#growing old with you // harold coomer

[ghostsintheai]

Gordon’s out. He’s alive and he’s getting the hell out of town. Mission accomplished, you lot, congratulations.

"this is a bitter fucking victory."

"there isn't much we can do about that. I know you hate waiting, love."

[kraviolis]

(this is for my rival streamers au)

“OHO! You rascal! You can’t get away that easy!”

Joshua squeals in delight, kicking his feet and waving his arms, as Dr. Coomer holds him high in the air. 

It’s adorable and yet super weird to watch your professor and your son having such a good time together. You find yourself smiling at them, something warm blooming in your chest. Dr. Coomer blows a raspberry into Joshua’s cheek and makes him squeal again.

“Those two seem to be… getting along.” Dr. Bubby says. 

He’s sitting across from you, sipping at a glass of red wine. You almost wish you could ask for a glass, wanting to really soak yourself in the warmth of tonight, but unfortunately you still have to drive home.

“Yep,” You lean forward on the table, crossing your arms to hold you up. “Dr. Coomer’s actually really good with him.”

Dr. Bubby raises an eyebrow. “Of course he is. Harold’s always been good with kids.”

His tone of voice makes you feel like there’s something deeper going on there but you aren’t sure if it’s polite to ask about it. You turn your attention back to Joshua. He’s being chased around the living room now, somehow running with the confidence of someone that’s been able to walk for far longer than just a few months. 

(Jeez, has it already been a few months since he watched him take his first steps? It feels like it was just yesterday.)

(You suppose you understand what your mother meant when she said you weren’t allowed to grow up when you were a kid, now.)

Still, you can’t help but wonder. What was the extra meaning behind what he’d said about Dr. Coomer being good with kids? Did… did they have kids? No, no that doesn’t make sense. Neither of them had known that Joshua couldn’t read yet or chew steak on his own, despite being only a year old.

“If you have something to say it, then just say it.” Dr. Bubby cuts through your thoughts. You look at them, a little embarrassed at being caught. “Seriously. I don’t have all night, you know.”

“Sorry,” You rub the back of your neck sheepishly. “If— If it’s okay to ask… Do you two have any kids?”

Dr. Bubby chokes on his wine, coughing lightly. “Hell no! I don’t want a bunch of sticky-handed stupid little babies who can’t even read running around! I already have to deal with teaching at work- I’d fucking explode if I had to do it at home, too!”

“Yeah, no, that’s— that’s fair.” You don’t think you appreciate the implication that your son is stupid, but you shrug amicably anyways. He’s got a bit of a point.

“Besides, even if I wanted kids, neither of us can actually have any.” He admits and you frown sympathetically.

“Oh. I’m… I’m sorry to hear that.” 

“Eh, it’s whatever. Never bothered me before.” He waves a hand, as if clearing away any attempt at compassion directed towards him. 

Dr. Bubby pauses, though, and sighs. Their eyes become downcast and they stare at their wine as they swirl it gently in the glass. 

“It’s never bothered me, but… Harold, on the other hand...”

You wait patiently, letting Dr. Bubby continue at his own pace. You glance over briefly and see Dr. Coomer investigating the living room bookshelf with Joshua, showing him the various knickknacks adorning the shelves. He tells him to be gentle and holds out a glass figurine, not letting him hold it but just allowing him to run his tiny fingers across it.

“Harold’s always wanted kids,” Dr. Bubby continues, his voice far softer than it has been, drawing your gaze back. “Long before we knew each other. Long before he even knew himself. But life… life is cruel, Gordon. Life doesn’t care about you, it doesn’t care about your dreams. And sometimes, you have to make choices that no one should ever have to make.”

Dr. Bubby’s hand is trembling in… what seems to be anger. He notices, shakes his head, and knocks back the last of his wine before sitting back and scowling at the table. You’re confused, unsure of what exactly he means. You go to say as much but pause when he looks up and meets your eyes. It’s like a shadow is blanketing their face, something from deep inside rising and making itself known in their eyes.

“Back then people like us, like me and Harold— sometimes we had to choose between having a family of our own or a chance to be ourselves. Harold was told he couldn’t be given hormones without also getting a hysterectomy. The risk was too great, they told him.” They growl, baring their teeth. You notice absentmindedly that his canines are sharper than they should be. “What a load of shit. They didn’t even know if there was a risk! You know how many studies have come out since then proving those bastards wrong?”

You open your mouth, trying to make sounds but it just isn’t working.

You… you hadn’t known. Not just about what your professor had gone through at the hands of medical institutions so long ago but also that Dr. Coomer and Dr. Bubby… they’re like you. 

(You feel a completely unexplainable comfort just knowing this, now. And a terrible understanding of what Dr. Bubby means by having to make an impossible choice.)

“I… yeah.” You manage to say, eventually. “I probably read through every study about that stuff when… when I first started transitioning. That’s… God, I— I can’t even imagine being forced to make that choice.”

Bubby narrows his eyes sharply. He circles a finger around the rim of his glass and you have a sudden but distinct feeling of being thoroughly examined, all of you on display and ready to be judged. He squints more intensely, tilts his head, and then relaxes again. 

...Test passed, apparently.

“...Of course you are.” He mutters, crossing his arms. “Right. Should’ve guessed.”

You quirk your lips, half-smiling. “Trans people tend to gravitate towards each other, I’ve found. Even unknowingly.”

Dr. Bubby barks out a laugh, throwing their head back. “Ha! That’s more true than you know, but that’s a story for another time.” He nods towards the living room. “Looks like someone had a little too much fun, over there.”

You blink and then turn. You find Dr. Coomer and Joshua on the couch, your professor snoring away while Joshua is still wide awake, sitting in his lap and tapping randomly on your professor’s phone. You laugh quietly, watching the scene fondly, and see Dr. Bubby looking on with the same dopey expression in the corner of your eye.

“...It’s getting late. I should get going before Joshua starts getting overtired.” You groan as you stand, stretching. Dr. Bubby follows you with a more grumpy groan. “Should— should we leave him asleep?” 

“No, no, he’ll want to say goodnight. Also, he’ll fuck up his back if he stays there.” They say. “You get your shit. I’ll wake him up.”

You gather everything up, grabbing whatever toys you brought and stuff it all back into Josh’s diaper bag. Dr. Coomer wakes back up thanks to his husband poking his face hard enough and quickly saves himself from being locked out of his phone for too long. You pick up Joshua before he can complain about losing his new toy.

Dr. Coomer walks you out, smiling sleepily and waving goodbye to both of you. You thank him for having you over.

“The pleasure is all mine. It was a delight to have you and your boy over for dinner, Gordon.” Dr. Coomer insists.

“No!” Joshua wiggles in your arms, making a sad noise and grabby hands at your professor. He chuckles warmly and lets Joshua grab his fingers, giving him a small handshake. 

“We sure had a blast tonight, eh? But you’re still growing, and you need your rest.” Joshua’s lip wobbles and Dr. Coomers expression falls. “Oh, dear, please don’t cry. Keep your chin up. Goodbyes are tough, I know, but you’re even tougher.”

He punctuates this by pushing Joshua’s chin up gently with his fist. There’s a softness in the gesture that makes your heart melt. Unfortunately, it doesn’t do much to prevent Josh’s eyes from starting to glisten.

“Hey, it’s okay, Joshie.” You smile at Joshua, getting his attention. “We can come back and visit next week! But you have to ask if it’s okay first.” 

You look at Dr. Coomer in time to see his expression brighten at your words. Joshua turns to look at him too. 

“Pease?” He asks, not quite able to say the word, but it still makes your professor’s eyes mist up anyways.

He kneels down to look up at Joshua, taking his small hand in his much bigger one with a touching amount of gentleness. 

“I would love nothing more, my dear.”

[slimeulation]

Hello old and new followers, welcome back or to Slimeulation! A ask blog / story continuation of the fic More Than A Slimeulation. This is our cast of characters, the ranchers of The Far, Far Range. If it wasn’t obvious yet, this is a Slime Rancher AU. I’ll start the blog up very soon after I get a few things taken care of, but I’m glad to finally have this out and done! More information about each of our ranchers will be under the cut for you to indulge in.  

Name: Gordon Freeman (He / They) Ranch: Southpaw Ranch Slime Specialty: Pink Tabby, Phosphor, Rock, Puddle Exchange: Primordy Oil, Spiral Stream, Lava Dust, Deep Brine, Silky Sand About: Gordon is a charismatic young rancher whose been a part of the Far, Far Range for nearly four years. Being one of the most experienced ranchers here, he tends to hop onto any task given to him if its something that’ll help his fellow ranchers. Not one for using the jet boots due to a fear of height, and someone who generally keeps most things to himself, Gordon likes to spend most time if not doing anything hidden away deep in the Ancient Ruins.  He lost his right arm a few weeks after arriving on his ranch via large rubble falling and pinning him in place. Gordon was lucky enough to have met Tommy then, who brought him back to Coolatta’s Corral to properly treat his wounds and nurse him back to health with his dad.  Name: Benrey ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ (Any Pronouns) Ranch: Echo Location Slime Specialty: None Exchange: Echo, Chime About: A secretive rancher with a missing left hand and little known about him, Benrey is rarely seen around the Far, Far Range. He arrived around a year ago with Forzen, claiming that he had inherited a ranch from his family held in the Glass Desert, but not explaining who this family was for personal reason. Benrey does not own a single slime on his ranch, preferably handling the rarer items one can find such as chime and echo. He likes the sounds and look. Only person who does know more than a few things would be Tommy, but this is simply because Tommy’s taken his time getting to know everyone since hes lived longest on the Far, Far Range.  Name: Tommy Coolatta (He / Him) Ranch: Coolatta’s Corral Slime Specialty: Quicksilver Exchange: Quicksilver Plort, Newbucks, Saber Plort About: Tommy Coolatta has lived on the Far, Far Range for over ten years, growing up with his father on said ranch and learning the ways of running with the Quicksilver slime, a rare slime only they can handle. Tommy is a kindhearted ranch owner who always greets newcomers and helps them get started in running their own places, happily giving them any supply they may need and also offering a word of advice when anyone asks.  With Tommy comes a very special slime, a pure saber slime by the name of Sunkist. This particular slime was a gift to him from the Coomer’s as a thank you for his help when they’d first arrived. Name: Darnold Pepper (He / Him) Ranch: Darnold’s Lab Slime Specialty: Glitch Slime Exchange: Manifold Cubes, Strange Diamonds About: While hes not the most social person in the world, Darnold is a vey easy person to get along with. With a ranch within the Slime Sea and a affinity for Slime Science, Darnold probably knows more about the different things you can do with slime than anyone else living there even if hes only been here for two years.  Darnold owns what’s known as the Slimeulation. A machine that drops anyone into a simulation of the Far, Far Range to better study slime in their natural habitat without the added dangers...for the most part. Unfortunately for him, this Slimeulation started showing bugs, Glitch Slime that appeared more and more as time went on. While hes finally come to accept they’re their own slime as well, he still asks for Gordon’s help now and then to gather some up so he can further study their code.  Name: Harold P. Coomer (He / Him) Ranch: Coomer’s Retreat Slime Specialty: Saber Largo, Fire Slime Exchange: Kookadoba Fruit, Spicy Tofu About: A very eccentric older man with a knack for getting himself into danger, Coomer loves exploring and adventure. Finding a nice place on the edge of the wilds with his partner to start their very own ranch, and using the special recourses and slime plort they could find, Coomer and Bubby together made quite the name for themselves with the special food they make for slime and ranchers alike.  While only having lived here for two years after escaping earth, Coomer knows just about everyone, and worries for them deeply on days when they just aren’t doing their best. Hes always open to give a word of advice and maybe request others come with him into the wilds just to help them clear their heads. Coomer deeply loves his partner, Bubby and is far stronger than anyone would think he is.  Name: Bubby Coomer (Any Pronouns) Ranch: Coomer’s Retreat Slime Specialty: Mosaic Slime, Saber Largo Exchange: Kookadoba Fruit, Spicy Tofu, Mosaic Plorts, Occasional Slime Science Resources About: Slime Science Enthusiast and partner of Harold, Bubby isn’t quite one to interact much at all with other ranchers. Often times he avoids them all together, hiding away in his own slime science lab and trying out new things, but when he does speak, it usually tends to come out a bit sarcastic and makes him sound just a little full of himself. He doesn’t mean to come off this way at all, he does trust most of these people, he just has a hard time properly communicating that to anyone aside from Coomer himself.  Bubby likes to talk to Darnold on occasion, the two of them sharing notes and swapping ideas for new technology no one else really quite understands. Bubby has noted that Darnold will easily open up to anyone if they’re talking about the right things, and Darnold has noted that Bubby’s eyes seem to glow on some occasion, whatever that means.  Name: Forzen...????? (Any Pronouns)  Ranch: Forzen’s Fortress Slime Specialty: Honey, Hunter, Boom, Puddle Exchange: Royal Jelly, Hexacomb, Buzz Wax, Wild Honey, Mint Mango About: Forzen lives in a ranch hidden away deep with in the Moss Blanket. Near impossible to find and even harder to reach, Forzen doesn’t really get along with any of the ranchers aside from Darnold and occasionally Tommy.  Not much is known about him, but what is known is that he has a special knack for catching and taming extremely rare slime others could only dream of finding. One such slime would be Clay Leone, a special Lucky Slime who seems to refuse to leave his hideaway. Its also known that Forzen tends to frequently get himself in to danger, if his eye injury and wrapped arms were any sign of it. Forzen has been around for a year.  Name: Gregory (Gman) Coolatta (He / Him) Ranch: Coolatta’s Corral  Slime Specialty: Quicksilver  Exchange: Quicksilver Plort, Newbucks About: Gman himself has lived on the Far, Far Range just about as long as Tommy has, as he raised his son here. Hes never quite one to interact much with the ranchers outside of the occasional trade, and most days maybe even considered missing with how long he tends to up and disappear, but Gman genuinely means good for most people. Gman also knows more about most ranchers than the others tend to assume he does. He likes to spend days exploring and relaxing away from all the excitement of the Quicksilver tracks, often times getting lost in thought for so long he never really realizes how much time has passed. He’d probably talk about his son at any given chance if anyone asked him, and Tommy in turn would be more than willing to tell people of the days when he and his dad learned the ways of the Quicksilver and how they acted to their environment. 

