A/N: Another Whumptober prompt, this one in the Half-Life universe! But you probably knew that if you clicked on this lol. I'm actually really pleased with how this one turned out, especially considering how quickly I whipped it up, and that I've only written one other Half-Life fic at this point. Anyways, Barney is by far my favorite character and very underrated. I figured this would be a good tribute! This fic was heavily inspired by KRSONMar's Barney-centric fic, "Second Fiddle" on . If you haven't checked out their writing, it is AMAZING. It was what really got me into this fandom.
Anyways, enough yapping from me. Enjoy!
TW: mentions of suicide, police brutality
It was yet another drab, gloomy day in City 17. The skies were gray with pollution. The buildings were gray, the food was gray, even the people were gray, and Barney Calhoun had never hated his life and the Combine so much.
He stood at the sink, head bowed, face dripping wet, his bandaged hands gripping the brittle porcelain so hard seemed like it was about to break. In total silence, he watched the steady stream of warm water run out of the spigot and down the drain. A novelty that very few had the privilege of these days, but it only seemed to worsen the tightening sensation deep in his chest, the hot bile rising in the back of his throat. His damaged nerves were aflame from the pressure of his grip, but at least the pain grounded him.
"I warned you."
Screwing his eyes shut, Barney felt another wave of hot, bitter nausea threaten to spill his drab breakfast into the sink. Somehow, he doubted it would taste any better coming up than it had going down. He squeezed the cold porcelain and waited it out.
Why me?
The thought kept running through his head, like some sick, twisted version of the carousel his mom had spent a quarter of her day's wages to take him on as a kid. Recently, all Barney seemed to have were questions.
Questions for Eli that couldn't be answered because it was too dangerous and if he knew he might not believe, would open the door to more questions that couldn't be answered. Why choose him for this job? Why not someone – anyone else? There were so many other heroes and strategists in the rebellion, so why him?
Questions that he had resigned himself to never discovering the answer. What had happened to his mother? His girlfriend, Lauren, who he had never truly learned to appreciate until she was gone, who had deserved so much better?
And what about Gordon? The last time he saw his friend, it had been to watch him hurtle himself into a swirling vortex back at Black Mesa ten years ago. A small part of him still hoped he would be able to pay him back with that beer, all these years later. It wouldn't be too far-fetched, when others like him, Kleiner, Eli, and even Breen made it out, would it?
Ironically, Barney had once believed that it was those loose ends that would drive him crazy. The uncertainty, the guilt, it would all become too much, and he would do something stupid that got him killed or end it himself rather than surrender to the Combine. That seemed the only two ways to go, both easier than continuing on with all his unanswered questions.
That was years ago, though. Now, he knew otherwise. Now, he knew it was this damn job that would kill him.
To call the role of a Civil Protection Officer in City 17 a "job" was generous. When Eli had approached Barney just about a month ago and asked him of all people to act as a spy for them, a mole in the ranks of Civil Protection in the biggest city in the world, Barney had almost refused outright. CPOs were nothing more than bullies; they clung desperately to the only power a human could have under the smothering control of the Combine. They betrayed humanity itself for the novelties of running water, a bed to sleep in, and steady meals. And if they weren't in it for themselves, if they were simply looking for a way to stay with and support the one or two people who depended on them…
Well, Barney had already learned that they would have to surrender their morals completely or go mad in the process.
Nausea slowly subsiding, Barney took a shaky step back from the sink, stopped when his back hit the wall behind him. He slid down it, rested his forearms on his knees, staring at the thick layers of bandages wrapped around his hands. The pain had faded to a dull throb. Gingerly, he began to unwrap them.
In his mind's eye, he could still see the look of pleading on the man's face, hear echoes of the terror in his voice.
When he finally, reluctantly accepted Eli's plan, he knew it would be hard. He knew the kind of lives citizens living in the Combine's cities had to endure – many of his cohorts had joined the Rebellion because they couldn't stand the thought of those they left behind – but if those cheesy, 30-second G.I. Joe cartoons he watched when he was a kid had taught him anything, knowing was only half the battle. And the war had just begun.
