When you're around, it's sometimes already alright

by IzumoKaiju8

Summary:

Robert has chronic pain and is depressed.

He needs heat therapy or some shit

Flambae is a hothead and a perfect heating pad.
____________
takes place a bit before Mecha Man's reveal

Notes:

I just finished Dispatch, and wanted to jump right in to writing fanfics. I will try to keep this one relatively short. I'm aiming for 10 chapters?? We'll see how it goes.

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

When he stepped up to the mantle after his father died and the city needed a new hero, he became Mecha Man. Then, after years of fighting and wasting away his inheritance to upkeep that tin can, he gets blown up and sent into a coma. And maybe yeah, that might have left Robert Robertson III with chronic pain and constant creaks and new intolerances that he otherwise wouldn’t have if he didn’t have medication to combat said pain. What was worse, he was no longer Mecha Man. His suit sat wasting away in a corner to get repaired.  

And every day for the next who knows how long, he was stuck with ex-supervillains who couldn’t hear over their own ass. Don’t get Robert wrong; he was incredibly grateful to Blonde Blazer and Chase for this opportunity to get his life back on track while still helping (he hoped) people.

It wasn’t a job that was necessarily hard physically, as it was mentally—but given that there were days where his anti-inflammatory meds didn’t work and he’s sporting a massive headache because, of course, the side effects still worked—working with ex-supervillains who were betting on him made him wonder if being Mecha Man was much easier.

“Hey Bob-Bob.” And in came one of his annoyances with his usual strut into the breakroom as Rober was opening a bag of twinkies. While Robert had his concerns about the hothead, he surprisingly did his job. Well? Maybe not. But he finished them with complaints in between, and that’s all that mattered. At this point.

“Hi, Flambae,” Robert said, unsure of what the man wanted today. There was usually an insult at the end of his ‘Bob-Bob.’

Instead, the man’s fiery eyes looked him over until they landed on the twinkie in his hand. “You’re going to eat that?” There was a slight whistle as he said that with a grimace.

Robert looked down and back up again, shrugging. “Might be why it’s in my hand.”

“Okay, smartass, no one asked you.”

“You just did.”

Robert could see Flambae’s eyebrows resisting the urge to furrow. The man had all but complained on the comms about needing to prevent wrinkles at the young age of thirty. And Robert had been kind enough to refrain from evoking his wrath by reminding him that he was closer to forty than thirty. But then Prism had to open her mouth and say, “Bitch, aren’t you like thirty-eight? You’re past thirty.”

Thus ensued a bet to see how long Flambae could go without using the muscles on his face. It seemed to Robert that he was already failing on day one. He felt the corner of his lip twitch and pointed between his forehead, and he could’ve sworn he saw the other’s eye twitch. “Wouldn’t want a wrinkle to form at your. . . young age of forty?”

Flambae’s lips pursed as he stalked over to him. “Even if I had a wrinkle on my perfect face, I’d still look a hell of a lot younger than you, bitch.”

True. The years that being a hero had put a toll on his body and his skin’s elasticity. Most of his body was scarred, though, so at least some parts of him were pulled taut. Deciding to cut this conversation short, he leveled a look at Flambae. “Did you need something, or did you come here to get a twinkie?”

“I came here—fuck. Why did I come here?” He looked annoyed at Robert for making him forget. “Whatever, you shouldn’t eat those. No wonder your ass is flat.” Flambae turned around and sauntered his way out, but not before calling Waterboy “Wetfartboy.”

“That’s-That not my name.” Waterboy’s fist curled by his side.

“It’s alright, Waterboy, Flambae’s just got. . . well, what doesn’t he have?” Robert took a bite of his twinkie. Finally. “Don’t let that prima-donna get to you.”

Waterboy’s shoulders slouch as they usually do, making his way to the vending machine. “I-I just don’t get it—understand.”

“I don’t think there are many people who get Flambae.” Robert stood up, taking pity on the young man and patting him on the shoulder. “You want the last one?” He held up the other twinkie.

Waterboy reached a hand to grab it and smiled. “I ap-appreciate—thank you.”

Robert offered him a smile. Waterboy always did bring his mood up. Maybe because he saw the boyish wonder in his eyes whenever he talked about heroes. It reminded him that he was like that once. Lord knows he thought the world of Track Star. Obviously, his dad, but it turned more into an obligation and a heavy pressure to live up to him. So, it was refreshing to see life in someone’s eyes that didn’t quite occupy his. “No problem. See you around.”

Today was a good day.

