#dispatch one shot

The man looked at him, hunched, eyes wild and hair even more so. "Nny."

"I'm still not understanding exactly what you do that's—" Robert said.

"I must feed the wall." He all but hisses. "Must find more assholes and jack offs to paint the fucking wall."

His eyes looked side to side, as if listening to invisible beings. He loudly slurped on a cherry brain freeze that he produced from nowhere.

"Okay. I see on the chart you're good with knives. We kinda already got that covered."

Robert picked up the second file. Looked to the man in the middle.

"Okay, kind of getting there. You're a consultant for the FBI?"

The man looked at the rim of his glasses like he was in pain. Swallowed, his jaw tense, "Not anymore. You could say we had a disagreement." He had sharped his tone on the consonant.

"Okay. So what's your power —"

"I have a very good imagination." He looked to the side, back to Robert but still not looking at him, "I see their design."

Robert looked at the man standing behind him, apparently a packaged deal.

"And this guy?"

"He eats the rude, mate." Said the third man seated to the left.

"Cool. Cool. Cool." Robert took a big breath and sighed. "We already got a cannibal."

He picked up the last file.

"And you're —"

"Constantine. At your service." The blond man looked him up and down, "You look like you're more dangerous in the dark, mate." He lit up his cig, winked. "Let's go get a pint and find out."

The Astral Pulse was at critical mass and climbing. He was the only one who could pilot it away from the city in time.

He heard the team in his headset, the crackling and static ever blanketing their pleas for him to stop. To let someone else try.

But there was no one else. Refused to let it be anyone else. Katon-Ur was down. The amulet destroyed. There was no one else that could pilot the mech like he could.

His ascent was about to enter the upper atmosphere.

He got the coordinates locked in time, he manually engaged the last boost that would carry the mech far enough to burn in the atmosphere on its descent.

He disengaged. Ejected. Not because he thought he'd survive, there was no way his parachute could survive the temperature fluctuations, let alone him.

He just wanted to know what it was like to fly. Without the mech. Without the suit.

He fell towards the earth. He heard the whistle and boom of the mech cracking the upper atmosphere above him as he drifted down and away.

He closed his eyes, mentally inverted himself so he could pretend he was moving horizontally and not vertically. He imagined the ocean and the high rise buildings of Los Angeles falling with him and not towards.

He thought of his friends, of his new family. He would miss them badly. More than he dared think about now. Because god, he just wanted to know what it was like. To let go. To know there was nothing coming next. This was it. The moment. The sun was bright beside him. The clouds burst in his wake. He felt powerful. He was Icarus.

He was Icarus and he would always choose this ending. To know what it was like to fly and be free. To fly close to the sun.

He didn't feel the metal on his flight suit burning up. Not yet. He felt the heat in his fingertips and face. It felt cold at first which he knew meant it was too hot to feel. He waited for the pain.

It did not come.

Robert was his dispatcher. His technically-superior at work. And also Mecha Man who'd arrested him, cost him two fingers. The guy who somehow managed to sound competent and calm over the comms when everything went to shit. The guy who always had something to say back to him. The guy who'd spent 15 years convincing himself he had to take care of everyone, save everyone.

And now he thinks he's the only one who could save Invisigal.

Except Robert wasn't being the vigilante he imagined himself as. He was just... destroying himself. Slowly. Methodically. With the same focused intensity he brought to everything else.

And Chad couldn't look away.

The little blue dot on a map with the contact name Mecha Bitch sat exactly where it should upon his phone screen: Robert's apartment building.

Chad had turned on location sharing when he'd had his phone earlier. Just in case. Robert had some idiotic asshole tendencies, and someone needed to make sure he actually stayed home instead of wandering into another back alley looking to get stabbed.

The dot had been stationary for about an hour now. Good. Maybe Robert had actually listened for once. Maybe he was feeding Beef, changing clothes, going to sleep like a functional—

The dot moved.

Chad sat up, his hand tightened around his phone.

The blue dot slid down the street. Away from Robert's apartment. Moving steadily, consistently. Car speed.

"No fuckin' way," he breathed.

Chad zoomed in watching the route. Not toward SDN. Not toward anywhere that would make sense this late. The dot traveled through residential streets, turned onto a main road.

Kept going eastside toward Copperhead territory.

Heat crawled up Chad's arms. He forced it down, flexing his free hand.

Robert was heading straight towards where the warehouses were.

The dot slowed. Stopped.

Two blocks from the warehouse known as Grey Site. Operational files and non lethal equipment were stored there, last he remembered. The cops never bothered with it, being mostly paid off and all. At least it meant it wasn't as well guarded as other places.

Perfect for a powerless idiot with a hero complex to go looking for information about his missing teammate.

"Stupid-ass bitch motherfucker." He sighed warily.

Chad stared at the unmoving dot for a long moment. Robert was just sitting there. Probably watching the entrance. Planning his approach. About to walk into another situation he might not be able to fight his way out of.

And Chad was sitting here watching a blue dot on a screen, trying to convince himself he didn't care.

He tried to convince himself to text Malevola. To make it her problem instead, but he didn't want anyone else to know. They'd rat him out again. He’d fail. Be fired. He’d be gone. Chad knew better than anyone that mandated therapy wasn't going to defuse the ticking time bomb that was Robert Robertson in time.

He tried to convince himself that the tightness in his chest was just annoyance. That the heat building in his hands was just anger. That he wasn't about to do something monumentally stupid because his dispatcher had tired puppy eyes and freckles and kept looking at Chad like he wanted him to finally do something about this tension they always had.

The dot still wasn't moving. Robert was working up the nerve to go inside.

Chad looked down at himself. Still in full gear—the deep v-neck suit, the fireproof fabric that let him use his powers without burning through his clothes every time he flew. He'd been too wired after karaoke to bother changing. Too busy thinking about Robert's voice when he sang, the performance, Robert's eyes, Robert's fucking mouth.

At least he wouldn't have to waste time suiting up.

He tossed his phone onto the table. Couldn't take it with him if he was going to fly. He had left his fireproof case in his locker at SDN.

Chad stepped out onto his balcony. The rain still went on, the city lights reflecting off wet pavement below.

He ignited his hands, let the flames build over him, then launched himself into the air.

The familiar rush of flight did nothing to calm him down. Usually this helped—the speed, the height, the way the city spread out beneath him like a map of stars. Usually he could lose himself in the physics of it, the controlled burn needed to maintain altitude and trajectory.

All he could think about was Robert's blue dot, still unmoving.

This was supposed to be a good night. He was supposed to go home, after a fun time with the team, have a drink, maybe jerk off to the memory of the way his dispatcher leaned into him in the alley, the noises he made, or of his hand sliding down his body on stage, then pass out and deal with his stupid crush in the morning like a functional adult.

Instead he was flying through the rain at midnight, chasing after a guy who clearly had a stubborn-ass death wish.

In the past, he would've been relieved if Mecha Man got himself killed. Would've celebrated, probably. One less self-righteous hero making him feel like shit for his past.

Now the thought made his flames burn hotter, made him push his speed faster than was strictly safe in weather like this.

He really was fucked.

Chad descended a block away from the Grey Site, landing in an alley where the streetlights didn't quite reach. His boots hit the pavement with barely a sound—controlled landing, no flash, no drama. He'd gotten good at the stealth approach lately.

Since he had to leave his phone behind so it wouldn't burn, he had to hope Robert was still just staking out the place and he could find him in time.

Chad paced the perimeter of the building, keeping to the shadows, hands ready to ignite at the first sign of trouble.

Just in case.

That's all this was.

Chad circled the building once before he spotted where his last ping was—Robert's phone, tucked behind a rusted electrical box in the alley. Screen still lit, displaying lines of code that scrolled past too fast for Chad to follow. Something about camera feeds, network protocols. Shit he'd see in Mission Impossible.

He saw it wasn't connected physically to anything. He decided to pick it up and slip it into his pocket. Better in his hands than the Copperheads.

So then where did he go?

Then he heard a man’s guttural scream.

Chad was moving before he'd consciously decided to, slipping through a side door that had been left propped open with a brick. The warehouse interior was dark except for a cluster of work lights in the back. He kept to the shadows, moving between stacks of crates.

Another scream. The sound of bone snapping.

Chad rounded a corner and froze in the shadows.

Robert—or what looked like Robert based on build and movement—had a man twice his size in an armbar, using the guy's own momentum to flip him over his hip. The man hit the concrete hard enough that Chad heard ribs crack.

Two others circled him warily. One was already down—unconscious, knee bent at an unnatural angle, arms covered in retractable spikes that had torn through Robert's hoodie in places. The fabric hung in strips from his shoulders, revealing glimpses of the black shirt and pale skin beneath.

