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If he was being honest, Robert wasn’t surprised that Blazer had come after him. She was just like Shroud had said; a true superhero. Real. Solid. He had still been relieved from her voice and the heat of her powers as they flared. The blood both rushing to his head and dripping down his chest made it hard to concentrate but he could plainly hear the Red Ring gang shuffling nervously. Even heard them mutter about not wanting to lose a limb again. Good. That’s what they deserved for making his back act up for the third time this week.
“—ing sooner than you think,” his brain catches Shroud’s parting words amidst the spinning. He gets chills up his spine from more than just having his shirt gone and he hates it. Fuck that gravely tone.
Shroud leaves, Coupé casting one last look at him before following, and Robert’s eyes blearily lift to Blonde Blazer. Her gaze is locked on to the villains, burning golden and he’s about to ask her if she would be so kind as to cut him down when she darts after them. He blinks at the light trail she leaves and sputters only to cough as it leaves his chest aching.
“Bl-Blazer, wait—” he calls out and struggles, chains clanging together. It does nothing, of course, except make his face flush. It was one thing to allow his guard to fall enough to get kidnapped, but to be strung up, useless and injured, like a fish ready for slaughter was downright embarrassing. He wants to fight—he needs to fight, he always has and Shroud is right there. If he could just get down, catch his breath, and grab a knife, he would chase the fucker down until his heart gave out.
“Blazer, come back, I-I can—”
“You can what, Bob Bob? Pass out and fall on your dumb face?”
The air in Robert’s lungs leaves him all at once and he whips his head around to look at the door.
He had expected Blonde Blazer.
He had not expected to see six familiar criminals standing in the doorway.
“Y…You’re…what are you…” His voice gives out, breaking on the last word. “You’re all—”
“Here to save you like a couple’a heros?” Prism finishes for him. “You bet your skinny ass we are.”
She lowers her visor to wink at him, then takes off with Punch Up in the direction Blazer went. Behind her, his blurry vision allows him to make out the upside forms of Flambae, Malevola, Sonar, and Golem.
The demon walks over and in a flash the chain is cut through, a pink haze lighting the room. Robert lets out a yelp, imagining he’ll collapse on the ground in a heap of broken bones. But red, muscular arms catch him and gently lower him.
“Quite a damsel you make, eh?” Malevola says with a smirk.
Robert stares at her, still not able to believe what’s happening.
Flambae strides over, an unimpressed eyebrow raised. “Jesus, did they scramble his head too much? Are we gonna have to find another fucking dispatcher?”
“I’m the only one who can put up with your annoying asses,” he shoots back reflexively and shakes his head, willing it to clear. Once the black spots recede, he properly looks at them. They seem…relieved, for some reason. Like they’d been holding their breath. “You guys…you came with Blazer?”
“Fucking obviously. Is there a leak in your head that’s getting rid of all your common sense?”
The insult rolls right off his back. “How’d she—how’d any of you know?”
“CCTV footage caught you walkin’ in but never out,” Malevola tells him. “And once we realized there were no more patrons and the alarming amount of red light inside, it wasn’t hard to figure shit out.”
“Oh.” Then, “Why?” It bursts out of him before he can swallow it. His self control is a little lax at the moment, sue him.
Flambae scoffs. Sonar’s ear flicks while Malevola’s tail twitches. Golem rumbles. They all avoid his eyes.
“Because, fucker! We–We—” their local firestarter snaps, baring his teeth.
“We didn’t want to deal with Chase, you know…dying of heart break,” Sonar supplies, crossing his arms. “Or… whatever.”
“Who would walk Beef?”
“And good dispatchers are hard to come by these days.”
“Yeah.”
Robert narrows his eyes, ready to poke the subject, but a stabbing pain in his stomach prevents him. He gasps, jerking in Malevola’s arms and grabbing whatever he can reach, which happens to be her neck and his dirtied pants.
“The fuck? What’d you do?” someone yells, hands hot like coals on his arm.
“I didn’t do shit! It's his injuries, dick!”
“You picked him up!”
“You’re the one who was scared of what he looked like, I didn’t see you offering to help!”
“I was not scared, you fucking—”
The raised voices don’t bother him. In fact, they’re sort of like background noise for his agony. It’s like he swallowed acid, like it trickled down into his lungs and stuck to everything. He can’t get enough air in and it hurts. He can’t breathe no matter how hard he tries—fuck, he can’t fucking breathe he can't fucking breathe. Panic blooms inside him and he struggles in his teammate’s arms, weakly pulling away. The action worsens the pain and he wheezes, letting out a strangled groan.
There’s a burst of heat nearby. “Woah, woah, don’t go dying, dickhead!”
“Everyone knows you stay still when you have like, fifty stab wounds!”
“F-Fuh…fuck," Robert grunts, closing his eyes and clenching his jaw until he feels his teeth creak. “God damn..."
“Not helping, you guys,” he hears Malevola snap. “Here, let me…”
He’s shifted until hard ground presses against his legs. Large hands wrap around his waist, fingers brushing over the cuts Coupé so nicely gifted him. He curses and tries to curl in on himself, move away from more pain but something thin and solid stops him. It loops around his back and holds him in place.
“Hey, hey, none of that, bud,” the demon chides. “You’re gonna feel a little tickle, alright? Don’t freak.”
