here. Leavin’ it all behind.” 

Makes enough sense to pacify his questions. Somebody else awful is going to die. He doesn’t even think twice about that. He’s just worried about Benson’s promise that they’ll get him new clothes. He tries to choke out a question about it, “Cl-Clo-“

Doesn’t have to try any harder than that. Benson immediately answers him, understanding,  “I know. I hear ya. I’ll get us clothes, Ran. I got a plan. I got- I got a plan. Alright? D’you trust me?”

Without needing to think about it at all Randy nods frantically. The only person left at all that he trusts is Benson. He hasn’t hurt him. Other people maybe, but never Randy. Even when he hit him against the wall at his house, that hadn’t really hurt that much. Just proved a point that he could mess Randy up worse if he had to. And he was choosing not to. All of his hate and his violence was reserved for people who deserved it, and Randy went untouched. Of course he trusts him. 

Benson appreciates that. Nods his head too, doesn’t smile at Randy but he tries to wear a neutral, less angry expression than matches his feelings. Talks calm to him instead of yelling, “Good. That’s good. That’s all I need from you.” 

His fingers tap anxiously against the steering wheel, the silence between them buzzing with energy. There’s so much that could be said but that neither of them wants to verbalize. Randy doesn’t think he ever wants to talk about what happened again. It’s too complicated, easier to just smother it and leave it. 

Benson keeps looking at him, looking away from the road for probably too long. Trying to figure him out. He must be able to tell Randy doesn’t wanna talk, because he doesn’t bring it up. No questions for him. But eventually he does come out and say, “I am sorry, Randy. You’re alright.” 

Says that again, and again, muttering apologies every few seconds. He’s close to panicking himself it seems like. But trying to hold it together. Until they get somewhere, to some end goal Randy doesn’t really understand yet. 

Maybe they’re outrunning something. The law on their tail. Randy turns around, trying to look behind them, but can’t make sense of anything around them in the darkness, “Are- Are we in trouble?” 

Benson makes him a promise, “No. ‘Course not. Nobody knows where we’re goin’, man.” The answer is rushed and dismissive, but Benson doesn’t say things he doesn’t believe in.  

Still not enough. Randy’s fear isn’t exactly rational like that. He needs more reassurance, “What if they.. what if they saw us?” 

Meaning the neighbors, or the people at the mall or the diner this morning even making connections. Calling the police once they were gone because they were being too suspicious. Just to catch up to them now that they’ve drawn more attention to themselves. That gunshot was loud. 

His worries are not shared. Headstrong and sure, Benson asks, “Who? Did you see any cops today?” Like that’ll be proof of the lack of danger.

And he hasn’t, “But-“ Randy starts to argue, bring up his fears. But it’s quickly shut down again. 

Benson interrupts him, insistent, but a forced calm about his tone. He’s not going to let himself doubt them. As the one in charge, he swears it’s fine. “Nah. It’s all good. I promise.” 

All Randy can do is nod and try to accept that, if Benson won’t listen. Silencing the very real possibilities, when he’s been trained all this time that being bad leads to punishment, deserved punishment especially, doesn’t come easy. Even if he doesn’t believe him, he has to stay quiet. Forcing Benson to fall apart, it doesn’t feel like the right answer either. Making him afraid with him. If he’s confident, let him be confident. Making it get bad would just be sabotaging his own safety too. 

So he zones out. Expecting Benson not to stop the car until they were long gone from here. Randy shifts constantly in the passenger seat, struggling to situate even remotely comfortable with wet jeans. He thinks he accidentally jinxed it by hoping they wouldn’t be on the road much longer, since the car rolls to a stop in another quiet little neighborhood. 

And then he remembers. Benson got an address from Miss Beard’s house. They’re not done yet. Randy looks over at Benson, wide, teary eyes pleading with him not to, but he doesn’t have any words.

Benson reaches to put his hand on his shoulder, then decides not to, gripping the car seat instead. “Hey. Imma be right back. Don’t move. I’ll be back, so you don’t gotta come lookin’ for me. Okay?” 

Randy nods. He’s too worn out to fight. It’s not a physical exhaustion, he’s just mentally used up. Feels numb, just totally empty of any effort. He must look that way too. Sort of out of it. 