[bubbyleh]

Do I Know You? - Chapter 9

read this chapter on ao3! check out the rest of this series on tumblr!

Chapter 9: Burning Stay up late.

- ○ -

Bubby is seething. He’s trying to keep his cool, really, he is! But he’s grinding his teeth together gripping onto the file so tight that if it wasn’t paper it would have snapped in half. Because seriously? Are you fucking kidding? Digging through the file behind their back, when they so graciously allowed Kleiner to spend a night?

“I… I was just trying to understand!” Kleiner quickly explains. “I don’t know anything about what happened to you after you disappeared!”

“That’s a good thing!” Bubby snaps. “You aren’t supposed to know about anything in here!”

“Why? Because you have some secret government documents stashed away in your apartment?” he remarks. “It’s not like they’ll kill me.”

Bubby sighs. “No, Isaac. The stuff in here?” They hold up the file. “It's bad. And it’s in the past. I don’t want you worrying over stuff that doesn’t even matter!”

“But it does matter!” Kleiner argues. “Bubby, if they hurt you-”

“Stop.”

Kleiner almost shrivels under Bubby’s harsh glare.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” they state. “You’d pity me.”

“Bubby-”

“Do you think I want that? To be pitied by both of the people I care about the most?”

“Bubby, wait-!”

“G*d, it’s bad enough that Harold knows. I didn’t even tell him, he found out on accident! And now all he does is worry about me. You shouldn’t have to do that!”

“Bubby!”

“And I like how things are now! I don’t want our relationship to change because-”

“BUBBY!”

The shout is enough to finally break Bubby out of their monologue. “What!?”

Kleiner points at their head and shouts, “Your hair’s on fire!”

Oh. Bubby pauses, eyes flicking up towards the top of the head.

Yeah, that's fire.

Panicked, Bubby quickly pats their smoldering hair down, leaving no damage aside from some smoke. Just one glance at Kleiner, nervous and awestruck, tells him the cat’s out of the bag.

Crap.

- ○ -

Kleiner insists on smothering Bubby’s head with a damp towel, even after the fire has been patted out. They stiffen when it’s tossed over their face, the wet chill an unwelcome presence. But, ultimately, they decide to leave it there as they lean back on the couch. Talking’s much easier when you can’t see.

“Alright,” Bubby says before Kleiner can speak. “Let’s get this out of the way.”

There’s a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to-”

Bubby raises his hand, and with a deep breath, a familiar warmth covers the tips of their fingers. It drips down towards their palm.

Kleiner shouts in alarm, and Bubby hears him fall off the couch. He tries not to feel too bad about it.

“It’s fine.” Bubby’s able to keep their tone even.

“You can set yourself on fire?”

Bubby hums. “And other things. I’m resistant.” They shake the fire off their hand. “Got it when I was twelve. It…” The next word dangles on their tongue. Should they play it up? Say it’s cool? Useful? Fun, even?

It burned the first time they used it. Not physically, but it felt like it did. It was like their whole body was revolting against the idea of using it, and they cried. They cried, and cried, and cried so hard that eventually the scientists decided to stop for the day.

They tell the truth.

“It hurt.” Bubby rubs their forearm, self-consciously.

Kleiner gets back on his feet. “They did that to a child?”

Carefully, Bubby slips the towel off of his head, just as Kleiner sits at his side. For a moment, as their eyes meet, a flash of panic strikes through Bubby’s heart. This is it, isn’t it? Kleiner knows a little bit about what they did to him, and he’s going to hate it. See that they’re more of a messed up experiment than a human being, give up, and-

And Isaac pulls him into a hug.

At first, Bubby is too stunned to do anything.

“I’m sorry I looked at your file,” Kleiner says. “I shouldn’t have done that. But I was so scared that you were hurting because of the stuff in there, and I just-” His grip around them tightens. “I wanted to know why they took my baby sibling.”

Oh. Fuck.

And Bubby hugs their brother back, resting their forehead on his shoulder.

“I shouldn’t have gotten angry,” Bubby confesses. “You didn’t know. You couldn’t have known…”

Neither of them let go.

- ○ -

It’s a while before either of them speak. Bubby’s content to just let the silence hang over them, like a comforting blanket. After the stress of the night—the whole weekend, if he’s being honest—it’s nice to just take a moment to let his nerves settle. Breathing deeply, holding onto their brother, and finally calming down.

He’s not irked, however, when Kleiner asks a question.

“So,” he starts. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Slowly, Bubby can feel the anxiety creep up on them, buzzing around with a nervous energy. It’s like, for a moment, his ears are filled with static and his brain is moving a mile a minute. He backs away and meets eyes with Kleiner.

The buzzing stops.

“Yeah. Sure.”

There’s silence as Bubby tries to figure out what to say next. Kleiner is patient, waiting by their side. Just him being there, a foreign source of warmth, is nice.

Bubby decides to be blunt.

“I don’t like you and Coomer knowing about-” He stops, swallowing his words. “-the experiments.”

“Why?” Kleiner frowns.

“You know that you have my old job, right?” Bubby asks, but they don’t wait for an answer. “Well, someone else has had it since then, but that’s actually how I met Harold. He was right out of his divorce, new to Black Mesa, and I wasn’t really sociable. It was a while before we actually started dating.”

They sigh. “I didn’t want to ever tell him. Things were good, it was the happiest I’d been in years. And I couldn’t risk losing him over something I technically wasn’t even allowed to say. I was going to let it stay that way.”

Kleiner says nothing, but he places a hand on Bubby’s shoulder as they continue to speak.

“But I ended up getting… really hurt, one day.” His posture straightens subconsciously. “Dr. Cynthia knew about Harold, and she knew I’d want to see him. So she ended up calling him in.”

Bubby laughs, but not out of joy. “She got in trouble for that, but he was there when I woke up. Dr. Cynthia told him a few things, and he asked me if it was true, and I-” They take a breath, composing themself. “I mean, you’ve seen him. The man hates it whenever I go near that lab.”

“And you don’t like that,” Kleiner reasons. “The worrying.”

“Of course I don’t!” Bubby slumps back on the couch, covering their face with their hands. “You two shouldn’t have to bother with any of that. It wouldn’t be fair, it’s my baggage.”

“Well, you’re right that it’s not fair,” Kleiner relents. “But that isn’t your fault.”

Bubby peeks out from behind their fingers.

“It’s unfair that you had to grow up the way you did. It’s unfair that you were taken away,” Kleiner explains. “But Coomer and I don’t hold that against you. We both care about you, and you know that.”

“I know,” Bubby says.

“And whether you tell me anything more or not, and whether it’s good or bad-” Kleiner reaches towards his sibling, lightly brushing a finger on their cheek. “We’re going to be fine.”

Bubby at first, relaxes with the touch. But then his eyes widen, and he sits up to face his brother. “What was that?”

Kleiner immediately begins fumbling over himself. “It- I mean, I was trying to be comforting, but-”

“No, I mean. How did you know to do that?”

Now it’s Kleiner’s turn to be confused. “Huh?”

“That’s- I’ve been doing that to myself for years. It made me feel safe,” Bubby explains. “I had to tell Coomer what it meant. Did he say something?”

Kleiner shakes his head. “Bubby, no, I-” He takes a moment. “You cried a lot when you were a baby. That was how I used to calm you down.”

And Bubby can almost imagine it. Isaac, almost six years old, reaching down into the crib of a very fussy baby. With just a single touch, a finger on a cheek, the crying stops, and the two just

Look. At each other.

“Oh,” Bubby says. “It was you.”

He laughs. Not a small giggle, or an empty chuckle, but the biggest laugh he’s had in a long while. Isaac almost smiles along with him, but he feels as though he’s out of the loop on what the big joke is.

“All this time, it was you!” Bubby has to wipe tears away from his eyes, gasping between laughs. “It’s like you were there all along!”

[goatbi]

Blast From The Past

The first time that Bubby heard about him was from Gordon, of course. When xyr son came home with hearts in his eyes, Bubby couldn’t help but ask what it was, and of course got far more information on a teenage love life than he might have wanted, but that didn’t matter. 

Years later, when the mere name of this man would break Gordon into tears, Bubby vowed he would hunt Him down one day, hurt him like he hurt Gordon. 

High school sweethearts, together through college, despite going to colleges across country from each other, Bubby hoped the gut instinct he had felt when he first saw Him was wrong. How completely xe hoped xe were wrong. 

When Gordon came to him in tears, a ring on his finger and a positive pregnancy test, Bubby continued to hope. That’s all he could do, of course, as a father. Gordon was old enough to make his decisions, and he was happy with these ones. 

The wedding was bright, wonderful, and Bubby sat in the front row, staring down the man marrying his son, and felt wrong about it. Wrong about the whole thing, and god, xe wished xe had listened to that gut instinct, it was the same one that xe had ignored years before. It had gotten him Gordon, so Bubby could never say he regretted it, and it was getting Gordon his son, Bubby’s grandson, but Bubby wondered, if it would have been different. 

Perhaps it could have been avoided. 

When xe woke up in the middle of the night four months after Joshua’s birth, rain pounding against the roof, and found Gordon at the door in tears, clinging to the little bundle that was Joshua, saying that He was gone, He had left them at some point, with no note, no text, nothing, Bubby wished. 

Gordon moved back in with him. It was fine, Bubby wanted him there, and Gordon couldn’t afford the apartment as a single father. Bubby didn’t mind keeping him here with xym, and Gordon needed the help. 

Tommy was indispensable to them at this point, and Bubby helped Gordon recover, wondering if it was an unfortunate truth to their family, to be hurt like this. 

Gordon’s father never returned. Bubby didn’t know if he hoped that Joshua’s would or not. 

Of course, the divorce papers showing up in the mail two weeks later did nothing but cement the fact that He was not returning. It pushed Gordon into a deep depression, only brought out by Joshua growing more and more each day. 

Gordon managed to pull through it, in the end, and forced it all behind him, forced himself to forget it all. Bubby and Coomer and Tommy stood by him, by Joshua, and Gordon slowly stood again, back on his own feet, and Joshua didn’t remember Him, but remembered his grandfathers, and saw Tommy as another father, and they didn’t push that, but let it happen. It was alright. 

After the space exploration, after almost losing his son, Bubby just wanted to go back home and rest. Gordon was staying with him once more, as Bubby still felt... wrong about the whole thing. Joshua, of course, loved spending time with his grandparents, so there was no complaints from that side. 

Enough things had gone wrong at this point. Bubby just wanted to be home and relax, which, of course, meant that wasn’t going to happen. 

One knock on the door led to it all. 

One knock, simple, loud, and Bubby stood, huffing softly as xey did, not quite wanting to deal with that, and moved over, opening it. 

Upon seeing Him, Bubby shut the door again, locking the top lock with no hesitation. 

“Oh- Hey, come on!” Bubby ignored it, eyes darting to the hall just as Gordon emerged. He had to have heard His voice, and the color draining from Gordon’s face said it all. 

“Go back to Josh’s room. Go.” Gordon didn’t argue, but stood there for a moment. 

“Please be careful.” 

Bubby scoffed. “Please. He’s the one who needs to be worried.” It got a smile out of Gordon, who then turned and went back into Joshua’s room, where the door was shut and promptly locked. Bubby sighed, turning to the locked door in front of him, before once again opening. 

He stood there. As if He could just come back, after everything. He smiled upon seeing Bubby, though it fell with the dark glare Bubby returned. “Hey-” 

“I will say this once, and once only. Get the fuck off of my property. You are not Gordon’s husband, you are not Joshua’s father, if anything, you are a stranger. If you do not remove yourself from my porch, I will do it myself.” Bubby didn’t let it out that he probably couldn’t do that, not like he used to be able to. That, however, did not mean that xe couldn’t call G-Man. Over eight foot, G-Man was intimidating enough that He would leave. 

“I just want to see my son.” Bubby full out laughed at that, a dark bitter noise. 

“Your son? So you’re saying you didn’t leave when he was four months old and you’re the one who raised him the entire time? You’re saying that you were the one who was there for him through everything, every single bump and bruise up to this point, you know he’s seven now? He doesn’t know who the fuck you are. Again. Get the fuck off my property.” 

He put a hand on the door, and, before another word could be uttered, Bubby pressed xyr full weight against it again, managing to get it shut, locked once more, sliding down to the floor against it, flipping out his phone. 

Gordon would like to see Tommy too, he was sure. G-Man could grab Tommy on the way over. 

