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The steady beeping of the heart monitor was the only thing he could focus on right now. Just that one thing - proof of life, proof that the person on that starched hospital bed was still fucking breathing.
It wasn't even supposed to end up like this. Nothing like this. Not to anyone.
Not to him.
They were supposed to be celebrating, to be happy for a job well done. It was a tough mission, a lot of property damage but minimal civilian casualty compared to the destruction that happened throughout the city.
It was all hands on deck. Dispatchers shooting directions nonstop, maneuvering their teams around as the city went up in flames. Robert wasn't even supposed to be there. The little shit was supposed to stay at the office and dispatch calls but no, he had to get into the suit. He was still injured, damn it. Skinny, flat-assed, stubborn bitch just couldn't stop being a hero for one more goddamned day.
We need everyone available, he remembered that slobbered-up cat say, a tiny, cheeky smile on his face that everyone on the team just knew was his "don't worry, I'll be fine" expression. It would have worked, honestly, if Robert wasn't talking to a bunch of colorful assholes that constantly had their noses up each other's businesses.
They tried to get him to stay. Honest, they did. But then Robert just patted his shoulder like he was gonna go out to get coffee and not throw himself into a nearly catastrophic cesspool of carnage.
And he knew it was a lie damn it. Knew that switch inside Robert's head. Once he gets back into that... that Mecha Man skin, it would have been difficult to take him out of Hero Mode.
But it got done. It was done. They've won and they've saved the city. A happy ending, as it should have been.
He didn't know why it took him that long, why it took him so much time to realize that there was a missing voice over their comms. How long has Robert been silent for? When was his last communication?
How long has Robert been alone?
So he shouted over the mic, his voice crackling through everyone's earpieces, demanding if anyone has seen that unflattering flying tin can.
Could they hear the panic in his voice? Could they feel the desperation rising in his tone as his eyes scanned the rubble after he shot up into the sky?
He doesn't know if he had ever felt the chill, doesn't know if he's felt anything below the gentle hum of a space heater coursing through his veins. He knew what it was, conceptually. A chill so different from the ice of a cold beer. Just something at the back of his mind that he would sometimes toy with.
But seeing that hunk of tech buried beneath twisted metal and jagged concrete assured him that he would know how it feels like to have his blood ice over.
He was there in a heartbeat. Screaming. Yelling. Begging to anyone who would listen as he tried to rip the metal open, cursing himself for not asking Robert to teach him how to open the fucking hatch.
Please, he remembered himself saying, his hands bloodied and raw as he clawed and clawed and burned and clawed, fingertips molten red with panic.
Royd arrived then, brought to him by a newly suited Chase. He didn't know who pulled him away, didn't know who muscled him away from clinging to the suit, long enough for Royd to open the hatch.
He froze.
I'd die in the suit, Robert said to him with a nonchalance that made his blood boil. The man said it before, about it being tradition, but fuck it. Fuck that, fuck that tradition to hell. Robert's strong. Stronger than any of the past Mecha Men. He'll survive this. He has time and time again.
There was so much blood in that suit. So much red. And Robert- god, he wasn't moving. He wasn't moving, wasn't moving, he's not fucking moving-
He was at the lip immediately, hands hovering over the broken body, eyes scanning for proof of life. Don't panic, was what training told them to do. How the hell was he not supposed to panic when there's a piece of rebar jutting through the mech armor and right through Robert's scrawny ass midsection?
Don't panic.
Don't panic.
Don't panic.
He almost recoiled, almost retched, when he reached beneath Robert's body, one hand gently cradling that bloodied head, while the other melted the metal far enough from Robert's body as to not fuse inanimate object and skin together just to finally carry him out of that death trap and into nearest hospital.
Were bones meant to move that way? That slow, almost torturous and glacial shifting beneath battered skin. Sliding, sliding, cracking, shifting so much that he couldn't imagine just how many pieces of bone he was supposed to be feeling right now.
He won't break, goddammit. He won't break. Now was not the time to break. He won't break, he won't break, he won't break-
It'll be alright.
He choked in a sob as he looked down just to see Robert's face, eyes half-lidded and swollen. His lips, those thin-ass kissable lips, tilted at the corners in a cocky yet reassuring smile. Robert's cheek was pressed against his chest, his skin already discolored with so many bruises.
He cried out in protest when Robert raised his hand - the one that didn't break - and gently, so gently, patted his cheek before turning to place a soft kiss on his chest.
It'll be alright.
Damn right, it will.
There were nurses waiting for them when he reached the hospital. Everything was a blur of movement and noise. One moment he was landing and then Robert got taken away from him the next. He wanted to follow, wanted to run with them until they physically restrained him.
He would. He would. He most definitely would.
He can't.
Not when his legs were rooted to the floor. Not when the breath that he released came out in short, strained puffs. Not when his hands stained bloody red every single time he looked down.
Has blood ever felt this hot? It just flows and flows and flows and stains and ruins. It's not his, it's not his. He wished it was his, wished it was his, wished it was- he couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe-
He was in Prism's arms the moment he had clarity, trembling like a leaf barely hanging onto a branch in the midst of a thunderstorm. What is this? What the hell is this? He sucked in a breath, tucking his head in the crook of Prism’s neck as breathing evened out, fingers intertwined and shaking.
He didn’t know how much time passed. Hours, days– he didn’t know. He remembered the way his hands itched, the flecks of dried blood dotting his skin like a macabre showcase of stars. Someone tried to wipe it away at some point, he can’t really remember. He was wearing civilian clothes now, forced out of his own tight suit. He tried to wash the grime away some hours ago.
And still, the blood dotted his skin. No matter how much he scrubbed, no matter how much he ignited his hands. The blood that wasn’t his, the blood that belonged to Robert, the blood that wasn’t supposed to be shed.
