Chapter Text
“...aaaaand it's quittin’ time, ladies ‘n gents!” Punch Up's voice rang heartily through the comms.
It had been another long shift, standard (which meant boring, but also little injury.) With the rain pouring down, morale had been low, and they'd had a few failed calls (“Thank you, Flambae, for lighting that thrift store on fire.” “Hey, man, don't send me to places with fabric. It's in the name.”)
But still. With the end of the day, and with it being Friday...
“Drinks at that one seedy bar down off of [incoherent mumbling]?” Invisigal asked casually. “I could use one after witnessing little miss naked granny on that assisted living call. The robber was so traumatized he didn't even take anything.”
“Did you take anything?” Malevola asked casually, a teasing lilt to her voice.
“Maybe,” Invisigal said smoothly.
Prism snorted. “Girl, if it was from a granny? Please sell it and don't wear it.”
“Unless it's lingerie. Then do wear it. And send me pics,” Sonar said very seriously.
“Ew,” came the chorus from Invisigal, Malevola, Prism, and Coupé.
“Keep it in your pants, Batboner,” Flambae drawled through the comms, before laughing. “Robby. Hear that? I used your nickname. I guess you can be funny sometimes.”
"Gee. Thanks."
The desk chair spun lightly as Robert leaned back in it, his eyes casting up to the ceiling tiles above him.
It had been two months since Shroud's incarceration. Two months since Los Angeles had been torn apart and rebuilt. Two months since the Z-Team had established themselves as Heroes--still part of the Phoenix program. Two months since Coupe had been brought back into the team.
All of them were...well. Still zesty. But no longer active criminals. (Most of the time.) And the group synergy was going great--even Phenomaman and Waterboy were included in things without doubt.
"Who's buying drinks?" Robert finally asked over the comms, sitting up as he began to pack up his desk.
"I will," Phenomaman said, his tone somehow both overeager and monotone. "It is only right, as I have much more money than all of you."
"Ooh, good guy Phenomaman, over here," Flambae said, voice filled with sarcasm.
There was a pregnant pause, followed by: "Oh, piss off, you--you..." The shuffle of paper. "...hot tamale," Phenomaman said. It was one of the insults they'd written down for him--he'd been trying very hard to get into the team's 'boisterous bantering', as he called it.
Prism's chuckle sounded in the background, while Sonar's groan was audible before he spoke. "Oh my god, that was terrible, Phemboy..."
"You guys, the figh...can you all...we should get alo...stop," Waterboy piped up. "We don't have--want--to argue all the time."
"Shut it, wet wipes," Invisigal replied.
Robert smiled to himself as he stood up, stretching slowly. Physical therapy had been working wonders, but even now, he was feeling the lasting trauma from both the literal coma (it took forever to recover from those...) and then the Red Ring attack.
"It's how they show they care, Waterboy," he reassured as he picked up Beef, cradling the dog in his arms. "Just take a jab back at them. You got this."
"I j-just don't see...there's not a...the point," Waterboy mumbled, to which Prism snorted.
"Of course you wouldn't," she said before the sound of shuffling and grumbling came from the background of her comms. They'd gotten into the lockerrooms, it seemed.
"He's too innocent for it," Sonar agreed, to a chorus of mumbled assents.
"Dude's like the team puppy," Flambae added. "Or something."
Robert sighed. "Oh god. Don't. I can hear it coming--"
"So he's like a wet dog!" Prism shouted out.
And the comm line descended into laughing, and a feedback loop from laughing in close proximity.
Robert cringed as he took his headset off and logged off of his computer. He loosely bounced Beef in his arm, and chuckled as the dog licked his chin in response.
"...Hey Chase," he said as he glanced over.
The man was finishing up as well--wearing an amulet similar to Blonde Blazer's, he was on 'step two' of his recovery. (They'd been working on locating any de-aging potions. So far, no luck. Just duplication magic from a very expensive sorcerer.)
"You mind babysitting Beef tonight?"
Chase turned in his swivel chair to look at Robert, the smile on his face more of exhaustion than actual feeling of warmth. He'd been looking tired lately, but as always, he'd been trying hard to hide it. The amulet at least kept him from dying; even if he still felt a little old some days. It didn't work as well as the real thing.
But he nodded easily, holding out his hands to take the dog from his hands.