‘Cause Benson assures him, “You wanna sleep, you can go to sleep. I’ll lock you in. You’re just fine in here.”

Before he leaves, he does go ahead and touch Randy. Ruffling his hair, undoing a couple tangles Randy hand caused by tugging on it. His little physical reassurance that everything’s alright. And his last move before getting out of the car. 

There’s something off about the way he walks up to the door he wants. Stiff and weighed down, like it’s a struggle to move at all. The burden of what they’ve done is heavy and only getting heavier. Benson scrubs his hand down his face before ringing the doorbell at the chosen house. He looks like he barely wants to do this. 

Randy tries to watch, so long as his brain will let him not drift off. He can guess what’s going on, who it is that Benson feels like he has to hurt based on what he’s said. And why. But he wants to see, who it is that opens that door. As it is, he can’t imagine anybody getting away with hurting Benson. A lot of things come to mind for who it would have to be to get away with it. 

He’s not expecting an old woman. Doesn’t seem like Benson is either, because he quickly hides the pistol behind his back. Just as awkward as it was when he did that earlier at the gas station, clear that he’s faking something. It’s tempting to roll the window down and try to hear him, but Randy doesn’t have the courage. The way Benson sort of hunches over, it looks like he’s talking real low anyways. Conveying some secret. 

The woman looks horrified. Disgusted. Benson nods in satisfaction at her discomfort and then reveals his gun. He’s telling her exactly what he’s going to do and why. And she steps back. Letting him right inside her home. Whatever vengeance Benson is seeking, the woman lets him have it easily. Randy isn’t sure if that’s a mistake. If she’ll even up being killed in the crossfire too. Like Jess was. Not everybody Benson killed deserved it so much. 

Anyway Randy doesn’t focus long enough to know what happens to her. He sort of stopped paying attention once he couldn’t see his Benson anymore. There’s nowhere in particular that his mind goes. He just drifts off, thinking about nothing at all. What was said before about mental blocks, he thinks something like that might be happening now. His brain locking itself down so today won’t stay with it very long. Once the details get blurry, he might forget a lot of things. He won’t forget what Benson has done for him though. Saving him from a miserable life, and then from his longest heartbreak. 

Even though he’s uncomfortable and sad, he’ll try to be patient waiting for him to come back. Try not to doubt him or panic. Crush the bad thoughts that try to come up, about being left here, the same way he’d thought back at their last stop and been proven wrong. 

He doesn’t know how long it actually takes, but he does come back. Benson comes outside with his boots in his hand, so he doesn’t leave bloody prints right to their car. The blood that’s on him is soaked into his clothes already, and any that might’ve touched his skin is dry. He’s not drippin, no trail leading out of the house. Good for if anybody tries to ID their car somehow. That’s as far as they’re bothering to cover their tracks. 

It’s unsettling, the blood spattered all over him. The dark serves as enough cover that maybe nobody will notice. Or at least, that Benson won’t notice Randy is awake and watching for him. If Benson’s in a bad mood now, Randy doesn’t want it directed at him. Not that he’s expecting that but, actually he pretty much is. There wouldn’t be any way to blame him lashing out after all the death he’d had to handle. And Randy would feel worse for wanting to. Avoiding a rift, he just pretends to be asleep. 

Benson gets straight in the car, and stays silent. There’s a pause where Randy can guess he’s watching him, checking on him. Then the engine turns over, and another pause. Checking if he flinched or something to see if he was just pretending. Benson doesn’t know how good he got at playing still. He doesn’t need to. He believes that Randy is sleeping and lets him be. 

They’re well past the end of their seven hours now. He hopes that doesn’t matter. Maybe Benson still knows what he’s doing, planned to the second on how to save them. Without watching the road, Randy has to believe in that Benson will always be a better choice than his past at least. With his eyes closed he tries to just think about him. How he was before today. Even the quiet, distant Benson he saw then, he thinks he’d have stepped in if Randy needed it. Feeling like this is something of a destiny, it makes it better how much about today feels like it went wrong. Like if it happened, it had to happen that way. He wasn’t just weak. It was going to happen no matter what so that Benson could finally fix it. 

