Chapter Text
Red and blue light bathed the scene before him.
He almost forgot what the world looked like when it wasn't flashing, he'd been staring off into the distance for too long.
The sirens had turned off a while ago, but chase couldnt stop hearing the blaring bouncing around his skull.
His shoes were practically suctioned to the pavement with the thick coating of blood between them, fusing him to this spot for eternity.
He couldn't tell the last time he blinked, wasn't sure he was still breathing other than the occasional choked heaving sound that could only be coming from him.
Tonight, he hated being a hero.
He suddenly missed the days where his biggest issue with being a superhero was that he couldn't brag to anyone.
If he was more present right now, he would've laughed at the irony of it. How that small problem used to be his whole life. How balancing his real life and secret identity seemed to be such an impossible task.
It was nothing in the face of this.
He stared down at his hands, trying to will away the blood crusting his nails. It was dry by now, it would chip off if he picked at it, but he couldn't bring himself to.
Just an hour ago, this blood was a part of one of history's greatest heros.
Just half an hour ago, he was finishing up his daily patrol with mechaman— Robbie.
And just 23 minutes ago, chase wasn't fast enough.
Chase used to think, that if he just ran fast enough he could reverse time itself. Time was nothing to the guy who ran at the speed of light.
He saw the live broadcast just before shroud pulled the trigger, thrumming with the thrill of the chase, confidence that he'd get there in time in every line of his body.
All he did was get a front row seat to the slaughter.
It wasn't a fight, it would be disrespectful to call it anything adjacent to that.
It was a man being murdered by his best friend, his right hand man, the person written into his will.
Robbie didn't think he'd have to fight him—his last thoughts wondering if this was somehow an elaborate joke.
At least shroud made his death instant, mercy was the least he could do.
The aftermath felt strange. As if chase was merely floating above his body, peering over the shoulder of his tragedy, a couple dozen layers of cling wrap between him and the death of his friend. Or whatever Robbie was.
He wasn't fast enough.
Chase was pissed. He was furious, terrified, heartbroken.
But most importantly, he was procrastinating.
Chase adored being a hero. He loved helping people, loved using his powers to speed throughout the world in a second, loved showing off and although he wouldn't admit it—to a certain degree—he loved the fame.
But mainly, he loved that he never had to deliver bad news.
He didn't know how to comfort someone, hell, he barely knew how to make dinner that wasn't pasta or pre made shit. He was 21, he didn't know fucking anything.
Chase had never been so happy that he wasn't a traditional first responder. That he didn't have to do this every day. Feel the blood crusted under his nails, yet still squelching under his feet.
This is the worst he has ever felt.
He wishes he could feel optimistic about it, that he's finally found rock bottom, and it's all up from here, but he knows that in a few minutes he'll truly have to experience hell. He had to tell Robert.
The kid had it hard enough.
This was—fuck.
Robbie Robertson wasn't a horrible man, but that was about all the compliment Chase could give the human behind the hero.
When they first met he was too starstruck, too caught up in the impossible reality that he was finally meeting his hero.
He didn't even mind babysitting his stupid kid, as long as he could still get out on the field. He was too thick headed to look for anything wrong from mechaman—blinded by hero worship, in complete denial that a hero could be anything but the best.
Chase didn't know shit about kids, but he knew they shouldn't act like Robert.
He'd never seen any outward signs of abuse from Robbie or the boy, but chase knew it wasn't as simple as that.
The kid was always accident prone. Even if he seemed incredibly aware, he was somehow always walking into doors, falling out of trees, tumbling onto pavement.
For the longest time, he couldn't figure it out.
Even brought the kid to the doctors cause he was worried about neurological issues.
But as he observed further, he noticed how Robbie always gave him more attention when he was hurt.
The man wasn't doting by any means, but when Robert was perfectly healthy, Robbie barely spared him a glance.
When Robbie was worried that his legacy was in danger, that's when the man began to care.
It made him sick when he realised what was happening. That every "accident" or "mistake" was Robert being so deprived of love that he hurt himself in order to receive it.
