Work Text:
SDN had never been busier than it was now in the wake of Shroud’s attack. The search and rescue portion of the disaster had passed, but heroes were still all hands on deck during the rebuilding efforts. The damage was extensive, and everyone was exhausted. The sheer amount of paperwork she was dealing with was enough to have her sleeping soundly at night, not to mention the work she was putting in on the field. Even with swapping the amulet back and forth with Chase, it was a lot. With everything happening, she’d let things fall through the cracks.
Things like employee time cards.
It was her job as an employer to look out for her employees; moreover, it was her job as a friend to look out for her friends, and she had failed to do both. Everyone was looking haggard and weary, herself included, but Robert in particular was in poor form. The bags under his eyes were more pronounced than they had any right to be, and his usual nonchalant posture had fallen into what could only be described as a slouch. Mandy didn’t think that it was possible for the man to look any more exhausted than he normally looked, but he had always been one to exceed expectations, she supposed.
That overachieving mindset was reflected by the hours he had put in. With his mech operational, he now held two positions at SDN: one as a dispatcher and another as a hero, so she had expected more than the standard 40-hour work week from him. 60 to 80 hours would have been reasonable, but the number she saw on the chart in front of her was unacceptable.
Robert slid in through the door she had left cracked open and shut it behind himself quietly.
“You wanted to talk to me?” he asked.
His tone was as nonchalant as ever, but Mandy could tell he was a little tense. He looked a bit like a kid being called into the principal’s office, which, in all fairness, wasn’t far from what was happening.
“Yes, I did. I was going through the last few weeks of time cards,” she started.
“…Okay? Z-team has been showing up. The only person to call out that I can remember was Golem, but his babysitter canceled on him, so I approved it. Did someone forget to clock in or something?”
“No, I was looking at your time card. You have 213 hours logged for the last pay period,” she clarified.
“Is that a problem?”
“Yes, Robert, that’s a problem. The last day you took off was 18 days ago, and that wasn’t even a full day.”
“The city’s trashed, what do you expect me to do?” he shot back.
“Go home. Rest. Recover. Like the rest of your team does.”
“Uh huh. Sure… Look, I can just stop clocking in if we can’t afford the hours. I–”
“The money isn’t the point. You’re going to run yourself into the ground. I know you’re used to working solo, but you’re on a team now, and teams cover each other’s backs. You’re taking the day off tomorrow, and I don’t want you working more than 160 hours in a pay period. Two full-time jobs is more than enough to keep you busy,” she put her foot down.
She saw Robert’s jaw clench, and if she didn’t have complete faith in his character, she might have been a bit fearful without her amulet. He took a moment to roll out the tension and take a deep breath before he replied.
“Or what? You’ll hold the suit hostage? I read that contract, Mandy, it’s still mine, you can’t take it,” he bit back.
“No, I can’t, but I can suspend you from dispatching, and if I see you tomorrow, I will,” she stood firm.
Robert’s eye twitched as he glared at her. He didn’t say anything else as he stood from his seat and walked out of the room, closing the door just as quietly as he had when he came in. She let out a sigh and rested her head against the heel of her palm.
She should probably have talked to Chase about this first, but she can’t imagine anything he said would have changed her mind on the matter. That amount of work wasn’t sustainable, and in a field as dangerous as heroics, mistakes were often a matter of life and death. Robert should know that by now.
She did what she had to do; it was in Robert’s best interest. She just hoped that their friendship didn’t suffer for it.
She should probably still talk to Chase.
***
It was supposed to have gotten better. He’d done the right thing. He hadn’t killed Shroud. He’d helped reunite the team. The suit was fixed, he had friends, and he had Chase back. He had more people who gave a shit about him— about Robert, not just Mechaman— than ever before.
This was it: everything he could have hoped for. It was supposed to be better. He was supposed to be better. So why the hell was he drinking himself to sleep every other night?
He sat on the floor and lifted the bottle back up to his lips as he stared vacantly at the couch that Chase and Mandy had bought for him, where Beef was dozing peacefully. Winter had brought a chill over LA that he could feel creeping in through the poorly sealed sliding door next to him. He made no move to fix the source of his discomfort.
He’d had a rare [mandated] day off today, and it was taking its toll. This shit was always so much worse when he didn’t have something to pour himself into until he was too exhausted to resist the call of sleep. Ergo, the whiskey. It was the highest ABV at the lowest price he could find at the store, and his methodology for choosing it was apparent by the taste. It was acrid and burned his throat on the way down.
He set the bottle down and wedged it against his phone charger to ensure it stayed at the correct angle to properly charge his phone— God, he really needed to get a new cord. Once the phone buzzed with a notification to indicate that it was charging, he closed his eyes with a sigh. He had work tomorrow, so tomorrow would be better.
He let the comforting thought lull him to sleep.
His alarm blaring slammed his consciousness back into his body. Surprisingly enough, sleeping slumped against the wall on a concrete floor wasn’t great on the back. He groaned and slapped at his phone until the beeping ceased. He pressed his palms to his eyes as if he could will the headache to stop, but he drank himself into this mess, so he didn’t allow more than a few seconds to feel sorry for himself before prying his eyes open and facing the music.
Beef was in the same place he’d been last night, but now his head was perked up, and his tail was thumping against the cushions as he watched Robert pull his sorry ass together.
“Some’un’s ready fer breakfs,” he mumbled out, his voice choppy from disuse.
Beef bolted off the couch excitedly at the butchered mention of breakfast. The display pulled the barest hint of a smile across his lips.
“Yeah, ‘m onit. Mfph, jus’ gimme a sec,” he tried to placate the dog as he launched all 15 pounds of his blubber at Robert’s legs.
He scratched the little meatball between the ears before forcing himself up on uncooperative limbs. He groaned as all of his joints voiced their displeasure with his choice to sleep on the floor rather than the perfectly good couch just a few feet away. It seemed that he had underestimated the power of the cold air wafting through his balcony door. He leaned against the wall and breathed through the pain for a moment.
Mild SoCal winter: 1
Robert’s fucked up broken joints: 0
Jesus Christ, he was barely even into his 30s yet. He should probably get back in with a physical therapist– now that he has an actual job with actual health insurance– if he wants to be able to walk by the time he’s 40.
Whatever, that was an issue for another time. Right now, Beef needed breakfast.
He went about his morning routine, mashing up half a serving of premium diet canned food with another half serving of premium diet kibble and giving it to Beef on a slow feeder mat before shuffling to the bathroom to take care of business. He avoided looking at the mirror for as long as he could, but he didn’t think shaving blind would end well, so he mustered up the courage to look himself in the eye.
God, yeah, he looked like shit.
He ignored the observation and lathered up his jaw.
Face: shaved, teeth: brushed, and Beef: fed. Check, check, check.
He pulled on his gym clothes, shoved his already wrinkled uniform into his bag, and latched the leash onto Beef’s collar before grabbing his keys and locking the place up.