Randy just hopes Benson is thinking of it that way too. Somehow it gets in his head that Benson is going to be angry at him, for confessing, and then leading them to Miss Beard’s house. Even though fate works the opposite way too. His own revenge never going to happen unless he was inside that house to find the address he wanted. They helped each other. And needed each other. Randy just feels bad that his help didn’t look like anything other than being dependant. 

At least there’s time now. A future ahead of them. Not actually sleeping turns into dozing off for a while, blinking in and out of consciousness. Hard not to when he’s pretending, plus the hum of the engine, the rasp of the tires. It’s rhythmic and calming to Randy. And if he focuses on the sound, he can pretend he doesn’t hear Benson crying. 

Chapter Text

A metal donation box in the parking lot of an almost completely abandoned shopping plaza. Unattended, unlit, not scheduled for pickup for days. The perfect spot to dig around for new clothes without strolling into the closed goodwill and tripping alarms and shit, getting themselves arrested five minutes into this run away scheme. 

Benson busts the lock on the side with a kick, the lock some flimsy bullshit that rusted to hell out in the weather, and drags all the bags out. First is making sure they don’t reek, slashing the plastic on each and ducking to check. None of them are gross, just stale smelling laundry, which is good enough. No different than what they’d be getting off the shelves. 

He dumps them out on the concrete, kicking them all around without his boots to halfway sort through shit. There’s some work man’s shit donated in here; camo, tons of pockets, neons, he grabs all that tacky shit and starts checking tags for size. Thank fuck for southern cooking and whatever fat bastard gave all this shit up. Can’t fucking stand tight clothes, had enough of neatly pressed polyester for a fucking lifetime working at that burger hell. 

Shirt and sweater come off first, wipes any blood off with the nasty, sandpapery roll of towels he keeps in the back for the windows, wet down with a water bottle. Long sleeve henley, gimmick tee over that, and camo shorts. Scrubs down his boots since there ain’t a new pair in the box. Good as fuckin’ new. 

Just need to fix Randy up. 

Lets him rest a second while he sorts him out some shit. Skinny little fucker, he can fit into a lot more of this garbage than Benson can. Women’s clothes, probably even kids if they had to. He picks him out a new jacket first, figuring that’s priority with how attached he is to the one he was given. But it’s ruined now. This one’s softer anyway, some cozy little zip up, covered in some fucking tinkerbell print. Gets him a sweatshirt for under it, and a baggy ass tshirt for under that. Covering bases here, in case he don’t like some of it. Lettin’ him be a little picky for now. Picks out a pair of pj pants, ‘n they’ll get him in a pair of jeans he’ll grab after. No reason to get all fancy right now. 

Fuckin’ fuzzy unicorns or whatever is all they need. Goes digging and tries to find some new shit for underneath those, but all he finds are goddamn women’s underwear. He’s gonna grab ‘em and offer ‘em, but he’s not shoving Randy into a pair of fucking panties right now. This is to make shit better, not worse. 

He opens the passenger side and shakes Randy awake by his shoulder, careful in case he’s freaked out still. Just slides the pile of clothes he gathered onto the dash and lets him go at his own pace, “You wanna change now, I got you some shit.” Benson tosses in the roll of paper towels too, but doesn’t mention it. For the mess. “Just drop your old shit on the ground. I’ll be around back shovin’ whatever we can find in there.” 

What he picked out was for right now. He could prob’ly find more shit in these piles before being done with it, stock pile for a while. Not like they get a second chance to look once they’re gone. Gonna drive real fuckin’ far away and leave all this shit behind. No more. Salvages at least a couple weeks of wardrobe if they change every like, four fuckin’ days from the piles, then throws it all back in the donation box. Tosses in anything that got blood on it, and after a minute checks on Randy and takes the piss stained stuff from beside the car too. 

Got a bottle of cleaner in the car that says it’s flammable on the sticker. Uncaps it and tosses that in down the donation chute, gives Randy his warning. “If you ain’t ready, you better get ready.” 

‘Cause he’s about to light the whole damn box on fire. Metal outside, it’ll insulate and burn hot once it catches on them chemicals. Benson’s almost sad to not stick around and watch it. Unless it fucking explodes. Would be something. Being killed by a fucking charity box and not the cops. 

