Chapter Text
Back at the little round table Coop and I had been sitting at, I scowl into my drink.
There’d been no sign of him, and all the other bar-goers were quick to clam up. We’d been doing hero work for too long. While no one here had a bone to pick with us, they went looking to offer a hand job either.
All my questions about what jobs were hiring, who needed extra muscle, and what, if any schemes were on the docket in the near future were quickly stonewalled.
It was another dead end.
I down my glass and sigh, ready to brave the bar to try and get another. It was busier now, so it would be a toss-up if a stool was open. Sometimes life sucked being under four foot.
A scarred hand slides a new drink onto the table, clinking my empty one.
“I thought going out on Friday nights to the bar were supposed to be relaxing, you know, let a load off.” A dry voice remarks.
I glance up and Robert offers me a smile, his other hand holding two more glasses against his side.
“Drinks for the whole team,” he explains.
“Good lad,” I grunt, taking a sip. Enjoying the burn.
“So, what had you more down than Flambae in a rainstorm?” He asks, sliding into the seat across from me.
“I...” I pause, considering him. It still surprised me how deeply I trusted the man. He was solid. Through and through. That was the one thing obvious from the few weeks of working with him. He took the jokes, the punches, the practice jokes that, in retrospect, were obviously too much for a base human to handle.
And through all of it, he didn't go running to Blazer. Didn’t fuck around with paperwork to officially label us failures. Just told us to do better, made sure we knew how and then call out our shit.
…
…
“I… ran into Coupe…” I admit with a sigh. “She was here… looking for work.”
“Ah…. And I assume she wasn’t applying for a bartender,” Robert says glancing around the bar.
“I just…. I want better for her.” I say the frustration hot under my skin, boiling over, “She didn’t have any of this…this! No one to help us or explain any of this hero shite. Just threats to do better from dispatchers.” I quickly down the rest of my glass. “It’s bullshite, from top to bottom, no one willing to help get hero what she wants and–”
I take another sip of the liquor, cutting myself off.
“And what does Coupe want?” he asks curiously. “I was only her Dispatcher for a few days.”
“To be one of the best,” I respond immediately. “To have her work and skill recognized.”
Robert raises an eyebrow. “Is that all? She could work in a restaurant or pick up entertainment.”
“Not like that!” I say, waving my hand, “Don’t misunderstand, Coop has professional pride. Standards. She’s not going to debase herself doing tricks for the tourists.”
I stare into my drink, my reflection rippling back at me, “She wants action. To still be in the game.”
“Seems like she’s doing what she wants then,” Robert says neutrally, taking a sip of his own drink. I scowl at him across the table.
“Quit twisting my fucking words. It’s… It’s all she knows.” I say, the secret parting my lips painfully. If Coop ever learned I told anyone else this, she’d string me up and flay me for my troubles. Then she’d keep me stringed up until she was ready to forgive me.
...
...
Then she’d keep me stringed up as we fuc-
“Coop… never had downtime until SDN. T’was the first place she could breathe and stop running.” I stare around the room, looking for it, seeing it in the other bar patrons.
The ones who stared a bit too long into space, whose silence seemed just a bit more bitter, a bit more melancholy. The folks who weren’t happy with their life, but didn’t know how to find their way out of whatever fucked up circumstances brought them to the Sardine on a Friday night.
A life outside the law with broken ties to the underworld was a life constantly moving. Constantly ‘On’. Always looking behind your back, always planning escape routes and bolt holes.
“She likes romance novels, the trashy regency ones where there’s secret assassination plots, says they feel more real to her.” I say quietly, eyeing one green-haired lass whose gaze is just a little too blank to be listening to her friends by the pool table. “She likes salted caramel, but only if its cold out. In Summer, it’s fresh-cut watermelon and a pastry with a lemon filling.”
I stare at my glass and try not to get weepy. “She likes animals, though she’ll never admit it, and…” I hesitate.
“And…?” Robert prompts.
Coop really was going to kill me if she ever found out I shared any of this.
