Chapter 2
"Come on," said Vance. "It'll be just like old time."
Robbie hesitated. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" He tugged nervously at his Speedball costume. It felt weird after all of this time.
"Yeah, just take a few bounces. It will be fine."
Robbie took a cautious bounce, and then another.
"Hey, it's working!" He jumped again. "Look, it's working! Vance, look how high I can bounce!"
He started laughing.
Then he landed.
There was a wave of sharp blue energy, flattening everything as far as Robbie could see.
Vance lay on the ground, bleeding from the mouth.
Robbie ran over. "Vance! Please don't die! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Don't die!"
"I should have known...what you were..." Vance gasped.
—
Robbie woke up with a gasp.
It was just a dream.
Grounding exercise. Name five things you can see.
Robbie took a breath. He was looking at Vance's couch, a blanket, the wall, the coffee table, a coaster, and the floor.
Four things you can hear.
He could hear cars driving by, his own breathing, and...that was it, really.
Three things you can feel.
"Bad," Robbie muttered to himself. "I can feel bad. I'm really good at that.”
He focused. The blanket. The same drawstring shorts he'd borrowed off Vance. That one spring in the couch that dug into his back, right where the bullet fragments were.
Two things you can smell.
There was still a faint smell from the casserole Vance had made for dinner. And whatever the blanket had been laundered in, something that was supposed to smell like flowers, but didn't really.
He was in Vance's place. He hadn't hurt anyone.
Well, he hadn't hurt anyone tonight.
Niels made an inquisitive chirping noise and walked over to Robbie
“Hey there, brat.” Robbie gave Niels a scratch on the head.
Niels curled up on Robbie’s chest and fell asleep.
—
In the morning, Elvin came by.
"Hey, Vance said you didn't have anything to wear, and could I help you shop?"
"I don't have any money," Robbie said.
"Don't worry about it. Donyell said he'd pay."
Donyell Taylor was paying for Robbie's clothes.
Donyell Taylor ran a charity to help the victims of Stamford. And he was going to spend some of his money on Robbie instead.
"No," said Robbie.
"Look, you need clothes. What, you're going to just wear Vance's clothes forever?"
That was a good point. Robbie didn’t even have his own underpants.
"Okay," he said. "But we're not spending a lot."
—
He ended up getting a lot of basics. Cargo pants, long-sleeved t-shirts, and a gray hoodie.
Clothes that didn't stand out.
And a duffle bag and a backpack, which he should be able to manage even when carrying Niels' cat carrier, in case he needed to leave.
Afterward, Elvin sat him down and they got lunch.
"So," Elvin asked, "Are you ready to tell me who did this to you?"
"Vance didn't explain?"
"No. He said you could tell me if you wanted to, but it wasn’t his place.”
Robbie looked around. There was a family with kids a few tables away. He leaned in close, so the kids wouldn't hear. Then he explained.
Elvin shook his head. "God damn Osborn!"
"He didn't...he didn't do all this."
"Yeah, but he saw what you were going through, and he used you! He let you run around in a..." he glanced over at the kids and lowered his voice "in a freaking iron maiden!"
"He got me a therapist." Robbie wasn't sure why he was defending Norman Osborn. He didn't like Norman Osborn.
But if Elvin, or anyone, let Robbie believe that some of this wasn't his fault, that he didn’t deserve all that he’d gotten and more, they would be wrong. And the shock of being reminded, after he’d letting himself go easier on himself, after he'd let himself hope, it would hurt. It would hurt so much.
Robbie could deal with the guilt. Just not…when it was fresh.
"He sent you out to fight in that..torture suit!"
"It was my decision," Robbie said.
Elvin shook his head. "Damn Osborn. Damn him to Hell."
—
Robbie had tried to convince himself that the spikes weren’t…for himself, the way Dr. Samson had said. They were about his powers, about punishment, about making sure everyone responsible for the Stamford incident got what they deserved, including Robbie.
You’re cutting yourself to stay alive.
It wasn't some kind of endorphin high, to make himself feel better. He wasn't just another cutter.
But after the conversation with Elvin, Robbie was having trouble lying to himself.