They really gotta get the hell outta here. 

Dont know where they’re goin’, but he’s not about to fuckin’ say that. Poor fuckin’ Randy, he’s countin’ on him. Can’t do fucking anything on his own and shit, and he shouldn’t fucking have to, after everything. Anybody’s gonna be the one handing him an easy life, it's gonna be Benson. Gotta be. Nobody else ever gave a shit about Randy. Not like this. 

Once he gets visual on Randy buckled back in his little seatbelt, they’re set. Gives him a thumbs up so Randy’s ready for the fire. Lights the end of a shirt and throws it into the donation bin, turning the whole damn thing into a giant molotov once it touches the shit he poured in. Instant fucking blaze. He’s in his place in the drivers seat and tearing outta there as soon as it happens. Not fucking going down with this shit. 

His goal is just drive straight, only make turns if they see cops or somethin’. Anything suspicious, unmarked bastards stalking in the weeds or whatever, they’ll go down the backroads, hide in the woods or some shit. But as long as they can they’re sticking to where it’s legal to blow past any geriatric assholes in their way at 80 miles an hour, so their progress is steady. 

Turns the music on, matches his speed to the tempo, and gets some distance between them and Chalmette. Best he can do for now. 

Freaks him out that he still ain’t got a word outta Randy. Fucker put on a strangers outfit from a random parking lot without a second thought, just ‘cause Benson said to. Beats sitting in his own pissed on jeans, sure, but he coulda at least fucking complained. Maybe. Not sure Randy even does that unless somebody’s in danger. Deserved or not. 

Leftover bad energy, Benson cracks his neck, shakes the way it feels down his spine, his hair brushing against skin and giving him shivers. Might cut it soon. Ain’t what he’s supposed to be thinkin’ about now though. He wants more from his passenger there, “What’s goin’ on in your head, Randy?” 

“Lots.” His voice is small, stuffy cause he’s cried so much. Makes him sound pitiful, and his answer is pitiful, “I’m scared..” 

Benson tries to ease it a little. Motions at the miles of openness ahead of them, even in the pitch dark. “Of what? Nobody left to hurt us now.” He really does believe that. Only reason they gone where they did. Needed them dead. Now it’s safe. 

Not with the way Randy’s overactive imagination works. He’s too scared to see it clear, looking at Benson with shining, miserable eyes, “But they might.. what if they find us?” 

“The fuck are they gonna do? Send us away for cleanin’ up the streets? Two dead pedophiles, and those sex pests back at the burger place.. We did those cops a favor. Not like they do a goddam thing themselves. Useless fuckin’ pigs.” 

Doesn’t mean to rant on it, but it needs said. Might be good for Randy anyway, to see it his way. The whole picture, not just his narrow little worldview that he’s got himself wedged into, “How is it, that thirty years go by, and not shit changes? That’s- That’s cause they don’t handle shit. We handled it, right, so they’re gonna figure out we got two sex offenders outta the same fuckin’ elementary school. And let our case go. Let us drive into the fuckin’ sunset as we please. Easy. ‘Cause if they don’t, they admit they were lettin’ pedophiles work in the schools. I bet this shit blows the whole board of education wiiiide open, ‘n they fuckin’ forget about us real fast. Or get on the news and fuckin’ thank us. Man, we’re local heroes.” 

Shouldn’t have had to be them. That fucker oughta been real dead by now. How they don’t shoot themselves in the mouth outta guilt is a fuckin’ mystery to him. Wished for that every goddamn day, that people like that would all be so distraught they ate a fucking bullet to cope. Deserved it. Moping around, hating their own sorry lives. Terrorized by themselves. Bullshit that they even had to step in and fucking exterminate those fuckers. Either of ‘em. Same school district apparently, decades apart. It’s sick.

“Can you imagine, how many fuckin’ kids we just saved?” Benson’s sure of it. Just talking about it, his chest hurts. Heart racing like fucking crazy. Worse’n drugs. Get ya high on adrenaline. The payoff of a lifelong fear dying slowly and miserably in a pool of blood. He says it like he needs Randy to believe it, “They’re not gonna stop us.” 

Nods his blonde little head, slow, trying to take it in. Has a counter point, “What about my mom?” 