Her hands return, only this time they’re hot. It makes him pause. It doesn’t feel that bad, he guesses. A little weird. Almost like heating pads.
Then she pushes the heat into him.
It’s like the liquid fire all over again, but this time, it’s being poured on his injuries, grabbing all the torn flesh and burnt nerves and yanking them together. And it really fucking hurts. Robert can’t swallow the keen that leaves his throat, nor can he hold in the writhing his body does at the strange, invasive sensation. The arm slung around her neck tightens as he clings to her. He thinks he even cries if the stinging in his eyes is anything to go by and he can’t muster any mortification about doing so. He was used to pain, had accepted it would be a constant in his life for 15 years, but this was different. It was too encompassing, too much everywhere.
“M’almost done, hold on, hold on…” Malevola murmurs, what sounds like sympathy in the words.
Faintly, he hears his team talking to him. They fade in and out courtesy of the ringing in his ears, but he recognizes their voices, how could he not? He hears them all fucking day long.
A warm hand is wrapped around his ankle. “Take some deep breaths. It’s fucking easy, even you could do it.”
Another grips his shoulder. “Her healing rocks, but God, does it hurt like a bitch. Makes me wanna crawl into a hole. Hold on for a bit longer, Robby.”
“You got this boss. Ain’t nothing for you.”
“H-Hell of a pept-talk,” he grinds out, digging his forehead into Malevola’s collarbone as the temperature reaches a peak. “Should t-think of…of bein’ therapists…”
“Fuck’s sake, shut up and focus on not dying.”
Robert’s lip curls.
It takes a few seconds, a few very agonizingly long seconds, but the heat gradually fades. It leaves him panting and shaking and feeling like he’d been put through a paper shredder.
“Think you overdid it, Mal.”
And with a bloody nose. That tracks.
“Shit! Sorry, babes,” she apologizes and finally releases him. Something takes his jaw and swipes under his nose. “Haven’t worked on humans that much. Forgot how fragile and squishy you are.”
He bats at her hand. “Okay, Phenomaman.”
“Oh, he’s got jokes now,” Golem snickers behind him.
Robert takes a cautious breath in. His chest and lungs still ache fiercely but the crushing pressure and burning that had accompanied every inhale is gone.
“Yeah, I may have gotten a little overcooked, but s’okay,” he says, pressing a hand to his abdomen and is pleased to find it doesn’t feel like a knife is wedged between his ribs. “That–That was amazing, Mal. I owe you.”
She smiles, fangs dangerously close to his neck. “Nah, you don’t. But hey feel free to buy those bagels from Burnie’s next time you do a coffee run. Get me one of those cinnamon sugar puppies and we’re golden.”
“You got it.”
She winks and stands, bringing him along with her. His legs protest and he wobbles but manages to stay upright.
“Where’s Blazer?” His eyes sweep across the destroyed bar to the open back door. The red lighting illuminates the crushed glass and puddles of his blood. The stench of iron makes him feel ill. He’d never really gotten used to it despite patching himself up over the years. He can’t hear anything to indicate a fight, though that could be from being hit in the face earlier. “We… We should f-find her, Shroud wouldn’t just let her leave, we–we need to—”
Sonar snorts. “We don’t need to do anything, Robby. She’s got it handled.”
“I know she’s strong, but Shroud’s—”
A curse comes from behind him. “Don’t worry about Shroud, idiot. Worry about yourself, for God’s sake.”
Robert rolls his eyes and regrets the action as his stomach twists. He bites his cheek and touches his head, wincing from the pounding. It feels like his eyes are about to pop out of their sockets. The arm around his back disappears and he cracks an eye open to see Malevola in front of them, claymore in hand. She heaves it over her shoulder and cleaves a portal into the air with a growl. Robert scrunches his nose up as the strong smell of sulfur blows through.
“Where are—” He gets cut off from something suddenly being at his side supporting him. He tenses without thinking, nearly flinching. It’s obviously not Malevola, given she’s talking to Golem, so he turns his head.
“Geez, you don’t stop with the questions, do you?” Flambae sighs down at him. “S’like we’re at work again.”
He stares, then utters a simple, flat, “No.” He waits to be shoved aside or forward into the portal. He expects a comment about how fucked up he looks, how he deserves it for lying to them and and injuring the other all those months ago. However, none of that happens. Flambae instead just…holds him steady. Takes the strain off his leg that had been Toxic’s plaything for the past two hours.
Robert lets out a breath and hesitantly relaxes his shoulders. The ex-villain responds by tightening his grip on his waist slightly.
“Thanks,” he murmurs. Then, because his weary brain finally registers it, adds, “Holy shit, you’re warm.”
Flambae’s expression freezes before he scoffs, looking away. “Yeah, no shit, Bob Bob. I wonder why.”
“Fuck off, I’m half naked here.” Robert presses closer, not caring how ridiculous it looks and the startled sound he earns. He just barely holds back a groan of relief. The sweat and blood from the beatings had hidden how cold the bar was and it hadn’t been on the very long list of concerns he’d mentally created. The heat from Flambae thaws the bitter chill that had spread over his body. “You try hanging upside down and being tortured all night and we’ll see how you feel.”
“Coupé’s little knives wouldn’t have worked against my skin. I control the fire—”
“And the flame, yeah, we know.”
“Oh, don’t even start, Mecha boy—”
“Wanna say it again? For the millionth time?”