A second guard rushed in—bulkier, clawed hands extended. Robert sidestepped, caught the reaching arm, and used the attacker's weight against him. They crashed to the ground together. Before the man could recover, Robert straddled his chest and drove his fist down—once, twice, three times. Blood sprayed.

His hood had been pulled down in the struggle. Robert's auburn hair was slick with sweat, plastered across his forehead. His lower face stayed hidden behind the black surgical mask, but his eyes—Chad could see them from here. Focused. Alive.

The clawed guard wheezed, grasped at Robert's wrists. His claws raked across Robert's forearm, drawing blood. Robert could've pulled back. Could've twisted away. He didn't. Just let the claws drag across his skin, watched the blood well up with something like satisfaction before he finally jerked free.

The guy with the barbed tail—still standing—lashed out. The strike caught Robert across the back, tearing through the already-shredded hoodie. Robert hissed but didn't stop. Just rolled off his current target and onto his feet in one fluid motion.

Chad had seen him fight before—at Sardine's, that had been stone-cold self-defense meant to disarm. Or in his Mecha Man suit, relying on plasma weapons, short-range missiles, and brute strength of the machine to subdue. This was different.

This was calculated. Focused. Like he was pressuring them to fight desperate and scattered so they'd land hits where he wanted them.

The barbed-tail guard swung again. Robert ducked under it—but not quite far enough. The barbs caught his cheekbone, just above the mask, tearing a line of red across his face. An accident. Robert's head snapped to the side from the impact.

For a split second, Chad thought Robert would back off.

Instead, Robert turned back slowly. Blood dripped down over his mask. His eyes had gone cold.

He moved in close—too close for the tail to be effective. Caught the guard's arm before he could retract it. Twisted. The sickening pop of a dislocating shoulder echoed through the warehouse.

The guard screamed.

The big guy from earlier—ribs cracked but still moving—grabbed Robert from behind. Wrapped both arms around his chest in a bear hug and hoisted him up.

Robert didn't struggle. Didn't try to break free. He went slack in the grip, let the man think he had control. Let him carry him backward, let him build momentum—

Then the man slammed him into a wooden support beam.

Chad's hands ignited involuntarily. That had to hurt—Robert's shoulder took the impact full force, his head whipping back against the wood. Robert had let it happen. Had positioned himself for maximum impact.

But Robert just grunted, a sound caught somewhere between pain and relief. Then he twisted in a way that shouldn't have been possible—his spine arcing, arm bending at an angle that should've dislocated his shoulder. He slipped out of the grip like water, turned, and drove his elbow up into the man's jaw.

Fuckin’ double jointed? No wonder he had shit form in the gym, Chad noted.

The big guy staggered back, dazed.

Robert didn't give him a chance to recover. He swept the man's legs, dropped him to the concrete, then brought his heel down on the man's already-cracked ribs.

The scream was short. The man passed out.

The guard with the taser—the fourth one Chad had almost missed, lurking near the far wall—lunged from the side. Robert spun, saw him coming. Could've dodged. Instead he turned his body just enough that the taser prongs would catch his side instead of his back.

Electricity arced through him. His whole body went rigid, jaw clenched behind the mask. But he grabbed the taser leads with both hands and yanked hard enough to tear them free, then closed the distance and headbutted the guard square in the nose.

Blood exploded across both their faces.

The guard dropped like a stone.

Robert stood in the center of it all, chest heaving. Four men down. His hoodie was in tatters, black shirt visible through the gaps. Blood ran down his jaw from the cut on his cheek. His knuckles were split and bleeding. Sweat dripped from his hair.

But he wasn't done.

He crouched over the unconscious guard, fist pulled back. The surgical mask puffed slightly with each harsh breath. His eyes—bright. Alive.

This wasn't self-defense.

This was self-harm with a body count.

Robert's fist drew back further, aiming for the unconscious man's face—

Movement behind Robert. On the opposite side of the warehouse, a fifth guard stepped out from behind a stack of crates. Gun raised. Aimed at Robert's back.

Robert had no idea.

Chad was already moving, flames erupting as he launched himself across the open floor. He closed the distance in seconds and caught the gunman with a single punch—superheated, full force. The man's head snapped back. He crumpled without a sound, gun clattering away across the concrete.

Robert spun at the noise, fist still raised—

Chad stood over the crumpled gunman, both hands wreathed in flames. The orange glow cast harsh shadows across his face.

For a heartbeat, Robert's eyes were still wild. Still riding the high. Then they focused on Chad, tracked down to the unconscious man with the gun, and reality crashed back in.

Robert looked down at his own raised fist. At the guard beneath him who'd been unconscious for—how long? His fist was still cocked back, ready to drive into an unmoving face.

Horror flooded through him. He recoiled, stumbling backward, his hands coming up. Shaking, blood-dripping. Like he didn't recognize them. The high drained away, replaced by something cold and sick.

He'd been about to—

He hadn't even seen the gun. Hadn't known there was a fifth guard. If Chad hadn't been there…

The thought wouldn't complete itself.

He took a shaking breath. Re-centered himself. The walls started rebuilding brick by brick. When he finally turned toward Chad, stepping away from the bodies, his voice came out defensive. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"What am I—" Chad's laugh was humorless. He strode forward, flames dying out, stepping over the gunman. "God, I fuckin’ knew you'd do this shit again. Fucking knew."

"I had it under control."

"Yeah. Looks like it." Chad's eyes swept over the five bodies—four guards and one gunman—then back to Robert. "Real controlled. These guys were just guarding a warehouse, low-level guys—they weren't hurting anybody."

Robert's jaw worked. He could feel his split lip bleeding again, taste copper. "They're alive. I looped the cameras. I was careful."

"Careful?" Chad closed the distance between them in three strides. "You broke into a Copperhead warehouse. Alone. At night. That's your idea of careful?"

"I got what I needed."

"Fuck what you needed. You're gonna die if you—"

"Everyone dies—"

"Stop. Don't." Chad said, moving closer. Something like fear in his voice.

Robert shoved past him toward the door. "I don't need you to babysit me."

Chad grabbed his arm, spun him back around. His other hand shot out and yanked down the fabric mask from his face.

Robert's face was flushed, sweat-damp hair sticking to his forehead. His chest heaved with each breath, lips parted as he tried to pull in air. Blood on his knuckles, a fresh split forming on his cheekbone.

But it was his eyes, up close like this, that made Chad's pulse kick.

Wide and brown, almost doe-like. Eyes that looked at everyone like they mattered, that softened when he talked to the team. Eyes that made people trust him instantly.

Not someone who'd just put four guys on the ground without breaking stride. Not the eyes of someone who'd almost beat someone to death. 

The disconnect was jarring. Robert's body was all lean muscle and calculated violence, every movement efficient and brutal when he fought. But his face? Open. Expressive eyebrows drawn together—surprised, defiant, a little wary. The face of the dispatcher who brought Beef to work and patiently explained tech issues to anyone who asked.

Who almost got shot from the back because he was so focused on chasing a high.

Chad's hands heated without permission. The same face that had smiled at him across the karaoke bar hours ago. Impish. Unguarded. And he almost— He could have—

Died.

Robert's gaze flicked down to Chad's heating hands, then back up. His breathing was still ragged. "What?"

The spell broke.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Chad's voice came out rough. He shoved Robert back a step. "You promised everyone you'd be better. That you wouldn't do this again."

"I am doing better, I didn't get stabbed."

Chad gestured at the torn hoodie, the cuts, the blood. "You let that guy slam you into a beam. Get clawed. I saw you. You wanted them to hurt you."

Robert wiped blood from his knuckles onto his jeans. His chest was still heaving. "I got what I came for." He pulled a flash drive from his hoodie pocket. "Their files. I saw something about—"

"What, you're just going to chase down some other lead alone? After leaving a trail of bodies? What if they come after you."

"They're not dead. I disabled the cameras. I made a copy, didn’t delete anything."

"That's not the point, fuck." Chad's eyes tracked over Robert as he circled him, gesturing at the torn hoodie, the blood, the bodies scattered across the warehouse floor. "What happens next time? When you're outnumbered twenty to one and you keep letting them hit you? You would've gotten fuckin’ shot if I wasn't here."

Robert scoffed, “I would’ve—”

Chad pointed at him. "Your little kung fu fury routine can't do shit against a Glock, bitch. What were you gonna do, fuckin' matrix the bullets? Channel your sad boy energy and make the gun jam from secondhand depression?"