G-Man answered in two rings, as G-Man always did, and, the moment Bubby said His name, G-Man was on the way. 

All the while He called out curses, blaming as many things as he could pull out of the air onto Bubby, onto Gordon, onto Joshua. Bubby pressed xyr back harder against the door, closing xyr eyes. 

When silence finally came, Bubby slowly stood, moving the curtains on the door to the side to watch as Tommy near lifted Him by his collar and bodily dragged him off the porch, as G-Man watched on quietly. Bubby unlocked the door to let the two of them in, smiling. 

“thanks for that. Gordon’s up in Joshua’s room.” He told Tommy as he came back up, smiling. Tommy nodded, and Bubby stepped to the side to let Tommy in, keeping careful eyes on Him on the side walk, but He made no move to come back up the driveway. 

“Are you two alright?” G-Man asked carefully, and Bubby nodded. 

“I didn’t want the chance that he could get into the house, and I figured Gordon would want to see Tommy.” Xey said, letting G-Man in, and shutting the door behind him again, locking it carefully. 

“Harold?” 

“I’ll text him.” Bubby said, pulling out xyr phone to do just that. G-Man nodded, and, moments later, Gordon came down with Tommy, Joshua hanging off of Tommy’s arm. 

“He gone?” Gordon asked, and Bubby unfronately shook his head. 

“I don’t think he’ll stay long. If he does, we’ll resort to drastic measures.” Gordon nodded slightly. “Just in case he decided the police need to be involved, find your divorce paperwork and the custody stuff.” Gordon hummed, and turned to do just that, flipping Joshua’s cowboy hat up a bit as he passed. Joshua laughed slightly, and dropped to the floor from Tommy’s arm. 

When Harold came home, G-Man stepped out to make sure He made no trouble for it. He was still there, but hadn’t done anything but kick over the trash can and scream at them from the sidewalk as they sat around inside, watching movies to drown him out. 

It was nearly dark when he left, and Bubby invited G-Man and Tommy to stay over the night, just in case. 

He returned the next day, and the day after that, and after that, and each time Bubby would draw the curtains closed, sit with Gordon and Joshua and watch movies, play loud music, anything to keep Joshua from hearing the loud angry man on the sidewalk outisde. Tommy took to sitting in the window when the curtains weren’t drawn, staring out at Him in silence. 

Eventually, He did call the police on them, for kidnapping his child. Bubby, as much as hated interacting with the police, was more than happy to turn it on him, and finally, finally, He was gone for longer than a day. 

Bubby could only hope He didn’t return. 

[holdyourbreathfornow]

Like Father, Like Son

(Oh no, instead of working on the many other things I’m supposed to, I instead wrote this ‘missing scene’ tribute fic to your fic “A Match Lit in the Lantern of My Heart”. Supposed to be set right after Darnold gets Gordon in the car after he burns up the warehouse. I really REALLY want to write the second part but it’s very difficult for me to write more than one chapter of things, regardless of length or desire, so no promises)  (cw for burns,flashbacks of past trauma,slight body horror) 

(feel free to add a readmore. I can’t add one on the submission page)

Bubby was pacing back and forth across the kitchen floor as he and the others waited anxiously for any news from Darnold or Gordon.

  He chewed on his thumb nail anxiously; a bad habit he’d picked up a long time ago and never been able to kick. He often felt the need to gnaw on things with his sharp teeth, especially when he was nervous, and, more often than not, it was his nails and cuticles that took the brunt of the damage. 

  He just hated this damned waiting!  Not knowing what was happening, not knowing what to do. It was maddening!

  None of the others seemed to be handling it any better. 

  Harold was staring, silently and unblinking, into the middle distance, arms folded and hands gripping his upper arms so hard Bubby worried for the integrity of the metal. 

  Tommy was shaking, stroking Sunkist over and over to try to calm himself out of a full panic attack while his father stood next to the two of them, face and mannerisms as unreadable as always, but knowing him as well as Bubby had come to, he could still tell the man was worried. 

  Benrey was sitting in the corner of the room, clutching his head and rocking back and forth slightly. His form twitched and shuddered.

  Benrey had taken the news of Montobar’s return and subsequent threatening of Gordon arguably the worst of any of them. At first he’d seized up, freezing like a deer in headlights, then he’d seemed to completely lose control of his physical form, growing, shifting, and changing in accordance with his rage and despair. Teeth and claws jutted out at all angles, mouths and limbs sprouting and flailing as ear-splitting, shrieking notes of sweet voice filled the air with a slew of blinding lights. 

  It seemed as though his emotions were physically warring with each other over the battlefield of his body, parts trying to draw into themselves in fear and form protective plating, while other parts lashed out, slashing at the air with claws and teeth like razors, while still more moaned and sobbed tears the same ever shifting colors that poured from his many mouths. 

  He’d immediately tried to run off to find Gordon (hell they’d all wanted to) but Tommy managed to console him enough to get him to understand the infuriating truth of the situation at hand, which was that we simply didn’t know exactly Montobar had up his sleeve. 

  Darnold had told them Montobar had been vague in his threats besides an insinuation of something to do with controlling Tommy’s father. While the G-Man had assured them there was no danger of that specifically, they still didn’t know what else Montobar could have at his disposal. 

  No one knew the extent of exactly what had been done to Gordon during his time at Black Mesa, not even Gordon himself. No one but Montobar. If there was something else he knew, something else he had that he could use against Gordon and they showed up and forced him to show his hand…

  Bubby shuddered. 

  No, they had to find out exactly what his demands were. Exactly what he had to back up his threats. Then they could act. Then they could find a way to subvert whatever twisted ace he might have up his sleeve.

  And Bubby could finally deep fry the fucker. 

  For everything Montobar had done to Bubby’s son, to his whole family, he’d make sure the piece of shit’s life ended roasting alive. He’d regret ever living through the fall of Black Mesa, Bubby would make sure of that. 

  Bubby nearly jumped out of his skin when Coomer’s phone ringtone went off. 

  In an instant, the whole room was on their feet and crowded around Coomer, who already had picked up, phone held to his ear.

  “What’s happening?” he asked, not bothering with any kind of greeting. “Is Gordon–” 

  Bubby could hear frantic speaking from the other side of the call, cutting Coomer off, but it was too quiet to hear what was being said.

  “Fire?!” Coomer exclaimed. “But what–” 

  “What- what’s he saying?” Tommy cried, “Is Gordon al-alri- is-is he ok?”

  “Oh my God, man, just put the fucking thing on speaker!” Bubby exclaimed, grabbing the phone from his husband’s hand and pressing the speaker symbol and Darnold’s voice cut in, mid sentence.

  “–and the windows just blew out and when I went in he was just–it was an inferno!” 

  “Gordon? Gordon good, yeah? He’s…he’s not–” Benrey asked, practically crawling over Tommy to get closer to the phone.

  “He’s alive,” Darnold said, and the group let out a collective breath of relief. “But he’s all burned up. He’s…it’s bad. It’s real bad.”

  Benrey’s form started to shift again, but this time with a singular, focused emotion at its core: rage. 

  “Montobar rigged the place to ex-ex- to blow up?” Tommy said with a shudder. “After-after all that? It was just to hurt-to hurt Gordon?”

  “He couldn’t let us live,” Benrey said, mouth stretching and jaw filling with long, sharp fangs. “Can’t have his toys, so he’ll just break ‘em.”

  “No, no, you don’t understand!” Darnold said. “Montobar didn’t start the fire, Gordon did! He was the fire!”

  Bubby nearly dropped the phone, his whole body going numb. 

  It couldn’t be.

  “Darnold, what do you mean he was the fire?” Bubby demanded, voice shaking.

  “I don’t know what it was,” Darnold said. “I just went in and Gordon was at the center of this huge plume of fire and his eyes were glowing! The more he panicked it seemed like the flames just got bigger and bigger! When I got him to calm down, they went out but he’s still really really hot. Like, melting the seat of my car hot.”

  Bubby’s heart pounded in his ears as memories overtook him, unbidden.

  The exhilaration of freedom, but also the fear,the pain. Perfluorocarbon being painfully ejected from his lungs. He knew what it felt like to drown before what it felt like to breathe. 

Everything so loud, so bright. His muscles weak. Scientists everywhere, poking and prodding him. Too much. Too much. Hands grabbing at him, voices yelling, demanding. 

Anger feeding that ever present spark in his chest until it welled up, pushing out through his skin. Too hot. Too hot! Panicking but the panic just fed the heat, the flame. Then just screaming. 

Screaming,screaming, screaming.

  The phone slipped from Bubby’s fingers.

  Luckily Harold grabbed it with an extendo-arm before it could hit the ground.

  “Where are you now?” Harold said, voice low and firm, the way it got when he was pushing all emotion aside to just deal with the situation at hand.

  “We’re at least forty five minutes away, still,” Darnold said. “I’m going,uh,pretty far over the speed limit already but there’s only so fast I can go.”

  G-Man straighted up.

  “I will…warp to you to, retrieve him,” he said, but Coomer caught his arm before he could make any motion to do so.

  “No,” Coomer said. “We need you here. There’s some things we’re going to need…”

  Bubby didn’t hear the end of Coomer’s sentence, nor whatever was said in return, already staggering out of the room and down the basement stairs, hand clamped over his mouth, as if he was going to be sick. He wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t.

  Bracing himself against the cold cement walls of the basement, Bubby struggled to catch his breath. Muscle memory began to draw his flames to his skin, so used to being his outlet for such extreme emotion. He retched, forcing his fire deep down in his chest as his stomach seemed to tie itself in knots. 

  He squeezed his eyes shut, but all he could see behind his eyelids were images of flesh burning, phantom screams echoing in his ears. Sometimes his, sometimes Gordon’s.

  A hand touched Bubby’s shoulder and he pulled away sharply, teeth bared and hands raised to defend himself.

  His hands fell, along with his face, as he saw Coomer before him, arms up in a placating gesture. 

  “Fuck,” Bubby huffed, heart still racing. “Sorry, Harold, I just…“

  He covered his eyes with a hand, pushing his glasses up his face, as if it could hold back the tears threatening to fall.

  When Harold placed a hand on Bubby’s arm this time, he didn’t pull away.

  “He’s got burns over most of his body,” Coomer said. “He won’t be able to heal that on his own, especially not if he can’t cool down. You know what he needs.”

  Bubby moved his hand from his eyes to over his mouth, eyes still firmly shut. He knew what Coomer was going to say. Gordon needed to be put back into the cellular growth fluid he and Bubby had been grown in, the same way Bubby did when he needed to regrow or repair a large amount of tissue. Bubby knew he knew Coomer was right. But that didn’t make it any easier to bear, especially since he knew exactly what that would mean they needed.

  “His old tube is far too small now,” Coomer continued. “He’ll…need one of yours. I already sent G to get the one we kept in storage, but I’ll need your help getting it running again.”

  Bubby squeezed his eyes shut impossibly harder. He wouldn’t cry. He couldn’t break down now. Not when his family needed him. But the idea of facing his tube now, with the memory of being dragged by military men back to the one in Black Mesa and shoved inside, slamming his fists against the unforgiving glass until his knuckles were bruised and throbbing, still so fresh in his mind…it was too much.

  “I…I can’t…” he moaned, voice cracking. 

  Bubby felt Coomer’s hands grab him by the shoulders and he at last opened his eyes.

  “I know. I know how hard it is for you,” Coomer said,his eyes pained, but determined. “And I would never ask you to, if I didn’t have to. But your son needs you.”

  His face softened, as did his voice.

  “I need you, too,” he said. “I can’t do this alone.”

  Bubby swallowed hard and set his jaw. He nodded.

  Coomer let go of Bubby’s shoulders and took Bubby’s hands in his own. 

  Bubby pressed his forehead to Coomer’s and for a quiet moment, they just breathed.  Their moment was quickly ended when a flash of green lit up the basement and, out of thin air, appeared the G-Man, along with the semi-disassembled tube that Coomer and Bubby kept in a storage unit in case of emergencies, along with a few barrels of the cellular growth fluid starter, which would need to be properly prepared before it could be put in the tube itself.

  “I believe, this issss…all you, require.” G said.

  Bubby adjusted his glasses and pulled up the sleeves of his dress shirt.

  “Alright, we don’t have long and we need to get this fully running before Darnold gets back here with Gordon,” he said. “Let’s get to work.”

[ittybitty-enby]

Dude your HLVRAI Au's and stuff are really cool and interesting! I'd love to hear more about either of them if you want to talk about anything, and if not thats totally cool! I can't wait to see more from you!

THANK YOU SO MUCH ANON...............................

TH..........

THANK YOU SO MUCH................................

and i suppose i could share something i didn’t touch on in the mythical au ramble..............!!!

~-Little Divider-~

uhh so Bubby and Coomer gave each other their names! They didn’t have names before because they were alone all their lives (Bubby being born a Harpy, Coomer being transformed) so they needed to address each other with NAMES because Bubby was tired of called Coomer “FishFuck” all the time.

I wrote something for it awhile back!! 

