You know what I think would hurt really bad be really fun? If every time Immortal!Robert dies, he comes back in little bits and pieces. The time it takes for everything to kick back on after he regains consciousness varies—sometimes it’s so quick that he’s up and fighting again without blinking, and sometimes it’s ten minutes. Once, it was the longest half-hour of his life. But everything comes back on in more or less the same order. Picture it:
His hearing is always the first sense to come back. That never changes.
The first thing he hears is the weeping. Someone’s sobbing, another person’s whimpering softly, someone else is cursing bitterly. There’s a lot of sniffling.
“Chad.” Prism’s voice, hoarse and wet. The rest of the team must have arrived some time after he was already dead. “You gotta let them take him, baby. He’s gone.”
“Fuck off!” Flambae snarls right next to Robert’s ear. If his muscles were working, he would’ve jumped.
Flambae was holding Robert’s hand when he died. Robert remembers his eyes, wide and panicked, frantically scanning the distance for help before finally locking onto Robert’s. Robert hated having to watch it sink in—the knowledge that help wouldn’t come quick enough, that it was going to be too late.
“He told me to wait,” Flambae continues, his voice brittle and tight, “so that’s what I’m fucking doing.”
Ah, that’s right. Robert didn’t actually manage to get much out—talking was incredibly difficult at the time—but he remembers trying to beg Flambae to wait for him to wake up again. He didn’t want to come back in a morgue and have to track them all down to tell them he wasn’t really dead. It's much better to do it with all of them gathered in one place.
As much as his instincts revolt at the idea of anyone else knowing his oldest secret, it’s inevitable now. Robert can't just die and then show up for work in the morning alive. And besides, hearing them now—Waterboy crying, Visi cursing viciously, Prism’s voice shaking—he finds himself wishing he’d just bitten the bullet and told them before.
Next is his eyesight, although sometimes it’s hard to tell exactly when it comes back if he happened to die with his eyes closed.
He must have died with his eyes open this time. He thinks he can vaguely remember turning them to the sky at the last possible moment, so Flambae wouldn’t have to watch the light leave them. A last minute apology for making him witness Robert's death.
Though he can’t move or focus his eyes yet, Robert can see his team well enough. He can’t really look at any one of them, but he can tell where they are and roughly what they’re doing.
Sonar is in Mega Bat form, his giant body hunched over and sniffling beside Malevola, who’s staring at the ground. Robert can't see her face well enough to tell what her expression looks like.
He can’t see Visi at all, only the empty space Golem’s hands are closed around, probably keeping her from running away to do something stupid. After a moment, she flickers back into view, red-faced and breathing heavily. She picks back up cursing a blue streak, but this time her voice breaks on the word, 'asshole.'
Waterboy’s sitting on the ground, head down and crying heart wrenchingly. Punch Up is standing next to him, a hand on his shoulder. Coupé guards them, so incredibly still that Robert has a hard time picking her out from the dark canvas of the sky behind her. The sun had just begun to set when Robert drifted off.
They’re all gathered a good couple meters away, and Robert can’t figure out why until he sees the black scorch marks on the ground, arching out from Robert’s body in a still smoking semi-circle. He sees orange and black in the corner of his eye and realizes that the scorch marks must have been Flambae’s doing.
The reason for that becomes clear as he finally notices the paramedics standing beyond the team. There’s a toppled gurney laying abandoned in the scorch zone, a body bag smoldering slowly.
Only Prism is brave enough to have gotten closer; she gingerly steps into the scorch zone, body relaxed and unthreatening.
“Okay, that’s okay,” she says softly, like she’s talking to a cornered animal. “There’s no hurry.”
Robert hears Flambae’s breath shudder out of him.
Scent and taste always arrive together.
Robert suddenly becomes aware of the familiar taste of iron in his mouth, and he wishes his muscles were working so he could spit it out. The air around them is heavy with the overpowering smell of blood and sweat and smoke and melting plastic, and he can’t even twitch his nostrils.
Sensation comes soon after.
Usually when Robert comes back, the soreness overpowers any other sensations he’s feeling. Even the pain from unhealed injuries pales in comparison to the full body ache. It’s usually impossible to focus on any other feeling.
Then again, he’s never had someone holding him as he came back before.
Strong arms—Flambae’s—cling tightly to him, completely supporting his limp body.
“He told me to wait,” Flambae repeats hoarsely, and Robert can feel the vibrations of his voice; he realizes his head is nestled under the other man’s chin.
“Then we’ll wait,” Prism says firmly. “He probably knew what he was talking about.”
Flambae squeezes him tighter, but says nothing. Robert can feel him swallow.
Second-to-last is his heartbeat. He doesn’t know how it works, but it’s always the first muscle to start working again, and it’s unsettling every time.
His heart flutters uncomfortably in his chest, and Robert tries to steel himself against the sensation.
There’s always this span of time where he gets completely used to the absence of a heartbeat, to the point where getting it back feels viscerally wrong. He can’t even wince—all he can do is lay there limply as the muscle tries to stutter back to life, like an old car engine turning over.
He sees Sonar’s giant head fly up at the first flutter, watches his wide, crimson eyes land on Robert, and then sees his face crumple as he looks at Robert’s unmoving body. The bat tucks his head back into Malevola’s stomach, and his hunched shoulders heave with a sob.
No, don’t, Robert wants to tell him. Don’t cry, I’m almost back…almost…
Finally, he regains control of his muscles. This is when his heartbeat stabilizes and his lungs begin to work again. Very soon after this step, he’s usually able to move around just fine.
Robert takes a shuddering breath, the rattling wheeze especially loud in the somber atmosphere.
And then all hell breaks loose.
prguitarman
theartofmadeline
dailybridgerton
amandla
titsay
