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“I swear to God, it wasn't me!” A flat, rushed voice yells across the comms line to the team of supers, collectively laughing and hollering at the background noise of Waterboy’s frantic screaming in disgust at the sensation of creepy-crawlies in his wetsuit and cobwebs in his face. They'd been called out to investigate underground tunnels that had Red Ring written all over them, but they only found an alien salamander race that had been creeping in and out of the damp sewers to survive close to the city.
The way Waterboy scrambled to grab or sweep away the insects that clung to him down in the tunnels only helped adhere them to his suit longer, as his water production increased with his terror. One of them had crawled on top of his slick auburn hair and fanned its translucent wings to dry out in the sun and fly away.
“OUGH– AAAGH… ASSIST… H-HH-HHEELLP–”
“I dunno how, man! They're everywhere.” Sonar’s dry sarcasm was lost on the poor guy, even while holding his laugh and watching Waterboy continue to flail after removing most of the bugs. The bat reaches over the hero once he pauses, clutching a twitching, half-dead roach off the top of the other man’s head and devouring it with a sickening crunch…
Then he carefully drags the needle tip of his claw across Waterboy’s temple to freak him out even more. The shriek that follows almost has their dispatcher join in the laughing fit.
“Eugh– Soggy…” Sonar complains briefly.
“Do it again– Do it– one more time for me, please. You make my fucking day.” Flambae’s voice continues to roar over the laughter in amusement, adding to Waterboy’s torture. The two of them had been hazing the poor guy more than usual these past few weeks.
“Y’all fucked up for that! I get it, I’d set that whole tunnel on fire if a bug came at me,” Prism shouts, but only after being unable to endure the pain in her sides from laughing so long.
“Sonar. Help him.” Robert sighs in exhaustion, barely audible to anyone else but Sonar due to the hysteria. The bat’s blind eyes widened.
“What? I didn't do anything,” he says while fanning his own wings out, about to depart.
“Sonar!”
“Don't leave the poor lad, their queen might send more to avenge her fallen soldiers!” Punch Up laughs quieter now, his tone still showing concern while unable to ignore the humor in the situation. Waterboy whines.
“St-t-t–”
“Oh my God, fine.” Sonar groans in annoyance over Waterboy’s stutters of disapproval. Over the communications line, their dispatcher listens to the rise in airspeed while the megabat presumably swoops down and captures his colleague with his clawed feet. This was confirmed by the immediate mid-air screaming of Waterboy.
“Wetboy can't catch a break today for shit… fuck, that is too good,” Flambae jokes, “That's what you get for making me slip on MARBLE yesterday, bitch!”
“...I'm taking ten.” Robert hissed,
The past two months have been rough on his psyche. Shroud was arrested, and everything should have been just fine after that… But the entire Z-Team could sense that something wasn't the same with Robert afterward. Malevola was the most levelheaded of the main group, chalking it up to the anxiety of knowing his father’s murderer was still out there.
The group all had different theories, but they could never know about the insomnia, the chronic nightmares, or the real reason he'd missed the last few days and never answered a single text or question about it…
Speedwalking through the office halls with his eyes straight down, Robert tried to focus on anything other than the image of Elliot’s bloodied, swollen face. He couldn't bear to look anyone in the eye right now. He just kept imagining if he was capable of doing it to them, too. He reached the break room where it had been empty, and Thank God it was, but the silence gave way to his invasive memories.
The voice of a man begging for his life. Quiet, strained, almost mournful of a version of himself that hadn't gotten himself in that situation. Regret for ever causing such a darkness to overcome the son of who was once a dear friend and teammate.
In that moment, his chest heaved at the smoke and the weight of his legacy on his shoulders. Robert’s mind wasn't right, burning with the hate he bottled up for years, the skin on his knuckles scraped away by the friction of each hit he beat into Elliot's head. With his hands then around Shroud’s throat, squeezing until his bloodied knuckles turned bone white, he finally felt his shoulders become light, the corners of his mouth quaking subtly upwards. He watched the suffering grow behind Shroud’s eyes, bloodshot red, turned slowly into a dull morbid hue of violet. He watched the light in Elliot's eyes begin to dim. He felt the elation of finally deserving closure for the father he never he didn't even deserve to mourn…
… But he also remembered his team watching over him. He needed to set an example for the people who all depended on him and that just wasn't the way.
