Chapter Text
You can take the super out of the hero, but you can’t take the hero out of the super.
It sounds like the kind of corny shit that you’d find on a “thank you” card in the back corner of a Walgreens, but it’s the truth.
Robert has spent the majority of his life living and breathing the concept. Looking up to his father, dreaming of and dreading the day the he would take on the Mechaman mantle. That day had come too soon.
He’d come into his title stumbling, gaining momentum and falling into step with every successful takedown and life uplifted.
The recognition and praise had felt like a gust of warm wind in the middle of winter. Unnatural but not wholly unwelcome.
But it had come with sacrifices. Somewhere along the way he had stopped caring about himself, content to live with the basics of self-care and hygiene without worrying about how the world would see him. They would only remember a man in a suit or the mech that made the man. His true self was just another stepping stone that paved the path of the legend of Mechaman.
Far too often this also meant that he neglected to care much about his own well-being.
Every scar and bruise was hidden away, a patchwork of failures and successes culminating into an extreme tolerance to pain that was now going out of its way to bite him squarely on the ass.
Just to be clear; Robert was well aware that the guy had a gun. What he wasn’t aware of- partially due to the fact that he was a little too preoccupied with pulling a mother and daughter out of the line of fire- was that the bastard had gotten in a lucky shot. In fact no-one was really aware of it until it was too late.
It had gone like this:
After his brief encounter with Flambae in the SDN gym, Robert had scoped out a temporary replacement for his workouts. The less one-on-one time he could get with the ex-villain, the better. It was only a matter of time until something sparked recognition, he would just rather not have that explode into his early cremation while he was at work.
So here he was, completing a 6 mile run while peering out into the cracked parking lot of a strip-mall through the grimy windows of the cheapest gym he could find. As long as it had functioning equipment it would work. Or it had up until a gun-wielding manic had shot through the building’s main power supply.
Of course, because why not right?
The lights cut out following the loud pop of gunfire and muffled manic laughter, and Robert trips and nearly slams his head on the front of the treadmill as it comes to an abrupt halt. He braces himself on one arm, starting at the blank progress screen in disappointment for a moment before pushing off and heading for the door. He doesn’t even attempt to hold back his sigh as he runs an open palm over his forehead and through his sweat damp hair.
Same shit, different day.
There just had to be a jewelry store next door, and it just had to have a desirable piece on display, and it just had to be next to a fucking daycare.
Robert eyes a rack of curling weights on his way out, picking a particularly garish pink 5 pounder and swinging it experimentally a couple of times with all of the enthusiasm of an overwrought DMV attendant. Did he have a plan? No. But he’d been in situations like this hundreds of times, and his injuries from his accident had all but healed, which meant he could now accomplish more than his last botched attempt at stopping a robbery.
He toes the door open and leans against the wall between businesses, taking a moment to assess the situation. The window of the jewelry store had been smashed in, the protective bars on the outside cast to the ground and smoldering around the edges, a still-burning blowtorch on the ground reassuring him that it hadn’t been the work of someone with fire powers at least. One less thing to worry about.
What he did have to worry about was the mother, somehow completely oblivious to the scene unfolding, escorting her child from their car to the building.
“You’ve got to be kidding me…Ma’am-!”
Robert drops the weight and launches himself forward just as the armed robber emerges, kicking the door out with a sack slung over his shoulder, a Carbine gun in his other hand pointed in the air. The woman screams, and the gunman reacts, sending a hail of bullets across the lot haphazardly. Robert has just enough time to grab the pair, pulling them both close and curling over them in a crouch as bullets whiz by overhead. As soon as the gunfire pauses he drags them behind the shelter of a car, then sprints back the other way, snatching up the weight. The robber is distracted, juggling the bag while trying to load another clip into the gun, and it’s the perfect kind of rookie mistake he needs. He ducks into a swinging kick, hooking the man’s ankle with his foot and sweeping it out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground, skull cracking against the concrete. He doesn’t even get a second the wheeze before Robert unceremoniously drops the weight on his gut, catching him around the neck in a headlock as he reflexively curls forward and drops the gun.
“It’s 6 o’clock on a Monday morning, don’t you have anything better to do?”
The man sputters in confusion and Robert locks his arms in tighter cutting him off.
“It was a rhetorical question asshole.”
Not caring about how it might look, he leans back, partially pulling the guy onto this lap, then kicks out with his right foot and sends the gun skittering out of reach.
“Now I know I didn’t ask if you preferred to be the big or the little spoon, but it’s too late for that now. Just stay still and be a good little spoon until the cops get here.”
The robber grunts and tries to pull at his arms, wiggling around ineffectually before Robert tightens his arms one last time and lets him drop limp to the ground.
“Yeah, again. I wasn’t asking.”
He rolls the man onto his stomach and ties his hands behind his back with the waistband string of his sweats, then plants his knee on his back and waits, redirecting his attention to the woman peaking around the side of the car.
“You guys okay?”
She jumps with a gasp, ducking back around the vehicle, then hesitantly reappears.
“Is… is he dead?”
Robert chuckles and nudges the man with is knee, eliciting a low groan.
“No, but I’m sure he wishes he was.”
There’s a stinging pain in his side, and he ignores it assuming he’d given himself a stitch while running earlier.
“And you guys, are you okay?”
The mother stands up, guiding her crying daughter out from behind the car unsteadily.
“Ye-yeah. Just a little startled. Maybe a few bruises…” She sucks in a shaky breath, “but we’re good. We’re okay.” She leans down and hugs her daughter tight, rubbing a hand over her back as silent tears track down her cheeks.
“Thank you.”
Robert feels a pit of warmth bloom in his chest, startled by the flush he can feel crawling its way across his face. The face he usually has covered when he saves people. This felt so much more personal.
“Uh, yeah-uh. No problem. At all.” He pulls his hood over his head a ducks down, feeling too exposed. He can hear sirens a few blocks over. “The cops should be here soon, can you guys wait until they get here? Maybe in your car just in case…”
“Sure? Wait where are you going?” She pulls her daughter in closer as Robert hauls the man back, temporarily undoing his binding to tie him to a bike rack.
“I’m late for work, I’m sure the cops can take it from here.”
“But-!” She looks distressed, and Robert is quick to assure her with a wave as he pulls out his car keys and drops into the front seat of his car,
“It’ll be fine, I’m pretty sure I broke a few of his ribs earlier, and unless he’s some kind of contortionist, he won’t be going anywhere tied up like that.”
She doesn’t look assured, but he really needs to get to work. He just misses her shout as he pops the car door shut and starts the ignition.
“But you’re bleeding!”
And then he’s out of the parking lot and into the street, leaving the woman clutching her daughter with one hand outstretched towards his retreating car.