Warnings: Mention of Bullet Wounds & Kidnapping
Characters: Dr. Schneeplestein, Jackieboy Man, Chase Brody
POV: Dr. Schneeplestein
Superhero AU
I was originally going to quit posting anything besides Outside to this site, but eh. I'll post some stuff, FanFiction just won't get everything since I like some things to have links, and it's not good for lists.
This has a few continuity errors since I've changed some things for the AU since writing it, but here ya go!
It had taken watching the news that day after his roommate called him to the living room. It had taken realizing it was the third anniversary of…that. It had taken hours of searching for the name. That one name to match the face. It had taken calling an old friend when he'd given up on the search and practically bribing him. It had taken fighting through a backache to wrestle on a pair of jeans and find a somewhat nice shirt that wasn't in need of a wash.
Questions from Jackie as his roommate hovered upon noticing his stress; his hurry; his struggle. He'd grimaced and murmured an apology when he ran Jackie's foot over trying to get his chair into the kitchen.
It couldn't have been three years already. Could it have?
It…didn't seem all that long ago that he was still working alongside Healer.
He'd retired three years ago?
Henrik sucked in a shaky breath as he fumbled for a thermos; grumbled when he found they were well out of reach in the back of the cupboard. He'd asked Jackie to stop doing that how many times? He wheeled his chair to the sink and opted to rinse one out instead, even as Jackie grabbed a fresh one from the cupboard.
"Hen? You look sick."
"Just…stressed," he mumbled as he filled the thermos with coffee.
"Are you going somewhere?" Annoyance sparked in the man, followed immediately by guilt, when Jackie followed him from the kitchen. His juggling match with the thermos to keep it from tipping over in his chair didn't help any. "I mean—you don't usually wear jeans?"
Henrik set his drink on the coffee table and dragged his shoulders into a shrug. "I…am going to see someone. I have not seen him in very, very long time." He glared down at his atrophied legs; curled his fingers tightly against the fabric of his jeans. "I…" He what?
"You need a ride? Or want me there with you? You seem kinda, I dunno," Jackie gestured vaguely about himself, "uneasy?"
"No. No. I'll meet with him just down the street." He managed a weak smile in an attempt to reassure his roommate. "Just…nervous, is all."
Jackie wasn't convinced. Of course he wasn't. He saw right through the act. "Hen. You've been shaken up since this morning, and y'know your accent's thicker when you're anxious, right? Are you okay?"
The news story kept replaying in Henrik's head. It had been three years since Google made himself known. Three years since Lookalike was kidnapped. Three years since friendly fire had put a bullet in Medic's back, and he'd disappeared from the media. Many in the city thought he was dead from the event.
None of them had known there were cameras. They hadn't known. Henrik ran his hands over his useless legs.
That new hero didn't know what he was in for. The hurt he could very easily end up finding. What was the name? Boyman?
"I…I am fine. Just need to get this meeting over with."
He downed his coffee almost too fast; biting the tip of his tongue and wincing when it burned his mouth. It took some rummaging through the side-pouches of his chair to find his fingerless gloves, which he proceeded to frown at after slipping them on. They'd been a birthday gift from their neighbor across the hall, but the wheels on his chair had worn them thin; the thread at the fingers frayed to the point some parts nearly reached his palm instead of halfway to the first knuckle. He'd need to look into buying a new pair.
A nod and assurance that he'd call Jackie immediately if things went south, and Henrik left the apartment complex without another word.
He could already feel the tension knotting his shoulders; almost making it hurt to wheel his chair over the craggy sidewalk. God, when would it get fixed? he wondered irritably. Someone was going to trip on it and break something one of these days, and it wreaked havoc on his wheels. If he hadn't traveled that exact path so many times and knew exactly where to move, he knew he would've ended up getting his chair stuck.
The little corner shop where they'd be meeting up was a welcome sight. The family that owned it were German immigrants; it was always nice to speak his native tongue and actually have someone understand.
The door swung open easily with a little push from his chair, and Henrik leaned forward to scan the little coffee shop. Eyes flicking over its patrons. Was…he there yet?
There, off in the corner. He had his elbows on the table, head in his hands; a cap with a skull on it turned backwards and curly hair sticking out from under it in odd places.
"Ah…Chase Brody?"
The man's shoulders stiffened and he sat bolt upright. He looked up, furrowed his brows, then down to meet Henrik's eyes. The older man offered what he could for a smile even as he swallowed past the lump in his throat. The way Brody's face paled at the sight of him really wasn't helping Henrik's own unease.
"You're..?" The question drifted off as the man slipped off his cap and wrung it between his hands, seemingly without realizing he was doing it. He seemed to have a hard time looking Henrik in the eye. His own, a dark brown, kept flicking down to the older man's legs and his chair. "I never—"
"Now, Mr. Brody," Henrik scolded. It wasn't hard for him to slip into the false, Americanized accent he'd always used as Medic. Three years, and it was still so easy to use it. "I have held a grudge for a long time. Too long."
"…You shouldn't forgive me for what I did, man."
"And whyever not?" Henrik arched his brows, then tilted his head toward the door. Brody was dragging himself to his feet immediately to follow behind as the older man left the shop.
"Dude, I…I thought I killed you!" Brody hissed as soon as they were out of the building. "I went on hiatus for weeks after 'cause I couldn't bring myself to even look at my suit! And…and now I know you lived, but…I—I paralyzed you…"
Henrik shrugged. "You took my legs, but saved my life, Mr. Brody. It took me far too long to see that."
Silence hung between them. Dragged on for long minutes.
When Henrik spoke again, the man at his side jumped. "I wanted to meet with you not only to forgive you," that had been…easier, than he thought it would be; brought his shoulders to relax as a weight he hadn't known was there lifted, "but also to help me." That seemed to spark interest in Brody. "I…want to come out of retirement. But I need help finding the old contacts. I have Healer's, but…patient confidentiality and all."
"I… Yeah. Yeah, 'course I'll help you. What do ya say about starting with Bing?"
"That would be wonderful."
AN: I've changed Schneep's chair since writing this. It no longer has the side-pouches and instead a backpack across the back, and is one meant more for independence rather than those cheap hospital ones.