Work Text:
They always liked to act like Herm was clueless, or ignorant.
Acted like he was some old, uneducated elder who didn’t know any better, who had somehow slipped through the cracks of the internet age and couldn’t possibly care less about mental health. The way the older generation was vague and dismissive, shrugging off concerns with a walk it off, it’s all in your head.
That was the version of Herm they joked about. Aaron never really understood why it stuck.
Maybe it was because nobody bothered to remember that Herm had been in social work. Or that he’d gone to college for psychology with a side of Division 1 basketball. Maybe it was because Herm didn’t talk about it much.
More likely, it was the joking itself. The way something repeated enough times it started to sound true, even if it wasn’t. Maybe somewhere in the back of their minds, they genuinely believed it.
Which was why Aaron was surprised when he saw him.
Because it’s Herm who comes. Tall, perpetually calm looking Herman, with his mean grin and open smile that somehow manages to be more comforting than mocking. His mouth isn’t curved to tease, however; he was worried. Protective.
Aaron’s relieved to see him.
How had he got here again?
x
Kevin had brought up the video idea weeks ago, casually, like he did everything else. Like it wasn’t something that would stick in Aaron’s brain and fester.
Aaron already knew Herm and Denny wouldn’t be having the same conversation. They never did: they liked being shocked on camera, liked the chaos of it, the real time reactions. Herm usually liked to know the rounds at least, to know what was coming.
Kevin wasn’t going to tell him this time.
He explained it to Aaron instead, voice animated, hands moving as he talked. The premise was a simple guess the real victim among five bullies. He wanted to have the bullies demonstrate their “skills” at the end by shoving someone into a locker.
That someone, apparently, was Aaron.
Aaron smiled while Kevin talked, nodded in all the right places. Inside, something curled tight.
Lockers were tight. Dark. Cramped.
He didn’t know if he could handle that. The idea sat heavy in his stomach, an unpleasant weight he didn’t want to examine too closely. So he didn’t.
“So why me and not Denny?” he joked, grinning. “Is it ’cause I look like a victim?”
Kevin stressed immediately. Like, visibly. “No! No, dude, not like that. That’s not-“
Aaron laughed, quick and easy, waving his concerns away. He was just playing. He’d do anything for a bit, and they all knew it.
Kevin exhaled, relieved, and then said, “And that’s why I love you, Aaron. You take every shot you can, and you always do your best for the bit.”
Aaron laughed again, but this time it stuck with him.
Every shot you can.
One of these days, it would come back to bite him in the ass. Maybe one day he’d wish he’d said no, or slowed down, or put up a boundary instead of vaulting over it like it wasn’t there. Because he really couldn’t see himself being shoved into a tight space and having it play out in any other way than badly.
The dread must have shown on his face, just a little, because Kevin paused. “Hey, we could scrap it,” he offered. “We’re already doing another activity round. I just thought it’d be funny.”
Aaron was quick to reassure him. “No, no, it’s fine,” he said, smiling. “I’m down to do it.”
x
A few weeks later, they were filming the fated video.
Kevin did the introduction like normal, quick and loud, running through the premise. Aaron sat with the others on the panel, hands folded loosely, smile mischievous.
At the very end, Kevin grinned and added, almost as an afterthought, “And later, to test these suspected bullies, Aaron will be shoved into a locker!”
Instantly, chaos.
Denny laughed first. “Why do you always volunteer for this stuff?” he said. “Did you forget the wrestling video?”
Herm chimed in, eyes flicking to Aaron with a teasing smirk. “He must’ve volunteered,” he said. “Probably likes being somewhere with very little movement.”
Kevin laughed, half grateful, half apologetic, clapping Aaron on the shoulder. “We appreciate you, man.”
Aaron laughed along with them. He ignored how his stomach was tight, and his pulse was just a little too fast, and the something in him that was already bracing for impact.
Then, what feels like a few minutes later, it’s time for the locker bit.
The studio shifts around him as they reset, people moving equipment, getting ready for this part of the shoot. Aaron steps closer to the locker and the line of bullies and feels it then, the way his chest tightens just a little too much, the way his hands curl in on themselves without him telling them to.
He’s nervous. And it must show, because Herm notices. Herm always notices.
“Hey,” Herm says, casual, low enough that it almost blends into the noise. They haven’t started the bit, technically, but everyone is there and listening. Herm gets up from his seat and walks towards him, angling his body just to slightly block him from the camera. “You don’t actually have to do this, you know.”
Aaron blinks at him.
Herm’s mouth is curved like he’s teasing, but his eyes are steady. An out, offered cleanly, without judgement.
Aaron swallows.