Can’t help scoffing at that. Pisses him off. Fuck that woman. Benson bites his tongue on the answer he wants to give, about karma fucking her up the ass and that. Every bit of suffering her kid took on as a tiny little boy given right back to her. Doesn’t think that’s the kind of thing Randy needs to hear. Better off putting it like, “If we're lucky, she rots in prison. The cops’ll ask her about you, and she’s gonna have to admit she knew. Or lie through her teeth, obstruction of fuckin’ justice. Bam. She goes away either way. And the whole conspiracy still can’t stay quiet. We’re just the start of it. You understand that? Thirty years, man… Too fuckin’ long..” 

Randy’s lip wobbles, and his head turns down. A harsh sniffle, trying not to let it make him cry. Definitely a good thing he toned his answer down. Never wants to break his weary heart.

Benson reaches over, puts his hand on the top of Randy’s head, only place with leverage to give him a little shake without being a bad spot, “It’s over. We finished it. It’s all good now. For us. You and me, Randy, our hands are fuckin’ clean of it. We’re good!” 

“I think I’m just.. sad..” Mutters it, any louder and his voice would crack, pressure from the tears breaking him down. 

No problem. Benson gets it. Shit’s fuckin’ hard to deal with. Coulda said anything to him back in the mall parking lot, but revealing what he did… Always gonna have a soft spot for Randy’s troubles. He can get away with needing to cry if he’s gotta. Teases him about it a little, “Get it outta your system now. Can’t have you lookin’ this miserable when we get into the city.” Wags his brow and pinches his tongue between his teeth, some mockery of excitement. 

Randy just looks at him like he kicked his fucking puppy, “Like.. New Orleans?” 

That horrified look makes Benson uncomfortable as shit. Throws him off. He rolls his shoulders, shrugging it back so it won’t kick his ass, and answers him all casual as he can, “Closest one, yeah.”

Guess that’s the part he don’t like. Randy shakes his head insistently, “That’s too close. We can’t.. I want us to go further.. Please?” 

‘Least he says it nicely. Using his manners. And it’s not like Benson is actually even that set on a location. He’s spitballing offa whatever road signs he sees whip past ‘em. Explains his angle why he’d even thought twice about that one ‘stead of casting it off like all the others, “We’d blend in there. Hundreds of new faces in and out every day with tourists. Nobody’ll know.”

“But if they.. if they’re investigating us they’ll.. they’ll expect us to do that. We shouldn’t.. we shouldn’t even stop in this state.” His words get pitchy and strangled, ‘cause his breathing picks up. Close to another fit. Tears he hadn’t stopped when he tried so hard wet his face. 

Sorta pisses Benson off this time. That he’s that upset about an idea that hadn’t meant shit anyways, just throwin’ somethin’ out there since he wants to be all silent and brooding. Like he’s the only fucking on with problems. “What’s your big idea then? If you got it all so well fuckin’ planned out.” 

“Nothing I just.. I don’t wanna have to stop. They’ll.. they’ll be just like her. The cops they.. I don’t think they’ll believe us Benson, what if they.. what if they hurt us too? And.. and they say that stuff happens in prison and I don’t- I can’t do it, I don’t- I don't wanna lose us..” Randy lays it all out, too clear for just a knee-jerk reaction. That pisses Benson off too. 

How good he is at being rational about his irrational fears. At the world that shaped Randy into such a little schemer. Might work out good for them now that they need it, but he’s been livin’ his whole life like this. Never done shit in his time spontaneously. No wonder he’s so fucking repressed. 

He’s also right. Benson’s gonna hafta get used to that, his Randy knowin’ what he’s talkin’ about. Tilts his head, trying not to get irritated, “Y’know. For such a paranoid little shit, you’re still makin’ good points. Got a good head on your shoulders, Randy. I meant what I said.” 

‘Bout being smart. Any less and he mighta done something stupid to get them killed. Called for help along the way. Like when the cell phone was put right in his hand. He wanted this too. Whatever solutions he’s giving aren’t just backhanded sabotage at least. So Benson lets him have it. Comes up with, “We’ll drive ‘til we cross state lines then. Dip into Texas maybe. You like Texas?” 