"... A name? That term sounds familiar..."  "Yeah. What do you call yourself?" "Hmmmm... I do not know... I'm... leaning towards something... Like... Hm..." and Coomer struggles for a moment until he feels like he should have a name starting with H because... it feels right.  "Soooooooo....... what about H-... Hair-... Harold?" "Haaaarrr-old......... I love that!" "Since you gave me a beee-utiful name, I should call YOU something!" "Uuugggh... I already have a name, smartass." "Oh! What do you call yourself then?" "..................... The....... Harpy." "The Har-py?" "The Harpy." "Isn't that your species' name?"  "WHA- NO-! IT'S AN ORIGINAL NAME I CAME UP FOR MYSELF! EXTREMELY original."  "Hm... well... I still believe I should call you something than 'The Har-py.'" "Fine, gimme a nickname, I don't give a single fuck." "Hmmm..." Harold thinks for a moment, a hand cupping his chin as he's lost in deep thought. He soon slowly sinks down into the water until half of his face is submerged. The Harpy Looks over the rocky cliff they’re perched on, glaring down at the siren below. "What the fuck are you doing." Harold begins to blow bubbles in the ocean water, still lost in his working mind. Until, his gaze meets the crowd of bubbles. He look up at the glaring Harpy, a wide smile growing on his face. "What about Bubbles?" The Harpy doesn't immediately respond but their face scrunches up in disgust. "What." "Bubbles! It's a nice name! It fits you!" "NO THE FUCK IT DOESN'T! IT'S AN AWFUL NICKNAME. ABSOLUTELY VOMIT EDUCING." "Oh, I see... What about... Bub-... Bub-by?" "B-" The Harpy stops himself, covering their mouth with their wing and rolling onto their feathered back. They stares up at the cloudy sky and thinks about Harold's gleaming smile. They sighs in defeat. "FINE. Bubby it is then. But it's ONLY A NICKNAME. IT'S NOT MY ACTUAL NAME." Bubby growls, scowling down at the Siren below. "Right-ie-o, Bubby!" Harold salutes the Harpy with a wedded claw, smiling eagerly. "I feel like there will be a blossoming friendship between us!" "Time will tell, Fishfuck, time will tell..."

[pinnithin-writes]

Good Jokes

Chapter 23: The End

When the white light cleared, Tommy was in a starfield and his hands were empty. The burn wound on his shoulder was already healing over, the pain ebbing and melting away as scar tissue scrawled pale starbursts over his skin. His heart pounded as he cast his eyes around, meeting only streaks of multicolored light, galaxies and nebulas passing by like landmarks on a road trip.

His breath left him all in a rush as he realized where he was. His father had come to pick him up.

The man in the suit materialized as soon as the thought crossed his mind, clean and pressed as always, hair neat and black as cast iron. His shadowed eyes swirled like the stars around them as he regarded his son. They stood, facing one another in the void, standing on nothing. Tommy waited for his father to speak first.

“Happy Birthday, Tommy,” the man in the suit said with a smile.

Tommy stared at him, robbed of words. Birthday? Today was his birthday? Slowly, he raised his hands to clutch at his hair, drawing in a thin, shaky breath so he wouldn’t fall apart completely. The dissonance of something so routine happening in the midst of this disaster made him want to scream.

Birthdays had always been mundane to him, another insignificant turn of the wheel. But after what he’d just survived, he wondered if it was something worth celebrating. He was indescribably tired.

Thirty seven. Thirty seven revolutions around the sun. It was the worst day of his life.

He didn’t know how to respond to his father, who had plucked him out of Xen for a chat after turning his back on him hours before. There was definitely not a ‘thank you’ on his lips, and his mind was clouded with all the ways he could accuse his father of abandoning him, none of them coherent or respectful. He eyed the other man wearily and finally settled on asking, “the others?”

“Alive and well, I assure you,” his father answered. “I must congratulate you on your success in dealing with this… little issue.”

Tommy’s brow furrowed as he computed. “Success?”

“I certainly would not have been able to remedy the situation without the help of you and your associates.”

He laced his fingers behind his head and tilted his chin to the star-streaked void above him so he no longer had to look at his father. “You couldn’t have just taken care of this on your own?”

His father chuckled grimly. “Hardly. At least, not in a manner as quick and efficient as this one.”

Efficient? “Do you know how many people died?”

“I can say with confidence, Thomas, that far more would have died if the four of you had done nothing at all.”

Tommy dropped his arms from behind his head and instead pressed his fingertips against his eyelids, inhaling heavily through his nose. He didn’t answer, fighting for control of his facial expression while his father examined him. This man couldn’t possibly grasp the scope of what Tommy had just lived through, what the week’s events had done to him. He didn’t have that kind of perspective, being a god and all that; all that mattered was that his plan had worked.

Success. They had succeeded. Mission complete, crisis averted. He felt awful.

His father broke the silence evenly. “I took the liberty of upholding our little family tradition,” he went on. “The entire venue has been rented out, as usual, and I will be personally extending invitations to your new... hm. Friends.”

Tommy paused from kneading his eyeballs in consternation to give his father a puzzled look. “The scientists?” he asked. He could think of no one else.

The man in the suit eyed him with amusement. “Yes, the scientists,” he affirmed. “The experiments known as Bubby and Harold Coomer, as well as your ‘Mister Freeman.’”

“He’s not my-“

“I am well aware of the nature of your relationship,” his father spoke over him, “and I will be having a little chat with him before we convene at the entertainment center.” His eyes glittered not so much in threat as in curiosity.

This didn’t feel to Tommy like the appropriate course of action to take at all. He still recalled clearly on day two of this disaster, when Gordon had told him he planned on sleeping for five days after this was over. Sleep for five days and get a Big Mac. After everything the man had just survived, that was the bare fucking minimum of what he deserved, and Tommy had half a mind to drive Gordon to a McDonald’s himself.

“You can… probably just send him home, I think,” he intoned quietly. That was all Gordon wanted, this entire time. Everything he fought for, everything he endured. Home. Home. He just wanted to go home. Tommy’s stupid birthday could go on without him.

“I’m afraid Mister Freeman does not have a home to go to. Black Mesa, including his living quarters inside, was completely destroyed.” He lifted his brows in a way that didn’t quite line up with the tone he was attempting to convey. “He might as well have a little fun before he goes house hunting, hm?”

Tommy’s shoulders sagged in defeat. Some reward for saving the world. “Can you at least – I don’t know – do something about the hand?”

His father threaded his fingers together behind his back. “I can do something about the hand,” he said conclusively.

The galactic landscape passed on in silence. Tommy kept his gaze on the void beneath him, refusing to meet eyes with the man who was so clean and spotless while his son looked like a dead thing Sunkist had dragged in from the back porch. Exhaustion made his bones heavy and his posture downcast.

After a thoughtful pause, Tommy’s father went on. “I suppose you need some time to yourself. I trust you’ll be able to find your way... home, from here, yes?”

Distractedly, Tommy splayed his fingers, feeling the power that had abandoned him on Xen sizzling beneath the surface of his skin. His pulse ticked down to a more manageable pace and he nodded silently. His father was right once again.

“I shall take my leave, then,” he concluded. His visage began to fade as he leapt from the dimension. “I’m proud of you, son.”

Tommy raised his eyes just in time to watch his father disappear.

He didn’t have the energy to cry once he was gone, though he could feel from the prickle behind his eyes that he probably needed to. Proud. He was proud of him. What was that pride worth, at the death of so many innocent people? Tommy felt cold deep in his chest, and it wasn’t just from floating in the vacuum of space.

He missed Gordon already.

---

The Chuck E. Cheese location in Las Cruces, New Mexico, was a place Tommy Coolatta knew quite well. He expected the venue to bring warm familiarity with it after the past week’s events, but he wasn’t fully prepared for the heavy thump of nostalgia in his chest as he opened the door. The rows of tables, the multicolored lights, the arcade games, all called back to happier days he’d spent with his father here. Once he’d outgrown what was essentially a children’s casino, the two of them had kept up the birthday tradition as a little joke within the family. Besides, one was never really too old for a round or two of skee ball.

The venue was empty, save for the disinterested staff. Tommy ordered a cheese pizza, found himself a seat at one of the tables, and waited.

It was strange, being here. The music and the flickering lights would have made the experience feel otherworldly if Tommy hadn’t literally just been in another world. He felt remote and detached, like the past week’s events were his reality and the entertainment center he sat in was merely a fever dream. Tommy closed his eyes and took in the smell of pepperoni and grease and whatever cleaning product the staff used to wipe down the tables. Underneath it all the iron scent of blood still lingered on his skin. He desperately needed a shower.

Bubby and Coomer arrived after a while via portal, dropped unceremoniously from the ceiling in front of a staff that was perplexed but not paid enough to care. The older gentlemen looked just as haggard and warweary as Tommy felt, joining him at the table as soon as their eyes lit on him.

They helped themselves to the pizza he was working on. They didn’t talk. There was nothing to say.

Weirdest birthday ever.

Bubby eventually made an offhand comment that he had never been to a Chuck E. Cheese before. His tone of voice was neutral, but the pinch of his eyes betrayed his curiosity as he flicked his gaze between the arcade games.

“Never?” Tommy asked at length.

Bubby nodded. “I’ve never left the facility,” he admitted.

Dr. Coomer exchanged a surprised look with Tommy as music thumped in the background. After some thought, the scientist wiped his hands on his napkin and gave Bubby a hearty pat on the shoulder. “Chuck E. Cheese is an excellent example of what the outside world has to offer, Dr. Bubby,” he told him, smiling tiredly.

Tommy snorted into the slice of pizza he was eating. The remark was almost enough to lift his mood away from the pit of anxiety in his stomach. Maybe he really could call these gentlemen his friends. Or, at least, he might learn to do so in time.

Bubby and Coomer excused themselves to try their hand at the arcade games. Tommy remained seated, drumming his fingers on the tabletop, too antsy to partake. He checked his phone, only to find it waterlogged and dead. He tossed it onto the table in disgust. Who would he call, anyway? The one person he wanted to talk to wasn’t in his address book.

His father was taking too long. Why was he taking so long? What was there to discuss with a man who just put his life on the line to seal an alien rift? Tommy watched the remainder of the pizza grow cold on the table before him. He ached in every way there was to ache.

Just as he was beginning to debate leaving his seat for a couple nervous rounds of air hockey, space split open across the room and a portal appeared. Tommy froze, watching the air shimmer and warp as someone stepped out of it.

And there was Gordon Freeman, alive and exhausted, blinking in disorientation as he touched down onto solid earth.

Tommy ran to him, chair clattering to the floor in his haste.

Gordon’s eyes barely flickered in recognition before Tommy collided bodily with him, arms flung around his neck. The HEV suit dug hard and unyielding into his chest, a discomfort ignored in favor of the other man’s arms returning his embrace, warm and solid. A shaky exhale sounded in his ear and he felt tears spring unbidden to his eyes. He made it. This wonderful, insane survivor. He made it, and he was hugging Tommy so hard he thought his spine might snap.

The other man’s voice was broken up with relieved laughter. “You didn’t tell me it was your birthday, man.”

Tommy wasn’t letting go of him just yet, staccatoing his response into Gordon’s neck. “Sorry, I was - I forgot.” The sound he made was a sob disguised as a laugh, or perhaps vice versa.

“It’s okay,” Gordon chuckled, and it sounded like he was fighting for control over his voice, too. “We were a little busy.”

Tommy’s shoulders shook with mirth, awash with joy and wonder as he clung to him. The lights and the music around them didn’t matter, nor did the stars or the hungry void beyond. They could figure out their new reality one fragile step at a time. As long as they could stand together, feeding each other with laughter, they could find their way.

---

The party didn’t end up being too bad, even if the timing was a little weird. For all the exasperation Tommy held with his father at present, it still meant a lot that a man who played time like it was a pickup basketball game still tracked how many times Tommy had orbited the sun. The Science Team played a couple arcade games, ate their first real meal in days, and took turns splashing their faces and cleaning the blood from under their fingernails in the bathroom sink. It was an interim recovery, a pit stop on the way to rejoining life.

By the time it was over, everyone felt a little more human. Human enough, at least, to step outside the liminal space they found themselves in and return to Earth. Far flung explorers, lost inside themselves. Off in search of home, whether that home was found or they built it with their own two hands.

Tommy stepped out to the parking lot, the asphalt washed white and stark in the floodlights. The cool night smelled like juniper and sagebrush. He waved goodbye to Bubby and Coomer, who decided to make their own way from here after bidding him final birthday wishes. His father had vanished a while ago to deal with some cosmic follow-up to the Xen issue. Thankfully, Tommy got a pass on that.

That left Gordon, who he found leaning against the side of the restaurant, staring vacantly out at the parking lot with his eyes half open. The jingle of a staff member’s key ring startled him out of his reverie, and he slid a look first to the manager locking up, then to Tommy’s quiet approach. He was smaller without the HEV suit on. Softer. It had been a group effort to prise the armor plating off of him and carry it to the dumpster out back, leaving him in just the black utility coveralls worn underneath.

Where once there was a shield was just a man. Gordon smiled wearily at Tommy as he leaned his shoulder against the faux sandstone next to him.

“Is someone coming to pick you up?” Tommy asked.

Gordon sighed, turning to stare back at the vacant parking lot. “No,” he said, his voice small. “I’m still kinda… I was just trying to - y’know - I was gonna figure something out,” he shrugged. “I guess.”

Tommy tilted his head to the side, studying him. “It looked to me like you were falling asleep,” he observed.

A short, humorless exhale escaped him. “I was doing a little bit of that too, yeah,” he admitted.