“Want me to drop you?”
“Oi, enough arguing, let’s get a move on,” Malevola interrupts, thumping her weapon on the ground.
Robert turns and finds his living room in front of them. It takes him a few seconds for it to click. “What the fuck? No. No no no, I’m not just leaving—”
“Yes, the fuck you are,” Sonar crows and pushes him towards it. “We’re getting you out of here.”
“But Blazer—”
“—is fine and will meet back up with us in a bit. Inside your sad apartment.”
“There were like thirty guys!”
“Which is why Prism and Punch Up went to help her,” Malevola chimes in.
Flambae steps forward, dragging him along. “They got it covered, quit nagging.”
“Gotta chill, man,” Golem seriously tells him.
“No, I’m not gonna chill.” Robert digs his feet into the ground and ignores the shocks of pain that shoot up his ankles. “I can’t just leave while she’s fighting them!”
Flambae tsks. “For the love of all that is holy, stop acting like a moron.”
“I’m a part of this team, same as all of you!” He doesn’t mean to let his voice get so loud and angry. “I deserve the chance to help another member!”
“You are injured, you ass!” the ex-villain snaps and stops moving. He glares down at him. “You’re in pain and not thinking clearly, so you need to listen to us.”
“I am—"
“No, you’re listening to that ego of yours.”
“Oh, like you’re one to talk!”
“Augh—you fucking imbecile!"
The insult doesn’t bother him. What does is the exasperated glance Malevola and Sonar exchange. It makes his hackles raise.
“Stop treating me like I’m some liability,” he says, nearly spitting. “I don’t have powers, I’m well aware of that, but I’m not some weak human who doesn’t know what he’s doing. I was Mecha Man for 15 fucking years, I know how to fight.”
“You literally have a concussion, mate.”
“So? I’ve had plenty of concussions, they didn’t stop me from taking down shitheads.”
Flames lick up Flambae’s arm as he huffs and turns towards the rest of them. “This is insanity. Who has the sedative?”
Sonar’s ears pin back. “You don’t have it?”
“Why would I?” He gestures to the deep-V of his suit. “Do you see pockets on this thing?”
“I think Punch-Up has it," Golem says.
“Why the fuck would he?”
“He wears pants, man!” Sonar defends.
“Oh no, you are not drugging me, you overgrown candle,” Robert all but snarls, ignoring the smell of smoke coming from next to him.
“Ugh, now your insults aren’t even good!”
“Your attitude is killing my sympathy, Bob Bob.”
“You wouldn’t treat Blazer like this! Or Prism, or Coupé!”
“Yes, we would!”
He tries shoving his human-torch- turned-crutch off, but he holds firm, as do the others. Oddly enough, aside from mild irritation, they don’t seem upset.
“Robert.”
He whips around at his name, breathing hard. Malevola slings her claymore on her back and walks over to him. She stares down at him and he does the same, ready to demand to leave. Without warning, her hand reaches out and takes his chin. He’s too caught off guard to pull away. That, and he can feel what little energy he has left draining.
“We’re not benching you,” she says, fixing a serious look at him.
Robert clenches his jaw. “Yeah? What do you call this?”
Her expression doesn’t change. “Helping a teammate.” Her hand moves to cup the back of his neck, successfully driving away his irritation. His skin burns at the touch and his breath catches when she presses her fingers into the muscle. Like a reassurance.
“I–I…” His tongue feels heavy. “You don’t have to…”
“We’re not benching you,” she repeats. “We’re taking you to some place safe where you can take a moment and rest. That’s it. We’re going to patch you up and once you’re not in any danger of biting it, then we’ll make a plan. A plan with all of us involved, okay? No one’s saying you’re weak or can’t keep up with us.”
“But I don’t need…to-to rest, I…I can fight,” he insists even as he leans more heavily on Flambae.
“I know you can. We all know that.” Malevola’s hand shifts to his shoulder and squeezes. “But we’re worried about you.”
What?
Robert’s mind stutters like how it had earlier, though, it was for a different reason. Before, it was simply from the shock of seeing his team. Now, it was from not being able to comprehend what she’d said. He furrows his eyebrows and looks to all of them as if he’ll find an answer. They meet his gaze despite appearing somewhat embarrassed. And he didn’t understand.
“You’re worried?” he echoes. “Why?”
They let out sighs and muttered words, like he’d done something stupid.
The demon doesn’t have pupils, but manages to give a good impression of rolling her eyes. “Gee, I wonder.” She pats his arm and leans back, tail gesturing to his apartment. “I’ll give you some time to think on it. What do you say?”
His first thought is to refuse. To double down and tell them to let him go, and to run to where Blazer is because he can’t let her go in with just two heroes. It wasn’t enough. He’d seen what Shroud was capable of, he’d known what it was like to have his life devastated by the bastard. He didn’t want anyone to know that feeling, not his teammates and certainly not the person who gave him a second chance. It was instinct, to push his aches and pains to the side and focus on the problem, to do anything to find a solution, regardless of how much he would get hurt.
It didn’t matter how he felt, what mattered, above all else, was the mission. That’s what good ol’ Astral had taught him.
But that had been when he was on his own. Just Robert and the suit. Doing endless patrols of the city, stopping crime, saving people, spending hours repairing the only thing that gave him purpose and gaining more scars as the years went by. He’d never had someone tell him you need to slow down or you need to give yourself a moment or catch your breath before you fall apart and can’t get back up.