“And she wants a place to belong,” I say gruffly. She had been enamored with my stories of the circus when we had first started seeing each other. Fascinated by the idea of so many different blokes, folks and gals all able to live together, helping one another. She never fully revealed her own sad backstory, but there were enough clues, the small secrets she did share.
Janelle had grown up alone. And the kind of life I had told her about; she was hungry for. That feeling of belonging…
“She wanted a better life,” I say, feeling exhausted. “A life she enjoys and could be proud of.”
Robert doesn’t say anything for a moment. The sound of the bar filling the space around us.
“Well… I don’t know much about the type of jobs she’d find here,” Robert says slowly, But the sneaky double life doesn’t exactly lend itself to fresh watermelon and time to read books.”
I rest my chin on the table, my eyes dull. “She’d read between assignments and sometimes take the bus back to SDN, reading on the commute.” I say watching the glass slowly melt in the ice.
“That explains why her returns seemed a bit slow for someone who could fly,” Robert muses, taking a sip of his own drink. I sigh.
“SDN was good for her, let her try things that weren't just killing and fighting. She was bad at them; I won’t lie about that!” I look up at Robert over the lip of the glass. “Bad with people, with animals, and being gentle. It was just new to her, that’s all.”
Robert stares at me, that unreadable expression as he searches my eyes for something.
“Listen, Punch,” he starts quietly. “I didn’t know Coupe and I wish I had gotten the chance before I was asked to cut someone…but SDN and working as some hired muscle aren’t the only options for her. There’s a lot other ways she can apply her skills and build a life for herself.”
“She doesn’t believe it,” I grunt out, “She taking SDN and STARS as fucking gospel, that no one believes that she can change.”
“Then believe in it for her,” Robert fires back. Raise an eyebrow at him as he continues. “Send her other opportunities, call her out on her bullshit and hold her to a higher standard.”
“What and just be friends with a villain outside of work?” I ask bitterly, “Hang out at the donut shop and send her fucking job boards and advertisements?”
“Why not?”
I mull over the question. I reach across and pick up Robert’s drink, taking a sip. Thinking it over slowly.
“And what if she goes full villain, and we’re facing her down in the near future?” I challenge, my chest oddly tense at the idea. Of walking this line that could ruin both our lives.
If anyone found out that she was fraternizing with a hero, claims of mole and spy and turncoat would ring out and she’d be right where she was years ago. If anyone found out I moonlighted and met with a villainous assassin who worked in the shadows, it’d probably kick me out of the Phoenix Program. Both lives ruined.
“Then we stop her,” Robert says easily, “We stop her, ask her to stop, and continue to make sure she knows that someone hasn’t given up on her.”
I examine his face, and there’s not a hint of hesitation at the idea. “And you think that’s all it’d take, just letting her know someone believes in her to turn it all around?”
Robert shrugs, small smile on his face. “It worked with you all, didn’t it?”
Well damn.
I open my mouth to reply, only for a prink blur to blip in front of our table.
“Jesus fuck!” I swear, throwing a punch out.
Invisigal side-steps it, plucking the second glass that Robert had been holding onto.
“What? I’m just here to find out why everyone else gets a Robert drink instead of me,” the lass quips, before taking a skip of her drink.
“So, what, trying to figure out how Punch can top you from the bottom?” she asks Robert, quirking an eyebrow. Robert lets out a sight that sounds full of exhaustion.
“Do you have to be… you right now?” he asks, exasperated.
I chuckle and slide off the chair. I had seen enough of the glances Visi had thrown our dispatcher when he wasn’t looking. The plotting faces that Coop used to give me. Brooding like she was analyzing how to break down his body and how many knives it’d take to do so.
Ah, young love.
“Thanks for the advice,” I say to Robert. “I’ll… keep it in mind.”
“And where are you going?” Visi asks, as she shamelessly slides into my seat.
“Going to make a call first, then probably try and win some cash with Sonar and the Devil,”
“How do you know their betting?” Robert asks curiously.
“Cuz when are they not?” I say with a laugh, making my way to the back exit, opening a messaging app on my phone.
Hey Coop…
I pause, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. I glance around the side ally and, not seeing anyone, I tap a different button, staring an audio message.
