Chapter Text
Everything is hazy and moving slowly but still too fast for Robert’s brain to catch up. He can still taste the coppery blood on his tongue from the man’s thumb, and no amount of food is washing it away. The cheap tacos are decent but make his stomach protest against the filling feeling. He can hear his team chatting loudly about the bar fight they just slipped away from. He wants to be present and bond with his team, but all he can focus on is the pain in his ribs and the slight ache in his back; he can’t even make out what they are saying because of the sound of his blood rushing in his ears.
-Flambae-
It takes Invisigal calling Robert’s name three times for the bitch to finally look up. His eyes look a little unfocused, like he isn’t paying any attention to his surroundings. He has a small smudge of blood on the corner of his lip that he tries to wipe off but is unsuccessful—just smearing it more. The dumbass is fumbling more than a baby deer, uncoordinated and lost. Flambae looks away from their dispatcher when the struggling fool just starts to irritate him more. His eyes land back on Visi, who is seemingly unaware of how odd Robert is acting—or just doesn’t care enough to address it. When Robert finally gives her a quick “hm” to acknowledge her, she continues to ask her question. “So,” she waves her hand in his direction, “we know that Robert isn’t actually you. Wanna clue us in to who we really work with? ” That question seems to knock him out of whatever funk he was in; his eyes refocus, looking a bit startled. Flambae can’t deny the curiosity he feels towards that question himself.
Robert tries to deflect the question with no luck; his worry is palpable and entirely frustrating. Why is it that he is so uptight about something that probably isn’t even that important? He’s acting like he’s going to get pummeled if he lets slip who he is.
Flambae is starting to get irritated at the back and forth when Prism intervenes swiftly. “Why don't we all go around and say our names to show that we aren’t going to run off and spill your secret?” She looks up at him as she continues, “Then you can reveal whatever washed-up hero you used to be.” Before he can even respond, people start to speak one after the other.
Visi starts off, looking around before talking around the bite she just took. “My name's Courtney.”
Wetboy stands up after a beat, looking nervous as he speaks—when is he not? “Herm…” He looks around before he speaks again. “Sometimes, Herman. Or Hermy. But my grandma calls me Herm, so, Herm.”
Sonar pipes up next. “My name's Victor.” He smacks the table with his fists. “Cause i’m a fuckin winner.” A few people laugh at that, the tension lightening a bit more as everyone starts to get comfortable.
Prism looks up from her phone. Glasses slipping down her nose, she’s as unfazed as ever. “I’m Alice.”
Golem is straightforward, simply saying. “Bruno.”
You can hear the smile in Malevola's voice when she speaks. “Malevola.” She looks around before tacking on. “My last name’s Gibb.”
Punch-up is surprisingly calm, looking towards Coupe when he speaks. “My name’s Colm.”
Janelle looks at Colm. “Janelle.” They direct it at each other like a reintroduction to someone they haven’t seen in awhile.
Phenomaman lands in front of Robert from wherever he was floating before. “Katon-Ur was the name given to me on my planet.” He pauses quickly, then continues. “When I first arrived on earth, the ladies at the Nordstrom Rack I worked at called me dumpy due to my large posterior.” He smiles at Robert fondly. “You may call me either.”
Everyone looks over to Flambae expectantly; he is not spilling this without knowing if his hunch about Robert is true first, so he proposes his own compromise. “I’ll go after Rob Bob does.” He nods at said man, making sure he hears him loud and clear.
Roberts' shoulders tense up again, looking slightly more startled than before, which only makes Flambae even more suspicious. He can feel Alice’s “wtf” stare without even seeing it, but he doesn’t care; he needs to know. Everyone turns to Robert to see what his reply will be. He glances quickly at everyone before taking a deep breath—one that is labored and uneven, but no one comments on it.