The stiffness in his neck didn’t bother him as much as it usually did, and his headache was only noticeable if he blinked. Or was his eyes just hurting? Because if so, he really couldn’t handle another part of his body deteriorating anymore. He’ll have nothing left at that point: he already didn’t have his suit, his pay was shit, he had no bed except for his plastic chair, and going to the doctor for yet another one of his problems just didn’t sound feasible.

But yes, it was still a good day.

City damages were kept to a. . . well it wasn’t as bad as last week. No civilians were hurt by them, and they somewhat listened to him this time. They still did their own thing and are shit at working together. But it was progress. He could take that. The first couple of weeks had been hell trying to get them to listen to him, so he was going to take any win that he could.

“You heading home?” Chase’s head popped up from his cubicle as Robert was making his way. He hadn’t even realized that the day was ending, and the first meal of his day was one twinkie.

Robert closed his eyes and sighed. He could’ve had two if he didn’t give it to Waterboy. Whatever, it was fine.

“Yeah, I think I am. I didn’t realize it was already time to head out.”

Chase laughed. “Work will do that to you.”

It was more like he didn’t know what was worse, staying at work or going home to an empty house. He didn’t even have heating, and the nights were getting colder and longer.

Robert said his goodbyes and grabbed his things, Beef following behind. Once he was out, he rolled his shoulders and groaned. He hadn’t realized how stiff they were. Was he tensing the whole time? “Ugh.” The team stressed him out too much.

At this rate, he wasn’t going to get better.

But who was he kidding, this was some permanent shit.

Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Notes:

2 updates in one day? Unheard of. (might be more than 10 chapters now that I look at it sorry not sorry) More content bitches
this is going to be a slooow build up

He knew he should’ve kept his mouth shut. He should’ve kept his thoughts shut because the next morning he woke up with his back tight, neck in pain, and his head throbbing. He was fine for now, but Robert had an inkling that the moment he sat down at his desk today, the pain would travel down to his wrist.

He groaned, rolling across his sad apartment floor before he slowly pushed himself up. He had jinxed himself. His life was as unfortunate as. . .his life. He didn’t think there was anything more unfortunate. Beef barked, running circles around his legs. Well, maybe not that unfortunate. And if he winced when leaning down to pet Beef, that was in the privacy of his own apartment. If the team caught wind of his issues, they’d no doubt use that against him.

Right now, he just wanted to wallow in his own patheticness. So, he let himself feel the pull of his muscles in his back that cried for him to go to a massage therapist, stretch more, take his meds, or do something! Anything but whatever he was doing right now.

And he couldn't agree more, if he had the paycheck for that. And if his pride didn’t take a hit. Robert knew the whole macho man “no pain, no gain” shit was stupid, and no one in their right mind would believe that when they’re injured, but there was a part of him that was still in denial. That he would get better. “C’mon, Beef. Time for your breakfast.” He poured a pile of dry food into his bowl and then opened up his fridge. “And time for nothing for me. Huh.” When was the last time he went grocery shopping?

He’d go after work or just buy takeout, which he seemed to have been doing for the past few weeks, if his overflowing wall of trash bags had anything to say. Robert took a deep breath. Yeah, he needed to get on that. He wasn’t necessarily a messy guy, but it hadn’t been exactly easy for him. Great, the one time he would use his issues as an excuse.

“You would never judge me, right?” Robert smiled at Beef, who was trying to tear a hole in one of the trash bags. “No, no, you wouldn’t.” He tried to crouch down to put Beef again, but this time his knee popped and not in the satisfying way. He cursed under his breath and stood back up.

“Okay. . . today is going to be a bad day.”

When he arrived at work, he had to stretch his neck a few times before settling into his chair. Going from one chair to another, but at least this one was slightly cushioned.

As soon as Robert lifted his hands to type on the computer, a familiar dull pain started at that fucking bone of his wrist. His middle finger felt like it was being pulled, and Robert had no choice but to act like it wasn’t. Robert placed his headset on and turned the mic toward his mouth. “Good morning. I hope everyone got their beauty sleep. Some of you need it,”

“Says the bitch with darker circles than Sonar’s asshole,” Flambae cackled over the line. “I don’t need beauty sleep. Beauty needs me. Or something like that.”

The others chimed in, laughing while Sonar tried to defend his asshole. And his day was just about to start. Robert let himself enjoy the small banter between teammates. It wasn’t completely awful.

“So, what do we have today?” Mal asked, talking over Flambae and Sonar’s bickering.

