Why does no one talk about how traumatizing that had to be for Chase to witness?
If we do the math, he was probably around a teenager when he was recruited by the Brave Brigade, cuz he was around 16 at the BBQ where the Mech fired at Robert (in the comics)
It was mentioned he was 20 in the 2003 flashback, so he was around his mid 20s when Robbie died.
He watched his boss, a close friend, a mentor, and the father of a kid he was really close with be brutally murdered in front of him by another close friend…and he couldn’t stop it.
Then the Brigade fell apart, Robert pulled away into isolation, Shroud went to villainy, and to top it all off, his powers screwed him over and he lost his career. He lost everything he knew within the span of just a few years.
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Dispatch brain worms are at an all time high right now.... so let me share one.
Do you think the reason that Blazer is the first to reach out to Robert after the crash is because Chase didn't know whether or not Robert would actually accept any sort of help from him?
Shit. Do you think that the Chase may have thought that the reason Robert refused any sort of contact with him is because he thought Robert somewhat blamed him for not being able to prevent his fathers death?
They were no contact for 15 YEARS, if Robert is in his early 30's like most people believe, that's half his life he's gone no contact with a man he considered his brother.
And because Robert had no idea that Chase worked at SDN at the time of his Mech being destroyed, and he had no idea of the backlash of Chase's powers. And seeing that Track Star was a part of a PROMINENT super hero group. Even if he'd tried to keep his retirement on the downlow, there no way that the public or news outlets didn't have any concerns of his sudden lack of appearances.
Chase had to have thought there was more to the picture of Robert's radio silence than Robert just being a legacy obsessed workaholic.
So, maybe he figured that though he wanted to lend his little brother a helping hand in his time of need. It was best that it didn't directly come from him.
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No one asked for an intro to one of my Dispatch OCs that I haven't even put into a fic yet buuut here is one anyway.
If you want to meet Trevor, AKA Crusher, here's a one shot. It also includes very young Chase.
Description: During a citywide disaster, a hired demolitions expert collides with a mouthy speedster hero and discovers the line he refuses to cross.
"Property Damage"
The city was burning in pieces. Not one big apocalypse, but dozens of small ones. Coordinated hits, outages, and street level chaos meant to stretch heroes thin while something larger was orchestrated.
Trevor didn't watch the news anymore.
He'd stopped believing in "good guys" sometime around the third collections notice and the second time their landlord 'lost' their rent check.
Not because he wanted to, but because wanting didn't pay for nerve grafts and wheelchairs and physical therapy. Wanting didn't fill out forms that asked Parents or Guardian like he had to apologize. Sorry, I was the only one not in the car when my parents died and my little brother nearly did.
Construction gigs were honest, not heroic. They also never paid enough.
So when he got a text message from a regular client that offered him a demolition contract, Trevor-no, Crusher- said yes.
He always said yes to demo without fatalities. He verified targets first. The villains he worked with called him a fatalist. He called it math. Bills. Food. Medicine. Therapy. An accessible apartment.
He checked the perimeter twice. No civilians. No squatters. No security guards.
The place was just an abandoned parking garage at the edge of the city.
Trevor rolled his shoulders, flexed his hands, and felt the power come.
It wasn't subtle. It lived under his skin like a storm in a jar. He could feel every bolt in the building, every brittle seam. He didn't need charges. He was the charge. He walked to the first support pillar, placed his palm against it and let a controlled pulse fire.
WHUMP.
Concrete spiderwebbed. The pillar didn't collapse yet, just remembered it could break.
He moved to the second support pillar, did the same- and then the air cracked. A red blur tore through the garage.
Trevor's instincts fired, he pivoted just as soon as the streak became a person in motion, throwing a punch at his head.
Red suit. Helmet. Hero.
Trevor absorbed the punch-he was extremely solid-and caught the wrist of whoever hit him. He could feel the vibration of power in the other super, like a motor running hot.
The red blur twisted away, landed a second hit on Trevor's shoulder. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Trevor straightened slowly to his full intimidating height of 6'5". He was broad, too, especially with his armor on. A lot taller and wider than this guy. It was to his credit that he didn't react.
The hero had a red suit, slim build, face mainly covered by a helmet except for a smirking mouth. "Thought you wouldn't get caught?"
No insignia, but his movement had been disciplined and he'd kept himself between Trevor and the fractured column. Something said he might be new to the hero game, though. Maybe the fast way he talked?
Trevor's eyes narrowed under the skull mask he wore. "You shouldn't be in here."
The hero's laugh was sharp. "No fucking kidding. There might be villains in here."
"You need to leave. There's no one else here."
"How do you know?" The hero was looking around, scanning, like he was working. "People are trapped all over this district. We're clearing buildings, pulling survivors!" His gaze went to the column. "And you're trying to drop a motherfucking garage right now! I'm not letting you."
Trevor released him, stepped back. "You want to play hero, pick a target that matters."
"You matter. You're here. Bout to drop a building on your own dumb ass so I'm stopping you. Pretty shitty thing to do during a citywide attack."
"You're here."
"I'm saving people."
"Go do it elsewhere, this building's empty."
"You don't get to decide." It was cocky and contradictory all at once.
That line, cocky and also sincere, made Trevor think about Chance before the surgeries, before the accident, before Trevor measured hope and recovery in invoices. Trevor hated that.
"Last chance. Go. I know what I'm doing."
"The hard way, huh?" The hero vanished, moving so fast the eye couldn't track it. His footwork had discipline, he was actively herding Trevor away from the support columns like he'd been taught to think steps ahead.
He was trained or part of a team or both.