Beef, keys, phone, wallet, clothes. Check, check, check, check, check.
The sun was still pretty low in the sky as he began the walk to the office. It was cold enough that he considered taking the bus, but both he and Beef could use the exercise, and the mild chill didn't seem to be bothering the well-insulated dog yet. Sometimes, if the ground was too cold, Beef would stop and look up at him while doing an adorable little tappy dance until Robert picked him up and tucked him into his jacket. He wasn’t doing that yet, so they kept walking.
It was around 40° and only getting warmer as the sun rose, but all the metal plates holding his bones together seemed to soak up the chill like that was their soul function in life. He was shivering by the time he completed the half-hour trek to the office. Thankfully, there weren’t many people going in and out right now since the staff was still on the bare bones night crew, who didn’t get off for another hour, so he stayed in the foyer where the heat was blasting for a few minutes to warm up.
“Beef, could you share some of that flub? I’m dying here,” he asked, not for the first time.
The dog looked up at him curiously and thumped his tail on the ground, just excited to have been addressed at all.
“You’re being selfish. I thought I raised you better than this,” he chastised in a pleasant tone so that Beef wouldn’t actually think he was being reprimanded.
As expected, the dog just looked back up at him with blind adoration. For the second time today, the barest hint of a smile pulled at his lips. This dog had been the only reason for him to keep going more times than he could count. The sour thought wiped the not-quite smile off his face.
“C’mon Beef, time to hit the gym,” he charged ahead like he usually did whenever a thought like that crept up on him.
You can’t wallow if you’re working.
He tossed his jacket on the ground and let Beef curl up in it as he went about his normal– Well, his normal post-coma routine. He was still nowhere near back to the muscle mass he’d had before, not that he’d ever been a particularly large man, but he was getting there… slowly… very, very slowly.
Once he’d pushed himself as far as he dared, he rinsed himself off and changed into his normal uniform. He tried to roll the sleeves up neatly, smoothed out some of the wrinkles, ran a hand through his hair, and hoped it came off as artfully mussed rather than unkempt.
He still kind of looked like shit, but he felt like shit too, so he figured it was fitting.
Once the elevator doors opened to the bullpen, Beef made a beeline for the bed Chase had set up in his cubicle.
“He’s not even here to give you treats yet, traitor,” he grumbled to himself as he made his way toward the breakroom to brew a pot of mediocre coffee for the team.
Subpar coffee in hand, he sat down at his desk and got to work. He liked to check over SDN’s network of cameras and make sure that connections were still up and running. He had caught a damaged camera on more than one occasion, and he liked to make sure that it was taken care of before it became a problem for his team. Of course, after all the damage Torrance had undergone during Shroud’s attack, there weren’t many cameras operational enough to check. The number had been steadily increasing every day, though. The city was rebuilding.
Nearly every feed he could access showed at least some amount of damage left over from the fight. The building he could see across the street from Granny’s was still nothing but a pile of rubble. It didn't seem like they were going to rebuild whatever it had been– was it a body shop or a tire shop? Some sort of car place, he couldn’t tell by the glimpse of carnage he could see.
He wondered how many homes and businesses wouldn’t bounce back from that day. It wasn’t a pleasant thought.
“The hell you always in here so early for, Numbnuts?” a familiar voice chastised him.
He felt something hit the back of his head and drop to the ground.
“There’s my Beefy boy,” Chase cooed as he walked past Robert’s cubicle.
When he spun his chair around, he saw a granola bar sitting on the ground behind him.
“You ever heard of handing things to people?” he asked dryly as he scooped it up.
“You ever heard of ‘thank you,’ fucker?” Chase shot back.
He looked at the granola bar and tried to remember the last time he ate, which was another unpleasant thought, so he turned his attention back to what he had been working on. If Chase was here, then the team should be logging in soon.
“Bobaaaay, this coffee is shit as always,” Victor’s voice was the first to crackle through his headphones.
“That it is, cheers,” Colm agreed.
“You ever heard of ‘thank you,’ fuckers?” he muttered to himself.
It wouldn’t have been funny to anyone not privy to both conversations he’d just had, so he didn’t bother unmuting himself. They were saying thank you in their own way, and he didn’t want to risk coming across as bitter without any good reason. The coffee was bitter enough.
“Bobby, you in? I swear I saw him at his desk,” Victor asked.
“He’s in,” Courtney’s voice piped up directly in his ear, both because of the com link and the fact that her face was about two inches away from his.
He barely flinched anymore when she did that, but given that he had been about to take a sip of his own shitty coffee, a tiny jump was all it took to send the liquid all over the front of his shirt.
Courtney was laughing at him as she walked away, and usually, he would at least try to reprimand her, but he was too damn tired to do anything other than take a deep breath and set his mug down. Looks like he was going to the laundromat tonight.
The day started, and Robert did his best to lose himself in his work. Ignore a scathing remark there, dispatch a reluctant subordinate here, let the clock keep ticking by, and don’t address the steadily growing dread in the pit of his stomach. Easy, that’s only four things to do.
“Who pissed in your cereal this morning Bob-Bob?” Chad asked when the peanut gallery quieted for a moment.
“I didn’t even say anything,” he defended.
“Exactly, we’re over an hour in, and you haven't even threatened to write anyone up yet. That’s gotta be like a new record, right?” Chad pointed out.
Huh.
Yeah, maybe he should talk more. It’s been a long time since he had to be a real person when he was like this. Being Mechaman was easier when he felt hollow. Just go in, save the day, head out, nurse your wounds, rinse and repeat. It was okay if a big metal robot was a little bit impersonal sometimes. But he didn’t have a suit to hide behind here; he didn’t have a mask to put on or a part to play. He was just Robert.
“Maybe I’ve just realized that trying to police superpowered toddlers is a Sisyphean task,” he drawled back.
“What the hell does that even mean, you fucking nerd?” Courtney piped up.
“Ah, he is calling us toddlers because we are unruly and difficult to control, like young humans tend to be,” Katon attempted to explain.
“Yeah, Phen. You nailed it,” Robert replied with an amused huff.
“Huzzah!” Katon celebrated his successful comprehension of metaphor.
A smile pulled at his lips again.
They were good people; he needed to be better for them.
The smile faded as quickly as it had appeared.
“I think she was referring to ‘Sisyphean task,’ not the toddler part, babes,” Mal pointed out.
Robert tuned them out as Victor began to insist he was more qualified to explain the term than Malevola was. These jackasses were going to make his little depressive episode more of a big deal than it needed to be if he didn’t tamp it down well enough. He took a sip of lukewarm coffee and scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms in an attempt to pull himself together.
“Girls, you’re both pretty,” he cut them off and explained the myth that the term originated from himself.
The rest of the day passed by in a blur, but he didn’t remember anyone else complaining about his mood; he probably would have remembered that. He noted vaguely that it was getting bad enough for him to start forgetting chunks of time, but that wasn’t a pleasant thought, so he pushed it to the side with the others.