His glasses were still smudged to hell and splintered with cracks. Carefully, Tommy reached out to remove the frames from Gordon’s face, sliding them off as gently as he could. There was a cut across the bridge of his nose. He did his best not to jostle it.

Gordon cleared his throat, returning his gaze from the parking lot to watch him pass a hand over one lens and then the other. “Do you have a ride coming?” he asked.

In the process of literally bending physics to fix the man’s glasses, Tommy tried not to smirk. “I’m - I can teleport, Mr. Freeman,” he reminded him.

Gordon chuckled softly. “Right. How could I forget?”

“But if you need to go somewhere, I can take you,” he added.

The lenses were repaired, for the tenth time over. Tommy inspected them for a second before sliding them delicately back onto Gordon’s face, somewhat hesitant to remove his hands as he withdrew. The first time he did this, Gordon was telling him all about what he wanted to do once they made it out of Black Mesa. Even then, it had seemed like an impossible dream, stacked as the odds were against them.

Now that they had done it, that it was real, Tommy felt like they had been handed some a measureless gift. He wasn’t quite sure yet what to do with it, and he guessed Gordon didn’t have much of a clue, either.

They held one another’s gaze. Gordon’s eyes were as full and clear as a starfield in the wilderness, dark and vast and deep. The lights in the parking lot hummed in the silence. Tommy had never felt quite so lost before, yet never quite so certain of where he needed to be.

“Thank you,” Gordon said finally, his words holding enough weight to indicate that he wasn’t just grateful for the glasses repair or the offer of travel.

No response seemed an adequate enough reply, so Tommy just smiled at him. For all the nightmares he endured in the past week, he didn’t regret a second of it if he got to see Gordon looking at him like this in the close desert night. He’d completely fallen for him, as hard and as fast as a meteor burning through the atmosphere.

He felt the threat of tears returning in the tightness of his throat, so he dropped his gaze and cracked a joke. “So… did you still want to get a Big Mac, or-”

“Oh my god,” Gordon cut him off, grabbing Tommy by the lapels and pulling him in.

This kiss was so different from their first one, it may as well have happened in another lifetime. The loss and pain and almosts were replaced with a fierce, blooming hope, a warmth and possibility passing between them in the breaths they took. Tommy raised his hands to tangle in Gordon’s hair, slow and reverent. This was magic, this was sunlight. They may have just lived through hell, but as Tommy kissed Gordon, he knew that he had found heaven right here, in the person he loved.

When they broke apart, it was soft and gentle, and it wasn’t goodbye.

They stood there, foreheads touching, under the soft full moon. Gordon unknotted his hands from Tommy’s lab coat in favor of winding them around his waist. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote howled.

“This is gonna sound - like, this is probably a stupid question, after everything, but like,” Gordon stammered out, breathless and rosy. “D’you wanna get dinner sometime?” he asked. “Y’know, like, somewhere nice?”

Tommy drew away to look at him, a slow grin unfurling on his face. “Was Chuck E. Cheese not fancy enough for you, Mr. Freeman?”

Gordon threw his head back to laugh, clear and sweet, and it was the loveliest sound in the world.

Chapter 22 <--- 

[confusedunit]

The Resonance Project - Tommy Coolatta

[Content warning in the second section for alcohol, and mentions of a growing alcohol dependency. Calhoun's not doing too well.]

During Second Major Temporal Event

One of the things about being of a species that could effect time is that you don't process time as other species did. Or, do? Could? Tommy was unsure of the grammar to use.

What he did know, was that it was hard to date thoughts and experiences when that just...wasn't how his brain worked. His memory was much more...abstract than that. It was based off of temporal events.

When time is your jam, it was much easier to pay attention to the times that it didn't work, as opposed to the times that it did. He'd labeled the most recent event, when they'd gotten Dr. Freeman back, as the Second Major Temporal Event. The first, of course, was arriving there in the first place.

Adding to his already disjointed memory was the exhaustion he'd been under for far too long. But he knew the memories were still there, even if he didn't know where they were at the time.

He'd find them eventually, if he looked hard enough.

Before First Major Temporal Event

Tommy turned the empty can in his hands, lost in thought. He had hoped that game night would still be a good tradition to keep up with, even with the circumstances, since humans tended to do better under constant conditions. But the tension in the air told him this was less of a consistency thing, and more of a 'safety in numbers' thing. He could still work with that.

"And they still won't answer me!" Calhoun dropped his gesturing hand to the table, other hand holding the beer he was glaring at. He'd been skirting the line of what was healthy to drink for a while now, but he'd just managed to drop the stress smoking he'd picked up after Dr. Freeman's disappearance, and no one was quite ready to start the next conversation yet. "Six damn years, and- and they just..." He dropped his head to the table.

Tommy reached over to rest a hand on his shoulder. "I know..."

"And- and now Harold's gone, no one can find anything about Bubby still..." He turned his head to look up at him. "...'m almost scared they're gonna...come for more of us."

"Black Mesa isn't targeting the Science Team, Mr. Calhoun. What...what reason would they have to do so?"

He shrugged, almost spilling his beer. "Why would they suddenly vanish Gordon and end testing of resonance in Anom? Why would the main Bio department burst into flames? Why would there be calls for clean up teams to the other half of Bio, and suddenly there're no Harolds around?" He struggled to sit up again. "It's...it's suspicious as hell. And I know I gotta be on their shitlist from buggin' them so much. It's a wonder I've still got my clearance."

That was Tommy's doing, though he knew he couldn't admit it. He'd advocated to his dad on Calhoun's behalf, and his dad convinced Administration to look the other way. Protection, even if a roundabout way. "You just think it's a conspiracy." Even as he said it, a part of him agreed with the other man's words.

"'course I do. Fuck the government!" He muttered to himself for a bit, before he sighed. "...Can't leave though. Can't leave without him."

He smiled a bit. "Mr. Freeman?"

"We were thick as thieves, and twice as sharp. Promised him I wouldn't quit until he left." He rolled his shoulders. "And well...I don't think he left. Not without saying goodbye."

He heard a quiet conversation going on in his kitchen, and thought for a moment. He and his dad were looking into what had happened, and he knew he'd probably be tagged in soon, if his dad was really getting as close as he said he was. He moved a hand to one of Calhoun's. Time to take a risk. "...Mr. Calhoun."

He blinked slowly. "...Yeah, Tom?"

"...I'm going to- to find out what happened. But I need- need you to trust me." He felt himself shaking. "Do you trust me?"

"'course I do, Tom. Trust you the most outta...almost anyone."

He gently squeezed his hand. "Then you can't tell anyone I told you this. But you- you keep them all safe, okay? Mr. Vance, Mrs. Vance, Mr. Kleiner, little Alyx..." He shook him lightly. "You protect them, you hear me?"

Calhoun almost looked sober, for a moment. "Loud and clear."

"Once...once I figure it all out, I'll come back for you all. We'll- we'll make sure Black Mesa pays. Together." He smiled a bit. "Because we're the Science Team. And- and we stick together."

Calhoun finally grinned. "Hell yeah."

Late During First Major Temporal Event

Tommy would regret that moment for the rest of his life, when he froze up as the military assaulted Gordon. That he'd been unable to stop them.

He'd seen the look in Benrey's eyes as he'd fled, knew him enough at that point to realize he hadn't meant harm even as it happened.

Bubby, though? To betray Gordon...not just Gordon, but the whole team's trust...Tommy's trust...

As Dr. Coomer ran off, Tommy's arm shot out, grabbing Bubby by his collar and slamming him against the wall.

"Agh- Tommy! Tommy, let go, we have to go!"

"Why would- why would you do that?" His voice was strained. "Why?"

"They're following him- they just want him! We can-" He winced. "I thought we could get him back- we just have to-"

He slammed him against the wall again. "Just had to what? Kill him first?"

"No! Tommy-" His hands shot out to grab Tommy's wrists. "You have to believe me-"

"I owe you nothing."

"We have to play their game to get out of here alive! They shot at him before, but how was I supposed to know they'd-"

Another slam. This time, it left Bubby's glasses askew, and Tommy could see the fear in those blue-grey eyes. For a moment, they caught him off guard. Bubby could act like an adult as much as he wanted, but there was still a part of him that had never had the chance to grow up. And any human would be a child, compared to Tommy's own species. …Maybe the scientist just didn't understand. "They. Are trying. To kill us."

Loud steps echoed behind him. "Freeze!"

"Tommy! Let go!!" Bubby's fear was finally blatant, written all over his face.

He knew that Gordon would survive. Black Mesa wouldn't risk killing off one of their experiments, after all. But the fact that Bubby would sell them out like this, even if it was at the coaxing of Benrey who literally didn't know any better...Fuck. He was angry, and he felt the grudge starting to form and fester. He forced it to unravel, break apart and fade.

Bubby wasn't a murderer. He wasn't a cruel man. But he was a scared man, and scared humans do the stupidest things, because no matter how old they get they never forget how to act like a child.

Well. Maybe a temporary time out would get it through his thick skull.

Tommy gave Bubby a sharp glare, and dropped him roughly to the floor. "Okay."

"Ow!" Bubby winced, trying to scramble to his feet.

Tommy knocked him back down as he stepped over him. "I assume," He glanced back at the soldiers. "You're here to collect Subject 83?"

Bubby froze. "Wait-"

"Because no one is permitted to leave Black Mesa?" He dragged out the sentence to prove the point. Playing by the 'rules' would no longer do them any good. They had each other, and couldn't trust anyone else, regardless of how unhealthy that sounded when he thought it aloud. "Go for it." He crossed his arms. "He's all yours."

"Tommy! Please-"

In a flash of yellow, he was gone.

Just Before First Major Temporal Event

Few memories of his are hazy. But this one is. He remembers it only vaguely.

His father came back, told him what he'd found. The experiments. The location. Asked if he could take this project on, protect his friends until they could be extracted.

His father had said he'd been too busy keeping Black Mesa out of even worse trouble, to keep an eye on this too. That he'd also been tasked with checking into Aperture.

Tommy had agreed.

Even for someone able to disconnect from time, it felt so long ago. And it hurt to think about.

It was the last time he'd been able to hug his father.

He missed him so much.

Early Into First Major Temporal Event

It got lonely, during the tests. The others, as connected to time as they were, never remembered anything. Other than Benrey, who he had been surprised to meet for the first time, after hearing so much about him from his dad.

Well, guess there was an exception to every rule, after all.

But he couldn't always talk to Benrey about his fears and worries.

…Though, he could make someone that he could.

He reached out into the universe, and gathered materials. He collected and pressed, molded and created, before adding time to the mix.

He'd always wanted a loyal companion. Sunkist would be that.

Stardust and dirt of Earth, blood of Galaxy and Space, Time and Life and Kindness, and so so much Love. And finally, a bit of his own life Essence, to jumpstart the process.

When he first lifted the small squirming puppy up in his hands, shining such a vibrant yellow just like him, a hint of blue around the eyes a blessing from his dad, he knew he had made something extraordinary.

He was the perfect dog.

[omcik-blog]

New Post has been published on OmCik

New Post has been published on http://omcik.com/trump-has-made-americas-poorest-white-town-hopeful-again/

Trump has made America's 'poorest white town' hopeful again

Donald Trump is already a hero to many in eastern Kentucky.

“I voted for Trump 100%,” says Barbara Puckett, a 55-year-old mom, who lives in the small and friendly town of Beattyville. “It’s the most hopeful I’ve been in a long time now that he’s in there.”

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Trump won 81% of the vote in Beattyville. People here love that Trump doesn’t “sugarcoat” anything. They feel he understands them, even though he’s a billionaire.

“Donald Trump’s got all the money he’ll ever need,” says Steve Mays, judge-executive for the county and life-long Beattyville resident. The 49-year-old says he’s never been more excited about a president than he is now. “Trump will be a president for the common man.”

What Trump will do for the little guy is on everyone’s minds in Beattyville. The town earned the unfortunate distinction of being the ��poorest white town in America” from 2008 to 2012. Depending on which metric you look at, it still ranks among the most impoverished in the country.

“This whole area’s been neglected,” laments Mays, who hopes Trump will visit the region. He wouldn’t be the first president to stop by. Beattyville isn’t far from the dilapidated cabin where President Lyndon Johnson declared a war on poverty in 1964. Locals feel the area has been in a “slow decay” ever since.

Beattyville residents want jobs, especially ones that pay more than the minimum wage of $7.25 an hour. They think if anyone can bring jobs back, it’s Trump.

Related: Trump supporters care about jobs, not voter fraud

Amber Hayes, 25, stands on the main road in Beattyville, Kentucky. She hopes President Trump can bring jobs back to the town.

Hope Trump will bring the jobs

“If you got a job here in Beattyville, you’re lucky,” says Amber Hayes, a bubbly 25-year-old mom of two, who also voted for Trump. She works at the county courthouse, but is paid by the Kentucky Transitional Assistance Program (K-TAP), a form of welfare.

Coal, oil and tobacco made Beattyville a boom town in the 1800s and much of the 1900s. Locals like to bring up the fact that Lee County — where Beattyville is located — was the No. 1 oil-producing county east of the Mississippi at one time.

“Growing up in the ’70s? Yeah, this was the place to be,” says Chuck Caudhill, the general manager of the local paper, The Beattyville Enterprise. He calls the town the “gem of eastern Kentucky.”

