Archive of Our Own

Herman adjusts his goggles as water pours down his forehead and across his face. He pants, worn down, but he can’t tear the smile from his face. He- He just stopped a fire by himself. No one else; just him! Ever since the Z-team defeated Shroud, things have… they’ve been different – good different!

For one, he feels a lot less like he’s annoying the Z-team by… existing near them. Compared to his first day, where it was nothing but insults and complaints about how… useless he was, things have improved by leaps & bounds. Now, they only insult him sometimes – and also complain, but they always did that. It just wasn’t directed at him as much, and at this point, it was all he could ask for.

He’s also actually… maybe gotten better at things? Maybe. He’s still got a long way to go, but… These past two weeks, Robert has been sending him out alone from time to time, and it’s gone well? Well, for the most part, excluding that time with the cat. And the ice cream truck. Also, the community college. But all things considered, that’s still good!

He can’t lie. He’s got a lot more pep in his step after stopping that fire at the record shop. Well, not a lot more pep. He had to run to the other side of Torrance to get here, and he didn’t expect the blaze to be so strong. But it was minimal property damage! And the owner offered him a free record! He couldn’t take her up on it due to… not being able to own or play records, but it was really thoughtful!

“Nice work out there, Waterboy,” Robert praises in his ear. Waterboy finds himself smiling a little wider, ducking his head as he walks back.

He brushes some wayward, wet hair from his forehead and stutters out, “T-Thanks, it’s- was none- no problem!”

“You did a good job. You deserve to hear it,” Robert says, voice crackling with light static. Then, Herman hears the telltale click that indicates Robert’s back on the main line, not the private one between them, and he asks, “I know you’re all tied up, but I’ve got a pipe burst at that new grocery store that’s reopening for the tenth time. Anyone think they can hit it?”

Before he can even register his own voice, Herman is chirping, “Of- Sure, yes! I-I can fix- do that! I’m not- I’m close.”

“Yeah, let Waterbitch take it. These fans are acting like it’s the apocalypse just because some guy sucks at handling balls,” Flambae answers, earning him a variety of snickers over the line – that, knowing him, he totally meant to earn.

“Alright then,” Robert responds, “Waterboy, hit it on your way back. Shouldn’t take you long at all.”

Herman almost salutes to a voice over the line, but he stops himself, clears his throat, and with surprising clarity, answers, “Got it!”

He didn’t stutter! It was only two words, so nothing that noteworthy, but he’s trying to take Robert’s advice and celebrate even the little wins. It’s… helping? Kind of? Herman can’t say for sure if it’s helping, but it’s not hurting, and it was Robert’s advice, so…

Herman picks up the pace as he makes a slight detour, narrowly avoiding running into a dogwalker. He stammers out an apology and walks just a little faster to the store. It won’t be bad at all, just like Robert said.

It was bad. It was very bad. In fact, it was up there in all the worst possible outcomes for a mission, short of total apocalypse.

Pain starbursts across his lanky body, sore from the beating he took. Herman, cheek pressed to the cold, grime-caked concrete floor of the backrooms of the grocery store, groans weakly as one side of his goggles tries to slide out of place and over his forehead. Water – and blood from his nose – drips off him into a slowly growing puddle. Not for the first time, Herman squirms to see if there’s any give in his restraints, but he’s too weak to snap them. Instead, he just hisses in pain as the zip ties try to cut past his wetsuit into his skin.

He's forced to lie on his front with his hands – and elbows – tied behind his back, with a couple zip ties around each joint, he thinks. His ankles and knees have been give a similar treatment, though the ones around his knees are just tight enough to threaten his circulation. He… He tries not to think about it and make his heart race any faster.

Three robbers (possibly gang members?) argue above him. Herman’s trying to listen in to their plans, but god, his head is throbbing; it’s impossible to keep anything straight right now.

In all honesty, this had started with a run-of-the-mill pipe burst. It was an easy enough fix, and Herman got to practice controlling water he didn’t emit, so it started good. It then just… It all went sideways. One second, he was helping put up wet floor signs as the manager thanked him. The next, there was a gun pointed in his face as terrified screams bounced around the store.

He tried to fight them off – he really, really tried – but on top of Herman being so… Herman, there were three of them and one of him. (And one of him was… was already an easy fight.) The guns made things worse, bad enough that he couldn’t ask Robert for back up. In the end, all he got for his efforts were more bruises than he could list, probably a broken nose, and definitely a concussion from slipping on all that water.

God, he slipped on his own water. Again. Why does he always do that? How has he not- not learned yet?

“Well, what about Waterbaby here?” one of the men behind him snaps, piercing through the haze Herman has been wallowing in.

Despite his better judgement, Herman feels something sharp and hot spike in his gut. He pushes past the ache in his ribs to hiss, “It-It’s W-Waterboy.”

“N-N-N-No one cares,” the man answers before he shoves Herman with the heel of his boot to emphasize his point. It catches on one of his new bruises, and Waterboy wheezes as fresh pain blooms from the collision.

Another, deeper voice sighs loudly. “I don’t give a fuck. Shove him in a broom closet for all I fucking care. Worst he can do is leave a puddle for us to slip on. Hell, he’s doing it right now… Just- get him out of the way. We’re not leaving until we find where that old asshole hid his loan. Even if the cops show up, we’re better off in jail than going back empty handed.”