It was weird being on the end of that. Aside from Chase cornering him a few days after his father’s funeral and demanding to know if he was okay, Robert hadn’t had someone to worry about him. No one had been there to stop him from pushing his body to the limit, to force him to sleep when he was this close to pinning down Shroud, and to soothe his overwhelmed, panicked breathing after waking up from a bullet tearing through his chest.
What was he meant to do with this—this worry from his team? How was he supposed to accept it, to swallow it and not choke after being deprived for so long?
He didn’t know. He didn’t think he would know for a while.
There was one thing he did know, however.
He was tired. From his toes to his eyes he was exhausted and spent in a bone-deep way that had nothing to do with being tortured. And sitting down on his overstuffed couch sounded like the best thing in the world right now.
“Okay,” Robert says. It felt a little like defeat and he could see his father’s frown of disapproval in his mind, but, you know what? Fuck him. “I guess… taking a breather wouldn’t hurt.”
“Thank fucking Christ.”
“Finally, some common sense.”
“Good move, bossman.”
He shakes his head at the exclamations and lets his body truly release all its tension. Flambae makes a surprised sound but doesn’t say a word as he adjusts his grip to hold the man’s weight.
“You gotta work out more, Mecha dick,” he whispers as they walk to the portal. “You’re, like, really skinny. In a bad way. It’s kinda freaking me out.”
“No shit, I was in a coma for over four months,” Robert replies dryly.
“You need to go to the gym,” he continues. “Build up muscle. And eat more protein.”
“I eat fine.”
“We’ve all seen you eat those Twinks.”
“For the last time, they’re not Twinks—”
“I’ll spot you when this shit is over. Make sure you don’t kill yourself again.”
“What a generous offer.”
“Well, duh. I am extremely generous and kind. And attractive.”
Robert snorts, the laugh sounding more like a cough. It makes his ribs hurt and he nearly doubles over until he’s caught. “Ow.”
“Flambae, stop messing with him,” Malevola calls over her shoulder.
“I’m not! He’s being weird.”
He can’t help but chuckle again and it turns into a giggle as he feels dizzy. God, he needed to lay down.
“Maybe we should’ve sedated him,” Sonar mutters.
“He’s probably just finally crashing.” Something brushes lightly against his arm, lightly pulling at him.
A strange sensation washes over Robert, like his body being tugged in multiple directions. He shudders and opens his eyes. He watches his living room warp and twist until it reshapes back into reality.
“It still sucks in here,” Flambae announces, looking around with his lips curled in disgust. “You haven’t done any shopping since that night?”
“Yeah, sorry, Rob, but this is sad. Like, so sad. You need some color. Or another chair, at least. Do you actually sleep on this thing?”
“Really fucking empty,” Golem adds.
“Been a little busy, sorry,” Robert weakly fires back and cradles his head with a hand. “And I used to, but Royd helped me get an actual bed. Said he depressed him too much to think of me in the plastic one.”
“He was right.”
“Thank God.”
“Put him down,” Malevola orders and the next thing he knows he’s being lifted off his feet. He can’t muster up the energy to feel indignant and simply lets it happen. He’d most likely faceplant on the ground if he tried to walk on his own.
He’s lowered to something soft and he sighs with relief at the familiar old cushions. “Thanks,” he murmurs.
“Where’s your first aid?”
“C-C…ab…cabinet…” He coughs and clears his throat. “Kitchen cabinet. B-Bottom right.”
Voices and footsteps walk away and he closes his eyes, exhaustion pulling at his limbs. It feels like only a few seconds go by before he’s being shook awake.
“Mm.”
“Robby.”
“Yeah.”
“You gotta sit up.”
He groans and curls away from the voice.
“No, c’mon. We gotta bandage those cuts and shit.”
“Ugh…”
He’s panting by the time he’s fully upright.
“Okay, do you have a preference where we start?”
He shrugs. “Go for it.”
“Alright. I’ll go as fast as I can.”
He isn’t prepared for the sudden searing, white-hot pain that attacks his abdomen. Robert yells, immediately tensing and moving away from whatever is causing his the horrible feeling, only to be grabbed and held in place.
"Jesus, what the—”
“I can’t help it if you're a squirmin’ like a rabbit caught in a trap, babes.”
He opens an eye to find Malevola looming over him, the first aid open on the floor. Her hair has been pulled back. Her tail holds a roll of gauze while in one hand she has a damp towel.
She raises an eyebrow. “You gonna let me do my thing?”
He huffs what’s a mix of a laugh and annoyed groan, but forces his shoulders to relax. He can’t hide the winces that twist his face as she cleans the array of cuts on his ribs. The others chat quietly in his kitchen, looking over every once and a while at two of them. He thinks of asking what they’re doing, then decides against it.
“I thought you already healed me,” he says after a few minutes. Talking keeps his mind off the pain. “At the bar.”
“I did,” she replies, not looking up. “The big, nasty ones, I mean. You had two broken ribs, acid burns all over your leg and back, and a burst blood vessel in your eye.” She glances at him and snorts at his expression. “I could only do a few of the smaller injuries after those, though. My healing has a limit. If I had tried to do more, it would’ve started affecting my body. And I have no idea if you would’ve been able to handle it. Might’ve popped like a balloon or had your brain turn to mush. I dunno, something like that.”
