Chapter Text
Four more hours, four hours of Benson mind numbingly checking the clock every 30 seconds to see if it were even a minute closer to not wanting to spray chunks of his brain onto the walls, or rather everyone else's, almost. The mop handle could've splintered into his palms with how tense he was mopping a spot on the floor twenty times over, like the rancid mop water would somehow do anything other than seep into the layers of fossilized grime in the grout. He guessed there were roaches from when the joint first opened fossilized somewhere in the caked dirt, generations of their offspring layered above them like a mass grave. Maybe he'd burn it all to the ground one day and free them, doubtful even a nuclear blast could fully cleanse this place.
Still, he mopped. It was all he could do to tune out the vile stream of shit spewing nonstop from Chris' mouth. Today it was even more of a conscious effort seeing as they were all front and center in the dining room, because why would anyone be at a work station? Not entirely unusual for the bully, he prodded and prodded, no line uncrossed, personal space was nonexistent to him. He proved this every time he pressed Randy into a corner, against a counter, a wall, no matter what the kid just stood like a deer in headlights letting that dick for brains semi conscious idiot paw his grubby hands all over, push him around, poke at him. Benson twitched, rolling his neck and shoulders to ease the tension, which it didn't, he felt heat rising in his throat, to his ears. He wanted to blow this whole fucking place to the sky, he thought about the bullets rolling around in his trunk, about what else was in his trunk, he took a breath. He'd heard enough.
"You calling him queer? You're practically dry humping him." Benson called out across the room, finally snapping his gaze from the floor onto Chris, who was pinning the kid in a somewhat compromising position when the accusing words hit his ears. He shoved Randy hard, knocking him belly first into the counter and taking the air out of him, accompanied by a a pained grunt as he curled inward on himself. Benson's eye twitched again, quickly and cautiously focusing on Chris when he made his not so intimidating approach. Benson wanted to wring his neck until it looked like a capri sun that had been sucked dry.
"And what the fuck is this? Benson. You wanna fuck with me today?!"
"You're just being a dick, what's your point?" Benson said with a level tone, eyes staring sharp through his lowered brow, unblinking.
"Oh I get it, you're standing up for your boyfriend huh? You a fag too? Redneck burnout and a fag." Chris spat, clearly embarrassed, clearly turning it into aggression like a cornered animal. His face was red hot and he looked like he would explode any second. Anything not to look like such a pussy in front of his girlfriend.
"So today we gonna have a fucking problem? You want a problem with me? Because we can do that, we can take that fucking road Benny-"
It was like Benson blinked and it was over, Chris lie limp on the booth next to where they had been arguing, crimson spatter painting his face. Blood still trickled from his nose in fat beads, pooling onto the seat. Jess was screaming at such a high fucking pitch that Benson nearly went for her next before she could burst out what was left of his shitty eardrums. Better for her that Hardy intervened, damn lucky for her he finally peeled his perverted ass out of that office chair and did something for once. All it took was her screaming bloody murder. Guess it's hard to get your rocks off to unless you're into that kind of shit.
In the midst of it all, Benson stole a glance at the pathetic lanky form still cowering across the dining room, still standing there, a deer in headlights, fists balled up at his sides and visibly shaking. Benson caught his eye just for a moment and winked before being pulled back to reality, Hardy yelling his head off about what fucking idiots they were blah blah, grabbing a phone to call the cops. Lucky for all of them they were still breathing, they had no idea how lucky.
Two week suspension, no pay while they figured out what to do. Chris didn't press charges, probably too proud to admit one hit to the face from a "redneck fag" laid him out cold. Benson wasn't thrilled that neither of them would be fired, and was even less so at the prospect of no paycheck for two entire fucking weeks on top of it. He'd need to get creative or bills would eat him alive. Both boys were sent on administrative leave since Chris technically swung first (and missed). Poor Randy would most definitely be the one picking up the slack, extra opens, closes, might as well start paying rent since he'd be living in the shithole without any help running it.
Two weeks did not fly by, passing at a slow crawl, and Randy did in fact spend 13 out of the 14 days working, one day off provided by him becoming so exhausted that he actually passed out on the clock. Even then, Hardy had busted his balls trying to make him take a long lunch and work the rest of the shift when he 'felt better', Randy would have too if not for his mother calling the store in a fit when he went home on his 'long lunch' and told her what happened. Hardy didn't want a lawsuit, so Randy got a day off, then he opened the morning after.
"Hi Benson" Randy said in the usual soft tone upon entering the building, he passed by the man at the register nonchalantly like two weeks hadn't gone by, like he hadn't witnessed what he initially thought was Benson killing someone. Maybe that was dramatic, but Chris fell so hard back into that booth and went limp before he even hit the seat, seemed dead to Randy. Guess he couldn't really know what that looked like for sure. Randy wanted it to bother him more, the fact that it didn't scared him a little before he buried the thought deep in his mind.