“You’re right, it’s a front.” He gestures at himself while he speaks. “This guy, Robert, is a mask.” Everyone looks a little surprised, but no one interjects as he continues, averting his eyes from everyone's gazes. “He’s not real.” The staring must’ve gotten to be too much because he just closes his eyes, grasping at the edge of the wall he’s sitting on. “He’s the guy who sits behind his desk, biding his time, dreaming of the day he gets back in the fight.” Robert takes another breath, finally opening his eyes to look at everyone head-on. “I haven’t told you who I was because I'm kinda starting to like you all, and I'm not sure you’re gonna like the real me.” His gaze flits over to Flambae for a millisecond, almost unnoticeable, but there is no doubt. “But the difference between this team getting by and this team being great, is trust.” He speaks softer now, eyes slowly going back to being glazed over and unfocused. “So you should get to know the real me, um.” He closes his eyes again, trying not to look as he speaks. “I’m Mecha Man.”
-Robert-
The words sound slow and slurred even to his ears; he is suddenly more exhausted, the adrenaline wearing off in quick waves. The blood rushing through his ears drowns out everything else. He can see people’s lips moving and them glancing back and forth but can’t gauge the reactions. He locks eyes on Flambae; he’s pissed, his eyes locked on one spot, seeming to connect the dots. He stands suddenly, everyone's attention snapping to him. The temperature kicks up several degrees as the man's hands catch alight, flames dancing up his wrists rapidly.
He is approaching Robert quickly; he’s talking, but all Robert can focus on is the blood he originally thought was someone else's that is now pooling in his mouth, coppery and sweet to his taste buds. He tries to keep his eyes on the man who is coming closer, but his sight is starting to go blurry around the edges, and he is seeing double of everything. He wants to explain; he wants to tell them why he kept this secret locked away from them and tell them he cares, but nothing comes out when he stands and tries to speak.
-Flambae-
Flambae wants to burn this lying prick into a charred corpse. He wants to watch him suffer—but even more he wants to curse himself for ever starting to like this man. He is ready to make those first two happen but stops short of a few steps when Robert stands up, swaying slightly, a grimace on his face. He tries to talk, but nothing comes out but a thin stripe of blood that pours from the corners of his mouth.
The flames licking up his shoulders extinguish as he scrambles forward to catch Robert whose body suddenly goes lax and his eyes roll back into his head. He catches him before his head can hit the ground. He looks down at the now unconscious man, mind racing as he tries to figure out what to do.
He looks back at his teammates, suddenly remembering their existence. They are all just standing there staring wide-eyed at the scene playing out in front of them. His temper escalates upon seeing them not moving to help. “Would you guys quit gawking and help him?!? ” He scolds them loud enough to finally break them from whatever trance they were in.
Malevola moves quickly to kneel beside Robert, her hands hover over his stomach, a pink glow emitting from her palms as they roam. “He’s got a few broken ribs, but that shouldn’t be causing the bleeding.” Her words make everyone slightly more panicked. She uses her fingers to open up both his eyes; his pupils are uneven, one almost a pinpoint while the other takes up almost the whole iris. “He’s got a brain bleed, probably from a head injury he sustained during the bar fight.” Mal bites at her lip nervously before looking up at Flambae.
He can’t think straight. What she was saying means they have little time to get him somewhere he can be treated and even less time to stop the bleeding from killing him. Flambae’s mind races trying to think of somewhere or someone that can help. His eyes roam Robert’s face trying to think; more blood starts to slowly trickle from his nose, and that makes him spiral even more.
Someone tries to lift Robert from his arms, and that’s what snaps him from his thoughts. He glares at Sonar until he steps back, hands up in surrender. He finally stands up slowly, trying not to jostle the now dead weight in his arms. He tries to speak clearly, but he can hear the tremor in his voice. “I know someone who can help, but we have to move fast. We don't have much time.”
Later -·-·-·-·-· Chad’s apartment
When they finally stumble out of one of Malevola’s portals into Chad’s apartment, they are all experiencing varying degrees of mental exhaustion, and they are all a little more than dazed. Robert is still out cold, lying limp in Chad’s arms; every so often he’d shift or scrunch his face but never fully return to consciousness.