Today, the town is a ghost of its former self. The vast majority of Beattyville residents get some form of government aid — 57% of households receive food stamps and 58% get disability payments from Social Security.

“I hope [Trump] don’t take the benefits away, but at the same time, I think that once more jobs come in a lot of people won’t need the benefits,” says Hayes, who currently receives about $500 a month from government assistance. She’s also on Obamacare.

Related: Trump vows 25 million jobs, most of any president

Time for a coal revival?

The coal and oil jobs are almost all gone, but already there’s buzz Trump is reviving the industry.

Donna Coomer is the manager of a busy Valero gas station in the heart of Beattyville. She knows the names of most people who come in and makes small-town chatter with folks. Mere days after Trump’s inauguration, she heard coal trucks were rumbling again.

“Someone told me this morning that in eastern Kentucky the coal trucks are already out and about,” Coomer told CNNMoney, beaming. She voted for Obama but feels he was just a good talker who did little for Kentucky. Trump got her vote this time. She’s praying for the new president.

It will be hard for Trump to revive the coal jobs, even if he does scale back environmental regulations on the industry. Top coal executive Robert Murray recently told CNNMoney coal employment “can’t be brought back to where it was before the election of Barack Obama.”

After the energy jobs evaporated, Beattyville was kept alive by a private prison and a clothing factory, Lion Apparel, that made firefighter suits. Then those jobs went away during President Obama’s tenure.

All that’s left are a few grocery stores, gas stations and small businesses. And drugs.

Related: Most Americans not benefiting from Dow 20,000

A town struggling with drug addiction

Barba Puckett, left, and her husband of 39 years are barely getting by in Beattyville, Kentucky. But they can’t imagine living anywhere else.

Rugged explorer Daniel Boone made this part of Kentucky famous in the late 1700s around the time of the Revolutionary War. The rolling hills and forests are still as picturesque as when Boone found them. Rock climbers come from all over the world to tackle the area’s peaks and natural bridges.

But today it’s also easy to come by heroin and cocaine in Kentucky’s hills. Almost every family CNNMoney met in Beattyville had been impacted by drugs.

Puckett and her husband are currently raising a great niece and nephew because their biological parents are drug addicts. The situation is so common in Beattyville that the local elementary school runs a support group for grandparents raising grandkids.

Caudhill estimates that 40% of kids in the area don’t live with their birth parents because of drugs.

“We need help. Eastern Kentucky is beautiful, but it needs help,” says Patricia “Trish” Cole. Her son died of an overdose when he was 27. Pictures of him are all around her living room. She’s normally quick to smile, but she gets choked up when his named is mentioned. She has a tattoo on her chest that reads: “Can’t keep your arms around a memory.”

Cole saves lives as an EMT for the local ambulance company. She estimates 80% of the ambulance runs she makes now are for drug-related issues. The day after her son died, she had to go get a young man who overdosed out of a closet.

Cole is one of the few people in town who voted for Hillary Clinton. She’s skeptical a billionaire will remember her people, but she’s willing to “give him a chance.”

Related: Fear robots, not China or Mexico

Is a ‘Trump Turnaround’ possible?

Patricia “Trish” Cole is a grandma and EMT with a big smile. She is one of the few in Beattyville, Kentucky who didn’t vote for President Trump, but she’s willing to give him a chance.

Harold Shouse thinks about the new president every morning around 4:30am. That’s when he and dozens of others in Beattyville stop at the gas station for a coffee before driving an hour or more to work in Winchester or Lexington where there are more jobs.

Shouse has worked construction all of his life. He was a mason for the county government in Beattyville for about a decade but never got paid more than $11.25 an hour.

“Most people who live in this area are in same shape,” Shouse, a Trump supporter, says.

Shouse drives far for a $32-an-hour wage, but he wished there were decent jobs closer to his beloved hills. He and his wife bought a cedar cabin on top of a hill. They raised three daughters there and seven dogs. He’s a big fan of Trump’s idea to improve roads and bridges. If Trump does that, he thinks more businesses will come.

“We’re an hour from the closest interstate,” says Cole, the EMT who is also out on the roads daily. “The roads here are bad. We have two lane roads.”

The internet is another problem. Cell reception is hit or miss, and many homes and schools only got decent internet access in the past year or two. The local government is trying to find people jobs they can do at home on computers, but that requires reliable internet.

People in Beattyville hear about the low 4.8% unemployment rate in America, but they don’t see jobs returning in their town.

Trump has promised to create 25 million jobs, the most of any president. Experts say that will be nearly impossible to do nationally. But there are even more challenges to bringing jobs back to places like eastern Kentucky, which struggle with drugs, a remote location and many families on government aid.

Related: Waiting for tax reform? It may take longer than you think

Harold Shouse, far right, and his wife Leighandra (left), with one of their daughters in their kitchen.

Beattyville’s best hope

From the outside, it’s easy to wonder why people in Beattyville don’t just move somewhere else.

But out of all the people CNNMoney met in Beattyville, only one wanted to leave. The rest are drawn to the beauty of the place and the friendly community.

“I’m country to the core,” laughs Puckett. He husband of 39 years nods beside her.

Judge executive Mays puts it this way: “We’re perceived as a hillbilly, backwoods, all this and that. But we’re a good people.”

If there were simple solutions for eastern Kentucky’s economy, they probably would have been done already. Former President Jimmy Carter and his wife Rosalynn helped build Habitat for Humanity homes in Beattyville in the late 1980s. It was another small effort that has helped, but not fundamentally changed, the region.

President Trump talks about substantial change. That’s what has people in America’s poorest white town fired up.

“I believe he wants to take care of us, the little people,” says Coomer, the gas station manager. “I think he’s going to quit giving money to all these other countries and take care of America. I truly do.”

–CNN’s Poppy Harlow, Haley Draznin and Jeff Simon contributed to this report.

CNNMoney (Beattyville, Kentucky) First published February 6, 2017: 7:36 AM ET

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NMLS #1136

[ghostsintheai]

Holy shit ghosts hiiii kisses your foreheads

'"We've got another one to add to the simp pile !"

[bubbyleh]

Do I Know You? - Chapter 7

read this chapter on ao3! check out the rest of this series on tumblr!

Chapter 7: Redacted Version An idea of the truth.

- ○ -

Getting to know your long-lost sibling around thirty-nine years after they disappeared is certainly something. It’s difficult sometimes for Kleiner to reconcile the adult sitting across from him with the baby he knew so long ago, but he’s trying! And though Bubby isn’t really one to offer up much in the way of personal anecdotes, even hearing the odd story from five years ago from Coomer is nice.

At first, Kleiner told himself he wouldn’t press. He had no starry-eyed, idealized notion of Black Mesa in his head. The facility was fucked up beyond measure, and the thought of Bubby growing up surrounded by that? It was one he wanted to shove into a trash can in his mind.

But Bubby didn’t seem to want to talk about it, and Kleiner wasn’t sure he wanted to hear.

Slowly, though, that changed. The incidents were small initially, but Bubby began to open up slightly. Like how during one of their regular coffee meetings, Kleiner asked a bit about the conversation he’d overheard in Chemical Engineering.

“Oh, that,” Bubby grimaces. “That was Dr. Daniels. He’s been in charge of my project for as long as I can remember. He died not long after that night .”

“Good,” Kleiner says in response to that last fact, a statement that throws Bubby for a loop. They look unsure, avoiding Kleiner’s gaze for the briefest of moments and slouching forward. Suddenly, though, their eyes widen, and they sit right back up.

“Yeah, you’re right,” they finally say. “It is good.”

Bubby places their mug on the table, brow furrowing as they stare at the coffee, gently swishing. And something about it threatens to tear Kleiner’s heart apart. The wrongness of it all. Bubby shouldn’t have memories like that—of Dr. Daniels. They were supposed to grow up together, in a small house at the end of the street. Instead, they were in Kleiner’s admittedly cramped kitchen, trying to catch up on a lifetime of memories.

It’s unfair.

Kleiner takes a sip of his coffee.

“Bubby,” he manages to ask. “Have you ever thought about leaving Black Mesa?”

And Bubby frowns. “That’s… complicated.” They fiddle with the edge of their mug.

“How so?”

“Well,” Bubby sighs. “It’s not that I want to stay at Black Mesa, it’s more that… I don’t technically have a doctorate, you know. And I’m not qualified to do anything else. If I want a job, it’s gotta be here.”

Oh. Right. Actually, Kleiner hadn’t really thought about that, but it did make sense that Black Mesa wouldn’t be able to just hand Bubby a degree. Hell, it might actually be a bit of a warning sign if they could.

“But, also…” In the most simple of motions, Bubby smiles. “Harold’s here. You’re here, Isaac.” He brings his mug up to his mouth, but pauses to clarify, “You two are doing great work. I wouldn’t ask you to leave it, and I won’t leave either of you.”

Bubby’s clearly trying to keep their tone casual, but their words feel significant to Kleiner. They hold a weight to them; a promise.

- ○ -

The Hanukkah photo was the first step. It took a while, but the longer Bubby saw it and got used to it, the more he realized he was curious. The baby in that photo looks so happy to be with their brother, and it’s hard to imagine that that’s

him

. A little person whose family adored them. And maybe, if they see the rest of Kleiner’s photos, he’ll at least understand a bit about who that person could have been.

Isaac, of course, was thrilled by the prospect of sharing Bubby’s baby pictures. He’d promised to dig up as many as he could and bring them over, since Black Mesa’s singles dorms aren’t really great for receiving guests in. Once Harold had found out about the plan, though, he’d been eager to invite himself to the viewing. Actually, he’d been practically giddy about it.

Maybe they should be worried about that…

…

Oh this was a mistake.

Before they can really consider cancelling, though, there’s a knock at the door. And when Bubby opens the door to the sight of Kleiner holding a small cardboard box, it’s only then that he realizes that tonight is going to be extremely embarrassing.

- ○ -

“Oh, look at this one! He has to be less than an hour old, here!”

“My goodness, he’s adorable!”

Bubby has to resist every urge not to hide his red face behind his hands, because some poor part of his brain still really wants to see what he looked like as a baby. Unfortunately, Coomer does as well, and if they have to hear one more time about how they were the cutest thing to ever grace the planet, then they’re going to explode.

What’s even worse, though, is that Coomer brought out his own collection.

“You should see this one.” He slides a picture over to Kleiner. “They thought they were so cool!”

Bubby just barely catches a glance of a photo of himself when he was, what? Thirty-five? Thirty-six? Couldn’t have been too long after he started dating Coomer, actually.

“Wait a fucking second.” Bubby snatches the photo before Kleiner can get that good of a look. They do look younger, with a scowl on their face pointed somewhere offscreen. “I don’t remember you taking this.”

“Ah, well.” Finally, Coomer has the audacity to look at least a bit sheepish. “I made sure you weren’t looking.”

Bubby squints back down at the picture. “Why?”

“I thought you looked nice,” Coomer admits matter-of-factly.

And after a brief reprieve, Bubby’s flushed face returns in full force. This time, though, he draws his knees to his chest and buries his face in them.

“You two are killing me,” Bubby mumbles, holding the picture out for Isaac.

Kleiner plucks it from their hands. “You’re fine,” he insists.

“I will die, and it will be your fault.”

There’s a sound of papers shifting, followed by Kleiner muttering, “Hang on a moment…”

Bubby peeks out.

“I think that was it, actually,” Kleiner sighs. Almost instinctively, he reaches over and pats Bubby’s head, earning himself a glare. “You disappeared when you were around thirteen months. That’s not a lot of time…”

Kleiner’s eyes seem fixed on the photo of the newborn in his hand, though. He brushes it with his pointer finger, and in the back of Bubby’s mind, something clicks into place. They stand abruptly, much to their brother’s surprise.

“Fine,” Bubby states. “Give me a second.”

They loop around the couch, and after blindly fumbling under it for a moment, their hand finally finds purchase on what they were looking for. With a flourish, Bubby holds up their file, shaking off the dust that’s accumulated.

“Is that where you’ve been hiding that?” Coomer asks.

“Don’t worry, it’s getting a new hiding spot after tonight,” Bubby reveals. He settles back on the couch, clutching the file tightly. “Now, let me set the ground rules: This is a selective process, which means I reserve the right to withhold any picture I see fit.” He glares at the two of them. “No sneaking.”

Kleiner nods, and Coomer chimes in with “Understood!”

Bubby takes a deep breath before they open their file again. It’s been a while—a long while—since they last did, but everything is just as they left it. In fact, he thinks he might know where the first good picture is as he flips forwards slightly.

“Alright.” They undo the paperclip, slipping the photo to Kleiner. “This is me and Dr. Cynthia, one of the good ones. The notes say I was around fourteen months here.”

Dr. Cynthia had taken an immediate liking to Bubby, and judging by the picture, the feeling was mutual. She held him up to the camera with such a happy look on her face. Bubby’s struck with the thought that it was the first time in over a month that someone had loved him.

And Isaac has tears welling up in his eyes.

“No, shit,” Bubby struggles. “Don’t cry, fuck.” They pull Kleiner into a hug without really thinking.

Kleiner wipes away the few tears that escaped. “I’m fine, Bubby, seriously,” he says, but his voice sounds shaky. “It’s just… I didn’t get to see you grow up.”

Oh.

Crap.

“Okay, we don’t have to look at them anymore-” Bubby tries to put the file down.

“No wait!” Kleiner’s almost frantic as he grabs onto Bubby’s wrist. He takes a breath. “I want to see them.”