He thinks about it, he really does. The bit. Kevin trusting him. The way he’s already said yes, already committed, already standing and ready to be shoved into the singular blue locker they have placed.
Looking at it, it’s smaller than he thought. He probably should make good of Herm’s offer, but when has Aaron ever been able to put himself first?
“I’m good,” he says, forcing a smile. “Thank you, though.”
Herm holds his gaze for another second, searching, then nods. “Alright.”
The first bully steps up. He’s big, but careful, Aaron notices that even through the nerves. The guy doesn’t shove him hard. There’s no real force behind it, just enough to guide him backward.
The locker yawns open.
Aaron ducks inside, folding himself in awkwardly, knees bumping metal, shoulders brushing the sides. The door swings shut.
Clang.
The sound is louder than he expects. It echoes inside his head, sharp and final.
Then, a click. The lock slides into place.
Outside, the guys laugh. Talk over each other about technique, about angles, about whether that “counted.” Someone says something funny. Someone else replies.
Aaron’s okay. He tells himself that immediately, firmly. He’s fine. This is fine.
He focuses on his senses, like he’s done a hundred times before when things start to feel weird.
Smell: metal. Cold, dusty metal. Old, like pennies and oil and something faintly sour.
Sight: nothing. Just darkness. A seam of light at the edges that disappears when he shifts.
Hearing: his heartbeat. Loud. Too loud. Blood rushing past his ears. The soft scrape of his clothes against the locker walls. Voices outside, muffled but present.
Touch: the locker pressing into him. Shoulders first, then hips. The widest parts of his body reminding him exactly how little space there is.
He breathes in. Out.
He can feel himself getting more nervous, the tension creeping up his spine, but he clamps down on it. If it’s just for a few minutes at a time while each bully tries, along with some commentary, then he’ll be fine.
Someone suddenly tugs on the door.
Aaron startles, the sound yanking a laugh out of him before he can stop it. “Jesus-”
Kevin’s voice comes through the metal, distorted but recognizable. “Wow,” Kevin says, laughing. “This is hard to open.”
Aaron smiles, shaky. “Very funny.”
Then someone else tries.
The door rattles harder this time. The whole locker shakes, and Aaron can feel it through his back, through his shoulders, through his teeth.
The mood outside shifts. More confused.
“Uh,” Aaron says, voice pitching higher despite himself. “Guys?”
Another pull. Another shake. The metal groans.
“Wait,” Kevin says. “Hang on.”
They can’t open it.
The realization lands slowly, like his brain is trying to protect him from it.
Kevin’s voice sharpens, edges fraying. “Okay, hold on, Aaron. Zane, why isn’t this-”
Herm’s voice joins in, closer now. Denny’s too.
“Aaron, you good?”
“Can you move?”
“Hey, Kevin’s probably just forgot the code, let’s give him a minute-”
Aaron hears them, but the words don’t stick.
All he can think about is the space. How small it is. How tight his shoulders feel. How the air feels thicker, hotter, harder to pull into his lungs.
They can’t open it.
The thought spirals, fast and relentless.
What if they can’t open it at all? What if he’s stuck here forever?
His pulse spikes, slamming against his ribs. He hugs his arms closer to his body without meaning to, trying to make himself smaller, trying to take up less room in a place that already has none.
Outside, they keep talking. Keep trying, shaking the locker and bouncing Aaron around the already cramped space.
Inside, Aaron’s thoughts drown everything else out. They probably think he’s ignoring them, but the panicked thoughts his brain is screaming trump everything else.
Stuck.
The word repeats, over and over, each time heavier than the last. Stuck in the cramped space. Stuck with nowhere to stretch, nowhere to shift without scraping metal. Stuck with the air getting warmer, thinner, like it’s being rationed.
Fear blooms full and vicious in his chest.
The locker creaks. It’s a small sound. Barely anything. Just stressed metal bending under pressure.
Aaron loses it.
His body jerks hard, reflexive, and his head thumps against the back wall of the locker with a dull crack that rattles his teeth. Pain flashes bright and sharp, but it barely registers compared to the surge of terror that floods him.
He folds in on himself.
Wraps his arms around his own shoulders like he’s trying to hold himself together, like if he squeezes hard enough he won’t come apart. He clenches his eyes shut, because that’s a darkness he’s used to seeing, unlike the lack of light in the tight space he’s confined in.
A strained, choking sob rips out of him, raw and uncontrolled, and he plunges his face into his hands, breath hitching painfully in his chest.
He’s so hot.
Almost feverish. Sweat prickles along his spine, dampens his shirt. His muscles are coiled tight, pulled taut like steel cables wound too far, trembling even as they refuse to relax. His heart is pounding so fast it feels unreal, like it’s trying to outrun him, like it’s slamming itself against his ribs looking for a way out.