"I don't—"

"Stop your bullshit." Chad closed the distance again. "I watched you, Robert. The way you fight when you want to get hurt. Hits in places you can hide. Using that freaky bendy shit to make them think they've got you, just so the pain lasts longer." He grabbed Robert's torn hoodie, his fist closing around the ripped shoulder seam. "This isn't just about saving Visi anymore. This is about hurting yourself, why?"

Robert met his eyes. Something defiant flickered there, mixed with something else Chad couldn't quite name. The surgical mask hung around his neck, spotted with blood. His lips were parted, still catching his breath.

The challenge hung between them.

Chad's jaw worked. His hands heated where they gripped Robert's hoodie—not enough to burn through yet, but close. The torn fabric started to smoke slightly. He could smell the sweat on Robert's skin, see the way his pupils dilated despite the pain he had to be in.

"I'm going to drag your stupid bitch-ass home before you get yourself killed." Chad shoved Robert back against the wall, not hard enough to hurt but firm enough to make his point. "You're done playing vigilante tonight."

Robert's eyes flashed. His brows furrowed, a snarled look crossing his features.

"What, you wanna fight me on it?" Chad stepped back, opened his arms wide. "Come on then, Mecha Dick. Let's fuckin’ go. I’ve been waiting for this."

Robert shoved off the wall and threw a punch.

Both of Chad's hands shot out, flames flickering across his knuckles. He caught Robert by the wrists and slammed them above his head against the wall. 

Then he stepped in close, using his height and body weight to crowd Robert against the wall.

His thigh slid between Robert's legs, knee pressing up. With Chad's height advantage, the angle forced Robert onto his toes immediately, thigh wedged high and tight.

"Done already?" Chad's voice came from above, his breath hot against Robert's upturned face. "So why did you come here? You said they told you she didn't want to talk or whatever."

Robert had to crane his neck to meet his eyes. The position put him at a disadvantage in every way—stretched up on his toes, wrists pinned high overhead, having to look up to see Chad's expression. He tried to shift his weight, but the movement only ground him harder against Chad's thigh. Heat flooded his face.

"You mentioned Riptide was with the Copperheads. Thought they’d have the info on why she's off limits." Robert grunted.

Chad's expression went from confused to comprehending to furious in the span of a heartbeat. "You pieced this place together from—Fuck. You used what I said and didn't tell me? Didn't ask for my help?" His voice was tight. "How are you so dumb and so smart in all the wrong fuckin' ways."

"Fuck off!" Robert tried to pull his wrists free but Chad's grip was iron, fingers digging into the tendons. His arms stretched uncomfortably high, shoulders burning from the angle.

"You're going to start some shitty gang war." The words came down at him, harsh. Chad pressed his thigh up deliberately, forcing Robert even higher onto his toes until his heels lifted completely off the ground. The movement was punishing, intimate. "Did you really think they wouldn't notice? That you could just stomp around like a giant mecha-elephant asking questions, beating the shit out of people, and nobody is going to come after you or blame other gangs? Tensions are already high with Shroud gone."

"Shut up—"

"You wanted to save her so bad you didn't stop to think." Chad leaned down, bringing their faces closer, his grip on Robert's wrists tightening. "Didn't plan. Didn't ask for backup." He shifted his weight, pressing in closer, and Robert's toes barely scraped the pavement now.

Robert bit back a sound, his breath coming faster. The stretch in his shoulders, the pressure between his legs, having to look up at Chad—everything about this position screamed surrender.

Chad's voice went harsh. "Why are you doing this?"

“I DON’T KNOW!” Robert shouted.

Chad leaned back for a second, shocked at the raw guttural emotion. With the new space, Robert engaged his core, used what little leverage he had against the wall, and drove his knee up toward Chad's ribs with everything he had.

Chad twisted to avoid the knee. The movement shifted his weight just enough that Robert could plant his foot and shove hard against his chest with his shoulder.

Chad stumbled away from the wall. Robert broke free and ran—not deeper into the warehouse, but toward the exit. He burst through the door into the rain.

The cold hit him immediately. Rain poured down, soaking through his clothes in seconds. He splashed through puddles as he sprinted across the wet pavement, he slipped but recovered.

He heard Chad behind him. Heavy footsteps, getting closer.

Robert didn't look back. He pushed himself faster, lungs burning, rain streaming down his face. He made it maybe twenty feet before—

Impact. Chad tackled him from behind.

They went down hard together, hitting the slicked pavement. Robert tried to roll, to throw Chad off, but Chad's weight was already on him, pinning him down.

Robert twisted, drove his elbow back. It connected solidly with Chad's ribs. The grip loosened. Robert bucked hard, managed to throw Chad off balance enough to roll out from under him.

He scrambled to his feet, but Chad was already up. Moving faster.

Robert barely had time to raise his guard before Chad grabbed his hoodie with both hands and drove him backward. They crashed into a stack of crates outside the warehouse. Wood splintered under their combined weight.

Robert drove his fist into Chad's kidney—once, twice. Chad's grip loosened just enough. Robert shoved him off hard.

Chad stumbled backward through the rain, boots sliding on wet concrete. Hard enough that his back hit the warehouse's outer wall.

For half a second Robert thought he had him. Saw surprise flash across Chad's face.

Then Chad's teeth clenched. His eyes burned bright. Dangerous.

"Okay," Chad said, voice low. "Now you're pissing me off."

He pushed off the wall with inhuman speed. Robert tried to sidestep but Chad was faster. His hand shot out, flames flickering, and grabbed Robert's arm. He yanked Robert forward and down, twisting them as they fell.

They hit the pavement hard. Robert on bottom, his back slamming into concrete. The impact knocked the air from his lungs. But the back of his head hit against something softer.

Chad's hand had shot behind Robert's head. Palm flat against the pavement. Taking the hit so Robert's skull didn't crack against concrete.

That was the only mercy Chad would give him.

He shifted his position. Pure predator. All efficient violence. He caught Robert's wrists as Robert swung at him—both hands this time, using everything he had.

Robert’s full strength meant nothing now. Chad wasn't playing anymore.

Chad slammed Robert's hands down against the pavement high above his head, arms stretched long. His knees pressed into Robert's hips, thighs spread wide for balance.

Robert was completely covered by Chad's frame. Robert bucked. Put everything into it—core engaged, hips driving up. Chad didn't budge. Too heavy, too solid, center of gravity too perfect.

He wasn't holding back.

The realization that he couldn't move Chad at all sent something hot and confusing through Robert's chest. For a moment, neither of them moved. Just breathing hard, rain pouring down around them. Robert could feel it soaking into his hair, running down his temples. Could feel Chad's chest rising and falling against his. Could feel his own knuckles throbbing from where he'd connected with Chad's ribs.

"That all you got?" Chad taunted, voice low, dangerous. But there was something else there too.

Approval.

Robert tried to ignore how their bodies fit together, tried not to catalogue the hard muscle pressed against him, the way Chad's weight pinned him so completely he could barely breathe.

Robert bucked again, harder. Desperate.

Chad's hands ignited while he held Robert's wrists. Heat seared through his torn sleeves, down to his skin. Not burning—not yet—but hot enough to make Robert hiss through his teeth.

The heat was controlled. Precise. Chad could reduce concrete to slag, turn metal to molten pools. Robert had seen the scorched earth he left behind. But this was restrained.

Robert tried to twist, to buck, to pull—anything. The thoughts would creep in. Suffocating. No, he had to keep fighting.

"Stop." Chad growled, pressing the heat harder against Robert's wrists. His shirt sleeves were barely intact now. The last barrier between Chad's hands and his bare skin.

Robert gasped. His back arched involuntarily, spine bowing off the pavement. The movement pressed their hips together—intimate, unavoidable. Thoughts scattered. Visi. The lead. Gone. All of it fading—

Chad leaned his weight down. When he put his full weight forward, it pressed Robert completely into the concrete, flattened him against the cold ground. The heat at his wrists intensified, walking the razor edge between pleasure and pain, and Robert couldn't separate them anymore. Couldn't think past the fire, the ache in his shoulders, the pressure of Chad's body.

His hips circled without permission, seeking more. The burning want sang up his spine, pooled low in his gut.

Chad's voice was rough with satisfaction, "This is what you want from me, isn't it?"

The spell broke momentarily. Robert tried to buck him off. Chad's thighs clamped down around his hips, holding him immobile. The pressure was maddening. Too much and not enough.

Robert turned his head to the side, tried to twist away, but he couldn't escape the heat radiating from Chad's body.

"Don't deny it," Chad shifted his hips deliberately. Slid his leg between Robert's. Ground down slow, purposeful. Robert's breath hitched despite himself. "Hips don't lie."

