| Chase & Robert Chronicles // Hypotheticals #2
-> This was written in one sitting. There is no editing done here.
Read at your own discretion.
"It's stupid," Robert warbles, lost in thought. "I don't think I should tell you."
He wasn't particularly the best at this. Hell, he was better at running into danger and landing himself in more trouble than this situation seemed to offer.
Chase can't find it in himself to pick up the pace this time, though.
Even if he'd had a shit week, it would be even more shit if he couldn't help his favourite kid out, right? That would make things much more worse. He could slow down for once. Just this once.
Right. They were only 5 years apart.
"Sorry. Robert," the older of the two amends, switching in an instant. The other's face twitches up. "Forgot. Just, you can tell me anything, man."
The younger seems to mull over the idea for a moment.
"...You promise not to say anything, Star?" Robert raises a brow.
That heavily depends on what the kid's been hiding from him. If it's stupid, it could probably be related to something at school... but then, again, Robert hasn't been one to care much for the damn place anyway, so he likely wouldn't care...
"...I can sure as hell try," Chase offers.
The kid thinks about it, again.
He lets out a hushed exhale. "Maybe that's enough for me."
Robert glances back at him.
Chase feels his heart skip.
"I didn't, I said I'd try."
He clenches his jaw. Robert's complexion has always been on the lighter side - but in the dim, artificial blue light of the kitchen, he looks ghostly. As if a truck had rammed into him full speed ahead, pouring all the blood out of his face into one large puddle of fury.
Robert presses an accusing finger into the older's chest, tapping hard each time he enunciates a word. "You. Promised. Not. To. Say. Anything."
Track Star - ever the caring one - pushes Robert off him, though not unkindly, and not ungently, either.
He's too gentle, really. Like Robert's fragile. Like glass. Something needing protection, care. Which he doesn't.
The thought makes Robert's face burn an even hotter white.
"What the fuck, Robert?" Track Star scowls. "Of course I would tell someone! Those kids fucking hit you, for crying out loud! Was I supposed to just sit there and do nothing?"
"They're just being regular assholes," Robert hisses.
And it was true. The other teenagers at school didn't understand him. They never would. How could they?
It didn't matter, anyway. He didn't need their approval. He could count on one hand how many people he vied for approval for, and none of their names happened to be on the roster. Robert didn't care for them. They didn't understand what was at stake. What he had waiting for him.
"You weren't even going to do shit about it anyway," Track Star reiterates. "You told me it was stupid-"
Robert presses his fist against the counter, landing with a rough thud. He didn't notice how the hero jolted at the noise, flinching away, as he spoke up again. "I don't need you fighting my battles for me. You've just made things worse."
"How?" Track Star demands. "It stopped, didn't it?
"Yeah." Robert admits. He bites his lip roughly, tongue scraping against a warm liquid. Blood, presumably, from the way Track Star's brows furrow at the sight, and the familiar tinge of iron at the roof of his mouth. "It did."
Track Star stares. The younger can almost swear he's staring with confused, glassy eyes - but no, that's not possible. Confused? Maybe. Glassy eyed? No. He stifles a laugh for even considering the thought, because Track Star pipes up again. "So what's the problem?"
"The problem," Robert continues hoarsely. "-is that everyone's stopped fucking talking to me, thinking their head's next on the chopping block to be scolded by the great ol' Track Star, their favourite damn hero!"
Robert decides to plant himself into the seat across the hero, observing him.
Track Star blinks, mouth agape. Like he'd been caught in the act for some heinous crime. In a way, he probably had; threatening kids wasn't exactly on par with being a righteous hero.
"Don't think I'm grateful for it," Robert continues bluntly. "I just want you to know, that I know what you did."
"Rober... Blue. Shit, dude. I didn't mean to make it worse. I'm sorry, I didn't think it'd... I just wanted to help, Blue."
Track Star looks away. "Okay."