He needs a way out.
“Get me out,” he whispers.
No one hears him.
“Please,” he adds, voice barely there. “Get me out.”
The words disappear into the dark.
Time stops making sense.
The panic stretches, smears. His thoughts fragment, slipping through his fingers when he tries to grab them. His body feels distant, unreal, like he’s watching it from far away instead of living inside it.
He doesn’t know how long he stays like that.
Seconds. Minutes. Hours, maybe.
And that’s how he gets there.
When the door rips open, light floods in violently, blinding after so much dark. Cool air hits his face all at once, shocking and sharp.
Herm is there.
He looks furious, jaw set, eyes dark, hands gripping the locker door like he might tear it clean off the hinges if it dares resist him again. The bright light behind him accentuates what shocked Aaron in the first place- worry. Herm’s calm was gone, replaced by something sharp and protective, something unmistakably real.
“Aaron,” he says, voice steady despite everything. “Hey. I’ve got you.”
Strong hands guide him out. Aaron barely helps, legs shaky, body uncooperative. Herm keeps him upright anyway, like it’s nothing, like this is the most natural thing in the world.
And somewhere through the haze, he’s confronted by another shocking thought: Herm knows what to do.
He doesn’t crowd him. Doesn’t pull him into a hug or overwhelm him with noise. He whisks Aaron away from the locker, past the cameras, past the cluster of worried voices, into a corner of the studio that’s well lit and quiet and far enough removed that the chaos fades into a dull hum.
Herm sits a few feet away from him. Close enough to be there. Far enough to give him space.
“Okay,” Herm murmurs. “You’re out. You’re safe.”
Aaron stares at the floor, breathing ragged, hands still clenched like he’s bracing for impact.
“Look at me if you can,” Herm says softly. “You don’t have to, but if you can.”
Aaron doesn’t.
“That’s fine,” Herm continues easily. “It’s Tuesday. We’re in the studio. It’s-” he clicks his phone one, “-3:17 p.m.”
He keeps talking, grounding him with facts, with reality. Then, seamlessly, he shifts, starts telling a stupid story about a guy he met a few nights ago who’d insisted pigeons were government drones. His voice is low, steady, faintly amused.
It gives Aaron something to latch onto.
Slowly, painfully, the fog thins.
The room comes back into focus. The lights. Herm’s shoes planted solidly on the floor in front of him.
When Aaron finally lifts his head, his throat aches. Herm quiets, smiling at him comfortingly.
He swallows. “So,” he says hoarsely, attempting humor he doesn’t quite have the energy for, “you know how to deal with panic attacks now, or… is this something you’ve known for a while?”
Herm snorts quietly. “For a while.”
Aaron frowns faintly.
Herm shrugs. “Social work,” he says. “Psych degree. Remember?”
“Oh,” Aaron breathes.
“I wasn’t exactly hiding it,” Herm adds, tone gentle, not accusatory.
“I know,” Aaron says quickly. Then, after a beat, softer, “I did know. I just… didn’t realize it like that. Seeing it.” He exhales, shaking his head, “I don’t know why I’m so surprised.”
Herm doesn’t say anything to that. Just hands him a bottle of water that Aaron didn’t notice he had, cool against Aaron’s overheated palms.
It gets quiet between them.
They both go to speak at the same time.
“I-” “You-”
They stop.
Herm lifts a hand immediately, easy, reflexive. “No, you go.”
Aaron hesitates. He stares at the bottle in his hands, twists the cap even though it’s already open.
“I just-” He exhales through his nose. “I need to say this before I chicken out.”
Herm nods once. “Okay.”
Aaron swallows. “I’m not… like. I’m not some traumatized kid.”
Herm’s expression doesn’t change, but the comment grabs his full attention, straightening his back slightly and leaning forward.
“I don’t have a tragic backstory,” Aaron continues, words tumbling out faster now. “Nothing bad happened to me in a locker. I wasn’t bullied, or abused. There isn’t some big reason why that,” he gestures vaguely back toward where they were filming, “set me off.”
He laughs weakly. “I didn’t even know if it would set me off. If I’d known for sure, I swear, I wouldn’t have agreed to Kevin’s idea. I wouldn’t put everyone through that. I wouldn’t-”
“Aaron,” Herm says gently.
Aaron plows on anyway. “It just feels stupid. Like, why did that do it? Of all things. I’ve done worse bits. I’ve been in worse situations. And suddenly I’m,” He makes a helpless noise. “I’m losing it in a locker like- like-”
Herm snorts.