"Fuck you," Robert managed, but his voice was wrecked.

"You want to." Chad's voice dropped, went predatory. "That doesn't have to be a problem."

Robert bucked. The movement only proved Chad's point—his arousal was obvious now, hard and insistent, pressed against Chad's thigh where he could feel everything. Nowhere to hide.

The rain kept falling but Robert couldn't feel it anymore. Just fire—just him.

Chad shifted, now holding both of Robert's wrists with just his left hand. His hand encircled both easily. The single-handed grip was somehow more dominating. A casual reminder of the strength difference, how easily he could control Robert's body.

"Even right now," Chad's free hand grabbed Robert's jaw, fingers splayed across his cheek, forcing eye contact. Still glowing with residual heat, pleasantly hot against Robert's rain-cold skin. "You're moving like you're begging me to go further."

Robert's breathing was ragged. Uneven. The heat on his wrists was constant now, just shy of actual burning. Rain soaked through his clothes but all he could feel was fire. At his wrists. Against his jaw. Radiating from every point where his body touched his.

His vision tunneled. All thoughts drowning in sensation. It all scattered like ash, burned away until nothing remained but this—this weight, this heat, those eyes boring into his.

He could still feel the pressure of Chad's thigh between his legs, when he held him against the wall like he weighed nothing. The humiliation of it. He wanted more.

"You want to keep fighting?" Chad's thumb pressed against Robert's split lip, hot enough to sting. The copper taste of blood mixed with rain on Robert's tongue. "Or do you want me to make you stop thinking about every fucking thing except what I'm doing to you right now?"

Robert stared up at Chad. Had to tilt his head back even lying down to meet those eyes. His chest heaved, each breath pressing him harder against Chad's weight. His hips moved in small, desperate circles. Seeking friction. Seeking anything. Movements he couldn't control, didn't want to control anymore.

"I need an answer, Robert. Or this stops."

For a heartbeat, Robert just looked at him. Chad's expression was serious, unwavering. He meant it.

Robert flicked out his tongue. Tasted the thumb pressed against his lips—salt and heat and rain. Then he closed his lips around it, inviting it deeper. His teeth grazed along the pad as he sucked. Slow. Deliberate. His eyes never left Chad's.

Challenge. Surrender. Both.

Chad went very still above him. Something dangerous flashed in his eyes.

He slowly pulled his thumb from Robert's mouth and shifted the hand to grip Robert's jaw to hold his face still.

Then Chad kissed him. Hard and brutal.

He took what he wanted. His lips were hot, almost burning. His teeth caught Robert's already split lip and bit down.

Robert made a sound—half pain, half pleasure. Chad swallowed it. Deepened the kiss.

Pain bloomed sharp and bright. Fresh blood welled up, copper flooding Robert's mouth. He gasped and Chad's tongue swept in immediately, taking advantage. Tasting. Claiming.

Robert kissed him back just as hard, like Chad was oxygen and he needed air. He tried to bite back. Caught Chad's lower lip between his teeth—just enough to draw blood, to prove he was still fighting even as he opened his mouth wider.

The kiss was messy—all teeth and blood and fire and rain.

Chad made a low sound in his chest. Almost a growl. He shifted the hand on Robert's jaw upwards, fingers sliding back to grab his hair, to hold his head still.

The kiss went deeper, more demanding. Robert couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but take it.

Chad's other hand—still holding both of Robert's wrists pinned—squeezed tighter. The heat flared again, sharp enough to make Robert gasp into Chad's mouth. The sound was swallowed by the kiss, lost in the heat between them.

Then Chad slid his hand from Robert's hair down his neck—fingers trailing biting heat—across his chest, down his torso and found the top of his jeans.

One-handed, he tore the button off and pulled Robert's pants apart at the zipper.

He slid his hand down, palm pressing against Robert through his boxers—deliberate, possessive. Robert's breath hitched. Then Chad's hand moved to his hip, fingers sliding under the shirt, searching. He found the burn scar and splayed his fingers over it, then pressed down.

Heat flared through the old wound. The scar tissue lit up with renewed agony. It burned fresh—like they were back in the alley behind Equinox.

Robert's back arched violently off the pavement. A strangled sound tore from his throat, swallowed by Chad's mouth. Tears pricked his eyes from the intensity of it.

Pain and pleasure braided so tight he couldn't tell them apart anymore. Sensation sung through his veins until Robert couldn't remember why he'd been fighting at all.

His hips rolled up against Chad's body—seeking, desperate, shameless. But Chad's weight kept him pinned too completely to get the friction he needed. The desperate rolling turned to helpless grinding, chasing relief that stayed just out of reach.

When Chad finally pulled back, they were both breathing hard. Panting. Robert's chest heaved, pressing up into Chad's weight with each desperate inhale.

He was still hard, still aching, trapped in that space between too much and not enough. Rain had slowed but neither of them seemed to notice anymore.

"Better?" Chad's voice was rough. Wrecked.

Robert stared up at him. Pupils blown so wide his eyes looked black. Lips swollen and bleeding. Blood smeared across his chin, mixing with rain. His whole body trembled, strung tight with unfulfilled need and the echoes of pain-pleasure still singing through his nerves. He couldn't form words. His brain had short-circuited, thoughts burned away to nothing but static and want and the desperate pounding of his heart.

Looking up at Chad from this angle, pinned completely, held down by strength he couldn't match, made him feel small and safe and terrified all at once.

"Nothing to say?" Chad smiled. Satisfied.

His hands finally cooled. The flames died out, left behind only residual warmth. But he didn't let go of Robert's wrists. Didn't move off him. His weight remained, grounding and inescapable.

Robert found his voice eventually. It came out hoarse, barely above a whisper. "What—" He had to stop, swallow, try again. His throat was raw. "What are you doing? What is this?"

"Helping you with an alternative." Chad's eyes sparked. The gold flecks caught what little light there was.

"I don't need—"

"Listen."

Chad's grip tightened on his wrists. Not painful now, just firm. Unbreakable. Robert felt the pressure all the way through his bones.

"You need someone to stop you from self-destructing. You need a substitute for chasing pain with strangers in dangerous places." His voice dropped lower. "You need someone who won't let it go too far. Someone who can handle you when you get like this."

Chad shifted slightly, redistributing his weight. The movement made Robert acutely aware that he was still aching with unfulfilled need, still pressed against Chad and wanting despite everything.

"And since I'm apparently the only one who gives enough of a shit to follow your stupid ass into the rain," Chad leaned down, brought their faces close again. "I'm volunteering."

"Volunteering to what, exactly?" Robert's voice was steadier now, but his heart still hammered against his ribs.

Chad shifted to increase the distance between their faces, bringing Robert's wrists down to either side of his head, giving his shoulders a break.

"To keep you alive, grounded while you figure out your shit." Chad's thumb brushed across Robert's wrist, found his pulse still racing. "And to give you what you've been craving every time you look at me like you want to start a fight just so I'll pin you down."

"You can't fix me." Robert's voice came out sharp. Chad heard the plea underneath it. Don't offer this thinking I'm going to change.

Chad laughed—dark, dangerous, echoing off wet pavement.

"Oh, Robbo." The mockery in his voice was almost gentle. "I don't want to fix you." Chad released Robert's wrists, moved to sit on his thighs, knees against his hips. He leaned back slightly, looking down at him with something like satisfaction. "I like you fucked up."

Chad's hand moved to Robert's throat. Heat flared. Robert gasped. "Healthy people don't get off on this. But I don't want you dead either." His hand tightened slightly.

Robert didn't say anything.

"You do get that, right? If you keep doing this shit it'll kill you. Soon. And I'm not going to let that happen." He paused. "So I keep you grounded until you get actual help. Help you save Visi, close this chapter. You get healthy, whatever that means for you. And then this stops. We go back to being teammates."

Silence.

Save Visi. Not 'get over her', not 'move on'. Save. Chad believed him. Fucking Flambae of all people on his team.

Robert's throat tightened with something that felt dangerously close to hope. "And what do you get out of this?"

Chad's eyebrows arched, shifting his weight slightly on Robert's hips. "You really want to know?"

"I know it can't be out of the kindness of your heart. So?"

"I get to find out what you sound like when you beg—"

"Of course you'd think I'd beg."

"You would."

"I wouldn't—"

Chad's hand heated against Robert's throat while his other hand dragged down Robert's body to press firmly against the front of his pants.

Robert's hips jerked up involuntarily. His back arched. The whimper was right there, trapped behind his teeth.

