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Herman had always had his… quirks. Even before anything bad happened to him, he’d been a strange and anxious child. He was plagued by constant “what ifs,” didn’t get along with children his age, and hated to leave the house or go to school. He had no friends, and his speech development was behind other kids his age. They bullied him relentlessly for it, letting him know that being different was bad and wrong. Herm only felt safe at home, laying in between his parents on their bed. He struggled with being apart from them, much longer than other children did with their parents. The school nurse had developed a questionnaire for teachers to keep him from hiding in her office due to anxiety induced “stomach aches” and other minor ailments.
Herm’s father was a stern, unemotional man. He harped on his wife for being too soft on their son, entertaining his strangeness and anxiety. He thought Herm was too old for tears, too old for cuddles, too old for stuffed animals and soft comforts, much earlier than he was willing to get rid of them. Herm, from a young age, wished desperately that he could be normal. If he wasn’t so strange, he’d have friends. His father would love him and spend time with him instead of scoffing at his tears. He wouldn’t feel so scared and anxious all of the time.
The onset of his powers at age eleven made everything worse. If kids didn’t want to be friends with a stuttering boy, they most certainly did not want to be around a boy who made everything wet. Herm felt like the universe, or maybe God, was playing a cruel prank on him, making him disgusting and wet just as he joined middle school, the most awkward phase of anyone’s life. The one comfort he had, spending time with his mother, became impossible. Herman had a power not even a mother could love. No one wanted to hug someone so gross and moist. His parents whispered about him behind his back. He would sit outside their room, listening to them discuss him.
Herm endured many, many doctor’s appointments. There were a million questions about him to be answered. Why was he so wet? Where did the water come from? How did he become like this if his parents weren’t super? His father seemed especially occupied by the last one. At night, Herm heard him ask, “Are you sure he’s mine?”. Herm’s wish of missing school was fulfilled, but not for the reasons he wanted. And not for forever, just as long as it took to understand his physiology and strangeness.
When Herm was thirteen, he was called to the principal’s office in front of everyone. They giggled at him as he walked by, covering their noses and fake gagging. The secretary sent to retrieve him wrinkled her nose at his drenched hair, but led him to the office. She kept glancing down at the ground, presumably worried that her very high heels would catch a puddle and she’d slip. Herm trailed several feet behind her as he shuffled to the office.
When he was thirteen, Herm learned that his parents had died in a small villain attack. They’d been having lunch downtown on their breaks. He got to go home for the day. They expected him back in school by next week. It was a Thursday. His grandmother came to pick him up in her small car, handicapped sign swinging on the rear view mirror. Herm remembered someone telling him you weren’t supposed to leave it up while driving. He felt bad for getting her crochet seat cover and patterned rug wet. He felt even worse when he learned that her whole house was carpeted. That night, she came home with hundreds of grocery store bags filled with plastic wrap.
Herm was not a very religious man. He didn’t know if he believed in God. He didn’t know if he believed in heaven. He didn’t subscribe to a particular faith or denomination.
“What’s up with the necklace?” His boss asked him. “You Catholic?”
Despite all this, he had worn a cross necklace for eleven years. When his Grandma felt up to it, he put on a poncho, drove her to church, and sat in the back row. When she didn’t, they watched a preacher on the TV. He confessed his sins daily, read from a prayer book as he laid down to bed. Since his parents died, he prayed every night, for the safety of his Grandma, himself, and recently, his coworkers and boss. Herm didn’t believe in God, but he was worried about the possibility. If God was real, and he never confessed his sins or wore a cross or listened to a preacher, he would surely go to Hell. His life on Earth was hell enough, and the idea of something worse terrified him. He felt, deep down, that his parents’ deaths had to do with his lack of piety. If he had prayed for their safety, if he had been more involved, maybe God wouldn’t have punished him with their deaths. So he couldn’t let it happen again. And he couldn’t damn himself or anyone he knew.
“N- no I’m- am- no- not- not Catholic- Christian.”
“Sentimental?” Robert asked, cocking his head.
“Some- something like that- I mean- yeah.”
