Chapter Text
Friday, May 13th, 2016, 9:32 p.m. Torrance LA
The hole in his chest felt like an endless cosmos. Where his heart should be beating, he could only feel a rising cold dread. Like a physical tidal wave eating upwards from his stomach to his lungs. Cold was a sensation Herman was familiar with; he’d been freezing for as long as he could remember. But that feeling hardly reached inwards except in moments like this. The apology basket felt like a sick joke. Piled up high with treats, scented items, and a small handwritten note curled around the handle. Herman could vaguely understand that Robert was speaking to him. His old brown work shoes stood right in the center of Herman’s vision. The laughter and loud shouting of the party had quieted to the low humming of cicadas and the dripping of water onto the couch. There were hands on him, touching him softly. The touch felt distant, like cotton. The scent of alpha felt so overwhelming at that moment as Herman felt growing nausea. The soothing scent felt like the apology basket, a placating gesture that hardly went skin deep. A ‘I'm sorry, please give me what I want. Ignore what I’ve done.’ A slap in the face to any omega with a lick of self-respect.
Herman hadn’t always been one of those. He would argue he still wasn’t and he never would be. But this, this was such a low blow even Herman knew he should fight back. The distant sensations and rising cold within seemed to snap back to sharpness as Robert’s hand grabbed his knee. All the sensations are rushing back like waves at the beach. He finally managed to tear his gaze upwards, meeting the deep brown eyes of the fellow omega. A concerned but soft look in his eyes as he pursed his lips. The rest of the pack was completely silent for once. But he could sense them vibrating with excitement now that his body didn't feel so distant. Coupe’s hands were on his shoulder, where she stood guard behind the couch. Malevola’s tail was lightly wrapped around his waist, where she sat to his right. Flambae to his left, keeping him wedged perfectly in the center of the couch. Right in the center of the pack’s attention. The heat that rolled off the hell-born and fire starter could hardly even begin to touch the icy sensation rolling inside his chest. The rest of Robert’s pack was bunched around. Watching Herman, expecting a happy reaction. Why shouldn’t he be thrilled? Wasn’t this all he ever wanted?
“I guess what I’m saying is, Herm, would you like to join the pack? As our second omega?” Robert’s voice was nothing but gentle. But it only seemed like the final blow to Herman’s explosion. The rest of the pack seemed to lean closer. Only suffocating him further. None of them seemed nervous, like they knew how he should respond. Good omegas don’t yell. Good omegas handle their emotions with grace. Which is what Herman would tell himself if he were in a better headspace. Right now, he couldn't care less about what a good omega would do. That hadn’t gotten him anywhere good, not since becoming a hero, not since ever. He should be happy. Why wasn’t he happy?
But in that moment, all Herman felt was the icy sensation surge. He suddenly felt unbearably hot. Like every inch of his skin was on fire, and his insides were melting too. He felt angry, angrier than when Robert had chosen Phenomaman for the team. Angier than when his parents left him at Granny's and never returned. Angrier than he thought his lanky body was even capable of feeling. His hands bunched into fists as he felt a familiar growl grow deep from within his chest. Garbled from the water that threatened to pour out of his mouth. He wanted to punch, he wanted to scream, he wanted to sink his fangs into the closet jugular and refuse to move until his prey stopped thrashing.
The presenting basket rolled onto the ground as the contents stuffed inside spilled out at Robert's feet. A loud clatter sounded through the room as Herman stood to his full height. His gaze focused on Robert. If he looked at any of the Alphas in this room right now, he would be walking out of here in cuffs. His throat felt dry. Adam's apple bobbed as he tried to find the words to express how he felt. Hurt? Betrayed? Sad? Angry? He couldn’t speak; the anger in his chest was clawing away all his breath. At that moment, all he could do was push Robert aside. He knew he was being rough; he wasn’t playing nice like his grandma would always remind him of when he was a child. He was so much stronger than Robert; he could hurt him so easily. Robert stumbled back into someone's grip. He didn’t care to check if he was okay. He didn’t care anymore. He stepped on some of the items that had rolled further across Robert’s rug.
Leaving a pathetic trail of water behind as he moved on autopilot. The only thought echoing through his brain was that he needed to escape. Get away from this den. He was burning alive, and he was going to hurt someone. The shitty apartment door rattled the entire wall when Herman slammed it shut behind him. No one followed him down the rickety staircase. Or through the hallway and past the doors. The crisp nighttime air felt like a slap on the face as he simply walked. The cold was a needed shock to his system, though it only dampened the rage. It didn't completely cool his anger; it soothed. He walked as fast as his long legs could carry him. He wasn’t sure where he was going; he just needed to be far, far away. He wanted his grandma.
