Chapter Text
Boiling Point
Chapter 1: A Little Chilly
It was the start of November. Thanksgiving a little less than four weeks away . But store fronts and street lights were beginning to be decorated with Christmas lights and jolly holiday mascots regardless. Herman did not mind in the slightest, one of the many that liked to decorate early himself. He thought it was pretty. All the colors and the ribbons and the bows. He loved Christmas. People were a bit nicer this time of year. Not by much, but just enough to be noticeable. Or maybe he just gave them the benefit of the doubt, naive to the whimsy of holiday cheer. Either way, Herman enjoyed it. And this year, he actually had friends to share it with! Could buy presents for someone other than his Grandma! His heart had swelled at the idea, and he already had a list of things ready for his team. He just needed the money for it. Amongst other things.
Something else Herman noticed, rather it was also a figment of his own credulous ideation, or the goodness of people's hearts, there seemed to be less crime during these months, never mind a package theft or two. And the occasional monster rampage, but no one could really blame a poor, mindless animal for disrupting the spirit of the season. It was like the residents of Torrance were all on the same wave length when it came to the holidays. Lay low, be cordial during the cooler months leading to the most celebrated tradition on a global scale. Then again, Herman figured the chilly weather could also attest to the lack of activity.
If someone had the mentality to commit a crime, they would do it regardless of the threat of the naughty list. Or a cool breeze.
Winters in L.A, during the day, were tolerable. Never really dropping below sixty, with bright sunshine and decently warm wind. A bit chilly at times, but never enough to be a hindrance. Nights, however, could be a bit more tricky. Though the temperature never dropped low enough for anything to freeze, it still got fucking cold. And the thing about the cold was that it did not mix well with water.
Needless to say; Herman and winter did not get along.
Winter and wet was something Herman did not handle well, unless it was late nights scrolling through adult content sites beneath his favorite blanket after a nice bowl of vegetable soup. Or one two many cups of his Grandma's original recipe eggnog. That usually had him feeling warmed from the inside and giggling, sprawled out on their front yard with a flush to his cheeks until his Grandma yelled at him to get back inside. Before the neighbors saw him and thought he finally lost his mind.
The best thing he could do was bundle up like he was planning a trip to Siberia and hope for the best whenever he went out with his Grandma to see Christmas lights or hunt down one of the cats that chose to slip out the door. Or like now, as he waddled his way down the sidewalk to SDN's front doors. The sun having set about an hour before, the temperature was slowly dropping as the last brushes of warm breeze were swallowed up by the night sky. Far too illuminated by city lights to show the stars. He was so not looking forward to tonight.
Opening the glass doors to the office building did little to offer the wet man reprieve from the chill settled in his bones. The lobby just as damning as the night outside. A ball of heated orange touched down just as the door clicked shut, Herman shrinking down deeper into the jacket zipped around his tall frame at the negative anticipation this particular coworker brought on.
“What the fuck are you wearing” Flambaé snickered, entering through the same glass doors as Herman just did, smoke still curling off his shoulders. He pulled his pit vipers down the bridge of his nose to get a better look at the taller man sporting a giant brown puffer jacket that looked to be consuming the shivering newling hero. Herman was instantly jealous of the fact Flambaé could strut around in his regular work attire without a care to how the temperature was dropping as the night drew on. What Herman would not give to have that power. Or at the very least, be allowed to curl into that heat and sleep the rest of the colder months away until spring. Like a rabbit hibernating in the belly of a bear. Inevitable demise be damned.
Hell, sometimes Herman wished he had never been cursed with powers at all. His own or anything else. For the sake of convenience. His own and others.
“You look like someone tried to roll you into a snow ball…and got shit all in it” the fire starter goaded, poking at the thickly padded, brown polyester encasing the 6’4, shaking mess of a man. Despite his tall frame, the walking sprinkler was practically getting eaten alive by the fabric. The bottom end of the zipped tight jacket brushing his knees, the cuffs on the sleeves falling over his gloved hands. It had belonged to his grandfather, a massive man back in his prime from what his Grandma would tell him. The old pictures decorating the walls of his home had Herman believing dearly departed Albert McGillis could have put even Royd to shame in shoulder width.
“Aww, I think he looks cute” Malevola chimed in, stepping through a rift to join the two in the lobby. Also sporting her usual Daisy Dukes and white tanktop. Again, Herman found himself internally jealous of someone else's ability to withstand the outside weather. The she-demon reached out and patted the only part of Herman’s cheek not covered by the jacket hood pulled tight and tied over his head. The action left Herman feeling a bit debased, but the warmth of Malevola’s palm was enough for that thought to hold little meaning to the man for the seconds it sat against his cold skin.