“Wow. Yeah, uh, that sounds…not fun.”
She puts the towel down and rips off a piece of gauze with her teeth. “So, you lucky duck, you’re gonna have to put up with these healing the old fashioned way.”
“Yippee.”
“Turn around. I gotta do your back.”
Robert makes a face but does so and endures more stinging and burning. He has to admit, Malevola makes for a pretty damn good nurse. She’s careful and doesn’t pull too tight with the bandages and lets him take a moment if it gets too much.
“Would’ve been great to have you at the start,” he mumbles absently, fingers picking at a loose thread.
“Hm?”
“When I became Mecha Man.”
She glances away from picking glass out of his arm. “What about it?”
“Patchin’ me up.”
She laughs and nudges his leg. “What're you talkin’ about, mate?”
“I got my ass beat a lot,” he clarifies. “I had to keep buying bandaids and shit ‘cause I would go out on patrol and run into some idiots. I could only afford to go to the hospital so many times before it was too expensive, so I had to deal with it myself. S’just funny.”
Malevola’s tail wraps loosely around his ankle. “Doesn’t sound funny. Sounds like it sucked.”
“Yeah, it did. Sometimes. A lot of the time. I don't know. But it was my job so…I dealt with it.”
She hums and doesn’t say any more.
A voice in his head says Robert shouldn’t have said that, but he’s too tired to care. He can feel shitty about being honest in the morning.
“Okay, that’s the best I can do,” she states a little bit later and leans back on her heels, tail stabilizing her. “Even with my healing, you need to take it easy. Don’t go backflipping or whatever, alright?”
He shifts, testing how much pain follows the action. There’s the stiffness that always came with getting injured, only worse this time, but it wasn’t unbearable. “I couldn’t do that even if I wanted to, don’t worry.”
“Good.”
She goes to stand, but Robert’s hand shoots out and grabs her wrist. They both stare at it, then each other. She looks surprised. His face flushes but he doesn’t let go. He tugs at her until she bends back down.
“I know I said it before, but…thank you.” He feels awkward, then embarrassed that he feels awkward. Normal people don’t feel weird for thanking someone. “Seriously. You didn’t have to do this, any of you guys, but you did, so… thanks. You’re good teammates.”
Malevola’s face softens. “You’re welcome, Robert.” She leans in and kisses his cheek. “Besides, we can’t lose our dispatcher.” She ruffles his hair until it sticks up and he has to push her away. She grins and walks towards the others.
He smiles back and refuses to acknowledge how his throat feels tight after the gestures. It’s not because he wants to cry, not at all, so shut the fuck up. It’s the popped blood vessel she mentioned or whatever.
“Hey, Bobert, want some drugs?” Sonar calls out.
He wipes at his face for good measure. “Not really in the mood for coke, dude.”
The bat hybrid scoffs. “I’m not offering you coke right now, dingus. If you want some later, I’m definitely your man. I meant this.” He tosses a bottle.
Robert just barely catches it and sends an unimpressed look at the ex-villain.
“If you give him another concussion, I’m taking your Switch for the week,” Malevola threatens from the sink.
“Sorry…”
He has to squint to read the label but he would have collapsed to the floor if he weren’t already sitting. Tylenol, sweet, amazing Tylenol, oh God. Before he can ask for some, a water bottle drops out of the air next to him. He sees the haze of pink fade and manages another quick thank you before chugging the liquid. He nearly finishes the bottle and has to be told, i.e., yelled at by Flambae to save some for the medicine. As he’s swallowing, his wall cracks open. On its own, that’s a concerning sentence, but he’s become so used to the strangeness in his new life he doesn’t even blink.
Punch Up walks out first, smiling and cracking his knuckles. He has a bruise on his cheek and spatters of dark red on his sleeves but appears unharmed otherwise. In fact, he looks like a kid who got to go to a candy store with a pocket full of money. Prism follows behind him and the only thing out of place is a crack in her visor.
“Robby!” the Irishman exclaims happily. “Look at you, sittin’ upright! How you feelin’?”
Robert shrugs. “Could be worse.”
“Yeah, you could be cut open like a damn present,” Prism pipes up and looks at him over her visor. He sees a streak of blood on her forehead, half hidden by her bangs. “You’re lucky we got to you, Mr. Dispatcher.”
He thinks of sniping back. It was what they did, what they were used to. But what had happened tonight wasn’t what he was used to. It felt weird to go back to their normal routine.
“You’re right,” he says honestly. “I’m lucky guys were there for me.”
She looks like someone ripped a microphone away from her. Then she hides her gaze and tosses her hair. “Man, don’t do that shit.”
“What shit?”
“You know,” is all she says.
“Glad you’re okay, lad,” Punch Up tells him and–thankfully–gently pats his knee. “We beat those fuckers up, don’t you worry. They won’t be able to jerk it for a good while.”
“That—That is reassuring. Thanks, man.”
The fighter walks to Sonar and Golem and excitedly tells them what happened, miming putting someone in a headlock. Prism heads over to Flambae and starts going on about how they kicked the Red Rings ass. The man who does a quick up and down of his friend before smirking and boasting about how he knew it’d be no issue.
“Robert!”
He turns and sees a blur of yellow and blue fly towards him. The flash of red catches his attention.
