Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The stupid thing is that he wasn’t even doing anything dangerous. Mecha Man had gotten a little carried away in a fight and pushed the suit past its limits, resulting in more than a few damages. He was fixing those damages when he got his hand pinned between plates of armor that should have been removed before attempting repairs.

Robert was tired and it takes time and energy to do things properly. Time and energy he doesn’t have, not when Shroud is out there, hiding in the shadows, and damn if his name didn’t fit even better now that he’d made a villain of himself.

Pulling several all-nighters is probably affecting the processing speed of the new hero, because he can’t for the life of him figure out what he’d just done to trigger the plates closed.

Stupid fucking idiot mistake. Shouldn’t have dodged into a fucking brick wall Mecha Man. The suit can take a hit from a random thug it’ll be Fine, but NOT if you ram it into solid concrete.

A wet nose on the hand that isn’t actively losing feeling snaps Robert out of the slow start of a spiral. He glances down at Beef, the rotund little corgi gazing back with those adorable little eyes. Never fails to bring a smile to Robert’s face. Well, almost never.

Right.

His hand is stuck and it’s starting to feel cold.

Trying and failing to figure how exactly the plates had closed up leads Robert to consider (not really) calling Chase back to ask for help. The speedster wouldn’t know anything about the machine anyways, and he’d… he’d look at Robert in that way that made him feel like the furthest thing from Mecha Man and he didn’t need that right now. He had to focus.

Armed with a flathead screwdriver and a crude understanding of the mech suit, Robert leans closer to the affected arm and tries to manually pry the plate up. The suit’s offline, power source sitting on the counter next to a bag of dog treats, so no defense mechanisms should be triggered.

Unfortunately, it works. Suddenly. The full force of one Robert-power behind the flathead sends it slipping out of control across the plate and directly into his newly freed arm.

He stares at it, about an inch and a half buried in the skin, clean for a second or two, uncanny how it almost looks like it belongs there before the blood starts leaking around the edges of the tool.

“Ow.”

You’re not generally supposed to remove things you’ve been stabbed with; they hold the blood in until you can get to a doctor. Robert, however, has a large first aid kit and no health insurance. He does wait until he’s retrieved the former from the cupboard before removing the screwdriver.

After all is cleaned and patched up, he has a bowl of cereal; dry because he hadn’t noticed the milk was expired until he opened the jug and it smelled like something had shat everywhere, died, then pissed and shat everywhere again.

Then it’s a session of laying on the floor with Beef, debating if he should pick up where he left off or wait until tomorrow.

“Uff. Auuf.”

Robert snorts. “You’re so right buddy.”

Beef blinks, licks a paw he can barely reach. Robert probably needs to feed him less snacks, for his health. But he’s weak, and the thought of if he loses the little guy and he’d never gotten to experience Chili’s honey-chipotle chicken crispers? Robert doesn’t know if he could live with that guilt.
He should really eat supper or something before getting back to work.

Robert falls asleep on the floor instead.

Chapter Text

He shouldn’t have gotten out of the suit. He should have done literally anything other than getting out of the suit. But he had, because he's a sucker for animals, and now that he’s sprinting down a dark alley at night, he really hopes whatever is chasing him has the decency to kill him quickly.

“Shit. Fuck.”

A singsong voice rings out from behind him as he reaches a dead end. “End of the liiiine, Mecha Man, you’ve got nowhere left to run.”

There’s a gap between two buildings, too small for a grown man to fit through though, even one as lithe as him. Mecha Man looks around frantically as clicking footsteps approach. There’s a sturdy metal door, upon checking though it’s locked.

Bluffing it is then.

“Nowhere for you to run either. You should really just turn yourself in now.”

That gets a laugh as the villain steps leisurely into view. Their long spindly limbs are decorated with black clothing and gold chains of varying sizes. The word ‘streetwear-a-rich-asshole-would-wear’ comes to mind.