The red blue darted in again, fast enough Trevor felt the wind before he saw him, and landed a strike on Trevor's ribs through the armor that would've folded a normal man.
He absorbed it, reached, the guy slipped away, laughing.
"You're built like a truck, man. Are you like, heavy lifting only, allergic to cardio?"
Trevor smiled slightly under the mask despite himself. "Are you allergic to self-preservation?"
"Oh definitely," the hero replied. He zipped to the nearest support column and Trevor realized he was looking for charges.
"Move." Trevor said.
The kid looked confused.
Trevor slammed his palms together and detonated the concrete just behind where the kid was standing.
CRACK.
A controlled pulse designed to fracture without launching shrapnel. Dust roared upward.
The hero coughed. "You're the explosive."
"Congratulations," Trevor said. "You figured it out."
"That's actually fucking sick."
"So leave."
"Don't think so. What's your name? I'm Track Star," the hero said.
"Crusher."
Track Star zipped in fast and he had ties, he was going for Trevor's hands, his weapons, and that pissed him off.
It also impressed him.
Track Star had a grip on his wrist, he started to bring them together, and the hero wrenched them apart.
"No, fucker."
Trevor detonated a pulse that traveled outward in a concussive wave.
Track Star's eyes under the helmet's visor widened, his body locked like his nervous system misfired, and he hit the ground hard enough to crack the helmet.
Trevor froze. He hadn't meant to hit him that hard.
He took a cautious step forward. The guy didn't bounce back up with a curse and a grin. He stayed still.
Trevor's chest tightened. "Hey. Get up."
He nudged him with a boot. Nothing.
Trevor crouched, reached for the helmet, and pulled it off.
The face underneath punched the air out of him.
A kid. Sixteen, seventeen maybe. Dreads stuck to sweat damp skin. Nose bleeding freely. Mouth parted.
Trevor stared. Then, quietly, "No."
He pulled off his gloves, pressed two fingers to the kid's neck.
Pulse. Fast. Present.
Trevor exhaled. "Okay. You're alive."
He shifted the boy carefully, checking his neck, his breathing, the telltale slackness of a bad concussion. His own power still buzzed in his palm, but he ignored it.
On shifting, the kid made a small noise.
"...ow."
Trevor huffed a laugh. "Yeah. Ow."
Track Star blinked once, his eyes landed on the skull mask, then drifted to the pillar. "Did I win?" He slurred.
Trevor snorted. "No."
"'m up for another go." He tried to sit up but his body didn't cooperate. "Your mask is ugly."
"You're unconscious."
"Tactically fuckin' resting," the boy argued, then his eyes rolled back.
Trevor caught him before his head hit the concrete.
That was the moment the line inside him snapped into place. He wasn't having a moral awakening or anything, he just had a hard rule.
I don't hurt kids.
He moved slowly, got the kid into his arms, bracing his head and shoulders. The suit was scuffed, but well made. Not homemade or cosplay. He belonged to somebody, though didn't have an insignia.
Unofficially trained, Trevor thought.
Someone would likely come looking. No wonder he'd seemed young, new to the game.
He carried the kid out of the parking garage.
He didn't wait long.
The air outside the warehouse changed. A low, thrumming vibration. Heavy. Mechanical.
A shadow fell over him and Track Star.
Mecha Man Astral stood there like an executioner. The eyes glowed with a cold, unreadable light.
Trevor stayed still, but the kid in his arms stirred faintly. Seriously? Mecha Man??
"Put him down." Astral commanded.
Trevor stayed still for a second. "He came at me. I wasn't targeting civilians."
Astral took a step forward. "You put hands on a trainee."
"I didn't know he was a kid."
"Put. Him. Down."
Trevor carefully lowered the boy onto the concrete, easing him onto his side like he'd seen medics do. Then he stood, palms out, hands open, and backed away so he wouldn't be seen as a threat.
Astral moved quickly for something so big, kneeling beside him. "Track Star."
Nothing.
“Chase,” Astral said, and it wasn’t a codename. It was a name you used at dinner.
The boy's lashes fluttered. "Boss?"
"I've got you." The suit lifted the kid like he weighed nothing, surprisingly gentle for a death machine.
Chase's head lolled against the metal, was secured.
"You." Astral rose to full height and looked at Trevor.
Trevor didn't flinch. Didn't move.
"If he's badly injured-" Astral started, then stopped, because the rest of what he had to say no doubt involved murder.
"He has a concussion. I didn't mean to hit that hard. I don't go after people. Especially kids. I just detonate property."
"Why?" Astral's voice was nearly as cold as the metal of the suit.
Trevor almost laughed. 'Money' was a little too banal to answer and for family sounded trite.
"I've got a brother I look after," he finally said. "His age."
"Yet you hurt kids."
"No. I don't. I don't send them out to fight villains either," Trevor added despite the fear.
Astral didn't respond. Looked down at Chase with the too-young face and bloody nose. Then back to Trevor. "You hurt him again," Astral said, voice a warning, "I won't ask questions first."
Trevor nodded. "Fair." A hesitation. "He's brave. Too brave."
"Yeah. He is." Astral took flight, carrying Chase off into the night.
Trevor stood alone, power buzzing through his hands. They had a little blood on them from the kid he'd just knocked unconscious.
Sixteen. Trevor thought of Grant, 16, stubborn, sharp-tongued and pretending he wasn't afraid of another surgery. He thought of the tone Chase had said 'Boss.'
He exhaled slowly, went back in to demo a building. "Idiot."
He wasn't sure if he meant himself or the kid.
He'd figured out the line he wouldn't cross, and a kid in red had been on the other side of it, fearless.