“In a Pillsbury Doughboy sort of way” she finished. Getting a chuckle from Flambaé.
“‘S-sss cold” Herman stuttered out between chattering teeth, water dripping down his red nose, bones nearly rattling with how hard he was shaking. Malevola mumbled a teasing ‘poor thing’ as she wrapped an arm around Herman’s shoulders, giving them a squeeze that had water streaming from the cuffs of his jacket. Herman leaned into the hold, seeking out the warmth another body could provide him. Malevola ran hotter than most people, surely perks of the demon part of her biology. Not as hot as Flambaé, no one was as hot as him, but it was enough to seep through the layers of Herman’s jacket down to his wet suit. Despite it being December, the heat was busted in the building. Perks to being SDN's lowest branch in L.A. no doubt. Even with Malevola’s added and much appreciated embrace. Herman was still cold.
“Come on then. Let's clock in and harass Robbie for accepting third shift rotations before he starts making us actually do our jobs.” The devil from downunder chimed, keeping her arm over Herman's shoulders, adding her tail around his waist as she began walking to the elevators.
“Can't believe that Mecha-bitch fuck actually had the audacity to pick up OT. I should be three scotches deep watching Golden Girls right now” Flambaé started, falling into step on Herman's other side, rubbing a bit of the brown polyester of Herman's jacket between his fingers. They climbed on the elevator with less than a handful of third shifters, as the lift cleaned out of the lucky individuals heading home for the evening. Malevola released Herman, the tall man falling back against one wall while she did the opposite.
Their Over Time requirement was not Robert's fault, Herman knew. He knew his teammates were aware of that as well. Flambaé just liked to give their Dispatcher shit at every viable opportunity, per the mutual enthusiasm they shared when it came to riling the other up. It was a company wide, mandatory occurrence. With the Torrence branch being the smallest and therefore minute priority to the company as a whole, they lacked a lot of funds and manpower opposed to their sister locations. DTLA was a prime example with their abundant pick of well known and popular heroes. And their building even had year round heating and air. With that being the case, with many Supers taking time off for the holidays or having medical leave, the Torrence branch of SDN was wearing thin with covering calls. Thus the Over Time protocol was put in place. Dispatchers and their teams alike were cycled through to cover overnight calls a few times every couple weeks to help with the usual third shift. Just so the company could stay on top of the crime rate. No one really got a say in the matter. The higher ups said it was voluntary, but everyone knew that was just sweet talk for ‘do it, or kiss your paycheck goodbye’.
Herman was not a fan of the system. But he really liked his paycheck. And the money he received from the over time, was helping. Helping with the bills. His Grandma's meds. The stockpile of savings he was hoarding in order to get Christmas gifts. And a little something special for himself. He just needed to make sure he did not screw it up. Tough it out. He was part of a team now. A hero. Crime did not stop just because the cold made it hard to move or to think. So he would not stop either.
He could not afford to.
“Golden Girls! Love that show. Always thought I gave off strong Dorthy vibes.” Flambaé hummed to Malevola's commentary, scratching his chin as he leaned around Herman's frame to press the button for their Dispatcher's floor when all the younger man did was curl his ears further into his coat, teeth still chattering. The metal box was viciously colder than the lobby. Herman wanted to chase after the heat when Flambaé pulled away, leaning his hip against the elevator's wall.
“Definently think I'm a Sophia. Complete hot shot. Sassy old lady. Senior years goals honestly” Flambaé conversed, having to shift closer to his taller team mate as a group of office ants climbed into the lift when it stopped on the second floor. ‘No, he's more of a Blanche’ Herman thought to himself, trying not to lean into temptation and fall into the fire starters side to siphon his heat.
“You sure you're not a Rose?” Malevola joked, Golden gaze mischievous, canines on display with her teasing smirk.
“Ok, fuck you Devil Wears Prada. You're starting to look more like a Stanley with the way you run your mouth” the pyro clapped back. The elevator doors dinged open once more, not on their floor, and another wave of workers in blue button ups and dark work pants climbed on.
“Fuuuuck. Do any of you people know what stairs are?” Flambaé spoke above the crowded lift. Earning a few tired, nonplussed stares. The rest knew enough about the ex-villain through reputation alone to really bother with a response. Usually, Herman would be hunching in on himself at this point. Keeping his wet limbs folded in and close to his body in an attempt to keep the floors and the people packed around him dry. Or at least as dry as he could in the tiny box with his sporadic powers and constant dripping. But at the moment, he was unapologetically content with the mass of people pressing in around him.
