Chapter Text
The Z-team learned very quickly that Robert got cranky when he was tired. And today, he was exhausted.
His dreams had been plagued with visions of Shroud. He could still feel the phantom punches from those augmented goons. The way they laughed as they spit on him.
Nightmares like those hardly ever made for restful sleep.
The break room went quiet the moment Robert stomped into it. He grit his teeth, fists clenched. The path between him and the vending machine parted quicker than the Red Sea ever could for Moses.
Punch Up broke the silence. “Are you alrigh-“
He stopped when Coupe grabbed his arm and shook her head.
“ ‘m fine,” Robert hissed out, trying to force a wrinkly $5 bill through the machine.
Unsurprisingly, the machine spat it back out.
Prism and Malevola shared a glance, but for once, they kept their mouths shut.
Robert took a deep inhale through his nose and let it out through his mouth. Calm. He needed to calm down. A real hero would never let their emotions affect them like this.
He tried to shove the dollar in one more time…
And it came right back out again.
“Hey, Mecha Dick!” Flambae called. “What’s got your panties in such a— are you crying?”
Robert tried to sniff back frustrated tears as they made their way down his face. “No?”
When had he started to do that? He hadn’t made the decision to cry yet! That went against everything he’d ever been taught.
Good heroes were always in control of themselves, how they reacted, and how much of themselves they let the rest of the world see.
Always calm. Always steady.
A good hero didn’t bawl his eyes out in a breakroom full of former supervillains.
A good hero…
Flambae froze, taking in the scene before him. It wasn’t the tears themselves that sent alarm bells ringing in his head, but rather, the lost, wide eyes they were falling from.
Robert blinked a little too fast, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath between ragged sobs. The ceiling suddenly felt way higher than it had been a second ago. His body felt too big for his mind.
Robert sucked in a shaky hiccup.
Flambae’s posture shifted instantly, replaced by something focused and dead serious.
“What the fuck is everyone looking at?” he barked. “Go back to doing whatever it is you losers do when you’re on break. Robert, come with me.”
The boy scrubbed his face and followed the flame hero out the room, his wrinkled dollar bill clenched tightly in his fist.
Sonar opened his mouth to crack a joke. Invisigal elbowed him in the stomach before he could say anything stupid.
The bat hybrid doubled over, wheezing loudly. “What was that for?”
“You know why, Dipshit.”
—————————
Robert felt smaller than ever as he sat in the passenger seat of Flambae’s Pontiac Firebird. The hood was still a little crushed from Phenomaman’s outburst the other week, but that was nothing compared to the overwhelming, nervous energy brimming beneath Robert’s skin.
Thankfully, Blonde Blazer had been understanding and let them go home early. After all, it wasn’t often that Robert dropped down into little space, much less while he was still at work. Robert hadn’t argued with the decision. He didn’t trust his voice not to do something weird again.
He played with his fingers nervously.
Hopefully the team behaved without him there. He knew they meant well, but acting out only made the Z-team look worse as a whole in the eyes of management. He’d managed to starve them away from cutting any members from the team last time, but there was no telling what could happen if he wasn’t there to lead them himself.
“Stop doing that,” Flambae said, eyes fixed on the road as he drove.
Robert dropped his hands in his lap. “Doin’ what?”
He tried to sit up a little taller in his seat. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he could put up a front and mask his little side a little better, but it was so hard when he was surrounded by Chad’s natural caregiver scent of firewood and spices. And it certainly didn’t help that said caregiver was 6’4” tall and towered at least a head and a half over him.
“Stop thinking so hard.” Flambae swerved into the parking lot. “If you need to slip, then you need to slip. It’s no use fighting it.”
Robert let out an offended squawk. “Not fightin’ nuffin!”
He cringed a little when he heard his own voice. Even he had to admit that he sounded whiny.
Chad raised an eyebrow at the boy.
Robert pouted, turning towards the window so he wouldn’t have to look at his boyfriend.
This was ridiculous. He was fine. He just wanted to go home, change into something comfy, and cuddle with his dog. Not deal with… whatever this was.
Said dog yipped from the backseat, happy to finally be home.
Robert could feel Chad’s gaze burning holes into the back of his head, but he kept his chin pointed stubbornly over his shoulder. Silence filled the space between them, broken only by Beef’s tail thumping excitedly against the leather seats.