"Yeah, of course. Always want to hang out with my Beefy buddy," he cooed, scratching the top of Beef's head as he settled the dog on his lap. "No problem. You and the gang going out for drinks again, hm?"
Robert nodded, rubbing his face. "Been a long week. I'd invite you, but you don't--"
"--No thanks," Chase hummed. "I like your crew. I don't like bar hoppin' with your crew. Them motherfuckers are crazy."
Robert chuckled quietly, and nodded. After a brief goodbye, he headed downstairs, going into the men's lockerroom.
Flambae, Waterboy, and Punch Up were still inside--chattering loudly. Robert absently went to grab a change of clothes out from his locker (he'd been told to stop going everywhere in the SDN uniform...so he'd basically just brought a couple not-blue button ups.)
"Ah, the great Robby Robertson graces us with his presence!" Flambae announced dramatically as Robert entered, throwing an arm around his shoulders. "Finally ready to get obliterated?"
Waterboy was struggling with a t-shirt that definitely wasn't water-proof (based on the way it was already sticking to him in weird places). He looked up briefly. "I don’t think...it's w-wise...drunk...to encourage—"
Punch Up elbowed him lightly, grinning. "C'mon man, let’s not be buzzkills today." He turned back to Robert. "Prism already pre-gamed three shots and started yelling about Youtopia in the hallway."
"Oh God," Robert muttered, lightly flicking at Flambae to move away as he finished unbuttoning his shirt. Pulling on a (today, red) button up, he rolled out his shoulders, and shut his locker. Heading out of the lockerroom with the other three, he pointed at them. "Remember. We are a well respected hero team, now. No bar fights."
Flambae snorted, adjusting his jacket on his shoulders as the group started off down the hallway. "Please, we're superheroes. Professional bar fights."
Punch Up shook his head, shoving Flambae lightly, his expression stern for all of a second before he dissolved into laughter again. Waterboy was walking quietly behind them, fiddling with the edges of a wet shirt hem. He seemed to be taking Robert's no bar fights rule a lot more seriously, as was his way.
As they got to the parking lot, Robert grunted when he was suddenly grabbed by an invisible force--though, not in fear.
He just smiled tiredly and leaned into the kiss with a low hum when it inevitably came.
"...Visi. We're still technically on work grounds, you know."
"But technically," came her voice, before she materialised in front of him. She was dressed casually in ripped leggings and an over-sized (stolen) shirt (that might belong to Robert).
She was leaning in close, hands resting on his shoulders, as Punch Up and Flambae made gagging noises behind them.
Invisigal flipped them off without looking away from Robert. "It's past work hours. And I technically didn't get to see you all day."
Robert rolled his eyes, patting her hip and moving to wrap an arm around her waist as they walked. "Kinda clingy. Think you might be obsessed with me or something."
"Pfft. Please," Invisigal scoffed, leaning into his side with a smirk. "You wish you were that interesting."
Behind them, Flambae mimed vomiting dramatically as Waterboy just smiled awkwardly and shuffled faster toward the car. Prism’s voice came from the Uber as they approached--a rule, after a few drunk flying incidents. "Gross! Get a ROOM!"
"And invite me into it," Sonar said, leaning back in his seat.
"Nope."
A lot of un-bannings had happened after the battle with Red Ring. Since the Z-Team were considered the main heroes of the SDN...
"A dozen ales for my compatriots," Phenomaman said at the bar. "The finest you have."
"...You want Budweiser?"
"Is that the finest available?"
"...Sure buddy."
"Then yes! A dozen Sir Budweisers!"
"Oh god. Who let him choose the drinks?" Malevola snorted as she flopped at the round booth they were sat at.
Sonar groaned, rubbing his face with one hand while Invisigal cackled next to him. "I can't believe we got upgraded from actual criminals to the dumbest fucking heroes in LA."
Phenomaman sat the beers down with a proud grin. Flambae leaned over the table, grinning wide as he snatched a bottle and cracked it open. "Fuck yeah we did."
Prism grabbed another bottle and pointed it at Phenomaman. "You, sir, are banned from drink orders ever again."
"Unfortunate," Phenomaman said solemnly before immediately attempting to chug half of his beer in one go—prompting Sonar to pat him on the back as he somehow choked even with enhanced durability.
It wasn't the best bar, of course. A low-tier superhero bar with a 'rustic aesthetic' that meant there was taxidermy everywhere.