Herm had been working as a janitor at SDN for two weeks. It had been hard, at first, but he was slowly adjusting. The bodily fluids freaked him out, as did touching cleaning products constantly, but cleaning was good. He felt useful and needed for the first time in his miserable life. He knew the others thought he was disgusting, but that wasn’t new to him. Everyone had found him disgusting for nearly his whole life. He wasn’t. He took incredibly long, meticulous showers. He applied cologne, and had even found special water-proof deodorant. And, since his powers had manifested, he had stopped having body odor. He didn’t sweat. He just produced neverending water. And it was pure H2O. No salt.
When he first began living with his grandmother, she forbade him from touching any cleaning products. “Bleach kills.” She told him. The chemicals stressed him out. What if they got in his food? He touched his face with them? What if they seeped in through his pores and made him sick? Could that even happen? But he’d been working for two weeks, with no adverse reactions. And he used vinegar as much as he could, because he knew vinegar was safe to ingest. And the chemicals made things sterile. He liked that. He hated cleaning up blood and urine. There were so many people here, from so many different places. There were even people from different species! The likelihood of catching a dangerous, undiscovered disease seemed high. But the cleaning products stopped that. He liked to believe he was a hero in his own right, even if it was pathetic. He protected the people in the office from the dangers of bleach and disease.
Robert was sitting in the breakroom. Herm had just gone on break when he noticed the necklace. When Robert didn’t say anything more, Herm made his way to the sink, turning the water as hot as possible. He needed to clean off all of the chemicals, all of the potential disease and germs, and anything else before he could eat. He’d patted Robert’s dog earlier in the day. Dogs had dirt, feces, and other contaminants on their fur. He’d have to wash his hands extra long to account for that. He could feel Robert’s eyes on him as he meticulously cleaned the handles and spout of the sink, washed the soap dispenser, doused his hands in soap, and rubbed them fifteen times before placing them under the water. He didn’t feel the gaze leave as he applied soap the second time, going all the way to his elbows with the cleaning. He scrubbed under his nails diligently. Finally satisfied, he grabbed a paper towel, using it to turn off the sink before throwing it away and grabbing some to dry his hands with.
He made his way to the fridge, still holding the paper towels, and used them to open the door. He grabbed his lunchbox, a cute one his grandma had gotten him with a lobster pattern, and shut the door. He pulled out his chair using the paper towels before he threw them away and settled down to eat. Robert was still staring at him. Herm waited for the judgement and questions, but none came. His boss just turned his gaze back to his own lunch. It looked like he hadn’t been on break long, as most of his food was untouched. He continued eating his cheap fast food hamburger like he hadn’t spent the last few minutes staring at his coworker.
Herm didn’t eat beef. It kind of freaked him out. He could still remember when he’d learned about mad cow’s disease in high school. He’d spent the next few years stressing about it constantly, but he knew mad cow’s could only lay dormant for ten years, and it’d been more than that since he’d eaten any beef. He was nearly a vegetarian, only eating poultry and seafood occasionally. Herm had brought a tuna salad sandwich. He only ate tuna three times a week, maximum, to avoid mercury poisoning. Even though he really liked the way it tasted, and his grandma made a really good tuna salad.
Robert finished his hamburger. His hands were all greasy. He popped a fry in his mouth before looking up at Herm. “You like the job?”
“Y- yes- yeah! It’s- um, I mean- It’s really nice.” Herm didn’t like talking. He had seen a speech therapist, sometime in middle or high school, but he never really improved. Speaking was one of the many things he would never master.
“Really? Cleaning up after all these slobs is nice?” Robert laughed. It was a deep sound. Herm’s laughs always came out too high. A girl had told him he sounded like a hyena, some time in grade school.
“I mean- the janit- cleaning itself- isn’t- not- super fun, I guess. Y’know?” He admitted.
“Yeah, I know. I wouldn’t want to clean up after anyone on the team.”
Herm really envied Robert’s voice. It was so deep, confident, sure. He spoke like he had all the time in the world. He didn’t second guess every word. There was no stutter, no awkwardness.
“This week has really sucked.” Robert placed his head in his hands, still covered in grease from his burger and fries. Herm winced involuntarily. The idea of grease on his skin made him feel slightly nauseous. He swallowed his bite of sandwich before responding.