Their dispatcher has never looked so calm; it makes Chad’s emotions go haywire. Fury, worry, and something akin to wonder swim in his heart. He is still hurt because of their past, but he can’t deny that the feeling of his lax body weight in his arms makes a sort of soft emotion cloud his judgement.
Everyone starts to move around sluggishly; Malevola and Victor go to steal the mattress off the guest bed and a spare air mattress to lay out in front of the sectional in the living room, while Alice and Visi wander off to plunder through his storage closet for extra blankets and pillows. Bruno makes himself comfortable in a corner close to the couch but far from anything that can break. He doesn’t need to be so careful; Chad would just replace anything that broke, but he’s appreciative of the care Bruno has for his belongings. Janelle is sitting in the recliner with Colm on her lap as she flips through movie options, finally settling on some romance that would definitely be changed when the others emerge to finally relax. Phen had offered to take Herm home when he mentioned that his grandma had texted, saying she was worried and wanted him home.
Chad finally settles onto the longer side of the couch, trying his best not to jostle the battered man in his lap. He moves Robert’s head so it's lying on the plush arm of the couch, watching for signs of discomfort before finally letting the tension seep from his muscles. Cara had told them that she could either heal the external or internal wounds but not both, and obviously with how much blood was spilling from his mouth and nose, they chose the internal injuries. When she finally emerged from her guest room with her hands blood-soaked and her hair messy, they assumed the worst. She had assured them he was fine—sore and tired—but fine nonetheless.
She had sat them all down, explaining that the extent of his internal injuries was life threatening, but she had managed to heal them enough to not be fatal or cause him any long-term issues. He had three broken and two fractured ribs leading to a small puncture in his right lung, which was what caused his labored breathing. The blood loss was caused by a major hemorrhage that had ruptured in his brain; she suspected it was caused by blunt force trauma to his head.
She said his external wounds had looked pretty serious; glass had been lodged into his back, and bruises littered every inch of exposed skin. She refused to show them, saying that some things needed to be shown by the person affected. She had taken the liberty to remove all the glass and patch up any open wounds, saying he would probably need some painkillers when he finally woke up.
The dip in the couch breaks him from his thoughts: Alice plopped herself beside him, moving Robert’s legs to drape over her own that are pulled up into the cushions. She looks over at her friend, smiling up at him as she takes his palm into hers and squeezes in what he assumes to be comfort. Victor has laid the mattresses in front of the couch, with blankets and pillows scattered around. He, Malevola, and Visi have situated themselves on the now floor bed, getting comfortable, talking about the shitty romcom Janella has playing.
Robert shifts closer to Chad's arm that's resting on the arm of the couch, breath fanning out over Chad's overly warm skin. Chad isn’t one to admit when he is feeling scared or worried, and that isn’t going to start now, but he will admit that he is feeling sort of sympathetic to the younger man's situation; he had tried to stay standing, tried to seem strong for them, but no matter how hard he tried, he is still human and nothing more. The rest of them would’ve been able to handle it and would’ve walked it off, but he can’t do that because his body isn’t as strong.
He looks around at his teammates in his home, talking and laughing with each other, and his chest tightens, knowing that the one person who would’ve smiled at the scene is the one that brought them together and the one they are all here for.
Victor leans over to whisper something to Malevola, who thinks on his words for a second before nodding her head and standing up. Victor copies the motion, walking over to Chad and leaning on the side of the couch. “We are gonna head to our apartment real quick so I can grab sleeping beauty some painkillers that might actually help.” He waves a hand to Robert, who now has his head shoved into the crook of Chad’s arm.
Chad glances down, then nods slightly. “Yeah, I have nothing here that would work on this pain junkie.” Victor snorts, making his way over to where Mal has a portal opened up on his wall, slipping through in one swift step. He hopes that doesn’t leave a mark.
Chad hears the portal making this odd hum as it appears and then disappears, telling him that Mal and Vic have returned. Everyone has already fallen asleep; wherever you look, there is someone there sleeping. Vic places an unmarked bottle of pills into Chad's hand; he looks at it for a moment before looking up and raising an eyebrow.