The other two men grumble affirmatives. Herman cranes his neck to watch the man leave as the other two murmur above him. Their voices are soft, hard to pick up over the waves of mostly dull (and occasionally sharp) pain in his body. He’s trying to get a good look, but the angle is awkward, and half of his goggles has decided to sit on top of his brow. God, he really thinks he might’ve twisted his ankle, but he can’t tell with how tight his ankles and knees are bound.

Herman’s head drops back to the floor, despite not really wanting to. (Seriously, the water is getting gross. He knows they renovated it from the old mart here before, but did they not even try to clean the back?) His heart hammers in his ears, and he tries to ignore it, focus on the pain or a plan instead, but he can’t. It’s… He’s terrified, and he’s trying so hard to- to play it cool, to act like Prism or Flambae, but he’s mostly just trying not to throw up all over the floor and keep himself from hyperventilating because he has no idea what these maniacs are going to do, and he can’t contact Robert because they’re right here, and his hands are tied.

Robert, who still thinks he’s just… fixing a pipe. Oh god, he’s screwed.

The thought makes his body tense, and some pathetic noise worms its way out of his mouth. He needs, needs Robert to check his vitals and check in before something worse happens. The two men take a second to snicker before one says, “Hey, you know what I’ve always wondered?”

The other doesn’t give a response. Then, there’s a sudden grip on the back of his collar, and he’s yanked off the floor. The collar of his suit cuts into his throat, and Herman chokes on the water trying to pour out of his mouth. He should do something, fight back, get out, but he- he can’t. Now that he’s off the floor, he can see clear as day they still have their guns, and he’s in no mood to convince them to use it.

Still, if nothing else, he squirms. Maybe he can’t burn out of his bindings or blind them or hell even just break the zip ties, but he’s still going to be annoying. He’s… He’s good at that, so he squirms as he’s drug along the floor, thrashing as best his tied limbs can.

In response, the man dragging him yanks on the collar of his suit, cutting into his throat, and the criminal swears under his breath as water spews out of Herman’s mouth down the front of his suit. He tries to thrash harder, at least make a point, but all that results in is getting his knee stomped by the other man walking aside him.

Herman yelps at the feeling of his legs trying to bend the wrong way, and the tender joint throbs, hot and angry; the man who kicked him laughs, almost the bark of an angry dog, and Herman grits his teeth, glowering at the floor as his knees throb.

In no time at all, they come to a stop, and Herman hears the dull click of an opening door and the pop of a seal – before freezing cold air blasts across the back of his body. He tenses, squirming around to see the icy, lit interior of a walk-in freezer. The man dragging him asks a question that hangs in the air like a guillotine: “I wonder what would happen if you froze this bitch?”

Herman actually throws up this time. He shakes from fear just from feeling the cold on his skin, and the men swear. “Aw, fucking gross,” the one holding him says followed by a “That better just be water” from the other and a kick to the thigh – which makes Herman hurl again.

“Stop fucking kicking him! What the fuck is wrong with you?” the man carrying him hisses as he starts to drag Herman into the freezer. Pleas try to form on Herman’s tongue, but he’s so terrified and hurt that the words just become a long series of stuttering syllables that the criminals ignore.

“I’m sorry, geez! How was I supposed to know he was gonna do that?”

Herman is dropped to the floor with a thud, and he squirms his way up as best as he can, trying and failing to beg them to stop. The floor is frigid, and the cold seeps into his skin. He finally gets a good look at the two men – no longer wearing masks and about as basic as lackeys get. “Look, Waterbaby. You sit in time out, and maybe if you’re lucky, someone will find you before you turn into an ice cube. Try not to wet yourself too bad?”

It sends Herman into action. He fights to lift himself off the floor, and he tries to string together a sentence, but he only gets out “no”, “please”, “don’t” – which is completely ignored. Without so much as a backwards glance, the door shuts behind them, and Herman’s whole body locks up with it, trembling and gasping for air.

The freezer is cold – cold in a way Herman has never let himself experience. He runs colder than most, sure, but he’s still human, powered or not. He- His powers don’t let him survive freezing temperatures; being dripping wet all the time makes it worse. Herman, still pressed against the frost-laden floor, tries to focus on his breathing and not dripping everywhere. In fact, he thinks some of the droplets on his face are already trying to freeze.

Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up. Do not throw up right here, right now.

Cold seeps into his skin like a towel absorbing water, soaking deep and trying to eat at his core. It bites, and while Herman tries to focus on not completely breaking down, he slowly feels himself shiver harder and harder as the minutes pass. The pure panic isn’t doing him any favors. Valuable body heat leeches out from him into the floor, and when he knows it’s getting to be too much heat, primal instinct bares its head and forces him to sit up.

It’s- It’s hard. Or at least, harder than he’d thought it’d be. Bending and twisting his body creates new wells of pain across his skin, but it’s far better than freezing to death on the floor. His teeth chatter, and the chill claws at his fingertips and toes. God, so much better than freezing.

It takes a lot of contorting, pulling a muscle in his waist, and the realization he has got to work on his core strength, but Herman is finally sitting against a stack of frost-dusted cardboard boxes. His head pounds, and he still can’t breathe right, but he’s- He thinks he’s not leaking as much. There’s still a puddle under him that’s trying to freeze into a disc of ice, but it’s- smaller than usual? He doesn’t know. He wants to cry. His head is freezing cold from all his damp hair.

