Disclaimer: I do not own Static Shock
Summary: AU! At the age of fifteen, Richie ran away from home because it was safer than living at home. He got mixed up in a relationship he can't seem to forget, and is now living on the streets while, at the same time, protecting them. When his partner, Static, finds out his real name, everything gets turned upside down for them both.
Warnings: Homelessness, implied self harm, implied abuse, depiction of rape, homosexuality.

Virgil.

Why does he seem so familiar?

Richie sniffs as he sits down on the couch with a cup of water. He's just spent the last three hours tinkering with Backpack, in an attempt to improve his reaction time to voice commands, and now he needs a break.

As soon as he sits down, his thoughts about the man he met several days before begin to flood. He knows he's heard of and seen that man somewhere before, but he just can't seem to pinpoint exactly where. He also doesn't exactly know why he's so preoccupied with it, except for the fact that he's absolutely certain he has seen that man before, but he can't recall where.

These thoughts of this man are starting to become more and more frequent. As a matter-of-fact, it's infuriating how much Richie has on his plate, that he can't even sort out something as simple as recalling a face and a name. It's something he's normally really good at, and the fact he's spent so long thinking about it is driving him nuts.

Given who he is, he should have this figured out by now. Gear always figures everything out without trouble.

This should be no different.

I need to figure out who this man is. I can't keep stressing about this; I have other, more important things to worry about—like where I'm going to get more food, and how I'm going to get it, because I'm almost out again.

Five days was way too long to be worrying about the same thing.

Richie shakes his head and breaks free from his thoughts and gets up, setting his cup down on the table. He walks to his workbench where he finds the invitation just lying. He picks it up and reads over it, making a mental note of the parts that are especially standing out.

Main Street. Virgil Hawkins. Twentieth birthday.

Richie sighs and sets down the invitation.

"Backpack, run that police scan on Virgil Hawkins one more time," Richie says, turning his attention to his robot. "I want to finish reading it. Also, if you find any current pictures of him, I want to see them. The one I saw last times was nearly ten years old."

Backpack beeps and carries out Richie's command.

-SS-

"You know," Virgil says. His phone is pressed to his ear with his left hand, and his is laying on his stomach on his bed, his other hand holding up his chin. "I think I know that guy from somewhere."

"What guy?"

"Richie. The one I ran into on the street when I first moved in here."

"Virg, if he had to introduce himself, I highly doubt you know him."

"No, listen," Virgil insists. He flips over and sits up. He scoots back against the headboard and movies the phone from his left ear to the other. "His voice, I've been thinking about it, and it sounded really familiar."

"So what, now you have a crush on two guys?"

Virgil growls under his breath. "Shay, can you just shut the fuck up for five seconds? I'm trying to figure out something."

"Sorry, sorry, please continue."

"Thank you," Virgil says, not at all thankful. He sighs, loudly through his nose and continues. "Now, I've been thinking about his voice, and it sounds really, really familiar. I'm not really sure where I've heard it before, but I'm almost certain that I have, and for some reason, the name Richie kind of rings a bell, like maybe it's short for something."

"Virgil," Shay says calmly, "I think you're just looking for something to project your stress on. Your party is coming up really soon, and you have midterms, and you're waiting for callbacks from interviews, and I think you're just stressed, and want to focus on something else, so you chose this man—probably because he's new and interesting, and not your typical, everyday life."

Virgil shoves his tongue in his cheek and sighs, irritated, as he begins to bounce his leg on the bed. "Fine, yes, I am stressed out because of school, and this party, and all the other shit, but listen: I really, really think that I've heard this man's voice before. I keep thinking I've heard some kind of distorted version of it or something, because I keep trying to put it to memory, and that's all I can get, but I can't recall who the distorted version belongs to."

"Virgil…" Shay begins, his tone gentle, but he trails off and sighs before he gets into the meat of what he really wants to say. He sighs; if Virgil wants to focus on something else besides what has him stressed, then so be it for Shay to take that away from him.

Besides, it's either let Virgil focus on this, however real it may or may not be, or let him scratch himself until he bleeds, Shay figures, and the last thing he wants is for Virgil to hurt himself. He may be an ass to his best friend, but he still cares about him.

Shay sighs again. "Alright, talk to me."