He was clocking out and shutting down his computer when a hand started shoving something at his face. He caught the perpetrator roughly by the wrist on instinct.
“That’s elder abuse, jackass,” Chase spat at him, unfazed.
The hand was still in his face, holding an open granola bar about three inches from his mouth. Robert’s grip slackened when he realized that there wasn’t a threat, and Chase took that as an invitation to finish his attempt at force-feeding him. The granola bar ground his lip against his teeth before he gave in to the inevitable and took the offering.
“You ever heard of handing things to people?” he repeated his complaint from earlier through a mouthful of granola bar.
“I would if there was a fat fucking chance of you eating it, you lanky fucker. Your ass is gonna stay scrawny til you keel over from starvation at this rate, the gym ain't gonna do shit to help that. Now go home and eat an actual goddamn meal, or I’m revoking your Beef privileges,” Chase shot back.
“I’m–”
Chase didn’t even give him the chance to form half a sentence before cutting him off.
“No, the fuck you’re not. Suit privileges are on the line, too. Go the fuck home. The city survived for your four-month nap, it can survive the night.”
Jesus, Mandy had talked to him, hadn’t she?
“I’m pretty sure you don’t have the authority to kidnap my dog or steal my suit, seeing as though I’m a full-grown man. And a hero, so I could just arrest you. I’ve heard there's a team at SDN that takes former convicts, though, so I could put in a good word for you after it’s all said and done,” he responded dryly.
“A full-grown man? Coulda fooled me. Full-grown men don’t need their babysitter to make them eat a full-grown man ass meal. Get your pasty ass out of that chair, or I’m telling Blazer to suspend you. And finish the fucking granola bar,” Chase grumbled and stared at him expectantly.
Robert shoved the whole bar into his mouth while making eye contact.
“Scratch that, I’m calling HR,” Chase replied with a grimace.
The single bit of the granola bar that he’d managed to swallow felt like a lump of lead in his gut, but he chewed his way through the rest anyway. Chase was right about not getting any stronger without eating, plus he needed the man to get off his ass.
“I’m checking punch cards in the morning, and if I see your stupid bitchass name on the night crew again, I’m gonna whoop your ass,” he threatened before walking off.
Robert sighed once he was out of earshot. The granola bar settled in his empty stomach, making him a little nauseous.
“C’mon, Beef,” he beckoned the dog over as he pulled his leash out.
He looked down at his shirt as he clipped the leash onto Beef’s collar and remembered he needed to go to the laundromat tonight anyway. He resigned himself to another torturously quiet evening and pulled his jacket on over his shoulders.
–
It’s not his fault that there was a liquor store across the street from the closest laundromat. It was just a happy coincidence… that he took full advantage of. He sat at the rickety bench and stared at the washing machine as it whirled around all of the clothes he owned– sans the shirt and pants he was wearing– and took sips from a bottle of bourbon in a paper bag. The owner of the place didn’t say a word, likely due to how pathetic he looked, he mused.
The wash spun round and round, and he just watched it.
Shroud was still alive.
The machine creaked with every rotation. It was old. It would probably break soon.
They hadn’t given a solid number, but fatalities after that night were well into the hundreds.
He hoped that clanking sound wasn’t his wallet or phone. He still had those, right?
How many families had Shroud torn apart? Robert’s might have been the first, but it certainly wasn’t the last.
He took another swig of the bourbon.
Shroud had broken out of prison before. If he got out again, that blood would be on Robert’s hands. It would be on his hands because he was too much of a coward to do what needed to be done.
The machine in front of him eeked out a sad buzzing noise to alert him that the cycle had completed. He bundled everything up into his hamper and went to leave before he stopped himself. Usually, he would take his wet clothes home and hang them up on the shower rod to dry to save money, but he could afford it now, and he didn’t want to go home anyway. He turned on his heel and spent a little too long fiddling with the dryer’s controls before he figured it out. Being this buzzed in public probably wasn’t a good idea. If Shroud did escape, then he’d be fucked.
No, no. He was fine. He’d messed up Shroud enough that he probably still has his eyes swollen shut. He’s got time.
Robert felt nauseous.
The dryer was a top loader, so he couldn’t watch it while he waited. Instead, his focus drifted to the television that had been playing with subtitles on; it was showing news coverage of the ongoing rebuilding efforts in Torrance. He quickly shifted his focus to a stranger’s wash cycle.
–
Beef launched himself off the couch and into Robert’s ankles when he finally ambled his way back to his apartment. He had the passing thought that he was glad that no one recognized him while he was out. It had been a long time since someone recognizing him in public had even been a possibility, another thought to be swept to the side and ignored.
“Beefy needs his dinner, huh?”
Beef yipped in response, circling around where Robert normally sets his food down. The slow feeder was still in the sink from this morning, along with a couple of glasses he’d yet to clean for… well, he can't remember how long, but they’d been rinsed, so nothing was growing on them. He scrubbed Beef’s mat first, then decided to act like the grown adult he’d claimed to be and wash the cups too.
“See, Chase? Grown ass adult,” he grumbled to himself as he got Beef’s dinner ready.
Now he needed to take a shower and fold his clothes like an adult, too. He sighed and forced his body through the motions.
45 minutes later saw him in the same place he’d been 16 hours prior, slouched against the wall on the floor, staring at the couch, this time clutching a bottle of bourbon instead of whiskey. The chill still slipped in through the doorway next to him. He didn’t bother to shove his spare towel against the crack like he probably should.
He set the bottle down and rested his eyes.
–
He woke up with a shout as his shoulder hit the floor; the last remnants of his dream left the phantom taste of iron in his mouth. Air refused to stay in his lungs properly as his diaphragm heaved but failed to gather anything substantial in his panic.
It was just a dream.
He felt bone crunching under his knuckles.
Just a dream.
The blood wouldn’t wash out of his cuticles for days.
Just a dream.
Who’s blood was it? Was it his? The barkeep’s? Eli’s? Courtney’s?
It was just a dream.
He pushed himself to his feet and nearly fell over immediately. Jesus fucking Christ, everything hurt. God, everything hurt… they were going to kill him in this shitty fucking bar– The cold glass of his balcony door hitting his cheek as he stumbled brought him back to the present. He pressed his hands and forehead against it and breathed.
He stumbled around like a newborn fawn and checked all the locks. He didn’t notice Beef following him until he had to duck into a forward roll to avoid kicking him. He ended up on his back, looking up at the cracked ceiling with a groan. His clumsy limbs had not executed that well, and even if they had, the bare concrete floors were not forgiving.
Beef’s face poked into his line of sight before he felt a wet tongue drag across his forehead.
“Thanks, Beef,” he muttered.
He closed his eyes and let Beef take care of him to the best of his ability, which amounted to a wet face and a heavy weight curled up on his chest. His body was still shaking, but Beef was warm and solid even though he was making it a little hard to breathe. He brought his arms up to card fingers through the short fur on Beef’s back.