“Baby…” Chad said softly, “Nobody’s going to be mad at you for having a bad day.”
The little sniffed loudly. He hadn’t even realized his hand had moved to his pocket, thumbing over the crumbled dollar bill.
“Jus’ wanted some snacks,” he muttered.
The corners of Chad’s lips quirked upwards. He unbuckled his seatbelt and turned fully in his seat. “Yeah. Vending machines are assholes. I’ve been saying that for years.”
That earned him a dry little laugh. It was barely anything, but that was still better than nothing.
Chad reached over slowly, giving Robert enough time to pull away if he wanted. He pried the dollar from the boy’s fingers and tucked it into the middle console.
Robert turned back to him slowly. He felt slower than usual, as if he had been fully submerged in a vat of honey. Something in his chest loosened when their fingers brushed against each other. Like someone had finally cut the string he’d been using to hold himself together.It took everything in him not to sink into the soft, cottonlike haze clouding his mind and just let the other man take care of everything.
“Come on,” said the pyrokinetic. “Let’s get you and Beef inside.”
—————————
The last of Robert’s adult composure shattered the moment he stepped into their apartment.
He shrugged his jacket off with more frustration than coordination, kicking his shoes off haphazardly at the door. The metal tags on Beef’s collar chimed as he circled Robert’s ankles. Instead of ignoring him like he normally would, Robert dropped straight down to the ground, wrapped his arms around the fat little dog, and nuzzled his cheek into Beef’s soft fur.
Beef licked at his face enthusiastically.
He laughed, though the giggles quickly dissolved into little sobs. He didn’t understand why this was happening to him. When Waterboy regressed, it looked so peaceful. This felt more like falling.
Chad shut the door behind them quietly. He crouched down to the boy’s level, wordlessly running a hand through Robert’s brown hair.
“P’omise I didn’t mean ta be mean!” Robert hiccuped, fingers twisting in his dog’s fur. “Don’ wanna be bad!”
“We know, baby,” Chad said. “You’re not bad. You’re just tired today, huh? Tired and small?”
Bingo.
“Tiiiiired,” Robert echoed, voice wobbling. He rocked slightly, still clinging to his dog like a lifeline.
The caregiver scooped him up before he could fall over. Beef jumped down and scurried away.
Robert protested weakly at first, squirming and kicking his feet with a drawn out “Noooo!”, but he melted instantly when he was pressed into Flambae’s chest. Robert buried his face into Chad’s shoulder, breathing in a deep whiff of that calming campfire wood scent.
There was a faint sweetness to him now, something soft and childish that hadn’t been there before. Chad adjusted his hold without thinking.
The flame hero carried his charge down the hall, murmuring reassurances the whole way. “I got you. You don’t gotta be big right now.”
Robert clutched the fabric of the flame hero’s suit tightly. When he spoke again, his voice came out smaller. Younger.
“Wanna be li’l,” he whispered.
“I know you do.”
Chad pushed his way into their bedroom and set him down gently on the bed. He grabbed a soft blue blanket Waterboy usually claimed, draping it over Robert’s shoulders. Robert immediately snuggled into it. The fabric felt so good on his skin. He giggled and waved his arms like he was making a snow angel.
Did it always feel like this, or was it softer because he was regressed? Honestly, it was hard to tell.
Robert lifted his thumb to his lips, but he hesitated. He glanced up at Chad, silently asking for permission.
Chad, in response, rifled through a drawer, retrieving a baby blue pacifier covered in little yellow moons and stars. The beads on the handle spelled out the words ‘sleepy puppy.’
Robert opened his mouth obediently. The pacifier went in. Relief followed immediately, washing over him like a warm tide. His body sagged slightly into the blanket, the tension in his shoulders dissolving.
The familiar scent of baby—soft, powdery, and warm—began to fill the air, wrapping around him like a protective cocoon. It was different from Herman’s little scent. More subtle. But it was there, a quiet marker that he had truly let go. His hands unclenched, fingers resting loosely against the soft fabric, and a low, contented sigh slipped past his lips.
Chad brushed the hair out of his face. “How little are we feelin’ right now?
Robert blinked slowly. “Mmmmm…. four.”
“Okay. And does four-year-old Robert need a bath or a nap first?”
Robert frowned, thinking hard. Thinking was exhausting.
“Bath,” he decided. “Bubbles.”
Chad smiled. “Bubbles it is.”