“Is that so? Do tell why I should be afraid of the man who was just running away from me like a little pissbaby!”

Their smile shows all too many perfect white teeth. The golden fangs do really pull the whole outfit together though.

Stall and think goddamnit.

“Those custom made? What kind of dental insurance do you use for something like that?”

The smile falls, and Mecha Man can’t help but cringe inside, knowing that was the wrong topic to buy time with. He keeps his stance light, knowing he has a better chance at slipping by and running back to his suit than he does in attempting a fight outside of it.

“I don’t have insurance.” The being pauses, smile returning as white eyes lock with brown. “But for your sake, I hope yours is pretty good. I don’t need you in one piece for this.”

They lunge forward, claws whistling through the air on a clear trajectory for Mecha Man’s face. He drops hard, pain blooming in his knees that he ignores as a fresh wave of adrenaline hits him. He bolts, or he tries to, a long leathery tail wraps itself around his leg and pulls. Mecha Man immediately looses any sense of footing and direction as he’s lifted upside down and whipped around to hang in front of the villain speaking to him. His hip aches as the weight and velocity of his body pulls down on it.

“Now, now, I’m surprised at your lack of manners, Mecha Man! We’ve barely said hello.” A red light flashes by the left side of their head, and they tilt it to the side as if listening to a voice. Probably an open com. “6-02 reporting. Yes, the package is in custody.”

6-02 is probably a code name, but it’s more than 'the spidery-lizardy-canid-thing'. Filing that away for later, Mecha Man punches the tail and gets shaken roughly in response; a glare sent his way but nothing more. His right hip is burning now, blood rushing to his head making him feel dizzy.

“Mhmm. It’s not like it was hard. He was already out of the suit when I found him. Trying to get a cat out of a dumpster or something.”

Yeah, they were definitely talking about him to whoever sent them. Probably those thugs he'd pissed off about a month ago when he'd come across them trying to extort AyudoDude, a hero known more for his healing capabilities and friendly attitude than his fighting prowess. 

“I dunno. If he had remote control, it’d probably be here by now.”

A fob for the suit was something he was going to look into after this. If there was an after. Right now, he had to find a way to use the current distraction and overconfidence of his foe against them. He was being dangled close enough to 6-02’s body that if he was quick about it, he could probably reach one of the chains hanging from their neck with his free leg. He’d probably tear a hamstring or something but if he could get them in a chokehold… it was a more likely escape than outrunning them at this point, what with the blood rushing to his head making it hard just to think, and the fire in his hip turning to an icy stabbing sensation.

Flight hadn’t worked, so it was time for fight.

“Alright I’ll meet you behind that little place near Jim’s. Yep, the- the one with the sign, yeah. K’ bye.”

As soon as the red light goes out, Mecha Man twists hard and strikes out with his left foot, causing 6-02 to reel back- but not fast enough for them to avoid the hero’s boot hooking onto one of the chains around their neck and tugging them into reach of his arms.

“You motherfuck-ghn“

6-02 tries to fling Mecha Man into the ground away from them, finally releasing him from the constricting grip of their tail. They succeed in dazing him, the tearing sensation in his right leg sending electric stars straight up his spine but not releasing themself from his desperate grasp as he locks his arms around their neck, chain still caught around his left leg.

Definitely tore something with that stunt.

The positioning is awkward, and he’s not even sure their anatomy is similar enough for the chokehold to work, but it’s his only option so Mecha Man holds on. Once they realize what’s happening, 6-02’s claws come up to rake across barely protected flesh.

 He’s so full of adrenaline, cortisol, and various other high stress hormones that he doesn’t even feel it, not in a way that fully registers. He can tell that something on his back has ripped open, sharp points of what should be pain dig so deep they play across his ribs like a xylophone.

The leg tangled in the chain is red now, and he’s not sure where the blood is coming from but the villain below him is slowing, their loud cursing and frantic movement giving way to gasping breaths and sluggish swaying.