The sun wasn’t even up yet, but there was no way he was going back to sleep. Even just resting his eyes made the memories dance across his vision. He needed to get out of here.
Depositing Beef gently on the floor, he got up on legs that still didn’t want to hold his weight and got dressed in his gym clothes. He threw his uniform into his bag along with Beef’s food and went to the bathroom to get ready. He had every intention of going to the gym at work and running until he could barely walk, but his resolve crumbled when he struggled to get the toothpaste cap open. His hands were still shaking, and it took effort to click the damn lid off and squeeze the paste onto his toothbrush.
Okay, maybe Chase was right. Motherfucker.
The thought of food made him want to crawl out of his skin, but he hardly had the strength to walk, he wasn’t doing anything until he got his blood sugar back up. Stupid body and basic fucking needs. Sometimes, he wished he was actually Mechaman, the suit of armor, something that could be powered off until it was useful and blissfully unaware of the constraints of a fallible human body.
When he walked back out into the living room, Beef was curled up on the couch, sleeping. It would be unconscionable to interrupt the little guy’s beauty rest, so he went to the disused bedroom to riffle around for the bag Alice had gotten him, only half as a joke because he “Acted like a bitch with a purse dog.” It was a nice bag meant to carry small animals, lined with felt and rigid enough to contain the rotund chihuahua without sagging. Though, it was clearly made for women, because it looked like an admittedly pretty nice purse. His masculinity could take the blow for Beef’s comfort.
He scooped the pooch up and put him in the bag with minimal complaint from the snoozing mass of fur and pulled the bag over his shoulder.
Beef, keys, phone, wallet, clothes. Check, check, check, check, check.
He locked the door behind him and made his way to the dingy 24-hour diner down the street. Hopefully, Beef would sleep long enough for him to push around his food, eat less than half of it, and drink a concerning amount of bottomless coffee before the waitress noticed what was in the bag and kicked them out.
He’ll go out in the suit tonight and help cleanup crews remove more of the endless debris. It’ll keep him busy, it’ll keep him away from the bottle and the dreams and the aching pit in his gut. He loses himself in the foggy haze of his thoughts and doesn’t bother trying to rein himself in until he sits down at his desk several hours later to clock in.
***
“– just didn’t even say anything about it. It was weird as hell,” Herman caught the tail end of whatever Invisigal had been saying when he wandered into the breakroom.
“The lad’s been off. Got his head in the clouds,” Punch-Up agreed.
“Looks more like a kicked puppy than usual, which is really saying something,” Flambae added his two cents.
“You’re– are you guys talking about R-Robert?”
Golem huffed a rumbling laugh from the corner.
“Uh oh, I’m telling Bob-Bob that Wetfartboy agrees that he looks like a little bitch,” Flambae sing-song taunted.
“No! N-no, that’s not– I didn’t mean–”
“Cool it, he was just bein’ an arse. You notice something up wit’ him too?” Punch-Up interrupted his sputtering.
Truth be told, Herman had been worrying about Robert a lot. Aside from his grandma, there had only been two people in his life who treated him with unprompted, genuine kindness the way that Robert had. One of them Robert himself, and the other was a memory too painful to think about most days.
“Yeah, he’s um… he seems…” he trailed off, too afraid to voice his thoughts outloud.
“Depressed as shit?” Invisigal offered.
“… yeah,” he reluctantly agreed.
“He usually takes lunch ‘round the same time as me. Haven’t seen him in here in… damn, prolly a week at least,” Golem noted.
“I’m bringing that scrawny white boy some real food,” Flambae declared with a grimace.
“Whipped,” Invisigal coughed under her breath with a smirk.
Herman let the ensuing bickering fade to background noise and ducked out of the room as quickly as he’d entered it.
Robert had been off for weeks. He’d been withdrawn; the look in his eyes was dull and distant. Herman hadn’t seen his eyes so lifeless since the press conference he’d held as Mechaman after the incident that had brought in to SDN. He had recognized that look when the footage first aired; it was the look of someone on the brink. Herman had seen that look in his best– or rather, only friend’s eyes the last time he’d seen her. They’d gone to school together, and it was a miserable experience. She’d been talking about how she had expected things to get better once they graduated and was sourly disappointed that they hadn’t.
“Outcasts are outcasts wherever they go,” she’d lamented to him.
Those were the last words she’d said that he could remember with any certainty. He had no clue what was going through Robert’s mind in the past few weeks, though he could hazard a few guesses. Regardless, Herman wasn’t going to let him deal with it on his own. Robert had been there for him since day one at SDN; hell, he’d been there for all of them. In hindsight, that should have been an indicator in and of itself. Now he wasn’t eating, it looked like he was hardly sleeping if the bags under his eyes were anything to go by, and he was only speaking when necessary.
For all his conviction to help, Herman had no clue what to do. Robert was the one who helped him with this kind of stuff; he was the one who told him if he was making a social faux pas or encouraged him to keep going when he second-guessed himself, so what the hell was he supposed to do?
“We staring at Robert now? Cool. I needed a break anyway,” Sonar’s voice interrupted his small internal crisis.
“I’m not– I was just and he– I wasn’t loo– staring at him,” Herman defended himself weakly.
He had been staring at Robert like a creep, hadn’t he? Goddamnit.
“Sure, bud,” Sonar gave a noncommittal agreement.
Herman was about to walk away and shove himself in his Thinking Bucket™ in the janitor’s closet just to get away from the conversation when Sonar spoke up again.
“Has he, uh… Do– You guys talk a lot, right?”
“Me and R-Robert?” Herman asked after the near complete nonsequitor.
“Yeah.”
“I– we don’t… not talk. Why do– are you asking?”
Sonar looked over the bullpen and nodded his head for Herman to follow him rather than answering. He was about to muster up the courage to ask what was going on, but Sonar actually looked pretty stressed out, so he led him lead Herman out of the building entirely until they stopped under a tree on the far side of the parking lot.
“Galen’s in today, didn’t want him listening. I already talked to Mal about this, and she told me I should talk to Robert myself, but after… everything I did, I don’t think– it’s just a bad idea. Mal won’t do it, and I don’t think anyone else is really going to help without being a total dick– Jesus, I’m rambling more than you do. UGH! This is what I mean, we’re all total assholes except you,” Sonar grumbled.
“Uh, thanks? And that’s– it’s alright. I’m used to– turn about’s fair play,” he reassured.
“I heard everyone talking about Robert in the breakroom, and I don’t want to get him in trouble, but he’s been on a fucking bender for weeks. He smells like booze almost every day. I know they’re lax with my bullshit, but I’m already in the Phoenix program, and I’ve got a sponsor– I don’t know if Robert…” Sonar trailed off, clearly frustrated with himself for not finding the words, “He gave me another chance, and I don’t want to risk him not getting a second chance too, so don’t tell Blazer or Chase. Can you talk to him and tell him he can talk to me or whatever… or Mal, Mal’s probably better.”
