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“The second, and I mean the literal fucking second that we're free from stupid quarantine, I'm burning this whole outfit.”
Newt cast an angry eye over the heap of clothing on Hermann's bathroom floor, before tossing his t-shirt and boxers on top for good measure. He was so, so tempted to give the whole pile a fucking good kick… “I'm thinking big old bonfire on one of the helipads, maybe some explosives…”
“I thought you liked that sweatshirt?” Typically, Hermann was completely and utterly disinterested in Newt's pyromaniac tendencies. He was also negative levels of bothered about Newt being butt naked and scowling right beside him.
Nope, Mr Fussy was busy shaving off the stubble he had managed to accumulate on the last leg of their shitty trip of nightmares. He did, however, give Newt a bit of a look in the mirror.
“It's legit one of my favourite hoodies, but seriously; gross. No amount of bleach will ever make that fucker feel clean.” Newt definitely wanted to bleach himself, or maybe boil in the shower for a while to wash the funk off him. His skin had a nasty film of ick all over, and he smelled downright gnarly. So gross.
Hermann, who was either oblivious to Newt's biohazardous self or didn't fucking care, rolled his eyes. “Bag it up, and we can deal with it later. Be sure to tie it properly… actually, it would probably be wise to double bag it.”
Okay, so maybe Hermann had noticed how scarily disgusting Newt was. He was certainly giving the castoff clothes the hairy eyeball all of a sudden. “Just this once, mind you; this isn't an excuse to leave your dirty laundry to rot in my quarters like you do your own.”
“Mean.” Newt was way too fucked up to deal with stupid laundry. He was shattered, for a start, and despite a whole truckload of painkillers and benzos and what-the-fuck-ever he still felt all awful. Nowhere near as bad as before the drugs, but still not great.
“You're a walking bloody biohazard right now! Your discarded clothing is well and truly contaminated, and I won't have that colonising my bathroom.” The lopsided smile on Hermann's face was probably attempting to be sly, but he'd totally been at the drugs as well; it ended up more of a grin than a smirk.
“Um, rude.” Newt stuck his tongue out, but he was legitimately too worn out to be that much of a shithead. He shuffled over to Hermann's little bathroom caddy thing, and pulled out a couple of laundry bags.
“Accurate.” Hermann was apparently done with the face deforestation; he gave his chin a bit of a wipe down, then limped over to the shower to get the water going. “Now stop faffing about; we both need to be in bed, but I absolutely refuse to put up with your grime.”
Wow. Hermann was such a dick. Newt totally preferred him that way, and was actually pretty relieved that their little bromance had survived The Week, but still! So rude. “Keep your panties on! I'm getting there.”
Newt had maybe stalled a bit, but only a tiny bit. It was hard to keep his head on straight and task start when most of his blood volume had been replaced with drugs. There was also a decent amount of wooziness going on, which made him a little bit scared to bend down and pick up the nasty heap of clothing. The last thing he needed was to faceplant trying to bag up laundry.
“Here.” Apparently it was kind of obvious that Newt had got himself into a bit of a bind. Obvious to Hermann, anyway; he held out his little grabber stick thing for Newt to take.
Fuck only knows where he'd got it from, because Newt was pretty sure it hadn't been in the bathroom with them a minute ago. Still, it was legit exactly what he needed, and his poor brain was toasted; it would be way too much hassle to figure out Hermann's little magic tricks.
“Ugh, thanks.” It was so much less scary to scoop his gross clothes up with the grabber, and there was the added benefit that he didn't have to touch them. “I think bending down right now would be kind of stupid.”
“Are you still feeling poorly?” There was a little crinkle of worry between Hermann's eyebrows. “We can give the shower a miss…”
“Yeah, not fucking happening.” Newt was having a fucking shower regardless. If he was too dizzy to stand he'd sit on the damn floor, because there was zero chance of him staying all grody. “I am in no way stoned enough to put up with how gross I am right now.”
The way Hermann was watching him? Yeah, it felt like being x-rayed. “You didn't actually answer the question.”
Newt finished tying up his manky clothes, then tossed the bag off into a corner. Man, it would feel great to see that shit on fire… “I'm not trying to be evasive or whatever. I'm just- ugh. Still pretty wasted? Head's a bit slushy.”
He'd managed to take nearly all of his regular meds under Jeth's evil eye, which probably explained a lot of the hazy feeling. It'd been… eh, maybe the better part of a week since he'd taken them like he should, and it always left him feeling weird for a few days while he got back on track. Add to that a legitimate illness and fuck all sleep? Yep. Newt's brain was going to be a potato for ages.
“I suppose you have been given a fairly obscene amount of medication.” Hermann quirked a smile, and shuffled his shower chair thingy under the spray.