Randy shrugs, doesn’t have an answer right away, “I’ve never.. Never been before.” 

Benson has. Plenty of times, when he had family alive except Ma. Spent a couple summers down there when he was young ‘cause his daddy was paranoid about lettin’ his kids swim in the water with the threat of gators. Fucker was paranoid ‘bout just about everything. Eventually gone and killed hisself ‘cause he thought he’d got possessed, nevermind family history of that kind of thinkin’. ‘Least Benson’s got better reasons for tryin’ to off himself a few times than fuckin’ voices. Everybody’s got that shit. Clearly his Randy does, with all this self doubt. 

So Texas’s got bad memories. Oh fucking well. It’s also huge. They’ll be alright there. 

Tells that to Randy, when he feels his silence goes on too long, “They’re right it’s big as fuck there. That's good news for us. You was worried about New Orleans, well this shit’s about a dozen times bigger. Seriously. There’s about a billion people just in Texas.” 

Gets a skeptical look, scrunched up features, “Aren’t the cops like.. everywhere though?” 

“Nah. That’s shit from the movies. You go out rural, the bootlickers love their piggies so much, they get off free. Don’t investigate shit out there. Just stay in the cities beating up on whoever they deem weak enough. Or poor enough.” Benson can’t help going on about it, the westerns and shit that make people picture Texas as this by the book haven, when it’s just as bullshit as the rest. “All systems work exactly the fucking same. Cops. School teachers. City workers. CEOs. All of ‘em are the same perverts. Sellin’ out to your boss at a burger joint in bum fuck swamp country. That’s sick, man. Had to leave it.. Had to.”

Thoughts that got him demanding of Randy before it can get away from him in another rant, “Never fucking feel bad about what we had to do.”

But he’s so chicken shit, the little fuck starts questioning him, “Did we.. have to? I-I mean.. we could’ve just left. We sought them out, we-“

Sure he’s talkin’ about the law and shit. But there’s more to it, damn it. Benson lays it all out, to the number the way he had with their last plan, and got it perfect, “Randy. Run the numbers, man. Fourteen years since you were in second grade. They say there’s ’bout fifteen to thirty kids per class. At the absolute best, that’s just over two hundred kids. Two fucking hundred that sat there with a pedophile for eight hours a day. At worst, that number doubles. Over four hundred. Thirty kids a year.. fourteen years. Do you understand what I’m fuckin’ sayin’?” 

“Yeah…” Hadn’t thought about it that way apparently. Little brat. But nah, he’s just naive. Says all miserably, “I just.. wish it was different…” 

Wishes are for fuckin’ birthday candles and elementary school kids that don’t know any fuckin’ better. Their world don’t grant fucking wishes. Benson tries not to crush the spirit out of Randy but puts it bluntly, “Can’t change what happened. But we made it right. They’re gone.” 

“What about.. We aren’t the only.. only ones. We didn’t save the world just because.. because we killed a few bad people..” Randy muses. Thinkin’ on all they haven’t done, ‘stead of what they have. 

Gives him an idea. For what their future oughta be. No good turning back to the same old shit that got them here. Play into the employment system, buy a house with a mortgage they’ll never pay off, that’s just exploitation all over again. Never gonna clear their names, even if Benson talks a big game ‘bout bein’ let go. He believes both of those things’re true. 

And if they can’t outrun a criminal record, but nobody’s gonna stop ‘em, no reason to stop themselves either, “There’s always more. Shoulda brought the shotgun but the colt will do.” For hunting down creeps for a living. Don’t sound like a bad deal. 

Because he always does, Randy doubts it, “We’ll get caught..” 

Not according to Benson. “Who’s gonna go looking? Can’t get away with chasing us down for doing what the prison system should be. They bust the homeless for stealing. Kids for gettin’ hooked on drugs by creeps like them. Prisons are full of innocent fucking people, but they let rapists out with a warning. Hide the registry when they can. Fuck that, man. There’s a serious fuckin’ problem with the system and it ain’t gonna get better letting them get away with it.” 

Randy shifts, uncomfortable at the bluntness with how he talks about that shit. And it’s right to make him feel fucked up, but he crosses a line and tries to do that thing where he anticipates bad shit to make up for his bad feelings, “They could say that about us. I-If we.. kill.. people..” 

