Chapter Text
Robbie Robertson was the world’s shittiest friend and father. Not that he meant to be. He was just a hardass. The sort of person that thought you should push yourself the farthest you can in service of others. And if you couldn’t measure up, well, you might as well not try at all.
When Chase wanted to slow down, Robbie convinced him to speed up. When Elliot lost his wife and young son because of a negligent hero, Robbie told him that it was just something that happened in their line of work. That he should get over it.
And, when he didn’t, dismissed him as one of those people that just couldn’t keep up.
That was the moment that Shroud was born. Of course, the name and everything he would become had not fully developed. But he knew then that he hated the people who called themselves heroes just because they had suits or powers. The moment he decided he was going to stop building their equipment and build his augments to join the Brave Brigade himself to ensure that what happened to him never happened again.
Robbie didn’t understand what he had. He thought he was a hero because his father had given him that title with no room for doubt. He treated his son like he was some tool to help further the Robertson legacy.
He couldn’t understand how the others didn’t see it. Robbie hadn’t paid a surrogate to carry Robert just because he desperately wanted a child. He did it because he knew no one was ever going to be suitable to raise a Mecha Man with him and he was going to have to take it into his own hands.
As he kept waiting for the vote that Robbie promised - the vote that would let him onto the team - he made the others augments to get on their good side. He happily stayed behind while they went out and saved the world.
When Chase was busy with the rest of the Brave Brigade, Elliot was the one that watched Robert. The boy was a little younger than his own son had been, but they were so similar.
Perhaps he would have continued to care for the third Robert Robertson if he hadn’t snapped and killed the boy’s father.
The day he saw Robert on the news after he had tried to take the pulse back, no longer a child and now a scarred young man, Shroud knew that he would have been a better father than Robbie.
Could still be a better father than that man.
…
Robert knew it was stupid to go back to the Sardine. But, if he was being honest with himself, he was looking for a fight. If every single person in the bar turned out to be a Red Ring goon, he’d happily beat the shit out of them and have his shit rocked in return.
Different things grounded different people. Robert just happened to feel most connected to himself when his mind was blank of anything other than his next move. When he didn’t have to think but act.
And, if he didn’t get into a fight, he could drink his troubles away.
He knew that Chase was fine. Well, not fine. But alive.
Like Blazer said, he felt like Chase wouldn’t be in this situation if he had just done one less run for Robert. All those meaningless trips to the store.
But he hadn’t told her about the trip that hurt him the most. One that wasn’t just useless, but entirely his fault. His idiot mistake.
If he hadn’t been weak like his father always warned him about, he wouldn’t have needed Chase to save him.
He could remember it like it was yesterday. How could he not? It was how he had lost a chunk of his ear.
The hammer was heavy in his hand as he looked up at his father’s suit. The suit that would one day be his.
The suit that had decided everything for him, whether he liked it or not. The suit that had stolen his life. Not just the happy childhood he could have had with his father. But his future too.
Without thinking, he drove the hammer into the suit’s leg once. And then he snapped. Driving the hammer into the suit again and again.
His thoughts strayed from that memory to the sound of the bartender and some guy having a conversation about Blazer’s interview, which was currently playing on a tv behind the bartender’s head.
As they continued to talk, Robert’s grip tightened on the empty glass in his hand until it finally shattered.
“Goddamn. Alright,” the bartender huffed, coming back over to him. “Someone’s a little fucking impatient.”
The man at the corner of the bar chuckled.
“Sorry. It’s my fault. I’ve been distracting you.”
Robert debated hitting one of them with a right hook just to get the fight he was craving.
“Get me another drink. I smashed mine.”
“Sure…are you alright? You seem…perturbed.”
There wasn’t a hint of actual empathy or concern in his voice. Just the look of a guy who was expecting a problem.
“Oh, fuck. I know what’s going on,” the bearded man suggested. “Kid probably lost someone there. That’s why he’s been starin’ at that shit all night. Get him a drink. On me.”
When the man looked back at Robert, he just shot him a bloody thumbs-up.
“Nah,” the bartender murmured. “This one’s on me.”
He watched as the long-haired man poured Robert a beer, then two shots. One for him, and one for the guy at the end of the bar.
Now it was the bearded man who was staring at the tv.
The bartender looked back, “Oh. Oh my.”
Anyone could tell there was nothing but pure lust in his tone.
It disgusted him as much as when the bearded guy muttered,” Track Star…that guy sucks. I was fast but now I’m old. Get fucked.”
Robert said nothing.
But the bartender raised another shot, offering,” Cheers fellas. To the fuckin’ dream…to five minutes with the tightest ass in all of LA county.”
His “toast” was followed by an obscene impression of what exactly he would do with his five minutes.
“Can you motorboat an ass? Probably not, right? End up blowing air right up her butthole.”
Robert’s dead stare followed the man as he considered how easy it would be to break one of the chairs and jam one of their legs up the bartender’s ass.
“What’s up? You don’t like asses,” the man hissed, leaning closer.
Again, Robert snapped. He grabbed the man by the collar and shattered another glass with the bartender’s head.
“Not as far as I was gonna take it, but good on ya kid.”
The bearded man hopped over the counter.
“Let me replace that drink.”
He watched as the man gulped down the last of the shot while the bartender started to get back up, murder in his eyes as he stared at Robert.
Robert was happy to match his vitriol.
The fight he had been waiting for all night was about to happen. And, to his delight, with good reason.
His narrow-minded excitement made him miss the gun until it was fired into the bartender’s head.
Blood sprayed across Robert’s front as his ears rang in protest of his proximity to the gun when it went off. It was the only thing that kept him from slipping entirely into his thoughtless, instinct-driven fight mode.
“I respect her. Blazer. She’s a real fucking superhero.”
When he turned his head, Robert immediately recognized the glowing red augment in the side of the older man’s head. Remembered what Elliot had told him when he was younger to keep him from being too frightened of the thing.
“I know we’re in a villain bar, but have some class, ya know?”
One look over Robert’s shoulder showed that every other patron in the bar was a Red Ring goon. Or had, at some point, worked with the man considering the way different parts of their bodies glowed red in the shadows.
When he tried to sit up, two of them pushed him back down against the stool.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“This is my bar,” the man noted, pouring him another beer and setting it in front of him. “Well, it’s basically my bar. As I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“You killed a man.”
“I did. To be fair, you did hit him first. Not that I would have let him live much longer if he kept bothering you like that.”
That made Robert pause. He couldn’t imagine what the villain meant by that. He said it was an almost caring tone, but he knew that couldn’t be true. Shroud had killed his father. And he had tried to kill Robert after him.
“We didn’t get to talk much last time we met.”
“Because you were trying to kill me and take the pulse.”
Shroud sighed in that sort of way fathers did when you said something silly. It infuriated Robert.
“I’ll admit, I was trying to take the pulse. It was in both our best interests that I have it over you. After all, it’s done nothing but ruin your life. And I could use it to make the city safer for everyone. For you.”
Maybe Shroud had shot him already and this was hell.
“For me?” he echoed, staring in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“Have you really forgotten the promise I made you when you were younger, Robert?” Shroud chuckled. “I told you I’d change the world for the better. So you wouldn’t have to follow in your father’s footsteps.”
Robert had never hated anyone in his life this much before.
But he didn’t have time to say as much before a familiar face grabbed him from behind and pressed a sweet-smelling rag to his mouth and nose.
“Sleep well,” Shroud hummed as Robert slipped into unconsciousness.