Hello, readers! Thank you for stopping by for yet another shameless addition to the RS fandom. I'm afraid it's more canon compliant this time around, however. Coming to the end of the series again, I found some moments to be a tad too fast paced. So! I've decided to write an alternative to one of the scenes from "Meet the Seer". I wanted the feels and I didn't get 'em, so now I gotta write it for all of us. Let's goooooo!
"If Streaming...then...over for..."
"...should be safe..."
"We...The Seer! There's no...gotta..."
"No way...Pops...rest..."
Sound was the first thing he registered. Well...it was the sound of arguing, but he was more than used to that with his team. He didn't bother opening his eyes; he could feel the intense fluorescent lighting bearing down on him from above. He focused on his breathing, trying his best to will his pounding heart into calmness. As if to spite him, it beat faster. He sensed someone near him, felt their eyes on him as their aura shook the world around him. They landed a touch to his forehead, fingers icy against his skin...or was it because he was burning? Whether it was an token of comfort or to check on him, the reaction was the same. He could do nothing as his nerves woke up and sent him into a spiral of agony.
Benson shook his head at the group, made up mostly of his employees, as they spoke over one another. The Formats gave their best efforts to try and answer all the questions being hurled at them. From what he gathered, they were all trapped inside a cramped closet in an abandoned part of an overthrown planet by The Internet...or Streaming...or whatever! He never should have gone on that stupid Disc Masters quest...! Typical of Mordecai and Rigby to ruin another aspect of his life with their dumb antics. Turning away, he caught sight of the doctor tending to a very uneasy looking Pops.
"What's going on?" he asked, "Is he okay?"
The microwave made a face, "Eeh, yes and no. He's recovering, but he's also awake, somewhat."
"Shouldn't that be more of a good sign?"
"Technically, sure," he shrugged, "but your friend here came pret-ty close to being erased. His body has to rebuild what was taken away and it's not a very pleasant process."
"Okay, so...what are we talking, like, maybe some painkillers and electrolytes or...?"
The appliance stared blankly at him before stating, "We got TV dinners here, son."
Benson breathed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose in an effort to keep himself from slipping farther into irritation, "I don't suppose you have any water, either?"
"I have this bag of mystery fluid-" he replied, gesturing to the IV.
"No, no, that's fine," Benson said, bringing his hands up, "I think I'm just going to sit with him awhile."
Knowing a dismissal when he heard one, the doctor nodded, "Feel free to let me know of any changes, we'll keep watch at the door."
The gumball machine observed his co-manager for a moment, taking in his growing restlessness. Sighing, he opted to roll out an old, discarded desk chair and plop himself down in it. After a tense moment, Pops opened his eyes to acknowledge him.
"Benson..." he started, face twisting, "I'm sorry."
"You don't have to apologize for anything."
"Yes, I do. This whole mess is my own fault. I thought...he said...!"
Pops' words trailed off, dying on his tongue as another wave of pain crashed upon him. He felt awful...the thin blanket he'd been lent trapped a scorching heat against him, all but suffocating him in its embrace. On the other hand, he'd freeze if it was removed. He likened it to his childhood in the off moments he would fall ill; raked between feverish chills and absolutely miserable...though, he supposed he had a new standard for misery now. He wished what he was experiencing was some simple bug, but no...he had really almost been erased from existence. He'd been so sure about his stance with his brother, so sure that their eons of conflict could be different this time! He shifted, wrapping his long arms tightly around his middle in an attempt to fend off sharp ache of his body and the sting of his emotions.
Benson watched the display quietly, feeling awkward in his stony position and with his ineptitude for deep sentiment. He wasn't great as comfort...he wasn't even that great at motivation, given the track record his employees held in their work. He blamed himself partially for the predicament in which they'd found themselves. He knew the turmoil his friend was in. The stress of confronting his brother had taken in increasingly heavier toll on him as the days passed and, yet, he did nothing to quell his worries. Next to Skips, he'd known this man the longest. Been hired by him, worked by him...had him by his side as their park teams came and went. He'd learned that, for lack of better words, Pops was incredibly reserved. He had confided in the older man many times through the years, taking comfort from him and being encouraged by his advice, but he'd never been offered the same courtesy. Pops dealt with his issues on his own, as if they held some sort of default to everyone else's...but he'd needed them this time- needed him. He'd failed...
He ran a hand down his face, stopping to rub the back of his neck, "Pops, I...the only one here to blame is him. He knew what you wanted and he took advantage of it because," you're gullible, "...he knew you'd give him the benefit of the doubt."
"I just thought that...it would change if I showed him things could be better, but he genuinely doesn't want it. I don't understand," Pops said weakly.
Benson said nothing, allowing a moment of silence before he continued.
"The asteroid," he spoke, breath hitching as the pain grew, "Those people...they're all gone because of me. I'm supposed to be this great savior, but I killed them."
"You didn't erase them."
"But I put them right in the path of someone who could! All thanks to my own selfishness!"
"Pops...!"
That seemed to be the tipping point and with a single blink, a stream of tears rushed down his face. Pops couldn't help but curl further in on himself, wanting nothing more than to hide from the world he'd ruined. His already labored breathing became choked as he broke down. Benson wasn't sure what to do as he watched his friend sink deeper into a pit of inconsolable despair. How any of them could even stand to look at him after what he'd pulled, he'd never know. They must be so disgusted with him! All the people who'd tried so hard to help and guide him...he'd betrayed them. All he ever did was think of himself...for once, he was glad his father wasn't here. He shouldn't have to see what a vile son he'd raised! He didn't deserve to be comforted, he didn't deserve all the good he had in his life, didn't deserve to even be alive right now. But...
"I deserve this," he whispered, the white-hot pain finally ebbing away for just a moment.
Shock hit Benson before anything else. Did he really just...? That ever-so-familiar spike of anger began bubbling to the surface, but he didn't know exactly who it was directed at. Well...he knew logically, but he was a creature of emotion and emotionally, that trigger happened to be Pops. How could he think that? After all he'd done for them over the years, this gentle, compassionate, selfless man willingly launched himself under the bus and believed he deserved to be here, barely conscious and utterly shaken to the core.
"No, you don't," he seethed, gripping the edge of the table as he leaned in.
Pops didn't miss a beat, "But Earl is-"
"Earl sacrificed himself. That was his choice and he did it because he wanted to," he took in a breath, "He did it because he believed you could still win this, like we do. You made a mistake and...yes, some people got hurt...but now we have a second chance to make sure it doesn't happen to everyone else too. You aren't the only one at fault here...we- I- should have been listening. Maybe if I'd tried harder to hear you out, we wouldn't be here..."
He paused, searching the other's face. The tears had long stopped, but Pops didn't seem too keen to do anything besides listen as he trembled.
"I'm sorry," Benson finally uttered, "I wasn't there when you needed me. I know we're co-workers and you're technically my boss, but you're my friend first. I was so focused on listening to Earl and completing our objectives that I never stopped to see what it was doing to the one person that really mattered, but...," he looked down as his own vision started to blur, "not anymore. It isn't you against him, it's us against him. We've faced dozens of foes, stood up against impossible odds and won every time."
After a split second of deliberation, he laid down his hand in a silent offer and for the first time since they'd landed, Pops met his eyes.
"We'll win this time, too," he said firmly.
Pops didn't return his smile, choosing instead to unwind one of his arms and hold his friend's waiting hand. He squeezed it as another swell of pain overwhelmed him.
Yes, take this angst! I tried my best to match the dry humor RS is so great at, not sure if it was successful, but it wasn't the most important part anyhow! Thank you all so much for reading, I hope you liked it!