Because that had churned up a whole mess of feelings.
And Robbie couldn't stop thinking about what a relief it would be to put the Penance suit back on.
—
Tigra showed up right after Elvin left.
Robbie tilted his head. “Does Vance usually have this much company?”
“Vance’s place doesn’t usually have such a cute cat.”
Niels ran straight up to Tigra and lifted his chin for scratching.
“He likes you.”
Tigra smiled. “I’m good with cats.”
—
It was a frustrating afternoon.
Robbie wasn’t planning on cutting himself, and he definitely wasn’t planning on putting the Penance suit back on.
He just wanted to know that he had the option. Maybe go to the kitchen, look over the knives, and think about how much better he’d feel with a few small cuts. Maybe find where Vance put the suit, and just…know where it was.
But Tigra stayed the whole afternoon. She talked to Robbie, and when he didn’t respond much, she talked about herself. She had a new baby son, who was with the Cat People. She disliked warm weather, because of all the fur. She thought Niels was a delightful little brat, and his bouncing powers were adorable.
Niels ate up the attention.
Robbie tried to be polite and pay attention to what Tigra was saying.
Tigra looked up at him. “You seem like you have something on you mind.”
Robbie shrugged. “It’s just…with the battle, everything’s been a lot.”
“I can imagine,” said Tigra. “And after all you went through with the Initiative.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that? Why does everyone suddenly care about what I went through? I mean after what I did…”. He’s thought everyone stopped caring. He’d thought they’d all decided he was a monster, and he only deserved to suffer.
And he’d thought they were right.
He’d started questioning that, under Doc Samson, and then again with Trauma. (He’d saved Trauma. He, Robbie Baldwin, who screwed up so hard that he’d managed to get six hundred and fourteen people killed, had still been able to save someone. That gave him more hope than he knew what to do with.)
“Robbie,” said Tigra, “one of my powers is empathy. When we were in the fight with Nightmare, I got a sense of what you were feeling. How much you were hurting. No one deserves that.”
Robbie, much to his own embarrassment, burst into tears.
Niels ran over to Robbie and began nuzzling him.
Tigra walked over, and put a gentle hand on shoulder.
“Can you please just stop being nice to me?” Robbie reached out and gently pet Niels. “It hurts.”
Tigra began stroking his shoulder. “You’ve been through a lot. And I’m sorry.”
“I deserved it! I killed six hundred and fourteen people! I killed sixty innocent children!”
“You didn’t, though.” Tigra frowned. She bent down. “You know that you didn’t kill all of the people in the Stamford incident, right? That was Nitro, not you.”
Right. Robbie kept forgetting that. The way everyone talked, they made it sound like Robbie had been the terrorist. Sometimes he forgot that he wasn't. He sniffed and wiped his eyes. “In the Initiative, they…things got confused.” Some of it was really blurry, due to the drugs, but he remembered Osborn telling him that he’d caused the death of over six hundred people, including sixty children, and that was everything he needed to know about himself. “They gave me a lot of medication.”
“Probably not the right kind either,” said Tigra. “Do you have a psychiatrist?”
“No,” said Robbie. “With the Thunderbolts, they assigned me a therapist, and then again at Camp H.A.M.M.E.R.”
“I can imagine.” Tigra rolled her eyes.
“They were good actually. They helped.” Doc Samson was better at the actual therapy part, teaching Robbie things about how to look at his problems. Trauma…Terry, he’d been thrown into dealing with all of Robbie’s problems without nearly enough training. And it sounded like he wasn’t allowed to be much help.
But he’d found Niels. And Niels had saved Robbie. Robbie would always be grateful to Terry for that.
“That’s good,” said Tigra. “Do you have one now? Do you need help finding one?”
“I can’t afford one,” Robbie said. “I’d need to get a job, and…I don’t know what I can do.” He’d spent his teens trying to become a superhero, and that couldn’t have gone any worse. What was he supposed to do with mediocre high school grades, a criminal record, and most of the country justifiably hating him?
“We’ll think of something,” said Tigra. “Just look after yourself for now.”
Look after himself? That sounded horribly selfish.