🌱 Tomorrow is Another Day
Robert is hurt. Badly. It also seems like every aspect of his life is falling apart and he’s having a harder and harder time coping with the way things are without his father even all these years later. Who knows? Maybe this will be the thing that ends him.
CW: Loss of limb, sucicidal ideation, and progressive depression
Robert was hurting, badly, and by the looks of it, the Mecha was too. What the hell happened? There was a foreign object on the Mecha’s back and before he new it he was falling out of the sky at speeds no normie should sustain. One of his arms, the left one, had lost feeling in it, and considering the other one was at least moving when asked, he took that as a sign to not even look at the one not responding.
His vision was blurring and sirens — car alarms of all sorts — were blaring in a way that made his ears ring painfully. His brain couldn’t even focus on them let alone get the motivation to move and get out of the suit that was filled with billows of smoke. His lungs stung with pollution and he had no ability to cough back out.
Maybe this was it. Maybe he’d die in this suit. That’s what was supposed to happen right? It had to happen one way or another. In a weird way, it was better like this. It wasn’t like he would ever live up to his father’s name, or even his grandfather’s title.
Who’d really miss him if he were gone?
With his ears still ringing, and his lungs still aching, Robert closed his eyes, letting the pain melt away.
A voice comes close by, ‘Come on, I’m just gonna peek! I not even gonna tell nobody!’
Then another, ‘Your funeral.’
Then another, ‘I still vote we end his misery now. Let him go down with the flames.’
And another, And get in trouble with ‘The Blaze’? Yeah, no. The sirens are already coming this way.
‘Oh?’ Is he fucked up or something?’
‘Ugh, no. He’s just some average looking normie. ‘
Another voice, ‘Not even a hideous scar?’
‘Nope. He’s…kinda cute in a pathetic way. But only if you squint.’
Someone laughs, ‘I guess the blood helps with that.’
‘Ugh, let’s go. Mal your ass stays here. You lost the draw.’
‘Ugh. Fuck you guys. If I get arrested I’m killing you guys.’
Robert is cold. Which isn’t abnormal. His heating got turned off last week because he missed a payment. He usually just turns his shitty little space heater on so he and Beef don’t freeze. It’s habitual at this point.
There’s no way he forgot right?
Its fine. He’ll just sleep through it.
…Beef’s probably cold though...
Robert’s eyes flicker open and he’s immediately blinded by bright, fluorescent lights. He frowns, not appreciating the shock before immediately realizing that he doesn’t have fluorescent lights. Hell, besides his stove light he doesn’t even have lights in his apartment at all. Where the fuck is he?
The man fights with his own vision for a moment before he manages to just barely look around the room with squinted eyes.
It’s then that he hears the heart monitor. He realizes the sound has always been there but had just been ignored. There’s an IV going into his right arm and his left is—
Robert, with the help of the mechanical bed, sits up and takes a good look around the room. It’s private, which surprises him and only makes his pockets pang in pain as he can only wonder what bill he’ll have to face for this.
He squints at the analog clock and then the window and figures it’s late into the evening. Which is great considering that only means he can go back to sleep instead of dealing with all this soreness.
Moments away from setting his bed back to its regular position, someone steps into the room. They’re briefly distracted by the clipboard in their hand but the moment they look up, they freeze.
Robert opens his mouth and just as quickly closes it as he realizes his throat is in no condition to be used right now. Instead he gives a tight lipped smile and nods down to greet the— what he assumes to be— nurse checking his vitals or something.
They’re young and exciteable, which becomes apparent when they run back to the open sliding door and yell out to the floor, “He’s awake!”
Before Robert could really process it he’s surrounded by doctors and nurses, each of them either checking his health via vitals and limbs, or asking him questions.
Robert is expressionless. Feeling at the very least, confused, and at the most, a bit annoyed. He feels like death and to immediately be flanked by a group of people with no real way of escape isn’t exactly the best thing to wake up to.
He answers the easy things like how he’s feeling and if he’s in any pain with complete honesty (again, he feels like death, and his body is mad at him) but everyone’s “fun” is interrupted when someone loudly clears their throat.