The bullet in Invisigal’s chest… her blood spilling onto the roof and rubble where his suit had toppled over after the strenuous battle they nearly lost... He couldn't waste what little time he had left to save her and though his anger remained, Robert finally released his vice grip around the throat of his nemesis, and rushed to aid Invisigal instead. Even through all of her fuck-ups and insubordination, she was close to Robert… and he’d be lying if he ever claimed not to like her.
Knowing the lengths she went through for the likes of him… it still ate away at his self esteem. He didn't believe he deserved to be saved on that night.
The fire around them swelled, and it was the last sensation that lingered in him, the heat cradling something deep within him before he might dissociate from the world around him entirely. Even now, he still felt the heat across his back, warmth increasing to an almost unbearable temperature, until…
“What the hell, Robbie?! Take yer food out!” Punch Up’s voice snaps Robert out of his daydream and his body reacts by turning around before he can think to control his arms.
Flambae lets a high pitched grunt escape him when he gets punched in the gut by the dispatcher, who'd been standing over the microwave in a daze and watching his shitty frozen meal bubble and burn to a crisp. Little embers rolled across the top, collecting at the center like it were one big candle dying out.
Sitting at the table to their left was the Irish strongman, Punch Up, with his eyebrows raised at the weird reaction.
The door of the microwave opens, Flambae’s finger dramatically remaining on the button to let Robert figure it the fuck out. When the shorter man sighs and realizes he must've been there for a long time, Flambae backs off, but only physically.
“Shit… shit– Look, I’m sorry…” Robert scrambles, feeling suffocated by Flambae’s proximity to him. He uses a paper towel like an oven mitt to protect his fingers from the hot corners of the plastic container his food was burning in, nearly dropping it twice. “My bad, guys.”
“Calm the fuck down, Bobby, standing over there like a fucking zombie… move your flat ass out of the way if you're just going to ignore people trying to talk…” Flambae curses under his breath, reaching down into the drawers for silverware and an old plastic straw still in the paper wrapping.
“You alright there, bud?” Punch Up finally asks in a gentler tone, which made Flambae quiet down too, still cursing at their dispatcher in his head. Robert clears his throat, dumping the blackened plastic container into the trash. He was lucky it didn't explode. “…Robert?”
“Yeah, just… yeah. All good.” It was painfully obvious he wasn't alright. But Punch Up knew better than to pry right now, especially not with Flambae nearby.
“Didn’t look like it to me, Bob bob…” Flambae looks up from his bento box with a smug expression that he immediately drops, expecting Robert to still be there. He was gone. Punch Up shook his head silently, as if to say, ‘just let it go, lad.’
Flambae, however, was famously stubborn when it came to poking fun at Mecha Man.
—
“Lighten up, man. It's been ages since we've all gone out as a team… Drinks on us?” Malevola offered quietly, passing by Robert’s desk to touch base with their dispatcher before heading out for the night.
Robert was about to say no. More specifically, ‘No thanks, I actually stopped drinking a week after the Shroud thing’, but he was thankful for his exhaustion making the chore of verbalizing his emotions so unappealing.
He feels a playful shove on his shoulder from none other than Invisigal, smiling with an eyebrow raised at her favorite depressed punching bag.
“Aww, you hear that? It's like we actually miss you or something,” She teased, making sure to lay it on a little thick with how unfocused Robert had been for the second half of the shift. “We almost sent Coop to go check on you today, if you didn't show up.”
Robert scoffed, finding the comment a little amusing. “Blazer wasn't too jazzed about that either… but we worked something out.”
“Hey, Rob. We gotta talk business too; Beefcoin could really make a profit if we do it right, but it's a limited time offer if you want in.” says Sonar by the office door, finally back in his regular form, Suit jacket and all.