“You’re sure?”

Kleiner nods.

“Alright.” Bubby shakes his hand off them. “But we’re taking a break if you need it.”

- ○ -

Seeing the rest of Bubby’s childhood was certainly a mixed bag of emotions. They were such a cute little kid. There was a picture of them after they got their first pair of glasses, with a smile bright enough to light up a room. And then in their teenage years, their facial expressions gradually melted into “teen angst”. It was especially funny when Kleiner held up a picture of Bubby pouting when he was a baby, and they realized he was making the same face in both photographs.

Kleiner loved it, truly, but there was an underlying melancholy to it all. He should have seen this all himself. Bubby was taken away from their family, and for what?

That question sticks in their head. For what? Bubby’s clearly been skipping over large parts of their childhood, ignoring the bad parts and sharing the good. And that makes sense, of course, but…

Well, Kleiner read that first paper. Bubby was taken for augmentation and enhancement.

They did something to him.

“I’ll see you sometime next week,” Bubby promises as they see Kleiner out of their dorm. “Maybe we’ll do another dinner?”

“That would be nice,” Kleiner agrees. He’d stayed later than he meant to, but the trams would run for another hour or so. He has time for goodbyes.

“I’ll talk to you about it at work!” Harold calls from the seating area, where he’s still sorting the picture mess.

Bubby rolls their eyes, but they lean in, pulling Kleiner into another hug. “Thank you.”

Kleiner’s always happy about some genuine emotion from their sibling, but it’s a bit sudden. “Why are you thanking me?”

“I don’t know, really,” Bubby chuckles to himself. “Being my brother, I guess? Accepting me?”

“Like I wouldn’t welcome you back.” Kleiner returns the hug for a brief moment, before pulling back. “I’ll look at my schedule next week.”

Bubby waves his brother off. “Bye, Isaac.”

“Bye Bubby.”

And Isaac Kleiner decides. He is going to get his hands on that file.

[bubbyleh]

Do I Know You? - Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Holiday Season

It’s difficult, at first.

Of course it’s going to be. Bubby doesn’t quite know how to be a sibling, and to be honest, the person that Kleiner knew almost forty years ago doesn’t exist anymore. Hell, Bubby doesn’t want Isaac to find out just how much they’ve changed. It’s a challenge—a barrier to their relationship that they aren’t quite ready to break down.

But they do end up finding their common ground. Namely, as Coomer puts it, that they’re both giant nerds. Bubby made one offhanded, stupid science pun during one of their weekly dinners, and that was it. They’ve become a duo known for their terrible sense of humor and wisecracking ability.

And then November rolls around, and Kleiner asks a question.

“Bubby?”

It’s a nice Sunday morning, and Bubby had invited Kleiner over for some coffee while Coomer went out grocery shopping. It was more of an excuse not to do any work today, but hey, any brother time is a good time to Bubby.

Bubby sets his mug down to the side, keeping a loose grip on the handle. “Yes?”

“You didn’t really get to grow up, you know, doing the things we did,” Kleiner says. “So I was wondering, what holiday do you celebrate?”

Idly, Bubby taps the ceramic of their drink. “Well, I’ve been to a few Christmas parties,” they scratch at their chin. “But Harold’s Jewish, so we mostly do Hanukkah.”

And with that, Kleiner sighs. “Oh, you’re still Jewish. Good.”

“Huh?” Bubby tilts their head.

Kleiner only seems confused by Bubby’s own confusion. “What?”

“We’re Jewish?”

It takes a second for Kleiner to process, but when he does, he laughs. “Of course we’re Jewish! Have you seen my name?”

“I don’t know!” Bubby’s face grows red, which they instinctively cover. “I didn’t think about it!”

In what is perhaps an act of mercy, Kleiner changes the topic, pushing one of Bubby’s hands away from their face. “Well, we should try to get together, at least one of the nights,” he suggests, a sincerity on his face that Bubby’s not used to seeing. “It would be nice to do the lighting with family again!”

Family. That’s what they are, aren’t they?

A warmth worms its way into Bubby’s chest. It’s happiness, definitely, but there’s also pride mixed in.

“Definitely,” Bubby can’t keep the smirk off their face. “All eight, if we can.”

- ○ -

Kleiner is more than happy to go along with how Bubby and Coomer do Hanukkah, which is definitely easier. The first seven days, they tend to give each other small treats and trinkets, such as a favorite candy or a funny magnet. Then, on the eighth day, they would exchange their bigger gifts with each other as a sort of finale. It’s honestly easier on the wallet, and it was certainly less taxing to figure out one meaningful gift than eight of any variety.

The first few nights are pretty great! Bubby ends up throwing some of his gelt wrappers at Kleiner when he asks to have one, but that’s fair. There was also a bit of an incident on the third night where the menorah accidentally got knocked over, though there was thankfully no fire damage. They miss out on nights six and seven due to a couple of late shifts, but finally, the eighth night comes.

Bubby halts their rifling through the kitchen drawers and sighs. “We might be out of matches,” they finally admit.

“Should I go get Coomer, then?” Kleiner stands from the barstool.

“Well, let’s wait on him.” Bubby brushes past Kleiner and out of the kitchen, dramatically collapsing onto the couch. “We might have to send you back to get some from your place.”

Kleiner frowns, slumping back into his seat. “So,” he tries to play it cool. “You and Harold are engaged, right?”

Bubby chuckles. “Yeah! It’s… nice.” He rubs at his arm, smiling to himself.

“Well, how did it happen?” Kleiner asks.

Suddenly, Bubby starts blushing hard. “What?”

“Come on! Don’t tell me you don’t have an engagement story,” Kleiner grins. “Who asked who, where was it, do you have any plans yet? That stuff.”

“Oh,” Bubby gulps. “Right.” He manages to compose himself, lightly slapping his face a few times and taking a deep breath. “Actually,” he says, “It was a few months before-”

“I found some!” Coomer interrupts, brandishing a box that’s clearly seen better days. “They were all the way in the back back of the bedroom closet!”

Kleiner raises an eyebrow. “Why did you have matches in your bedroom closet?”

Bubby shrugs as he makes his way to Coomer, yanking the matchbox from him. He squints down at the box’s contents, rattling it slightly. “These look good. Wanna light ‘em tonight, Isaac?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Bubby hands the box over to him. “They look kind of janked. Maybe you have lucky hands, or whatever.”

- ○ -

Old matches suck.

Kleiner mumbles under his breath as he tries to strike the match one more time. The wooden stick feels brittle, and since he’s already broken one match on accident, he’s hesitant to put more force in. Still, it’s apparently not enough, if the slight smoldering is anything to go by.

“Do you want me to try?” Coomer offers.

Bubby rolls his eyes. “Harold, you’ve broken every match you’ve ever tried to light.” They turn to Kleiner, watching him start to put the matches away. “Woah, wait.”

“What?” Isaac frowns. “It isn’t working. I was going to-”

“Try again.”

“Bubby-”

“Just try?” Bubby pleads.

Kleiner’s shoulder slump. “Alright.” He pulls a fresh match out, and after a breath, he strikes it against the side of the box.

Bubby blinks. The match lights up.

“Aha! I did it!” Kleiner shouts triumphantly.

“Quickly, the candle!” Coomer points to the center candle. “Before it burns out!”

Coomer gives Bubby a knowing look as they recite the prayers, which Bubby chooses to ignore. He keeps his hands folded behind his back, as if strangling them of the power he let slip.

- ○ -

“Okay, present time!” Bubby announces, slipping a couple of suspiciously squishy wrapped gifts towards the other two seated at the table. “Not to brag, but I think I outdid myself this year.”

“You know, gift-giving is supposed to be about others,” Coomer reminds him, doling out his own gifts at the same time.

They take turns opening each other’s gifts. Kleiner got Coomer a comfy bear hat, while Coomer had gotten Kleiner a knife, supposedly for self-defense. Bubby and Coomer got each other tacky gifts, a tank top for Coomer (‘I FLEXED AND THE SLEEVES FELL OFF’) and a hat for Bubby (‘I’D RATHER BE FISHING RIGHT NOW’).

The siblings, though…

Kleiner inspects the sweater he just unwrapped. It’s white, with a picture of a ball on a slope stitched onto it. Underneath it is written ‘I Have Potential’, which is a classic Physics joke.

“Do you like it?” Bubby asks. “I haven’t knitted in a while, but I wanted to-”

“Wait,” Kleiner pauses. “You made this?”

“Yeah.” Bubby rubs at the back of their neck. “It’s a fun hobby.”

Kleiner glances back at the design on the sweater. It even has a stupid, hilarious science pun.

“I love it,” he states.

Bubby nods. “Good. Now,” he eagerly begins tearing into the paper in front of him. “What did you get me?”

“Oh, well, er-” Kleiner stammers. “If you don’t like it, I could get you something else. I just thought that, since you don’t have a lot to remind you of the family, this would be a good start. But-”

He cuts himself off when Bubby pulls the picture frame from the paper. It was a good frame, Isaac had chosen it himself, but it didn’t at all compare to the photo inside. The picture was something old that Kleiner had dug up during some cleaning Bubby had guilted him into, among other family documents.

A young boy sits across from his baby sibling on the floor, holding a toy up as the baby sticks their tongue out and grabs at their brother.

Bubby gasps. “Is this us?”

Seeing the photo again manages to calm Kleiner, somewhat. “Yes,” he chuckles. “You were a cute little thing.”

Bubby stares down at the portrait in his hands. It feels heavier than its weight, as though forty years were condensed down into a single rectangle. When he looks up at his brother, it’s hard to keep his cool.

“Thank you,” he chokes out. “This is amazing.”

[ittybitty-enby]

i wanna talk about what i think the prototypes and clones in hlvrai are. 

why? 

because i can.

-BUBBY’S “PROTOTYPES” sooo let’s first talk about what Bubby IS. “Bubby”s is Black Mesa’s project of creating life! not in a frankenstien-esk way but like creating life from growing them inside tubes and shit. I wouldn’t go into detail because, even though I love some science every once and awhile, I am not an expert! but I’m sure every reader gets the jist.  Black Mesa didn’t get Bubby right the first time, or the next time, or the next, or the one after that, etc. and they terminated the first thousand failed results because either they were so badly disfigured and/or mutated that they had to put them out of their misery or the scientists just fucked up real bad and the subject died right then and there. Then a real fucked up Subject got loose in the facility.  This Subject isn’t as disfigured the many others before it, but it’s properties it gained from it’s failed tests led to the creation of a hive-mind society living in the deepest depths of Black Mesa. The Subject has the ability to asexually reproduce, similar to mitosis but they have to tear chunks of their flesh/muscle out of their bodies to create more of themselves. The chunks of flesh expand, more muscle and bone forming from the piece of the progenitor. All Prototypes are created with clothes on, but the difference between the og Subject and the following Prototypes is that the clothes are connected to the Prototypes whilst The Subject stole the clothes to wear.  Prototypes travel in groups, similar to some predators like Wolves and Lions. They are not territorial but different groups fight to death sometimes, Why? For fun. The Subject was created long before Bubby’s existence, so it’s dead. Prototypes can die just as easily as they are created, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t dangerous. 

-COOMER CLONES Dr. Harold P. Coomer is not human. He never was. disregarding the fact that is in a video game.  Coomer has mentioned his Super-body parts and organs before, leading us to the conclusion that Harold is a cyborg! and so are his clones! Coomer Clones are all apart of a hive-mind like ai system created by Black Mesa to help with the lack of staff and actual scientists. Ever Coomer clone has the same programming as every other clone! Same personality but set with different tasks. They are mere robots to use as tools to set forth more tests and experiments. The difference between Dr. Harold Coomer and the other clones is that his programming started to glitch within the events of HLVRAI and he gains sentience. his TRUE sentience comes when he realizes this is all a game. Whenever someone kills a Coomer Clone, Dr. Coomer sometimes says: “My power GROWS, Gordon!” this means that with every Clone down, he is one step closer to gain access to the Coomer Clone hive-mind. When the last clone is killed, Harold reaches his full potential and to show this, he hacks into his own programming and allows himself to use the “FORBIDDEN SCIENCE.” Every time Dr. Coomer cuts himself off mid-sentence, it’s him actually glitching out and struggling to stay in control. Gordon sleeping/the gaming being turned off doesn’t help him ease the pain.  The Coomer Clone ambush scene isn’t actually Dr. Harold Coomer doing these things. It’s the Coomer Hive-mind trying to take back control and end their journey, corrupting Harold. The Hive-Mind programming can access all Coomer Clone thoughts and memories, and even consciousnesses can be transferred from one Coomer Clone to the other. This is how Harold reappears after the attack, bloodied because he inhabited a dead Coomer clone body. this is also why he knows that the clones tried to wear Gordon as a puppet. Why did they want to try and do that? Maybe to get out of Black Mesa? Dunno. 

-BUBBY CLONES (my own idea!) Other than the Prototypes, there are other Bubbys out there! i got the idea from @/batz post, and i talked about it a bit in this post.  I think different Bubbys would exist in Black Mesa, since there must be more projects to perfect a Bubby. They don’t have to scientists but they sure as hell can exist! Different test tube water with different properties would be used to give the successful subjects personality and abilities!  They all act and talk different but their appearances all stay the same. Why? because Black Mesa didn’t want to waste money trying to make different faces.  “We already have an old man face why can’t we use that?” There are no limitations to the Bubbys! They’re their own person! Let them live! except don’t get out of hand with this concept. Don’t make a freak Bubby. You know what I mean.  I guess you could call these Bubby-sonas? I have no idea but they’re based off of Bubly flavors!  If you ever want to create your own Bubby, go ahead! I don’t mind! Just please credit me for the concept and @. me! I’d love to see what you guys come up with!

