He doesn't need to be able to gauge the level of pain and anguish for the screaming - and, worse still, the end of the screaming - to have him chilled to the core by the time he skids to a stop on the slick pavement.
The sight that greets them... there's a well-meaning adult that tries to block his view, and a murmur about how someone needs to put the little pitchers away. They shouldn't see this.
Through the haze of muted shock, Robbie thinks that's a mangled metaphor. Little pitchers have big ears, but right now it's Robbie's eyes that are as big as saucers. The blood in the rainwater is nauseating to see - it makes it look like there's so much blood, too much blood. Robbie can't look, and yet he can't look away. He killed so many kids, but he never saw them. He was blasted miles away in the moments of their deaths. He can see a bit of bone, and -
Robbie's spared any mental comparisons to past nightmares. Rich's reaction is so visceral that it blots out anything else, with a keening scream and calling for Robbie, trying to get to the body in the gutter...
But I'm Robbie, he almost says. I'm Rob.
He's not stupid enough to believe he's the only Robert in the world, and the explanation smacks him in the face as he takes another look at the boy on the ground. That boy is younger than they are. Could be five or six. His eyes are open, and his cheeks are pudgy. He wasn't that far away from toddler. He looks like an even younger Rich - exactly like an even younger Rich.
Rich has a brother named Robby. How dumb can Rob be to forget that? The kid had even been kidnapped. They cut off his finger. His eyes flicked over to check but ... right.
He's trying to fight the ghastly, panic of helplessness. They were just a few blocks away, goofing off, and they should have been - no. This can't be right. Robby isn't six - he's about Robbie's own real age, and he's not here. There's no chance that Robby is here, on a Legion mission to New Metropolis, regardless of what age he is or how much that body looks like him. Waiting for Rich to stumble on him. No way. Billions of people on Earth - billions of Earths - this is not something that just happens.
Robbie puts himself between the adults and Rich, hooking an arm around Rich's chest and taking over trying to tug him back. If the grown-ups picked Rich up, they could try to take him who knows where - and the only way to stop that is to cause a huge, super-scene at the feet of a dead child. There's no fucking way Robbie will do that.
He has to get Rich to leave, so he has to convince Rich it's not Robby. Robbie just knows that. Rich wouldn't leave his brother, or Nita, or any of them. But how does he do that when he's eleven and penned in by an ever-growing number of adults who he doesn't want to engage with anymore than necessary? Because pulling isn't working, Rich outweighs him and out-stubborns him.
"Rich, Rich," he whispers quietly. "It's - it's NuPonder, Minnesota."
NuPonder is meant to mean a few things at the same time. It's the town where they fought a bunch of robots meant to look and act and think like dead people, practically handpicked to fight the New Warriors in the most effective ways possible. This, too, is not not real, but more importantly, there is something going on that knows exactly how to dismantle them. Robbie knows it and can't stop it from working. Show him a dead kid, one that even now he can't stop looking at. The rainwater is pooling over the little boy's eyes. Show Rich a dead teammate, soldier, friend, brother. If they stay here staring, it doesn't matter if it's real or not. The mental damage will take Rich (and Robbie) out of the fight for New Metropolis.
They have to go somewhere else and breathe and try not to think about dead children. "Come with me, Rich. He's not your brother. I promise he's not yours."
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The sight that greets them... there's a well-meaning adult that tries to block his view, and a murmur about how someone needs to put the little pitchers away. They shouldn't see this.
Through the haze of muted shock, Robbie thinks that's a mangled metaphor. Little pitchers have big ears, but right now it's Robbie's eyes that are as big as saucers. The blood in the rainwater is nauseating to see - it makes it look like there's so much blood, too much blood. Robbie can't look, and yet he can't look away. He killed so many kids, but he never saw them. He was blasted miles away in the moments of their deaths. He can see a bit of bone, and -
Robbie's spared any mental comparisons to past nightmares. Rich's reaction is so visceral that it blots out anything else, with a keening scream and calling for Robbie, trying to get to the body in the gutter...
But I'm Robbie, he almost says. I'm Rob.
He's not stupid enough to believe he's the only Robert in the world, and the explanation smacks him in the face as he takes another look at the boy on the ground. That boy is younger than they are. Could be five or six. His eyes are open, and his cheeks are pudgy. He wasn't that far away from toddler. He looks like an even younger Rich - exactly like an even younger Rich.
Rich has a brother named Robby. How dumb can Rob be to forget that? The kid had even been kidnapped. They cut off his finger. His eyes flicked over to check but ... right.
He's trying to fight the ghastly, panic of helplessness. They were just a few blocks away, goofing off, and they should have been - no. This can't be right. Robby isn't six - he's about Robbie's own real age, and he's not here. There's no chance that Robby is here, on a Legion mission to New Metropolis, regardless of what age he is or how much that body looks like him. Waiting for Rich to stumble on him. No way. Billions of people on Earth - billions of Earths - this is not something that just happens.
Robbie puts himself between the adults and Rich, hooking an arm around Rich's chest and taking over trying to tug him back. If the grown-ups picked Rich up, they could try to take him who knows where - and the only way to stop that is to cause a huge, super-scene at the feet of a dead child. There's no fucking way Robbie will do that.
He has to get Rich to leave, so he has to convince Rich it's not Robby. Robbie just knows that. Rich wouldn't leave his brother, or Nita, or any of them. But how does he do that when he's eleven and penned in by an ever-growing number of adults who he doesn't want to engage with anymore than necessary? Because pulling isn't working, Rich outweighs him and out-stubborns him.
"Rich, Rich," he whispers quietly. "It's - it's NuPonder, Minnesota."
NuPonder is meant to mean a few things at the same time. It's the town where they fought a bunch of robots meant to look and act and think like dead people, practically handpicked to fight the New Warriors in the most effective ways possible. This, too, is not not real, but more importantly, there is something going on that knows exactly how to dismantle them. Robbie knows it and can't stop it from working. Show him a dead kid, one that even now he can't stop looking at. The rainwater is pooling over the little boy's eyes. Show Rich a dead teammate, soldier, friend, brother. If they stay here staring, it doesn't matter if it's real or not. The mental damage will take Rich (and Robbie) out of the fight for New Metropolis.
They have to go somewhere else and breathe and try not to think about dead children. "Come with me, Rich. He's not your brother. I promise he's not yours."