“W- why? I mean, what- what, um, happened?”
“I had to cut someone from the team. Didn’t exactly go well.”
Herm winced sympathetically. “Y- yeah- I- if I was- um, a dispatcher- I mean, your job is- the- the hardest. ‘Cause you have- y- you train- all the villains- ex-villains.”
Robert laughed. “Yeah, I might be inclined to agree with you, Waterboy.”
Oh, right. His superhero name. He’d spent days agonizing over it, and had settled on Waterboy. Now that he had a job and heard everyone make fun of the moniker he desperately wished he had chosen something cooler. Maybe something like Flood or Tsunami. But that would imply he was way cooler than he actually was. Maybe Waterboy was the perfect name for someone as useless and awkward as him.
“Welp,” Robert stood up, stretching his back and groaning, “That’s the end of my break. Wish me luck dealing with them.” He gestured out toward the offices, grimacing.
“Good l- luck!” Herm called out just a bit too late, the words hitting Robert’s retreating form.
A few weeks later, when Robert told him he was the replacement hero for the Z-team he thought it was a joke. Like, genuinely. Why on Earth would anyone choose him to be a real hero? He couldn’t do anything but gross people out by vomiting water. But for some godforsaken reason, Robert actually wanted him on the team. It was incredible.
Of course, it was hard at first. The team was, honestly, mean. They made fun of him relentlessly. He was their punching bag day after day. But he slowly learned. Slowly improved. And Robert was so encouraging. He never treated Herm like the fuck up he was. He acted like Herm was worth something. Like Herm could be a real hero.
Months after defeating Shroud, and even more months after being picked for the Z-team, Herm sat in a large booth in a crowded bar. He was sandwiched between Prism (Alice, he reminded himself.) and Robert. Flambae (Chad. That felt weird and wrong.) sat on the other side of Alice, yelling about a round of shots or something. Alice was taking selfies with her drink, which had come in a coconut and had a hibiscus flower on the rim. Robert was wincing as he downed whatever was in his glass, letting out a grunt at the probably disgusting taste. Punch-Up and Malevola were arm wrestling, Sonar was filming and egging them on alongside Invisigal, Phenomaman and Golem were… sharing a drink?
Herman was nursing a tequila sunrise. He didn’t really enjoy the taste of alcohol, and he really liked the cherries that came with the tropical drinks. He had learned to control his water, mostly. His head was still wet most of the time, and water tended to leak out of his palms and the bottom of his feet. But his body was mostly dry almost all of the time. He didn’t know it was possible to control, but it was, and it allowed him to have nights like these. He’d told his grandma he’d be out late tonight. It was a Friday, after a mostly uneventful week, and that was cause for celebration. The team liked to have these bonding activities now, mostly consisting of drinking, and Herm really appreciated them. They included him and he felt like he actually had friends. The teasing had lessened considerably and felt more friendly now. He’d learned how to combine his powers with his teammates, creating new and interesting strategies for dispatches. He felt… wanted for the first time in his life.
“You want anything?” Robert asked him, sliding out of the booth.
Herm’s drink was getting pretty low. “I’ll c- come with you! If, uh, if you want- if that’s okay.”
Robert nodded his assent. The two of them slid out of the booth. The floor was sticky as they approached the bar. The bartender slipped over, taking Robert’s order quickly. Herm pointed at the drink he wanted, letting Robert order for him to avoid the embarrassment. The stickiness on the floor made his stomach churn, the thought of germs and bodily fluids swirling in his mind. He turned away as the bartender made the drink. If he watched him make it, he’d see the tubs of cherries and oranges and lemons and he wouldn’t be able to drink it. He tapped the side of his head, calming himself. If he tapped, the cross contamination wouldn’t hurt. Robert’s eyes were on him, he could tell, but he couldn’t open his eyes until the drink was made and he was done tapping. Robert gently put a hand on his shoulder, and Herm turned. The drink was in his hand, in a silly shaped glass. There was no fruit on the rim. Herm knew for a fact that it came with an orange slice, as he’d ordered one earlier in the night. Neither said anything as they made their way back to the booth.