Then, like a guardian angel, a staticky, strained voice cuts in his ear, “Wat- …u there?”

It’s honestly more static than voice, but Waterboy knows Robert’s voice anywhere, and a garbled cry spills from his throat. He finds a corner on the closest box and jams his ear against it until he’s certain he’s turned the com back on and left an open line for himself.

“R-R-Robert-t,” he forces out over his clattering teeth. His hands have begun shaking, and he tries to press himself in a ball; it doesn’t work well with his tied joints, but he tries. “It- It went b-bad. I-I n-n-nee-eed back-k-up.”

The biting cold feels more like an oppressive wash of stinging pain, now. It makes his body ache painfully all over in a uniquely twisted way. The joints of swollen ankle and knees throb the worst as the cold digs its claws deep in the aching bone.

Waterboy waits with bated breath as he listens to Robert’s broken voice answer, “Water-? …you ok-? I… you…”

“Help,” Herman croaks as panic swells in his chest because oh god, he can’t hear him, and Robert probably can’t either. He’s officially past the point of calm, sucking in frigid breaths that making his lungs burn. “Help. Pl-Please se-e-end help, Rober-rt. I-I-I help- assis- back-up. Anyone.

Water keeps dripping down his arms to his hands and onto the floor. Every once in a while, a single drop will seep onto the small pass of skin on his wrist not covered by wetsuit, and it startles him with how cold it is. He can’t breathe between the panicked gulps of air and constant shivering. His face burns, more than he’d expected it to.

Robert’s voice is nothing but unintelligible garbled static, and Herman fights to not cry and make his problems far worse. The cold passes over him in a new, chilling blast, and he shudders, not even trying to suppress a pathetic whine.

He needs to conserve his body heat. He- He doesn’t know how, but he needs to. He starts with trying to pull his knees close to his chest. The ties are so tight, and moving his knees up actually bites into his veins worse, but he does it. His knees are close to his chest, and even if his hands are left to tremble in the cold, at least he can bury his face into the small, protected space between his chest & thighs. Sure, they’re wet, but he hasn’t stopped leaking anywhere, so it makes no difference.

God, his knees hurt. They’re already bad from years of… well, of slipping on his own puddles, and he can feel it worse than ever in the cold. Herman tries not to focus on it, tries to exhale into the small space between his legs and chest to let the hot air warm his face. It feels- not good but not bad. Better.

His head is throbbing even harder, and he thinks it may be thanks to his sopping wet hair. Is- Is that gonna freeze? He remembers his Gran always warning him about getting a cold with his wet hair, so it’s- probably gonna freeze. He whimpers and screws his eyes shut.

At least he’s not shivering as hard anymore. That’s- That’s nice, he supposes. That’s probably a good sign, right? He needs it to be. He really needs it to be.

The minutes melt together. Herman puts all his energy into trying to be less wet, and even though it’s better, it’s still not enough. Time starts getting fuzzy the further the cold seeps in past his wetsuit. He’s starting to lose feeling in his feet, but he’s not sure if that’s because he’s cutting the circulation or he’s going to lose-.

It’s the circulation. It’s just- just the circulation.

Herman breathes out another shuddering gasp of air, seeing if he can flex his fingers, when he hears something click over the line in his ear, and relief warms his core, fighting back some of the frozen tendrils under his skin.

“Thank fuck. Shouldn’t have been that hard to hack…,” Robert starts, but his voice falters, and Waterboy’s heartrate jumps as his eyes snap open. “Oh shit. Waterboy, can you hear me? What’s going on? Your tracker’s been down, and your vitals are all over. I can’t get a reading on them, but it looks bad.”

Herman swallows down a sob at the sound of Robert’s clear voice. He’s not alone, oh thank god. His teeth are still trying to chatter, but not as bad as before, so he’s speaking a little clearer this time. “Store got rob-b-bbed.  Tried- fight. Did- Didn’t work-k. Tied. F-Freezer. Help.”

He squeaks out the last word, and over the line, Robert’s voice is steady, but Herman’s learned to listen out for the telltale signs of underlying panic – and he hears it loud and clear. “Did they stick you in the freezer?” Robert asks, voice edging on somewhere between desperation and disbelief. Waterboy whines, but it’s answer enough for Robert who says, “Fuck, I knew something was wrong. I’m sending Flambae and Prism over. Hang tight.”

There’s dead air for a few seconds too long, and Waterboy tries to control his breathing again. He’s not alone. They’re going to get him… hopefully before he loses any fingers. It’s become hard to tell the difference between cold ache and bruise ache, but he’s figured out pretty quickly that he’s definitely lost the feeling in parts of his hands and feet, which is…

He swallows a frigid mouthful of water that his queasy stomach doesn’t want to keep.

“Sonar’s coming too,” Robert suddenly announces. “He really wants to eat them. Let’s hope he can control himself. Now, catch me up. What exactly happened?”

Herman laughs softly. Sonar always jumps on the chance to eat someone, but… He can’t think about it now. He has to answer Robert and ignore the icicles that are probably forming off his gloves.

“Um… they- they appear- showed up out-t of- of nowhere. Guns. Had guns. T-Tied me up, arms- hands and legs. I-I-I’m in- freezer,” Herman answers, trying to wrack his brain for details even though everything feels slow and exhausting. He’s actually stopped shaking now, weirdly enough. That makes it harder to ignore how he can practically feel the ice forming on his neck.