"I warned you. I warned you…"
Of all the things Barney thought he would have to do in his second week working for Civil Protection, a public execution was not one of them. He had been willing to confiscate contraband, raid apartments, make arrests, even enact punishments if it came down to it. Of course, it felt horrible, like a contradiction to his very existence, and he knew that the faces of each of the people he was forced to brutalize for the "greater good" would be seared in to his mind forever.
So, he struck with as little force as he could without appearing lackluster. He pretended not to notice that hidden compartment where vital medications or smuggled rations were hidden. He made promises under his breath to terrified citizens to do whatever he could to make sure they were transferred somewhere, anywhere other than Nova Prospekt. He was subtle in his rebellion.
Until he couldn't. Until the innocent man they had come to arrest for being a known companion to a rebel insurgent tried to make a break for it, and Barney was the newbie so why not prove your mettle? Why not prove your loyalty to the Combine? Resisting arrest is a crime punishable by death. So, pull the trigger.
Barney stared dully down at his seared fingertips. After two weeks, the skin was slowly mending itself, no longer the raw, blistering wound it had been. However, where a familiar pattern of waves and swirls had once traced tiny paths into his fingertips, it would soon be smooth, unrecognizable. At first, he had questioned why. What did the Combine possibly have to gain in removing the fingerprints of every newly initiated Civil Protection officer? If anything, it only hurt them, since it meant an officer would be unable to operate at their full capacity for weeks afterwards.
Barney Calhoun was by no means the world's smartest man. He was the security guard surrounded by geniuses, the sidekick in a superhero flick, the second fiddle in a music piece. But even he could be perceptive when he wanted to be, and the longer he spent in City 17 watching the cruel, monotonous lives of the people wasting away around him, the better he understood the Combine's motives.
Fingerprints were unique to every human being. Before the Combine, before the Seven Hour War, governments used them to identify their citizens. They were the mark of an individual. And the first and most widespread tactic the Combine used to prevent insurrection was the destruction of the individual. Everyone was a part of the greater body of the Combine. Anomalies were viewed as cancerous, to be cut out and annihilated efficiently and without mercy.
Whether he knew it or not, whether he wanted to or not, Barney Calhoun was now a part of the Combine, and that scared him more than anything. He didn't want to become one of the brutal, soulless metrocops who had their humanity surgically removed, day in and day out, by the horrific things they were forced to do and witness. They were willing to sacrifice anything to survive, to keep from going insane.
And that was how Barney knew he would fail.
It had been that way from the very beginning, if only Eli could see it. Barney wasn't the savior that humanity needed. Already, he could feel the guilt chewing away at his sanity like acid. How long would it be before he was forced to either toss it aside or go mad?
It was yet another question without an answer.
Who knows, maybe the end would come before then? Maybe the prophesied savior of humanity would come tomorrow, and save Barney and the whole world from this living hell?
"Calhoun? What the hell are you doing down there?"
Barney shot to his feet, wide eyes landing on Lev Simons, one of the other CPs in Barney's unit. He forced himself to relax, throwing on an easy, relaxed grin.
"Just making sure the grout's clean," he replied lightly, stretching out his arms like he was just finishing a day's hard work. In a way he was, if he were a philosopher, and his job was to contemplate the mysteries of the mortal world.
The joke seemed to do its job, though, and Simons relaxed visibly before saying, "captain's asking for you." His gaze fell on Barney's raw, unbandaged hands. "I would hurry up with that cleaning if I were you."
With that, Simons turned on his heels and left.
As soon as he was gone, Barney's expression deflated. The grin fell off his face like paint washing away in the rain.
Whatever came next, Barney had to tread carefully. It was a thin line between cruelty and insanity, and he was walking it. He just hoped Eli was right.
A/N: As usual, I hoped you enjoyed, and I really appreciate any feedback you have to offer. Things have been really crazy for me recently, settling into college life, but hopefully I'll be able to stay on the whump-fueled grind this year! I'm already doing better than last year, so that's enough improvement for me.
Until we meet again,
- Bubblez