Chase's opinion on both of them changed with that one discovery, and he made sure to practically suffocate the kid with affection after that.
Now that he was thinking about Robert—the kid, now more alone in the world than ever, with a two ton legacy on his shoulders—the nausea reared its ugly head again.
Earlier, his need to administer medical attention seemed to override his need to vomit. But now—he caught a look at his watch—26 minutes later, his body seemed to decide he was safe enough to waste his lunch.
He forced it down, made himself breathe through the curdling nausea, squinting his eyes shut tight enough to block out the overbearing red and blue lights.
He turned slightly from where he was sitting—only now realising that he was in fact outside—collecting the saliva pooling in his mouth, and spat it behind him, hoping most of it landed in the bushes he helped Robert trim last week.
He was only partially successful, the big glob sitting mockingly in the dirt.
Yeah, it was fucking gross, but he'd rather have spit on the plants than vomit.
He turned back to face the street, knowing that even if the nausea would keep him company for a bit, he'd staved off the vomit for now at least. It wasn't a great plan, but at least he wouldn't be covered in vomit as well.
Unfortunately, his movement seemed to remind the officers lurking around that he was in fact, not a statue.
Fuck.
He watched as the three officers turned to each other, seemingly having a silent conversation.
Chase didn't need to know shit about law enforcement to see that these guys were way out of their depth, probably rookies roped into the biggest case of their career on a random Thursday.
He would almost feel bad for them if he didn't see them playing rock paper scissors to decide who would go over to him. Fucking Christ.
He'd already given his statement—he really didn't think he needed to, considering shroud had killed Robbie on live fucking television and all, but what the fuck did he know?
Honestly he wasn't sure why he was still here.
He should be at home with his roommate royd, crying into a bowl of pasta, processing the fact that when it mattered most, he wasn't fast enough.
He'd stopped bullets before. It wasn't impossible for him.
Fuck, why couldn't he have been one second earlier?
One of the cops came bumbling over, steps unsure and face panicked. Chase looked at him, average height, short black hair, dark skin, clinging to his belt for dear life.
He couldn't really make out the cops face, or anything distinctive. It was like his brain was too tired to process this guys face, refusing to see anything but Robbie's prone corpse overlayed with red and blue flashes.
"Uhm sir?"
Chase tried to give the indication that he was listening, that he was actually present here in the reality that 29 minutes ago he witnessed his friend being murdered. Had to tackle and restrain his other friend.
Had to remember how shroud hadn't even put up a fight after the gunshot.
"Would you like us to contact the family?"
That was the big question. Could he do it?
The kid was the only family Robbie had left.
It would be easy to pass it off to someone else. Make this rookie cop tell the kid he thinks of like a brother that his father was murdered by his 'uncle'.
Shuck the responsibility off to anyone else.
He's a hero, he doesn't deliver bad news.
His phone is buzzing in his pocket—god he hopes that isn't Robert.
He should look. Should make sure that Robert didn't hear the worst news of his life from the television at school.
Robert had robotics club today, one of those tech obsessed kids was probably streaming astrals death on their laptop.
Fuck. 31 minutes. He had to get his shit together. He could schedule his breakdown for later, right now he needed to be there for Robert.
"No, I'll— I— fuck" his voice caught, the first tears since Robbie's death slipping down his cheeks.
Fuck he had to pull himself together.
Something in the rookie seemed to shift at that, some resolve hardening. He crouched down in front of chase, close but not touching. He looked up at chase, sympathetic certainty burning in his eyes.
"His only listed family is his son. It will be a very difficult conversation. No one will blame you if you can't do it. We can inform him when we pick him up to take to foster care—"
"No! he—he goes to me in the will"
it was absolute bullshit, and he was sure this cop could see it—the guy wasn't hiding his thoughts very well—but neither of them wanted Robert to spend the worst night of his life in the system.
The cop nodded slightly. Chase felt like the guys eyes were baring into his soul, but he still couldn't get his mind to calm down enough to actually process this guys face.
"Alright, I'll make sure you can keep him tonight" the cop said everything with what he didn't say.
