#ace benson

After almost two years on the road, his stamina wasn't what it once was. Most of their days were spent cramped inside the van, lounging on the sides of the road while Benson read the map for the hundredth time, or staying in motels whenever they had extra cash. They didn't do much other than fuck and sleep.

Benson, however, while Randy would laze on whatever flat surface was under him, whether it be in the middle of nowhere asphalt or scratchy sheets; Randy would watch as Benson dropped to the floor; sometimes, if he was shirtless, Randy would rub his palm over his dick half-heartedly as Benson grunted, pushing his weight up from the floor. Randy could probably do a couple of push-ups, not many, and definitely couldn't do even a quarter of what Benson does.

So when he heard the chase of Benson's legs behind him, his body knew he was about to be caught, he couldn't out run him. He probably couldn't even tire him out but his legs were rushing with adrenaline as he ran.

"Randy, where the fuck are you going?!" Benson screamed behind him.

Randy laughed; he didn't glance behind him; that would slow him down, just pounding his feet into the dirt beneath him. Benson was close, and he couldn't stop laughing, picturing his red face, pants probably still unbuckled and maybe a trickle of piss on his leg.

Randy almost tripped on a stump growing unevenly out of the dirt and it gave him pause enough to balance himself so he didn't go flying into the ground but Benson tackled him, barrelling him into the earth.

Benson's shoulder connected with his chest, driving Randy on his back down into grass and stones under him.

It hurt, and he felt blood weep from his skin as he grazed the ground, but his limbs shot out, pushing Benson from him as he laughed manically.

Benson pinned him beneath his weight, "Fucking stop, Randy!" The wet mud and blood on his palms from where he landed on the dirt kept Benson from maintaining his grip, and Randy's leg shot out under him, connecting with Benson's groin.

"Fuck!"

Randy paused for a millisecond, watching Benson groan, throwing his body toward Randy's head to get away from the knee slammed into him.

He tried to scramble out from under him, but instead, Benson gripped him by the collar of his shirt and punched him across his jaw.

He wasn't sure if he passed out for a second, but the earth kept spinning nonetheless, and as he choked on the blood in his mouth, he huffed, legs burning, and his chest felt like it would explode, pulling in rough, wet gulps of air as Benson gripped his cheeks.

The swell on the side of his jaw was immediate; he probably couldn't open it all the way, but Benson didn't care as he whimpered under him, grasping his swollen, red face, yanking it up to his face. "Don't fucking do that shit again." Benson's chest heaved as he shook him, "You hear me, Randy?"

Randy just grinned and he could feel the unusual thickness of his spit as his blood coated his teeth.

"You're a fucking maniac." Benson shoved his head back down into the dirt, climbing to his feet.

His guts swelled and his dick was hard in his jeans, he spat blood to his side as he sat up. He and Benson were coated in dirt and Randy felt the wind whip against his skin, the back of his shirt had ripped down from his armpit across his back. His skin vibrated and the uneasy pooling remaining deep, deep under his bones, not even a minute of his body feeling like his own before it was pulled from under him.

It was enough to make him lie back down, rocks digging into his spine as he pulled his lip between his teeth and cried.

Benson watched silently, rubbing a mud covered hand across his face, shifting awkwardly on his feet.

Randy tugged his knees to his chest, rolling to his side on the ground. He wept, struggling to breathe through his gasps, spit and blood congealed in his gums, it reminded him of when he had an inhaler for a couple of years after Miss Beard, he developed the habit of holding his breath because his body didn't know the difference between choosing between putting peanut butter or jam on his toast or being the reason someone lost an eye.

When Benson brought his hand down on his back and he was there; outside the restaurant, blood clinging to his skin through his shirt as Benson shoved him to walk toward his car. Fixing him was what Benson said he would do. Randy didn't feel fixed.

"You did this to me."

Benson's hand stilled on his back, "Let's go back to the van, baby."

"Get off me." Randy scrambled from his hold.

He pulled himself to his feet, attempted to open his mouth but the swell on his jaw had already surged against the bone, keeping him from opening it more than an inch.

Benson patted his pockets for his smokes, "Do you need me to--"

"I don't need anything from you." Randy stomped his way through the grass, back toward the van leaving Benson stood in the mud. He didn't need a cigarette on his skin, he didn't need Benson's hands on him, he didn't need Benson.

He stripped off on the side of the road, throwing his shoes and clothes into a pile as he laid down on the futon in the back, yanking their blanket up over his body and his head; creating his own cocoon for himself and no one else, especially not Benson.

Randy heard Benson huff from beneath the fabric, he gathered Randy's clothes from the ground and threw them into the van, landing in a heap beside his feet. He slammed the van's doors, his boots scraping against the gravel, the flick of a lighter. Randy could see him in his mind as he forced his jaw down hard into the futon, hoping to alleviate the ache inside him enough to fall asleep.

Benson woke him up with a slap on his leg, "Get the fuck up."