“Coo-... Janelle. I’m sorry I came on strong when we spoke. I was just so excited to see you. I… I miss you. “I take a breath in. Fuck this shit was hard. I should have grabbed a bottle from the bar first. “I just want you to know…fuck SDN and fuck STARS. You can be a hero; you can make it too.”
I look up and there’s not a star to be seen past the light pollution and haze that seemed to cover the city at night. June Gloom they called it.
“You’re the bravest, finest, most damn capable woman I’ve ever met.” I say, my voice growing heavy with emotion. “And I…”
I swallow.
“I…”
I take a fist and thump my chest, as though I could just punch through the well of emotion rising in my chest. We’d never said it. We both knew, it was in our every action, how we spoke to each other. How we looked at once another.
But we never said it.
“I love you, Janelle.” I say hoarsely, “You saved me, years ago.”
There’s some graffiti on the on the wall across from me, a mural, fucking gorgeous thing of the city on fire. Apparently, it’d been maintained by some of the Sardine regulars for years. Different villain silhouette would be added to it, back shadows and stains, only for someone to paint the fire over their silhouettes when they left LA. Prison or coffin. Space for new villains to show up.
There’s a new shadow there now. Fresh black paint, red rings scattered through it, but sloppily done. The black beads and drips, breaking up the red.
In the top corner, above the blazing city, there’s two birds, rising above the chaos, above the city, the wind carrying them away from the city. I’m not one for metaphors or believing in God, and I never looked at them before but those two little birds become my favorite part of this fucking mural.
“You’re my hero, Coop. And I just wish you could see it too. Call me.”
I fire off the message and sigh, explosively. Wiping my face with my sleeve.
“Damn tears,” I say, breathing in deeply.
“Okay!”
If anyone had gotten suckered into an arm-wrestling contest with Malevola, it’d be an easy fifty I could make. Sonar had worked it out months ago. Any of us could walk up and pretend to bet on the other fella to get others interested, then once the pot got big enough, Mal would win or throw depending on the odds. Sonar always bet on Mal, we’d always bet against and we’d split the pot at the end of the day.
“I’m a bitch! My name is Robert, I’m a bitch whose name is Robert…”
“Heh,” Sonar chuckles as the last sucker storms off from our booth.
We all glance around, both to cheer Flambae on and also try to spy Robert. He and Visi are in the back by the pool tables, still at the table I left them out. Robert turned away, stubbornly refusing to look towards the karaoke stage.
“Classic,” I say, leaning back in my chair, drinking deeply from the pint glass I had grabbed on my way back in.
“Maybe I should sing something. Show these chums how it’s really done,” Malevola muses as she counts and stash the cash we had just won.
“Don’t,” Sonar says shortly, “You’ll hit those notes that hurt my ears.”
“But those are the best ones!” Malevola complains, filling up the shot glasses with the tequila her and Sonar were sharing. “No appreciation for art.”
“Techno bluegrass isn’t art; it’s some trust fund zenial cosplaying as a country singer.” Sonar says, downing his shot “Let me hit the toilet and then I’ll put my name in, sing something that won’t kickoff a riot.”
Malevola pauses and fixes Sonar with a flat look. “Dude,” she says sternly.
“It’s the fucking alcohol Mal! Honest! Blame fucking Robbie, not my bat bladder!”
Sonar heads off after shooting Malevola some finger guns and she slumps, aggressively downing her shot with a grumble.
“I take it he’s doing a line then?” I ask, having watched the play-by-play quietly. I knew there was some history between them. The lass always trying to steer Sonar away from the hard stuff as he flippantly and regularly indulged whenever he could.
When I had first joined, I had asked about it, and heard the most bullshite I’d ever heard from his mouth. Silly thoughts of ‘Macro-dosing’ and ‘fully optimizing his super resilience’.
Malevola shoots me a glare, mouth open before she pauses and sighs, “Yeah…”
She’s contemplative for a moment before she begins to speak. “If I get him to stop during the week, and he doesn’t find it out on an assignment, he’ll relapse Fridays, more often than not.”
“It’s hard cutting someone from the bottle,” I say sympathetically.