If you have read this all then i owe you my life. *mwah*

[confusedunit]

Universe of Unreality - Chapter 6

Chapter 6 -  "Benrey said WHAT?" 

The Science Team has lunch. Bubby remembers. Dr. Coomer wishes that he could. Tommy tells a secret. Benrey missteps. Deeper in the facility, someone wakes up. [Content warning: Minor Body Horror? The aliens struggle to keep their human forms stable when feeling strong emotions.]

No matter how many things change, so many things stay the same. Bubby had heard the phrase before, but had never thought of it in a positive light.

Most of the time, in Black Mesa, it didn't refer to growing up, growing stronger, while maintaining a stable circle of individuals. Most of the time, it referred to changing of experiments, but still being trapped in those same white walls. Seeing people change around you and knowing you'd never be allowed to leave.

But here, standing at a vending machine in a mostly blood free cafeteria, watching the ragtag group of the Science Team going about their business from across the room, felt like a positive time for the phrase to come to mind.

Tommy had insisted on eating an actual meal of some kind, vaulting the counter to dig into the kitchen for some real food to make, while Benry had decided on playing cashier. What 'playing cashier' apparently meant, to him, was improving with Dr. Freeman to try to get him to laugh.

"i'm so sorry sir, we're out of burgers. we got, uh..." He looked over his shoulder. "yo, tommy, what's the number four?"

"A salad!"

"we got four sah-lads, you got- uh, you got money?"

Dr. Freeman still wasn't doing to well, it didn't take a genius to tell that, but Benry's nonsense pushed him into laughter. And Benry's smile proved that he thought of that as a win.

Bubby didn't want to interrupt the moment. He had his own person he had to take care of. He pressed one of the drink buttons on the vending machine, before reaching down and taking the two cans of soda into his hands. He checked them, to make sure they were the right drink, and let out a breath when they were. Root beer. An old tradition, left to the side for too long. He could only hope Harold remembered it.

Tommy's words had stuck with him, needled at his memories until finally something cracked, and he'd been glad that everyone was so focused on Dr. Freeman that they didn't see him almost stumble as a moment came rushing back. He'd gone too far, pushed too much against the status quo, and they'd decided to punish him. And he'd decided to make sure it didn't look like an accident. Not to the one who mattered.

But seeing Harold now, sitting at a table alone, the distant look in his eyes as he seemingly struggled both to think of and not think of something at the same time, Bubby wondered if he even remembered that moment. If he remembered many of their moments, before...whatever happened here. Before 2003, or 2004, or whichever option was true, whatever year it was now. How much did the man who taught him how to be human remember of the human experiences they'd had?

He shook his head, returning to his own thoughts. He didn't have time to wallow in concerns. Harold needed him. He slowly moved across the room to the table, making sure to enter Harold's line of sight before he sat down.

"Oh, hello Bubby!" He put on a smile, one which might trick anyone who didn't know him as well as he did, lacing his fingers together on the table. "I thought you were getting food?"

"Line's a bit backed up." He glanced over to the counter, where Dr. Freeman was leaned onto the countertop, wheeze-laughing. "Tommy'll make sure you eat something."

"You need to eat as well, you know." Shit, there came the concern for others again. Back to distracting from himself. It'd been years since Bubby had seen him do that, and that wasn't promising.

"Yeah, yeah." He slid the can across the table. "Can't some friends have a drink together?"

Harold caught the can, blinking as he lifted it up to look at it. "...Bubby, this is root beer."

"And?" He cracked open his can, hoping beyond hope that he remembered.

He paused for a bit, setting the can back down and staring at it. He looked like he was puzzling out why the can was there. But Bubby knew better.

"...Drink your soda." He glanced away again, hoping to give him a bit of a break.

"...Thank you." He opened the soda as quietly as he could, taking a small sip. "...No." He started, answering the unasked question. "...I do not believe I am alright."

Bubby let out a breath, relaxing a bit at the reveal that Harold did indeed remember their pattern. He looked back over. "...Do you want to talk about it?"

"I would." He took another sip. "...How to do so is another question of it's own, however."

Ah. He sipped his own soda. That would explain everything. Originally, Harold had been careful talking to him, seemingly afraid that others could hear him. But he'd learned soon after that it had been a fear of Black Mesa itself that had caused that. But now, no one was there except them. Which meant...they must have done something to Harold to keep him from being able to talk.

…If that was the case, Bubby was terrified for him.

"...Bubby?"

"Yes, Harold?"

"...What would...hmm." Harold looked down at his soda for a few moments. "...Hypothetically, what would you do if you were unable to access your own memories?"

Shit, that confirmed that concern, then. "I suppose I would reach out to someone I trusted."

"And what if you couldn't do that?" He fidgeted with the can. "What if whenever you tried, your head started to hurt severely, purging whatever question you had from your mind due to the distraction?"

"...I don't know."

"...Bubby, I told you once that you were more than a Black Mesa experiment, correct?"

"You did." He remembered that night very clearly.

"...What would you do, if after all of that convincing...you didn't believe that anymore?"

"...Oh." That was bad. Something to do with the clone project, getting mashed up into whatever Harold was thinking about being an AI, plus whatever they'd done to his memory...that was severely bad.

"...Hypothetically...what if you were stuck like that?"

He reached his hands across the table before he even thought, resting them on Harold's. "You aren't. Whatever they did to you, we'll fix it."

He looked up at him, locking eyes. "...What if you can't?"

That was a hell of a question. There was always the chance, of course, but when it came to Harold? Bubby refused to even think of the possibility. "Well," He started, a grin forming on his face. "You've got the perfect human, a theoretical physicist, an alien, some sort of dimensional god, and his son, on your side." He laughed. "You think Black Mesa can stand up to that?"

For a brief moment, it looked like he wasn't following along. But after a moment, Harold smiled and laughed as well. "Well, when you put it like that..."

"Once we get to Bio, we'll figure out what's going on. We'll get you fixed up, and we'll get the fuck out of here." He gently squeezed his hands. "...I promise."

He squeezed his hands back. "...I'll hold you to that." He gave a smaller smile. "Professor."

"Doctor-"

"yo, uh, who ordered the two burgers and fries, hold the mustard."

The two startled, looking over to Benry as he stood at the table.

"oh, yo, looks like there's three burgers. guess i'll just have to sit with you."

Bubby narrowed his eyes. "Did Tommy tell you to go away?"

"...mayyyybe?"

Harold burst into laughter, taking his hands back to cover his face.

Bubby smiled too. Maybe...maybe everything would be okay.

-

Dr. Freeman didn't entirely understand what was going on, but that was okay. Maybe he didn't have to. Maybe he just had to keep pretending that everything was fine, and just coast through whatever the hell was going on around him. ...He was pretty sure that Dr. Coomer would call that dissociation, but really, he'd just lived through accidently starting the apocalypse. He felt he was due a few unhealthy coping mechanisms.

…Okay, that was a bad thought. Time to twist that thought a different location. Uh...

Tommy saved him from floundering in his own mind, walking over and sitting at his table. "Here you go, Mr. Freeman. A- a plain burger, and- and lightly salted fries."

He smiled, starting to pick at the fries. "Thank you, Tommy."

They sat quietly together as he ate, thought Tommy kept fidgeting. Something was obviously on his mind, and was Dr. Freeman a good friend if he just left him hanging?

"Tommy, what's on your mind?" He set down the remaining half of his burger. "You seem antsy."

Tommy startled, fidgeting with his hands instead. "...Well, I, uh- …If we're going to be, uhm, traveling, to- together, I..."

"It's okay, take your time. I can wait." He smiled again.

"...I need t- to tell you...something."

"Okay, sure thing. What's up?"

"...I- I know it's scary, right now, and uhm...y-you're worried, but...but my dad's gonna- gonna get us out of here!"

…Something didn't add up there, but okay. "...Your dad? I thought you said you were an orphan. Unless it's recent good news?"

He tensed up a bit. "...I lied! I'm- I'm sorry Mr. Freeman, but- He- he told me n-not to tell anyone, especially not any- anyone at Black Mesa. It wasn't- wasn't safe!"

"Hey, it's okay. You needed to keep a secret, and that's okay. But...can I ask why he said it wasn't safe?"

That made the fidgeting worse, until he pressed his hands flat to the table. "...B-because...my dad's not human, Mr...Mr. Freeman."

Oh. Oh! Oh holy shit, finally so many things made so much sense. "Oh, no yeah that makes sense. Black Mesa being full of scientists and all, they'd wanna experiment, right?" He took another bite of his burger. "That's entirely fair on your part, honestly."

Tommy stared at him in shock. "...Mr. Freeman?"

"Yeah?" He put his food down again. "You want to talk more? That's cool."

"......Mr. Freeman, that means- that I'm not human."

"I, uh, kinda figured that from the context clues you gave me. ...Wait, shit, this might be like-" He dusted off his hands, looking over at Tommy. "I'm very proud of you for coming and telling me, and trusting me with that, Tommy."

The man looked even more confused. "No! I- I mean, t-thank you, but- How are you s-so...calm, about this?"

"Oh." No, yeah, that was a fair question. "Benry already told me that he was an alien a while ago, so I guess it doesn't...really phase me? Especially right now, since I kinda...opened a portal for aliens to come through, and all."

Tommy's eyes narrowed. "...Benry said...what?"

He tensed up a bit, under Tommy's glare. "Uh, he...when we met, he told me...he wasn't human? And like, I thought it was a joke at first, but later realized he was serious, and-"

Tommy slammed his hands on the table, eyes glowing a bright red, glaring across the room at the security guard. "BENRY!"

Benry startled. "...uh, sorry, gotta go, meeting-" He sprinted for the closest door, phasing right through it.

"GET BACK HERE!" He tore off after him, warping through the door.

The three remaining scientists stared at each other, for a moment.

"...What the fuck just happened?"

"Uh...I've got no goddamn idea."

-

It wasn't hard to track down Benrey. The man could run, but he couldn't hide worth a damn. Not from Tommy.

Tommy grabbed him by the arm, slamming him back against the wall. His human disguise was cracking, glowing red showing through the cracks, as he tried to calm down his breathing. What the fuck. What the fuck? Tommy had hid this for years, literal years, and Benrey just, what, just shows up and declares his status immediately? Did he have no sense of self preservation? Was he just a fucking fool? What the fuck!

Benrey squirmed in his grip, body deforming as well as he tried to pull away. "tommy! tommy, man-"

"What the hell!" He shook his arm against the wall. "You can't- you can't just tell people-"

"no one cares here, bro!" He grabbed Tommy's wrist with his free hand, several eyes watching him. "you know that! i know that! they aren't- they can't watch anymore. no more vods for black mesa. your dad made sure of that."

He felt himself calm a bit. "What do you mean?"

"you gotta feel it, right? less eyes, since gordon came by. the other one, not ours. come on, man, first time someone's meddling in forever and there's less eyes watching. besides, freeman can keep secrets. he kept mine for this long."

Tommy thought over the words, before he slowly filled the cracks back in, eyes fading from red to yellow, before the glow simmered out. "...I had to hide for- for so long, Benrey."

"i know bro, and that's like, super sucks. but you don't gotta anymore." Benrey slowly reformed as well, adjusting his helmet. "we're all good now."

"...Okay." He sighed, leaning forward to rest his head down on Benrey's shoulder.

Benrey tensed again, before he slowly pulled Tommy into a hug. "...second hug request today..." He mumbled to himself.

Tommy laughed. "Good."

There was a lot that still hung between them, but they'd have to talk about it later. Right now, they just needed their space, away from their human charges.

-

Forzen startled awake, already on his feet, flailing his arms to keep himself from falling. Forzen, that was his name, right? It had to be, it stuck in his head too much not to be. Where was he? He looked around the room; a single chair, a vertical stasis pod, and a ceiling fan with light were all that the small room contained.

Why the hell did this feel like home?

He looked forward as the door opened, two soldiers moving in to look at him. They were bigger than him, taller and older, and they looked down at him with annoyance. He didn't like them. He knew them, but didn't know their names. He wasn't sure they had any.

He wasn't sure he was supposed to have one, either.

"Soldier, glad to see you could finally break out of your beauty sleep." The voice was harsh, annoyed, and he didn't like it.

"I-"

"Don't talk." The other man loomed over him. "We've got a job to do, soldier. Every member of Black Mesa is to be...dealt with."

"But-"

"What did he just say?" The first man loomed too. "Get your gun, and get out there. The faster we get this contained, the faster we can finally be done."

Finally? What did finally mean? "Wait-"

The two men glared at him, before they stormed out of the room.

Maybe he just had to play along. Maybe his friend would find him. He'd promised to come back, get him out of there. He'd help him...right?

Forzen made it to the doorframe, his legs weak, and he looked out at the white walls, the multicolored lines leading in different directions, the sign on the wall that said Biological Research.

"Wait...but...we're...we're members of Black Mesa..."

Forzen, eighteen year old soldier, stumbled off down the hallway, trying not to panic.