“Soooo much.” His normal meds were sometimes enough to make him all droopy; adding a giant killer virus and a roofie on top was pretty much guaranteed to melt Newt's brain. “I'm not complaining, because things are still kinda sore, but still. Mushy head.”
“If you pass out in the shower, I might be forced to strangle you.” Hermann gestured magnanimously towards the chair. “Do not pass out in the shower.”
Newt had zero desire to do that, to be fair. He had just managed to escape Jeth's evil clutches; if he splatted he'd probably end up stuffed in the Infirmary for the night. Longer, probably, because even the nice doctors were assholes like that.
“I'm not feeling faint-y right now. Just sort of… meh.” Wet was sort of awful, especially when he didn't feel great, but Newt wanted to be clean so fucking badly. He braced himself, and stepped under the spray.
It wasn't actually as bad as he'd been expecting; Hermann had made the water decently warm, and being able to plonk down on the seat was pretty nice. Way better than trying to keep his balance.
“Please, please let me know if that changes.” Hermann passed him a bottle of body wash and a clean flannel, before edging back a bit. “I'm far too tired to deal with getting you back up off the floor.”
Hermann wasn't exactly able to get himself up off the floor; there was absolutely no way he'd be scooping Newt up. Granted, Newt was normally pretty good at sorting himself out. He was kind of prone to the whole fainting deal; he had a system in place.
“I'm good, dude.” Newt was really, really tired. He was also spectacularly wasted, and maybe a smidge feverish still, but overall? So much better than he had been. “It's stoned wibbly, not the about to fall over version.”
Apparently that was enough to earn him a dirty look from Hermann. “I've been reliably informed that you passed out in the lift earlier. Do not, under any circumstances, do that again. Especially not in my bloody bathroom.”
“Eh, I'd puked my blood pressure into nonexistence, but it's all better now.” It was over a hundred, anyway, which was as good as could be expected given the whole everything Newt's poor body had been forced to deal with. “A little bit of warm water won't kill me.”
“Hmm.” Hermann gave him another once over with the x-ray eyes, before apparently declaring himself satisfied. He nodded, and shuffled back over towards the sink. “I'm watching you.”
It was good to see Mr Math Bitch back to his normal level of saltiness. Newt laughed a bit, and dumped a handful of soap on his head. Even with the bazillions of pulled muscles making his arms sore, it felt awesome to give his hair a scrub. “I'm feeling super judged right now.”
“Good.” Hermann's bathroom was a little bit bigger than Newt's, to accommodate wheelchair days, but the sink was still far enough away from the shower that Newt couldn't see him all that clearly without glasses. Not that he needed to see; he could feel the look of Hermannly condescension perfectly.
“Do I even want to know what you're judging me for right now?” It could be literally anything, given how much of a fucking disaster Newt was. Hell, The Week had pretty much made a new ranking system of shitness, because seriously: fuck Newt's life. “I low-key feel like it's something insulting.”
Hermann was a creature of habit, and liked to wash up before bed. Newt couldn't see him all that well, but he knew how Hermann's funny little math brain worked. Once he was certain that Newt wasn't about to spontaneously die, he'd want to get cleaned up.
“Every single time I've taken my eye off you this week, you've managed to stumble into some new disaster.” The sound of the sink filling totally proved Newt's point; Hermann was a predictable bastard. He was also a bastard in general, because seriously; rude. “Forgive me if I'm a little wary of leaving you unattended.”
Man, he was such a prick. Newt couldn't help but laugh, because prick Hermann was happy Hermann. Well, friendly prick Hermann was happy Hermann; when he turned into a legitimate asshole that was a pretty good sign that he was miserable.
Ugh, Newt's brain gerbils were going all over the place, and he'd maybe forgotten to keep washing himself. Oops. He went back to attacking his hair with the soap. “You're literally right there. Just because I'm too blind to see you watching me doesn't mean I can't feel your hairy eyeball through the mirror.”
“How very perceptive of you.” The eyeroll was audible, and as previously mentioned: prick.
“You're such a dickhead, oh my god.” If Newt had been feeling even a smidge less done in, he would have thrown the washcloth at Hermann's head. He probably would have missed, because his eyesight was completely and utterly shit without glasses, but whatever. Hermann would get the point. “What are you even watching for?”
Typically, Mr Prissy laughed at Newt's totally reasonable question. It was a quiet laugh, but Newt could just about hear it over the water noises. “Some new disaster or other.”
“I'm ass-naked and in the shower, Herms… I have zero idea what you think I'm gonna do…” Sure, Newt had keeled over in the shower one time, but that had been ages ago and his own stupid fault. Parked in Hermann's legitimately-designed-for-the-task shower chair? No splatting risk.
The most troublesome thing he could do was, eh, probably jerk off? But that was so not on the cards. Newt was in no way one of those guys who could get it up and get off when he felt all poorly, but even if he was? Ha. Nope, no way was he going to risk his totally important blood exiting his head.