For the sole reason it had Flambaé forced to saddle up against his back.
Herman could feel the press of the man's wide chest against his spine. With him being so close, the heat Flambaé gave off melted into Herman's jacket, the water gusher almost whining with how nice it felt. And with all the discretion of a new born deer, Herman tried to shuffle closer to the older man, just to feel a little more heat.
Another ding. They were three floors away.
“Goddamn it” Flambaé was forced closer, enough so that Herman could hear the irritated mutter vibrate through his jacket. Herman could even smell the new cologne Flambaé was testing out. It tickled his nose and made him want to sneeze. But his breath caught as a hand landed next to his hip on the hand rail lining the lift, that chest pressed further into his back, pushing Herman further into the wall as Flambaé was crowded deeper into the corner. Herman shuffled from foot to foot, soaking up the heat as a puddle slowly started to form beneath his feet. Like the ice in his bones was beginning to melt right out of him.
“Stop fucking moving, Doughboy” was muttered into his back. Herman chattered out an apology, more water dripping from the cuffs of his jacket and onto the pants leg and shoes of one of the office workers next to him in the pool of button ups and winter coats.
“Jesus man. Watch it!” The worker snapped, probably tired from the dull work day, and Herman was just making it worse. The newling hero shrank deeper in his coat, guilt eating at his gut despite being unable to control the water pooling around him. God how he hated his powers sometimes. He was just one big constant nuisance for everyone around him. For himself. It hurt to acknowledge that fact. But Herman had already been doing so for years now.
Telling himself to ‘just deal with it.’ Just like his dad used to say.
“I…apologies…i’m sorry” Herman's words were muffled by his collar, hands pulling into the sleeves and curling the cuffs closed in an attempt to keep any more liquid from escaping. It did not help, but Herman was trying. He was trying so fucking hard, goddamn it. Flambaé shifted to stand in front of him then, facing away from the waterlogged hero, moving his shades to the top of his head and forcing the workers closest to Herman to shuffle back. Hand leaning against the wall, completely trapping Herman in the corner.
“I told you to stop moving around. Gonna chafe my fucking tits if you keep knocking into them” The fire starter's broad back was all Herman could see, the words not registering at all. All his focus was on the wide, set back shoulders in front of him now. Herman clutched his hands tighter in their sleeve prisons, pulling them together against his lips and breathing warm air onto the fabric to heat them so as to not reach out and place them down the small ‘V’ at the base of Flambaé’s collar. Despite the gloves, Herman’s digits felt like they would splinter if he tried to curl them together any tighter. Herman bet Flambaé’s skin would feel divine on his frozen fingers.
Across the lift, Malevola's brows furrowed. Her gaze focused on Flambaé. Seeing something on the man's face Herman could not. An irritated scowl Herman could only assume, at having to move just to be out of Herman's space. Or more accurately, so Herman was out of his space. The taller man could not blame him. The employee that had snapped at Herman kept giving the fire starter quick, unnerved side glances. Attempting to shuffle away to no avail with the packed compartment.
“You should have just pocketed us up there” Flambaé grumbled to Malevola. The she-demon simply shrugged.
“I like the mortal experience.”
The elevator finally opened up to their floor. The three heroes climb off the lift, followed by a trickle of third shift office workers and those also on the OT roster. Herman fell behind his team mates, watching as Malevola began talking to Flambaé in a hushed tone. The fire starter scoffed, waving his hand like he was pushing away her words, an amber eye glancing in his direction morphing into a scowl before he pulled his shades back down over his eyes. He was probably irritated by the dampness of his suit from where he had been pushed up against Herman. A fair reaction if Herman was being honest.
Herman perked up when Robert stepped out into the bullpen, clearly coming from the break room if the cup of coffee he was sipping on and the collection of atrocious junk foods and Twinkies was anything to go by.
“Jesus Christ. Your endocrinologist must fucking hate you” Flambaé started up instantly at the sight of the smaller man, stopping before their Dispatcher who simply looked the fire starter up and down with an unimpressed stare. Taking another long sip of his coffee as he did so.
“Careful now. That's a big word for you. Don't want you hemorrhaging before I can put you to work”. Robert finally responded in that morose tone of his. Dark whiskey, hooded and tired drifted over each of them. Stopping at Herman and giving him a quick once over.
“You look chilly.” Actually. Herman was finally starting to warm up. The heat was running on this floor. His fingers did not feel as numb.
“He looks like the Philsbury Doughboy!” Flambaé chuckles, tossing a thumb at the taller man's direction.
“Oi! That's my joke, you can't steal it ya cunt!” Malevola is quick to stake claims on the new name.
