Project ROWDY 2-7

The GDA mailroom this last month was hell on earth.

Well, it smelled like a perfume store had a seizure and died, so close enough.

Stacks of letters bled cheap floral scent into the air, enough that Brick could pick up the smell through like three different walls. Mountains of the stuff were just everywhere, sacks split open and spilling across tables filled with love letters, crayon drawings that looked like Boomer sneezed onto a page, and packages wrapped in too much tape that the scanning team were busy nonstop checking for explosives, anthrax, glitter bombs.

Granted, none of the above had any risk of hurting them, but protocol was protocol.

Glitter. Brick bit back a shudder. Fucking glitter.

Drowning in the praise of their adoring fanbase was, in its own way, worse than fighting. It was definitely more disorienting at least, cause at least with fist and feet flying at you, you knew who to hit, where to aim, how to make it stop. This… this just kept coming; a relentless flood that thought it loved you and also wanted your autograph.

Unfortunately, there was no way around it, considering their faces were everywhere thanks to Cecil’s hard work, along with assistance from the all-mighty propaganda arm of the Global Defence Agency. It was TIME magazine one week, the three of them just floating in front of a shattered alien warship in a candid shot: “OUR TRINITY: Can Three Children Save a World Without Gods?” Next week it was Metahuman Monthly, glossy and airbrushed in a way he knew they didn’t even need, their costumes stiff and wrong under studio lights that were too bright, too hot. 

Stupid. All of it.

He’d learned to just block out the whole thing in his head, smiling and nodding through everything until it passed him by. His smile in every shot was as neutral as he could make it, a mask that gave away nothing; not even how much he wanted to laser some random photographer that thought he could touch him. 

Even still, the noise, the sheer relentless noise of it grinding down on him like sandpaper on his last nerve.

Butch didn’t get it, something Brick could actually relate to. Everytime someone shoved a camera in his face or got into his personal space, he could tell his greenest brother was barely holding back from causing a slaughter. It would have been funny if it wasn’t literally a risk factor; the last time a New York paparazzi grabbed Boomer’s collar…

Well, it was lucky Boomer had gotten in between the guy and certain death first.

Speaking of Boomer…

The bluest of the Rowdyruffs was thriving, their blonde brother absolutely in love with every second of the attention he was getting.

Boomer was thriving, predictably, loved every second of the attention like a dog getting belly rubs. His face lit up when people squealed at him in public, when fangirls mobbed him outside the GDA, when someone shoved another piece of fan art in his face. He’d started taping them to his walls, the best ones, which were still terrible, lightning bolts and misspelled names and proportions that looked like someone had never seen a human body before. 

He’d even learned to sign autographs, Blitzkrieg! with a little lightning bolt at the end. Tacky.

In between missions, it was just tv show appearances, photoshoots and interviews. And right now, after cleaning up some psycho in a giant mech suit, it was another live spot, another studio, another audience that felt too loud.

Brick was almost used to it by now.

Almost.

The Tonight Show set was as bright as these sets always were, the audience packed in tight and loud as they clapped and cheered and whoo-whoo-whoooed as the show came back from commercial and they walked on stage. The host, some guy named Jimmy or James or something, smiled over at them with teeth so white they looked CGI, fake-bright under the stage lights.

The guy leaned forward now, yammering on through another line of questions that Brick was pretty sure had been pre-approved by the GDA. “It’s just incredible, fellas. You’ve got a ninety-nine percent global approval rating. More popular than… well, than anything, really.” That smile went even wider. “But I have to ask, with all this work you’re doing, how do you find time for school?”

His mouth opened, the GDA-approved answer already loading up, carefully crafted and vetted and safe: We’re inn an accelerated program provided b-

“School?”

Too slow.

“I mean…” Butch snorted from his chair, slouched so far down he looked like he was trying to melt into the cushions, bored out of his mind. “Ehhhhh, well, it’s okay now. Took some getting used to.”

The host blinked as the audience went quiet all of a sudden, confused at the answer.

“Getting used to?”

“Yeah.” Butch just shrugged, completely oblivious to what he’d just done, what he was about to do. “We went last year and I guess we’re starting again this year, but before that? Nah.”

Don’t elaborate. Brick bit back a sigh, fingers almost gripping the armrests as he felt the wood groan beneath him. Please don’t elaborate.

“But we learn stuff!” Boomer’s voice spiked high, excited, jumping in to help except helping made it worse. “Brick’s, like, super smart! He reads all the time! He, he’s read, like, five books just this week! Big ones! With no pictures!”

“Oh… well,” Jimmy Something smiled again, a little bit uncertain now. “Well, that’s great!”

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Which led them here, to Cecil’s office; the lights bright and the air cold.

The Director himself was staring at the main display wall, his back to them, that same white-haired, scarred-faced, perfectly-pressed-suit posture he always had. 

Boomer fidgeted beside Brick, tugging on the hem of his blue hoodie while Butch leaned back against empty air with his arms crossed. As much as Brick tried to keep his face straight, it was clear as day that all three of them were bored.

“Boys,” Cecil didn’t bother to turn around, his voice that low, molasses-slow drawl that meant he was either about to order a missile strike or explain a complex problem; no real way to tell the difference. “You’ve had an amazing run since you woke up. More popular than the Guardians already and you’ve already made yourselves more of a household name.”

He could feel Butch’s grin go super-wide even without looking.

“And then,” Cecil’s voice kept that same flat steady register, never shifting, “you did this.”

The wall screen flickered on, harsh blue light flooding the office; them, on that stupid couch, under those stupid lights. The Tonight Show logo burning in the corner.