“I just…” Malevola starts, “I just wish-
“I’m not talking to you, bitch!”
Malevola and I both perk up as Robert goes stumbling across the room, flung by some thug.
The bar stills and every eye is drawn to the commotion as the punk, some heavy lad with mechanical arms lifts something into the air, Visi blipping into view moments later.
“Does that count as the first blow?” I ask, finishing my pint glass.
“Nah, that’s just a shove,” Malevola says, quickly taking a chug straight from her bottle.
The entire room watches Robert stagger to his feet, and the energy changes. Small clicks and hums, red glows from several of the other bar patrons. I look through the crowed and briefly lock eyes with Waterboy. Almost everybody in the Sardine was sporting red augmentations.
Red Ring.
…
…
Fuck yeah.
I could really use a chance to bust some balls.
“Get lost, Puta,” one of them says, putting a hand on Robert’s shoulder. “This doesn’t concern you, go home and euugh!”
Robert grabs the man’s shoulder and yanks it downward, raising his knee to slam it into the man’s jaw. I spot some teeth fly out as the man collapses and the entire bar blinks.
Damn. Robert could throw hands. Who knew?
“Now that’s a blow,” I say, judging the distance before chucking my pint glass. It flies across the room and shatters on the back of the mechanical arm fuck’s head, causing him to wince.
“Yep,” Malevola chimes back, reaching for her blade. “Play ring around the Robert, make sure no one gets too close to him?”
A group tries to move in on Robert, only for Waterboy to soak them from behind. Over by the entrance, a burst of fire and a body fly over the tables, crashing near the karaoke stage.
I nod, flexing my hands, “Sounds good.”
A new song track starts up and I briefly spy Prism approaching the stage. She grabs the mic stand and, in one fluid swing, sends it flying forward, hitting another Red Ring fuck in the back. Still holding the mic, she examines the room briefly.
“This next one goes out to Blue Balls Man!” She yells into the mic, before starting to sing.
I hope off my chair and bring my fists up as the room erupts into chaos. A feral grin coming across my face.
I charge toward a man and throw a punch, enjoying the meaty smack of flesh meeting flesh.
Now this was how you took a load off!
…
…
Oh you, you know what I fucking mean!
Our plan is derailed instantly. Instead of staying in one place, instead of fighting defensively like Malevola and I had though, Robert fucking Robertson goes on the offensive.
Which is just fucking crazy. I mean, top-tier crazy. Man without powers in a room full of supers. Your job is to find a corner or a wall to put your back against and try to avoid and defend against any bullshit sent your way. Or better yet, just fucking leave. I knew he was stubborn enough to not turn tail, but that should have meant cautious and defensive.
But Robert Robertson doesn’t do that. No. Instead he quickly charges forward, grabbing something from one of the tables before jumping on the guy who was messing with Visi. That’s the last I see of him as thugs and villains fill the space and my world is a forest of legs and crotches.
Fortunately, that was where I did my best work.
I start punching and I don’t stop. Making my way in a wide circle around the bar. Charging at and passing people, trying to stay mobile. For most folks, it’s a fight finisher, not many with the fortitude or are expecting a three-foot-tall Irishman to crack the family jewels. But one flaming fuck with horns sees me coming and tosses me, sending me flying towards the juke box. I get some actual lay of the land and I see…
Okay, no one that wasn’t there would believe me, but I swear it’s the truth.
Robert Robertson standing there, prying an augment out of a girl’s head, bare-handed. She lets out a shriek that echoes across the room and I can barely blink in confusion before I slam into the jukebox.
What the fuck? That… that wasn’t just a bar brawl. Where you avoided the face and didn’t look to maim… that was…
Someone yanks me out, a fist coming to pummel my face but I barely feel it.
Well then…
The Lad had teeth.
I catch the fist and kick out, increasing my weight to slam on the floor.
Okay then… if Mr. Dispatcher was going to fight dirty, then I guess I better step it up as well.