It’s quiet, but unmistakable.
Aaron blinks. “Did you just…”
“Yes,” Herm says. “Because that was heading somewhere unhelpful.”
Aaron huffs a laugh despite himself. “Sorry.”
Herm leans forward slightly, forearms on his knees. “Listen to me.”
Aaron does.
“You do not need a tragic backstory to have a bad reaction to something that scares you,” Herm says, calm and firm. “Fear, panic, all of it. Sometimes, there’s no justification for it. It’s just how you feel.”
Aaron opens his mouth.
“And,” Herm continues, cutting him off smoothly, “if you had even the slightest bit of reluctance, even the tiniest ‘hm, maybe not,’ you should’ve spoken up.”
Aaron winces. “Yeah.”
Herm tilts his head. “Which you didn’t do because…”
Aaron sighs. “Because I wanted to help. Because Kevin asked. Because it seemed like a fun joke. There were more reasons to do it than not to do it, I guess.”
Herm stares at him for a long second. Then: “You are a self sacrificial idiot.”
Aaron laughs, startled, the tension snapping clean in half. “Wow.”
“I say that with love,” Herm adds. “And concern.”
Aaron grins weakly. “You billing me for this?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
Aaron laughs again, more real this time. “Thank you,” he says, quieter. “Really.”
Herm shrugs. “Anytime.”
There’s a beat.
Then Aaron shifts, restless. He glances at the space between them, hesitates, then says, “Hey, uh… can you…”
Herm doesn’t wait for him to finish. He scoots closer, turning his body around to lean on the same wall that Aaron was sitting against.
Aaron leans sideways, slow and tentative, like he’s checking for permission even as he does it. His head comes to rest against Herm’s chest. Herm freezes for exactly half a second, then relaxes, placing one of his long arms around Aaron’s shoulder.
“Okay?” Herm asks.
“Yeah,” Aaron murmurs. “Just. Don’t move.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
Herm pulls out his phone with his free hand, thumb moving quickly across the screen.
Aaron squints down at it. “Are you texting?”
“Mhm.”
He hears two distinct voices in the background.
Aaron exhales a laugh. “You texted them, didn’t you.”
Herm doesn’t look guilty at all. “Of course I did.”
“Unbelievable.”
“You passed out in a locker, Aaron.”
“I dissociated.”
“Semantics.”
Footsteps approach fast.
Kevin’s voice hits first. “Aaron?”
Then Denny. “A Boogie!”
They appear in the doorway, both of them looking wrecked. Kevin pale and frantic, Denny trying and failing to mask how worried he is.
Kevin crouches immediately. “Hey, hey, are you okay? Do you need water? Do you want to stop filming for the day? We can stop filming. We’re stopping filming, right?”
“I’m fine,” Aaron says quickly. “I’m okay.”
“You were not okay,” Denny says flatly. “You idiot.”
“Wow,” Aaron mutters. “Sympathy is alive and well.”
Denny points at him. “You should’ve said no. Aaron, I know you love a good joke, but c’mon-“
Kevin nods rapidly. “You could’ve said no. I would’ve scrapped it! I literally offered.”
“I know,” Aaron says. “I know.”
Kevin’s eyes flick to Herm, noticing the positioning for the first time. Aaron leaned against him, Herm steady and calm.
“…Did you-” Kevin starts. “Herm, did you-”
“I handled it,” Herm says simply.
Denny squints. “Since when do you know how to handle that?”
Herm raises an eyebrow. “Since always.”
Kevin looks between them, incredulous. “Why do I feel like I just found out something illegal?”
Aaron snorts. “Surprise. Herm is actually great at dealing with emotional situations.”
Herm deadpans. “I would have preferred if it didn’t need to be revealed like this, but… Aaron’s an idiot.”
Aaron giggles, “So, we’re all just going to call me an idiot?”
Kevin rubs his face. “Jesus. Aaron, man, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Aaron says, meaning it this time. “Really. I’m okay now.”
“You sure?” Kevin asks. “Like, actually sure?”
Aaron nods. “Yup. I promise.”
Denny exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Herm’s right. Still an idiot.”
Kevin hesitates, then says softly, “We’re not using that footage.”
Aaron considers it. Then shakes his head. “That’s fine.”
Kevin frowns. “Fine as in?”
“Fine as in we’ll talk about it later,” Aaron says. “Not right now.”
Kevin nods. “Okay. Later.”
They stand there for a moment, the adrenaline slowly bleeding out of the room.
Aaron closes his eyes again, just for a second, leaning a little more fully into Herm.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for ripping a metal door open for me.”
Herm huffs. “Anytime.”
And Aaron isn’t surprised by that confession.