“Bitch, you can't copyright a joke. It becomes public domain once it comes out your mouth” the fire starter responded in kind. The two breaking down into a petty argument. Robert's attention shifting back to Herman, unbothered by the childish behavior of his team. He shuffled forward, nodding his head to get Herman to move a bit further away from the still bickering hot heads.
“How you doin’, Herm?” It was asked in that same morose tone, but those whisky irises held more care than Herman knew what to do with. How to feel about.
“Good!...Great…uh awesome. How you?” Herman bit back the grimace he wanted to make at his own verbal dysfunction.
“I'm…” Robert hesitated. That was not a good sign. Robert never hesitated. Always quick with a biting comeback, shooting down dumb ideas and spouting encouraging remarks on the spot. Hesitation was not good. It made something soggy settle in Herman’s stomach.
“I’m worried about you” Herman cocked his head in confusion, water dripping from his forehead like sweat. The unanswered ‘why’ was cut short before it could even be spoken as Robert continued.
“I’ve noticed the weather isn't really working in your favor. There's been concerns brought up about your performance in the field the last few weeks. Nothing bad…” Robert was quick to relinquish when a look of panic flashed across Herman’s face. The last thing Herman wanted to be, besides already being a nuisance, was being useless. A burden.
“It’s more worry for you, then anything else.” Herman’s steel blues shifted over to his teammates. They had stopped arguing, busying themselves with the leader board, though Malevola had her head tilted rather conspicuously in his and Robert's direction.
“Oh! No…need…no problems! No worries for me…about me! I'm alright…good…great! I-I promise” Herman’s voice got small at the end. He really needed this. The overtime. The money. But more than that. He needed to prove that he was worth it. Worth being kept on the team. Phenomaman had been picked over him after a slot opened up in Z-Team. That was fair, Herman probably would not have picked himself either if he had been in Robert’s position. But then, Robert gave him a chance. During the Shroud incident over a year ago, Herman got to be an actual hero. He needed to show Robert he had not made a mistake in keeping him. That he could do good. Be good. Be a hero. Be useful. For his Grandma. For the team.
For Robert.
“A-all groovy…goodie…good! I'm ready to…ready to go!” Herman pressed the concern from his boss away. Going further and taking off his giant coat, water splashing out the sleeves when Herman squeezed it against his chest. A big, watery smile on his face. Robert's brows furrowed, not believing that for a second. But Herman was desperate to move past the situation, that was obvious in the nervous shuffle he was doing, the squish of the wet carpet beneath him could attest to that.
“Alright then. Go get ready” Robert relented, tension sliding from Herman's shoulders with the water that dripped off him.
“We got a long night ahead of us, guys. Hope you brought your ‘A’ game” the Dispatcher spoke a bit louder, pulling the other two members of his team from their quiet murmuring in the corner.
“I better not end up in a fucking fountain again this time” Flambaé was grumbling as they all three went for the locker rooms. Herman glanced over his shoulder to catch Robert still watching after them as they maneuvered down the hall. The look of concern still present in the crease of his brow. Or maybe it was disappointment. The distance made it hard to tell. Either way. Herman was determined to make that look go away. He would do good tonight. Prove himself. Be useful. A little bit of chilly air had nothing on him. He could handle it. Like a pro.
He could not handle it.
Jesus fuck, he was cold! Colder than it had been in the last few weeks. It was hard to move. Herman’s fingers were locked around his biceps from where he had wrapped his arms around himself. He could not move another step. His knees were knocking together with how hard he was shivering. ‘Come on, damn it! Move!’ That's what he kept telling himself in his head. But he was, for lack of a better term, frozen in place. Each bead of water that glided down his face and neck, felt like shards of glass ripping into his skin, the winter breeze coming off the Marina making them as cold as ice. Even his lips were suffering. Red, chapped and stinging. He tasted blood the last time he ran his tongue over the bottom one.
What the hell was he thinking? Leaving his coat back in his locker? Sure he soaked it through to the inner lining, but it at least made a buffer against the wind. Why was he even outside in the first place, what genius fucking plan had he…
“Waterboy! Move!” Oh right. He was working. Robert was yelling at him. Move? Telling him to move. Move where? Why? He could not move. ‘It is too damn cold, Robert!’ There was a blur. Coming right at him. He squinted, but still could not see anything, he should put his goggles back on. They were prescription. A gift from his Grandma to go with his suite. But they kept fogging up with condensation. The blur cleared up only when the person was right on him.
