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"My son's going to be with me. That's not up for debate." The unhinged gleam in Homelander’s eyes contradicts his calm voice, and makes even hard-edged Butcher nervous. "I'll kill anyone who tries to come between us."
They sit in a run-down little roadside cafe somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Billy chose this meeting place, but his hand had been forced-- knew the supe would have tracked them down eventually, likely in a far worse circumstances than this.
Ryan is asleep in the car. Not much time has passed since the incident in the forest, and the boy is only becoming more sad and withdrawn with each passing day. Billy knows it won't end well. The kid is a ticking time bomb and has a psychopathic dad to boot. Hiding or fighting back is going to be pointless, so it's time to try to negotiate.
They see eye to eye on one thing at least: the boy should not be exposed to Vaught in any way. That ruthless corporation won't hesitate to mold him into a useful, mindless automaton for their own purposes and no one else's.
"He likes you." Homelander is slowly stirring his tea that's already cooled to room temperature. "You seem to be some sort of mommy figure for him. So. You can choose to stay with him-- with us, that is-- cut off from the outside world and your washed up friends. Or return my son to me, and I'll just kill you right here and now. In the first case, I'll also break your neck eventually-- just have to wait until Ryan's had enough of you. Frankly, I much prefer the second option, but I'd hate to upset the kid so early. So choose."
"I made a promise to Becca." It seems that that's the only thin keeping Billy from putting a long-awaited bullet in his own head. "So you can shove your plans to raise an all-powerful cunt just like you back up your ass. I won't let everything Becca invested in my wife's son get buried."
Homelander just bares his teeth in a grin that doesn't portend anything good.
They arrive at a small cottage, not far outside the small town, and Billy frowns when he sees it. "They'll find us faster than I can put a kettle on."
"They’ve probably already found us." Homelander snickers. "But we’re not hiding. I'd like to see the suicidal daredevils from Vought who'll dare to approach my son. They know how that ends."
Billy remembers how Homelander showed up in the woods, drenched in blood. He doesn't feel any pang of guilt, though, even when he remembers how he lured the grunts from Vought straight into the lair of a brutal predator. I was protecting my family, he thinks.
"Dad!" Ryan has just woken up and smiles sincerely for the first time in days. He reaches for his father's arms. "I thought you weren't going to come!"
"Sorry I scared you, buddy." Homelander picks up the boy in his arms to carry him into the house. "Everything's going to be fine from now on. We're together. And I'll take care of you, I promise."
Billy breathes a sigh of relief. Traveling around with this kid was stressful, to say the least.
"And Mr. Butcher is going to live with us too, isn't he?" Ryan asks, tugging at his dad's shoulder.
"Of course, champ, he'll stay with us as long as you want," smiles Homelander.
Billy taps his fingers on the steering wheel, gathering his strength to get out of the car. He's gotten himself into a situation again. Maybe Becca was on to something when she talked about letting go of the past and just living for yourself. Maybe he was too fixated on his own pain to allow himself to be happy. It's hard for him to remember a time when his actions weren't fueled by grief and anger. Should I just start the engine right now, fuck off to Mexico and give myself a chance at a better life?
Ryan waves a hand at him, hanging over his father's shoulder.
"Shit." Billy decisively opens the car door.
~~~
"I don’t wanna eat oatmeal, I want pancakes," Ryan says petulantly, idly scooping his spoon over his bowl. He makes a pleading face at Homelander, who looks grimmer than usual today.
"Pancakes are on Mondays, and today is Saturday," Billy sighs, looking at the calendar over the table.
They're all sitting around the kitchen table. The three of them rarely manage to eat together, and frankly neither of the adults is particularly motivated to coordinate. While Homelander is out working in the city, Billy keeps an eye on Ryan. He'd make a pretty useless mother, and most of the day they have hired teachers and tutors coming in to educate the boy. Homelander wouldn't have entrusted his son to strangers, but with Billy around, he seems calm. Butcher keeps a close eye on everything, and if something seems amiss to him, he immediately sends the unfortunate tutor out the door.