“Hey, how—” he starts to greet but wheezes as strong arms lift him off the couch.
This is becoming strangely normal, he muses as he’s crushed in an embrace.
“You’re okay! You–You are okay, right? It looked bad, but I couldn’t stay, I–I had to—” Blazer rambles and squeezes until what he can only describe as a squeak escapes him and he pats her back frantically. “Oh, shit!” She lets go and holds him at arm’s length. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I was so worried, I wasn’t sure if—did I reopen anything? Are you bleeding?”
Robert shakes his head. “No, you didn’t, and I’m fine, just take–take a breath, alright? And go easy on the, uh, hugs. Still a little tender.”
She does so, wide blue eyes boring into him and lowers him back on the couch.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—to be like that,” she says, grimacing. Her hands move from under his arms to his hands. “You… you’re okay, though?”
“I think so. I’m only seeing three of you, so…”
"What?"
“Kidding, kidding.” He snorts at her expression. “Yes, I’m okay. Sore, but okay.”
“Good. That’s…that’s good.” She sighs and kneels, looking at the rest of him. He can imagine her brain cataloging every scrape, every bruise and the gauze wrapped around his torso. Her lips contort into a frown and her fingers lift to brush over his ribs. “Jesus…”
A shock goes through him at the contact, burning like it had before, only softer. Robert sucks in a breath. He must’ve gotten hit too many times in the head or his nerves were out of whack because the way Blazer was staring at him made his chest ache. Her gaze was one of sadness, like something precious had developed a crack.
“It’s okay, the team helped me,” he tells her, feeling the need to reassure. “It looks worse than it is, believe me—”
“I know, I saw,” Blazer replies, not unkindly. “They had you hanging from chains…God, Robert, I’m so sorry—”
“No, we’re not starting that shit. Don’t say that, you have nothing to apologize for.”
“I should’ve been monitoring the Ring more closely,” she continues, hand lifting to cover her face. Like she’s ashamed. “I’ve been sending out patrols every other day to keep an eye on them—”
“You don’t need to do that—”
“—but with Shroud’s augments, it’s hard to keep track of it all and it’s not safe and-and I didn’t want to put our heroes in danger—”
“Stop it, c’mon—”
“He keeps slipping through our fingers, and if I had just figured out his plan I could’ve been there and none of this—”
“Mandy,” Robert snaps.
The room goes quiet, along with her.
“Listen to me. I don’t blame you for tonight.” He feels her hands tense on him. “And you can’t blame yourself. The only reason it happened was because of the Shroud. He’s the one who ambushed and beat me, not you. The only reason he stopped was because I wasn’t giving him what he wanted. You and the team saved me.”
She holds his gaze. He knows she doesn’t agree with him, at least not yet. He can’t fault her, he would feel the same if the situation was switched.
“C’mon…be a professional about this,” Robert adds, trying to smile. It’s a bit crooked and painful to do from the punch Toxic gave him, but he didn’t like her looking so upset.
Blazer looks confused for a few seconds before realization hits. She then very carefully nudges his shoulder in a toned down version of a shove.
“That’s not funny,” she scolds, a small smile breaking through.
“S’kinda funny. I’m halfway to becoming a mummy.”
“And you’re as ugly as one.”
“Thank you, Flambae.”
“Can’t give the lad one day of peace, can you?”
“Oh, I’m supposed to be nice after he gets the shit beat out of him?”
“Yeah, man, that’s kinda common courtesy.”
“Why? He’s not dying or anything.”
“Oh my God, you’re such an ass.”
“Fuck off, batbitch.”
Blazer shakes her head at the bickering and Robert takes a moment to study her appearance. Her face has scuff marks and a few tiny cuts edge up towards her mouth. Her hair is in disarray and her uniform is torn along one side. The fear he’d felt earlier at the bar returns and he nudges her foot.
“Hey, are you okay?” he asks softly.
“They got a few good hits in, but I took care of them.”
“Throw them over any roofs?”
“You know, I looked but couldn’t find any. They had to settle for the ground and fire hydrants.”
Robert smirks, though it fades quickly. He fixes a serious face at her. “Don’t go after him alone next time.”
“I wasn’t alone, I had Prism and Punch Up—”
“I know, just—” The thought of his team fighting Shroud is enough to make him feel sick. The idea of having someone he cared about up against the man…it made anxiety curl around his insides like vines. “Just don’t go after him. Not unless it’s all of us. Okay?”
She opens her mouth, then closes it and nods. He’s sure she knows why he’s telling her and he’s glad she isn’t pressing the issue.
Blazer blows out a breath and smooths her hair back. She claps her hands and stands, drawing everyone’s attention. “Alright, you need to rest,” she states, pointing at him and does the same at the others. “And we need to make a plan.”
“Hey, wait, I can help come up with something—”
“No, nope, you are staying right here and taking a break.”
“Malevola patched me up!” he protests.
The blonde raises an eyebrow at him and looks over at the demon.
“Technically, I did.”
“What’s this technically bullshit? You fixed my ribs!"
Blazer rounds on him. “What was wrong with your ribs?”
“He had some broken ones—”
“Extremely bruised ones, thank you,” Robert cuts in. God, he sounds like the Z-Team when they’re complaining about sitting a call out because of an injury. “Look, I’m not bleeding out and I can talk fine, just let me get a shirt on and I’ll—”
“Robert, as your boss and friend, I’m not letting you move from the couch for at least an hour.”