“... I guess this was a long time coming. Alright, sign me up.” Robert says impulsively, enduring the sharp pain in his spine causing a hitch in his breath. He forgot to take some pain meds before he stormed out of the break room earlier.
As a matter of fact… he couldn't have taken the ones prescribed, anyways. They had to be taken with food, and that went as poorly as expected. The others cheered and Malevola turned her back to him to text Prism that Robert was finally coming back around.
Invisigal locks her eyes onto Robert for a moment, keenly aware of every little quirk and mannerism Robert showed. The way he kept more weight on one leg than the other. His hand rubbing his lower back. Before she can notice how long she'd been staring, she realizes Robert’s eyes looking right back at her.
“Do I have twinkie cream on my ass again or something?” He asks sarcastically. Even with that stupid little smile of his, Courtney knew he wasn't able to joke through the pain for too long.
“Oh you're gonna get creamed up your ass, alright.”
“WOOOOOO–” Sonar dramatically hollers at Visi’s humor, “We are so back, baby. I call shotgun!”
Malevola squints her golden eyes, “You're the one driving us, dude.”
“Aww…” the bat wilts.
He follows the group loosely behind, lighting up a cigarette once the cold outside air hits him.
The trip down to the Sardine was full of banter between them all, most notably Invisigal and Sonar. Prism, Coupé, Punch Up, Waterboy and Flambae were already there, with Prism blowing up the group chat with pictures of the group, minus Waterboy, gathered around a pool table.
When the other half of the party finally arrived (plus Golem, who took his sweet time getting high and strolling across the city at his own pace), the club was already bumping and the good times only got better.
It wasn't long before Courtney dragged Robert to a table. It was an arm wrestling contest Punch Up started. Flambae had lost twice after gloating to the randos who challenged Colm and then stomped away, angrily cursing in another language while fire faintly ran up his triceps and shoulders.
Robert only shook his head, keeping a mental note to check on him later. For the time being, Courtney’s positive attitude actually was contagious.
—
“What the fuck was that, lad?” Colm starts, “You barely lasted longer than ten seconds! Don't tell me you're done tryin’, poolboy’s made it longer than that by now!”
Robert laughs, wincing at the pain in his forearm and the stiffness in his shoulder. He definitely didn't prepare or have the best posture for it, but he was impressed at himself for holding out.
“I almost had you, I got distracted!” Robert shouts over the music, grinning at the strongman who shared a quick fist bump with him. They both knew Robert wasn't winning that whatsoever.
“Do us a favor and get us some drinks before ya try again!”
Robert playfully salutes, taking off in search of something a bit cheaper than what they'd all started off with.
Immediately taking Robert’s place was the tall, raven-haired woman Colm loved most. He gulps as the slight smirk on the woman’s lips makes the Irishman’s heart flutter and his nervous grin quirk unevenly on one side. They both place their elbows on the table, his sweetheart staring him down with dark but playful eyes like a lioness staring down a short, stubby gazelle.
Coupé was about to totally assassinate his winning streak.
Across the bar, Robert makes his usual rounds like before he'd made himself so scarce. He walks around to the pool table where Malevola and Prism watch a guy ignorantly ‘show the ladies how it's done’ with no idea they were actually playing just fine without him. Malevola uses her tail to fuck up each of his shots without him realizing, and Prism kept turning her face away to secretly laugh at the bastard getting pissed off when Malevola purposefully ignored his advice and kicked his ass at their games anyways.
Then Victor, who contemplated karaoke since he didn't get to “totally rock out” the last time because someone (Victor) had decided it was actually the perfect time for stand-up comedy about the stock market and an infamous day in 2001. That was the end of that.
“Yo Robbie, what kind of music do you listen to?” He asks, which he couldn't think of an answer to fast enough. “I'm between… System of a Down, and… MCR. Now, that one's ironic, but it beats the other obscure shit you plebeians wouldn't understand.”