Herman’s stomach sank. Not eating, not sleeping, drinking excessively, and barely speaking. This was all adding up to a perfect storm.
Sonar was shuffling his feet and picking at the non-existent lint on his suit.
Alright, well, this could be a practice round, Herman supposed. Okay, okay, what would Robert do? A classic WWRD situation was right in front of him. Sonar was feeling guilty, alienated, and concerned. Robert would probably address those one by one, right? Sure, why not?
“Sonar, everyone on the team has– the whole point of the Phoenix program is a second– to try again. You’re not even the only one– person on the team that’s tried to kill R-Robert. I was there when– you know, Flambae– when he nearly, uh, flambeed him, and they talk all the time. Robert is– he’s just like that, he’s a nice– a kind guy. He forgave you, and I doubt– I don’t think it was just for show. And everyone follows his lead, I mean, you would probably have heard the– the rest of the team complaining if they didn’t want you back. We’re good– great, but I’ll talk to him for you. I was going to anyway. He’s– well, everyone seems worried about him,” Herman stumbled out his best try at reassurance.
That wasn’t so bad, right?
Sonar gave him a weak smile.
“I was right, you talk to him a lot. You sound just like him… or a recording of him on a scratched record at least. Thanks, man,” Sonar replied and patted him on the shoulder before grimacing at the moisture and flicking it off his hand into the grass, “I’m gonna grab lunch.”
“Where in the fresh fuck is everyone? You can’t all take lunch at the same time. Is this amateur hour?” Robert’s voice crackled over the coms.
“Or maybe not,” Sonar grumbled.
Herman laughed.
“Flambitch, are you taking lunch without me? What the fuck, man?” Prism, who seemed to be one of two people doing their jobs, complained.
“Is Colm on lunch? This is a betrayal of the highest order,” Coupe added.
“Fuck them hoes, baby, we’re taking a girls' lunch. Tell me what you’re finna do to him tonight.”
“Oh, I’m fucked, lads. Was nice knowin’ ya,” Colm lamented.
“Clear the coms and everyone but Coupe and Prism get back to your assignments,” Robert ordered.
“What about Malevola and Phenomaman? You are invited to girls' lunch too if you’d like,” Coupe ignored the order to clear the coms.
“Mal’s off today and Phen got called in for something on the East coast,” Sonar piped up before transforming and flying away to wherever Robert assigned him.
Herman quickly shuffled off to his assignment. He could eat when he got back.
***
Robert was more exhausted than he was when he was working 15+ hours a day, but he was allowed to work 15+ hours today, so he sucked it up. It was all about momentum, and making him take time off ruined it. When he worked himself too hard to wake up with nightmares, he slept better, so he was less tired, but there was no way in hell he was going to try to explain that to Mandy, so he kept it to himself.
He’d told the city workers that he was going to help clean up the last of the bridge that had collapsed on the north side tonight, come rain or shine, so that’s what he was going to do. Royd had added a seat heater of all things to the cockpit, so maybe he’d come out of this all in better shape than he’d gone in. His back had been killing him lately, but the pain had been added to the pile of things he wasn’t allowing himself to think about.
It felt like no matter how much rubble he helped haul away, there was still another pile of ruin to tackle. How much was he really helping? He was just a band-aid on a bullet wound, but he still stayed until the last of the workers packed up for the night. The sun had set a long time ago, but he hadn’t paid it much mind under the spotlights, the last of which now extinguished.
He should go home, too. Beef was probably missing him.
He sat there for a few moments longer until he heard the pitter-patter of no doubt freezing rain hitting the body of the mech. That was going to be hell to walk home in. He’d missed his route’s last bus already, and he didn’t even own an umbrella. He sent the mech airborne and hoped the rain would settle down by the time he had everything packed back up at SDN.
The rain did not settle down, if anything, it got worse. A quick check at his phone told him that it wasn’t going to let up any time soon, so he let out a deep sigh and resigned himself to his fate. He was soaked to the point where he worried about his phone getting water damage about five minutes into the walk. Fifteen minutes into the walk, he remembered he had a job that paid him actual money that he could have used to call an Uber, but he was already halfway home and practically as wet as he would have been if he’d taken a dip in the pool, so there was no point in bothering with it now.
By the time he was home, the cold had set itself in his bones with fervor. He was shivering, and it took him a solid minute to get his key into the lock properly. When he opened the door, Beef was wagging his tail at him so hard his whole body was shaking with it. What a pair they made.
“No pets, B-Beef. You don’t want ‘em,” he explained uselessly as he dripped all over the floor.
Beef was considerate enough to try to lick up the trail of puddles Robert left behind himself.
Hot shower. He needed a hot shower for however long the water stayed hot in this shitty apartment. He washed himself as quickly as he could and basked in the scalding shower until it started turning tepid, which couldn’t have been more than twelve minutes. He cursed out his neighbors under his breath and shut the water off.
He toweled dry and put on the warmest clothes he owned, which, unfortunately was just a pair of worn sweats and a hoodie. The cold still rattled in his bones, but he ignored it. He sat down in the spot next to the door where his charger was plugged in and fiddled with the cord until his phone’s screen lit up.
He should sleep on the couch tonight; it’d help the downward slope his joints seemed to be on. He should probably eat something too, but he knew his cabinets were barren and there was no way in hell he was going back out in that rain. He was too tired for anything, so he just leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.
He was getting worse. He wasn’t so clueless as to not realize that, but he pushed that thought to the side with all the others.
–
Robert woke up before his brain came back online. He was screaming and curled in on himself. Jesus, hopefully his limbs had muffled that enough that his neighbors hadn’t heard. His heart was racing as he peeked out from behind his shaking limbs. It was still dark out, the only light showing from the street lamps outside. A glance at his phone told him it was only just past midnight, and it was still raining.
Check the locks. Yeah, he needed to check the locks.
He completed his circuit of the place twice over without tripping on Beef, but it didn’t help. His hands were still shaking, and it was only getting harder to breathe. There were things he was supposed to do when this happened; he knew there were, but in his panic, it was too much of a challenge to remember.
Breathing was one of them, but that was proving difficult at the moment. He looked out into the dark night and the rain pounding against the sliding door. Spots were starting to dance in his vision.
Wait, cold water, that was one of the things. Splashing your face was supposed to help, right? Yeah, more cold water, that was really what he needed right now, his deeply ingrained sardonicism chimed in. He ignored the thought and stumbled to the bathroom.
It was only getting harder to breathe, so he gripped the basin of the sink and tried to get a hold of himself. He heard a noise behind him and looked up into the mirror on instinct. Beef was standing at the door looking up at him, but his own face caught his attention. He looked ragged, frightened, and small, and there were tears on his cheeks. He looked pathetic. He watched the expression of fear turn to anger and, Jesus, that was so much worse. That was the face of a man who nearly beat someone to death, and he couldn’t bear to look himself in the eyes. Before his sluggish mind could catch up to important thoughts like safety deposits and keeping the flesh on his knuckles intact, he sent his fist crashing into the mirror.