A clear view is made as everyone turns to the doctor in front of the opposing wall of the room. A very short darkskinned man with a thick salt and pepper beard and long black hair wrapped in a tight top bun. He looks unimpressed and oddly intimidating for his size.
His glare crosses each and every face in the room before giving a quick glance to Robert and frowning. He shakes his head.
Someone, bravely, tries to speak up, “Sir, we were just—“
There is a beat of stillness before everyone quickly files out of the room. Quickly trying to make their existence untraceable to the room.
A nurse, or whatever their position may be, squeaks to a stop, shoulders hunched up to their ears and clipboard clutched to their chest as they spin on the balls of their feet to face the scarier one.
“Stay. Let’s have a chat with our patient.” Robert hears can feel his own stomach drop at the intimidation tactic, but he had to admit it was amusing to see from the other side instead of his under his father’s strong arm.
The doctor approached the side of his bed with Morgan, guiding them with a hand reached up to their upper arm.
“Good morning, MechaMan. Good to see you awake.”
Robert silently nods his head, still squinting as he looks between the two faces. The shorter one was now giving a tight smile. It again reminded him of his father whenever Rob was being particularly difficult.
“Morgan, turn off the head lamp.”
Almost immediately Robert’s vision comes back to him and he realizes how little he could actually see before. “Do you prefer your title or…?”
Robert attempts to clear his throat but it’s hardly any use, “Rob’s fine.”
Without being asked, Morgan crosses the room to the water dispenser in the corner.
“Rob it is then,” the man says writing something out on his own clipboard. He turns to the monitor and pulls out something to stand on to get a proper view of the screen. “How are you feeling?”
“Good.” Robert raises a slight eyebrow. “Being a normie like you, if you were feeling anything other than like roadkill, I’d have more questions.”
Right. That’s a good point he supposed.
“Let’s be quick, I’m sure you have plenty of questions.”
Robert attempts to confirm but finds his voice stuck in his throat. Luckily, Morgan’s hand enters his vision with a cold cup of water in their hand and Robert accepts it graciously, honestly attempting not to seem too desperate for it.
He downs the cup quickly and feels almost completely refreshed as the liquid cools him. He smiles in thanks at Morgan before turning to the other doctor again and confirming that “Yes, I have a few.”
“Well, let me rattle off a couple things and we’ll see how many you have after, okay?”
“It’s March, and you, Rob, have been in a coma for about four months. Happy New Year,”
Rob takes a deep nasal breath in but is unexpressive otherwise.
“Your mech suit is in protected storage and this room is covered thanks to OHS and calls were made to ensure your pet at home is taken care off—“
Robert feels some release in those words.
“—blah blah blah. Oh, despite some of our…actions,” he looks pointedly at Morgan, “your secret identity is protected. Our doctors are under NDA.”
Robert can’t find himself to care about any of that at the moment but that’s good too he supposed.
“Now,” the doctor lowers his clipboard and Robert is forced to look into the very intense stare of a doctor he has no doubt has seen a million and one tragedies and looks as if whatever he’s about to say doesn’t even make top 100. “Your arm.”
The doctor raises an eyebrow. “Do you?” He doesn't seem to doubt that Rob is aware of the situation but knowing is a completely different story.
Robert can feel himself give away in uncertainty, a reaction that results in a sigh from the doctor of which he hasn’t received a name from yet.
“In the accident your arm was not only dislocated but broken in several places, both of which could have been salvageable if it hadn’t been for the shrapnel that managed to almost sever the limb at the forearm.” The professional pulls out a quite unpleasant X-Ray from under his pile of papers to display to Robert.
It’s quite gruesome but for whatever reason Robert cannot emotionally connect with the idea that it’s his arm. It’s so out of place it seems almost foreign, and without the pain to accompany it, this could’ve been some random’s arm for all he knew.
There was one thing though, a detail he couldn’t ignore now that had been said and demonstrated in front of him almost inexcusably: his arm was gone.
Robert sighs and looks back at the doctor, unsure what to say. At least until…
“Do you just carry this around with you?” There’s a pause. “I mean, you couldn’t have possibly known I would wake up today, right?”