“-ut before that? Nah.”

Butch’s voice piped through the speakers as it looped, playing again and again as the crowd gasped and the host’s smile fell off his surgically-altered face. With another hand gesture from Cecil, the screens were filled with tv news people on the twenty-four hour channels; the kind of polticial talking heads that you weren’t sure how they got the job.

“—uneducated, emotionally stunted children wielding the power of gods?”

“—clear failure of oversight by the Global Defense Agency—”

“—are we raising heroes, or are we just arming child soldiers?”

The screen went black as Cecil finally turned, hands sliding into his pockets, the man looking almost… well not tired-tired, but that kind of tired that made it clear someone was closer to a headache than anything else.

“What’s the problem?” Butch’s eyebrow went up, body shifting forward in the chair. “It was true. We didn’t go to school.”

Here we go.

“Yeah, and we are kinda like child soldiers, right?” Boomer blinked, his voice spiking high as he glanced back between Cecil and Brick as he looked for an answer. “I mean, we’re kids. And we’re soldiers. It’s just, like, math.”

Brick couldn’t keep his mouth shut, gaze cutting from Boomer to Cecil. “They knew that already.” He wasn’t even sure what the big deal was, but apparently, it was big enough to make the news like everything  else they did. “The world, I mean. They know how old we are. They’ve seen us fight.” 

The Red Rowdyruff raised an eyebrow Cecil’s way. “What changed?”

Cecil made a sound that could’ve been a sigh if it wasn’t so angry sounding. If anything, it came out more like a growl. “The problem, boys, is that the public are idiots.” The director’s finger met his desk, as he knocked out a quick pattern. Tap. Tap. Tap. “But they’re idiots we have to manage. And they don’t like thinking of their heroes as child soldiers. Especially when they are.”

That makes no sense. Brick’s frown deepened, the logic falling apart in his hands. “But… that’s illogical.”

“That’s so…” Boomer scrunched up his face, “That’s dumb! It’s like being mad water’s wet!”

“Fucking stupid,” Butch summed it up.

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Cecil’s drawl went heavier, pen stopping mid-tap. “They don’t want to think about the fact that the kids saving their asses from a Kaiju on Tuesday have a math test on Wednesday. They want to believe you’re… magic. That you’re different. That it doesn’t cost anything.”

He leveled his gaze at them, each word deliberate. “That interview reminded them that it does and that you’re kids. And that makes them feel guilty. And when people feel guilty, they get loud, and they get stupid.”

So it’s feelings. Always feelings, never logic, never the actual facts sitting right in front of their faces. Brick cut through the philosophy, voice going colder. “So what do we do? You want us to lie?”

“No.” Cecil shook his head once. “Lying’s too complicated. Gets messy.” Leaning back against his desk now, arms crossing. “We’re going to give them something else to look at.”

Butch groaned, head dropping back against the chair. “More. Fucking. Interviews.”

“No.” Cecil’s expression went completely flat. “You’re going on vacation.”

What.

“…what?”

“A vacation. You’re going to go somewhere public, somewhere normal, and you’re going to be seen having… fun.” The words sounded wrong in Cecil’s mouth, like he’d never said fun in his entire life. “You’re going to be kids. You’re going to sign autographs, take pictures, and remind the world that you’re the three most popular human beings on the planet.”

“But-“

“I don’t want to hear any buts from any of you.” There was zero room for arguing with that voice, the director super serious about this one thing for some insane reason. “I better see you at Disney World in forty-eight hours. You’re getting an expense account for this. Buy a t-shirt. Get your picture taken with the mouse. Be normal.”

Normal. Like they’d ever been normal, like normal was even an option for—

Brick just stared, his brain trying to process the sheer concentrated stupidity of using a vacation as a PR move, the logic collapsing in on itself. A vacation. To fix public perception.

“Disney… World?” Butch sounded confused, actually confused, like Cecil had just started speaking Mandarin.

Boomer froze beside him, blue eyes going huge, mouth dropping open just slightly, and something building behind his pupils that wasn’t heat vision.

“…yay?”

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Six hours later, Brick found himself drinking an extra-large and steaming hot mug of cocoa as he sat at a familiar dining table in a suburban house in Baltimore. The cocoa was nice, unnecessary, but nice, especially when it came to washing down the taste of a helping of spaghetti big enough to feed at least four boys his size.

“Thanks…” Brick paused as he took another gulp, ignoring the mustache of chocolate he wore as he lowered the mug onto the table. “For dinner, I mean. And… everything else.”

An older Korean woman just smiled back at him, Debbie Grayson wearing that slightly tired look that Brick was pretty sure was more fake than the both of them would like to admit. “I’m just glad to be able to have you all over so often.”

Dinner at Mark’s house was a semi-normal thing for the three of them and by now, it wasn’t a big deal. It was just a bit awkward… considering the big mustached elephant no longer in the room.

KRA-THOOOM!

Outside, a couple miles up, Mark was busy playing catch with Boomer and Butch, the sounds of thunder making it clear that the game had turned to full-contact.

“And you’re sure you boys okay, Brick?” Mrs Gr- Debbie was nice. She was, honestly. It was just the fact that she was so nice that made it so much more awkward. “That’s a lot of pressure for anyone, let alone…”

Boys like you, he’d finished silently. “We’re fine, Mrs. Grayson,” he’d said, his voice more clipped than he’d intended. “It’s just…” Another crash of thunder that had to be a full-body superhuman tackle rang out loud.

Brick let out a long sigh. “… noise.”

“Sometimes noise is the hardest thing to shut out,” she replied. 

Well… Brick frowned. He didn’t really have an answer for that.