No, what Butcher is playing is more a role of moral support, attempting to fill the void that was left after the death of Becca. They don't talk about it, but in the evening, when everyone else has left the house, Billy collapses in a large armchair, Ryan settles down next to him, hugging his older friend, and both wallow in that feeling of terrible longing for their shared loved one.
On one of these evenings, Homelander finds them sleeping in an embrace, and it feels like something warm spreads inside his chest. Surprisingly, he has no feelings of jealousy over his son's love for Billy. For some reason, he wants to snuggle up to them and just lie there until the world ends.
"But I'm sick of oatmeal!" Ryan complains, counting on his father to support his little rebellion.
"You need to eat healthy food if you want to grow up as strong as your dad." Billy knows his words will have an effect on the boy. But he'd also give anything to keep the kid from becoming anything like Homelander.
John finally snaps out of his thoughts, smiling guiltily at his son.
"Listen to William, buddy, he knows what's best for you."
They live by a couple of agreed on rules. For example, Butcher's not allowed to say anything that might damage Homelander's reputation in Ryan's eyes. No matter how Billy feels about him, it must not be passed on to the child. Of course, the temptation to reveal the truth about Dad's vile personality is downright overwhelming. Especially when the kid looks up to the superhero with such sincere adoration in his eyes. In most cases, Butcher ignores Ryan's questions about John-- he doesn't want to have to lie to the boy.
Despite the desire to open Ryan's eyes to the truth, he wouldn't have time to say much, let alone say enough be convincing. The house is jam-packed with cameras and, most likely, microphones, and someone might constantly watching his every move. Billy startles every morning when the motion camera in the kitchen pans sharply in his direction.
"I'll fucking break you, one of these days," Billy grumbles, giving the camera the middle finger.
"Don’t swear at home, you’ll teach the child bad manners," the accursed voice responds from the speakers. Homelander took past mistakes into account and prepared much more thoroughly this time around.
One evening, lying in his bed, Ryan asks Billy: "How come you get upset when Dad comes home?"
"Because he hurt Mom and me," Billy replies without thinking. He's so tired of controlling himself every second, that by the end of the day his head seems ready to split open from all the unspoken words and suppressed actions.
"Really?" The boy is surprised. "He hurt you?"
"Nah, nah, it's all right. I meant that I think of Mom again when I see him, and it hurts," Butcher scrambles to say, realizing what a stupid mistake he made. "You should go to sleep. Tomorrow you'll have a lot of work, gotta get some rest."
"Aye aye, captain," Ryan yawns, hugging a huge teddy bear. "Good night!" He enjoys being around people who love him, so he decides to ignore what sounded like complicated issues between grownups.
Piercing blue eyes are right there to greet him when Billy comes out of Ryan's bedroom.
"Blurted it out accidentally, I swear," Billy draws his eyebrows together, in anticipation of a blow.
"Come upstairs to my room," Homelander orders in a barely audible voice, walking past him into his son's room.
Could've hit him right then and there instead of dragging this out, Billy thinks as he washing his face with ice-cold water in the bathroom. He needed to wash off the sticky sweat that broke out in response to the cunt's words. It's not a good look to show up messy for your exection.
Homelander's room is on the north side of the house, so even on the hottest day there is a pleasant coolness, and thick dark curtains on the windows block out annoying sun rays. Billy's never been to this part of the house before and honestly hoped he never would be.
He enters the darkness of the room, having knocked and gotten no answer. Homelander's still downstairs, thankfully. Billy looks around, involuntarily noting that there is absolutely nothing extraneous in the room. A perfectly made bed, an empty desk, a mirrored cabinet and a couple of shelves on the walls, filled with books with similar looking covers. Nothing is out of place-- as if no one even lives here.
Probably a habit from childhood, Billy guesses. Cunt's never had his own house, no one cooked oatmeal for him in the morning, no one put him to bed or scolded him for the mess in his room. Nothing but white walls.
The door opens silently, interrupting his flow of thoughts. Homelander stands at the entrance for a while, listening to his son's breathing in another part of the house. Satisfied that Ryan is sound asleep, he enters the room, closing the heavy door behind him.
A second later, Billy feels himself being pressed against the wall, blue eyes unnervingly close to his face. He turns his head away, hoping that everything will end quickly and only now notices the complete absence of video cameras in the room. The monster's lair.