The doctor, surprisingly, chuckles and tucks the page back in position. “We were actually considering what to do with you once your coverage runs out, but considering you're awake, and clearly curious. We can start proper therapy for you to get back out there. We did what we could to keep your muscles from atrophy but you’ll need more work to return to proper functionality. If anything, we can connect you with a personal trainer.”
“And my arm? Is there not a prosthetic or something?”
“Not covered by OHS, no.”
“I’m sure,” the doctor steps down from his stool and kicks it back into its rightful spot. “Morgan.”
The quiet nurse squeaks again, “Uh— yes, sir?”
The doctor does nothing but squint his eyes at the seemingly terrified kid before Morgan spins to
Robert bowing his head and with pressed hands together.
“I’m so sorry, MechaMan! It was so unprofessional of me to announce your consciousness to everyone! So many people on the floor are just big fans and we’ve been waiting for so long for you to wake up. We actually started getting worried you wouldn’t wake—“
“Sorry! Im so sorry it won’t happen again! I’ll let the others know how unacceptable it was to do that. Please forgive me!”
Robert eyebrows furrow a bit in uncomfortableness as he looks between Morgan and their boss. As a second of silence he tries to smile, “You’re fine. Nothing new.”
“Still! I shouldn’t have—“
The other doctor begins to leave, “Don’t push it, Morgan. Let’s go.”
Morgan stammers again as they look around unsure of what to do, but with one more bow to Robert, they quickly pick up their own clipboard again and scurry off to follow the first.
Robert shakes his head before laying back down for bed.
It’s over two annoying and excruciating months to get back up to running again, but that’s mostly Robert’s fault. The morning after his meeting with the mysterious doctor and Morgan, Robert is assessed for any brain issues. It was supposed to be the same night he had woken up but he was being difficult and kept begging to go back to sleep between each question, then between each word, then he just said nothing but he wanted to sleep.
But once they finally got responses out of him, they were quick to set him up with a schedule. A schedule Robert wanted to triple the intensity of for a faster recovery, just for the doctors to half again because Quote you’ll make things worse. That’s an awful idea. Unquote. But 1.5x faster than the original routine is still faster so he had to be happy with it.
Making an almost five month recovery into a little more than two and a half months took a lot of determination, but with how much the doctors doted on him like some fragile baby kept him frustrated enough to keep pushing.
Seriously, how often can you say “Normie” in one interaction?
Safe to say his recovery was quicker than anyone expected.
Finally he’d be able to go back home and get some privacy. Something that was quite difficult when his phone had been lost in the crash. He’s lucky enough one of his nurses was willing to let him borrow hers, even if he feels a little guilty that he couldn’t pay her back right then for the ride back.
“Oh hush, you’re fine. I’d ride you home myself if I wasn’t on shift. Just make sure you listen to the doctor’s orders and stay off that leg. Use your cane. It isn’t for decoration. Stay hydrated and—“
“‘Don’t exert yourself,’ yeah I know,” he finishes, rolling his eyes before smiling at the nurse, intentionally being difficult.
She shakes her head with a widening grin that crinkles at her eyes. “Alright, smartass. Stay safe.” She moved her locs out of her face and bends over a bit to give an air kiss to either side of the man’s face, which he gratefully accepts. “And—“ her voice gets serious in a way that startles him as she hovers pretty close, “—if those nightmares come back and they're as depressing as they have been, feel free to give me, or Dr. Maul a call. The meds help, but they’re no cure.”
Robert takes the ride home basically empty handed beside the small bag with his hero suit and very few other things inside. One part of him is actually excited to see that shitty little studio apartment he and Beef call home.
Oh shit, Beef. The little guy must miss him.
Or at least Robert hoped he missed him. He hasn’t been the most providing dog dad but he’s tried his best. That little guy deserved better either way.
Walking into the apartment he’s immediately met with a broken down elevator. Typical. All that means is he is going to have to walk all the way up to the seventh floor.
On a fucked up leg and missing limb…
And walk he did. With breaks of course, frequent and depressing breaks. Every flight only seemed to take more and more out of him that a break couldn’t solve. It made him anxious, how was he possibly meant to do this?