He slumped over the shitty plastic chair, the heels of his hands vigorously rubbing at his eyes. He managed to get a nap while Robert was in surgery, managed to get a little moment of reprieve. But it haunted him, still. Just him waiting outside, future uncertain, the rest of the team in a close huddle for support and shared worry.
They didn’t want him to die. Of course not. If only that stupid fucking normie just listened to them and stayed inside the fucking office, this wouldn’t have happened. If only he just listened to anyone that told him to stay, if he just–
Of course he won’t. He needed to help people, that heroic fuck. And he can’t really change what Robert needs, can’t really withhold from him a vital piece of what made Robert the way he is. Everyone’s safety over himself, everyone’s lives over his. He was supposed to die in that suit.
But I don’t want you to die, he breathed to himself. We don’t want you to die.
He stayed in that position for who knows how long. Long enough for the hospital’s air conditioner to continuously blast an ungodly amount of freezing cold air at his back that he was able to feel it. If it was this cold for him, how cold was it for Robert?
He looked up, sucked in a breath as he watched the steady rise and fall of Robert’s chest. He was so pale, deathly even. Bruises upon bruises littered his skin, masking his body in a spray of colors. How did that even happen? Did he get banged up so much in the suit? They really needed to add more protective padding inside that thing.
Robert could die in that suit.
Robert could die in that suit and they might not even get a chance to save him.
Please. Please let him be able to save Robert.
“Chad.”
He startled up, body instinctively rising at the sound of Robert’s voice. It was soft, hoarse, maybe a little breathless, but it was there. By God, it was there.
It should have embarrassed him that he got so caught up in Robert’s eyes that he never noticed the man waking. Little bits of amber flecks glinting in those hazel eyes underneath the dim light of the lamp. He was beautiful. So, so beautiful.
“You look like shit.”
Robert snorted and rolled his eyes, wincing at the movement. “Thanks for the assessment. I’ll make sure to add that to the mission report.”
“Won’t have any report to write with those fucked up hands, Robbo.”
“Damn, missed an opportunity there. We could’ve matched.”
A beat.
And another. And another.
Both of them snorted, affectionate derision floating in the air between them as Flambae – Chad – leaned over and rested his head over Robert’s thigh. “Scared the shit out of me,” he grumbled. Long fingers threaded through his hair, gentle, soothing. He grunted.
“Sorry,” Robert murmured, his fingers massaging Chad’s scalp, scratching the spot that he knew would make the other hero sleepy.
“Stubborn bitch.”
“Sorry,” Robert hums as he untangles a knot of hair, careful to not tug in any way that’s painful.
“Both of us know damn well you’re not sorry.”
“I am sorry for some things, so you’re wrong about that.”
Chad huffed a breath, his cheek still on Robert’s thigh, over the starch white blanket that barely protected the man against the blast of the air conditioner. “Like?”
Robert paused, his fingers stilling in the other man’s hair, before focusing his attention to the sunset that’s his partner’s eyes. Beautiful. Wonderful. Stunning. Slowly, he trailed his hand down, one finger trailing the side of Chad’s face before cupping it, his thumb caressing comforting circles over the man’s similarly bruised cheek.
“For worrying you all.”
For scaring you.
They shared a look, chestnut brown against the setting sun. It was a quiet, seeking, feeling, connecting to each other in a way that was impossible the day they met at the office. It was their little miracle that they got to this point. Despite the shit talking, the verbal abuses, the fights, the constant edging that made their colleagues irate because Jesus Christ they should have gotten a room–they got here in the end.
“Sleep with me.”
“For fuck’s sake, Robert.”
‘I’m not asking you to rail me, dear God.” With a grunt and a very fretful mountain of a man, Robert managed to scoot towards the left-most side of the bed. With a challenging raise of a brow, he patted the space beside him.
“You’re insufferable,” Chad mumbled as he climbed the bed, careful to not disturb any of the wires and cannula attached to the man. He let his hand hover, not really knowing where to put it, before settling it lightly on Robert’s good hip. “If you injure yourself, I’m gonna throw you out the window.”
“I’d like to see you try, you little shit.”
“You know damn well that I’ll do it.”
“I know that you love me like this.”
He stilled, his mouth closing shut before taking a long, deep breath. Chad closed his eyes as he released it, a warm puff of breath as he nuzzled the side of Robert’s head. “Yeah, I do.”
Robert settled into the silence that followed, comfortable in position with his head neatly slotted within the crook of Chad’s neck and shoulder. He loved how warm the other man was. “The others?”
Chad grunted. “At the office.”
“I’m surprised you managed to get them out of here.”
“Chase threatened them with bathroom cleaning duty for a month if they didn’t leave you alone.”
“And they followed through?”
“Beef glared at them.”
Robert snorted again before he hummed, leaning up to nose at Chad’s neck. “You’re still here, though.”
Warm fingertips traced light circles on the bruised and tender skin. “I said I’ll burn the office down.”
A laugh, short and sweet, huffed out of the injured man. “So romantic.”
“I am the epitome of romance, excuse you.”
“Sure, bud.”
And they just laid there, the hum of the air conditioner and the relaxed beating of the heart monitor the only sounds in the room.
“You should sleep,” Chad muttered before pressing another kiss.
“I’m not sleepy.”
“Me when I lie.”
He yelped when he felt the sting on his throat, a look of pure offense and incredulousness glaring down at the fully bandaged man folded into his body. “Did you just fucking bite me?”
Robert smirked, victorious. “I’d do it again.”
“Just go to fucking sleep, Bobert.” I won’t leave.
Robert rolled his eyes and harumphed, grumbling as he resumed his previous position by the flame hero’s neck. “Little shit.”
“Love you too, dumbass.”
And Robert smiled.
He loved Chad, too.