“You guys are going to be a bit spread out today.” Robert flipped through the logs. “But overall, it should be an easy day for you all. Mal and Prism, I want you guys to go help direct traffic. There’s been a chicken spill on the highway—”

“What the fuck is a chicken spill?” Flambae interjected. “Did you wet yourself, Robbo. You little chicken bitch.”

Unfortunately, Robert didn’t have that much energy to use today. He pinched the bridge of his nose and stretched his back in his seat. “A truck carrying a load of chickens fell over. And since you so kindly asked, I’ll leave you in charge of collecting them.”

“How am I going to fucking collect all the chickens? Are they dead? I’m going to have blood and shit all over me.”

“That sounds like a problem you can figure out yourself once you get there.” Robert turned his head and began massaging his traps. It was hard as hell and he couldn’t help but bite down on his lip as he did so. Fuck he needed a massage. Once he muted Flambae’s rambling, he gave the others their assignments for the day.

It should keep them occupied for a while.

 

---

​

Rober was leaned over his desk, head bowed down as he continuously rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his spine at the base of it after mistaking it for another knot. A small groan left his lips. “Fuck.”

“Touching yourself at the office, you’re a fucking kinky bitch.” Flambae’s voice pulled him from his pain briefly because, upon seeing him, a bubble of laughter almost came out of him. “Don’t you fucking laugh, fucking pervert.”

Covered from head to toe in feathers was the great Flambae.

“I could fucking kill you right now with just a single feather, I’m not joking.” Flambae crossed his arms, and Robert had to cover his laugh with his fist.

“Alright, Wingstop. Want to tell me what the fuck happened, or are you busy preening at the moment?” He said as he watched a feather fall from Flambae’s hand.

Flambae opened his mouth to retort, but Prism beat him to it. Well, if she could manage to get it out between her laughing and snorting. Robert wasn’t sure he had ever seen her laugh this much. She was clutching her stomach, trying to force out the words. “Get this. . . a second truck fell over, containing syrup or some shit and Flambae—” She laughed loudly— “he tried to stop it from falling, but the back opened, and it came toppling down. The-the chickens. . . they were everywhere.”

“Ha ha. Very fucking funny. You know how hard this is going to be to get off. It ruined my fucking suit too, man.” Flambae pulled his suit from his skin, making Robert see more of his chest than he was willing to see. “Don’t stare at my tits, Bob-Bob. Fucking pervert.”

“Go take a hot shower.” Robert rubbed his eyebrows, willing his headache to go away after staring at a screen all day. “Before it starts sticking to every surface here. Really, Flambae, you’re such a mess.”

Flambae sputtered something, but couldn’t finish it again because Blonde Blazer came in. “So, we need to work on how you direct traffic next time. But, good job everyone.”

Waterboy smiled. “I-I can-can help clean up—mop up. After-after Flambae.”

“This isn’t over.” Flambae pointed at him.

Robert held his hands up. “Whatever you say, angry bird.”

 

Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Summary:

Flambae's POV

Notes:

Going to try and write longer chapters next time

That dis-bastard was starting to get on his nerves, and Chad didn’t know why. It’s like his very existence set him off. There was something about him that Chad didn’t like. And he hated most people. But now with Alice and Mal throwing bets around about his hero identity, it didn’t help his case. What hero could he possibly be? He was a complete normie, and thanks to Chad, he didn’t kill himself under some puny weights. Now, who’s the actual real actual hero?

That’s right. It was him.

And what pissed him off even more was how Robert had been acting these past two weeks. Just like today, he was constantly rolling his shoulders and stretching his back, his hands seemed to always be seeking out to touch himself. Fucking pervert or whatever. Except now, Robert acted like he had a stick up his ass. He threatened to write the team up every chance they get. And sometimes they didn’t do anything. So, yes, Chad was pissed off.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Chad huffed when Robert had given him a stupid assignment of rescuing a cat in a tree. If the pussy got itself up there, it can get itself down. But no, he had to go and grab that thing and deal with a crying child. The worst. It reminded him of his niece. All snot-nosed and wailing. It hurt. His ears. It hurt his ears. That was it.

“How do you know I’m wearing panties?” Robert raised his eyebrow and took what looked like his. . . one,two, three, four—fifth! Cup of coffee. How has this man alive with a scrawny body like this? Maybe that was his superpower. He needed enough caffeine to blast off with the amount of shit coming out of his ass.

“I don’t care what you wear Bobert.” Chad crossed his arms. “What’s fucking wrong with you? You’ve been bumming everyone the fuck out with whatever this is.” He grabbed Robert’s cup of coffee before he could take another sip of it. “You had like five of these. You trying to become the next Wetfartboy, Shitman?”