Robert had no idea how to reply to that, but thought about the kind of music that had been playing since they arrived. A lot of rock and alternative shit started playing after the pop died out and Prism got surprisingly bored of the options, and Robert was welcome to it, it wasn't something he regularly sought out, but he liked the intensity of it. It kept him awake, that's for sure.
“Don't tell Prism I said that.”
“Oh, S-Sweet— Good pick! Choices. Haha…” the faltering confidence in the voice they both recognized coming from beside Victor grabbed their attention, with the bat’s ears swiveling slightly. At the lankier guy sifting through the rock/metal section of their music choices. ‘Oh, great.’
“S-Sys-System of a Down is… they're a… great band…” Asks Waterboy, who finally seemed interested in something and confident enough to really show it.
Victor blinks. “You serious?” He asks flatly.
“Ehheh… heh– yeah, I um– Now I actually listen to… mostly death metal, but n-n-nu metal is… good. Too. That's… is that…?”
Victor blinks again, this time smacking his tongue against one of his long sharp fangs before speaking in a comically deadpan tone, “You, the wet sock that cries in a closet if someone raises their voice one sixteenth of an octave too high, listens to metal? You're a metalhead, is that what you're telling me? Name a band you haven't seen on a shirt, bucko.”
Waterboy almost looked too defeated to reply, and that alone made Robert squint his eyes at the bat to his left. Was he being funny? Or…
“M-My dad used to… play Bathory when I w-was little. Uh– smaller. My mom did not approve.”
“Tough shit, I dont buy it.”
“There's s-some good– cool stuff in here… Not just the popular… well known– Ohhh man, this is– t-t-thats… one of my favorites, we gotta sing Ri–”
“Who put this crazy shit on?” says a deep and gravelly voice out of nowhere from afar, big hulking steps reign in a warm welcome. Golem finally came in.
“Do Tears For Fears. Everyone’s either sad or just hoping for something that won't bore them, so everyone wins.”
“I give up. BeeGees it is,” says Victor.
Waterboy slowed down, his excitement burying itself beneath a mountain of ‘oh my god, stop talking' and ‘they don't want to hear this shit, just shut up’ in his head.
“O-Ohh. Uh… sure. 70s! Uh… I dont… know a whole lot of—”
“Sonar, you wanna drink or what?” Robert groans, promoting the bat to take the glass he was offered.
Having already finished a previous drink he got, (after a half hour of begging just to be seen by the bartender and then being forced to show his ID for the third time tonight), the shy, redheaded man was only a little loosened up. He was hesitant to accept Robert’s offer of one of the glasses of whiskey he'd still been holding onto the whole time. Was he really worthy of it…?
There wasn't much the others cared to get to know about Herman. He knew that Golem was actually four years younger than he was, and the youngest member of the Z-Team, but they still liked him more because he acted more mature. Or… Herman didn't know, maybe they just knew him longer.
Anytime Herman tried to talk to the others about hobbies or weekend plans, the conversation would suddenly be over or they were busy. The only ones who gave him the time of day without too much grief were Colm, Courtney, and Robert… but Colm and Courtney still picked fun at him sometimes, even though they knew how some of it made him feel.
… They did know how much it hurt his feelings, right…?
Waterboy reaches his damp, gloved hands out for the drink that was presented to him almost a whole minute ago, which Robert so gracefully held up for him to take.
“Ah… thanks– thank you, Rob…ert.”
“Don't mention it, kid.” Robert squeezed the taller man’s shoulder the way a dad tries to comfort his son without words or getting too close for comfort. It was a warm and strong grip that made Herman’s face turn redder than it usually was. It also was the only embarrassing thing nobody seemed to catch onto yet.
“You… are okay to keep drinking, right? Just let me know if you aren't feeling well, and I'll get you an Uber home. It's no big deal.”
Herman let out a nervous laugh, nodding and sending droplets of his sweat-water down to his chin, a few getting in his drink and on his gloves. Robert pretends he doesn't see it.
“No! I mean– yes? N-Not necessary, I'm feels–feeling… fine. Not… totally bummed out. Just… a s-small– little… bit. Sorta. But– night! The… T-The night is… still… young.”
