Chapter Text
When they first met, Hughie had been certain that Robin was his soulmate. Then after weeks of flirting and their hands finally brushed against each other, turns out she wasn’t.
He didn’t care. She was Robin. He loved her anyway.
His dad used to talk about that rush. When you meet your soulmate, it feels like you’re on top of the world. You light up from the inside. You feel whole. Then his mom left, right after she promised Billy Joel, and Hughie gave up on the idea of that so-called perfect match.
Soulmates don’t mean anything. Just because the universe decides you’re made for each other doesn’t mean it’ll work out. People are too fucked up for that.
But still. Sometimes when he held Robin’s hand, he could pretend.
He’s holding those hands, imagining that feeling as they smile at each other on the sidewalk, her palms warm in his own. She's a step off the curb as she badmouths Billy Joel, teases Hughie in that way he loves, just being herself, and he knows he doesn't need to find his soulmate when she's here.
And then she's not.
Robin's a mist of viscera, a spray of blood across his face, a splatter of gore on the street. She was only a step off the curb.
Hughie can't breathe. He thinks he says her name, maybe, and sees something blue out of the corner of his eye.
It's A-Train. The fastest man in the world, the beloved speedster of the Seven, the face from the poster Hughie has had up in his room for years. He's soaked in Robin’s blood. He says he can't stop, and then he's gone as quick as Robin was.
She was just a step off the curb. Hughie used to hold her hands and think, ‘Maybe the universe is wrong. It’s gotta be her.’
Now Robin’s hands are still clasped in his, detached from the messy gore on the road. They’re cold to the touch and feel heavy like lead.
Hughie screams for her.
The world feels like a fog. Hughie’s just going through the motions until they get home from the funeral.
On the news, A-Train is full of shit. Hughie’s dad wants to change the channel, but Hughie needs to see it, wants to press on the bruise in his heart. The speedster looks bored, like he doesn't even want to be there. It's a big change from the guy who was running like his life depended on it, from the smiling face on the poster that Hughie always saw as heroic.
The Vought rep that comes by is just as slimy, just as uncaring. It’s like he’s reading off a script, and Hughie wonders how many times this shit has happened.
“Now, look,” the guy says, “you two weren’t soulmates. Technically, there’s no legal claim, but Vought wants to do the right thing.”
Hughie thinks about screaming at him. Can't bring himself to do it, so he asks for time to think about it. His dad insists that he take the deal, that 45k is good money, but Hughie feels sick to his stomach at the notion that that's all Robin is worth to one of the most profitable companies in the world.
And if he takes the money, he's basically agreeing with them. Fuck that. He wants to fight them, maybe file a lawsuit, to get some kind of justice for her.
Hughie's dad basically calls him a pussy. Says he doesn’t have the fight to do what Hughie thinks is right. That rage that's been simmering for years, the kind that always comes from being a pushover and never being fucking tough enough to do what needs to be done to get anywhere in life, feels like it's starting to boil over.
The slamming door cuts off any protests his dad is sending his way.
Agreeing to the British fed who introduced himself as Butcher shouldn't be as easy for Hughie as it is, but the cute, sad blonde he met in the park helped him make the decision, really. If Hughie ever meets her again, he'll be sure to thank her.
Robin’s murder feels like it changed the chemistry in his brain. He doesn't want to forgive, to forget, to let Vought brush her under the rug.
He's going to make them pay. And Butcher seems pretty confident that he can make that happen.
Hughie is a mess of nerves as he heads up to the boardroom. He thinks ahead to ask for the bathroom ahead of time, fumbles his way through Butcher’s instructions so he can plant the bug under the table as they wait for A-Train.
If he throws up in the bathroom from sheer terror and anxiety, no one has to know, as far as Hughie’s aware.
The bug goes under the table. Hughie’s nerves settle in his chest, thrumming and pounding like he might have a fucking heart attack until the doors open. The rep sounds just as disgustingly corporate as he did at Hughie’s home, but it’s all white noise, because behind him is A-Train in the flesh.