“The look on your face concerns me.” As far as Newt could tell, Hermann was half dressed and methodically washing and drying each individual inch of skin. He was really obviously occupied, but then again it was Hermann; he could totally multitask.
Because his mind had wandered that way, Newt gave his junk a bit of a clean. “Dude, there's literally one thing that I could get up to in the shower right now…”
“Oh for heaven's sake.” Long-suffering, thy name is Hermann Gottlieb; Newt came real close to a super unattractive snort at the mega unimpressed tone. “Surely you don't feel well enough for that…”
“Ha! Not even a little bit. I'm riddled with disease; prick is well and truly out of office.” There were some perks about knowing the biology of it all; Newt didn't fret that his junk was broken when it didn't immediately leap to attention at the slightest provocation.
Hermann chuffed at him, but in a relaxed sort of way. Dude could be really, really weird about anything even remotely sex related, but when it was just the two of them he unwound a bit. “Good!”
“Wow. Wow. I'm wounded, Herms.” Newt kind of wanted to laugh some more, which was super nice. He'd been so messed up for such a long time that just being able to take friendly potshots at Hermann was next level. “Stop wishing misfortune on me, you big meanie.”
“I'm hardly wishing misfortune on you, you menace.” Ooh, there was the eyeroll again. “At this exact moment I'm imagining the many and varied ways you could get up to mischief in the shower.”
Despite the (totally well deserved) assassination of Newt's character, Hermann sounded pretty happy. Some of it was almost certainly the painkillers, but the rest? Yeah. Dude was always way less scratchy when he could follow his little wash and dress routine.
Newt didn't really have a routine, but he was absolutely disgusting enough that the shower felt fantastic. It was nice to just sit under the water and let The Week swirl down the drain in a stream of minty smelling bubbles. “I'm way too tired to get up to shit right now.”
“Since when has that ever stopped you?” Hermann probably had a point there; Newt was a card-carrying crazy person, he got up to shit all the time.
“Right now, the most risky thing I've got planned is washing my feet.” Newt was decently flexible, so he absolutely could get his foot up to scrub at it, but he was sore. The temptation to leave his feet to wash themselves in the runoff was real, but ugh. Gross. The Week needed to be thoroughly eradicated, not just rinsed off.
“A truly challenging endeavour.” Hermann was, like, audibly smirking. “Hopefully it will be enough of a challenge to keep your mind out of the gutter.”
“Ha! No way, dude.” Newt was feeling just about well enough to be a little shit. He also had shit all in the way of impulse control and kind of wanted a distraction while he hoiked a leg up to wash his stupid toes. “I could totally tell you all about the biological and psychological processes involved with getting it up while I shower.”
The noise Hermann made was downright long-suffering. It sounded a little bit like he'd been punctured. “Oh bloody hell…”
“It's interesting!” Newt was a smidge tempted to use his own junk as a demonstration, but that would be a whole lot of effort. Eh, Hermann was smart enough to do without the powerpoint. “Like, sure, I'm pulling your chain a bit, but also science. The mechanism of an erection is legitimately cool, especially when you factor in the whole reflexogenic versus psychogenic component.”
It became really fucking apparent that Hermann was done with his little cleaning routine, when he tossed his balled up washcloth at Newt's head. It didn't actually hit him, but it came scarily close and was obviously intended to just clip his ear on the way past. “Oi!”
Typically unrepentant, Hermann stomped over to menace Newt in person. He'd collected his little grabber on the way, and looked like he wanted to stuff it up Newt's nose. “Stop discussing your penis, you horrible little man. You're bloody obsessed…”
“Right now I'm discussing penis in general.” Well, mostly. Newt wasn't exactly normal, but he was still a dude; he thought about his prick a lot. “And how there's an actual, biological reason why mine is completely and utterly negative levels of interested right now.”
“It had better stay that way.” The look on Hermann's face? Yikes. It was the sort of look that came hand in hand with the sudden arrival of freezing cold water.
Newt wanted to not refrigerate his poor, beleaguered prick into hiding, thanks ever so, and made sure to block Hermann's access to the shower controls with his shoulder. “Don't even think about it, dickhead.”
“Tit for tat.” Close as he was, Newt could actually see the smirk on Hermann's face. “It's bad enough that I have to see it at all…”
Wow. Wow. If Newt was the sort of dude who got all insecure about his manly bits? Yeah, he'd have been traumatised. “You've seen it before. Like, you've seen it often.”