Granny Rose seemed soundly asleep just as he had left her, not even an hour before. How had everything gone so wrong in only a single hour? He felt like his life just went from bearable to literal hell on earth in the drop of a basket. His throat felt so tight once again as he suppressed a long, pathetic whine. His long limbs felt extra shaky when he unlocked the door. A couple of stray cats who were still awake were crowding at his feet as he struggled to slip off his rain boots and slam them onto the old, cracked hardwood. Followed by his grandfather's jacket that hung on his shoulders, which he sent flying. It caught on an old crucifix hanging on the wall. Stumbling towards the one room in the house he could think of in that moment. Past his half-open door filled with superhero merch. Past the old, worn-down bathroom and the cracked hallway walls.
Creaking open the door as quietly as possible. A couple of cats followed at his dripping wet heels. He carefully climbed into the small queen-sized bed. He felt like a pup again when he curled up next to her. In that moment, he felt all his anger finally dissipate as the cold returned. Trying to make his long, shaking limbs fit into the shape of the bed frame without disturbing his poor grandma. It was to no effect as he watched her old eyes flutter open, at the slowly growing wetness that emanated from his body. She sat up slowly with creaking joints as she turned to look at him in the darkness. He couldn’t see her face, but he could smell the concern rolling off of her. It only made the cold in his chest seem more frigid.
“Herm, honey, what’s wrong?” The older beta’s voice felt like a soothing balm against his rapidly falling tears. Shaky with age but no less sharp, she gazed at her crying grandson. Instead of responding, he simply sobbed. Hiding his head between the pillows. Her familiar scent would normally be enough to calm him down even in his worst moments. But this was too much. He silently sobbed, his shoulders heaving as everything seemed to crash down on top of him like a tidal wave. His sobs turned violent as his fists balled up tight into the soaking wet pillow below his head.
Waves of water were expelled. His scent overpowered the waves for once as the sharp tang of upset omega permeated every inch of the small room. It smelt of mildew and stale water. Drowning out his grandmother's own soothing scent like a wave against the rocks. He suddenly felt a shaky hand touch his shoulder. Softly rubbing patterns into his shoulders as she gently talked to him. He didn’t pull his head up. He simply lay there as his grandmother tried to calm him down, like he was a pup again. Cracking cuffs as her shaking hands try to soothe him. His throat felt less dry, his chest felt less hollow as his eyes drifted shut. Herman was asleep in just a couple of moments, leaving his grandmother alone and confused.
Friday, September 25th, 2015, 11:47 a.m. Torrance LA
Honestly It was his own damn fault for not realizing earlier that his coworkers didn’t know his secondary gender, or that it would be a big deal. It wasn’t like the subject didn’t come up regularly in conversation; his team was entirely composed of very loud and proud Alphas and Betas. Flambae was always boasting about how male omegas crowded him at clubs. Prism talked about how her alpha and omega fans alike would throw themselves at her heeled feet. Hell, even Malevola would complain about how betas seemed to bug them constantly, despite having a mate already. They talked about it constantly. In the office, out on the field, and after work karaoke (which he was never invited to). He just figured that they were assholes, but they weren’t the kind of assholes who would have a problem with an omega hero. Even if the term hero was a generous description of what Waterboy did day to day. Why would it matter if Herman were an omega? They all let their disdain be known anyway.
He started to pick up on the fact that they did seem to care when Robert didn’t wear his scent patches one shift. Maybe Herman was just good at observing, but he was confused when his coworkers reacted in both shock and dismay when they realized the sweet coffee omega scent that was permeating the office was Roberts. Herman had known the moment he’d been on the lobby couch that Robert was an omega. But you would have thought they had just discovered Robert was Mecha Man all over again. Sonar seemed to pick up on it first. His long snout twitched when he returned from a mission and sat down on one of the many couches of the bullpen.
“Anyone smell that sad ass omega scent?” Sonar quipped to the handful of Z-team heroes that where recovering post mission. The bat sprawling out across the couch with a huff. Herman was personally sitting in a bucket he’d dragged from a storage closet near the wall. A watermelon slice perched in his hands as he softly nibbled on it. The melon reminded him of his grandmothers scent and the cool watery taste always helped his nervous stomach.