Chad held him like that. Watching. Heat pulsing against his throat, pressure between his legs, pinned between sensation and need.

Then he eased off both points of contact. Left Robert trembling.

Chad smirked, looked entirely too pleased with himself. He knew he didn’t have to say anything.

Robert's chest heaved as he sighed and looked away. He knew he couldn't argue anyway.

Chad's hand moved from Robert's throat to brush wet hair off his forehead—almost tender, if it weren't for the predatory look in his eyes.

"I get my hands on you and take off that headset, the Mecha Man persona, strip away all the shit you hide behind." His voice was rough with want. "Take you apart piece by piece. The guy who spends all day keeping everyone else alive, coordinating from a distance, trying to save everyone all the fuckin' time."

His fingers traced along Robert's jaw, thumb catching on his split lip again. "Get to map out every scar, every place that makes you gasp when I press just right. Every sound I can drag out of you when you're not the one giving orders for once. See if you keep that smart mouth running or if you'll finally shut up and just feel."

He leaned down, brought their faces close.

"So yeah. I keep you alive, help you find her, and I get my answer. You've had me wondering for months what you'd be like. This gives me a chance to find out. To ruin you. For a little while."

His hand settled back on Robert's chest, feeling it rise and fall. A reminder of who was on top. The urgency was fading. The desperate heat cooling into something quieter, the adrenaline settling into a loose, almost buzzing calm.

"Do we have a deal or not?"

Robert stared up at him, breath slowing. His mind was quiet for the first time in months—no spiral of guilt, no obsessive planning, just... this. Chad's weight on him. The promise of help. Someone who believed him.

A smile tugged at his lips despite everything. "I've had you wondering for months?"

Chad's face scrunched like he felt actual pain, as he leaned back. "Ah, fuck. Don't—"

"You've hated me so much you wanted to fuck me?" Robert's laugh was half-disbelief, half-delight. The endorphin high was settling into something almost giddy. "That's what this is?"

"That's not—"

"Months, Chad." Robert's voice was hoarse but gaining strength. "So what was it? My voice? The headset?" His grin widened. "The 'dusty-ass' flight suit, as you called it?"

"I'm going to leave you here."

Robert rolled his eyes. "No you're not. I've had you wondering for months." Robert gestured vaguely between them—still pinned, cuts, bruises, still soaked, still a mess. "That's embarrassing for you, Flambae."

Chad's hand heated against his chest in warning. "Big talk for the guy squirming under me begging me to finish him."

Robert's face flushed. "I wasn't—"

"You were." Chad leaned down, his tone teasing. "You were arching your back, grinding against me, making these desperate little sounds—"

"Fucking stop—"

"—just begging me to—"

"Shut the fuck up. Please." But Robert was grinning through the pain of his embarrassment.

Chad's mouth almost curved into a smile.

"And yet." Robert's voice dropped, some of the humor fading into something more real. "You meant it. About helping me find her. About believing me."

Chad was quiet for a moment. Then: "Yeah. I meant it."

Robert took a breath. The word felt lighter than it should have. "Okay. Then yeah. We have a deal."

For a moment, neither of them moved. Chad was still straddling him, hand warm against his chest. Robert could feel his heartbeat—or maybe that was Robert's own pulse, he couldn't tell anymore.

"Robbo." Chad's voice was quieter now. Almost careful. Chad leaned down, bringing their faces close. "I will help you find her even if we don't—" He gestured vaguely between them. "Do this part of the deal. If you say stop—"

"I won't." Robert's voice was rough.

"Let me finish." Chad's hands moved to his face, tilted his head back. "If you say stop. At any point. We stop. You understand? I'm not a villain."

The 'anymore' was silently implied between them.

Robert nodded. His throat felt too tight to speak.

Chad was clarifying the help wasn't conditional. Which meant the arrangement wasn't really transactional at all—just Chad's fucked-up way of asking for something he couldn't say directly. His backwards way of finally asking Robert out for dinner.

It was almost endearing.

"I need to hear you say it."

"I understand." Robert placed his hands over Chad's thighs, finally realizing his arms were free to move. "If I say stop, we stop." A pause. "But I won't."

"You might."

"I won't." Robert's eyes locked with his. "I want this." Something sparked in Robert's expression. "You've had me wondering for days what you'd be like."

"Days?"

Robert looked up at him, one brow raised, "Days to your months, yes."

"You fuckin' brat," Chad carded one of his hands through Robert's hair, Robert's eyes fluttered. "And what if I want to do worse."

The question hung between them.

"Then do it," Robert said. His voice was steady despite everything. "I'm saying yes, Chad. To all of it. Break me. Take as many pieces of me as you want. I don't want to be put back together the way I was."

Chad released his grip, moved his hand to Robert's shoulder. "You don't know what you're agreeing to."

"So show me." Robert's smile was sharp. "You've been thinking about this. How far I'd go. How much I'd take. I want this." He used his remaining core strength to sit up. His hands gripped Chad's leggings. "I want you."

Chad's breath hitched. Something dark and hungry crossed his face.

Then he moved both hands to Robert's shoulders and increased their distance.

"Later." Chad's voice was rough but firm. He climbed off Robert, offered his hand. "Anyone could show up, I don’t want an audience. You need rest. Let’s get you home."

Robert opened his mouth to argue.

"Robert." Chad's tone left no room. "You're high on adrenaline and you're going to crash so fuckin' hard."

Robert wanted to push. But Chad was right and they both knew it. And underneath the wanting, underneath the arrangement and the heat and the rain, there was still Visi. Still the files to comb through. Still the investigation.

"Fine." Robert let Chad help him up.

He brushed off his jeans and destroyed hoodie, as if it did anything.

Chad stayed silent, just stepped to the side to let Robert lead the way.

Robert patted his hoodie pocket reflexively, checking for the flash drive. Still there. Good. He reached for his phone in his jeans pocket—

Empty.

"Shit." Robert's hand went to his other pocket. Nothing. "My phone—I need to grab it. The hack—"

"I have it." Chad pulled Robert's phone from his suit pocket. The screen was dark, cracked from their struggle. Chad looked at it, “Whoops.”

Robert took it, his stomach dropping. The phone still turned on when he pressed the side button, showing his program had been interrupted. "When did the program stop?"

"Don't know. Found it behind the electrical box when I got here. It was running something then." Chad watched Robert's face go through several calculations.

If the program died, the camera loop died with it. Which meant—

Voices. Shouting. From inside the warehouse.

"Fuck." Robert shoved the cracked phone in his pocket and took off toward the fence.

Chad was right behind him. They hit the chain-link at the same time. Robert climbed, his burned wrists screaming in protest. Chad used a controlled burst to propel himself over in one smooth motion, landing in a crouch on the other side.

Robert dropped down beside him. His mind was already racing ahead—he didn’t know how much the cameras caught. The fight. Chad's arrival. Their... exchange against the warehouse wall, on the pavement in the rain.

All of it could be on video.

They ran.

Behind them, more shouting. The sound of the warehouse door slamming open.

Robert's lungs burned. His body was past the point of adrenaline-fueled strength, running on nothing but desperation now. Chad kept pace beside him, could have easily left him behind but didn't.

They made it a block before the voices faded. Three before they slowed to a walk, both breathing hard.

Robert's mind wouldn't stop. The cameras. The footage. If the Copperheads reviewed it, they'd see his face. See Chad. See exactly what happened between them.

"They could have it all on video," Robert said between gasps. "The fight. You showing up. Everything after."

"Yeah." Chad's voice was remarkably calm. "They might."

"That doesn't bother you?"

Chad shrugged, still walking. "What are they gonna do? Report us to SDN? 'Hey, the feral twink who broke into our illegal warehouse and the dashing hero who stopped him from getting killed had a moment. Please fire them.'" He glanced at Robert. "They're not gonna do shit. We didn't leave dead bodies. You didn’t steal anything physical. They'll chalk it up to a bad night and move on."

"You sound very sure about that."

"I am." Chad's hand found the small of Robert's back, steadying him as they walked. The touch was casual. "Trust me. Copperheads have bigger problems than us as long as you stop your bullshit."

Robert wanted to argue. But exhaustion was creeping in. His legs felt heavy, his wrists throbbed, and the burn on his hip was a constant reminder of what they'd just done.

What they'd just started.

Robert managed to order a ride on the cracked screen. The rideshare was scheduled a half mile away.

They walked in silence for about five minutes when Chad couldn't take the silence anymore.

"Have you done this before? Hooked up with guys? College experimentation or—"

"Chad."

"What? I'm just asking. Gotta know what I'm working with here. How experienced you are."