The glass shattered on impact, and he let out a curse. The pain centered him for a moment, but the resultant smell of blood sent him right back into a tailspin.
There was blood on his hands. There was always going to be blood on his hands. He should have just killed the fucker, then at least he would have just been guilty, not guilty and paranoid. He turned the faucet on and watched his blood swirl down the drain as he roughly swiped away any bits of glass that might have embedded themselves in his knuckles.
Fuck, he needed a drink.
He splashed water on his face to get the stupid tears off and shuffled back to the wall on unsteady feet. He slumped down heavily and ignored the pain shooting through his body. It was getting worse, his joints were stiff and creaky. The bourbon bottle from the other night was still half full, so he downed as much of it as he could without puking. He had enough time to sober up before work tomorrow. It was fine.
His knuckles were still bleeding. Blood was dripping down his fingers to his nailbeds, where it would be stuck for days. He just watched its path, only moving when Beef tried to lick his fingers. He propped his hand up on his bent knee out of the dog’s reach and let the blood drip onto his sweats instead. The sweats were black, and the cuts weren’t that bad; the blood would wash out, and the wounds would scab up on their own. He brought the bottle back to his lips and pretended he didn’t feel the warm path of tears down his cheeks.
He didn’t want to go back to sleep, but he was so fucking tired. The alcohol was going to take him out soon, he knew it would. Beef curled up next to him, and Robert scratched him with the hand that wasn’t bleeding.
Was he ever going to feel okay again? He’d been through this song and dance before, but the other end of it always seemed so impossible. He’d lose his footing, drop off the face of the earth for anywhere from a week to a month, then he would jump right back in like it never happened. Although, Blazer seemed set on not letting him jump right back into things. Maybe he’d have to leave SDN and figure shit out on his own again. The thought made him a little nauseous, but he could do it. He’d lost everything before; he could do it again. Right now, he just needed to sleep, then get up and do it all over again.
–
If Robert were an optimist, he’d say it was nice to not wake up screaming for a second time in one night, but he was a realist on a good day, and today was not gearing up to be good at all. His alarm was chirping at him, but when he lifted his arm to turn it off, his whole body lit up with white-hot pain.
He cried out and cursed.
God, why didn’t he just move his sorry ass to the couch last night? His head was throbbing in tandem with his everything else. It took him far longer than he would like to admit to reach for his phone and shut off the alarm. Sweat was beading on his brow from the effort. The pain was well past the level he was able to ignore without enough adrenaline in his body to give a small animal a heart attack.
He didn’t think he could even make it to the bathroom right now, not without crawling, so work was out of the question. God fucking damnit. He sat there for a few minutes before grabbing his phone and facing reality.
Robert:
Cant make it in today sorry for the short notice
Mandy’s reply came less than a minute later. Of course, she’d be up at six fucking am.
Mandy:
That’s fine, are you okay?
Robert:
I’m fine
He sent back immediately.
Robert:
Joint pain flare up
He added a brief explanation in hopes of keeping her off his back. She wasn’t going to take “I’m fine” as an answer after he stormed out of her office like a moody teen for being forced to take a day off.
Mandy:
Alright, I’ll put it in as sick leave, so you’ll still get paid.
Please take care of yourself.
Her response made him want to throw his phone across the room, but in the state he was in, he was unlikely to be able to retrieve it with any amount of grace, so he set it down gently. Beef was still snuggled up against his hip, which was the only joint on his body that didn’t ache, so Robert hazarded a guess that the cold might be the issue here.
He had that old canvas tarp he’d used as a blanket back when he was between apartments, but it was shoved in the closet somewhere, and he couldn’t be assed to look for it. He should get up and get himself some water and ibuprofen, but it just seemed like too much effort. The bottle of bourbon was still sitting next to him, and that was so much easier. He wouldn’t feel the cold or the ache in his bones so much if he drank that, and he didn’t have work anyway.
Beef was sleeping contentedly; he could wait until lunch to eat, right? The weather will have warmed up from the sun, and maybe he wouldn’t hurt so much by then. Maybe he could just go back to sleep, he didn’t hurt when he was sleeping.
***
‘Eat this, you stupid scrawny bitch.’ Chad just finished scrawling a note on the lunch he’d packed for Robert when his com went off in his ear, marking the start of first shift.
“Morning, Motherfuckers,” Chase’s gruff voice greeted them.
“The fuck are you doing on our coms, Grandpa?” Visi shot back.
“Yes, where is Robert?” Coupe added.
“He’s taking a much-needed day off from you exhausting assholes,” Chase shot back with no hesitation.
“Another day off, didn’t he like just get forced into one? How many days are they gonna bench him for?” Alice asked.
“How many days a week do you fuckers take off? I bet he got a taste of how good life is when he doesn’t have to deal with you, and took another day. Now, get your goddamn noses out of his goddamn ass and get to work.”
“Wait, he chose– today isn’t– wasn’t a mandated b-break?” Wetboy asked, somehow sounding more pathetic than usual.
He was the only other person in the breakroom right now, and Chad looked over to see him wringing his hands like a wet rag, his supposedly waterproof gloves dripping on the floor.
“Yes, fucker’s learning how to take care of himself for once– Waterboy, why the fuck did you just disconnect?” Chase interrupted himself.
Waterbitch damn near gave himself a concussion with how quickly he turned off the com in his ear and booked it out of the breakroom.
“Oi, Wetwipe, what the fuck are you doing?” Chad chased after him.
Both of them nearly ran into Golem and Visi.
“Robert’s not doing– he’s having a bad time– I need– I’m going to check on him,” Waterboy answered without breaking stride.
“What in the fuck is going on? Not even three minutes into the shift, and the one fucker who’s not supposed to be giving me shit has gone rogue. Someone have eyes on that gangly bitch?”
“What do you mean he’s having a bad time and you need to check on him? Are you two bumping uglies?” Visi ignored the com and prodded.
“I will figure out what is going on,” Coupe answered the question that everyone else dismissed.
The group of three people following Waterboy quickly turned into five when Coupe and Punch-up found them. The bitch who normally folded like a wet napkin completely ignored Coupe’s rather threatening questions, so Chad spoke up on his behalf. The guy seemed to have finally grown a spine about something, and he was curious to see where that led… And maybe he was also a bit concerned about Robert, sue him.
“He said he’s going to check on Bob-Bob. Seems real concerned about him,” he explained concisely.
“This about our chat the other day?” Punch-up asked but was also ignored.
“Lad’s a man on a mission,” Punch-up mused aloud, sounding vaguely impressed as he jogged along to keep up with the group’s stride.
Chad felt his phone buzz against his hip. That was probably Alice in the group chat, asking what the hell was going on.
Alice:
Wth is going on?
“Fucking called it,” he muttered to himself.