Then they finally fall. Blessedly on their face and not on top of Mecha Man. He keeps the hold for a long moment after, making sure it isn’t a bluff. He won’t have the strength to get a new hold if it is.

6-02 lies still.

Congealing blood drips onto the filthy ground of the dark alley as Mecha Man stumbles back to his suit. How his right leg hasn't entirely given out on him is a miracle he has no presence of mind to appreciate. He feels like TV static, and nearly misses his phone, somehow still where he'd dropped it, screen protector cracked but otherwise intact.

“m'guess this'd be a call Chase moment.”

The words feel like acid and grit in his throat.

While he knows his uncle would be there in a second if he called, literally a single second, he just can’t do it. He nearly passes out trying to bend down to grab the phone, head spinning as the loss of a very serious amount of blood catches up to him all at once. He sends an emergency alert to the first number in his contacts, “AyudaDude”, He owes Mecha Man a favor for saving his ass last time anyhow.

Trying to convince himself he’s making the smartest decision, not at all motivated by shame and fear, Mecha Man crawls beneath the relative safety of his suit, too tired and hurt to consider climbing into it, to fight for consciousness while he holds out for a hero.

Chapter Text

“Well, Mr. Robertson, I diagnose your dog with empathy.”

“What does that-“ Robert painfully swallows down a coughing fit begging to happen, then looks from Beef playing with a ball on the wood floor to the veterinarian. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Aside from the weight, Beef is a remarkably healthy dog. The cough is just him mimicking you, it’s more common than you’d think.”

The tension Robert had been carrying in his shoulders released with a small puff of breath that hits him straight in the eyes as it ricochets off his mask. “Thanks, Miriam.”

“I’ll be thanking you to take care of yourself, Rob. I know you feed that dog whatever you’re eating, and from the looks of things he’s getting the larger portion.”

Robert feels a vague annoyance at the shortening of his name, but grins and bears it, nodding along and agreeing to work on both his and Beef’s diets (he probably won’t) knowing it’s the only way to leave the veterinary farm at a reasonable time of day. Miriam was a generous woman, doing a basic look over Beef without charging Robert for the time it took. He knew she pitied him, but he was willing to put up with it for Beef’s sake; it’s not like he had any other options.

Once he had the corgi secured into his carrier, coat and boots re-equipped, Robert stepped out to face the cold of mid-January in the beautiful sunshine state of California.

It was raining sleet.

Which is fine, really, the Mecha suit has heating in it, so he’ll just sleep in there for a couple nights.

Nodding to himself, coughing his lungs out, and noticing with some fond amusement Beef’s coughing a moment after, Robert walks home.

**

He’s starting to get an actual grasp on the functions of the Mecha suit with all the fiddling around and testing he’d done with it while healing from his run-in with 6-02. Turns out there was a remote call system all along, the irony.

AyudaDude had brought him back from the brink of death, but there was only so much he could do when Mecha Man had lost about 12% of his total blood volume, chunks of flesh were missing from his back, and a deep gouge ran through his left calf.

It was bedrest (floor-rest, Robert doesn’t have a bed) and crying through the pain of nerves reconnecting for months after. Even now there was an ever-present ache in the spots that hadn’t received irreparable nerve damage. 

Beef, freed from his carrier, nudged against Robert’s affected hip. Whether it’s an attempt at comfort or the usual begging for whatever the man is currently eating is dubious, but Robert finds comfort in it anyhow. Opting to give his loyal companion a couple scritches instead of the food. Time to get back to work.

**

It’s cozy, patrolling in the warmth of the Mecha suit and watching the gently falling snow as it’s illuminated by streetlights and city signs. The night has been quiet so far, most crime likely held back by the frigid weather, only those truly desperate have run into the recently rehabilitated hero.

He takes a scenic route through one of the fish markets a bit out of his usual area, the stillness leading him to seek further for signs of life and anyone who may be in need of help. As he makes his way by, a voice emanates from an alleyway.