Though his words always failed him before, he was shut completely up by the dark figure that now towered over Robert from behind. It was suddenly very humid in their corner of the bar.
“What's the matter with you? Still can't reach that stick you have shoved up your ass?” Flambae asks Robert rhetorically, snatching a drink from him with no hesitation.
He swallows its contents in a single smooth action, which Robert watches with unbroken focus. He was almost impressed by his rudeness.
“Instead of being an asshole, why don't you link arms with Colm again, Chad? Maybe you can try harder to win enough money to buy your own drinks for once,” Robert gives in to the banter Flambae usually started with him. “Though at this rate, smells like you'll be puking in the back of that Uber. Not him.”
Victor’s laughter immediately stops when Flambae casts a glare in his direction, thick furrowed brows framing his hostile eyes.
“Whatever, Robocop. Enough of the depressed single dad routine, Fuck off.”
“Happy to. I actually came here to have fun, believe it or not.”
Robert does his best to ignore the way Chad always had something to say that would piss him off. He looks at Waterboy one more time, as if to try and soothe his nerves and encourage him to do more than just stand there looking lost. If he wanted to follow him back to a booth with Courtney, Herman was his guest. But the way he still held onto a few CDs in his free hand told him Herman was likely going to linger there and try a bit harder to get his song choices in.
A short pause passes, with the bat pulling Chad's attention to the music he was choosing between. The superhuman actually didn't listen to whatever bands Victor and Herman were on about, but he was absolutely on board with some pop classics. ‘Ofcourse,’ Sonar thinks to himself, ‘The flaming gay guy in spandex listens to fucking Taylor. Right. Of course. Because who else.’
Flambae catches a glimpse of Waterboy still standing in his peripheral vision as he struggles to take a sip of the drink he was so graciously given. It was the cheapest shit Chad had that night, and it wasn't even good. He mostly took the drink because he knew Robert would give him one anyway.
“So what the fuck are you doing? Karaoke? Or are you here just to learn from the pros?” the flaming asshole chuckles, nudging Victor with his arm.
Herman almost forgot who he was talking to, surprised that the question Chad was asking didn't come with an insult thrown in.
“I p-p-picked– uh, I was gonna try it. Yes!”
“See that right there? That is why you should definitely not try karaoke. No one wants to hear whatever screaming emo shit you listen to if you're gonna st-st-stutter about it.”
“I… used to be– I… me and my friends were a-... Shut up!”
“As a matter of fact, what the fuck are you doing at a villain bar anyways? Phenomaman didn't even come. Maybe you should've gotten a lift from him, your skinny ass would make his night. What are you, a hundred and twenty pounds?”
“I dunno man, I mean, come of these dont look that bad…” Victor admits, glancing at a few of Herman’s choices.
Waterboy was turning red for a different reason now, and his lips barely touch his glass again before his drink is taken out of his hands by the worst coworker ever, who doesn't spare a single drop.
“Don't even try to keep up with us, Wet… Shitfart. I'm not carrying you home like the winged rat did,” Flambae laughed, leaning against the table behind him and Sonar that held extra CDs and magazines. He then smacks his lips a few times, “Who drinks this shit?”
“You... You did. twice. Now,” Herman answers defeatedly.
The sudden dullness of his voice, coupled with the droplets that ran down his lengthy arms illuminated a lightbulb in Chad’s brain. He turned to Victor with a sinister smile and a plan to match. Robert was right… Tonight was all about fun. If Waterboy was still acting like an overly sensitive virgin after this, then Chad would be right to keep hazing him. At least, in his mind he was.
“You two want some good shit? Whiskey is baby shit if you're serious. Come on, let's really see what the water baby's made of,” Chad suggests.
Victor roughly wraps an arm around Herman’s shoulders and herds him toward the bar counters on the other side of the Sardine, rambling and laughing the whole way. “C’mon, man. Let's put some hair on your chest.”