Mal:
Did we miss something?? D:
Were almost there
Victor:
Blame Mal she said she’d portal us in but we ended up at starbucks
Mal:
Vic doesn’t support women’s wrongs
Alice:
Boo, feminism L
Srs tho, u know whats going on Bae?
Chad:
Wetwipe went AWOL for a bob bob wellness check
Katon:
Is Robert in peril? I will return post haste!
Mal:
Oh fuck the coffee
Where are you and where are we headed?
Chad:
SDN front door to bob’s place
“Are any of you motherfuckers going to answer me?” Chase’s voice barked over the coms again.
“We are checking on Robert’s well-being,” Coupe finally answered.
Chase muttered something about co-dependent bitch babies, but everyone went back to ignoring him.
Surprising to absolutely no one, Phenomaman met them at the front of SDN before Malevola. How the fuck that demon managed to be late all the time would never make any sense to him.
“Why is– you shouldn’t follow me. We’re supposed to be– you’re going to get in trouble,” Waterboy stuttered when he ran full force into Phenomaman and looked back to see the group of them following him.
“Mal’s going to portal us, it’ll be faster, get your panties out of a twist,” Alice answered.
She’d been leaning against the wall with her vape before any of them had shown up.
“What is the issue? I fear I have missed crucial information,” Phenomaman asked.
“Roberto’s having a menty b and we’re making sure he’s not hanging up with his coats or someth–”
“DON’T SAY THAT!” Waterboy cut Alice’s explanation off right as Malevola and Sonar stepped out of a portal.
Everyone was staring at him in stunned silence.
“Robert’s place, now,” Waterboy ordered Malevola.
Jesus, that limp noodle wasn’t even this set on a task when Shroud had attacked SDN. Chad was actually starting to worry that he knew something they didn’t.
Visi was the closest and went through the new portal before Malevola was done slashing her sword. She was already banging on Robert’s door when the rest of them made their way through.
“Why the hell didn’t you just portal us in there?” she shot back at Malevola when no one immediately answered the door.
“He got mad last time,” she shrugged.
“Uh, guys… I think I smell blood,” Sonar commented nervously.
Everyone’s eyes went wide, but Wetwipe and Visi were the first to do something about it. The poor lock didn’t hold up to both of them shouldering the door full force. Everyone piled in after them, and Chad barely got the chance to catch a glimpse of Robert lying on the ground breathing heavily before Wetwipe and Visi bolted forward.
“DON’T!” he and Coupe shouted at the same time, grabbing the two who had been running ahead.
“The fuck you mean don’t?” Visi shot back, wrenching her wrist out of Coupe’s grasp.
“He’s liable to knock your shit in if you wake him up,” Chad explained.
He loosened his grip on Waterboy’s shoulder.
“He just busted his knuckles, look. He’s fine,” he tried to ease the tension before stepping forward, “Bob-Bob, wake up.”
Robert didn’t stir aside from the twitched, aborted movements of someone clearly having a nightmare. His bloody hand was clenched around the neck of a bottle even in his sleep.
“I’ll wake ‘im up,” Punch-up offered, striding forward until Coupe stopped him.
“He’ll just hurt himself on you,” she explained.
“Screw this, I’ll do it,” Waterboy insisted.
“JAYSUS LAD, take the bottle from him first!” Punch-up interjected, stepping forward quietly, snatching the bottle from Robert’s hand, and retreating quickly.
Chad prepared to step in and save the limp bitch when this inevitably went wrong, but he didn’t stop him. The guy looked pathetic, and it was hard to watch, the sooner he woke up, the better.
“Don’t touch his face, he’ll bite your finger off. I watched him do it before,” Visi piped up when Waterboy got close.
His outstretched hand flinched back for a moment, but he shook his head and went back to his task quickly. He gently shook Robert's shoulder and spoke quietly.
“Robert, you’re dream– It’s just a nightmare. Wake up.”
Robert, unsurprisingly, woke up swinging. Waterboy, however, did surprise them. There was a brief scuffle, which ended with Wetwipe straddling Robert’s legs and holding down his wrists above his head. Herman immediately went bright red, and Chad would have laughed his ass off if not for the exacerbating circumstances. Robert tried to buck him off and wrench his hands free, but the second he started moving again, he let out a cry like a wounded animal and stopped.
Herman immediately let him go and sat up, but Chad could see in Robert's eyes that he wasn’t checked in right now, so he stepped in, grabbing his wrists and pinning them back down before he could take another swing at Waterboy.
“Jesus, you’re fucking frigid. Calm down, Bob-Bob, it’s just us,” Chad leaned over Robert’s face so he could see who was talking and waited for the fog to fade from his eyes.
Confused fear quickly turned to anger.
“Get the fuck off me,” Robert demanded, his voice garbled from disuse.
“You gonna chill the fuck out if I do?”
“Yes, what the hell are you even doing here?” Robert answered.
The response was adequately coherent, so he complied, shooing Waterboy off his perch on Robert’s legs as well.
Robert looked down to see who had been on him and spotted the rest of the team loitering on both sides of his broken door. He let his head fall back onto the floor and brought his hands up to his face in exasperation.
“A wellness check, and bitch, you do not look well,” Alice answered Robert’s question.
“Yeah, that’s usually why people call off work,” Robert shot back.
“Does day drinking and sleeping on the floor usually help, or is this something new you’re trying out?” Visi piped up.
“Something new, it’s all part of the scientific method, can you guys fuck off now?” Robert’s reply was muffled by his hands still covering his face; he was probably hiding from them and the sun in equal measure.
“Nah, bro, we’re worried about you,” Golem answered from his spot just outside the door.
“I’m–”
“If you’re about to say fine ima laugh in your goddamn face,” Alice cut him off.
“Yeah, can I see your hand, babes?” Malevola asked.
“No, what you can do is– did you break my fucking door?” Robert interrupted himself as he opened his eyes again.
“S-sorry, Rob– S-sir. I can– I’ll pay for that,” Waterboy apologized, a furious blush still painting his cheeks and ears red.
Robert just blinked at him in confusion. Honestly, Chad wouldn’t have believed it either if he didn’t see it himself.
“I’m making your sad ass some breakfast. I make the best hangover cures,” he interrupted the awkward silence, getting to his feet and making his way to the kitchen.
“Flambae, get out of my kitchen,” Robert tried to tell him off, but it was too late; Chad already had his head in the cabinets.
“What are you worried I’m going to steal your nothing? This shit is depressing, Bob-Bob, no wonder your ass is flat,” he called back and ignored the resulting argument between the others.
Everyone was bitching at Robert, and Robert was bitching back. That was good, though. That was how things were supposed to be. The state of Robert’s kitchen, on the other hand, was not how things were supposed to be. He was convinced he would eventually find a cabinet with something that he could work with, but all he found was dog food and stale chips. The fridge wasn’t any better with its shelves of condiments and moldy take-out containers.
Jesus, this was bad. Maybe Wetbitch was onto something. The thought of showing up here and finding Robert hanging in the closet crossed his mind, but he shook it off quickly. That man was a cockroach, nothing kept him down long. He would be fine once they fixed this shit.