Golem was outside (they couldn't even portal him in, the bar was just cramped), but Waterboy had joined him. The latter tended to get overstimulated during outings, especially considering it was a karaoke night, and they usually sat together when Golem couldn't fit in places.
Robert absently grabbed three beers (one for Waterboy, two for Golem) before standing. "I'm going to run these outside. Don't let Flambae on stage, yeah?"
Invisigal saluted with a playful smirk, already halfway through her second beer. "No promises."
As Robert stepped outside, the cool night air hit him—a welcome change from the stuffy, neon-lit bar.
Golem was sitting in the parking lot, his clay form shifting slightly as he watched Waterboy trying to summon increasingly intricate water sculptures—currently attempting a dolphin mid-backflip and failing spectacularly.
"Hey," Robert said, handing them their drinks before leaning against the car next to Golem. "How’s the world’s saddest karaoke audience holding up?"
Waterboy startled at his voice—prompting his watery dolphin to explode into mist all over Golem’s face.
"...Wet," Golem deadpanned in response as he wiped sludge off where eyes should be.
The splash back had, of course, hit Robert too. He didn't react--by now? They carried towels in their bags. Instead, he kept the beer held out. "Herm. C'mon. We gotta work on those reflexes."
Golem accepted the beer with a sigh, his clay fingers too clumsy to open the bottles; so, as usual, he just chucked them in his mouth glass and all. Waterboy sputtered, hands flailing slightly. "S-sorry—I was thinking about...you startled me!" He clutched his own beer awkwardly, shoulders slumping. "This is why I can’t...go in there."
Robert shrugged. "That's fine. We'll get drunk and meet you guys out here. Just text if you want more drinks. Phenomaman is buying us 'fancy ale', so Budweiser tonight, I guess," he murmured.
Golem nodded, his form bubbling slightly as the beer bottles dissolved inside him. "Tell Phenomaman thanks," he rumbled.
Waterboy took a hesitant sip of his own beer—then immediately gagged. "Blech—this is fancy?!"
Robert smirked, turning back toward the bar door just in time to hear Flambae screaming off-key into the mic inside:
"I DON’T WANNA CLOSE MY EEEYYYES—"
He sighed, rubbing his temples. "...Yeah."
The drinking--real drinking--began somewhere after an original rendition of TikTok dueted by Invisigal and Punch Up; the latter of which mostly just making the sound effects and poorly back up singing.
But it was made better by the warmth of whiskey warming them--outside, Waterboy and Golem had been joined by Coupé and Phenomaman (both also escaping the horrible noise.)
Robert swayed a bit as he stood up, stumbling a couple feet before clearing his throat and standing upright. "I'm going to uh. The bathroom, be right back," he snorted to Flambae, Sonar, and Prism.
Flambae glanced up from the tequila shot he was doing with Prism and Sonar, a stupid grin on his face. "Ohoho," he chuckled. "Going to take a piss or a dump?"
Sonar snickered as Robert flipped him off before heading to the back.
Inside the restroom, the lighting seemed almost blinding compared to the dim atmosphere in the rest of the bar.
The bathroom was exactly as gross as you'd expect—flickering fluorescent lights, questionable stains on the floor, and at least three different kinds of Sharpie graffiti.
Robert stumbled forward, bracing a hand against the wall by the sink. The mirror showed his reflection—he looked wasted. Had he really drank that much? Like usual, trying to keep up with supers with enhanced metabolisms had backfired, but. Robert was nothing if not stubborn.
He splashed some water on his face (mistake) before checking his phone—no new texts from Chase or Blonde Blazer, just the picture of Beef laying in Chase's bed, and Blonde Blazer sending a 'be safe!' from earlier.
The lights flickered slightly and Robert cringed, putting his phone away and stumbling to the urinal. A quick piss later, he was washing his hands when he looked up in the mirror...
And immediately saw Shroud's beady, lit up eye staring at him from behind that red mask.
He didn't even fully process it before he was swinging at the mirror with his bare knuckles.
The mirror cracked under his fist, spiderweb lines branching out as he yanked his hand back. His knuckles stung as the glass clattered to the floor in shards, and he stared at the broken pieces in disbelief before whipping around.
The room was silent—the music from the bar was still pumping through the walls, and he heard Flambae drunkenly yell something about the Kardashians inside.