"Bradley." Benson said flatly, not quite shocked at the boy's reaction. Randy stopped and turned mid stride to see what the older man wanted, fists balling in anxiety as Benson's dark blue orbs scanned over every inch of him. He fidgeted with the hem of his wrinkled shirt, looking up from the floor expectantly after a moment. He wondered what it felt like to do that to someone when his eyes landed on the other's healing knuckles, he wondered why he even stood up for him in the first place.
"You look like shit." Benson finally said with half a smirk, leaning both palms forward onto the countertop and keeping his gaze on Randy. He did look like shit, hair peeking under his cap unkempt and dull, eyes lined red and tired with dark under eye bags to match, his skin was basically translucent, which wasn't so off base for him. Somehow he seemed smaller than before, maybe because Benson hadn't laid eyes on him in so long and he was always so swallowed by his uniform that it was hard to tell even now.
"Uh, yeah um-" Randy cleared his throat, voice cracking before. "Haven't really slept too good, I guess." he replied, demeanor as nervous and unsteady as ever, that hadn't changed.
"Yeah no shit." Benson scoffed and turned away to start the useless side work at his station. Randy paused there for what felt infinitely too long, finally turning on his heel and heading back to the office to check in for his closing shift.
The tension could be cut with a knife and even that didn't even do it justice, it was like everything was frozen when Chris and Benson were in the same room again. They had been back from leave for about a week, neither had been scheduled together for as long as possible until it was no longer avoidable. Something something Carla was sick of closing, something something arthritis, something something too old for this shit. It wasn't like they could keep it up forever. Randy still looked like more of a husk than normal from his two week long hell, not like losing Chris made much of a difference anyway but it was still one less body. It wasn't all bad, the tension, Chris was only a mid and Benson was closing up, what could go wrong in a 4 hour overlap?
"Alright, now listen up, I don't give a shit about anyone's attitude." Hardy began the meeting, avoiding looking at Chris' fucked up face for as long as possible. "We're here to work, we aren't here to flirt or fuck or fight or otherwise. We clock in, we work, we take our legally required breaks and not a second more. Bradley, you're back of house tonight, stocking, you know the drill." Randy nodded silently.
"Benson, register, dining room, you know the drill. Donnie, drive thru, janitorial on your downtime." finally Hardy faced Chris, despite his cap being low and his head down, his nose was clearly fucked up, brusied and scabbed on the border of his upper lip. "You, you're still flipping burgers tonight until you leave, then switch off with Bradley. That's it, I want heads down working, got that? I don't want to hear shit from anyone tonight, clean close!" he clapped his hands together and scurried off into his perv cave, the group dispersing but not quick enough. Of course Hardy's little speech made zero impact.
"No hard feelings, right Benny boy?" Chris almost sounded jovial, clearly too fucking high to remember the consequences of his actions.
"Guess not." Benson snorted with a look that could kill, taking his spot up front before doing something he probably wouldn't regret and leaving Chris to work over the hot blacktop for the time being. Randy wondered if Benson would beat Chris to death next time, if he would keep pounding his knuckles into the same spot until it gave way, until blood and brain and bone all mixed together unrecognizable. He buried his thoughts, feeling queezy and sick in the head, what had gotten into him?
"Uh,, sorry, s'cuse me-" Randy stammered as he manuevered the bulky box of soda syrup behind Benson, who didn't move an inch. In fact he only turned to watch the boy struggle from another angle. Small spindling muscles tensed under his pale skin as he lifted the box up onto the counter, little beads of sweat dotted his brow and stuck hair to his forehead.
"Lift with your legs, don't hurt yourself." Benson said amusedly, face still deadpan as Randy fumbled with the last box, shoulders tensing and ears burning at the statement.
"I am." he muttered, finishing up quickly before anything else could be said. Randy darted around the counter, moving onto stocking the utensils, napkins, condiments, everything in the open space of the dining room. He needed to be busy, he needed to quiet his mind.
"That isn't even your job." Benson piped up again, he wasn't wrong, menial dining room tasks were his tonight. Randy struggled to find a good reason to be there, he shouldn't be, so why was he? Habit, he told himself, it wasn't though, he felt better when he was near Benson. He felt better when he wasn't around Chris too. He hated being back there alone with him, and part of him hoped Benson would know that, he got suspended sticking up for Randy after all.
"Sorry,," was all Randy could manage as he headed back towards the rank stockroom, he could probably take a 15 soon if Hardy wasn't paying attention, like he ever was. Beson's eyes trained on Randy until he was out of sight, just on the verge of saying something else before he was gone, kid was fucking weird. Benson wondered if he ever felt a hole burning in the back of his head as his stare lingered far longer than intended.
The tension, clenched jaws and gritted teeth only grew worse with each passing shift, it was like Chris came back meaner, more bitter, more vindictive than his normal high school bully persona. Randy hated it, this was so much worse than before Benson punched him. It was almost like he felt untouchable, knowing next time it would be Benson swinging first, attacking him, he would get fired, go to jail, then it would just be Randy all alone with no one to save his ass anymore. He never even considered quitting, didn't really consider much of anything that wasn't someone else deciding for him. This was his job, his life, until guided otherwise.