“Huh now that you mention it. It has smelled like burnt coffee and sad omega most of the morning.” Maleovla mumbled as he expression furrowed. Herman subtly sniffed himself to insure his scent hadn’t somehow overpowered his water. It wasn’t him, and he wasn’t as sad as normal. Turning back to watch as the small group seemed to ponder. One of the members slipping out as they sit in silence.
“It’s Robert.” Coope suddenly said as she appeared beside Herman after a couple of moments. She stated the words in her normal flat tone though an added tension to her shoulders. Her sudden appearance and hitch in upset scent made Herman jump. Nearly tumbling out of his bucket. The room goes silent before erupting.
He hung back when they crowded the dispatcher into a conference room. Standing quietly next to the door, quietly dripping a puddle of water. As the scent of angry Alphas, Betas, and one nervous Omega permeated the small room. All Herman could do was watch the shit show unfold like he wasn’t in his body. He felt distant, like he was watching a car wreck in real time but couldn’t turn away.
Punch Up’s voice sounded sharper than he had ever heard. The Irishman was always so easygoing, but now he sounded like he was one provocation away from punching a hole in the wall. Coope seemed to be holding him back with a firm hand on the bicep, also glaring daggers. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell us you were an omega lad?”
“Because it doesn't matter?” Robert’s normal sarcastic tone seemed even more hollow. The omega was nervous. His shoulders were hiked, and he kept glancing at the door, catching Herman’s eye. As if pleading for the fellow omega to step in and help him. Herman felt guilty as he opened his mouth to maybe, but in. He should be helping the fellow omega with this group of heathens. He knew intimately how nerve-racking it was to be screamed at by the group for a slip-up. He could share his own position as an omega and how I didn't interfere with hero work. Or how amazing Mecha Man even if it would come out as a jumbling mess. He was obviously interrupted.
“Of course it matters, you depressed twink. What the hell, dude? That’s vital information!” Invisigal didn't even give Herman a moment to take a breath before she was butting in. Suddenly much closer to Robert as she appears to the left of him. Leaving a shimmering purple cloud. Next to a smoking Flambae and a pissed-looking Prism.
“We first off wouldn’t have let you fight fucking Shroud if we knew that?” Invisigal kept going as she jabbed a finger into Robert’s chest. The man bears his long fangs at the raven-haired women as their eyes lock in intense eye contact. Invisigal biting back with her own low growl at the omega's aggressive display. Robert hikes up his shoulders further as he balls up his fists.
“Yeah mate, that was super dangerous. What if you actually gave him the right pulse? He would have pulverised you.” Robert’s head snaps to the side as he hears Malevola's accented voice cut through their hissing fit. Robert drops his hackles at the woman’s soft tone and inviting posture. Her tail lashing behind her, and a sharp sulfur scent revealing her true mood. But unlike the rest of the gang of fuck up’s, she actually knew how to soothe an omega.
“Exactly you fucking bit- asshole? God, my reputation is ruined. I’ve been letting some sad omega run around underfed and sleep-deprived like a goddamn dumbass.” Flambae’s smoke seems to disperse with one final burst of flames dancing across his shoulders. All the soothing Malevola was attempting to go out the window immediately as the alpha stood. Slamming his hands down on the table as the scent of burning pine fills the room. Pointing a scared hand at the dispatcher as he spits out his words.
“Yeah, Roberto? What the hell does it say about us that we’ve been letting your flat little ass go hungry? What if my fans found out? I would get canceled on Twitter in a heartbeat.” Prism was off her phone, which told him all he needed to know about how dire the situation was. A chorus of agreeing words comes from the remaining alphas and betas scattered around. Herman keeps his mouth shut as he avoids Robert's gaze. Phenomaman and Golem stayed silent, similar to him. Their lack of secondary gender leaves them wholly unequipped for the situation.
“Okay, well it doesn’t fucking matter now, does it? Drop the fucking issue. If anyone have a problem with me being an omega, you can bring it up to Blazer.” The man hissed back as his voice turned icy. Clearly fed up with the team's display of bullshit. He turned on his heel, passing by Herman as he slammed the door shut firmly behind him. The sound echoing through the small conference room as the group immediately went back to arguing, loudly. The scent of angry Alpha had Herman feeling suddenly nauseous. Water gathering at the back of his throat. Herman slipped out after Robert. His sharp upset coffee scent permeated down the hallway as Herman felt stuck in place. Swallowing the lump in his throat as he turned and sulked off to janitor closet to try and get the scents off his clothing, in the opposite direction that Robert’s own scent led.
