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Benson was spiralling. He knew he was spiralling. He knew it had to end at some point, some point soon, but the fact that it was still hit him hard. And it was all her fault. "It was you wasn't it, you fucking bitch?! You fucking bitch!"
"No, Benson, wait-"
He pulled the trigger just as Randy stepped sideways, trying to get between Benson and the teacher who had now ruined both of their lives. Blood blossomed right in the middle of Randy's sternum, and he stumbled back before falling on his ass, staring up at Benson with the same wide, wet eyes that had stopped Benson from mercy killing him this morning. He should have. Neither of them would be here right now if he had.
"Benson..." Randy whispered, wavering in place before collapsing onto his back.
Benson's mind blanked for a moment, everything static and quiet, and then the teacher was screaming like Jess had screamed, her hands pressing to Randy's chest, and black rage bubbled up at the way she was touching him. She was touching Randy where Randy was hurt and that wasn't her place-
He shoved her out of the way and dropped to his knees so fast it should have hurt but he couldn't feel anything right now except panic, except fear. He didn't care about the cops anymore, he cared about the warm blood under his hands, the way his palm dipped slightly into the new hole in Randy's chest, the way Randy was trying to get his attention, weak fingers tugging at his sleeve.
"Benson," he gasped, the red in his face slowly leeching away. "Benson," he said again.
Something pushed into the corner of his vision, a bundle of white, and it took too long to realize it was entire fistfuls of napkins. He dropped every single one over the mistake he'd made, trying to stem the bleeding.
There was a low murmur coming from somewhere, somewhere between the distant sirens and Randy trying to get him to answer him. Eventually, he realized it was him, a constant "I'm so sorry, Randy. Please baby, I'm so sorry, it wasn't supposed to be you. It was never supposed to be you." He couldn't stop. Didn't even know how he was talking right now when Randy was bleeding out under his hands, from his own bullet.
"Please, Benson," Randy wheezed.
Benson met his eyes and it terrified him how pale Randy was, how the tears on his face no longer looked pretty enough to drink. Now he was pale and the tears had dried because he was going into shock. He was going to be gone soon.
"It was me," Randy said nonsensically.
He could feel a frown pulling between his forehead, the out-of-left-field confession trying to draw his attention to something he couldn't focus on when Randy was dying.
"I called the cops," Randy said next, and something horrible clicked into place like it had been waiting for the right moment to do so.
Randy's hand sat limply over the back of his where his own hands had gone loose against the unstoppable blood flow - his fingers were so cold against the heat of Benson's skin.
"I tried to-" He coughed suddenly, but no blood came up.
Benson must have missed the lungs entirely. Shot him in the heart and everything was too late now.
"Tried to tell you. Wanted you to run. You de- de- deserve bet- better." Randy was gasping now. His last words an apology. An appeasement. Trying to tell Benson that he cared and had all along. Always looking out for everyone else besides himself. "Please. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sor-"
Benson's face felt wet when he leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Randy's to stem the flow of words. He could stop that at least. Randy had apologized so much, his last words shouldn't be more. "I know. I know," Benson whispered. For a moment, he pressed down so hard it hurt, and then he tilted his chin up to kiss it better, his own apology.
"Benson," Randy said again, and he was so quiet now, his voice so rough, Benson wouldn't have heard it if he hadn't been so close.
"Yeah, baby?" he whispered back, giving up on the napkins to cradle Randy's head in his hands, both of his thumbs trying to wipe away the drying tear trails.
Randy's eyes were barely open, and they looked glazed, but they were fixed on Benson's face, almost cross-eyed from how close Benson was hovering. "Thank you."
Benson laughed so hard he coughed on it, hated himself for laughing, the way it bubbled out of his chest like Randy's blood. "Fer fuckin' what?" he rasped, his throat aching. The nicotine-addiction slammed into him so hard he almost reached for the cigarettes in his pocket on instinct, the need to calm the thoughts in his head and the thing writhing in his chest.
"For being-" Randy tried to gasp for breath but it was weak, and Benson felt the end coming like he was sitting on the railroad tracks. "For being-" he tried again, but his words were losing power fast.
"Being what, Randy?" Benson tried to prompt him, get him to realize Benson had gotten that part down.
"My. My frie..." Randy trailed off on an exhale.
Another sick laugh burbled out of Benson and he couldn't stand it. "Your friend?" he asked, but Randy didn't respond.
His eyes were open, his lips parted, but he didn't move.
"Randy?" Benson touched his cheek and Randy didn't even blink. "Randy?" His throat now. Still. "Randy!" He slapped him, hard, tried to jostle him awake again, but Randy's head just lolled to the side and stayed there, eyes staring somewhere in the distance. "Fuck, fuck I'm sorry," Benson muttered, tilting his head back center again. "Randy, c'mon baby, you gotta wake up."
Something was pulling at the back of his sweater but Randy's hands were in front of him so it wasn't him. So it didn't matter. He kept trying to wake Randy, swiping his thumb over the cheek he'd hit in apology, patting his other cheek lightly, so it didn't hurt.
"Baby, please." His own voice was weak. He could hear it like a distant whine, breaking on all the syllables. He felt like he couldn't breathe.
Out of the corner of his eye, something dropped down next to Randy's head and pushed at Benson's shoulder. He reared back, left fist cocked (because Randy was holding his right and he didn't want to let go), and Randy's fucking cyclops teacher flinched back hard, just like she had before Benson's bullet didn't go wide enough. When he didn't start hitting her, she looked back at him carefully from over a shoulder raised protectively to her face.