“Who? How many were there?”

Herman screws his eyes shut. His head hurts. “Two? No, t-three. Look- searching for- for something. Not sure… Did a- a number on- on me.”

“Those commercial freezers come with a safety release mechanism. Do you think you can find and push it?”

“Safety- what?” Herman asks. He’s trying to follow along, but it’s hard when so much of his brain power is going to just thinking ‘it’s so cold’ over and over.

“It’s a special handle in case someone like you gets stuck. I know you’re tied up, but if you can, try to get over there and open it. It’s okay if you can’t, someone’s coming, but the sooner you get out of there, the better. Can you try to get up?”

Herman nods inaudibly. Robert’s so good- smart. Of course, he knows that stuff. It’s… kind of going over his head right now, but he can at least try to get up.

Try turns out to be the key word. Herman stacks his body up: feet, then calves, then knees, and so on, one block at a time. Somewhere along the way up, he forgets about the puddle of ice water that’s been growing under him and how his feet are almost entirely numb for a mixture of reasons. The careful stack he’s been building topples as he shifts the weight on his sore ankle, and he falls flat on his face with a loud thud and weak groan.

Just like every other time he’s slipped in his own water, it hurts. Every nook and cranny in his body feels jostled, and the throb in his head redoubles when his skull connects with the floor. The only good news is that he’s laying flat, so at least he’s not cutting the circulation to his feet anymore.

“Shit, Waterboy, what was that? Are you okay?”

“Puddle… ice… g-g-gonna jus’… stay- lay. Here. Now.”

Usually, a cold compress does wonders for his head, but right now, it’s making everything worse.  He can’t be bothered to peel himself up, though, not if he’s just going to fall flat on his face again.

“Okay, so no standing. Try to at least get near the door. It’s the warmest place you can be.”

Herman knits his brows. “Warm? Nothing in here is warm…”

There’s a long beat of silence Herman doesn’t even register. “No, it’s not, but it’s your best shot. Just… hang tight. Flambae and Prism are almost there… God, this is the most low-tech store in all of fucking Torrance. I can’t even hack a cash register...”

Some distant part of Herman’s brain registers the threads of panic in Robert’s voice, but it doesn’t surface past the thoughts of ‘everything hurts’ and ‘it’s too cold’. Herman’s mind normally runs a hundred miles a minute, but right now, it struggles to cling to anything else. His world is just a full body ache and a chill that’s trying to settle straight into his core, nipping and biting past his suit into his skin to leech out whatever warmth it can.

Now that his face isn’t shoved against his thighs, he can see how his breath comes out in white puffs. Kind of cool. Too bad he’s probably getting freezer burn on his cheek from laying here. Who did Robert say was coming again? Sonar?

Was he supposed to do something? “R-Robert, what- doin’? What am I-?”

“You- Wait, Flambae and Prism are on the scene. Just hang tight.”

Herman nods into the floor, and he hates the way his hair almost crunches as it drags across the frosty tile. He goes back to focusing on his breath, though it’s gone slow despite the persistent anxiety underneath the layers of frozen aches. His shoulders are starting to hurt from holding his arms back, too. Or maybe it’s from the fall?

He hasn’t really noticed the fan whirring until now. Must be how this freezer stays so… frozen. It’s rather loud, and maybe that’s why he hasn’t really heard himself dripping until now, with his ear close to the ground. It’s not a fast drip; it’s slower like the drip coffee maker in the break room, and each sluggish droplet traces down his forehead, curls down to his temple, and plops onto the floor.

He listens to the steady drip, to the subtle quiet, and it’s why he completely jolts when the freezer door is thrown open with enough force to make its hinges squeal. Herman looks up to see Chad and Alice standing in the doorway. He… can’t really read Alice’s expression; it just looks uncomfortably blank. Chad is standing beside her while holding the (slightly scorched) door open, and flames lick the tops of his shoulders.

“H-Hey guys… How’s it going- hangin’?” Herman greets, trying to break the tense silence that settles between the three of them.

“Oh, I’m def blinding their asses,” Alice deadpans, arms crossed and fingers gripping her bicep tight.

“Do you think we’ll get in trouble if we kill them?” Chad asks, flames burning hotter.

Herman hears a click in his ear, and Robert says, “Yes, you will. Found Waterboy?”

Alice starts to walk in, and her bob sways (which always looks so cool to Herman) as she settles on her knees next to him, inspecting his bindings. “Untying him now. And Flambae, leave that to me. You gotta warm his dumbass back up. He’s a fucking icicle…” she trails off, and she then pokes at his head. “Oh my god, even your fucking hair is frozen! Come ‘ere, let’s get you out.”

Alice takes something out of her boot and starts slicing his zip ties open, starting at his feet and working her way up. Flambae asks from the doorway, “You keep a knife on you?”

“After starting this job? Hell yeah, I do!” she snaps back. “Comes in handy when your dumbass coworker gets tossed in a fucking freezer.”

She cuts through the ties at his knees, and the sudden blood flow back into his calves is both painful and wonderful. “Sorry. T-Thanks,” Herman mutters, soaking in the strange tingling that sets in as his nerves try to kick back into gear.