Monday, September 28th, 2015, 9:01 a.m. Torrance LA
Herman assumed they had patched up the issue when Monday rolled around, and Robert seemed fine. Better than fine, he’d never seen the omega in better shape. His hair was shiny and combed back, his clothing smelled freshly washed, and unlike wet dogs and depression. He was smirking faintly as he held Beef in his lap and idly chatted with Chase. The revived Track Star was floating a couple of inches above the air as he looked down at the short omega. A wide grin plastered on his face as he ruffled the man’s hair like a pup.
That had to have been one of the most isolating days of Herman's life. The icy realization crept up on him with each one of the Z-team he passed by. All smelling of sweet caramel and espresso mixed with their own scents. He was forced to accept what had actually happened when the entire group was gathered around the break room for lunch. Crowded around a basically purring Robert who had a Tupperware filled with delicious-smelling food and a new pack all curled around, talking excitedly and enjoying their newest omega. Herman simply stood at the door as he dripped a new puddle onto the ground. The only one left out.
Wednesday, April 30th, 2016, 3:42 p.m. Torrance LA
It was also Herman's own damn fault that they had found out he was an omega in the worst way imaginable. In his own defense, it wasn’t entirely uncommon for Waterboy to get kidnapped and held for ransom. He was entering the double digits for the number of times one moment he was on shift, and the next moment, he awoke tied to a chair with a banging headache. Word spread fast in the underground of Torrance, and villains were quick to pick up on Waterboy’s role as a weak link. A pack was only as strong as its weakest omega, and it was obvious who the weak omega was.
Saving Waterboy was typically the last priority, and honestly, how the team acted when he was saved made him wish they had left him to rot. The jabs would always get worse after someone had to come fish him out of a river after concrete blocks were tied to his feet and dropped into the bay. The same way they did after he’d have a slip-up and release too much water that would have the team slipping. Typically, it would force Waterboy to eat lunch in the janitor's closet or bathroom, stick to small solo missions, or refuse to talk to anyone. It was high school all over again. Until the team forgot about his existence once more, the ridicule was shifted to someone new, like the bone zone or some lady prism had drama with on Instagram. Allowing him to fade into the background.
This week was supposed to be better. Wednesday had rolled around without much issue; it was just busy with the void of power left after Shrouds' fall. New villains were rising fast, and some had taken up the Red Rings' old vengeance against Mecha Man and the Z-team who stood to protect him. People, and especially the media, weren’t stupid. It wasn’t hard to pick up on the sudden, fierce protective nature the Z-team had displayed towards Mecha Man. While Herman smiled through interviews that where always interrupted when Prism would step in. Or as he stood like a shadow in the back of group photos after successful missions. Stuttering out his goodbye as the pack would go and enjoy their days with Robert, a fully functioning happy pack. All without him.
The mission was simple: Robert sent him to check out a disturbance at a factory near the coast. He was on desk duty for the day, as it had been a busy and hectic afternoon. So even he was being sent out to deal with more important missions. So far, he’d been doing well; he’d even arrested someone all by himself. This was about a pipe bursting and factory workers needing help stopping the flood. It was something even Waterboy could handle as long as he didn’t manage to slip on a puddle. The address must have been incorrect , he realized, he stood in front of a very much abandoned factory. The windows are cracking, and dust is gathering on every possible surface.
“Robe- boss. I think- well, I’m not sure but this doesn’t- not that it’s your fault- but this must be the wr- incorrect address.” He stumbled over his words as he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand. His hand was pressed to his earpiece as he tried to mutter out his words. The entire block of factories was old and abandoned, the sidewalk was cracked and torn. A wind blew eerily through the gaps in buildings, sending old papers and trash skittering across the ground, making him jump as a newspaper hit his ankle. The paper sticking to his wet leg as he kicked it away.
“It shouldn’t be. Shit, wait- hold on. Golem, you fuck-” The line cut off with a crackle as Robert switched lines. Leaving Herman alone once more as he absently kicked at the gravel below. The line stayed silent for a few more moments before he sighed. Dragging his feet as he sits down on an old, rusted barrel below a cracked window. He was tired; the day had been long and filled with the typical jabs and jests at his expense. He was so successful today, but the pack had somehow found a way to make him feel bad, even on a good day. Letting out a long, drawn-out whine as he pressed a hand to his aching shoulders. Pressing close to his water-covered scent glands. Herman had only a few moments to try and breathe through the aching before suddenly a burst of pain emanated through his skull as he fell onto the concrete unconscious.