Chad was arm wrestling Colm and failing miserably. He kept insisting they go for another round, just for his arm to be slammed down again and again. Sonar had mysteriously disappeared (most likely to the bathroom). Alice had joined in on the filming, deciding that a livestream of Chad embarrassing himself would please her followers more than selfies. Robert rolled his eyes at them. He had what looked like a coke in his hands, but most likely had whiskey or some other liquor included. Herm awkwardly slid back into the booth. Robert followed, careful not to jostle his drink.
The night continued similarly. The others drank at a much more rapid rate than Herm and Robert. It took a lot to even get Herm tipsy, anyways. His system was basically being constantly flushed out. He wondered, distantly, if he could outdrink Colm. No one else on the team (besides maybe Golem) could, but Herm had a biological advantage. Tonight, though, he didn’t feel like testing that theory. He watched the rest of the team make fools of themselves before slowly trickling out of the bar as the night grew later and later.
Soon, only Herm and Robert remained in the booth. As they began to exit, Herm noticed that Robert was obviously a bit more than tipsy, but not by too much.
“Do you have a car?” Herm asked.
“My apartment is close,” Robert avoided. His words were slightly slurred.
“I’ll walk you,” Herm offered, letting Robert lean on him slightly. He definitely didn’t need to, but there were no protests. Herm let himself think that it was because Robert wanted to be close to him.
They made their way to Robert’s apartment. Upon entering, Herm found that Robert had collected quite a few more pieces of furniture over the last few months. It looked mostly thrifted, with nothing matching and more than a few scuffs. But there was a couch, and a worn looking recliner, alongside a few lamps and a coffee table. Herm set Robert on the couch and went to the kitchen to make him a glass of water. After a bit of searching, he found the cups. He diligently washed out the plastic cup, and washed his hands the way he always did before handling any food or drink. Then, he filled the cup with ice and water. Robert watched with slightly glazed, yet very interested eyes. Herm delivered the water to him and sat next to him on the couch, watching him sip it.
“Y’know, Herman.” Robert’s words were more slurred than Herm had initially realized. Maybe he was more drunk than he thought.
“I’m so proud of you. Like… you were so insecure and now you know how to use your powers and talk to everyone. And you keep doing everything even with your weird rituals getting in the way. Like, you don’t let it get you down… even when you have to do all the weird washing and tapping and stuff. I don’t get it man, I wouldn’t be able to do what you do. It seems so hard.”
Herm stiffened. His contentment with the night and excitement to spend extra time with Robert suddenly vanished. Robert was the only person he knew who had never commented on it. Every other person in his life, including the entire Z-team and his grandmother, had made comments and asked questions. “What’s with the tapping?” “Why do you wash your hands like that?” “Why the necklace?” “Dude, calm down.” “Waterfreak has to scald himself to be able to eat.” Flambae had teased him for it relentlessly when he noticed, until Herm had explained what it was in a desperate attempt to get him to stop. Once Chad realized what it was, he’d stopped almost immediately and threatened the rest of the team if they continued. Herm had really appreciated it. Chad could be… reactive and hotheaded, but he wasn’t a bad guy at the end of the day.
The one person who had never said or questioned anything was Robert. And here, in his drunk state, he was commenting. All along, he had been thinking it. He’d just been too nice to say anything to Herm. He was just being nice. Just pretending that Herm wasn’t a freakshow.
“I’m going to go home,” Herm declared. His voice was stiff and cold even to his own ears. He locked the door behind him and fled into the night, trying not to lose control of his water. How foolish of him to think anyone was capable of seeing him as anything other than offputting, freakish, strange.
He spent the weekend miserable. His grandma noticed. She asked to go to church on Sunday and he drove her. “What’s wrong?” She asked him as they sat in the back and the preacher gave a useless sermon about nothing. He didn’t want to answer. Nothing was wrong, not really. He had just misjudged. He had been stupid. He’d had complete faith in the one thing he never verified, the one thing he never doubted, and because he hadn’t double checked or worried he’d been wrong and gotten hurt. He had assumed Robert truly liked him for him and didn’t mind his rituals and weirdness and wetness. But now he knew. Robert did mind, he was just nice. He just didn’t say it out loud. And Herm was an idiot who had mistaken that for genuine caring, genuine friendship, genuine acceptance of his freakishness. He’d mistaken politeness for something so much deeper that had never been there. He’d even started, foolishly, thinking that maybe his little crush on Robert could develop into something more. That maybe there was one person in the world who could actually like and eventually love him.