Robert just stared with that same empty look in his eyes at the cup that got away. He mumbled, “I wish I could shit. What does what I drink concern you?”

“You’re probably not shitting because all you eat are twinks and coffee. You need fucking fiber. Your diet is trash. That’s why you’ll never look like me.”

“Twinkies. And yeah, because that’s what I strive to look like.”

“You should. I’m fucking amazing.”

Robert sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. The usual scruff on his face looked fuller. One was the last time this guy did his shitty shave? The dark circles under his eyes looked deeper, and his skin looked thin as the veins underneath showed. “Alright, I’ll keep that into consideration. More fiber.”

“Whatever, do what you want Bob-Bob,” Chad threw out because the last thing he wanted was to be helpful to him.

---

But the next time Chad saw him, he was still eating his fucking twinks. He didn’t listen to Chad at all. When he walked up to tell him off, he could’ve sworn he heard Robert whisper out something akin to a cry. He was rubbing his lower back with his hand, face scrunched, and jaw clenched. Apparently, he hadn’t heard Chad enter the break room at all.

He didn’t know what to make of the scene in front of him. Chad wasn’t a total asshole. “Hey, bitch. Did you do weights by yourself, like I told you not to? Fucking deserve that shit for doing it on your own.”

Robert seemed a bit startled at that, but cooled his expression in a second. “No. I haven’t been able to go to the gym these days.”

“And eat something other than a fucking twink.”

The younger man sighed. “I don’t want to deal with this now. Another time and I’ll play with you.”

“What the fuck! I don’t want you to play with me. That’s not-that’s. . .” Chad stumbled over his words. He shot Robert a glare, who didn’t care all too much about looking at him. This was stupid. He was stupid. What the fuck was he even doing here, talking to this depressing-looking normie? He turned his back abruptly to Robert and opened the fridge. He grabbed his container of leftover kabuli pulao and placed it in his microwave. His foot tapped impatiently as he waited. His face was heating up too with every passing moment, because he could hear Robert chewing and the plastic wrapper crumbling in his hand.

When the microwave dinged, Chad grabbed his food, and just before he was going to turn on his heels and leave to eat elsewhere, he slid the container onto the table. “I don’t want it anymore. It looks dry.”

Robert swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Disgusting. “You’re giving this to me?”

“I could fucking throw it away, but I was raised better. Unlike you. Eat it or don’t, I don’t care. I’m going to get myself a proper real proper meal.”

Robert blinked. “I’m going to refrain from saying anything about you being an ex-supervillain and take this. Thanks. . .”

Chad didn’t say anything before he left. He didn’t know why he did that. He just gave away his food. And that was one of his favorites. Now what was he going to eat? Fuck. He shouldn’t have done that, but it’s too late now. Chad wasn’t someone to change his mind like that, and it’d be so fucking embarrassing to ask him to give it back.

If he was going to spontaneously do that again, he’d have to make seconds just in case. Chad pulled out his phone and began typing for food places near him. The closest one that could get him back on time was a fast-food joint. The idea of greasy food made him grimace. Whatever, he was hungry. It would have to do. All thanks to that depressing bitch.

And so what if he tossed some Icy Hot pads on Robert's desk with a note that said “stop being miserable, you’re ruining my vibes.” It didn’t mean anything. He just needed Robert to lay off everyone’s asses for the day.

 

Chapter 4: Chapter 4

Robert tried not to think too much about the food or the Icy Hot that was left on his desk. He really did because if he did, then there was a semblance of worry somewhere withered away in Flambae’s head. And that was probably too much to unpack. That and today his whole body felt heavy. His body seemed to be getting worse instead of returning to its usual discomfort. He didn’t even manage to throw one of the trash bags away from his apartment. He wanted to, but when he woke up and felt the chill in the air and the pain forcing his shoulders down, that will went right away.

“You good, Robert?” Chase poked his head over his cubicle. His eyebrows were furrowed.

Robert had his head hung low and could only muster up a thumbs up. “Yeah, just mornings.”

The look on Chase’s face said he wasn’t buying, but thankfully for Robert, he didn’t push the matter and went back to work. Robert turned his head back to his computer just in time to see an alert about a fire starting at the local park. The one who was near it was none other than Flambae.

And here he was thinking that Flambae was actually showing some sympathy for him the other day. “Did you start that fire?” His voice sounded tired and gruff.

Flambae: No.