He groans. “Mandy, c’mon…”
“Sorry, that’s an order.” She puts her hands up in surrender and smiles. “Be a professional and all that.”
“Boo. Don’t steal my joke.”
“I was the one who created it, Robert Robertson. Now put your feet up and relax. Or, you know, try to.”
He makes a face at the full name. They have a brief staredown that ends in him conceding and laying down with a huff, his arms crossed.
Blazer gives him a thumbs up and walks down the hall, probably to his bedroom. The team glance between her and him as though they’re unsure of who to listen to, and eventually file after her. They send him waves and encouraging looks as they pass, to which he nods at. He hears their footsteps pause and a door close a moment later.
Robert strains to listen, to catch any bit of dialogue, but is unsuccessful. He turns his eyes to the ceiling and blinks at the cracks and water stains. He holds his hand up and clenches it into a fist. He watches it shake and bites his cheek when his muscles burn.
If he really wanted to, he could ignore her and push through the pain. He didn’t like sitting on the bench, and even though Malevola had said that’s what they weren’t doing, it sure as hell felt like it. The whole reason he agreed to take up the mantle as Mecha Man was because he’d seen his father help the city, help the people. As much as Astral had neglected his son, he’d never once neglected his duty as a hero. Robert had wanted to do what he did. He wanted to be there for those in need, to be the thing they counted on. Growing up, he’d had Chase, but not everyone had a hero in their life. He wanted to be that for people. And that meant not sitting on the sidelines when there was a problem.
But if he was being honest with himself, he wouldn’t be much help in his current state. Regardless of being mostly healed, he wasn’t fit to go off on a rampage, no matter how much he wished to do so. His head wasn’t clear and his body was weak. As much as it stung, he was a liability right now, which was the last thing he needed to be.
Robert sighs and closes his eyes.
It’s silent for no more than ten seconds when a voice speaks up.
“You’re really going to sleep like that? You’ll fuck up your neck, man.”
"Jesus!" Robert jumps and snaps his head up to find Flambae at the foot of the couch. His back and ribs protest violently. “What the hell?”
“What? You’re gonna get a bitch of a crick.”
“You’re a bitch a crick,” he hisses, out of breath. “Did you need something?”
Flambae doesn’t reply. He also doesn’t look away. He’s staring intently at him like he’s solving a puzzle and Robert isn’t afraid to admit it’s a bit uncomfortable. Just as he’s getting weirded out, the pyromaniac walks around and sits on the couch.
“Uh.” Robert glances at the hall. “You good? Something wrong?”
“Are you good?”
“What?”
“Are you good?”
“...Yeah? I just told you guys I am.” The hell was going on? “Not everyone can have super healing, but I’m fine.”
“And you’re not lying?”
“What are you—” Robert realizes that despite attempting to appear disinterested, the other is concerned. That’s what the odd tone in his words was; concern. “I’m not lying. As long as I rest and take it easy, I’ll be okay after a week or two.”
Flambae nods and turns his eyes to the living room.
Robert watches him, a smile working its way onto his face. “You really were worried about me, huh?”
His quiet accusation has an immediate effect. Flambae’s hair sparks and bursts into flames at the end of his ponytail as he whips his head around. He opens his mouth and Robert waits, eyebrows raised. The ex-villain’s eyes dart to the gauze around his waist and within seconds, the fire extinguishes on its own. He growls under his breath and shakes the faint embers off of him. The fade in the air and he’s left with the smell of a blown out candle over him.
“...A little,” Flambae mutters, shrugging jerkily and avoiding the other’s amused gaze. “Didn’t want to deal with a dispatcher who doesn’t know what the fuck they’re doing. Or whatever.”
“Uh-huh.”
Flambae blows a puff of smoke out of his mouth. His eyes keep dropping to his torso and Robert can see his jaw tighten intermittently.
“It’s not polite to stare,” he remarks. “What, is it the scars? Didn’t think you’d be squeamish about that kind of stuff.”
Flambae flexes a hand, three fingers opening and closing. “I’m not.”
“Then why are you acting like they owe you money or some shit?” He means it as a joke but the other man just grows more tense. Jesus, did something happen while he was gone? “Seriously, you keep looking at them, what’s wrong?”
“...Does it hurt?”
Robert blinks. “Does what hurt?”
“Your…” Flambae gestures to his body. “The scars and injuries. Do they hurt?”
His reflex is to reply with, Fucking duh. Why wouldn’t they hurt? I got skewered like a fucking turkey by an assasain all night. But the atmosphere in the room is weird. Still. Charged. Something tells him to avoid causing an argument or conflict, which is strange considering who’s with him.
“To be honest, it always hurts, even when I don’t get kidnapped.” Okay, maybe don’t be that honest. Shit. Why would he say that? Why would Flambae care about that?
“What does?”
Well, if he’s apparently saying whatever he wants…
“Everything. Being Mecha Man wasn’t a spa day regardless of how many villians I defeated. I’ve gotten shot at, electrocuted, hunted, and almost drowned even with the protection of the suit. All that leaves its mark on you.” His filter is starting to become an afterthought. All the same, it’s sort of nice to say it out loud. “I’ve got the back of a man twice my age. I have to do stretches every day to make sure I can still bend my arms and legs without a problem. And I can’t move that fast ‘cause I’ve already strained my muscles too many times over the years.” He shrugs a shoulder. “S’what happens when you push yourself over and over again. It comes back to bite you in the ass. But…that’s the life of a hero, right? You put yourself in danger so other people aren’t.”