“EVERYONE GET THE FUCK OUT,” Chad’s attention was called back to the group when Robert started shouting.
“This is breaking and entering, I could throw your asses back in jail for this. Get. Out.” Robert ordered them with steel in his voice.
Oh, shit, he wasn’t fucking with them anymore, was he?
“No, I’m– I’m not leaving,” Waterboy insisted.
A knock at the balcony door cut off any scathing remark Robert was about to spew.
“Open the fucking door, or I’m gonna fucking break it,” Chase’s voice was muffled by the glass.
He was floating there with Blazer’s amulet on his clavicle, so he probably wasn’t kidding either.
He heard Robert mutter “Oh my fucking god,” and watched several people bite back a laugh.
***
Chase could tell that Robert wasn’t doing well. The poor kid had been depressed since he was like ten, and fifteen years apart wasn’t enough to keep him from reading that bitch like a book. He knew it was bad, but he didn’t realize how bad until Mandy told him she had to meet with the kid about his hours. The fucker was tearing himself apart, and Chase wasn’t gonna stand for it.
He was doing his best to make sure the kid didn’t keel over without pushing him so far that he’d shut him out again. It was a delicate balance he was maintaining until Robert’s group of stupid motherfuckers blew it out of the water.
Chase cursed them out all the way to Blazer’s office.
“The whole damn team just left for Robert’s place. Can I borrow the amulet before someone commits homicide?” he barged in and asked in lieu of a greeting.
“The whole– What? Why? What’s going on?”
“They’ve assigned themselves a ‘wellness check,’ and I trust them about as far as I can throw them with that shit,” he answered.
“Oh my God,” she groaned under her breath, “Yeah, okay. He said he called out because of joint pain. Go help him out and get it back as soon as you can. I told downtown I’d be on call today.”
He didnt waste any time in taking the offering before bolting over to Robert’s apartment. It was a good call on his part, because from his view on the balcony, the kid looked about ready to cut a bitch.
“Open the fucking door, or I’m gonna fucking break it,” he interrupted whatever argument was brewing.
Robert, who had been half propped up on the floor, laid back down and said something he couldn’t make out from the other side of the door. Thankfully, Phenomaman let him in rather quickly. Wait, what the fuck was he doing here? He was supposed to be in New York right now.
“Welcome, Star Blazer! Hopefully you can shed some light on the situation. The third Robert Robertson seems rather upset,” he greeted pleasantly.
“Chase, if you’re not here to get them out of my apartment, I’m going to call the cops,” Robert said the moment he stepped into the room.
He stopped a beat to look around the place before he answered that. There was even less furniture in here than there was last time he’d seen it. The absence of the lawn chair was probably for the best, but Robert said he’d been ‘working on it.’ Clearly, the motherfucker lied. Flambe was standing in the kitchen throwing out old takeaway containers, and all the open cabinets showed nothing of substance.
He looked back down to Robert, who, again, was lying down on the floor, and realized his knuckles were bloodied and there was an empty bottle of whiskey a few feet away. He looked like shit and had eleven people chomping at the bit to help him.
He was not going to like this.
“Flambe, make a grocery list, Waterboy, start cleaning shit, Malevola, fix his shit, Visi, go raid his medicine cabinet, and everyone else, look around and think of something that’s depressing as shit to know this motherfucker doesn’t own, then go get it,” he ordered the group.
Robert was clearly seething with anger, but he said nothing. He just covered his face with his hands and took a deep breath. Malevola hesitantly laid a hand on his shoulder, and the cuts on his hand faded away.
Chase didn’t say anything, and Robert didn’t look at him, but he could tell he’d approached by the sound of his footsteps.
“I don’t need your goddamn help,” Robert spat out through gritted teeth.
“Okay, then get up,” he shot back.
The kid didn’t respond to that, and Chase let out a sigh.
“Being alone was how you got yourself into this shit. Let us help you, you fuckin’ moron,” he chastized without any heat, “Now can you stand, or do I need to pick your bitch ass up?”
“I can get up,” Robert insisted.
He groaned in pain as he moved, and Chase was there to catch him when his knees gave out on his first step. He guided him to sit down on the couch. The kid had a damn Olympic gold medal in pretending he wasn’t hurting, so when every move he made was stiff and pained, Chase knew it had to be bad.
“Why’s your shit fucked?” he asked brusquely.
“I kind of got exploded a few times. Tends to leave–”
“You know what I mean, asshole,” he cut the sarcasm off.
“Cold,” Robert answered honestly.
He looked up at the room and shouted to the person closest to the thermostat.
“Coupe, turn the heat up, and someone make sure this bitch gets a blanket.”
He saw Robert’s eye twitch when he looked back down at him. He was clearly still furious, but he’d seemingly accepted he was outnumbered. Good. At least the dumb bitch had a few brain cells left knocking around up there.
Beef jumped up onto Robert’s lap and started licking at the dried blood on his hand before Robert moved it away with a cringe.
“That’s a good Beefy. Give him a taste for blood, and he can be your guard dog,” Chase greeted the little meatball, scratching him between the ears.
“Somehow, I doubt that would end well,” Robert replied with a grimace.
The kid looked like he was gearing up to say something, so he gave him a minute. Of course, that was when Invisibitch reported back from the bathroom.
“Dude, did you punch the fucking mirror?” She asked as she handed over the ibuprofen she found.
“Can you please just leave it be, Courtney?” Robert responded tiredly, not looking her in the eye.
He took the pills and dry swallowed what Chase could only hope was a reasonable dose.
“Yeah, it… yeah. Bruno already ate the evidence, so it’s all good,” she reassured him awkwardly.
Robert huffed an amused breath from his nose at that and offered a half-hearted thanks.
“Can you make sure those dumb fucks don’t come back with ten different throw pillows or something this time?” Chase subtly asked her to fuck off.
“Yeah, make sure they get ten different throw pillows, I got it,” she agreed with a smirk and walked away.
Robert still wasn’t looking at him, but thankfully, Visi didn’t scare him off from trying to grow a pair and say what he wanted to say.
“Can, um, can you walk Beef? And get his food?” Robert asked hesitantly.
Of course, he was asking for the fucking dog’s sake. Chase didn’t know what he expected. Motherfucker wouldn’t ask for anything for himself in a hundred miserable fucking years. He bit back as sigh before replying.
“Yeah, course, Kid.”
Robert finally sat back properly, like the weight of the world was taken off his shoulders, and Chase wanted to smack some goddamn sense into him. He wanted him to take care of himself like he took care of every goddamn living thing he came into contact with, but he knew that was a lifetime’s worth of bullshit to unlearn, and it wasn’t going to get fixed in a day. This was a big step forward, though, forced as it might be.
Robert just had to learn that he wasn’t alone anymore, and thankfully, it looked like all these flaming shits were going to help him remind the fucker of that.