He told his grandma that nothing was wrong. He drove her home, unloaded her from the car, climbed the stairs to his room, and cried.
The only “relationship” Herman had ever been in was in high school. A sweet, pretty girl had asked him to the homecoming dance. He was so excited. He’d never been on a date before, and he wanted to impress her. He invited her to an upscale sushi place, and bought a suit. He wore a wetsuit underneath, hoping to minimize how damp he got. He picked her up at her house. Her parents took pictures of them. They went to dinner and had a fairly nice time. She was funny and laughed at his shitty jokes. She was patient and didn’t mind his stutter. She looked gorgeous in a sparkly red dress. Her bleach blonde hair was curled perfectly and she had mesmerizing glittery eyeshadow on. They drove to the dance and he was so excited. It was his first dance ever. He’d never bothered to show up, knowing he’d just embarrass himself, but now he had a real date who actually liked him! He entered with her, feeling on top of the world. Then, she’d found her friends.
“There is no way you actually asked the wet freak! And he came! Oh my god!”
She laughed at him alongside her friends. She couldn’t believe he’d actually bought it. Of course, she hadn’t actually wanted to go with him. He was pathetic, weird, and wet. He was anxious and stuttered. He was gangly and tall and bony. No one would ever want him. He didn’t know how he had let himself forget that.
Work on Monday sucked. Herm avoided Robert like the plague. When he saw him in the breakroom, he ate lunch in the janitor’s closet. He left early, rather than late, because he knew Robert would stay late and he couldn’t get caught by him.
By Tuesday, the other members of the Z-team had noticed that something was up with Herm. They interrogated him, but he wouldn’t answer. Eventually, though, Courtney figured out that it was related to Robert.
“Did you guys hook up on Friday?” She gasped.
“W- what? No! Ab- absolutely not!” Herm yelped.
“Then what’s up with him? Did he try to put the moves on you when he was drunk?” She narrowed her eyes at him. She was sitting on a chair backwards, munching on an apple in the break room. Both of them were “resting” after a particularly difficult dispatch involving a rampaging dirt monster.
“N- no. He jus- just- said some things. I- I just- I don’t- I- ugh.” Herm gave up, sighing in frustration.
“Do I need to beat his ass?” Courtney’s eyes lit with a fire.
“N- no. It’s- it’s okay. He- he just… um, made- um, hurt my- my feelings. I guess. He’s- I’m- it’s okay.”
Courtney looked skeptical but didn’t push further. Herm figured she could tell that it was a sore spot. He also knew that she had been salty, for a while, about Robert rejecting her. He thought she was over it by now, but she seemed… unusually enthusiastic about the idea of beating him up. She respected his boundaries, though, and he really appreciated it.
By Wednesday, Robert seemed really worried. He kept trying to make conversation with Herm during dispatching, but only received short, clipped answers. Herm noticed him missing important details and struggling to keep up with the whole team, despite the requests not being out of the ordinary. Herm wondered if he was causing all that, or if something else was going on with Robert. He assumed it must be something else, as well, based on what Robert had said that night. Sure, he’d said he was proud of Herm, but he also called him weird multiple times. That wasn’t really something you said to someone you cared for as a friend, and certainly not something you said to someone you cared for more than a friend, as Herm had previously suspected.
Herm couldn’t avoid Robert for forever, though. The current janitor didn’t do things the right way, and Herm needed to stay after work at least a few days a week to clean things properly. He couldn’t risk chemicals or illness getting around the office, especially now that his team consisted of actual friends. If he didn’t clean thoroughly, he was worried something might be left behind that would get them sick, or he would manifest an illness onto one of them. So he had to clean after work and make sure no one would get sick. He was scrubbing the microwave in the break room thoroughly when he heard a throat clearing behind him. He didn’t immediately turn, because he couldn’t be interrupted during his cleaning. What if he forgot the step he was on? He’d have to start from scratch and clean the whole thing over again. So he ignored whoever was behind him and finished rinsing the microwave. Once it was finished, he turned around. Robert was standing there, arms crossed. He looked pissed.