It had gotten to the point that he could stand and walk for a sufficient amount of time, and his body wasn’t trying to break itself down anymore but this was just …humiliating to say the least. What would his dad say.
He guess he wouldn’t say anything considering he was dead, and never coming back. Never, ever coming back.
He was at least in shape before, if a little underweight, but as three more flights laid ahead of him and he sat on a stair troubled with his new found reality, that “shape” seemed so far now.
He breathed a heavy sigh…And stood again.
Each breath came with a curse, and each breath with a small wheeze only he could hear, almost torturing him.
Who was he kidding? It was torturing him.
By the time he reached his floor he was basically dragging himself up the concrete stairs and into the shitty carpeted hallways of his floor. Pulling himself was no easy feat either when he had only one fucking arm.
Holy shit, his everything sucks right now.
Shakily he, once again pulls himself at his feet and realizes he might already be at his limit for the day, which is frustrating considering the only thing he did was go home. Why does this have to happen to him? Why couldn’t that crash just have fucking ended him like it was supposed—
Robert shakes his head. He needs to focus. His apartment isn’t far and right across the hall are his neighbors, Mister and Missus Harper who are likely the neighbors who had been called to take care of Beef. He just needs to grab Beef and go to his own place and sleep. That’s it. Just sleep.
Slowly. He moves to the Harpers’ door, and immediately he hears a single happy bark from the other side. He knocks and hears another before being followed by shuffling and a small voice on the other side.
“Beefcake? Whatsa matta? You’re neva this antsy. Who is it?”
“Robert?” The door opens a crack to reveal a tiny white woman on the other side. Pink rollers in his silver curls and her pink nightgown already on, the woman squints to try and recognize the man on the other side.
When she realizes who she lets out an excited, “Oh! Oh! June! He’s back!”
In the background a gruffer voice responds, “Who?”
“Well, sweetheart, don’t leave him waiting!”
The door closes for a moment and opens again wider as the woman comes out of the home to give Robert a big tight hug that almost knocks him off his already exhausted feet, but he manages. As they hug, Beef runs around their feet excitedly waiting for his turn.
“Oh sweetie, we were worried sick! We know ya told us not to but, dang it, we were watchin’ that news everyday worried sick that you’d…you’d…ohs dear.”
Mrs. Harper pulls away for a moment to go on her rant and attempts to place a hand on either arm of Robert, but when she can’t find one of them, she looks and steps back in shock, a hand covering her mouth as if afraid to speak of the damage done.
“Glad to know someone was worried about me, Mrs. Harper.”
She makes an even sadder expression but before she can say anything, her husband enters the frame. “‘Worried’ is an understatement. We were ready to march down to the hospital ourselves to try ‘n find what happens to ya but, of course— oh.”
His eyes land in the same spot and Robert lets out an awkward laugh.
Mrs. Harper, breaking from her trance, ushers Robert inside. “Come. Eat. Talk. Tell us what happened.”
Food sounds so good right now.
And it was. Robert’s white half craved whatever casserole the Harpers were cooking up. This time it was garlic butter chicken and rice, and for a couple moments all was well. He was warm, his belly was full, and he felt cared for.
Looking at Beef he realized he had been well loved too.
“The Harpers really fattened you up, huh?” Robert asked leaning over to whisper to Beef who returned a low bark in response before licking the tip of the man’s nose. Robert smiled and moved away, reaching for his glass on the coffee—
It was in that instant— when his missing hand tried to reach for a cup, not realizing it didn’t exist with him anymore— that he was reminded of what had happened and how dire his condition was.
He lifts his head, “Yes, ma’am?”
She seems hesitant as she takes a seat on the other side of the man, her husband in the armchair, rocking away.
“First, are ya okay? Are ya comfortable?”
“Do yous mind…tellin’ us what happened? We saw news of— uh— someones falling out the sky, and being taken to the hospital for somes time. But no words after.”