"He's not going to wake up," she said, her voice soft, trembling, scared. There were tear tracks on her face too. "Sweetie, he's not sleeping."
"Don't fucking call me that," Benson snapped, but it was empty. He was empty. Everything was gone.
"Okay," she agreed too quickly, but then she tried to reach for Randy and that time Benson did swing on her, coldclocking her in her good eye.
"Don't fucking touch him!"
She'd fallen backwards against the booth they'd been sitting in with nothing but Benson's coffee on it. They hadn't even had anything to eat. The only thing Randy had eaten today had been that fucking burger. His last meal on earth.
The world was shaking as Benson dragged Randy's body up against his chest, tucking his head safely against Benson's shoulder as he wrapped his arm around Randy's back. They needed to go. Benson needed... He needed to get them away.
His body ached when he stood. Too many emotions, everything too big and too strong and he was drained from it all. He squatted down, tucking his shoulder under Randy's belly as he dragged an arm over his shoulder, standing with him like he had to when he went hunting. Randy was a lot like a deer: gangly and skittish and wide eyed and innocent and so beautiful and a safety deposit box for Benson's bullet.
Randy was lighter than he should have been, for all that he was almost Benson's height. He weighed less than the last doe he'd taken home to ma.
Ma.
He'd left her without the phone. He should- Nah. Jack next door was just as bad a chainsmoker as Benson and ma were and came over to smoke with her almost every day. He'd look out for her.
Benson took one last look around the diner, everything starting to flicker with distant blue and red and washing the walls purple. The teacher was still sitting on the floor, cradling the new bruise around her one eye, trying to cover it without covering her vision. The cook was cowering against the cold case next to the other server, and Marsha-
"He was going to get me out," Benson said, his voice coming out as tired as he felt. "This is your fault."
His arm felt heavy when he lifted the revolver, but he felt just as sure as when he'd lifted his shotgun this morning. Marsha screamed and cowered but his bullet got her in the neck anyway, exactly where he'd wanted it to go. The teacher and the cook and the other waitress screamed, rushing around him, trying to stop her bleeding like they hadn't tried to stop Randy's, and for a second, Benson thought about just killing them all. No witnesses.
"Benson. Please. Stop."
Randy would have asked him not to do it. These three hadn't done anything. Benson didn't have a reason to kill them, except for the way he wanted the entire world to die.
He turned away, walking Randy around the counter, through the kitchen, and out the back door.
His feet hurt. He wasn't walking right. He'd gone hunting enough to know he wasn't doing it right, even with Randy secure over his shoulders. But he couldn't stop yet.
The cops must be busy with everyone left in the diner because they hadn't caught up to him yet, even though there was no one else out in a town this small at this time of night. Benson had to get them both somewhere safe before the pigs could find them.
He pushed himself on until he reached trees, not just one or two, but an almost-forest, like what had been across the street from the BBB. Weren't good hunting space, but it would work for them, especially when he walked them far enough in to keep them out of the sight of the road. Deep enough that he hoped no one would ever find them. Would ever separate them. Their last day together. Their last life together.
Randy was already starting to get stiff, and his fingers and forearms were a red-purple that Benson's first instinct was to rub away, but he knew it wasn't going to do any good. Didn't stop him from rubbing at the pale, bluish tint to Randy's lips. They'd been so pink all day, he didn't know what to do with this colour. He didn't want to kiss this colour. Didn't want to taste it.
Benson sat back against a tree, tugging Randy between his legs. First time he'd had a man there in decades. First one he'd ever wanted there. Last one that was ever going to be there. He pulled Randy close, a mockery of a hug. They hadn't hugged today. Benson had put his arm around Randy, but Randy had never reached back. Not until he was dying. Not until it was too late.
"I'm not the one who deserved better," Benson rasped, his throat aching. He'd gone days without talking before, when he took himself hunting, when ma was at the hospital for more tests, when he just didn't fucking feel like it. "Next time," he promised, smoothing down Randy's hair, tracing the cold features of his face.
He wondered what Randy looked like when he really smiled. When he was actually happy, the way his laugh sounded. He'd never seen it, never heard it.
"Next time," he promised himself, tugging Randy tight against his body, tucking Randy's face into the safety of his throat. Can't remember the last time he'd had someone that close there either. Kinda nice that the last person who would ever touch him there was the first person to consider him a friend in years. Decades.
He'd killed his only friend. Someone who could have been more.
Fair's fair that Randy kills him too.
"Night, Randy," he said, an echo of their closing shifts when Randy would smile tiredly at him as he trudged out to that pale blue Mustang of his and drive off like a grandma.
He paused, not because he was afraid of what was coming next, but to gather his courage. He hoped this wasn't a violation. He'd already done enough to Randy.
Carefully, gently, Benson pressed a kiss to Randy's temple, lingering there to breathe in the sweetness of his shampoo, the musk of drying sweat, the salt of tears.
"You did good today," he whispered, wishing Randy was alive to hear it, how proud Benson was of the way he'd finally figured his shit out. He was even kinda proud that Randy had taken a stand against him, but he couldn't fully be. Not when Randy might still be alive if he hadn't.
He took in one more slow breath before tilting his head, pressing his cheek to the slight moisture his lips had left behind, cradling Randy's body with his own.
And then he put his pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
FIN