“More's the pity.” Hermann used his grabber to pick up the recently weaponized washcloth, rather than deciding Newt needed an ad-hoc circumcision for being a little shit or whatever. He did make sure to flick gross drain water on Newt's lap, but that was kind of to be expected. “Heaven only knows why I've seen so much of it…”
“Um, because prudishness is a social construct, and junk's, like, completely and utterly normal.” Was Newt a bit liable to wither away in shame the literal second one of the Jock Brigade saw him without a shirt on? Oh yeah. But that didn't make his statement any less true. Body related shame was totally bullshit, and Newt knew it, but that didn't actually do much to stop it.
“I don't think normal and Newton bloody Geiszler belong in the same sentence.” Hermann mooched off to put the grody flannel in a laundry bag. His tone, though? Downright fucking evil, which probably meant there was a cutting remark heading Newt's way. “In this particular instance… hmm, I think ‘below average’ would be a good descriptor.”
And there it fucking was! Rude! “Low blow! Don't take potshots at my junk, you asshole.”
“Don't inflict the sight of it on me and I won't feel the need to.” Asshole remarks aside, Hermann sounded happy. Secure in his kingdom and finally convinced that Newt wasn't about to die or whatever.
“I'll have to whip it out more often, if that's all it takes to convince you I'm fine.” Would Newt actually follow through with it? Oh hell fucking yeah. His prick had magic powers; it would be ridiculous not to use them!
Hermann gave him a dirty look, which Newt could actually see; dude had wandered back over at some stage. “At your own peril, Newton.”
“Eh, I'm a rockstar. I can handle a bit of danger.” Granted, if the danger in question was Hermann's actual, legitimate ire? Eesh. Newt wasn't actually punk rock enough to brave that shit. Hermann was a scary, scary man sometimes.
“Hmm.” Well shit, that was a dangerous tone. Hermann almost sounded playful, which could mean all manner of bad things. Granted, it could also mean that Hermann was just high enough to drop the stuffy grandpa routine and act his age for once.
“Stop it with the judgement, asshole! I'm gonna get a complex.” Newt wasn't, because Hermann had seen his junk too many times to count by now, and clearly gave less than no fucks about it. It was legit nice, that they could just sort of exist together without the layers of armour and shame, especially after The Week had maybe convinced Newt that Hermann didn't want to be his friend anymore.
“Right now the most dangerous activity I'll permit you to attempt is washing your backside.” As if to prove his point, Hermann used his grabber to steal the washcloth Newt had sort of forgotten he was supposed to be cleaning himself with. Hermann then expertly flicked Newt right in the fucking head with it! Ass! “Now hop to it, before I have at you with the Brillo pads.”
Newt squealed a bit, because attack of the washcloth when he was high as fuck was evil, but it was pretty much impossible not to laugh. Hermann didn't often emerge far enough from his snippy turtle shell to play, so when he did? Zero chance Newt was taking that shit for granted.
“I'm sure there's people who're into that.” Not Newt; he liked his junk unmolested and not rubbed raw with the washing up version of sandpaper, but people were weird. He'd watched a show once, about the secret, kinky life of normies, and some of that crap was out there. Hell, Newt was a self proclaimed weeb who lived on the internet; he'd seen shit first hand.
“You're insatiable.” Hermann still had the flannel caught in the claw grip of his grabber, which he used to give Newt a bit of a poke. “Now stop faffing about and finish your shower before you turn all waterlogged.”
“Way too late for that.” Newt was well and fucking truly all wrinkly. Like a prune. But who the hell cared when he was finally clean. “It's cool, though; my poor everything got all dried out.”
“I know you managed to get ridiculously dehydrated, but surely absorbing water through your skin is a biological impossibility.” Well would you look at that, Hermann actually sounded curious. It was totally the odd, morbid curiosity that came hand in hand with being hella, hella stoned, but that didn't actually make it any less valid.
“Kinda.” Newt was pretty much all clean save for his literal ass, so he started the process of getting himself stood up enough to deal with that. “You can definitely get fluids subcutaneously, but that's not the same as transdermal. Closest thing to that is stuffing a whole bunch of fluid up your ass and absorbing it that way.”
Hermann wrinkled his nose, as he passed Newt the washcloth. “Bloody hell, I'm glad we managed to avoid that.”
“Ugh, me too. So fucking gross. Granted, it's normally, like, super emergency first aid in weird survival situations, but Jeth's sus, dude. I would in no way be surprised if he decided to shove something up me.” Newt couldn't think of much worse than butt meds, but given how bad he'd been feeling before Jeth had at him with the fluids? Ugh. He might have actually allowed it.
“I'm sure I could be persuaded to protect you, should it come to that.” Hermann was laughing at him, but in a nice way. He also stayed nice and close, which was way more reassuring that Newt wanted to admit.
Just having him there was enough to give Newt the oomph to wash the last few places, and turn off the shower. “I'd pay good money to see a death match between you and a stroppy, enema-wielding ginger on a mission.”
Newt wasn't sure who would win, but if he had to put money on someone? Oh yeah. It would totally be Hermann.
Dude was scary.