Robert sighed. "Yes. I've been with men. Casual sex isn't new to me. Shocker, I know."

"When was the last time?"

Robert glanced to the right, knitting his brows together, thinking.

"Seven months ago, I guess. A guy."

Chad stopped walking. "Seven months? Bro, that's like—that's almost a year. That's fuckin’ tragic."

"It's seven months, not seven years. And I've been busy."

"Doing what, getting your ass kicked in alleys? Clearly not getting laid. Who was it? Do I know him? Was he good?"

Robert's mouth curved slightly. "No one knows him, and yeah, actually. He was really good."

Chad's eyes narrowed. "Bullshit."

"Tall. Built. Knew what he was doing." Robert glanced at Chad. "Why, are you jealous?"

"No. Who was he?"

"Some guy from a bar. Don't remember his name."

"You don't—" Chad laughed, sharp and delighted. "Oh my god. You're telling me Mecha Man, LA’s perfect hero, SDN dispatcher who scolds us about rules and regulations, just picked up a rando at a bar and didn't even get his name?"

"I had a bad shift. Wanted to blow off steam." Robert paused. "He helped."

"I could've helped. I was right there. I'm literally on your team. This whole time you were down for it and it could've been me."

"First of all, you were the one who pissed me off that shift by setting little fires. Second, back then you hated me and didn't even know I was Mecha Man yet. I wasn't going to proposition the guy who called me some NPC and didn't even know I was the one who cut his fingers off."

"Wow, you really need to let that fire thing go, but, I mean, yeah, okay, fair. That would have been pretty fucked. But still." Chad crossed his arms, "So this bar guy. He make you beg? Make those sounds you made?"

Robert's face flushed but he kept his voice even. "We didn't really do a lot of talking."

"That's not what I asked."

"It was good, Chad. I don’t kiss and tell. Sorry to disappoint."

Chad rolled his eyes. "You're so full of shit. If it was that good you'd remember his fucking name."

"Maybe I just have a bad memory for names." Robert's tone was innocent. "Should you be worried I'll forget yours?"

"You're not gonna forget me, Robbo. I'm gonna ruin you for anyone else. You're gonna think about me every time you even look at another guy and go 'nah, can't compete.' I'm gonna make you—"

"Loving the confidence."

"—so fucking wrecked you won't even remember your own name, let alone some basic bitch who was probably mediocre at best—"

"He really wasn't though."

"—and definitely didn't make you sound like that, all desperate and needy—"

"How do you know what I sounded like with him?"

Chad stopped mid-rant. Stared at him.

Robert shrugged, expression innocent. "You weren't there. Maybe I'm always like that. Desperate and needy." He paused. "Maybe I sound like that when I eat a really good Twinkie. You don't know."

“I've seen you eat Twinkies.”

“But a really good one? Those breakroom ones are stale.”

"You're fucking with me."

"Am I?" Robert checked his phone. "Car's almost here."

"I hate you so much right now."

"Thought you liked me fucked up."

When the familiar car pulled up, they realized it was the same tired driver from last night. Neither of them said anything about it, just nodded in greeting as Chad pulled the tarp out of the trunk.

Chad and Robert sat silent in the back of the car. The door shut. The engine hummed. And just like that, the adrenaline dropped out from under Robert all at once. His hands started shaking. His eyes burned. A laugh bubbled up—wet, uncontrollable—and he pressed his palm against his mouth and pinched his nose before it could pour out of him.

Chad didn't say anything. He gave Robert one of the vomit bags the driver had stocked in the door pocket. He placed a hand on Robert's back and just left it there, a comforting weight as Robert let it all out into the bag.

If there was one word to describe Los Angeles, it was super. Whether it was in the billboards that followed you around every street, the daily calamities that ruined your morning commute, or the constant stream of idol zeitgeist from your peers; there was always someone or something super involved. And unfortunately, you held a part in it.

The drawbacks came early in your youth, a small temper tantrum strong enough to be measured on the Richter scale. Day in and out you had to smother your emotions, slowly molding that wallflower personality that kept you from trouble for so long. But your powers were strong, too strong to go unnoticed, and this unhealthy habit wouldn't hold forever. It might've been a freak accident after a particularly stressful day, or one grueling moment you couldn't bear to hold yourself back anymore, but whether you liked it or not, the "super" side of LA had finally took notice of you.

So there you sat, legs pressed together in that beat up lobby chair, sinking into the cushioned imprint from all those before you. It held more than enough room to sprawl out, but something weighed on your heart like an anchor. This was an opportunity -- a good one! Yet while your face didn't show the frantic beating in your chest, your surroundings did. The trashcan's contents slowly crawling out, the office chairs dragging to a circle, the near empty room seemed to draw closer and closer until a voice cut through.

"Hey. [Y/N], right?" You raised your head, the man who had just called your name scanning the now strewn lobby. "Not the worst state I've seen this place in." He held out a hand which you were quick to meet. "Robert. Robert Robertson - and before you start, yes, that's my actual name." You weren't sure what you were supposed to start. "Robert, thank you for having me here, I'm... wait, no, you already said my name." He held back the chuckle that nearly slipped, noting how you were still holding firm onto his hand. "Yeah, I did. Still, not a crime to say it twice. This hero business involves a lot of head trauma so, a reminder's always good." With that you had finally remembered to let his hand drop, following him through bleached corridors and a miasma of stale coffee. "First things first, it's best to get you introduced to the others."

"Alright, team, the reason you were all called in here today is because," "We're switching to child labour?" Some bat-headed businessman piped up with, earning a few chuckles and harder exhales from the conference room. "Yes. In fact, due to a piss poor performance they'll be taking your place as of now… Is what I would've had done if this was my call, but alas." The bat man scoffed and sunk into his chair as the team seemed to turn the humour on him. "Skipping all the corporate talk; from now on, [Y/N] here will be this team's protégé, learning under a mentorship that all of you will be leading." For the first time since you had stepped into this building there was silence.

"Thank you all for having me here. It looks like this came as a shock to, all of you, but I'm honored to be a part of this." You repeated the sentiment you had held in the lobby. Honored was a strong word, but with how their gazes were locked at you, a bit of flattery would surely ease the tension. "Is this a fuckin' joke?" ah.

They weren't happy, and the comments were coming out quick. "W-Why are… who, wanted us to take care of- mentor of, someone?" "Fuckin' 'ell, Robert, what's a wee sheit like them doin' in a place like this?" Not necessarily aimed at you. Just, the situation itself. "We're not babysitters, fuck are we supposed to do with a kid?" Well, some still aimed at you.

You felt a tug at your lip, eyes in the room darting between you and Robert as the complaints poured forward. You were close to melting into the wall until Robert took a step forward and planted his hands on the table. "Hey, hey! Do I gotta remind you all how we ended up here? Cause I know that none of us planned on going corporate." His gaze traveled over the team. "I was given this chance, alright? A second chance, and so were you. Some of you even got a third chance -- hell, a fourth! So instead of getting pissy over having to do your literal jobs, you can all give [Y/N] here the same chance that we got."

The team had been reduced to murmurs, searching amongst each other for whoever had the next word. "So, what can they do?"

Your powers were strong, too strong to go untested in the field. Your first week or so was to be spent around the office, helping wherever you could and training in the building's gym. Flambae hadn't been too keen on being a "babysitter" and his woes would strike true, taking Blonde Blazer's place today as your trainer. His powers apparently had the tendency to flare up alongside his emotions, a parallel that was quickly drawn to you.

"Look, I don't know what they were thinking bringing a kid to the office," "teenager" "Shut up. And I've already got enough to deal with from doing actual work so just, do your brain thing or whatever-the-fuck you call it" You looked between him and the punching bag, unsure where to really take the initiative. Raising your hand, that all too familiar wave was drawn from your core, traveling through bones and ligament and hurling itself from your palm, slamming the punching bag back and letting it sway.

You turned to him, expecting some sort of follow up. Instead he just stood there, arms crossed and his weight on one foot, giving a nod to continue. So you went on, sending a barrage into the bag guided by your fists. Flambae didn't seem to stop you just yet, watching as you flailed about with your psychokinesis doing most of the work. Despite trying your best to never rely on your powers, you had never put particular effort into building up your body either, not even a few seconds passing until you felt your lungs begin to heave, electing to stop.

"There," You spoke between labored breaths. "I'm sorry that I'm taking up your time with this." "What?" He raised a brow. "Your schedule. You said you already had enough to deal with, so I'm sorry for getting in your way with, this." He stared back at you, the annoyed demeanor now replaced with confusion, which eventually melted away into a look you couldn't quite describe, eyes that carried some form of sympathy as his domineering posture gave way. "No, no no that's, uhh… you, stand poorly. Any hit and you'll get swept with your knees locked like that. Here - hold on let me show you."