Robert rubbed his cheeks. “The fire that’s burning two blocks from where you’re standing. You didn’t start that?”

Flambae: Yeah. I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m on break, so how could I know?

“Ugh, Flambae, stop fucking around. I’ve got enough problems without you making new ones.

Flambae: Whatever, man.

Then, when he thought the comms were off, Flambae spoke up again, “What problems do you fucking have? Told you to stop eating shit. That’s why you feel like shit.”

“Right now, I’ll feel less shitty if you clean up your own fucking mess.”

Flambae: Fuck you.

Then the comms were off. Robert leaned back in his chair, watching as his team moved around the city. And despite Flambae’s earlier comment, he did actually return to the scene of the crime. Whether he was smart enough to put out the fire using a hose was another question. Robert clicked on his mic. “Flambae use a hose.”

Flambae: That’s what I’m fucking doing, bitch.

Robert opened the call to Prism and Mal. “How are we doing, team?

---

While Flambae’s way to get up the leaderboard was suspicious enough, Robert didn’t linger too long on it. Sure, he might be giving the guy a bit of leeway because he gave him his leftover. . . whatever it was. And he had to see him to return his tupperware. He even washed it. Something that usually took forever for him to do on any given day. But he figured since it wasn’t for himself, that he could do it.

Robert wasn’t one to wait around too long to give a man his tupperware back, and he knew he could just leave it in the break room for him to take, but he wanted to thank Flambae in person. It seemed only right, and perhaps this could help turn things around from the hot head. He wanted the best for Z-Team—even if they drove him nuts on good days and especially bad days. Over the time he’d been working with them, he saw that they weren’t all bad. Annoying, always. Bad? Sometimes.

“You eating air today or what?” Flambae’s voice caused Robert to come out of his thoughts and face the smattering of hair on a bare chest. Robert slowly lifted his gaze to look at the pyrokinetic.  

Robert held out the tupperware. “No. Well, yes. I didn’t eat anything today, but I thought I’d bring your tupperware back and thank you for the meal. I washed it, don’t worry. It was good, whatever that rice and the. . . was that lamb?”

“It’s called kabuli pulao. And yes, it’s lamb. Got a problem with that, Bobert?”

“No, no problem here. It was good.”

“Of course it is, I made it.” Flambae practically cradled the tupperware to his chest as if Robert would try to steal it and eat the air the kabuli pulao left behind.

Robert raised his eyebrow. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“I’m a great fucking cook. I bet your sorry ass can’t even make eggs.” Before the dispatcher could sigh and wave him off, Flambae pulled another container from the fridge. “Heat this up too bitch, but not the yogurt. It’s in a separate container.”

“You. . .” Robert trailed off. “Made me food?”

Flambae started scoffing and huffing, looking away with his arm crossed. “Why would I do that? You just look pathetic. You didn’t even bring anything today; obviously, you can’t take care of yourself. And we like need a dispatcher or whatever, so we can be heroes. Unlike you.”

The last part stung a little, but Robert could understand the point he was trying to make. Flambae had a soft side to him after all. Although this soft side had a lot of rough edges. Like glass that just touched water and didn’t quite wear down yet. “Well, thank you. What is this anyway?” He turned the container around, seeing what seemed like dumplings with a tomato meat sauce on top.

“It’s aushak. Knew your white ass wouldn’t know what it is. Just eat it. Unless you’re too much of a pussy to eat it.”

Robert shook his head. “I’ll eat it. Thanks. That’s really ki—”

“Fuck off. I just did it because you’re less of a bother when you’re fed.” Flambae cut him off and immediately stormed off. Robert didn’t have the time to thank him for the Icy Hot that he left at the desk, although according to everyone, they never saw him place it. It could be someone else in the office or on the team. It was as if he were surrounded by a bunch of cats. At least he didn’t get scratched this time.

He popped the au-aushak into the microwave and watched it spin as his stomach made its grumbling self known. He half wondered why it didn’t say something sooner, so at least it would remind him, but then he recalled that his anti-inflammatory meds tend to make his stomach feel full and almost nauseous. He really needed to eat better unless he wanted to risk burning a hole in his stomach and have another thing to worry about.

Every day gets harder to think about going on. It’s one issue after another. And he wasn’t talking about the team. It was himself that frustrated him the most.

Robert curled his fists by his side, ignoring the lump that was forming in his throat. Just think of something else. The last thing he wanted was to start crying all over the dumplings that Flambae made. At least he’d have one good meal today, judging by the smell wafting from the closed microwave.