They had knives. A lot of knives. No wait…their fingers…were knives? What in the Edward Scissorhands was this? ‘Not the time Herman!’ His muscles screamed at him as he shoved his arms up in defense, stopping the guy's forearms with his own. The thief sliding against the wet cheap rubber of Herman's suite. Using his height to his advantage, Herman spit a jet of water into Scissors face. The thief jerked back, spitting and spluttering, wiping water from his eyes.
“Waterboy! Goddamn it, what are you doing out there?” That was Robert again. ‘Freezing my ass off, Robert’ is what Herman wanted to say. But Robert sounded so upset. Herman hated when people were upset with him. It made him feel small, like his chest was being ripped open and filled with pins and needles.
Right. He was on a call. Some guy attempting to rob an atm machine. Robert had said it would be easy, something Herman could handle. Herman did not mention how those words made his stomach twist in a nauseating way. Neither expected the guy's fingers to be made of blades. And if Herman was not freezing his ass off and had a bit more of a solid backbone, he would have made a joke about the guy giving a whole new meaning to the term scissoring. Malevola would probably appreciate it.
“Dodge Waterboy! Dodge! Go left!” ‘Left, go left. Goddamn it, focus!’ Fuck, he could not feel his fingers anymore. His toes hurt too. Feet feeling like lead as he shuffled unsteady on useless legs. The chattering of his teeth, clicking loud like porcelain in his ears, almost drowning out Robert's frustrated yells.
“Goddamn it, Herman! MOVE!” Oh shit. Robert used his real name. Herman got that familiar hollow feeling in his gut like when his Grandma called him by his full name. It usually meant he was in trouble. Which did not happen often considering Herman hated being in trouble. Hated messing up. Doing something wrong. His cheek began to sting. Right, yeah. He was in trouble. Trying to dodge a guy with knife hands kind of trouble. A cut came across his palm this time when he threw his hands up to defend his face. He hardly felt it. His hands were way past hurting with every hit against them, now they were too numb. He backed up a few steps, the guy followed, spitting threats and promises of death. ‘So not in the Christmas spirit’ Herman thought.
One step too far and Herman's foot was slipping off the curb, the momentum sending him ass first onto the concrete of the sidewalk. His backside was going to be bruised for sure. It was nothing but boney. For a split second, he wondered if he would actually feel the knives coming down at him, if the sting of the blades would blend into the bite of the cold dancing under his skin. Seeping into his bones until all he felt was sharp shards of ice coursing through his veins.
He spit another jet of water, sending a kick into the thief's chest while he tried to blink the water from his eyes. The action felt like he was kicking a wall full of nails with his bare feet.
“That's fuckin’ cold, mother fucker!” Scissors yelled at him as Herman shuffled back onto his feet.
“Tell m-me about it,” Herman muttered to himself, breaths coming out in white puffs of mist. Herman took up a defensive stance. Teeth still chattering, bracing on shaking legs, fists held up in front of him. His shivering made his attempt look rather pathetic, honestly. Looking like a leaf being whipped around by the wind. Not even the rush of adrenaline was keeping him warm. Really, he just felt tired. Drained.
He was ready to go home.
“Shit. He’s got an entourage. Hang in there, Flambaé and Malevola are making their way to you!” Herman jerked around in time to see three more goons climb out of a car waiting on the other side of the street, having parked on the curb to watch their buddy do his thing at the atm. Shit. Herman really did not want to deal with these bastards right now. Really, all he wanted was to sit on his couch with a hot cup of cocoa and watch ‘A Christmas Story’ with his Grandma, per their usual tradition around this time of year. But, even more so. He did not want to have his ass saved by his teammates.
Again.
He was supposed to do better this time. Prove himself. Another week down the fucking shitter becuase he was a little chilly. Fuck he hated his powers, hated this feeling of being so god damn useless. He was shaking again, but not from the cold this time.
One of the new arrivals was on Herman in an instant, ponytail whipping in the wind as he went for Herman's throat. Robert’s worried baritone rattled in the newling hero’s comms like a mosquito as Herman pressed back against his attacker. The words his Dispatcher was contributing did not register even a little bit over the blood pumping in his ears. He could do this, he could be better. Be a real hero. All on his own. He could prove himself! Ponytail struggled to get proper grip on his wet suit, the disadvantage was a win gained for Herman as the taller of the two was able to shove back against the guy hard. Throwing a punch that had his fingers searing down to the bone with icy stings. Ponytail stumbled back with a curse, clutching his nose.
Two other pairs of hands found their way around Herman’s biceps, the water logged hero throwing back his elbow, nailing one of his assailants in the chest. His hand to hand fighting was shit. He had taken less than a handful of classes with Blonde Blazer, or well, Mandy as she went by for now while Chase had her amulet. And a round or two with a few of his other team mates. Those who went along with his ask to spar at least. Most of them refused out of just not wanting to. Herman assumed they did not want to waste their time with a guy they knew would not amount to anything. And judging by his track record, Herman supposed their intuitive negativity was justifiable.