He’s soaked in blood–Robin’s blood. Hughie’s ears are ringing. A-Train’s hands are on his hips, his jaw working to the side like he’s annoyed, his voice an indifferent echo that turns Hughie’s stomach all over again.
“I’m sorry about what happened to your girlfriend, alright?”
A-Train doesn’t give a shit, it’s clear. But there’s a bug under the desk, and Butcher has a plan that Hughie can help with.
He’s going to make the fucker pay. The ringing in his ears stops.
Hughie plasters a fake smile on. “Fine. I appreciate the apology.” He holds out a hand, and A-Train goes to shake it. “Accidents happen, ri–”
The moment they touch, it's like gripping a live wire.
Hughie gasps as something courses through his body, the feeling of warmth and comfort, a glowing wave of cosmic power that lights him up from the inside, all permeating through the contact of their hands. It’s stardust filling his lungs and ecstasy coursing through his veins.
It feels right. It feels like home. It feels like–
“It felt like a rush of– of love, and happiness, and the universe saying ‘here she is, made just for you,’” Hughie’s dad said once, when Hughie asked about soulmates a few days before he and his mom were supposed to go see Billy Joel. “We felt like soulmates. There’s no other word for it.”
Hughie feels like he's been run through. Just like Robin was.
A-Train says, “Oh, shit.”
Hughie drops his hand and is out the door.
He slams the bathroom door open and practically throws himself at the sink. His hands are clammy where they're clenched on the stupid fucking marble counters, his face ghostly white in the mirror across from him, his breath coming in quick, frantic pants.
Soulmates. They’re soulmates. Hughie’s soulmate is a superhero who obliterated his girlfriend in just a split second, and couldn’t even have the fucking decency to fake some goddamn remorse. He feels sick to his stomach.
Hughie doesn't get a second of solace, as a blue blur follows him in just a moment later. A-Train isn't covered in blood anymore, and he isn't wearing those blue goggles either, so Hughie can clearly see his wide eyes and his brow pinched in concern. “Hey–”
“No,” Hughie interrupts, his voice clipped and shaky as he clenches his fists by his side. A-Train could kill him too, just as easily as Robin, but for once Hughie can't find a scrap of fear in himself. “No, we're not doing this. I don't give a shit.”
A-Train had the audacity to scoff. “But–”
“No. This is– this is a sick joke. The universe is fucked up for doing this, Jesus fucking Christ.”
“So you're just gonna ignore it?” A-Train bites out, and Hughie suppresses the urge to punch him. "What, we're not even gonna talk about it?"
“You ran through my girlfriend,” Hughie says, stronger than he's felt all day. “Are you seriously trying to… to justify this? You think some cosmic bullshit can just negate what fucking happened?”
“We're soulmates,” A-Train protests. “That means something–”
“What was her name?” Hughie cuts him off again, and the supe’s brow furrows again. “My girlfriend. The one you smeared across the fucking sidewalk. You said it on the news. You said you were– you should know it, right? So what was her name?”
There's a long, tense pause, and finally A-Train stammers out, “I, uh. I…”
The laugh Hughie lets out is humorless, hollow, and he drags a hand down his face. “Right. Look, I'll take the bullshit apology. I'll take your– fucking corporate blood money. But this? This is nothing. We're nothing. Just– please, just get the fuck out.”
A-Train looks more remorseful than he had during all of the press bullshit, but thankfully he's out the door.
Soulmates. Hughie always thought they were a dumb idea, one that he should never get his hopes up for, but this just solidifies that. It's the nail in the coffin. Clearly, he was never meant to be happy.
Fuck Vought. Fuck A-Train. Fuck the universe. If he can't be happy, he's dragging these sick fucks down with him.
Hughie wipes his mouth, psyches himself the fuck up, and leaves the bathroom.
He doesn't hear Translucent say, “Oh, that's interesting.”