Victor rolls his eyes, flopping down onto the mattress directly in front of him, still looking at Chad. “It’s a painkiller; it shouldn’t be strong enough to kill him, just enough to knock the pain away and maybe get him a little high.” Chad shrugs, tossing the bottle onto the coffee table that’s shoved to the side to make room for the mattresses. He honestly doesn’t really care to know anything else about the suspiciously unlabeled bottle.
Chad glances down at the sleeping face squished into his arm; his face is so gentle—less haunted. His hair had fallen over his eyes, giving him this relaxed look, like he has never been hurt by anything. The only things that even hint at Robert’s shitty life is the chunk missing from his ear and the dark bags under his eyes. It makes him mad that someone who was so close to death can look so peaceful. This man has been on death's doorstep so many times that he doesn’t even bat an eye at the idea that he can die and lose it all.
Chad pushes the hair away from Robert's eyes, finally getting a good look at the man's derelict face. He’s handsome in a depressed white man kinda way, with soft pale skin, long dark lashes, and freckles that kissed his skin. His heart lodges in his throat at the smudge of blood still on the edge of his mouth, faint but still there nonetheless. His thumb moves across soft skin before his brain could make him stop; the blood flakes off and sticks to his skin. His lungs stutter when he pulls in a breath, his brain finally catching up to the reality of what his heart was feeling.
“I’m fucked.” The words are whispered softly into the now quiet room. Everyone was already asleep, the stress of the day finally catching up to all of them. The back of the couch cradles his head when he finally decides to stop thinking, soft fabric soothing him into a serene void.
Later -·-·-·-·-· Same night
Frantic breathing accompanied by a damp feeling on his arm wakes him slowly. Chad blinks down at the now shaking dispatcher, his face is scrunched, tears slipping from his eyes in steady streams. Instinct kicks in. Sliding his arms under the smaller man’s shoulders and knees, picking him up gently as he gets up, trying not to wake anyone else. Carrying the distraught man into his room, he sits on the edge of the bed, cradling him close to his chest with one arm. He uses his free hands to rub soothing circles into his back, feeling the bandages under his palms.
He takes a quick breath before beginning to speak in a low, tranquil whisper. “Come on, Robert, wake up.” He doesn’t budge, still hyperventilating, his lungs refusing to pull in a steady breath. Chad moves the hand off his back to cup the back of his neck, increasing the heat of his palm to hopefully rouse him from his unconscious state. It works. Robert's eyes flew open, his pupils constricted and glassy.
Deep brown eyes meet rich amber ones, a look of pure confusion as thoughts begin to string together. He suddenly shoots up, almost slipping off the bed. Chad scrambles. “Hey! Calm down!” He pulls the shorter man into his lap, legs straddling his own, hands planted firmly on the other’s upper arms, holding him in place. “Settle down, dumbass; you cannot afford to pop one of those stitches in your back.”
Roberts' breathing starts to settle, eyes softening when he starts to become aware of his surroundings. “Where are we?” His voice is shaky, a hint of rasp from just waking up hidden behind the confusion. His eyes shift down and back up, meeting his colleagues'. “And why am I on your lap?”
He definitely is not awake enough for this conversation. Slipping his hands off Robert’s arms, he replaces the grip onto his hips. “You had a hemorrhage at the taco place, practically fell onto me, then started bleeding from every hole in your face.” He uses his thumbs to rub soothing circles into Robert's skin, warmth radiating around them. “We took you to a friend of mine; she did your dumbass a favor and healed any internal injuries you had and patched up anything on the outside.”
Robert’s eyes go hazy and unfocused, thoughts so loud they are practically audible. Finally, he just shrugs. “Tell her I said thank you when you see her next.” He is way too calm for something like this, but Chad doesn’t care to push him.
Instead he pulls the small man off his lap, moving him so they are both laid out over the comforter with the smaller man pulled to his chest, arms snug around his waist. “Say anything about this, and I promise that you’ll leave with no hair left on your body.” He doesn’t get a response. Robert's eyes are already closed, not seeming to mind the close proximity.
They both drift off content to worry about the rest later.