“I'd break every bone in yer body, lad.” Punch Up had laughed the first and only time Herman asked him.
“You're way out of your league, Kiddie Sprinkler.” Herman had not even asked Invisigal. She had just popped up out of nowhere when he was talking about a spar with Gollum. The sentient construct had also laughed at the idea. Stating Herman would be flattened in seconds.
It was for the best he supposed. Nine times out of ten, he was a cluster fuck of too long limbs and not enough force behind his punches. By the end of any match he could convince someone into, resulted in him splayed out on his back with his opponent leaning over him with mockery falling from their lips. Sonar usually. As the Man-Bat found a particular joy in beating Herman's ass. Despite his reluctance, he had even got Coupé to try and show him the ropes. But it ended with her throwing over her shoulder that Herman should get back with her when he became an actual challenge as said man was laid breathless on the floor with blades pinned through his suit.
Herman would laugh it off, as he figured they expected him to, and that would be the end of it. Needless to say, it left him discouraged. And severely out of his element. Four on one was even more of a disaster waiting to happen. Herman knew he was fucked. But he hated the thought of going down easy. It felt like a waste of Robert’s decision to keep him around. He had to live up to the expectation that he could do something, He did not want to be an embarrassment for Robert to have to live through.
Despite his thrashing and the sharpness of his elbows, Herman was out of his league with the way he was manhandled. A swift kick to the back of his leg had him dropping to the pavement with a sharp crack of his knees even with the pads covering them. An arm came over his shoulder, forearm wrapping around his neck and tightening enough, the pressure against his trachea had him coughing. Blurry vision catching the smear of red on a snarling upper lip. Fuck, this was embarrising. Taken down by a group of low level thugs just because he was shivering. They were not even Red Ring for fucks sake. He really was not going to be able to live this down with his team. If he survived this at least, Scissors was coming at him pretty pissed.
“You're fuckin’ dead, you wet fuckin’ freak!” Scissors cursed at the soaked hero, stalking up to Herman, knives pointed out, sharp. Deadly. Herman thought that was a bit of a strong reaction for someone high jacking an atm.
“W-where…where’s the Christmas….holiday spirit?” His words tumbled out through chattering teeth and strained vocal cords, water dripping from the end of his nose. He was so congested right now. The pressure in his sinuses started to give him a headache. Clouding his brain. Making each thought feel slow and sluggish. Muddy in a way that left him tired. Fuck he hopes he was not getting sick. His thoughts then wondered to if his Grandma had made soup tonight for supper. That sounded really nice right now.
“...almost there. Please Herman, hang on just a few more minutes! Don’t let these fuckers beat you!” Shit, right. Robert was still in his ear and he sounded scared? No, maybe desperate if Herman allowed himself to believe that. He was probably watching Herman’s pathetic display from a camera somewhere. Great, his failure would be documented. Herman could only hope his team would find his end funny. In a sad, pathetic sort of way. He did not want them to be upset that he died, if they cared in the first place. Them mocking his death would be better than that. Robert though, Herman did feel guilty for. Guilty for failing his Dispatcher after he let Herman on his team. Had given him a chance. Just for Herman to throw it back in Robert’s face with this pitiful death.
“S-sorry, Robert.” Herman choked out, hoping the man would not be too upset with him. Hoped his team would not lay into the man for bringing someone as weak as Herman into their ranks just for him to fail miserably.
A fist connected with Scissors nose just as he curled his sharp fingers to drive them into Herman’s chest, the impact sending him sprawling out on the pavement with a groan, blood gushing from a now crooked nose. The arm around his neck was yanked away with enough force to send Herman sprawling onto his side, taking the other two goons down with him. The wet hero began hacking the moment his neck was free, gulping down cold air that had his throat stinging and his lungs ballooning with relief.
“The fuck was that, Doughboy? You got a fucking death wish or somthing!?” Flambaé bit out, heat of his fire nearly painful with how quickly it caused the cold to melt off Herman’s skin. The fire starter pulling one of the goons off the ground by the collar of his shirt, just to send a punch into his face with enough force to knock out a tooth. Still a sensitive subject it seemed. Herman figured the pyro may have been projecting a bit there.
