i love victim blaming benson.
benson kills the entirety of the burgers, burgers, burgers staff, 'cept ol randy. randy cries and whines and tries to refuse getting in the car. just for a moment though. he can't quite refuse when benson shoves him against the passenger side door, his dark, overblown eyes finding randy's.
"i did this for you, bradley. why can't you get that through your thick fuckin' skull, huh?"
after benson shot that waitress, (marcy? mary?) they ran. randy thought he made it, finally found his salvation after the hell that the last 15 hours had brought. but, benson rushed him in the bathroom in the middle of the call. he snatched the phone, snapped the damn thing in half, and grabbed randy by his jaw
"after everything i've done for you, you call the fuckin' pigs, randy?" benson almost sounds sad, randy's almost sure it's desperation instead.
benson stands back, mostly to avoid disfiguring the sweet, sharp figures of randy's face. instead, he rolls his neck, counts the cracks, resets himself. his face, which once held a semblance of emotion, falls.
"goddamn randy!" he huffs like a bull "fuck it! fuck it rand, you want help so bad? go get it"
randy's gut falls at the nickname. that's only something hailey calls him.
benson shoves the boy out of the bathroom. he stumbles into the dim lighting, sees ms beard, sees the waitress, the tiny spatter of other customers. his eyes are wide, scared. he's sweating. his thoughts are racing, his mouth moves. everyone looks at him, stalled. he hears the sirens a distance out. salvation.
"i- i uh-....please- please help" he says, louder than he had expected himself. his gaze averting rapidly to everyone, anyone who'd listen.
a gunshot rings out, the waitress screams and drops to the floor, clutching her leg. he's grabbed by the neck and led, quickly, out of the emergency exit in the kitchen. his brain hasn't quite caught up to the whiplash he's experienced in the past 5 minutes. he swears, somewhere in the muddled mess of bodies, blood, and benson, he hears
"coulda just trusted me, randy."
two weeks on the road, randy almost gets brave enough to talk to a man outside of a gas station near flagstaff. he doesn't even really want to talk to the man, but his body betrays him while he's pumping gas (the gas benson trusted him to pump alone, he remembers, feels guilty). he meekly walks towards the trusted adult, like he was always taught in school. he makes it roughly 8 feet from the guy before benson, who randy swears had just been shuffling through bags of chips, stalks towards them.
a hit, a crunch, a shout, blood.
one more round of the same.
randy isn't even sure he's conscious as he's shoved back into the car. they sped off in silence. the tension alone is nearly enough to make randy puke, hell, he's already silently crying. benson breaks the silence.
he punches the steering wheel.
"god fucking damnit, randy! you had one fucking job-- one! pump the fuckin' gas. stay fuckin' silent!" he screamed, spittle flying, hitting the wheel again. a sob is punched out of the younger.
"that guy was minding his fuckin' business, bradley. why'd you make me fuckin' do that!? huh!?
randy doesn't answer. he can't. he wants to hate benson. heat curls in his gut, something that's not hatred. something he hates that he's grows accustomed to. something he almost craves now. he only hates himself.
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