Chad felt his feet glued to the ground for the moment, his eyes following the two of his colleagues he decided would be worth spending the rest of his time with. He and Sonar were chill, and the crypto nerd actually did introduce him to some good music. He just couldn't take all the fucking screaming though, especially if he couldn't even understand what they were saying… as if the band's names weren't enough to make him cringe.
Herman was another story. A walking stick who acted like a kicked puppy, with a nose like Barbara Streisand. He would never not be annoyed at him for being so… Chad couldn't even find the word for it.
He leaves the two empty glasses on the ground, following the duo. His eyes are briefly snagged by the sight of Robert and Visi sharing shitty bar food in a booth… both of them looking a little worse for wear. The conversation must've been personal. That was fine, because Chad definitely wasn't trying to guess what the topic was.
—
“Oh, come on! Jokes aside, you can't just say something like that and then expect me not to care, Robert!”
“I'm serious too, Visi. Forget I said anything, and I don't want a word of this to get out to the team, or to Blazer.” The disgruntled man runs his finger along the smooth edges of his glass, his cheek in his other palm, propping himself up while giving his spine a break from being forced into half-decent posture for several hours before. “Don't… look at me like that.”
“Like what, like I don't want to clock into work and find out from Blonde Blazer that you hung yourself from your sad balcony? I even took a bullet for you, dude!” Courtney snatches the glass from her clearly drunk friend / boss, who she still had feelings for, but respected enough to stop pursuing as aggressively as before. “You’re cut off.”
“What?” Robert lifts his head slowly, fighting to keep the smirk creeping onto his face from turning into a reluctant smile. “You can't cut me off. You're not my mom.”
“That's not what I heard last night, dirtbag.”
Robert laughs under his breath at her slurred words, trying to rub the excess warmth out of his face. Her jokes made him cringe way worse than usual lately, but he’d never deny (or outwardly confirm) that she was still funny regardless. “You're the worst.”
“Yeah, I know… but you're stuck with me now.”
Robert jolts slightly at the sudden booming of drums, then an ensemble of guitar and bass booming harder than the song that played before it. He could feel the music in his chest, and it surprisingly didn't make him sick. It wasn't a song he'd ever heard before, so he assumed Victor must've picked something obscure as he expected. It was good, though. Robert wouldn't complain.
Courtney nods along, and Robert watches her expression change from curiosity to shock at whatever– or whoever– had taken to the stage.
“Yooo, is he for real?” Malevola saunters past, joining other patrons who start to look and gather around the karaoke stage.
Robert wasn't particularly interested in looking, if he moved too fast he knew he'd probably spill his guts on the floor and then some.
“Who put the wet guy up there?” A random man laughs with his buddies, which sets off alarms in Robert’s head.
Prism, drunk and having the time of her life with the muscular demoness by her side, raised a gloved hand and screamed, “O-KAAAY! Get it, white boy!”
“Holy shit, Herman’s doing karaoke.”
It wasn't until Robert heard Courtney say it that he realized what was going on. ‘Good,’ he thought, ‘It's about time he actually did something other than stand around and smile at people who didn't even know him.’
The intoxicated pair were lifted from their seats, Courtney being the one to initiate and pull Robert along with her, ushered toward the stage slow enough for him to get used to standing up again. Sure enough, standing hunched over as if to make himself small and invisible was Herman, his bright yellow and cyan wetsuit being too garish to ignore in the multicolor lights over the stage. Even with the dozens of posters and things on the wall, Robert’s eyes were glued to that damp, red, and wobbly stick figure of a guy who he’d grown quite fond of. His nervous quirks and optimism were a welcome and somewhat charming trait among the sea of dipshits he begrudgingly also grew to love.
His eyes caught onto one of the taller men in the audience, roughly the same height as Herman. A long dark ponytail swayed as its owner swiveled his head and bowed over in stifled laughter with the chiropteran at his side, pointing up at the man who seemed like he was about to burst into tears already.
Robert's gut clenched. They were going to make him embarrass himself in front of an entire villain bar.
“Oh, fuck. We gotta get him down,” he groans, walking through the crowd of people while trying to avoid shoving or touching anybody. Courtney stays right on his tail, and grabs him gently by his forearm.