“Nah, poor mate’s just having a rough night. It’s two in the morning for fucks sake. Way past baby’s bed time” Malevola teased, coming into Herman’s line of sight as the soaked hero pulled his goggles back over his watering eyes. Despite her playful tone, there was no smile on her face as she swung the flat of her sword into Scissorhands the second he climbed unsteadily back to his feet. His back slamming into the atm he had originally been trying to loot, denting the metal on impact. Herman could not help but think she looked really pretty under the shine of the Christmas lights. The glow reflected off the red of her skin and accentuated the gold of her eyes.
“It's past everyone's bed time. This fucker is just trying to play hero where he shouldn't be” Flambaé cursed, the tone of his voice as sharp as the angry glare in his eyes when he looked down at Herman. He took down guy number three with a solid kick to his chest. Sending him careening into their fourth companion with the material of his shirt smoaking, a chard boot print left behind as a result. The worst part of it was, Flambaé was not even wrong. Herman was an itty bitty fish in a too big pond full of sharks with far better advantages than him. A constant inconvenience. A joke. A nuisance trying too hard to be something he was not.
Just a dumb kid pretending to be a hero.
“Oi, on your feet Coldcase. Turn to the camera and wave so Robbie will stop yellin’ in our ear”. Malevola instructed as Herman reached up to his own comm, only to find it gone from where it usually sat in his ear canal. It must have been knocked out in the scuffle. He scanned the ground half heartedly. Not really wanting to hear the disappointed lecture he was going to get from his Dispatcher. He would not be able to handle it in his mental state at the moment. His chin was suddenly grabbed, three warm fingers that felt blistering against the cold of his skin turned his head left and up. Herman's wide, steel blues catching on a camera in a shop corner. His arm was lifted next, at the elbow and shook around to get his limp hand to toss out a mediocre wave at the lens. Fuck his gloves were filthy.
“Told you he's fucking fine, Bob Bob. Get off our dicks about it” Flambaé directed into his own ear piece, dropping Herman's arm and releasing his face as fast as he grabbed them, like touching the wet man was as undesirable as shit on the bottom of his shoe. As Flambaé and Robert conversed, more than likely arguing, Herman continued his search for his comm. Those things were expensive, he assumed at least, and he did not want to be liable for damages to company property. He pulled his gloves off in the process, the fingers on both bright red. The palm of his left one bleeding sluggishly from the cut Scissorhands had dealt him. He did not even feel it, hands too numb.
“Oof. Got ya a pretty nice knick there, aye. Let me have a look” Malevola sided up to him, reaching for his hand as casually as one would a donut. Her molten gold gaze widened as they lifted from Herman's cut to his tired, drooping eyes.
“How have your fingers not fallen off already?!” She brought the digits up to her lips, reaching and collecting the other hand to press all ten together as she breathed hot air onto them. It hurt to a degree, feeling his fingers thaw. Like needles being pressed over and over into the pads. The heat centralizing into one spot had the rest of his body unifying into one giant shudder from the realization he was still in fact, freezing. In her process of heating up his hands, Malevola siphoned the cut onto herself, the faint ache that had started to settle disappearing. Herman stuttered out a thank you between chattering teeth, watching as a shallow cut opened up across Malevola’s cheek. Only to instantly knit closed to smooth, red, unblemished skin.
“No prob, Doughboy” the she-demon smiled, canines sparking in the light. With a wink, she dropped his comm into the hand she was still holding before sauntering over to the four incapacitated goons to pile them together.
“...get your asses back to the office” Herman caught the tail end of Robert's order, listening as Flambaé scoffed somewhere off to his right. Robert was so pissed. Herman felt that sinking feeling in his gut again.
“Hm, yeah. I think I'll sit this one out. Don't feel like listening to Robbino tearing you guys a new one” Malevola hummed, opening a rift and starting to toss the would-be thives inside.
“What the fuck do you mean ‘you guys’. I did nothing wrong!” Flambaé was quick to voice his innocence in all this. Herman could only stand and shiver and sulk. Running through every possible scenario Robert would have waiting for him. A reprimand. A suspension. Completely taking him off the team. His heart began pounding in his anxiety, causing water to soak through his pores as fast as the blood was pumping through his veins. He curled in tighter around himself as wind nipped at his exposed ears, teeth digging into his chapped lips to stop them from chattering any more. The clicking not helping with his headache.
“You’re always in trouble for something, love.” Malevola wrapped her arm around Herman when the lanky water hose of a man shuffled closer to them, attempting to feel at least a wisp of the heat the two produced.