 “Ain’t a thing, baby. Only apologies need to come from those worthless motherfuckers who put you- Damn, they even tied your elbows?” Prism asks, cutting through the last ties. It feels so damn good to stretch out his creaky arms and lift himself off the floor. Prism stuffs the knife away, and she helps Herman lift himself off the floor, wrapping her arm around his lithe waist.

“They’re th-thour-thorough,” Hermans mumbles in response, trying to focus on walking and not soaking in her body heat. He tries to take a step forward, but his steps falter, forcing Alice to swear and catch him. “Um- I- Well. Feet. Can’t feel- numb.”

A new voice pops into the fray as the owner crashes in through a set of double doors into the backroom, but it’s not unfamiliar. “Is he dead? Waterboy better not be fucking dead,” Victor snaps, gaze darting all over until it settles on Herman, and- Herman thinks the man actually deflates with relief.

“No, but he might have fucking frostbite, and he definitely got hypothermia. Is that- You got a fucking icicle hanging off your hand!” Prism exclaims. Robert groans over the comms, and Herman shrinks in on himself. Instinctive shame floods him because he’s dragged three of them away from more important things because he… what’d he do…? Oh yeah, slipped on his own puddle. He can’t tell anyone about that. Except maybe his Gran. Or Robert.

Alice swipes it off, and after too many stumbling steps, he’s thrust into Chad’s arms and-

Oh god, he’s warm.

He objectively knows Chad runs warm, but right now, pressed against the man’s body, he feels so good. If Herman thought just opening that freezer door felt good, this is almost heavenly. He melts into Chad’s arms, pressing his face down and into the crook of the warmer man’s neck. (It’s only because he wants to warm up his face. It’s- It has nothing do with how he hasn’t had a nice hug from anyone besides his Gran in a while.)

Steam sizzles into the air from the contact, and Herman thinks he’s already melting some of the ice in his hair. He hopes it’ll keep his head from pounding so bad. Alice snickers, and it takes Herman a beat too long to realize he’s sighing and nuzzling into Chad, who is standing stone still and sputtering.

“Keep an eye on your boyfriend,” Victor teases, stifling a laugh. “Alright, I’m gonna go eat someone.”

Flambae interjects, “Call him my boyfriend again, batboy, and I will rip your ears off.”

“Do not eat anyone, Sonar. Prism, do not let him eat one of the perps. Flambae, warm up Waterboy and bring him back to medical.”

Alice snorts and answers, “I ain’t making no promises, Roberto. If a guy ends up in his mouth, not my problem.” She and Sonar begin stalking the back hall for any sight of the men who started this whole mess, leaving Chad and Herman alone outside the closed freezer.

Herman’s head still aches, and he’s given up on keeping up with the conversation when all he can focus on is how warm Chad is, but he does pick up one thing. “Wait- when did- are we boyfr- dating? Why d-did Sonar-?”

“Shut up,” Flambae snaps too quickly before softening. “Fuck, you are out of it. He’s being an asshole about that stupid Bone Zone interview this morning – and the fact you’re hanging off me like a clingy girlfriend. Just- ugh, hold on, there’s gotta be a better way to do this.”

Herman wants to ask about the Bone Zone, but he yelps as Chad leans down, throws an arm under his knees, and settles Herman in his arms. Herman’s arms are still thrown around Chad’s neck, but now he’s… well, he’s being carried bridal style, for lack of a better descriptor. It almost makes Herman blush, definitely almost makes him groan at having his bruised body jostled, but he’s too busy trying to curl his body and soak in as much warmth as possible to do either.

“Prism and Sonar have things… handled. It looks like.”

“Lucky…” Chad grumbles under his breath as a man screams on the other end of the store, the sound echoing and bouncing to where they stand.

“Flambae, once Waterboy’s warmed up some, get him back here. His vitals are shit. He’s definitely hypothermic, and I think he’s got a concussion.”

Herman presses his hair into Chad’s neck, who flinches and swears, but it’s melting, and he didn’t realize how good it was gonna feel to fix that. “Def- Defin- Conc-cussed. Yeah. Ank- Ankle twist-t-t- hurt. Bruised everywhere. Over,” Herman answers into the line.

“You know what? I’m just gonna go ahead and take you off the schedule for tomorrow.”

“What, just tomorrow? He has actual ice on him, Bob-Bob. There was a literal icicle hanging off him. He asked me if we were dating. There is clearly something super fucking wrong with wetwipeboy.”

“Yeah, him asking that would make you happy, wouldn’t it? Now calm down, I’m taking him off for however long medical says, but he sure as shit won’t be here tomorrow. Also, he’s looking warmer already, so keep up the good work. He’s not shivering, is he?”

Herman’s content to listen to Robert in his ear and Chad right next to him talk while his throbbing headache washes over him. If he cranes his head just right, he can even hear Chad’s thumping heartbeat, and it’s a pleasant, steady sound. Almost enough to lull him to sleep, but he’s already embarrassed himself enough by getting in this mess, so he doesn’t want to make it worse.

In better news, he can feel his normal drip starting to pick up again from the lazy rhythm it had established in the freezer, and it feels more… normal. Good normal. It makes more steam rise between him and Chad, and the moisture is almost on the painful side of warm but only almost.

“Uh. No, is that good?” Chad asks, pulling Herman a little closer to his chest. In response, Herman curls harder into him.