"Leave me alone." Randy yanked the blanket over his head as Benson tried to pull it at the same time; he lost as it whipped down the futon.

Benson had changed clothes, and mud was still caked in his hair. "Randy, I don't know what the fuck is wrong with you, but I got a room, go shower. I'm gonna go find a fucking laundromat while you're having your fucking period." He packed Randy's soiled clothes into a plastic bag and threw a key at him. He left the van doors open as he walked away.

Randy watched Benson stomp down the abandoned road, searching for somewhere to clean their clothes, and Randy already knew what he would do. It wasn't nice. Benson would probably kill him. If he came back.

He dashed to the motel room, showered quickly, and didn't stop to watch the brown water swirl around the drain. Afterward, he stashed the room key under the mat outside and stormed back to the van.

He didn't know what he was doing or thinking, but he pulled the van onto the road and drove. The driver's seat smelled like Benson; his sweat sucked deep into the cushion; Randy rolled the window down so he didn't suffocate on it. He tried to remember the signs for where he was, but he didn't bother to get the map, somewhere in Pocatello. He didn't drive for more than ten minutes before he spotted a building, Marshall Public Library. He pulled the van into the parking lot.

The librarian at the desk was all smiles and warmth as she greeted him. She was wearing a blouse that he was sure his mom also owned. He pressed his nails into his palms as he asked for the guest pass; he didn't have his ID.

One hour; he could use the computer for one hour. He didn't need any more than that anyway.

He typed in the temporary guest details on the last computer in a row. His chair was too small and plastic, and his elbows stretched awkwardly as he typed on the keyboard.

He opened the internet and searched for his name.

His stomach dropped at the sight of his mom and sister holding a missing person's photo, with the picture of him smiling forcefully when his mom took them out to bowl with Haley's dad.

Articles of the massacre at BBB, pictures of the abandoned restaurant and Benson. Benson Mastin, there were at least four different mug shots from when he barely looked old enough to drive to almost what he looked like now, except with more hair than his awkward grown-out buzz-cut. The articles called him someone to be considered armed and dangerous. Randy was mentioned throughout, and some security footage of them said he was likely being held against his own will.

There were statements from Marsha, the receptionist at school and Miss Beard. Lisa was approached but refused to comment. Marsha said Benson was insane, like a crazed animal in how he acted. The receptionist said she was surprised; he seemed almost normal and nice. Said she prayed every night for Randy to come home, said she felt guilty for not seeing through Benson and Miss Beard, said she hoped Randy could come home and that Benson was scared, probably lonely, and she didn't think he would hurt Randy, but he wasn't mentally healthy, said Benson needed help.

His mom cried on the news, begging for Benson to bring her son back while Haley clutched her hips. She had one of Randy's stuffed toys in her hands, and Randy had to close the window, guilt gnawing at his insides.

Mr Sheppard had a memorial for all the work he had done for the local community. A bench was built in his memory outside the school.

There was a more recent article, and Randy felt the world fall into silence around him, 'Mother of Burger Butcher found dead in house fire.'

Randy shot up in his seat, opening the article. The fire department reported that there was faulty wiring throughout the house or likely from a forgotten cigarette; she died in her sleep on the couch, exactly where he and Benson had left her. There were theories that Benson had come home and burned her alive.

Randy exhaled, shuddering breaths from his lungs as he closed the browser.

Randy could go home.

He could. His mom, sister, and Miss Beard would all welcome him back with open, loving arms. He could forget Benson and go back to his life. Well, it's not like he had much of a life before Benson.

Benson couldn't; there was nothing back home for him, not even his ma. He was a boogeyman story kids probably talked about when they snuck into the restaurant to see if they could find any bones or blood. Benson didn't have anything left except for Randy.

When Benson died, no one would hold a ceremony, no one would recount memories with him, no one ever really knew him the way Randy knew him. Randy could go home, be loved, and be surrounded by support and warmth, but Benson would be alone.

Randy felt numb sliding the guest pass back across to the librarian. No unrest inside him.

He stepped back outside, cold air smacking across his limbs but Randy was hot to the touch, sweat running down his back as he walked toward the van. There was a payphone at the end of the street.

His legs carried him, on auto-pilot. He knew he shouldn't but he shut the glass door behind him, ignoring the piss stink in the box and patted his pockets for change, he and Benson always had some on them due to some motels using old meters for heat or hot water. He slammed in the coins and dialled his home phone number.

His fingers moved like he had only just dialled them the day before, fresh in his memory.

Randy bounced his leg, his forehead leaning against the metal of the panel nursing the dial buttons. It rang four times and Randy smiled counting the rings, he really was his mother's son.

"Hello?"

His mom's voice broke the counts in his head and he instantly welled, his body and hands shaking as he sucked in a breath, holding back his tears.

There was pause on the line and he wanted to smash his head into the payphone as his mother's shuddering voice spoke, "Randy?"

"H-Hi mom."

