#I especially love it when it gives me the chance to write coomer and bubby bc they're a lot of fun

[waitineedaname]

GORDON AND THE SCIENCE TEAM "WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO ALL OF MY CLOTHES"

“What the fuck did you do to all of my clothes?!”

“Ah, good morning, Gordon!” Dr. Coomer smiled, avoiding the question. “I’m glad to see you’ve joined us in the waking world!”

“Wish he’d slept in a few minutes longer,” Bubby grumbled, his back to Gordon as he focused on his stitch work.

“Seriously, what the hell, guys?” Gordon gestured at what appeared to be his entire wardrobe upended in his backyard. Coomer, Bubby, and Tommy were arranged around the perimeter, each of them sewing his shirts together like they were making an enormous quilt. Benrey was seated in the center of the clothes quilt. He gave Gordon a placid wave. Gordon was seconds away from tearing his hair out.

“We’re making a hot air balloon!” Dr. Coomer explained. “A hot-air balloon is a lighter-than-air aircraft consisting of a bag, called an envelope, which contains heated air. Suspended beneath is a gondola or wicker basket, which carries-”

“Why are you making it out of my clothes?”

“You weren’t doing anything with them,” Bubby said flippantly.

“I was wearing them!”

“Well, now we’ve given you the opportunity to buy better clothes.” Bubby held up the shirts he’d been stitching together, showing off the dorky puns emblazoned on their fronts. “Seriously, how many joke shirts do you own?”

“It looks like zero, now!”

“Exactly. We did you a favor. You’re welcome.”

“How did you even get all this shit out of my room?” Gordon sat down on the step outside his backdoor, resigning himself to the fact that his wardrobe was beyond saving.

“You can thank Tommy for that!” Dr. Coomer said, having abandoned his Wikipedia recitation. “Our dear Dr. Coolatta can be quite light on his feet when he wants to be!”

Tommy looked up from his sewing and smiled, waving at Gordon like he hadn’t done anything wrong. “Hi, Mr. Freeman! You snore really loudly! You should, uh, you should probably get that checked out!”

“Thanks, bud, I’ll keep that in mind,” Gordon said dryly. He looked at Benrey, who was peacefully observing the rest of them from where he sat criss-cross in the middle of the makeshift balloon. “And what about you? What’s your job here?”

“I’m supervising,” Benrey said, like it was obvious.

“I would’ve thought you’d be jumping at the chance to destroy my shit.”

“I can’t sew.”

“...Fair enough.” Gordon propped his chin up as he watched his friends sew his clothes into an enormous parachute. “Don’t you need a heat source for this kind of thing?” Bubby scoffed loudly. “Alright, dumb question. What about a basket?”

That got all of them to pause and look at each other for a long moment. Eventually, Dr. Coomer broke the silence. “Well, shit! Gordon, I do believe we forgot to acquire a basket!”

Gordon laughed under his breath and stood up. “Alright, guess I’m going to Home Depot. You guys need anything else?”

“A fl-”

“Benrey, for the last time, I’m not buying you a fucking flamethrower. I don’t think Home Depot even sells those.”

“Lame.”

The hot air balloon managed to float for a surprising amount of time when they pushed off the ground in the nearby desert, though it did predictably crash and burn eventually. Cons of letting his friends make a hot air balloon out of his clothes: he was stuck borrowing clothes from the rest of them until he could buy his own, and they all wore wildly different sizes. The pros of the situation, however, were that they managed to get onto alien conspiracy boards for reasons that didn’t involve Benrey making himself into a local cryptid for once, so. Gordon counted the whole thing as a wash.

[goatbi]

Letters

TW: implied suicide. This one isn’t a happy one folks

Benrey, 

It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? Writing letters and not wanting one back? I think about what I’m doing as a write these. Writing them gives me time to contemplate it, really. Why am I doing, truly? Right now? 

Bubby, 

God, I know. Emotions, man, being forced to face those, that sucks doesn’t it? I’m sorry for that. I never liked making people uncomfortable. I hope you aren’t too uncomfortable right now, with this whole thing. 

Coomer, 

Do I apologize for this? I don’t know, really. To you, I feel like it would matter more than most. To you, you might spare a moment to care about me. That’s not a fault against you, that’s never been. It’s always been me, a worried little broken thing that no one really thinks to look at unless it can give you something, but all I can give is hurt

Tommy,

Please don’t cry over me. I always hated it when you cried. You deserve to be happy, you deserve to feel better, you deserve to not be burdened by whatever the hell I’ve got going on in my mind, y’know? 

I wrote yours last. I know why, really, since I didn’t know what I wanted to put in here. I didn’t know how to handle everything that we’ve been through, everything we’ve done to each other, I didn’t know, and I still don’t know. I do know that I don’t want you blaming yourself for this. 

Look, you and Coomer, you guys have always been important to me. You know that right? You know that I care about you deeply, you know that I would have lay down my life if given the chance if it meant protecting you. I know it seems... less now, but it doesn’t mean that it is. 

I’m sorry you guys have to see me like this, you know? It feels like something I should apologize for, but everything is now-a-days. I apologize for everything and I hope that you know I mean it, but that isn’t the point here, the point is that you shouldn’t have to deal with this.

You are amazing, Tommy. Don’t blame yourself for this. I don’t want any of you blaming yourself, but you especially. You all kept me going for longer than I thought would ever be possible. To be fair, I thought I would be dead by sixteen. The fact that I made it almost to thirty? Unprecedented, and you helped that, Tommy.

Benrey, I’m not gonna lie to you. We agreed after Black Mesa we would never lie to each other, so I’m still giving you that courtesy even now. I can’t lie to you and say that all that shit in Black Mesa didn’t matter, because it did, and it sucked, but we got over that. We dealt with that, but that doesn’t mean my nightmares give a shit. I had nightmares about you, but I don’t blame you, Benrey, and I don’t want you blaming yourself, either. It’s okay. You tried your best, and you made up for it. 

I’m just... tired, you know? So so tired, and it just feels safer. Easier. I feel like I want to go home, but there isn’t a home for me to go to anymore. I feel like you might understand that of anyone else. You may have hated Black Mesa, but I saw those longing looks outside the windows towards that hellscape. It was your home, for so so long, so of course you feel weird about being out here. That’s not something to be ashamed about, Bubby. 

I don’t know how to fix this, y’know? I’m worried that this is gonna hurt you more than I think it will, but please don’t shed too many tears over me? You don’t cry often, but it still sucks when you do. I don’t want you crying over me. I feel better now. I know I do. It still hurts when I write this, but when you read it, I’ll be okay. Know that, Dr. Coomer. 

There’s something that I never understood, but I get now, I think. You guys don’t fear death, and for a bit I didn’t understand, how someone whose happy can be so unafraid, because the only people I know who aren’t scared of death are like me, they wait for it to come for them, but now? Now, I know. You aren’t scared, not because you’re immortal or you come back, you’re not scared because you’re happy. It doesn’t make sense to me, how that can be, but I get it. 

I’m just hoping you stick around, Benrey. You guys need each other, like a pack of wolves, though that metaphor collapses if you scrutinize it a bit. I just want you guys to be okay afterwards, y’know? 

Be okay, again. It’s okay. This isn’t a set back, this is me letting you go ahead without me. You guys are gonna be okay. This is gonna be better for you, all of you. 

You’ve been so important to me, all of you, and I love you all, but... y’know, sometimes love doesn’t win. 

So don’t cry for me, okay? I’m happy now. Finally. I promise. 

Love, Gordon