They stew in silence for a while. Time passes by in a blur. It drags on, and on, and on, before Robert decides to grab time by the neck and strangle it back into the present.
"They're going to fucking call my dad now, you know?" he blurts.
Track Star's eyes flicked back to Robert's.
"He won't respond," the hero said, voice low. Robert pressed his hands together under the table, forcing the tight noose wrapped around his chest down.
"You shouldn't take it personally."
"Are you going to let those kids keep stepping over you?"
He blinks. Hadn't expected that. He'd expected more defence for his father.
Oh well. At least they were getting somewhere.
"No. Are you going to keep fighting my battles?" Robert countered.
"...If you don't want me to, I won't."
He exhales, pushing a small smile onto his lips. "Okay."
Robert glances away, hand reaching to rub against his neck. "Sorry for snapping at you like that, Track Star. I know you were just trying to help."
The other's voice sounds wrong when he speaks up. Too high pitched and nasally. "I know, B-... Robert. My bad, really. I can be real annoying with this shit."
He frowns, eyes fixed onto a plant in the corner. It was a succulent plant. The leaves were shiny - it was clearly taken care of well, by someone with a green thumb and a bright smile. The vase was a cool umber - though, really ugly, and not his style in the slightest.
When had he gotten that? Was he even into plants? That seemed more like his father's field of expertise - which was nothing - and by that, it meant that plants would be closer to Astral than they would to Robert. So why did they have that...?
Did Track Star bring it over while he was here?
His mind snaps back to the present. His eyes widen, the implications of what's being said rushing into his head. "What? You're not annoying."
"Nah," the older of the two smiles. "You don't gotta lie to me." and Robert snaps his gaze back up.
His heart pulses against his ribcage at the sight.
Track Star's face was burning red. The corners of his eyes were lit up in teary comets; a sheen white that seemed to glow the more he looked, dived deeper.
His favourite hero was crying.
Suddenly, all his fears about people refusing to talk narrowed. They all paled in comparison to the sorry sight before him.
With that, the other's palms push up against his face quicker than Robert can even register the motion even happening. The speedster was even faster than usual, it seemed.
Shit. Oh shit. He really is upset.
"Sorry," Track Star mutters, rubbing against his eyes. "Just been having a, er, rough week. Ignore me, fucker."
His lips curve up into a wobbly smile. Robert would snort at how pathetic it looked, if it didn't look just that. Pathetic. Pity was not an emotion he liked to feel often. Whether for himself, or for the man he considered his brother. It meant bad things, and bad things weren't shit he liked to deal with.
"It's Blue, fucker," Robert retorts, though not unkindly. "Don't forget it. You can always call me that, Star. I'm just being an idiot."
Star doesn't respond. Blue doesn't expect him to.
"I'm also really sorry," the younger continues. "You're not annoying. Really, you're not. You're like, the best person I know. I shouldn't have yelled at you, or been angry like that."
"...Though, maybe just talk to me first before trying to protect me." Blue suggests idly.
The older snorts, and Blue's heart jumps at the stifled chuckle.
"Ever the observational one, eh? Who knew that, hic, communication was key."
He nods. "Communication is always key."
"You've always been too smart for your own good. Those fuckers don't know what they're missing out on." Star snorts, a hand already reaching from across the table to ruffle Blue's hair mockingly.
The teen protests. His attempt is weak, but in reality, he wouldn't have really bothered to struggle in the first place. He'll let the older have this. Just this once.
"Is that succulent plant yours?"
"What? Oh, shit, ya. What about it?"
"It's been driving me fucking insane. Why is the vase missing multiple splotches of paint?"
"No shit, Sherlock, that's painstakingly obvious."
"...You cool with the plant, though? Sure, the vase's terrible as fuck, but you don't mind that I brought it over, right?"
"Obviously. You seem to take care of it better than you do me. The leaves are so shiny."
"Fuuuck yeah, of course it is, it- ... what are you implying, you cheeky shit?"