“Don’t think of ‘em as people. You think they see us like that? With any kind of worth other than getting off? Nah. We weren’t nothin’ but playthings.” Because he had reason to strongly not believe in that ‘til just recent, Benson tells him again, “She didn’t love you, Randy.” 

Makes Randy flinch, but he don’t disagree. Making slow progress with him, got him thinking out loud, “Maybe if.. maybe if someone did I wouldn’t’ve.. it wouldn’t have to happen.”

Works for Benson. He holds up his hands, thumbs hooked through the wheel so he don’t let go of it, “You can blame whoever you want, man. Just be angry about it. Get mad, and you can get shit done.” 

Wants him to fucking fight. Stand up for something. If they’re really gonna do what he said, huntin’ down evil bastards and pumping lead into ‘em. He’ll need help with it, and Randy to not be fucking pathetic all the time. It’ll be good. Making something worthwhile outta their life. 

Randy shrinks a little under the weight of all that future, talks quieter, “No but I mean… like.. since we- since it’s done. Maybe the.. the other thing can happen. Now.”

See, it’s this sugary sweet sentiment, but Benson’s gotta point out a major flaw. That it’s transactional. What they did wasn’t earned by them. That was all up to the assholes that ruined their fucking lives. If they weren’t fucked over, they wouldn’t need each other. All sunshiney and happy that they did meet or whatever, set off the motion of the rest of time, but a version of the world where they never got hurt, they wouldn’t be here. On the fuckin’ run, plannin’ to be bounty hunters and shit until the day it blows up in their faces, and then they fucking die. 

Let it be romantic. What the fuck ever. But he’s not letting Randy think that has anything to do with his decision to save his little ass. 

“Didn’t do it ‘cause I love you. I woulda done it anyway, Randy. Shouldn’t need a fucking selfish ass reason to protect somebody.” Says it, but watches Randy get all heartbroken immediately, and cushions it, explains better, “Hey. Listen better. I said I woulda done it anyway. As in even if I didn’t. But I do, Randy. You are special.” 

And he does love him. Had to, to not lose his patience with him a dozen times over by now. 

Not gonna prove it by kissin’ on him or some shit. Soft on him don’t mean soft. It’s fuckin’ proof enough of what they got that they’re here. Together. That is fuckin’ special. And he needs Randy’s word that he’s thinkin’ the same, “That’s why we’re doin’ this. You actually in?” 

Teary eyed, but serious, not one of his big tantrums. Randy promises him, “Yeah I… We’ll probably.. be caught eventually anyway so… Might as well um- do the right thing, I guess.” 

Benson’s chest burns with pride. Wants Randy to know. His good boy. Special boy. He smiles, gives a promise with a little bit of bite, like a vow, “Ain’t lettin’ you off easy. We’re gonna fight for it. Go as long as we can. See if we can’t even out the numbers.” 

He’d said what, four hundred? They can do that. Randy looks like he doubts it though, “That’s.. a lot.”

Well. So be it. Still gonna try. Here in their little get away car. Ain’t gonna be a perfect life but it’ll belong just to them. No more letting anybody have what’s theirs. “Uh-huh. You and me gonna be goin’ down in the history books. The new Bonnie and Clyde and shit.” 

If they get razed down by a fuck ton of bullets some day, he hopes it’s cool as fuck like a movie he saw once. Gonna be them in the news bracket, story retold on the big screens some day. ‘Cause they chose the fucking fight and they’re gonna stick with it. No pussying out. Don't believe in that shit. 

Just believes in this little sunavabitch right beside him. All dressed up in stolen clothes, but that ain’t why he’s unrecognizable from who he was yesterday morning ‘round this time. He’s got a change of heart. Gonna fight for himself now, and even if that fucking falls through, he’s got Benson. Always gonna. ‘Til they crash and burn this fucking thing together. It’s inevitable, but that’s just part of the fuckin’ fun, right? Never knowin’ when it’s gonna happen, so they don’t get to be fucking afraid and paranoid and shit. Just fuckin’ livin’. 

To nobody at all, Benson declares, “Fuck yeah, man. You an’ me. We’re fuckin’ free.”