I get into a one two groove downing the dicks then following it up with a haymaker to the face. Most of them go down and I begin to speed up. Flambae is shooting flames and flying in short bursts, the flashes of pink and blue strobe lights at the stage tells me where Prism is. Malevola is hacking and slashing, occasionally portaling the odd villain around. Invisigal is still dealing with that mechanized arm fuck, and Robert…
“Whoopsie! Sorry, Bud.”
He was here too! I glance back briefly I punch the next guy. He looks a bit roughed off, but otherwise alright. No large cuts or broken bones yet.
“He’s only punching diiiiiiiiiicks!”
I laugh as I round the corner. Having to side step Sonar as he jumps over my head, thrashing the next guy I was going to hit.
The idiots with only augments or shitty powers start vacating the space. Dragging their conscious fellows off so they don’t get trampled. I spy one Supered bastard. Some kind of red sleeves around his limbs or neck.
…
…
Or was that skin?
I charge the man, only to have his limbs extend, his torso running out of my reach, a ten-foot arm swinging down and hitting me across my back as I try to slow my charge.
Fucking bullshit.
I’d need to try to get in close…
I watch him, and for as freaky as his power made him, he made it work. Using his extended limbs he tries throwing a haymaker. Leveraging the additional distance and swing to build some nasty momentum. I block his blow on my forehead and increase my weight to avoid being sent back. Alrighty…
I get in close, forcing him to bring his limbs in, I mainly block, but continue to close, step by step, waiting for…
There!
I duck under his blow and quickly turn around as he staggers past me, his back to me. Legs a bit wide to stabilize himself.
Perfect.
Not many men knew you could get hit in the balls from the backside. Most blows hit your buttocks or legs.
But you can with enough force and precision.
The slinky fuck collapses and I glance around as Sonar tackles another man to the floor, letting out a screech.
Most of the bar is vacated, with only a few morons dumb enough to still be fighting with us. I spy one of Mal’s portals at the back where Golem charges in. With a kick, pool tables go flying.
With Golem in the room, it officially became overkill. With the nine of us here and having been trained and actively fighting every day for the last several months, we quickly lock down the space. Malevola portaling bodies in front of and away from Sonar, letting him bite and ravage them before moving them outside. Waterboy does this thing with his teeth that makes his water shoot out like a hose with a thumb covering it, spraying multiple people as I went for their legs. I glance over and see Robert and Visi still tanging with the mechanized arm fuck as they tumble over into the bar.
“Mal! Portal me!” I call out as I run towards the bar.
A pink and red portal quickly splits before me and I tumble out intime to grab one mechanized hand, pulling it to the ground. I turn and-
Bingo.
I laugh as I swing my elbow back into the man’s crotch. Mud flies over our heads and I watch with interest as both Visi and Robert grab the mans…
Huh… he had human arms as well. Weird.
Craaaaack!
Ohhhh fuck. He had human arms. As a fella who prides myself on my arms and my ability to throw a punch, I felt for the man. It was good thing he still had a working pair of mechanical arms left.
…
…
I think I was wrong about Robert being a sidekick. Maybe Flambae was right about Longshot.
“So… what now? Waterboy asks, as we all stand outside the Sardine for a moment, the light air brisk and sharp against everyone’s bumps and bruises. A few small fry scatter as we hit the street. The ones injured quickly taken by their friends. I groan as I sit down, I’m numb to most of the bruises and cuts on me, a benefit of my powers, but I still felt tired, basically pulling a double shift after having worked all day as well.
“I’m hungry,” Golem says.
“Tacos?” Malevola asks, looking at the group. “There’s a TaGo a few blocks away.”
“Girl, yes, please!” Prism groans, holding her head. When some guys couldn’t get close to her, they settled for throwing things, I think she had taken a chair to the face? Maybe a body?
“Isn’t TaGo like… dealing with a huge food poisoning lawsuit right now?” Visi asks, rubbing her shoulders.
I turn to look at the one baseline human in the group. “You in, Robert?”
The man doesn’t answer, swaying slightly on the sidewalk. I turn fully and look up at him.
“Robert?” I ask.
He looks down at me, a vacant expression on his face. “Letttttssss Taaagooooo.” One of his pupils dilated than the other. I jump to my feet, “Shit, Malevola!”