It’s hardly a secret in a three floor radius that Robert is MechaMan. There was a time when he tried to hide his adventures but it came to a point where it became too suspicious why he was staying out so late and had so many weird mechanical noises coming from his place. That it was better to be seen as some hero leaning vigilante than someone doing dirty work. Still the occasional screams from his place didn’t help.
He didn’t tell any specifics, of course, he just said he was ‘trying his best to save people’ and sent a few heightened eyebrows of suggestion. For whatever reason the Harpers believed him and the rest of the floor became somewhat unbothered with his shenanigans.
But now, as he saw this couple seem worried sick over him, he couldn’t help but regret the decision. They didn’t deserve to have to worry about him like this.
“Ran into some tough stuff, but I made it out,” he said carelessly, taking another bite.
“Toughs enough to lose an arm and almost a legs over?” The other man in the room asked.
Rob hesitated, then shrugged, taking another bite “I guess so.”
The couple frowned and glanced at each other, Robert pretended not to notice as he poked at the scraps on his plate.
“Honey,” Mrs. Harper began, “Do you haves a place to stay?”
“Why wouldn’t…” Robert looks between them before he really internalized the statement. There would be no reason to ask your neighbor if they had a place to stay unless something had happened to their old place, and considering he and his landlord were already on shit terms with each other, he has no doubt that he’s well into the eviction all these months later.
Robert sighs, and piles the scraps on his plate, “I’ll find a hotel.”
With those words, Mr. Harper steps away for a moment and comes back with a small backpack. Robert recognizes it and feels a slight relief.
“Got in there with the spares you had before that…kind fellow got his paws on it.” When he calls the landlord that, he looks at his wife, always watching his language around her. She smiles slightly and knowingly, seeming appreciative of his effort.
“Thank you.” Robert consciously chose which hand to reach for it with. He opened it to check out things inside.
It was his travel bag from when he was homeless for that bit after his dad died. His birth certificate, social security card, other cards, hero license, some cash all in here and triple protected with lamination and folders. Then there’s his small first aid pack, and some medicine.
Moving the plate onto the coffee table, he reaches into the bag with his hero suit and pulls out some prescriptions to drop into there.
“Oh hon,” Mrs. Harper’s voice is soft as she places a hand on Robert’s should, catching his eye again, “Stay with us a bit. Your savings will only get so far, let us help.”
Robert laughs a bit, hesitant at the offer. “It’s fine, really. I wouldn’t wanna intrude.”
“It wouldn’t be an intrusion at all,” Mrs. Harper began, “We insist,” her partner finishes.
Something told him that denying this offer would break their heart, and he really couldn’t handle that type of guilt right now.
But another part of him knew that being a leech to this sweethearted couple would either kill him or them, and one of those he doesn’t think he could cope with.
So with a heavy sigh he accepted, if only for now,
“Yous can sleep in May’s office,” Mr. Harper offered, clapping a hand on Robert's shoulder with a force that almost knocked him forward. “She’s got a little pullout in there you can use.”
Later that night, laying in the pullout in Mrs. Harper’s office with an overjoyed and soundly sleeping Beef, Robert is realizing so much more work that had to be done. With no place to live and no way to actually go out and be a hero, he was out of a job. The gigs that he was picking up before would be near impossible in his current state.
One thing’s for sure, he needed a fucking arm. His other limbs would heal on their own but without another arm, life would be more difficult.
Who was he kidding? It would be difficult no matter what now that he’s been disabled, but at least with an arm he could be a little faster in the things he had to do.
Fuck… another job. When’s the last time he even had a regular one?
He also needed to let the public know. They should know that MechaMan’s disappearance hasn’t been out of negligence.
Okay, right. Some things are a little more time sensitive than others. MechaMan announcement, arm, then job.
Shit, he also needs a new phone to make any of this work. He'll do that tomorrow.
And while he’s out he needs to make sure his suit is good to stay in storage. It was already hard enough to find someone to give him a straight answer on where it was, now he actually needed to see the damage.
Phone, Mecha Suit, announcement, arm, job.
Where the hell is he gonna get shit for his arm?
The junkyard, like before.
How long will his savings last him?
Robert stared at the ceiling in thought.
Then let out a heavy sigh. Tomorrow was another day.