He took a step forward, suddenly caring enough to begin instructing your body, fixing your stance and giving you room to continue, a small smile as you both began to work through improving your repertoire. From that day on, it seemed like Flambae was covering more and more for Mandy every week.

"Yo, [Y/N], you been reading up on that homework?" Were the first words that met you in the break room. Sonar had been surprisingly open to helping you out, even supplying you with 'study material' as he called it. At first you were grateful -- though, a bit discouraged since you already had actual schoolwork to do. Then the horrid realization came, how the books were all under one author. Vanderstank. You hadn't really picked up on most of the things Sonar tried to teach you, but you recognized the terminology in these pages from his ramblings. 'Sigma male', 'Grindset', 'HODL', 'Crypto wallet'. It was more made up than any fairytale you'd heard.

Unfortunately, you didn't have the heart to tell him the full extent of your thoughts. He meant well, always talking about improving your confidence and "maximizing your profits". So your usually dormant face carried a forced smile with it. "Yeah, they've really helped me… extend my port-folio. Thank you." "See! Told you the kids gets it -- watch, two years from now? We'll have our own startup and everything."

Malevola, who was sitting right beside him, carried a smile alike your own; though hers was more empathetic to you specifically. "You're gonna rot their brain with that stuff, man." "Nah, that's just what quitters say, to hold back the alphas who're trying to make it." "Make it? You- We work in a glorified call center, where have we made it?" "Hey, I said they're holding back those who are trying to make it, not those who've already- oh, shoot, hold on." In a moment he had fished his phone out, pacing away to listen to whatever pyramid scheme he had roped someone into.

"Real sweet of ya to play along with him." "Play, along?" "Yeah, y'know, with the books." Her smile began to falter. "Wait. You didn't actually read them, did you?" "Oh no, I did. They were horrible."

That earned a quick laugh from her, slinging an arm around your shoulder and playfully butting a horn against your dome. "Ah, I like ya kid- you're cool."

Just as Sonar had gotten off the phone, Robert stuck his head into the lounge, giving a whistle. "Hey, we've got some molemen surfacing downtown, seems like they're making a comeback for, some reason. We need you out there, now." "And you didn't just say this over our pieces cause?" Sonar had to ask. "Because," Robert swung his hand and chucked something your way, you were quick to catch it and look down at the earbud in your palm. "I think it's about time [Y/N] here went on an actual call and not a coffee run."

Your powers were strong, too strong to become dependent on. So during his time between missions, Punch Up would drag you to the gym, having you train whatever lay beyond your powers. You tried to protest at first, but it seemed like nothing could cause that man to back down, eventually convincing you to tag along with it. He had already worked half a shift today and was still finding the energy to hold that punching bag for you.

"Come on, kid. Put yer fist through it!" He went on like clockwork, watching you dance around -- or more-so stumble around -- the rubber mat. Admittedly you had noticed some progress to your stamina and strength compared to how you were at the start of this mentorship. Though Colm had a nasty tendency to forget the fact that he was literally built different, barely having broken a sweat while you felt your knuckles already beginning to ache through the gloves.

"Don't you think this," You paused to dry your throat with saliva, was that the taste of iron or blood? "that this is a bit much? My arms are, so tired."

"'Yer not gonna make it far with whinin' like that. Now I know ya can do better than that wee ticklin', so come on!"

Another nasty tendency he had was his mouth and how he never knew when to close it. Even when trying to motivate he would accidentally slip a word in that ticked something off within you. So you heaved yourself forward, your whole torso turning with the punch, nailing it straight center mass into the bag. Unbeknownst to you, Colm had let his arms rest during this 'motivational talk', and before he could raise his hands again his vision was engulfed with the battered redness of a punching bag.

It took you a second to build the courage to peek across, gazing down at his now gushing nose. The weights littered around had already begun to float, the bag itself shaking with your fear. Before you could even get a word out, Colm let a bolstering laugh that shook the gym, clapping you on the back as you felt the color slowly rise back to your face.

"There we fuckin' go! Now that's a brutal dig!" Your words were faltering, stuttering incoherently as you pointed at the bloody mess that was seeping into his mustache. He finally took a finger up, dabbing at it and pulling away to look at the crimson shine. "Hah! What'd I tell ya? Knew ye could do better than that. Soon enough, ya won't even be needin' yer powers." You finally met his beaming laugh with a, albeit hesitant, smile of your own. The worry you felt had been overtaken by a strange warmth rising in your chest from the pride he wore on his bloodied face.

"MY FUCKING CAR!" A yell froze you up, spinning around to meet the source. An aging man with a comb-over that was certainly over, reeling beside what could only be described as a polygonal eye-sore with its windshield pierced by a piece of debris, the debris you had been chucking at the now pummeled monster. It was your first ever big mission, and you were already paying for it.

"I'm sorry, sir." You began with quickly, reciting the same commercial you had seen on loop in the lobby. "SDN doesn't cover any damages to property in the field. I-" "Sorry!? You better be sorry, you lil' shit - wipe that smug-fuck look ya got!" Your felt that almost nostalgic pressure crawl back into you, taking a step back as the spittle hit your temple, a frown forming as the rubble around you began to shake. "I oughta wipe that mug myself, you-"

"Hey. One more step, and we'll ruin more than that shitbox of yours." Before the man could even follow your step back, Flambae was standing right in front of you with a stare strong enough to burn a hole through your assailant. "This bitch giving you trouble?" Prism followed up with beside you, pushing her shades down to get a good look at the shrinking man.

"We all good?" The shadow that now loomed over you spoke, Golem dwarfing everyone in this confrontation. Whatever the man had wanted to say was stuck in his throat, his legs failing him next as he clambered back into the office he crawled out from.

You had expected further reprimand, shit talk, maybe even an early leave once you got back. Instead the trio was now fuzzing over you, Flambae crouching to your level as Prism wiped the dirt from your shoulders. "Hey, look at me, that out there -- the work you just did? Fucking amazing. Forget that bitch, alright?" It was like he could peer through your mask, the roaring in your chest slowly fizzling with a heavy exhale.

"Thanks- thank you for, saving me there. I'm sorry that-" "Don't you go apologizing for what that limpdick tried pining on you. These things happen, like, all the time." Prism was quick to cut you off with. "If anything we were saving him. You would've turned his ass inside out." She added, giving you a grin. It was usually a rare sight, but ever since you got your footing in this team, you seemed to crack a smile more every day.

Robert ripped the headset off, drawing a sigh for so long his lungs felt like collapsing. It had been a long shift -- no, a long day. His shift ended an hour ago, or was it two? That computer would not let him go. Self proclaimed nemeses returning, calamities tearing through the city left and right, people in the streets yelling about the end of the world. Just his luck that that kaiju had to come out right during the eclipse, something about the event having drawn out everyone and everything.

He pried himself from the office chair, each joint and ligament screaming at him for all his horrible life choices. As he was packing his things, his phone buzzed with a message from that all too familiar geriatric.

lounge. now.

Maybe it had been the horrid shift he just had getting to him, or the sleep deprivation, or both, but all the alarms went off in his head at once, rushing past the dormant cubicles, nearly slipping over the smoothened floor as he practically slid into the lounge, immediately hushed by Chase who only met Robert with a gesture towards the sofa. You were lying there with Beef pressed up against your stomach, Phenomaman's cape detached and draped over the both of you. Robert had been wondering where you went off to during the day, and why the rest of the Z team were so dismissive to answer him. Guess this was their idea of covering for you.

"Went around lookin' for Beef and found these lil' shits sleepin in." Chase spoke in a half whisper, pocketing his phone. "Don't know how long they've been here, but I can't bring myself to wake 'em." "And let me guess, you've already set this as your background?" "Damn. I am fuckin' old, huh?"

They both shared a suppressed laugh, Robert turning back to look at you. He hadn't admitted it yet and maybe he never will, but when he was first informed of the initiative, this mentorship, it terrified him to no end. Not only the idea of throwing someone so young into a group like the Z-Team, but letting you into the superhero world all together. Robert knew firsthand how it ruined people, how it had ruined him, how he was always gonna carry the scars from that upbringing. To walk in the footsteps of his father was the only path he had lived by for so long. What little youth he had left back then was crushed beneath the mecha-man suit, and what if you had to stand against that same pressure -- how would you stand?

But watching these past few months unfold, how your powers had grown alongside you, how you went from staying silent through an entire shift to laughing along in the break room, how the team went from seeing you as a detriment to treating you like you'd been there since the beginning, it gave him hope.