Robert frowns and opens his mouth, trying to take a step forward only stumble and nearly fall. Prism catches him, as the team huddles around.
“Looks like a fucking concussion,” Flambae comments, peering over Prism’s shoulder. “What a bitch way to get hurt. Only Bob Rob would do such a thing.”
“Malevola, you need to heal him,” Prism says, setting him down on the ground.
“Whhhatttzzz the fusssinnn abouuuut?” Robert slurs as he tries to get up. Prism and Visi holding him in place.
“What? Can’t he walk it off? I’m busy eating my pain here,” Malevola complains, giving a glance over Robert’s form. “If I take on his, I’m going to be hurting all night!”
“You’ll be fine by Monday,” I say, gesturing to the man, “He won’t be.”
Malevola glances around before sighing, “Fine… but someone else is covering my tacos. And buying me breakfast.” Her tail rises up to tap at Robert’s temple before pausing. “Umm… am I just taking the concussion?”
“Well, is there more to take than a concussion?” Sonar asks, licking the blood off his face.
Malevola shrugs. “Some light internal bleeding, bruises, cuts, maybe a cracked rib or two?”
“Then yes! Take the ribs and the blood!” I say with exasperation.
“Ugh fine… but I demand lunch as well.” Malevola grumbles as Robert’s breathing begins to even out. His eyes go distant then quickly roll back in his head.
“Damn, did you take his soul too?”
“Robert! Don’t go towards the light!” I call in panic.
“Mal, what the fuck?”
“He’s fine,” Malevola groans, holding a hand to her head, “Body’s just freaking out with the pain suddenly gone. Nervous system reset. He’ll wake up in a few minutes and be fine…or finer than I’ll be for the rest of the night.”
“Golem, can you carry him?” Visi asks, gingerly sitting Robert up.
“Yeah, it’s cool.”
One of Malevola’s portals opens up and we’re able to step through instantly. The taco place was almost abandoned, a group of high school or college aged kids joking and hanging out at the outdoor tables. They take one look at our dishevel appearance, our hero outfits, and the fact that we have a towering dirt monster with us and quickly find somewhere else to be as we quicky take up the seats.
Golem sets Robert down on one of the cement barriers and we all take a moment to sigh, the last dregs of adrenalin leaving our system.
“That was…” Waterboy starts, trailing off.
“A good end to a week!” I say, punching him lightly in the arm.
“A mess,” Prism grunts, opening a pocket mirror and inspecting her makeup. “Songs were solid though.”
“Come on! We kicked ass!” Flambae says laughing before wincing at the motion. “I mean some kicked our ass too, but there was more kicking of their asses than ours.”
“I’m just hungry,” Golem rumbles, “I wanted another drink.”
“For the alcohol or the glass?” Visi asks, smiling at the living mountain.
Golem shrugs.
“Hey wetboy,” Malevola says, gesturing to Waterboy. “Get me one of their supreme burritos alright?”
“Oh! Their super taco! Extra avocado!”
“Quesadilla for me.”
“Three double crunch tacos.”
We all glance over, Robert stares beadily at us.
“Robert! Welcome back to the land of the living!” Sonar says. “Nice fighting earlier, I really liked how you smacked the mirror over that guy’s head. Poggers.”
“Sorry about earlier, Rob,” I say with a wave.
“You doing good?” Visi asks.
Robert stares as us beadily before turning his head with a groan. “Never better,” he grunts. “Just a pounding headache and some new bruises for the collection.”
Prism’s head whips around to stare at Malevola. “I thought you said you healed him!”
“Only of life-threatening injuries,” Malevola grumbles, glaring at Prism as she rests her head on one hand. “If I was fresh, sure, love a good bruise or two. But I’m eating plasma burns, the ribs when that one guy threw the karaoke machine, and my own selection of bruises.”
“He’ll be fine Prism!” Sonar chimes in gesturing to Robert. “You should have seen him! Hopped the bar and basically jumped on that arm fuck.”
Prism slowly relaxes and we all settle and wait. Anticipating Waterboy’s return with the food.