“In this case, no. When he starts shivering again, bring him back. Hold on, medical keeps sending me questions to ask. Uh, can you feel your… what? Phalanges? Hold on, I’m googling that… Okay, can you feel your fingers or toes? …Jesus, why didn’t they just say that in the first place.”

“Because medical’s full of a bunch of fucking nerds. Like you!” Chad snaps back, and Herman smiles into his very warm collar bone.

“Thanks, Flambae. Real helpful.”

Chad scoffs, “Hey, I’m keeping Waterbitch alive. I am real helpful. Now, come on, can you feel anything?”

Herman blinks his eyes back open as Chad jostles him. When did he close those? “Oh- Yeah. Um, n-no? Not- Not really,” he answers, watching his fingers flex around the other side of Chad’s neck, but he doesn’t feel any reciprocal feeling. It’s more like wood; he can feel when it drags against Chad’s back, but that’s the extent of the any sensation – a general inclination of movement. He doesn’t even want to think about his feet.

“Great. Might have frostbite, too… Yeah, you’re getting the rest of the week off.”

The exhaustion in Robert’s voice is audible to Herman, even in his state, and he cringes internally (and maybe a little externally). Then, Chad starts to rub circles into Herman’s knee with his thumb (maybe he realizes what he’s doing; maybe it’s because he felt Herman’s cringe, but also, maybe not, hell if Herman knows). It’s really starting to hit him that he’s being cradled for more than a few seconds, and his brain, now on the way to being dethawed, threatens to short circuit. Can he blame the concussion?

He's dripping water even faster now, and even though he’s warmer, though only barely, he can feel himself shivering again. The short bursts of subtle shakes seem to be evidence enough for Chad, who says, “Thank fuck, finally. Come on, drippyboy. Let’s make sure your fingers aren’t gonna fall off.”

“Sorry” is the first thing Herman says when the nurse on duty finishes her examination and leaves him alone with Chad to finish warming up. He wants to say that he’s fine or that he doesn’t need Chad to help him because it’s true, he doesn’t, but… Herman just can’t force the words out. He hasn’t had this much body-to-body contact in… Actually, he has no clue how long it’s been. That’s… That’s probably bad. Probably.

Besides, Chad hasn’t told him to fuck off, so… until the nurse likes Herman’s temperature or Chad gets tired of him, he’s going to enjoy the warmth.

“Did you try to get locked in a freezer?” Chad answers. Herman tries and fails not to hide his face; he’s curled up on the man, but now, they’re both laid out on a (plastic covered) hospital bed with Herman all but draped across Chad. He’s… really shocked Chad hasn’t shoved him off yet.

“…no,” is all the answer Herman gives.

“Then shut the fuck up.”

“B-But,” Herman stammers out, “you and- you guys w-were busy. I could- handled it. Get help sooner. Earlier.”

“Dude,” Flambae says like he’s the world’s biggest idiot (which probably isn’t too wrong of an assumption). (Ugh, no Herman, think about what Robert said. You can’t be the biggest idiot in the entire world. Maybe just Torrance.) “They had fucking guns. Robert gave us all the details. What were you gonna do? Spray them? Even I can’t stop a gun! I could’ve gotten out of those ties easy with my flames, but you’ve only got the waterspit thing, so it was make them slip or nothing. So yeah, stop beating yourself up.”

Herman purses his lips. Chad’s… not wrong, he supposes. Herman had started swinging, but if he hadn’t… slipped and been knocked out (he’s still not sure if it was from the impact or a boot to the head, but he’s kind of hoping it’s the latter), what else would have happened? There were three gunmen, not one, so it’s not like he could’ve handled one and got out scot-free; there would’ve been two others ready to hold a gun to his head and do who-knows-what.

Still. That little voice in the back of his head, the one that’s gotten a bit quieter but never really left, keeps telling him that it wasn’t enough. He should’ve done something else. He should’ve had it under control. He doesn’t even know what else he could have done besides…

“I-I wish I… called for back-up. Before I slip- was knocked out,” he mutters.

Chad just groans. “Do not make me do some dumbass inspirational speech. That’s Robert’s job, not mine. I’m the powerful eye candy,” he says, before making an attempt at a ‘dumbass inspirational speech’. “Look, just. I don’t know. It’s done! It’s whatever now! Sucks that you got locked in a fucking freezer, and we had to drag you out, but what can you do? Just call us faster next time. Or don’t get stuck in a freezer. You’re not fixing anything being all ‘poor pitiful me’. Just shut up, learn from it, and do better. Anything else is fucking pointless. So shut up.”

Chad had… a long way to go before being anything like Robert, but even Herman can see the point. He wasn’t mean about it, at least no meaner than normal. It’s… kind of sweet in a way, that Chad would make an effort to get Herman out of his own head. Is it entirely successful? No. Herman knows he’s going to be thinking about today well after he goes back to work, once he’s not black and blue under his suit. He’s not going to forget the terrifying feeling of being tied up, kicked around, insulted, and left to freeze. But at least now, he’s got Chad’s perspective, and that’s… nice. It’s really nice.

He swallows down the water growing in his mouth, trying to abate his nerves, and with more confidence than he expects, Herman whispers, “Thanks.”

Chad doesn’t say anything. Steam begins to mist off them, and that’s answer enough for Herman to know the thought is appreciated.