He doesn’t realize how silent it had gotten. When he closes his mouth, Flambae is quiet. Any sign of irritation in his demeanor is gone and he just looks…Robert doesn’t know. He’s unreadable. It’s weird. Normally, the man’s emotions burn as bright and loud as he does. Before he can ask why, the ex-villain leans forward. He expects maybe a punch to the shoulder and shove and to be told that no one wanted to hear a sob story, especially from the guy who took two fingers from him.
That’s not what happens, however. Instead, Flambae opens his hand and places it on his side. The gauze blocks the sensation only slightly, but within seconds, heat flows out of his palm and into his body. Robert instinctively jerks and sucks in a breath of surprise. The warmth washes over his scars and the tense muscles and soothes them like a balm.
Woah, okay. Okay, he thinks, heartbeat picking up speed. What the fuck.
Flambae watches his reaction carefully. Like he doesn’t know if he’ll be pushed away. Hesitantly, he moves his hand up. His calloused palm passes over a knot behind the other’s shoulder and he presses down on it. Robert makes a noise in his throat and grips the cushion under him. He’d had sore spots for a while, both from pushing his limit when fighting and sitting at a desk all day. He’d tried to take care of them, but it was easy to forget about it and ignore the aches. But as Flambae rubs over it until it’s gone, he kicks himself for not dealing with it earlier. The heat was hot enough to almost hurt but in a good way, like liquid fire running through his nerves and burning away the tension. Jesus, both the contact and the temperature made he feel like he was melting.
He opens his eyes—shit, when did he close them—and looks up at Flambae. Hair hangs over his face, strands curling and his intense focus sends a shiver down Robert’s spine.
Then, as suddenly as he’d done it, he lifts his hand away. It’s steaming and glowing, and it makes Robert briefly worry about his skin being in the same condition. But there’s no pain. And when he glances down, he finds it slightly pinkened. He touches it with a finger and leaves a faint white mark.
“Holy shit, dude,” he laughs, a little breathlessly and sits up. “You could make a lot of money with those hands of yours.”
Flambae’s face flushes and he lifts a shoulder casually.
Robert recognizes the look of embarrassment, having seen it on their teammates’ when he’d praised them after a successful mission. His lips curl up and he nudges the man with his leg. “So you think I’m good at my job, huh?”
“What? I never—”
“You said you didn’t want to deal with a dispatcher who doesn’t know what they’re doing. So that means you think I’m a great dispatcher.”
“No, I meant—”
“Nuh-uh, no take backs. You gave me a compliment.”
“You little…” Flambae’s expression shifts to one of annoyance, but it’s weak. He rolls his eyes and flicks the other in the forehead. “Whatever, Mecha bitch. Don't let it go to your head."
“Hey, fuck you, I’m injured here.” Robert kicks at him with a foot, trying to hide a grin. The action pulls a wince, but the affronted noise the firestarter makes is worth it. Plus, he could see him fighting a grin, too.
Flambae sobers faster than he does. “Did I—Did that, uh, help? The heat?”
For what seems like the twentieth time tonight, Robert’s stunned. He didn’t think he’d ever hear the man sound nervous. “Yeah. It-It did. Thanks.”
He gets a nod, but it feels off. “Do you…want me to, like…leave you alone and shit?”
He’s shaking his head before Flambae’s even finished. “No, you can stay. If you want.” His face feels a little warm. He blames it on being so close to a hero whose main power is creating fire. “As long as, you know, you’re not a dick. Which I know is kinda impossible for you.”
The insult appears to shake him out of his funk. “I think I can manage it.”
Robert whistles. “You sure? I know it’s hard to not say everything that pops into that big head of yours…”
Flambae elbows Robert’s leg hard enough to warrant a look from Blazer if she were present. "Yes, I’m sure.”
He barks out a laugh that stings and slams his foot into the other’s thigh. “Asshole.”
Flambae’s smirking as he does it, barely flinching. “Your attacks are cute. And very weak.”
He places a hand on his stomach and sends a pulse of heat up Robert’s chest. It dissolves the anxiety and discomfort that had been growing between his lungs. He tilts his head back onto the arm rest and relaxes with a sigh.
“I should take you to the palates class Prism and I go to,” he hears Flambae mutter. “It would make your body less pathetic and sad.”
“Didn’t even last a minute in the don't be a dick challenge."
“I’m giving you advice, shithead. Valuable, good advice.”
“Mmhm.”
“You should be grateful.”
I am, Robert thinks drowsily.
“Make sure the others are prepared,” he mumbles. “We need to plan for every possibility. Shroud knows how we fight, he’ll expect anything and everything.”
“We know.”
“And have Malevola heal Prism and Punch Up before we leave.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“I don’t want the Ring seeing an advantage and hurting them.”
“Fucking Christ, alright, yes! You’re such a control freak.”
“You mean a good dispatcher.”
“Oh, you’re never letting that go, are you?”
Robert smiles.
“Fucking rest already. We’ll be here, so stop being a little bitch.”
As bizarre as it was, the words were comforting. Robert finds himself closing his eyes, and for once, feeling safe in his apartment.