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Six months leaves a lot of loose ends.
Robert almost doesn’t ask. It’s the sort of problem that gets handled in six months, one way or another. Either Beef is with a happy loving family and gets a stocking with his name on it every Christmas, or he slowly starved to death in the Mechaman warehouse before coyotes carried off the bones. Both circumstances leave Robert powerless. God knows he’s had enough of that lately.
However—
When he gets the remnants of the suit into his apartment, when he piles his bills into a small mountain, and when he takes the only seat in his house…
Robert misses Beef.
Fuck, the answers might not lead to anything good. The answers might be just what he needs to pitch himself over the side of the balcony, actually, and Robert is really trying not to end the Mecha Man legacy worse than it already is.
He just—He gets a stupid idea in his head. If Beef is alive, then he wants Beef to see him. He wants Beef to know that Robert didn’t abandon him, would never abandon him. There was just a really, really bad day.
Getting Beef had seemed like a bad idea at the time, due to the classic heroism problem. Largely, heroes befriended, married, and birthed other superheroes—because any non-heroes were put right into the crosshairs. Children and pets were no exception to that rule. Robert half-suspected hero teams were popular because otherwise the suicide epidemic among capes would be… well, worse than it already is.
However, Robert had found Beef. In a trash can. Behind a Taco Bell. He hadn’t been any larger than a burrito.
He thinks about that tiny puppy now, trembling and whining even as he licked taco grease off Robert’s fingers. That puppy knows more confidential Mecha Man information than anyone in the world, and Robert isn’t sure if he’s ever had a better friend. Without Beef, Robert might never have gone home at the end of a long day.
Isn’t closure what his little Beef Burrito Supreme deserves?
Robert cracks open a beer, opens his laptop, and pulls out his phone.
He had a lengthy hospital recovery, where he spent plenty of time getting up to speed. Heroes rose, heroes fell. Robert had fallen out of contact with all of them in the past few years, because of who he is as a person. If any of them visited him in the hospital, he’s touched but unaware. Robert knows the major players in the area—knows that SDN has risen as a corporate entity—knows who haven’t been seen in public for a little while.
Robert has to dig pathetically deep to find anyone who might know what happened.
Despite being solo, he had emergency contacts listed on his medical profile. They’d been from his time in the Brave Brigade—or, rather, back when it seemed like he’d inevitably be in the Brave Brigade. After all, we can’t put myself down as your emergency contact, Robert. You’ll only need them when I’m dead!
In the mouth of any other parent, maybe that wouldn’t been a reassurance. You’re safe as long as I’m alive.
That’s not what his dad meant.
Either way, it’s good to know that the Torrance government database is as easy to hack into as ever. Probably why superheroes and villains congregate in this particular neighborhood. Robert is pretty sure that half of his calls would’ve been nullified, if the government were willing to shell out for a high-end IT specialist.
It takes him a moment to remember the legal name of his emergency contact, the name he paid taxes under.
Robert didn’t associate with other members of the Brave Brigade all that much. They were all adults, after all, and him a little kid. Christmas parties, mostly, and the occasional celebration. They were all friendly enough, from what Robert could remember. Vitalia once fixed a broken arm for him. She’d wanted to fix the hole in his ear, too, but Robert had nearly forced himself out a moving car when she tried. That scar had seemed unbearably cool for a ten year old.
There’d been Track Star, of course, who—well. Robert’s still ashamed that they fell out of contact. Mecha Man had taken all his time, his energy. Besides, after his father died, it felt like he couldn’t talk to any member of the Brave Brigade without a black hole sucking all the air out.
If Track Star had been a few years older when Robert’s dad made him register his emergency contract, it’d be his house that Robert would show up at.
It’s pitiful, but Robert is relieved it isn’t.
No, instead, Robert shows up to the house of a distant Brave Brigade member. The strongest memory he has is one that they weren’t even around for — mostly, being scared fucking shitless of them when he was a kid.
Aperture’s costume looked like they had a giant fucking hole in their head, but it was designed to focus and enhance the power of their innate laser-eyes ability. He could cut through solid rock, steel, flesh… Robert’s father had been able to boost their shields to protect against it, but only for a few seconds. Maybe that was why he always seemed to make more of an effort to keep Aperture happy.
According to his search on the ride here, Aperture fell out of the game a few years ago. No idea what he’s doing now. Maybe shooting missiles out of the sky.