They don’t have much time to sit in silence because a few minutes later, Robert pushes through the door. Herman can feel Chad tense, and the man immediately says, “Thank god. Get Waterbitch off me.”

“Move him yourself,” Robert answers back, sipping on a coffee.

“Have you seen how many bruises he has?” Chad asks. “I’m so strong that if I move him, he’s gonna like. Shatter. He’s that fucked up.”

Robert takes a long drag of his coffee while staring down at Chad with a single raised eyebrow. “You looked under his suit? Wait until Visi hears, she’ll be jealous.”

“Shut up,” is Chad’s witty retort.

As much as Herman doesn’t want to ask, he feels the words come out of his mouth, “Should- Do you want me to- move? Get up?”

“No,” Robert insists for Chad. “You are laying there until the nurse says you can move. She filled me in, and you are not leaving here without the all-clear.”

“Oh, come on, Bob-Bob. He’s not that bad.”

Robert serves them both a deadpan look, and he starts listing, “Grade II concussion. Moderate hypothermia. Mild frostbite on the hands and feet. Sprained ankle. Widespread bruising.”

“God, okay, we get it. Wetwipe is fucked up,” Chad grumbles, and Herman himself cringes when it’s laid out like that. He’s going to be in so much pain once this medicine wears off. His Gran is going to kill him, baby him, or both. Maybe both.

Ah crap. Gran. Herman clears his throat and asks, “You’ve asked- told my g-grandma? About t-this?”

“She’s your emergency contact, so yes. She knows. She’s threatened me personally to keep a closer eye on you,” Robert answers, finally slouching into a chair next to them.

Chad laughs. “Ballsy. I like her.”

“Anyways,” Robert continues. “I wanted to see how you were holding up after today. I know you’ve never really been put in a situation like that before, and it’s scary. I’m sorry I… we weren’t there for you better. You were tied up and hurt way too long before I checked in with you.”

Guilt twists itself in Herman’s gut. If anyone should blame themselves, it’s certainly not Robert. Herman knows how much he has to juggle with a full roster. He can’t keep an eye on everyone all the time, and it should have been a simple assignment. Why would Robert feel the need to check-in? Herman should’ve had it handled, but… It’s okay. It’s done. Just… do better next time.

How many times is he going to have to say that before it actually stops the anxiety spiral?

“Okay but like. You were helping me and Prism deal with those batshit fans,” Chad interjects. “They were actually fucking crazy. They tied one of the mascots to a tent pole and tried to cook him over a giant barbecue grill.”

Herman pops his head up. “Like- ac-actually?”

“Yes, unfortunately,” Robert sighs. “The mascot’s alive, thank goodness, but it’s still no excuse for hanging you to dry, Waterboy. You should’ve had my-.”

“Oh my god,” Flambae exasperates. “If you also give me the whiny, self-blamey bullshit, I’m actually going to kill myself. I already gave Waterboy the whole spiel, and I am not giving it to you, too.”

“Spiel?” Robert asks with another quirked eyebrow and now a genuine look of confusion.

Herman can feel his cheeks flush. “He uh- Advice. Told me to um. S-Shut up and learn. Do, um, better next time. Later.”

“Wow,” Robert says, and even Herman can pick up on the semi-mock pride lacing his voice. “Flambae made an attempt at a pep talk. I’m actually proud. You’re a good influence, Waterboy.”

“No, I didn’t!” Chad snaps. “I was tired of his bitching. I’m stuck under him, and someone had to snap him out of his bullshit.”

“Flambae. You can literally pick him up and put him back down.”

“Uh, no? Remember the shattering thing?”

Herman thinks he might melt at Chad’s insistence to not stop warming him up. He has to shove his face back against the man’s neck to hide his bright red flush, and steam seems to roll off them both in waves. It’s filling the room faster than either of them want to admit.

The door presses open again, and none other than Victor asks, “Woah, we hotboxing? Fuck yeah, that’s one way to medicate.”

Alice slips in behind him and adds, “Nah, I think someone is embarrassed. I know that face.”

“I will actually kill myself before I leave work,” Chad complains, and Herman ignores him. It seems like everyone else does the same.

“How you holding up, wetboy? What’s the prognosis? Still frozen?” Victor asks. He stuffs his hands in his pocket and crowds in around the bed with Alice, who already has her phone out and is taking photos. Herman clams up, and Chad is trying to curse her out.

Robert, bless him, answers for the both of them. “Not frozen, but still frosty. Flambae can stop being a living heating pad when the nurse gives the thumbs up. Dealing with hypothermia, frostbite, concussion, bruising. Nothing life-changing, but I will be benching Waterboy for at least a week.”

“Frostbite!?” Alice exclaims. “Holy shit, he actually got that?”

“I’m so glad I ate that one guy,” Victor sighs before getting up in Herman’s (and Chad’s) face. “Remember Waterboy. If they ask, there were only two men, got it? Only two.”

“I have you on camera eating that guy. Waterboy’s testimony isn’t going to mean shit,” Robert sighs, again. Herman’s noticed that the more members of the Z-team there are in a room, the more he sighs. He kind of feels bad for the dispatcher, but at this point, he thinks Robert likes wrangling them all.

“You never know! Footage can be doctored!” Victor retorts as he turns on his heel to face Robert with an accusatory pointing finger.