"Thought we had a deal," Homelander begins slowly, placing his fingers on the man’s chin and turning him back to face him.
"I blurted it out accidentally," Billy repeats, fearlessly looking right back into the supe's eyes. "But I’m fucking tired of filling his head with rubbish."
Homelander's gaze feels like it's burning through him even without any lasers, and Billy is pretty sure he won't make it out of this room alive. It feels as though the muzzle of a gun is pressed to his head, but he's not going to beg for mercy. Don't hold your breath, cunt.
"I believe you," the blond nods after a brief silence that feels like an eternity to Butcher, "but that doesn’t change the fact that it's your fault."
There's almost no distance between them, one of Homelander's hands pressing into the man's chest, the other still holding his head in place.
"You know, I’d love to slowly break every single bone in your body, twist every joint, and skin you alive strip by strip, but I can’t even squeeze your throat, because that will leave marks that Ryan will notice and immediately suspect me, because you just gave him a reason to think of me that way. But I can still hurt you in such a way that a child won't notice, and that you won't even accidentally have a desire to divulge to him. For the first time in your life, we'll make your mouth do something useful, and then ..."
Billy hears his tired heart beating loudly, notices how there's black spots flickering in his field of view of Homelander's face, and how inhaling is growing more difficult with every second. He blinks rapidly, trying to parse exactly what the angry supe is going to do to him, but the white noise in his ears is blocking out the angry words.
Since when did I become so impressionable? Billy wonders, trying to focus his eyes on a crack in the opposite wall. This must be age and tolls of the profession, it's time for a well-deserved rest.
"Are you even listening to me?!" Homelander snarls, slamming the man against the wall again.
"Y-yeah," Billy murmurs uncertainly, and the lights go out.
~~~
When he opens his eyes again, everything is still dark. It takes him a moment to get adjusted to the darkness and assess the situation. He's on his stomach, the blanket crumpled underneath him. His ears are ringing and he's thirsty, but in general, everything seems fine. Trying to remember what exactly preceded his blackout, Billy rolls onto his back and freezes, feeling the horror of awareness fill every cell of his body.
Fuck me, did I just pass out in his arms...
As if confirming his thoughts, Billy hears a deep breath.
Concentrating as much as possible on not making a sound, Butcher swivels his head and sees a sight he both expects and dreads-- Homelander asleep next to him.
When sleeping, like most creatures, he looks completely harmless, so relaxed and calm that Billy becomes even more uncomfortable.
His brain is tired but still trained to habitually throw him possible escape routes out of the situation:
Gotta leave. If I get up, he'll wake up for sure, but maybe he wants me to leave. Or turn away, pretend to have been sleeping the whole time, in the morning he'll be the one to leave. The best thing would be to smash something heavy on this cunt's head while he's asleep, even if it doesn't do anything. I won't last much longer here in any case.
"Be quiet." Homelander's suddenly says, his voice hoarse. He frowns in displeasure without opening his eyes.
"I didn't say a thing," Billy whispers, barely audible, with a hint of irritation in his voice.
"You're being nervous too loudly," the supe mutters. "You're not going anywhere, sleep."
Billy huffs through his nose, defiantly turning away from the other man, genuinely trying to still his stream of thoughts. A few minutes later, a heavy arm wraps around his waist, pulling him in against the strong body behind him, like some teddy bear.
Butcher feels hot breath on the sensitive skin of his neck, and it's starting to feel like the dark spots are returning to dance before his eyes again. So he closes them, just in case.
Strangely, it suddenly occurs to Billy that he hasn't slept with anyone in over five years. Not fucking, but this, just lying on the same bed in an embrace, with every fiber in his body feeling the presence of another person nearby.
"You didn’t hear me out," Homelander suddenly whispers directly into the Billy's ear. "Without going into all the gory details that apparently make you swoon like an eighteenth century lady, all I wanted to say was-- I’ll fuck you real thorough if you screw up again. It won't be noticeable to Ryan, I won't leave a trace, and I won't damage you, but trust me, you definitely don't want this to ever happen again. I'll pound all that insolence out of you, and push the desire to set my son against me so deep down your throat that every time you open your mouth you'll think twice about what you're saying. I'll make you grovel at my feet and beg me to stop. Understand?"
