#thankyoumechaman
[ao3] Word count: 996
Robert finds he can’t sleep and looks for a diversion. Despite the social media’s usual reputation as a cesspool, it turns out people can be nice to heroes sometimes.
~~~
“Get up.”
He remembered all sensations at once, flooding his mind in the brief second before he awoke. His father’s cold hard stare. The adrenaline spiking in his veins. The ringing. The fear. The shame. Tears streaming down his cheeks. The screaming pain of his dislocated shoulder. His knuckle-white grip on his rescuer’s shirt. The blood running down the side of his face. His ear with a chunk taken out of it.
Robert awoke, vest plastered to his back. He immediately felt the protest of his sleeping arrangement deep in his muscles, particularly his neck. It was hard to toss and turn in an acquired-from-display dark green garden chair. It was hard to sleep on one in general. The already flimsy plastic of one arm had begun to discolour and give out, so no support on that front. At least this was but a temporary measure - given his mattress had ended up lining the nearby dumpster.
He just had to last until his first pay cheque from the Superhero Dispatch Network. Easy. In theory.
Usually he had the luxury of being so exhausted he would simply pass out and stay out. Tonight not so much. His eye bags could attest to how physically tired he was but years of superhero work, recent events and the constantly-looking-over-your-shoulder won out. He just needed something to quiet his mind. Temporary relief.
It was still dark. Robert got the impression dawn was still a while away. Neon orange street lamps bled in from the street outside, around the fraying edges of his crappy curtains. He stood slowly, padding across the floor and fumbling blindly - cable, case, on button - to find his charging phone. He winced at the searing brightness and ensured it was on mute.
Robert considered the fridge momentarily, the soothing electric hum cutting through the soft sounds of the city. He decided against it, despite the gurgle from his stomach. Beef made an odd lawnmower-esque noise in his sleep, leg jerking. His dog would be on him the instant the light came on and there honestly wasn’t too much in the fridge to begin with.
Note to self. Get more shelf stable food. Or just nicer fridge food outside of a murky jar of pickles, ham slices and a carton of milk. The fleeting thought of a ham and pickle sandwich was quickly snuffed by thoughts of the various mishaps (getting socked in the face) in the lunch room at work.
Work.
Robert itched to get back to work, not dispatch work, proper work. Hero work. His eyes traced the outline of his closet. It had only been days since he had last worn his suit but it already felt like an era. Thankfully, Mecha Man’s return to heroism was only stalled by the development of a new suit. He trusted no-hands-just-touch-your-pants Royd to build the mecha part but the missing astral pulse hovered in the back of his mind like the ghost of his father.
The hero. The suit. The legacy. Shroud.
No, none of that. Not right now, damn it.
He thumbed his phone, flicking through page after page of apps until his brain opened social media of its own accord. Funny dog videos or something, please. The top trending hashtags flared on screen, the top ranking highlighted its own unique shade of sky blue.
“#thankyoumechaman”
He scoffed involuntarily. Blinked once, twice, then gave into the surge of curiosity.
There were so many posts. Hundreds, thousands, numbers mounting every second. It had only been days since he had announced his retirement.
Swathes and montages of newspaper clippings, blaring heroic headlines and grainy photos - ah there was Flambae’s arrest. Top ten lists of Mecha Man Blue’s feats.
Testimonials and accounts. Beaming groups of school children. A gaggle of emergency service workers. Even some flashes of other brightly-costumed heroes (Robert was doubtful that having a social media page was good for your secret identity, but maybe it helped pay the bills).
“When the building collapsed…”
“I thought I was done for but then I saw the glow blue visor…”
“He said he liked dogs too!”
“He charged straight into the flames with no fear.”
“He saved my baby.”
“Thank you, Mecha Man.”
“If anyone deserves an early retirement it’s you, man!”
Cosplays. Cardboard-box Mecha Man suits. LED and 3D printed helmets. Robotic voice synthesisers slapped over the top to do renditions of Mecha Man’s “famous phrases”. Some kids weren’t far from the age he was when he first put on the suit.
Fanart. Children’s drawings. Paper, crayon, fridge. Mosaics. Paintings. Hyper realism. Abstract. Cartoon doodles on the lined paper of a school notepad. Comic book covers. Animations. Hours upon hours of blood, sweat and tears.
The sudden colossal outpour of gratitude made his skin prickle, heat rising to his face.
Chains upon chains of comments.
“Fuck Charles Kingsley. I would have decked his ass. That was not reporting.”
Robert cracked a grin. True. He’d definitely considered it at the time.
“Don’t worry, think the room of reporters turned on him anyway, OP.”
“Surprised that guy hasn’t lost his job.”
“Looks like he’s up next for retirement.”
The bittersweet slightly-exhausted slightly-giddy surge of emotion sat uncomfortably in his throat. His vision blurred slightly.
Rough wet sandpaper against his leg.
Robert yelped and juggled his phone, the light of the screen momentarily illuminating two big innocent eyes.
“Ruf!”
Only after his initial panic subsided did he hear the scrabbling of paws on the floor and the tell tale jingle of a collar.
“Beef, you scared the crap out of me.” Robert chuckled breathlessly, scooping the offender into his arms. “You should be in bed.”
The dog snorted, then continued to butt his small furry head against Robert in protest.
“Yeah, yeah, I know, me too. Couldn’t sleep. But I guess I’ll have to give it another shot.”
Robert slept dreamlessly, dog-in-lap, for the rest of the night.
Robert awoke to a half-charged phone, still clutched in his hand.
Damn it.