“Dude. What is up with you? You’ve been avoiding me for days and ignoring me during work. You know I’m your boss right?”
That sounded like a threat. Herm’s breath quickened. He was doing his job wrong. Shit. How could he be so stupid? He couldn’t be mad at his boss. Robert could fire him. He’d been shirking his extra duties, too, leaving work at the time everyone else did instead of going above and beyond like normal. What if Robert cut his pay? What if he wrote a personal report to Blonde Blazer about how shit Herm was at his job? What if he regretted picking Herm for the Z-team and he was going to fire him and rehire Coupe? What if–
He was cut out of his thoughts by Robert waving his arms in front of his face. Shit. Had he been talking the whole time? Herm was like, double fired now. He was going to have no job and then Grandma would have to sell the house and they’d be homeless and they’d get sick from all the stray cats his grandma would undoubtedly try to pick up that would scratch them but they wouldn’t be able to see a doctor because they wouldn’t have any insurance and then–
Shit. Shit. Robert.
“Herman.”
“Y- yes, um s- sir, boss. Um. I- I’m so- s- sorry. I can- um, I mean- I can pack my- my stuf- things- items.”
“What?”
“Aren’t y- you going- t- to can m- I mean, um, fire me?”
“Why on earth would I fire you?”
Herm didn’t know what to say.
Robert sighed, long and loud. “I’m not firing you, Herm. I just want to know what’s going on with you. You took me home Friday and then ran like I burned you when I tried to compliment you. And I know I was being kind of weird and mushy,” Robert’s face was flushed slightly red, “But that’s kind of just how I get when I’m drunk. I thought we were closer than that. I didn’t think me being sentimental would send you running for the hills and avoiding me like I’ve got a plague.”
What. Robert thought he was being… sentimental? He had literally called Herman weird and pointed out his weird rituals and said he couldn’t imagine being like him.
“Um. Sir.” He struggled to collect himself and decide what to say. “You didn’t- I mean- it didn’t sound lik- I mean, it wasn’t- I mean, I heard- ugh.”
Robert waited patiently, like he always did.
“Y- you called me… w- we- weird. And- and you- empha- pointed out my- my- m- my weird rituals.” He spat it out like it hurt. Because it did. He didn’t like to acknowledge it, didn’t like to remember it was there, didn’t like to remember it was a part of him.
Robert was silent for a long minute. Herman felt the embarrassing feeling of heat burning on his face and moisture collecting in the corner of his eyes.
“Herm, I didn’t mean that at all. I’m a stupid, sentimental drunk who can’t explain anything. I meant that I’m so proud of how you overcome adversity. I didn’t mean to call you weird. I meant that, I’m amazed and so envious of how you persevere and remain positive despite everything you deal with. You don’t let your unique powers get you down, you don’t let your rituals slow you down, you don’t let your anxiety slow you down. You take on every day with such strength and positivity despite the shitty cards you were dealt. I’ve never been able to do that. I admire it so much. More than I should.” He gestured uselessly as he rambled.
Herm stared at Robert, dumbfounded. That’s what he had meant? Herm didn’t think he could speak, so, instead, he hugged Robert tightly.
He was so much taller than Robert that he had to bend down significantly. But Robert’s head fit nicely into the crook of his shoulder, and he hugged back hard. Herm felt elated. He had been wrong to doubt Robert. This was someone who truly liked him, even admired him, not in spite of his weirdness, but because of it. He couldn’t believe his incredible luck. He couldn’t believe that, despite everything he had been through and everything wrong with him, he had people in his life who truly wanted him, truly like him. He had people that cared when he wasn’t feeling well, a friend who was upset when he ignored him, a group that interrogated him to find out what was wrong. Despite the years of being a fuck up, the butt of a joke, the person no one wanted, he had people now who truly loved him.
If a few tears escaped his eyes and got Robert’s head wet, they’d both pretend it was just him losing control of his powers.