“What? … Ohhh shit, you're probably right.”
In a flash of fuschia light, Courtney turned completely invisible so she'd have a better chance of getting through the crowd without angering the sea of guests who parted for the normie on his mission.
Robert could see it now. The second it's time for the singer to do his thing, just awkward silence and tripping over every syllable possible. The uproar of laughter would be deafening, and Robert wouldn't let another fucking thing go wrong for a member of his team. Especially not like this.
He was actually surprised Flambae and Sonar would stoop so fucking low.
Before he could process it, he was right at Chad’s side, burning holes through his face with a hostile glare the superhuman had never seen before. His laughter paused almost instantly, his smile dropping to a cautious grin.
“Ahah… Robbie, what's going on? What's that look for?” Chad chokes up a bit, caught completely off guard by his dispatcher.
“What do you think, Chad? The kid is on a stage with hundreds of eyes on him, did you think for a fucking second before you put him up to–”
“I didn't put him up to anything! What's your problem? You said to have fun, and—” Chad barks back, remembering the whole foot and a half he has over the skinny, bruised prick who thought he could boss him around outside the office.
“Humiliating someone when they're vulnerable is your idea of fun?”
Prism and Malevola were nearby but too focused on Herman to notice the argument happening not too far away. He nodded along to the beat with his hands raised in a shy T-Rex type of posture.
If it wasn't for Courtney standing between Victor and Chad, the bat would’ve stepped forward and tried to diffuse the situation, and definitely would've gotten chewed out just as bad.
Invisigal knew there was something to Robert and Chad’s constant arguing… She tried to ignore it, but then she saw something never would've believed if it didn't happen right in front of her.
The shorter man turned his head, lips pursed in silent frustration while he let Flambae let loose at him. They couldn't even hear their words anymore, but Robert's stern expression suggested he expected some sort of response from Flambae, just not the earful he was getting. When he was done, Robert just slowly nods without making eye contact.
Chad smirked.
‘Holy shit…’ Courtney and Victor both thought in their heads, knowing something Flambae said either struck a nerve or was about to completely set Robert off.
Then, to add insult to injury, the voice of the hero Robert was too busy crashing out to go rescue rang out on the microphone.
“ Heehh-hhheeeeyyyyyyy,
What did you say?
Are you talking just to hear what you're saying?
Are you talking just to fill up the space, please let me shut up and get out of your way… “
At first, the realization of what had already begun hit Robert in the chest like a ton of wet bricks.
Then, his brows furrowed as he slowly turned to see if the voice really matched the man he never imagined would've already gotten some whistles from the crowd around him. Prism waved her hand in the air to it, a little too pumped up for the vibe but she tended to be the most encouraging if she wasn't personally affected by Waterboy’s… Waterboy-ness.
The chorus swells, and the shy, unsure Waterboy the Z-Team was familiar with seemed to have mostly melted away into the young guy nobody knew was behind the stammering, wet mess. Herman lifts his goggles over his slick wet hair and shuts his eyes tight to put his feelings into the song. It had to be the first time any of them really heard Herman put his diaphragm to proper use.
“Just ‘cause you feel,
Doesn't mean that you're not the heel.
How do you feel?”
Slowly stepping up from the other side of the bar was Golem, nodding his large head to the beat with his earbuds in his hands. He was surprised to see and hear “Wetboy” finally get some stage time like the rest of them occasionally did, as he sang the words again.
“Hheeyyyy,
Give me a break
Aren't you tired of just yapping all day?
Jibber jabber jibber jabber away,
Please let me shut up and get out of your way…”
Robert faced the stage and Herman fully now, his expression in subtle awe at just… how… good Waterboy was. After the first couple words, not a single stutter, just a little late thanks to the alcohol. Speaking of which… he knew what he gave him wasn't enough to get him this confident.