"Chris,, just, can you stop- please-" Shockingly Randy was still trying to defend up for himself, make some kind of stand when he had no ground to stand on. This wasn't unexpected, he'd seen the schedule and had been dreading it for a week. Chris and Randy scheduled together, alone, on a monday morning. You know who wants burgers on a monday morning? No one, you know who wants burgers on a monday morning in the middle of fucking no where Louisiana in the middle of august from a glorified gas station? Especially no one. This leaves the boys alone in an empty building for three hours until Hardy is supposed to show up, if he even bothers.
"Why? Why the fuck should I faggot? You gonna sick your freaky guard dog on me? He's not here, I doubt he even likes your weird ass. Dumb old redneck was probably just bored." The words stung a little harder knowing Randy was the reason Benson got in trouble. The reason Chris now made work even worse for everyone. The taller one already invading Randy's space, took another step forward, kicking his converse against the other's shoe.
"You probably like this, you're disgusting" Chris spat, shoving both hands into Randy's chest hard, his lower back digging into the corner of the counter, he essentially had him pinned, though Randy saw an opening to get out and took it. Bad idea. Chris anticipated this, maybe planned it and shot his foot out, catching Randy's ankle and sending him face first onto the grimy floor mat behind the register.
This outcome seemingly satiated him for the time being, taking an extra second to step down on Randy's hand which was sprawled in front of him from the desperate attempt to catch himself. The boy winced in pain, feeling the crushing weight on his fingers, knuckle crunching between the floor and the sole of Chris' unforgiving shoe. With that, they were done, and Randy quietly carried out the rest of his shift without using his hand too much.
"What the hell's up with you, just take the fucking-" Benson snapped, furrowing his brows at the patchetic heap of nerves standing before him when he turned to shove the box he told Randy to grab three times now into his hands. He stopped short of slamming it into the mangled mess of fingers, eyes instantly locked onto the unnatural way his middle digit was angled.
"That seriously looks like shit, jesus." Benson raised his brows, dropping the box where they stood and breifly placing a hand on his forehead while inspecting the damage. He hadn't spoken much with Randy well, ever, and with some exceptions it stayed consistent after the incident. Though there were more glances between them, eye contact, longer pauses, all of it had started to get under his skin. He hadn't been this close, close enough to see the way his lips were cracked from biting, eyes still red ringed and empty, exhausted, dull. He looked worse than the day Benson had returned from his impromptu vacation. Lifeless. A brief image of Randy as a corpse flashed across the back of Benson's eyelids as he took a moment to compose himself.
"Bradley, come here." Benson said cooly, like it were the most casual thing in the world and there weren't violent thoughts still swimming around his head, screaming at him to shoot the place up, burn it down, blow it to the sky, something. He fucking hated this shithole.
"Sit." Benson ordered, Randy obeying like it came natural to him, of course it did.
"You didn't wrap this? Go to the ER?" the older man pryed, taking the first aid kit off the wall.
"Uh, no, I dunno" All stammers and staring a hole into the ground, Benson wasn't stupid, he knew it was that walking talking shit stain. He took a moment before questioning further, taking the medical tape and wrapping it gently but firmly around the two worst fingers, the purples blues and blacks contrasted his pale skin, it looked painful, broken. Benson couldn't quite place what it was, the almost tender way he handled the boy before him, as if it came easy all of the sudden, like he wasn't himself. It made him sick, so he stopped, shoving the remaining tape into Randy's good hand, letting him finish the job.
"You fucking tell me next time that shit for brains touches you Bradley."
"Randy-" he trailed off a bit, losing confidence.
"What?" Benson asked shortly, turning back with a confused and somewhat annoyed expression.
"My uh, my name is Randy. Bradley is my last name." He stammered, already fidgeting with the edges of the shittily adhered tape.
"You're kidding me, right? Why the fuck is it on your name tag?"
"I never corrected Hardy when he gave it to me.."
"Fucking christ." Benson slid a hand down his face, taking another second to look Randy up and down.
"Well, Randy, you let me know then, yeah?" Was all he said before stalking off to finish their shared task by himself despite protest. As if he'd let Randy lift another finger after that.
It was on Benson's mind all throughout the day, the drive home, as he stared up at his popcorned ceiling, Randy Bradley, fucking ridiculous. He wondered how someone could float through life so docile, complacent, useless, he thought. But what he really couldn't place is why his mind was being consumed by his stupid fawning face, he looked like a deer ready to be shot, faced with the business end of his rifle. He fucking hated hunting, he lonnged to fire at something, someone more substantial, something tainted, deserving of being obliterated, turned into nothing more than a pile of meat. Chris came to mind, then Brad- Randy, Randy came to mind. Something made Benson sick thinking about him, he was everything he wasn't, too soft, malleable, not a mean bone in his body, nothing like Benson. Not at all.