“Can I have a cigarette?”

Mecha Man pauses in his steadfast trudging and turns towards the sound.

“What was that?”

A woman so pale it’s a wonder she’s visible at all against the snow steps from the alley, “May I have a cigarette? Or do heroes not smoke?”

“I don’t, but that’s a personal decision more than a career thing.” He’d thought about it on occasion, when he was feeling especially low, but it wasn’t in his budget to become a nicotine addict. “What are you doing out in the cold? It’s 10pm, market’s closed.”

She shrugs, “Same thing you’re doing, sculking around enjoying the peace and quiet.”

Waiting a moment to see if she’ll elaborate on that, Mecha Man notices she isn’t wearing any shoes, nor is her outfit the appropriate number of layers for the current temperature, only a pair of ripped bleached jeans, a white tank, and a scarf that appears more decorative than practical. Before he can comment on it though, she does continue.

“Mecha Man three-point-O, huh… haven’t seen you around as much as the other ones. What’s up with that?” She steps closer, looking up at the visor of his father’s suit- suddenly ill-fitting. “You debut, then a couple months later disappear for longer than you were around. Something happen, or are you just lazy?”

“Aren’t you freezing?”

His question seems to throw off her line of interrogation.

“No. Cold never really bothered me that much.” Confusion paints her features, followed by a mischievous amusement. “You don’t know who I am.”

The statement raises distant alarm bells in Mecha Man’s mind, and he starts the suits facial recognition software up. “Should I? I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Well, no, but it is interesting. I’m so used to heroes who have everyone with a record memorized. Thought it was a requirement or something.” Gingerly pushing her silver bangs away from her eyes the amusement gives way to a sad resignation. “Not very bright, but it is charming of you. Makes me almost sad.”

With her hair out of her face the software is able to bring up her file.

Misstral, a super with some sort of wind/cold related powers. While there aren’t any direct crimes listed, there are many cases where she was suspected or accused of being involved but no evidence was sufficient to convict her.

“I’m sorry, what were you saying, Misstral?”

“You do know who I am! What a tease you are, Mecha Man. You should know better than to play games with a lady.” Icy crystals flow off her hand, weaving into her long hair, giving it an almost shimmering appearance. “Are you done playing clueless?”

“Clueless to what?”

The what, apparently, seems to be an explosion several streets down. The impact of the blast shuddering through the ground.

“What the fuck!?”

Mecha Man whips around, immediately preparing to launch in the direction of the sound.

“Leaving so soon? I really insist you stay.”

All outer visuals from the suit’s cameras go out as thin sheets of frost coat first the visor, then travel down into the joints and armor plates. Mecha Man turns on external heating, a feature he’d been somewhat confused about until this very moment. It thaws things enough for him to move and catch sight of Misstral sending the icy blast at him with one hand and messaging someone on her phone with the other.

She looks up when she hears the suit begin to move, steam hissing off its shoulders where snow had settled during their conversation.

“Oh, don’t be like that, nobody is getting hurt. Surely you can let this one slide.”

“A building just exploded. You don’t know that no one was injured in the blast. Now let me go, or I’ll be forced to bring you in for obstructing me from doing my job.”

Misstral hesitates, sending one more text before letting up on the freezing blast. “Fine.” She flips her bangs out of her eyes again, smiling up at him. “I wouldn’t want to obstruct justice, after all.”

And with that she’s gone, turning on her heel and disappearing back into the alleyway she’d come out of.

Mecha Man spares no more time, gunning the jet boosters to fly through the snowy sky, towards the rising smoke a couple streets down.

A child is wailing, standing next to a grey car with the passenger door open. “Tío! Tío!!”

Robert feels ice of another kind grip him, landing the suit much faster and rougher than he should, scanning the vehicle and then immediate surroundings for signs of the kid’s uncle, high school Spanish knowledge somehow not abandoning him in the pressure of the moment. An alert indicates a life form inside the burning building next to the site of the explosion, the structure too unstable for the Mecha suit to breach it.