They'd find the will, but wait til tomorrow to take Robert. They'd let him be safe tonight.
He inhaled sharply, trying to remember how to breathe around this new information, this giant lump in his chest.
Chase wouldn't be able to keep him.
Fuck, he was really crying now.
Why? Did he want to keep Robert? Sure he loved the kid, him and royd were family at this point, his little trio got along great, but was he ready for that all the time?
To be wholly responsible for another person? Fuck he was only 21, he couldn't drink up until a few months ago, and now he was debating taking custody of Robert?
This was all too fucking much.
He ducked his head into his hands, breathing deeply, deciding that this was too overwhelming for right now.
He needed to get Robert. He needed to call royd. He needed to brace for Robert to hate him.
He needed to pretend the last 34 minutes never happened.
His pocket buzzed again. Chase, aching for literally anything to delay telling Robert, finally reached for it.
The copper sent him a quiet nod as he got to his feet and shuffled back over to his coworkers, cool under pressure mask completely shattered, nervous fidgeting back in place immediately.
Chase looked away from the street—royd was calling.
He ran a hand over his face, caught it up in his hair, pulling slightly on his dreadlocks to try and ground himself. It wasn't working.
He picked up the phone anyway.
"Royd—"
"Ay, I saw the news brudduh, got me panicked when you no answer"
Royds warm reassuring voice swept over him like a wave. Sue him, it felt good to be worried about.
"Fuck this is so fucking fucked up—I can't—fuck!" Chase yelled the last part, hand tugging harder on his scalp, his whole body folding in on itself, as if he were protecting a wound.
"You can say dat again brah, you okay? No shrapnel?"
Christ, okay was the furthest thing away from what he was right now. At least none of the blood on him was his own. "Yeah it's— I gotta pick Robert up" they both knew he was avoiding the question. How could anyone be any semblance of okay after that?
"Fuck I didn't even ask. Can Robert—"
"I already set up da couch and ordered our usual subs from the place cross the street, I'll pick em up on my way back, getting Robert from school right now. You got nothing to worry about bruddah, just shower before yknow?"
Chase sobbed in relief, cupping his hand over the receiver so he wouldn't deafen the poor guy. Fuck, he was so lucky to have royd.
They'd been roommates for about 2 years now. Royd hadn't known Robert for very long but he always welcomed him. Movie nights, sleepovers, tutorials on different tech items that had Chase falling asleep.
Royd even suggested moving into a bigger place just so Robert could have his own room when he stayed the night. Chase thought it was ludicrous at the time, the fuck did the little shit need his own room for?
He understood after Robert came over, poorly hiding a limp and half a dozen bruises. Saw the way royd frowned when Robert had to leave, wrapped him in a hug so tight Chase wasn't sure he'd ever let go.
Robert came round for sleepovers more often after that.
God what if they can't do movie nights anymore? Chase was finally educating Robert's dumb ass on the classics, they hadn't even gotten to terminator yet.
Royd, the stupid perfect guy that he is, seemed to hear chases exact worries "Ay, we got him tonight yah? Just focus on that, we figure out da rest in da mornin, yah?" Chase could hear the crunch of gravel over the line, he must've just pulled up at the school.
Chase had never been so glad that royd was already somehow so involved with their lives.
Royd picking Robert up from robotics club on Thursday after work had become such an overwhelmingly normal thing.
Honestly, it'd probably alert Robert something was wrong if Chase came to pick him up instead. The kid was only 13, but he was perceptive as fuck, and a real pain in the ass.
"Yeah, okay yeah" Chase didn't know if he had any words to say other than "fuck" right about now, which isn't that much different that usual.
"Okie, imma hang up now. Get home, shower, then we talk 'kay? I can be there da whole time"
"Fuck, okay. This fucking sucks"
"You got dat right"
Chase hung up, not wanting to think of what else he had to say tonight. He needs to save what's left of his brain today for Robert.
In a morbid way, he's really hoping this would be the worst day of his life. He's not sure he could deal with anything more.