“Just use walking Ikea here as a meat shield. We all know Robert’s a sucker for these puppies” she pulled the goggles down so they hung around Herman’s neck, the elastic of the band catching in his wet hair and pulling some strands from his scalp. But his hiss of discomfort was drowned beneath the vocal of surprise when Malevola took his head between both her hands and pulled him eye level with a scowling Flambaé. Herman could see the crease of his brow over the top of his pit vipers. Herman’s own, wide eyed, puppy dog look reflecting back in the iridescent shades. Herman caught himself wondering what the Christmas lights would look like reflected in Flambaé’s amber iris’.
“Meat shield is about all he’s good for” Flambaé muttered, making something cruel and heavy sink in Herman’s stomach. He turned his watery gaze away from the fire starter, attempting to lean in closer to Malevola, her warm skin a buffer to the harsh Marina wind. But she was pulling away too quickly, Herman nearly falling over in his attempt to follow after her.
“Not much of a shield though if he dies a popsicle” there was a shove between Herman’s shoulder blades and the tall man was catching his balance with his palms flat against Flambaé’s chest, the heat of his bare skin near searing through Herman’s own.
“Warm him up for me, kay!” with a two fingered salute and a ‘see you Monday’, Malevola stepped through another rift, leaving her two teammates alone.
“I’m no one's personal heater!” Flambaé yelled out at no one. The streets were empty at two-thirty in the morning and Herman was not paying attention enough to care as his cheek was currently pressed between the older man's pecs, a content hum coming from his throat as steam rose from where their skin touched. The heat was divine. Enough so, that Herman did not even think twice about the embarrassment of the situation. What he must look like. Clinging to Flambaé, trying to dig his freezing fingers beneath the fabric of the older man's suit.
“”Hey! Water-bitch, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Flambaé’s attempts to pull Herman off his torso were fruitless as the taller of the two wrapped his arms completely around the fire starter's waist. Too lost in the intoxicating feeling of melting as Herman soaked up the warmth, not even registering the whimpers he let off with every tug against his person.
“P-please” Herman whined, turning those puppy dog, steel blues up to Flambaé. The hands previously trying to pull him away, stilled. The fire starter was silent for a long moment, a flash of near unbearable heat flaring up beneath Herman’s cheek before Flambaé ‘tsked’ turning his gaze away. Herman felt him begin to heat up further, his eyes rolling closed as he moaned out in absolute, fiery bliss. The steam that rolled off them could rival a sauna. Herman’s arms tightened around Flambaé, having to keep his self preservation front and center so he did not wrap his legs around the older man as well.
“God damn. You're fogging up my shades” Flambaé bit out, hand settling loosely on Herman's back when the taller of them began leaning into the embrace a little too far. Almost knocking them both over. Herman wanted to counter that it takes two to tango but his lips were too busy releasing hums of content to form proper words. Herman went near boneless as his muscles finally released from being so tense with his shivering. His knees buckled a bit, causing Flambaé to grab at his suit to keep him upright, but the water on the material made it slick and hard to handle, and being down two fingers on top of Herman's tall, lanky form. The result was Flambaé’s hand slipping and grabbing at the only available space with enough grip for him to hang onto.
Herman did almost jump and wrap his legs around Flambaé’s waist the second the older man's hand fell on his ass. He could feel it through the layers of his suit, hot against his skin. It was gone mere seconds later, Herman biting his tongue to keep himself from whining at the loss. Fuck he was being so pathetic tonight. This morning? He was so tired.
“Shift is almost up. Get back to the office before Malevola's rift closes” came Robert's croaky voice over their comms, like he had swallowed his coffee too quickly. Shit, Herman forgot he was there. Probably still watching from his camera perch. Seeing the sad display Herman was making himself out to be.
“Alright you fucking snowman puddle. Your sixty seconds of groping time are over. Let's get you back to his fucking Majesty before I'm beheaded” Flambaé grabbed hold of the back of Herman’s suit, prying the taller man off with surprisingly more difficulty then he would ever admit to anyone.
No. No! Herman did not want to go back to the office. Did not want to see the disappointment on Robert’s face. Listen to every fuck up he had preformed tonight. He just wanted to bury himself back in the warmth Flambaé gave off. Let the man crank up the heat until Herman was boiling. That way, he would not have to deal with the aftermath of his poor decisions.
“Let's go, Waterbaby. Can't escape the principals office” Herman had exactly one millisecond to appreciate the warm hand on his shoulder before he was being shoved through the rift. Stumbling out onto carpeted floors that he tripped on and fell face first. He adjusted his goggles with an unhappy groan as his nose ached from the impact, his eyes focusing through the prescription on a pair of cheap dress shoes, up over brown pants covered legs stanced wide from the position Robert was sitting in his desk chair, over a blue button up to finally settle on the tired disappointment on his Dispatcher's face.
“What the fuck was that, Herman?”