Alice shoulders past him and leans in towards Herman. “I never thought about it before today, but man, you and the cold do not mix. It’s a damn good thing you live in LA.”

“That’s- It’s why I um. Live here. With- With Gran,” Herman admits. “M-My first Oreg-gon winter. Rough. Bad.”

How is his voice still cracking at 24? Either way, it’s not entirely why, but it’s why of all his estranged family, he moved in with her after all was said and done with his parents. He’s… He’s really grateful it worked out this way. Especially after today.

“Well, there goes the team retreat to the Alps,” Robert teases, and before Victor or Chad have the time to make a comment about a real team retreat (it’s been brought up a lot since Shroud), the nurse clears her throat, and everyone turns to face her, only just realizing she’s entered the room. Herman sits up some, reluctant to pull away from Chad, but he knows it needs to be done.

Not for the first time, she holds up a thermometer, and Herman opens his mouth. It takes a moment to get his temperature, but when it beeps, the nurse smiles. “Alright, Waterboy. You’re good to go home. We’re still laminating those care instructions for you-.”

“D-Don’t worry,” Herman says.

Robert adds, “I’ve texted them to him. They still haven’t fixed the laminator, so don’t bother.”

“Alright then,” she says, pocketing the thermometer. “Take it easy, stay off the ankle as much as you can, no screens tonight, use N-SAIDs, and eat a big dinner. It’ll take some time to get you back in fighting shape, but the more you rest, the better you’ll be. You’re not cleared to be back until Wednesday, so enjoy the time off.”

“Damn, maybe I should get hypothermia,” Victor says before Alice punches him in the side. Herman feels somewhat vindicated by the pathetic wheeze he makes.

As the nurse leaves the room, Robert teases, “Alright Flambae. You’re free now. You can clock out of being a heating pad. Prism, Sonar, get to lunch already. Waterboy, if you need anything, text us. You really earned your stripes today. I’m proud of how you handled yourself.”

Herman forces himself to pull away from Chad. He slides off the man and sits on the edge of the bed, already missing the warmth, as Chad sits up and gets off the bed. He tries hard not to melt under the praise, Robert’s praise of a job well done, and his teammates don’t make it any easier.

“Hell yeah, dude. First kidnapping is worth celebrating,” Victor says with a clap to Herman’s shoulder that shakes his whole body. “We’re getting drinks tonight.”

“Next week. After he’s recovered,” Robert snaps.

“We’ll text you,” Victor settles on. Herman does not think he will be joining them. Maybe. It’s… been a long day, and the company… He’s probably gonna say no, but he’s going to pretend like he won’t. For now.

Alice smiles, really smiles, down at Herman. “Seriously, you’re taking the whole ‘nearly dying in a freezer’ thing pretty well. Even if you had to use Flambae like a heated blanket. You know how to reach us.”

Herman truly and fully melts into blushing, smiling mush. He barely has the foresight to keep his mouth shut and not thank them over and over – but only barely. He’s… probably going to be a little messed up over this later, but… he handled it well! He got invited to get drinks. Alice basically asked him to text her. Robert said he was proud. It… It would’ve been nice if it didn’t take getting hypothermia and beat up to get here, but Herman’s trying to focus on the positives. For now, at least. 3 AM may be a different story, but 3 AM is always a different story.

The three heroes file out, leaving Chad and Herman alone. Chad is stretching, and Herman can’t tell if he actually needs it or if he’s… No, there’s no way he’s trying to linger. Stop thinking like the biggest idiot in Torrance would.

Herman stands and feels out his footing. His toes are still a little numb, but with the pain meds dulling the soreness in his ankle, he feels much better than he had when he stumbled out of the freezer with Alice. He hears Chad whoosh his flames to life, and he spins around to the see the man sizzling the last of Herman’s water off him.

“Fucking finally,” Chad murmurs before straightening, crossing his arms, and looking at Waterboy. “Alright, I’m out. Kudos to you for not dying. You really should get drinks with us tonight, so don’t pussy out. I need to go shake down Prism for those photos she took.”

“Y-You know she def- probably. P-Posted it- them already.”

“Fuck, you’re right. God, I’m never fucking living this down. Do not get locked in any more fucking freezers, got it, Wetfartboy?”

Then, because if Hermann doesn’t do it now, he’s never going to say it, so he blurts out, “Thank you!”

The lack of stutter and suddenness seem to shock them both. Chad was starting to walk out, but he fully pauses to look at Herman with a slight tilt to his head and, if Herman squints… a flush? No, he’s making that up. That’s probably the concussion talking.

“I know I’m an asshole, but I’m not ‘let you die of hypothermia’ level asshole. Don’t thank me. That’s embarrassing.”

“S-Still,” Herman says, definitely flushing. He can feel the heat in his cheeks, and he can’t look anywhere near Chad. “You… You didn’t have- need to sit with m-me. Keep- warm me up. For so- so long. Thanks.”

The air is silent and still, thick like steam. Herman isn’t looking at Chad. Chad isn’t leaving the room. They stand there, frozen in the moment, until Chad finally, solemnly, says, “Yeah, man. You’re welcome or whatever. Just… see you tonight. Sardine’s. Be late for once in your nerd life.”

Herman watches him leave the room, and a grin spreads across his face. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard Chad sincerely say you’re welcome before.