Chapter Text
When they inevitably run low on cash, one of the first expenses to go are Benson’s cigarettes.
“Benson…you can’t just quit. It’s not good for you.”
”Quitting isn’t good for me, smoking them isn’t good for me, so what the fuck am I supposed to do?” His last cigarette had been had the night before. Even though he knows he doesn’t have any more, he keeps reaching for the empty box that sits on the dashboard.
”Quitting is good. I just mean quitting outright isn’t. You’re going to have withdrawals and not feel great.”
”I already don’t feel great.”
Randy looks at him with a silent, exasperated expression. It annoys Benson, more so than it usually does.
”Don’t give me that look. So, what? It’s already started?”
”Yeah. Nicotine is a really addictive substance. And you smoke a lot.” It’s not said in a judgemental way, but it still irks him.
He grunts in reply as he grips the steering wheel harder. His mind is racing with thoughts. About what he’s done, about what he left behind, about how they’re supposed to survive. Usually when these thoughts pop up he just grabs a cigarette, lights it up, and lets them pass through his brain as he smokes. When he’s smoking his thoughts are as light as the smoke drifting out the car window.
The habit started when he was young. He’d grown up with his parents, then just his mom, and other surrounding adults smoking. It just seemed like the thing to do and it helped calm his anxiety. Helped calm his brain. It gave him something to look forward to. Something simple and easy. Something that sat in his pocket, always there for him. Reliable.
”I’m hungry. You hungry?”
Randy nods, even though he’s not that hungry.
”Alright. Keep an eye out for something.”
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He’s hungrier than he’s ever been. He orders his usual scramble with hashbrowns and devours it. Randy stares at him from across the table with not even half of his burger eaten.
”What?” He’s hunched over his plate, face close to it while he shovels food into his mouth.
”I’ve never seen you so hungry.”
He eyes Randy, wondering if he’s going to say more. He feels more on edge than usual. If Randy says something annoying he already knows he’s going to snap.
”Do you want some of mine?” Randy says instead. Benson blinks away his prepared, hostile, response from the unexpected offer.
”…yeah.”
He reaches across the table and steals a few fries off Randy’s plate. He groans loudly, liking how salty they are. Randy ducks his head to hide a smile.
”You can have a bite of my burger too, if you want.”
“Yeah, okay.” He grabs the burger from Randy and takes a huge bite of it before handing it back. It’s not a great burger, but it works to fill the hunger within him.
”I think part of the withdrawal symptoms is getting really hungry.”
”How do you even know this stuff?”
Randy shrugs as he takes his burger back from Benson.
”My mom made me read and watch all this stuff about what happens to your body when you smoke. To scare me from ever doing it.”
”And that worked?” Benson scoffs. He’d never been warned about the dangers of smoking. His mom smoked in the house ever since he was born. “You smoked that one time.”
”Yeah. Because you made me.” He looks Benson in the eye and he can tell that Randy is still upset from that. He had forced Randy to smoke a few puffs off of his cigarette and had laughed when he coughed for several minutes after. “It can really mess you up. And I read about the withdrawal stuff too. It sounds miserable.”
”Then I’ll steal some cigarettes at the next gas stop.”
Randy sits up straighter, a panicked expression on his face.
”Benson…you can’t. They keep them behind the counter.”
He looks at Randy, already bored.
”I know where they keep them. Only been buying them for 15 years.”
Randy’s expression turns sad. No doubt doing the math in his head figuring out how young Benson started smoking.
”Gum will help. It’s cheap, too.”
Benson rolls his eyes at the suggestion and takes Randy’s burger from him again.
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They stop for gas. Randy convinces him to not go into the small convenience store. On the drive over he’d talked about how he would use Randy to distract the cashier, slip behind the counter, grab a few packs of cigs, and be out before anyone knew. Randy reminds him of cameras, of other customers, of the cashier possibly not being an idiot and not leaving the counter. Benson reminds him he has a gun.