No Shroud in sight.
His heart hammered in his chest. For a brief moment, he swore he could hear the man's gravelly voice; whispering threats, promises. Could feel the blows landing--stomach, rib, cold metal pressing into his forehead--
The room had no air, suddenly. Where had the air gone? He was--
Choking, upside down, someone had a belt around his neck--
There was no Shroud. There was no Red Ring surrounding him. There wasn't--
A man's brain matter stuck in bits and pieces on his face for hours.
A strangled gasp as Robert fumbled for one of the two stalls--closing the lock with shaking hands and sitting on the toilet, hugging himself around the abdomen.
There was no Shroud. There was no Shroud. There was--
The bathroom door swung open.
Robert tensed as he heard it--going silent on a dime, holding his breath. A hero's training. Quiet when stealth was needed.
But the punched-out mirror and the blood droplets trailing to the stall weren't exactly stealth.
The footsteps paused, just a few feet from the stall he was hiding in. Robert heard whoever had come in hiss under their breath. He could hear the floor creaking as the stranger slowly, methodically walked forward, the footsteps coming closer...and stopped in front of the stall he was hiding in. Briefly, he was aware of someone looking at him through the crack in the stall. Then, the figure moved to the bathroom door. There was the sound of the lock, and then the knob being jiggled, like the person was making sure it was secure.
The entire time, Robert was frozen--still holding his breath, until he couldn't, and it came out in another choked sound.
Moments later, the person was back, and breaking open the door--a stout looking hand somehow gently prying it off its hinges. And Robert could only press his back against the toilet, sitting on it fully clothed, the world spinning, he couldn't breathe, he--
"Easy," the voice murmured—Punch Up's gruff, comforting timbre cutting through the haze like a knife. His hands hovered just over Robert’s shoulders, not touching yet. "Breathe with me."
Robert blinked up at him—his vision swam between Punch Up and someone else for a horrifying moment before he managed to suck in a breath.
Punch Up was holding up one of Robert’s hands—the one he’d punched the mirror with, blood smeared across his knuckles now. "Yer bleedin'," Punch Up said simply.
Robert swallowed hard before nodding jerkily and letting out another shaky exhale as he tried to ground himself back into reality again.
"Mirror...thought I saw..."
"Yeah," Punch Up cut him off firmly, not needing an explanation as he grabbed paper towels from the dispenser and wet them under lukewarm water before pressing them against Robert's split knuckles lightly.
"I can fix that when we get ya home."
Robert shook his head, closing his eyes. Another deep breath, his fingers twitching when Punch Up plucked a shard of mirror glass out of his knuckle. “...I’m fine. Don’t need to…go home.”
“...Ya sure, lad? Lookin’ a bit messed up–”
“I’m fine.”
There was a silence between the two, before Punch Up shrugged, and dropped it. Instead, he asked; "So what'd ya see?" He made it sound casual—like this wasn't weird at all; like this happened every Friday night (it didn't).
"...Shroud,” Robert muttered. “The…mask, anyways.”
There was no judgment in Punch Up's face when he looked up after pressing another wad of damp paper towels against Robert's hand.
"'Course ya did," came his easy reply as if that made perfect sense too—and then quieter: "...I see 'im sometimes too."
And then even quieter still:
"...We gotta go now, though, ‘cause Flambae lit somethin' on fire."
"...He what?"
The chaos of that statement broke Robert out of the panic, his eyes focusing as he stood up abruptly.
A mistake, as he almost immediately wobbled, groaned, and turned around to throw up promptly into the toilet.
Punch Up patted his back sympathetically while also, very obviously, already halfway out the stall door in anticipation of whatever Flambae had done.
From outside, there was a distant woosh—the unmistakable sound of flames getting way too big way too fast—followed by Invisigal's distant screech. "WHY DO WE EVEN LET HIM NEAR ALCOHOL?!"
Robert wiped his mouth with the back of his (uninjured) hand and staggered upright again as Punch Up peeked out into the hallway before turning back with a thumbs up.
"...Okay, good news! The fire's blue now, so Malevola’s takin’ care'a it." A pause. "Bad news! Think Prism’s pukin’ in the alley."
Another pause.
"Medium news? Sonar stole some guy’s nachos."
Robert's head hurt too much to think about all of that. (And his hand. And his whole body.)
"Let's get the fuck out of here."