Or, maybe, he’s enjoying retirement. They approach the quaint little one-bedroom in one of the outer suburbs, and it looks picturesque. Okay, maybe not picturesque. Grandma-ish is the better word. There’s a flag posted in the mulch with a teddy bear on it, and bursts of brightly-colored flowers line the walkway. The window shutters have been polished to a startling white. Much less doom and destruction than he considered…
And a moving van, out in the driveway. Robert steps out of the taxi and considers it with a quizzical stare. Two men carry a sofa out to load onto the truck, neither of them Aperture. Well, he guesses he’s glad that he didn’t wait a day or two.
He heads up the walkway anyway, smooths his hand across the front of his costume. Hello, Aperture, recognize me? Yeah. Anyway, I was just wondering if you knew what happened to my do—
Beef is in the window.
As soon as Robert spots him, Beef spots him right back. He’s perched on the back of a couch—his tail wags so hard that it nearly sends him over.
Any worry that Beef might not recognize him is dashed. Beef’s eyes are sparkling bright, and as Robert takes a step closer, he starts up. Yap yap yap yap yap yap yap yap yap!
Something breaks inside of Robert’s chest. The periphery of his vision starts to narrow, until he can focus on little else beyond that little doggie in the window. Even the near-constant thump of pain, which usually serves to keep him grounded, shrinks to nothing.
Robert flees to the front door; at the same time, Beef disappears from the window. He can hear Beef’s little paws scrabbling on the other side, punctuated by a few insistent, desperate yaps.
“Get—Get away from the door, buddy, I—I—”
It’s a bad idea. Absolutely, it’s a bad idea, and one he hasn’t entirely thought through. Robert blames the fact that he’s the third son in a legacy that fights in a giant mechanical robot. Property damage is written into his genetics.
He shoves the door in.
The door gives more easily than he expected, so in a way, this really isn’t his fault. Any lingering traces of guilt are dashed away regardless, when he lands on his knees in front of his best friend.
Beef gives one last happy yap! before leaping into Robert’s arms.
Robert bursts into tears.
Throughout all of this, he hasn’t cried. Crying wasn’t really in the Robertson parenting plan, it had to be said, and Robert sort-of forgot he could cry. If there was any situation that would warrant it, losing his entire life would be the case—but he hasn’t even had the urge until a beautiful, excited, rounder-than-Robert-remembered Chihuahua leaps into his arms.
“Oh my go-o-o-od,” he sobs, holding Beef against his chest with one arm. Beef wriggles and squirms against his grip, all the while emitting high-pitched whimpers that stab Robert right in the heart. He sets out to excitedly lick every inch of Robert’s face, so that any evidence of Robert’s tears are erased in an instant. “B-e-e-e-f, I missed you so mu-u-u-u-ch.”
As opposed to Beef’s squeals, Robert’s voice only gets lower. He feels like he’s carving out pieces of himself like a Sunday roast, like he might hack up bloody tissue into the carpet. How much of his subconscious mind had truly believed that Beef was gone? Lost in a pound somewhere, or—or—or—
Guided only by Robert’s arm, Beef has basically rock-climbed halfway across his chest. He knows that he’ll be covered in little Chihuahua scratches tomorrow, and he hopes he’s covered in little Chihuahua scratches for the rest of his life.
For the first three weeks, Robert had thought adopting Beef might’ve been a mistake. No part of his lifestyle really seemed to work with having a dog, and besides, he’d never been a pet guy to begin with. Absolutely, no pets were allowed in the Robertson household. And then—
Then, well. Beef was a really good listener. It was nice to have someone there who didn’t care if you fucked up every single thing that day. And having someone who loved him and listened to him constantly…
Someone clears their throat.
Robert raises his tearstained, drool-covered face from his dog to stare at—
A woman holding a shotgun.
Fuck.
Robert hunches himself over Beef, cuddling him closer against his chest. “Wait. Wait wait wait—”
Recognition flickers on her features. She tilts her head to the side, curious, and the shotgun lowers. At least Robert can actually have three thoughts in a row, now, without being interrupted by gun gun gun gun gun.
“Robert?”
That narrows down the list considerably. There is something familiar to her — she’s maybe five years younger than him, with curls that fall neatly to her shoulders. What strikes him most is that she’s completely without eyelashes or eyebrows, which…
Oh.
“Cassie?” He blurts. Scooping Beef under one arm like a football, he rises to his feet. “Oh my god, h-hi.”
