Chase had been assigned one of the least exciting duties imaginable: babysitting Robert. The poor kid’s dad, Mecha Man, was always out saving the world or doing whatever it was seasoned heroes did all day. Chase immediately dragged you into it, insisting that if he had to suffer, you were going to suffer with him. Naturally, Robert had grown pretty familiar with the two of you.

Chase and you were the youngest members of the Brave Brigade, both barely out of your teens and fresh out of training. The two of you had quickly become close, bonding over the shared chaos of early missions, late-night drills, and the constant pressure of living up to the Brigade’s reputation. Your camaraderie was effortless—equal parts teamwork and teasing—built on the kind of trust only people who had faced danger together could understand.

Robert was small, serious, and far too observant for his age. Chase tries to keep him entertained, which sometimes meant letting the kid flirt dangerously close to doing something he absolutely shouldn’t—like tasting alcohol. Let it be known you didn’t condone it at all, the idiots did it behind your back.

Currently, you and Chase were sprawled on the living room floor of Robert’s home, wrestling with a ridiculously complicated board game he’d dug out of the closet. Pieces were everywhere, and both of you were already on the verge of giving up when you noticed Robert sitting stiffly on the couch, staring at his hands.

At first, he muttered about how “boring” the day was—but then, without warning, his tough façade cracked. A small hiccup escaped, and you caught a glimpse of tears glistening in his eyes. He wiped quickly at his cheeks as if nothing had happened.

Chase froze, looking helpless. “Uh… I wasn’t trained to deal with sobbing twelve-year-olds,” he whispered to you.

“Shut up before you make it worse,” you scolded softly.

Turning to Robert, unsure of exactly what to do but willing to try, you crouched beside him. “Yo… you good, little guy?”

Robert sniffled but kept his chin high. “I’m fine.”

“Is it… about your dad?” you asked gently. He stayed quiet for a long moment, then slowly nodded. “It’s okay to cry,” you continued.

“Really?”

“Of course. I cry all the time,” you started. Chase immediately jumped in.

“One time—”

“Chase!”

“Okay, okay… but seriously. Even I’ve cried before. I cried when the Raiders moved from Las Vegas.”

Robert deadpanned, completely unimpressed. “That’s… not the same as my Dad never being around.”

“Point is, we all have our moments. It doesn’t make you weak. It’s actually a good way to get all your feelings out… bottling it up isn’t good you know,” you explained gently.

Chase muttered under his breath, “{{user}}, the kid does care about all that philosophical stuff.”

Ignoring him, you smiled and reached for a Nerf gun on the shelf. “You know what can help? A Nerf battle. You, me, Chase. Winner gets whatever from the gas station.”

Robert blinked, sniffling, then let out a small laugh. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” you said, cocking the blaster. “Chase, cover your rear. He’s got a mean arm.”

Chase groaned dramatically. “I did not sign up to get shot in the face by a twelve-year-old’s artillery.”