"Alright, well, I've figured out that I've heard his voice before. I know that much. I can't figure out where I've heard it, though; and the memory I keep coming up with is something similar to it, but a little more distorted. It's almost like I've heard this voice, but through a mask or one of those voice distorting megaphones." Virgil pauses and twists his lips, narrowing his eyes slightly as he looks down at his lap. "Maybe I'm just crazy, and I've never heard this voice before, but I really, really think I have." He blinks and looks back up at the wall. "I would understand if you think I'm crazy."

"Virgil, I know for a fact you're crazy," Shay retorts. It makes them both laugh—only Shay can make snide remarks about Virgil's mental health and expect him to laugh about it. "But I suppose it is possible you've heard this man's voice before. I mean, you do work with a lot of masked people, so perhaps it's possible you ran into someone you've worked with, and that's why his voice sounds familiar."

Virgil takes a few moments to consider the option. It is incredibly possible, he figures, that Richie is someone he has worked with as Static, and it would explain why he is putting the memory of his voice to a distorted version of it, rather than an actual face.

The problem is, though, Virgil has, not surprisingly, worked with more blond-haired, white-skinned males than he cares to count, and is having trouble deciding where to begin in trying to figure out which one of those men Richie is. Figuring this out would be so much easier, he knows, if not every single man he's ever worked with wore a full facemask.

"If Richie is someone I've worked with, do you think he's trying to figure out why I sound familiar?"

"Maybe," Shay says. "I mean, it's certainly possible, I suppose."

-SS-

"Oh, my God, that was the same person. That person I ran into on the sidewalk on Tuesday was this person," Richie says to Backpack. The robot beep to confirm Richie's voice has been registered. There is, of course, no response, because Richie hasn't programmed Backpack to do that—yet. "That person I met was Virgil Hawkins."

Richie stares at the information being projected on to the ceiling, his mouth slightly agape as he takes in the information. At the very bottom of the police scan is a two-year-old picture of Virgil, and it looks all too similar to the man he met on the sidewalk, except, in the picture, his dreads are a lot shorter. Given where Virgil said he just moved into, compared with the address on the scan, Richie is absolutely certain the man he just recently met and the man who invited him to the party is the same person.

"That's enough, Backpack," Richie says, and the information disappears. "Now I just need to figure out how that guy knows me, because I'm pretty sure I've never met him before." He pauses for a brief moment, his thoughts wandering. He clicks his tongue when he has an idea. "Unless I've worked with him, because he did sound kind of familiar."

I wonder if this guy is Static, and if he is…

Richie backs up and stumbles to the couch. He lolls his head forward and holds it between his hands, suddenly feeling incredibly stressed. There are so many questions going through Richie's mind at once:

If thisguy is Static, how did he find out who I am? What does this guy know about me? Does he know I'm homeless? If he doesn't, what will he think when he does find out? Why does Virgil want me at his party, anyway? Is it because Virgil wants to get to know me? Does he like me? Oh, God, I hope not, because I'm not the least bit ready for another relationship, and—Oh, God, no… not again…

With a loud, pained groan, Richie doubles over and wraps his arms around his neck. He rocks himself slowly as he becomes flooded with flashbacks of Francis once again. He tries desperately to think of anything else—theories, ideas, equations, Static—but the flashbacks take over far too quickly for Richie to replace them.

Francis, please stop! Please, that hurts: stop burning me! I don't want to have sex right now; I'm not in the mood! Please, just let me go! We can—

Richie wants to cry, but his face is pressed into the ground and he can't breathe. He begins gasping for air until he feels a strong hand land hard on the side of his head, along with a gruff command to stop making noise. Richie takes in a sharp breath and, mere seconds later, lets it out with a loud cry as a sharp pain encompasses him—and it's, without a doubt, the worst pains he's ever felt, and he has to relieve it every single time he has a flashback; has to relieve it every single day of his life.

There is no way Richie is ready for a relationship.

"Francis, stop!" Richie screams at the top of his lungs, tears in his tone. The echo of his own voice startles him, and the flashback abruptly stops.

After a few moments of heavy breathing, Richie finally gulps and looks up, fully siting up a few moments later. He examines his surroundings, noticing that nothing is out of the ordinary. He reaches his hand up and wipes his sweat-soaked forehead with the back of his hand. He sniffs and sighs, biting his lip as he squeezes his eyes shut.

"I need a shower."

The last time Richie felt so disgusting, Francis actually raped him.