"Randy, oh my God, is it really you, are you okay?" He heard the crash of something in the background, he could picture it her; completely dazed as she spoke.

"I'm okay, mom. I just wanted to tell you I'm okay." His voice shook as he spoke.

"Is he there? What does he want? Randy? I want you to come home, baby." He could see it, her eyes furrowing at the thought of Benson. He could almost laugh at the thought of taking Benson home, telling his mom he was his boyfriend, let her in on the knowledge that he and Benson, that man that kidnapped him has done unspeakable things to him, and they were in love.

"I just wanted to tell you that I love you, I'm okay, okay? You don't have to worry." He slipped his fingers across the metal cord.

"If he wants money, tell him that I can get it, please. Randy, baby go to the police, they can help you."

"Mom, I love you."

"I love you too, Randy, please come home, please." She was crying, probably on the verge of a breakdown as she wept, clutching the phone to her face.

"I have to go."

"No, Randy! Don-" Her voice slipped from his ear as he put the phone down on the receiver.

Fuck.

He huffed in a deep inhale as pressed his face into his palms, breathing out harsh stuttering breaths. God, he was selfish, he felt good knowing he was all Benson had and that at any point at the drop of a hat, Randy was loved, not just by Benson. He could go home. He didn't need Benson. Benson needed him. Even so, with the best intentions of letting his mother know he was okay, he still managed to hurt her, seemed like the only thing Randy was truly good at, hurting the people that cared about him.

He wiped over his face, drying the tears from his eyes and stepped out of the booth. He went back to the van and started to drive back to the only person in the world who needed him more than he needed anyone else.

Benson.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Benson seethed as he stepped through the motel door, storming up to Randy as he shut the door behind him.

"Out." He tossed the car keys on the table by the door.

"That's not a fucking answer, Randy." He pushed Randy against the door, pressing his forehead against his, obviously meant to warn Randy that he was going to hurt him.

But Randy just wrapped his arms around him, closing his eyes as he breathed in his scent. He smelt like detergent, spent the morning washing clothes while thinking Randy was cooped up safe in the motel room.

Benson froze under him but Randy pressed forward, allowing his head to rest on Benson's shoulder as he pulled him tighter to his chest, "I just wanted to go for a drive."

Randy tugged him tighter to his chest, breathing in deep harsh breaths between them as he slipped his fingers along Benson's bare skin just under the hem of his shirt. "I'm sorry."

Benson's hand came to rest on his waist, "You're starting to freak me out, Randy."

Randy was starting to freak himself out, he didn't know why he ran, he didn't know why he left in the van and he sure as fuck didn't know why he called his mom.

"What do you think people back home think about you?" Randy rolled his swollen jaw against the jut of Benson's shoulder.

"I don't give a fuck." Benson's answer was quick and nothing different than Randy expected.

He traced his fingers further up his back along his spine, "Benson."

Benson exhaled through his nose, "I don't fucking know, Randy. Could you be fucking normal for a second?"

"You think they think you're crazy?"

Benson shoved him against the door, holding his palm against his chest, keeping distance between them, "You wanna know what I think, Randy? Really?"

Randy nodded, nails embedded in his palms at his sides.

"I think they don't even remember my fucking name."

Randy shuddered against the door, slipping down the wood to clutch his knees to his chest all over again.

"What? You not happy with that answer?" Benson kicked into the carpet beside him. Benson squatted down beside him, "What do you think people back home think about you? Hm? You think they think you're dead? Being held against your will? Think I'm doing sick fucked up shit to you?"

"I think they miss me." Randy muttered, the ache in his jaw pulsed.

Benson sucked his teeth at that answer, "That's nice, Randy. Good for you. Wish I could see some of that optimistic attitude when you're done with whatever the fuck this is."

"You think anyone misses you?"

Benson stood and cracked his neck, "No. Randy, I don't."

"Doesn't that make you sad?" Randy ran his thumb across the denim of his jeans.

"Are you trying to piss me off?"

"No! N-No. I just, I wanna know how you feel."

Benson shifted on his feet, this time, he sat down beside Randy against the door, "I think my ma wakes up everyday and says, good riddance. So, no, Randy. I don't think anyone misses me. Fucking no different if I was still there."

"I would miss you." Randy mumbled softly.

"Excuse me if I find that hard to believe after you ran off twice today."

"I'm sorry."

Benson sighed, reached out to wipe a tear from his cheek like he did that day, thumb sliding across his skin. "I would miss you too."

Randy knew he was telling the truth, it was a terrifying feeling to realize that Benson's indifference towards the world around them did not include him and in the gaze of Benson's eyes, there was an unsettling fascination like he wanted to dissect Randy, hold him under a microscope and dig around his insides for why. Why was Randy the only one who ignited any feeling of interest in his heart that seemed at times to be incapable of housing warmth? Benson's love was a double-edged sword; both horrifying and radiant.

"I love you." Randy said and he meant it. He really did, he loved Benson more than he could've ever imagined he was capable.