The Phoenix Program had been made to save those who were deemed unredeemable, and now long after its initial success, the unredeemable had managed to save you.

Afterword

That's that! A lot of scenes I had originally wanted in I had to cut for the sake of time and general flow, and there were still some characters featured i wish i could've given more attention (it's like, midnight at the time i'm finally posting and this request is almost a week old now im so sorry apple anon :skull:) there were definitely some characters I just couldn't fit into the post without making it twice as long soooo if y'all want a follow up with the other characters aswell or a headcanon list just holler. I'll def be trying to get these out faster now that i have a more firm understanding on how to write for other characters

——————————————————

Y/N considered herself to be a rather collected individual. She stayed in her lane, minded her own business and didn’t bother anyone else about much unless she absolutely had to. So imagine her surprise when she hears a particularly bitchy coworker of hers talk shit about her.

“I can’t believe the audacity she has, thinking she owns the place and that she’s so much better than all of us. It drives me up a damned wall thinking about how she got in a recommendation and the rest of us worked our asses off to get here with an actual work ethic, and it’s all because she can fake that she cares so well.” A few others standing around nodded in agreement and made a few remarks of their own.

“She’s so fake too. You think she wants something?”

“Everyone seems to love her for it too. She’s such a fucking plastic.”

“Yeah, there’s no way she actually gives a shit about any of us or this company or any of the actual work that we put in.”

This stunned her. Sure she had gotten in because a family friend recommended her to the higher up’s at SDN for her wonderful communication skills and the way she cared and loved what she did which went completely against what these people were saying about her and sure she had only been working there for about two months now and she was still fairly new to this, but what was confusing her even more is why they were saying these awful things about her.. The last she checked she hadn’t ever said a mean thing about any of these people, she had even gone out of her way to get their coffee in the morning just to show she was ready to be a a part of the team with them. If anything this particular group of coworkers did little next to nothing! They sat on their asses and gossiped all day. It made her blood absolutely boil but she stayed calm. There was no use in proving any of them right about losing her head.

“She’s such a bitch about it too, it’s annoying as fuck.”

That made something snap in her. So what if it was just a name? It still made something break in her. It felt unfair to be called a bitch when she had busted her ass in order to try and fit in with her fellow coworkers. To be a team player and always be helpful. She would say something. She had to.

She pushed herself out of her seat and began the action of starting to maneuver over to the group before her eyes caught the familiar furry head of Sonar make his way over first. Her brows furrowed as she saw him mutter something to the coworker who had spoke first and started this whole debacle. She watched as her face turned an almost pale white and she began to stutter something out but Sonar just shook his head before his ears flattened against his head. She also caught sight of the way his hands flexed against his blazer. It looked as if he was ready to tear her throat out. Maybe that coworker often said shit about him too? It wouldn’t surprise Y/N.

A few moments later Sonar walked away looking as if absolutely nothing had happened who the group of coworkers lapsed into silence. Especially the lead one who looked as if she just stared death in the eyes itself. Y/N’s brow furrowed even more as she glanced between the group and Sonar’s retreating form. She walked over to the group and waved. “Hey guys.”

Not a single one responded. They just stared at her with wide eyed horror. She raised a brow as she pushed her hand back into her pocket and looked between each of their shocked faces. “What’s wrong?”

One of them just shook their head and walked back over to their desks to continue their work for the day. Soon everyone followed their lead and before Y/N knew it she was now standing alone. Now she was even more confused. She came to the conclusion that if she wanted answers she would have to go to the source of where this all happened from. Those few words that Sonar muttered to the group. With a determined stride to her step she set off in pursuit of the bat boy.

A few moments after scouring over the office floor she spotted Sonar by himself in a meeting room scrolling through his phone absentmindedly as if he did not just cause a bunch of grown ass adults to shit themselves. Y/N pushed the door open to the meeting room and placed her hands on her hips. Sonar glanced up at her and took in her stance with a soft snort but didn’t speak. Y/N huffed softly and slid into the seat beside him before speaking. “Sonar.”

“Yeah?” He murmured in response as he continued looking through his phone absentmindedly, clearly not having a care in the world about anything in that moment in time. It irritated you that he wasn’t giving you his attention so you reached over and pushed his phone out of his hands and slid it across the table. He let out an indignant squawk and looked over at you. “The fuck are you-“

“What did you tell them?” Simple and straight to the point.

“Tell who what?” He snorted in response and crossed his arms as he leaned back in the chair he currently occupied.

“Don’t act stupid, Sonar. You always brag about your intelligence and the fact that you attended Harvard so I know you’re smart enough to deduce what I’m talking about.”

“I talk to a lot of people, sweetheart, you gotta be more specific.”

Okay. Guess we’re taking the hardass route.

She rolled her eyes and pointed out of the meeting room and spoke. “The group of employees standing out there and talking. What did you tell them?”

He blinked at her for a few seconds and snorted as he looked away from her and shook his head. “It’s nothing important, don’t worry your pretty bust about it.”

“Well I’m worried. They look as if you just informed them of their death dates!”

“Well I did practically.” He said with a small shrug as his gaze was intent on the wall across from him as if it was far more important than the pretty dispatcher that sat beside him.

Y/N huffed again and gripped his tie before pulling him to face her. She was fucking tired of this game and he was gonna give her a straight answer whether he liked it or not. “Sonar.”

Damn she was hot when she was serious.

“Tell me what the fuck you told them or I swear I will fucking lose my mind and possibly send a chair through the window.” Sonar stared at her for a few seconds. Probably debating on the best course of action as he drummed his fingers against the table slowly. After a few moments of intense thought he sighed and slowly nodded. “Fine. I’ll tell you.”

She was overwhelmed with relief at the fact that he seemed to be done playing these games with her. She slowly let go of his tie and settled herself in a char beside him before waving her hand, motioning for him to continue as she waited.

He stared at her for a few more seconds before beginning to idly pick at the wood of the table. His eyes trained on it as he spoke. “I told her I was gonna rip out her vocal cords and feed them to her like spaghetti.”

That stopped her. She leaned back in her seat and just blinked at him while thinking. What could she had possibly said about him to make him lose it like that. He was a pretty chill individual and didn’t give much of a fuck about what other people thought so this was an interesting turn of events. “Why the hell would you say that? What could she have said about you to make you lose it like that?”

“It’s not what she said about me.”

“What the hell did she say then-“

“She called you a bitch.”

That stopped Y/N in her tracks. She tilted her head some as she watched him carefully and folded her hands on the table beside them. Why would he care so much about the fact that they were picking on her? Sure when she first started working Sonar went out of his way to greet her every morning and make sure she was well. He would sometimes even go out of his way and pick her up lunch when she forgot to get her own. She narrowed her eyes and stared at him as the puzzle pieces slowly floated into place. Her eyes widened as she spoke. “You-.. You got upset that she called me a bitch?”

“Yeah, why the hell wouldn’t I?” He said with a nonchalant shrug but his still drumming fingers gave away his nervousness during this whole interaction.

Y/N opened her mouth to speak but Sonar cut her off. “I don’t need a big elaborate thank you or anything. It was basic decency. You shouldn’t have been called a bitch by her and now you never will again. Thank me by not letting people talk shit about you like that right in front of you.” He rose up to his feet as he spoke and adjusted his tie that she had tugged on previously. He was clearly about to make his exit but Y/N couldn’t let him leave. Not yet.

As he was making his way to the door, Y/N shot out of her seat and quickly grabbed his wrist. “Wait.” He stopped. He slowly looked back at her and his ear flicked some as he waited for her to speak. She took a deep breath before taking a step closer and pressing a kiss to his furry cheek. “Thank you… For standing up for me.”

He stared down at her for a few moments before his hand that wasn’t being held by hers slowly rose up and pressed itself to her cheek. With all of the solemnest he could muster he spoke this soft promise. “I will always stand up for you. No matter what.”

The way he spoke make her insides feel all warm and fluttery as she slowly nodded to show that she understood. He gave her a small smile and brushed his thumb over her bottom lip before letting his hand drop from her face. He gently squeezed her other hand before letting it go and making his exit. Y/N stumbled back into the chair Sonar previously occupied. It was still warm from his body heat. She ran her fingers over her bottom lip as if to make sure it was still there. She could feel the roughness of his thumb on it still. She swallowed shakily at the thought of his blow proximity and his whispered words.

“No matter what.”

She let a dopey grin form on her face as she pressed her hands to her bright pink cheeks. Damn. The things he did to her.

————————————————————————

I hope you all enjoyed as always