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They find him after three weeks. The entire city was on lock down. The SDN heroes had torn LA apart. All for a janitor. The door swings open and it's Blonde Blazer, of all the heroes to save him. Blazing in her glory, radiant. It hurts to look at. He can't look. Can barely make himself believe it.
"Waterboy!" She gasps. He flinches at the sound of her voice. So full of concern. Empathy. He doesn't deserve that… There's no way on this green Earth that Blonde Blazer found him. That she's here to rescue him. To see him at his worst.
Each cut on his face stings. Blood oozes from his wounds. He's long since stopped feeling them. The water makes it so that every single cut, every scrape and lesion ends up bleeding for weeks. Water keeps it open.
She floats over the rot infecting the floor. Despite himself, he shrinks against the oncoming light. He doesn't want to see. Doesn't want it made clear. He shakes his head, groaning.
She falters before reaching out with one humane blue-gloved hand. He can't take it. He won't. If she touches him, she'll know he's ruined. He doesn't move. Blonde Blazer touches down before him, her glow flickering then fading. She crouches when he buries his face into his hands. He's chained to the wall, has been for those three infinite weeks. She touches one of the chain-links and he begins to cry. It's soft at first, muffled. He can't bear to look at her, can't see all that pity reflected back at him. Pity is worse than disgust. Worse than judgement. It's a good thing his tears look like water.
When she breaks the chain, snapping it in half like a twig, he doesn't react.
"Hey…" She lays a hand on his shoulder. He's trembling all over. She'll feel that he's trembling all over. He makes himself be still. "It's over now. You're safe."
He shuffles out of the dilapidated basement, one gangly arm looped over Blonde Blazer's shoulder. It's agony but all he can do is quietly whimper at each limping step. She's saying something as they emerge. The sun burns his vision. He clenches them shut instinctively, his eyes watering, mingling with his tears.
"I've got him. He was in the basement of that old RadioShack."
He thinks he can hear a voice. One he hasn't heard in weeks. Prism. It's like relief mixed with exquisite agony.
"How fucking old are you that you knew it was a RadioShack, girl?!"
Blonde Blazer cuts back with a retort but Waterboy doesn't hear because he slips off her shoulder, unconscious.
All around him is refracted light. It dazzles him. Sound is muffled. His stomach roils. He gags.
"P-Please don't— I can't— You need to stop!" Even to his own ears, his voice sounds pathetic. It's worse bouncing back to him, thunderous in it's uncertainty. Water dribbles from his ears, his neck, his scalp. It pools around the corners of his mouth. He can't stop, even if he wants it to.
Distorted laughter makes him shudder. A heavy hand lands on his shoulder. He tips and his whole fishbowl world tips with it. He heaves. Water dribbles out of his mouth. It's already lapping at his chin. The googles he wears pinches the bridge of his nose. Has done his whole life, but he's always put up with it. Always thought that it meant he was making a sacrifice.
He vomits again. The water rises. His panic does too.
"Please—!" He chokes as water spills into his mouth, his airways. He tries to hold back. His stomach won't let him. A forced insertion of ipecac had ensured it. He vomits again. His vision speckles, filming over with static.
He vomits.
And again.
Again.
Water laps at his nose, burning the delicate airways. He gasps and water floods his mouth. He forces it out with the force of his own expulsion but that's it. He's out of air. The water laps halfway up his googles.
He's going to die trapped like a fish in a bowl, suffocating in his own filth. His vision goes black.
Herman wakes to the sound of his own heartbeat. A rhythmic, robotic beep. It's just a dream.
His heart rate spikes when he sits up, eyes mercifully unblurred, mouth mercifully open and hauling air. Tidal waves pound in his ears, building with pressure, drowning him. He looks down at the sterile hospital bed and grips the thin blanket. It's sopping. Squelches beneath his fingers. He sobs. The good thing about his power is that tears look identical to water. He buries his face in his hands, bowed over himself like a wind-ravaged tree, shoulders shaking.
There's a spreading puddle on the floor.
The door slides open and Robert steps inside. Herman looks up, then looks away.
"We tried for so long, Herm." The name feels like a thorned whip against his back. He swallows thickly. Shakes his head. Robert stands next to the bed, his shoes planted in the water. He doesn't seem to care. Doesn't even seem to notice the relative humidity creeping up (84.6%). Herman lets his hands fall from his face to flop onto the bed. The blanket holds the outline of him, spreading in spidering splotches, forever stained. His breath comes ragged.
When Robert reaches out to pat his hand, he can't help but flinch. His body is a live-wire, wet and ready to kill. Even if it'll kill him. He shakes his head urgently.
"It's okay," Robert tries to be soothing. It's nice. It's too late. "You're safe."
Herman shakes his head harder. A guttural sob escapes him. He holds up his hands in surrender. A plea.
Please no more.
Robert backs down. He's good like that. Tries to be considerate. Has never once yelled at him. He doesn't deserve the kindness for failing so incredibly hard.
He turns away, can't let his boss see the pain stretching every atom of his body.
"We're here for you." Robert sounds distant. Herman doesn't respond. He can't even if he wanted to.
The medbay door slides open on silent rollers, and slides shut equally as quiet. Herman rolls over, careful not to interfere with his IV lines — who knew you could get dehydrated even while surrounded by water? — and buries his head under the damp blanket. Even under his layers, he hears it when Blonde Blazer stops by. Hears what she and Robert say in crystal-clear detail.
"Poor guy." Robert sighs. "He doesn't want to talk… At all."
"Can you blame him? He held out for so long." Blonde Blazer's voice cracks with sympathy. It feels like fine glass shards in his spine. He claps his hands over his ears. The burning in his lungs returns. He coughs violently, his ribs bruising from the force. Through his retching, he hears it.
"He's stronger than I would have been," Robert says. "Do we have any leads on the guys who did this?"
"No, there's not much activity happening on that front. But that's strange enough as it is. We're all heroes and we can't even find one mid-level gang of criminals?" Blonde Blazer's voice takes on a thoughtful tone.
"You know… It's the strangest thing. I found him surrounded by broken glass."