Cassie grew up. They’d been shoved into a few awkward playdates together, but when you’re a kid, a five-year age gap means the world. In many ways, their childhoods mirrored each other. His mother was killed, Cassie’s mother left, both fathers famous superheroes. The big difference, he supposes, is that Cassie didn’t end up a hero. She even inherited Aperture’s powers.
“Why are you… breaking into my dad’s house?”
There’s a pitying atmosphere to her. Robert’s gotten really used to that in the past few weeks. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate it. He does. His life is over; that’s worth a little pity. However, he just doesn’t know what to do with it. This situation doesn’t feel suited for a ‘that sucks, bro’. Haha, yeah, I kind of wish I hadn’t woken up.
“I, um… he was…” Robert gestures to the parcel under his shoulder. “He was looking after my dog, while I was… out. I, I…”
(It occurs to Robert that maybe Aperture has made a bond with Beef, too. He’s definitely been feeding the guy well, given that Robert’s shoulder is already starting to ache. Feels like grandparent behavior. Who is Robert to take Beef away from him?
Well—a depressed, end-of-the-road guy, that’s who. Maybe it makes him a shithead, but Robert already knows he’ll be zipping out of this door with Beef in tow.)
“How… is he?” He gestures with his chin towards the moving van outside. “You guys getting out of LA?”
“No. No, just him. He, uhm…” Cassie shrugs her shoulders, lets the shotgun rest against the wall. “Well. Turns out, shooting lasers from your eyes for thirty years isn’t good for you. He’s got cancer. They don’t know, um—but, uh. He won’t be able to stay here.”
“Oh.”
Fuck. Genuine sympathy rushes through him. “Cassie, I’m so sorry. Jesus.”
Cassie shrugs. “I guess it’s better than getting shot in the head.”
In any other context, it would’ve been a real asshole thing to say. Maybe it still is, Robert doesn’t know, but—he gets it. He might be the only other guy in the city who gets it. Having a parent in near-constant danger isn’t for the faint of heart, and the fact of the matter is… Cassie’s dad is still here and Robert’s isn’t.
Cassie also doesn’t have to deal with a quest for vengeance. Which, who knows. Maybe it’ll provide more closure than cancer. You can’t find Dr. Cancer and kill him, which sucks.
As if reading his thoughts, Cassie sighs and looks towards the window. “You want to take your dog back, fine by me. That’s actually doing me a favor, I’m allergic. D’you want me to tell him that you came by?”
He thinks about it. Maybe it would do him some good, to talk to a member of the Brave Brigade again. Might lead to some leads about Shroud, or… or…
“Nah,” Robert shakes his head. “As you can imagine, waking up from a coma makes you a really busy guy. But thanks. You can tell him, um, tell him that I hope…”
Nothing comes.
“Tell him I said something nice.”
Cassie’s lips quirk in a weary smile. “Yeah, Robert. I will. See ya around, little guy.”
That’s about as much excuse as he needs to turn around and leave, to flee back into the waiting taxi. From his seat, he can hear Cassie giving instructions to the movers. His heart twinges in sympathy, for times long gone, a grief for a life he never lived.
“Yap!” Beef raises on his hind legs to lean against the window, his huffing breath fogging up the window.
The entire world isn’t too bad.
As the taxi rumbles away from the curb, Robert scratches Beef between his shoulder blades. Yeah, it looks like this guy got the grandpa treatment with Aperture, but in a way, he lives up to his name now more than ever. “We’re going home, buddy,” he whispers warmly.
Huh—might be the first time he’s ever thought of that shitty apartment as a home. It still doesn’t feel quite right, but he’d rather exist in a space with Beef than without it.
“You’re gonna like it. A real bachelor’s pad for a couple of ladies’ men,” he huffs. “And—and, Jesus, I’m so sorry for what happened. Did you watch the news? I dunno if Aperture told you, but there was… I got hurt at work, and I was in a coma for a long time, and I just got out, and…”
Why are tears pricking at his eyes again? At this rate, he’s never going to stop crying. He rubs his eye with his knuckle, willing them back down.
Beef is indifferent to his waterworks. He watches the world outside, his tail wagging, excited at the next adventure.
“It’ll be okay,” Robert promises. “Yeah? Everything’s gonna be okay, Beef. No more excitement.”
(A promise and a curse.)
He gives Beef a kiss on the head.
“No more adventures.”