”10 dollars on our pump?” Randy is already opening the passenger door and slipping out. He groans in annoyance, not liking how Randy seems to think he has the free will to make decisions here. But his head hurts and he can’t stop thinking about how bad he wants a cigarette.
”yeah, whatever.” He watches as Randy slips into the store and he gets to work opening the gas tank and getting the car hooked up to the pump. A few moments later the pump beeps and he squeezes the handle to start the flow of gas into the tank. He closes his eyes just for a minute and the next thing he knows is he feels Randy’s hand on his, moving it off the gas pump and taking over to put it away and close up the tank. Randy seems a little off, a little jumpy, and Benson stares at him intensely when they’re settled back in front seats.
“Let’s go.” Randy sounds nervous.
He looks at the store and the cashier inside isn’t looking at them. Nothing seems wrong. He starts the car and gets them back onto the road. A few miles down, Randy starts digging through his pockets and pulls out multiple packs of gum.
”The fuck, Randy? You know we’re low on scratch.”
Randy looks at him, confused by the term for a moment, then smiles shyly.
”I didn’t pay anything for them.”
He quickly looks away from the road. His head pounds from the sudden movement, but he’s grinning as he looks at Randy.
”You stole them?” He sounds excited and proud.
Randy nods and blushes.
”Yeah. For you. It’ll help with the cravings.” He opens a pack and pulls out a piece of gum, then hands it over to Benson.
He holds the gum in his palm for a minute then pops it into his mouth. It immediately relieves the need he had for something to be in his mouth. The minty flavor spreads through it and it’s not as good as a cigarette, but it’ll do for now. He looks at Randy as the younger man takes out another piece and puts it into his own mouth. He chews with his mouth closed unlike Benson who in comparison feels like a wild dog chomping up a piece of meat with its teeth bared.
He likes that they can share in this activity together. Randy would never pick up smoking, he knows that, but he will chew some harmless gum.
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They’re at a rest stop, Benson laid out across the back seat and Randy in the passenger seat with the back reclined as far as it can go. Sometimes they switch off placements. Sometimes they manage to fit themselves both into the backseat.
The windows are cracked to let the cool night breeze into the hot car and Benson can smell the nearby truckers whenever they step out of their rigs for a smoke. He chews through an entire pack of gum before he can no longer stop himself from getting out of the car.
”Benson?”
He ignores Randy and closes the door. A line of semi trucks are parked evenly near the edge of the stop. He shoves his hands in his pockets and tries to look casual as he walks over to one where he can see a man standing and smoking. The man eyes him as he approaches. He wonders if the man thinks he’s trying to solicit him.
”Hey, can I bum a smoke off you?”
The trucker stares quietly as he thinks, then shakes his head “no.”
”Come on, man. I don’t have enough to buy a pack. Look, I’ll give you a dollar for one.” He starts to dig into his pocket when the man steps back.
”No. Get out of here.”
The rage hits faster than he’s used to and the next thing he knows is he’s hitting the man. Pushing him back against his truck and throttling him. The man is big, bigger than he is, and puts up a fight by pushing and punching back. Benson stumbles backwards as the man pushes him hard and he trips over his own feet, falling to the ground. Hard. The trucker curses as he spits blood from his mouth, then approaches Benson. Towering over him and looking pissed. Benson glares up at him, slowly pulling himself back upright, when suddenly Randy is standing between them.
”He-He’s sick. I’m sorry. We’re leaving.”
Randy turns towards him and he can see how scared he is. Not as scared as when he was staring down the barrel of Benson’s shotgun that fateful morning, but scared nonetheless.
The hand on his arm pulls him back to the safety of their car. He’s surprised the trucker let them leave so easily and if Randy hadn’t been there, he or the trucker would have surely ended up in a puddle of blood on the parking lot gravel.
Randy drives, a rare occurrence, as Benson nurses his bleeding nose with whatever napkins he finds in the glove box.
”What happened back there?”
”Fucker wouldn’t give me a smoke.”
Randy is quiet as he keeps driving. His knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel. Benson drifts into an uneasy sleep. For once letting Randy decide where they end up next.