"You can go all out with your details, I don’t care, I just didn’t get enough sleep," Billy snaps, humiliated by the comparison with a lady, and pointedly ignoring the threat, "and you compressed my chest, cunt, my air ran out, head started spinning ..."
Homelander's hand tightens at his side, fingers starting to press hard into Billy’s soft stomach. Billy clearly imagines how his skin and muscle might be stripped away, his organs spilling out all over the white sheet. When he turns instinctively, grasping John's wrist in an attempt to push himself away from his grip, Billy is suddenly met with twin flickering red lights in the darkness.
"Go ahead then, fire them off, I don’t give a fuck what happens to me," Billy hisses, either from anger or from pain, any remaining fear draining away. "You can rape my corpse as much as you like. Just do me one favor—always remember that you're such a vile monster that even your own son chose a stranger he knew for a few minutes over his cunt-dad. We can only hope that the kid lasts a while, because every person who’s dared get close to you is dead."
For a couple of seconds, Homelander's lips stretch into a familiar tight grin, every cell in his body locking into an all-consuming rage. Billy could swear that before it extinguishes, the red glare in his eyes reflects genuine pain.
John flops back onto his pillow, pulling back his hands and hugging himself. He makes a strange frustrated noise, like an angry predator who has been flicked in the nose with a whip and sent back into a cage.
Billy doesn't really care to figure out what triggers the supe's mood swings, what drives him to madness, and what makes him retreat and obey other people's rules. Damn psycho.
A thought emerges in Butcher's mind, that he's broken. He's broken. Homelander is broken. Ryan is broken. Becca was also broken. Even young Hughie is broken. This whole fucking world is just made up of broken people who are unsuccessfully, but constantly trying to build happiness out of their own and other people's fragments.
It's moments like these that Billy is jealous of Lenny. He gave up, and maybe now he's watching him from a better place that doesn't have room for the likes of Homelander and himself.
"Dad." A loud whisper pierces the absolute silence and makes both men flinch.
"Ryan?" They pronounce his name in unison, without even thinking, both turning to the voice. Billy can hardly make out the child's figure standing in the doorway, awkwardly holding the door. Blood rushes to his cheeks. From somewhere in the depths of his recollections, a long-buried memory floats up of how he, as a teenager, tried to impress a girl with his non-existent kissing skills and how-- of course-- his mother walked in on them with a tray of tea at that very moment... This embarrassment feels perverted, with a touch of shame and guilt. Billy rubs his eyes roughly.
"Dad?... sorry. I know that I'm grown up and have to be brave. Honestly, I tried to fall asleep again, but I can't. I was having a dream. A bad dream. Mom was there again..."
"It's okay, Ryan, come join us." John pats the bed invitingly, and a moment later Ryan is lying between them, looking happily from one man to the other.
The boy was learning, right from the start, that a bad peace is better than a good war, and if both dads are sleeping in the same bed, then everything must be okay.
"Being afraid doesn't mean you're weak." Billy adjusts his blanket over them and ruffles Ryan's hair. "Fear is just a reaction to what's happening, as normal as all the rest. Without it, there's no growth. Like there's no life-giving rain without clouds covering the sun sometimes. The main thing is not to drown in it, you know, lad?"
"Do you get scared too?" Ryan turns his head to Homelander.
"Of course. I get worried about you and ... about other important things." John struggles to recall the last time he was afraid of something, and comes up with nothing.
"Thanks, I feel better." Ryan smiles contentedly, yawns loudly, exposing teeth that might resemble his father's fangs some day. He rolls over on his stomach and falls asleep, not noticing the pair of grim looks on him.
As they look at the boy, each man sees a different potential in him, plans a radically different future that will fulfill their dreams for him.
But maybe the difference is not that important. Right now Ryan needs only love, and the fathers move closer to him. Their hands bump into each other on the boy's chest, and they roughly intertwine their fingers. They latch on to each other with angry frustration, clenching their teeth to the point of gritting, trying to express something they both simply cannot in any other way. A few minutes later, the only touch remaining is idle stroking of each other's fingers.
Yet again submerging into darkness, both men give this life one more chance.