Mecha man doesn’t think twice, opening the suit and leaping out, turning to the little girl as he passes, “Stay inside the car, okay? I’ll get your uncle.”

She looks at him with wide, tear-filled eyes and doesn’t move from where she clings to the door. He doesn’t have time to worry about it, hoping that she’ll just stay put until he gets back.

The heat hits him before he even reaches the door, smoke thick in his lungs, eyes tearing up. Pushing through it all he heads in the direction of the lifeform that had shown up on the scan. Praying to any god that’s listening that he’s not already too late.

He spots someone moving, dragging themself across the floor, cloth wrapped around their face. They must see him at the same moment, as they look up and catch Mecha Man’s eyes.

“Ayuda…mi sobrina…”

He hurries to the man’s side, crouching down and reaching to help him up, out of the building before the rest of ceiling caves in, flaming pieces of it already raining from above. “Lo siento, no intiendo. I’m here to help.”

The older man seems to have caught one of the heavier of these on one of his legs, which is singed and twisted at a strange angle. They both get sent into coughing fits from the smoke and the exertion, Mecha Man still dealing with the cold that stubbornly refuses to go away on top of everything else.

“You’re going to be okay, sir. The door is just a little further.”

“No me’mporta. My niece, is she okay?”

Fear coats the man’s words stronger than the inferno licking closer at their heels.

“She’s fine, waiting outside for you.”

But the blaze has spread to the door by now, the only way out blocked by a growing wall of fire. He can’t let it stop them, if all he has to use as protection against the scorching heat is himself then so be it.

Shoving the door open wider with his left shoulder to keep from letting go of the man, he gives one last heave towards freedom. Liquid heat melts into his arm, synthetic fabric adhering to skin and generating a smell so uniquely horrible he doubts he’s ever going to get it out of his nostrils.

The pain is so intense he can barely think, arm seizing up as he and the man stumble out of the building. Weight is confusingly lifted off his side as gentle, yet strong arms take the man from him and another pair reach under his own to pull him further from the sea of flames.

**

He’s sitting down on the edge of something solid, oxygen mask fitted over the bottom half of his face. Someone is next to him and he doesn’t know them but they’re covering him with a blanket and telling him to breathe in, so he does.

Breathe out.

He does.

“Breathe in.”

He does.

“Now breathe out.”

He does.

Sights and smells begin to register again, there are flashing lights and sirens, firefighters are hosing down the surrounding buildings.

“You back with us, Mecha Man?”

“Yeah, I’m…wait- “Awareness is accompanied by memory and Mecha Man frantically looks around for the man and his niece. “Is everyone okay? Where- “

The paramedic points out an ambulance pulling out, lights and siren on. “Mr. Paz is in stable condition, and his niece seems to be alright as well. Just a little shaken.”

Robert exhales, tension leaving him with only smoking residue in his respiratory functions and exhaustion straight to the bone. He can’t feel the arm that was burnt, and looking down reveals it to be wrapped, the sleeve cut off.

“Now are you going to let us bring you to a hospital?”

Mecha Man chuckles, gets sent into a coughing fit, then waves it off. “Nah, I’ve got my own guy to take care of it. Thanks for the help back there though.”

It’s not a lie, it’s just that he is his own guy.

He says his goodbyes, confirms that Mr. Paz and his niece were the only ones in the blast area. Apparently, the man owned the shop next door to the sight of the explosion and was likely there to get something he’d forgotten. Either way, they were both lucky to be alive.

The ride back feels short, while the rest of the night is filled with trying to soak the melted plastic-y fabric in cool water to loosen it, then painstakingly peeling pieces off. It’s already blistering with white, pus-filled patches of skin. Robert curses and fights with the thing in the bathroom for hours, crying and gritting his teeth through every accidental tear of delicate tissue.

He adds ‘Make new suit out of fire-resistant fabric’ to his mental to-do list.