The dispatcher turns slowly, Flambae still behind him with his eyes glued to the younger man who sang his stupid song. The kid was alright. He nodded his head to the beat with a scrunched expression, realizing that the little shit was practically talking to the Z-Team. Especially him, probably… But that’s what made karaoke fun for Flambae, so it was natural he’d suggest the drunk and extremely sheltered Waterboy to try. Nothing to write home about… But he would definitely ask Prism for the video she was currently recording.
“Waterboy!” She yells out, reaching her pink gloved hand and fluttering her fingers at him playfully the way she did sometimes with Chad as their own little thing. Herman blushed and played along with the grace of a newborn foal, stumbling over to flutter their fingers together. She laughs like crazy, and Herman takes notice of the phone camera pointed at him. He stands quickly like a flinch, but what was different about this interaction compared to most others was the smile that persisted on his lips. A genuine, modest smile with only a small pinch of fear as he bunches his arms together in front of him as if his body was saying, ‘oh, stop it, you!’
“I… totally did not expect that,” Robert confesses while looking up at Chad with big eyes and pursed lips, an expression that made it seem like he'd start crying or something worse. “Uh… Flambae, I'm… sorry.”
Before Flambae can reply with something snarky, they both turn back around when they hear Waterboy pause and a shrill, gurgly “Oh god…” come out of his mouth. The poor dude threw up.
The song was close to ending, but even as the music played, the various villains around the bar either nodded in solidarity at Waterboy or continued to cheer, albeit with laughter sprinkled in. Invisigal finally appeared right beside him, draping her arm around him to guide him off the stage. At the end of the steps, the entire crew gathered to nudge him around, ruffle his wet hair and tell him what a champ he was, even if he was covered in puke. Herman buried his face in his white gloved hands, laughing nervously at the sudden influx of praise he wasn't used to getting. Was this a weird dream? It felt like a dream. A totally terrifyingly terrific dream, Herman would say, if he were sober enough to say anything without puking again.
“Guess I gotta pay up! Holy shit, Waterboy!” Victor attempts to dap Herman up, only for their hands to completely miss each other the first two times. On the third wet and sudden smack of their hands together, Victor bends his fingers inward as one would do… Herman being Herman, he misinterpreted it as a handshake. Courtney lightly smacks the back of his head while he laughs along.
Robert missed whatever memo everyone suddenly got where they agreed to treat Herman a little less cruelly. Maybe he'd been misreading a lot of their interactions lately and the Z-Team was actually more closely knit than he thought.
But that still left him as the odd one out for the last few months. The outbursts… dissociating… flashbacks… jumping any time he heard someone talk who even remotely sounded like–
“Hey, where's the taco place we went to last time? Did anybody other than DAD (Robert) remember their wallet?” Colm’s voice calls out.
“I don't think any of you should be driving…” says his love Coupé, bending slightly to keep her hands on his broad shoulders after having one too many drinks herself.
“I only had two!” Colm jokes, immediately holding up three fingers, then just his index. The assassin rolls her eyes and Golem belts out a ‘har har’ at him.
“Guys. Portal.” Malevola gestures to the split in time and space she created with her sword. The group pretends to be awestruck, laughing through a long “OOOOOOOOOOOOO” they all dragged out just to waste time and be dicks. The red light illuminating the laughing drunken superheroes who stepped through.
“Did you play the third one? I think Gladice turns into, like, a potato or sum shit…” Golem asks Courtney who still has an arm around a half conscious Herman.
“Her name is-- thats the sequel, dumbass. There isn't— are you just fucking with me right now?.”
The last three to go were Robert, Malevola herself, and Flambae… who stood with one leg through the portal already. He looks back at Robert, briefly looking just as rightfully upset as he was earlier before tilting his head toward the portal.
“Come on, hurry it up, stupid emo fuck.”
Chad holds his hand out, almost losing balance on his one leg which makes him grin at just how stupid he was for stopping halfway through. Robert hesitates, slowly reaching to hold the other man's hand before Chad instead grips his wrist and pulls him through. “Oh my god, don't be so gay about it.”
Malevola swipes a still-half-full bottle of booze from nearby with her tail, before she and the portal disappear.