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In retrospect, it hadn’t been one of Billy’s most well-thought-out plans. If he’d told anyone what he was about to do, they would’ve said he was a nutter with a death wish—if anyone would still even give him the time of day. Maybe Hughie. Everyone else would’ve probably wished him good riddance and started popping the champagne to celebrate his almost certain death.
Not that it mattered in the end. Dead was dead, and he’d been marked for the grave the instant he’d gone over his third dose of Temp V. Didn’t matter whether he sat around and twiddled his thumbs or stormed Vought Tower guns blazing—in another year or so, he’d be six feet under, if anyone could be bothered to give his corpse the dignity of a proper burial.
But while for the most part, he couldn’t care less about kicking the bucket early, not when he’d been ready to die since before he’d tried to suicide-bomb Stillwell, there was one last thing that made him wish he had more time. One last promise that he’d sworn to keep.
Breaking into Vought Tower is old-hat at this point, and from there, it’s easy enough to get access to Homelander’s flat. He doesn’t know for sure what room Ryan is in, but making a guess based on the floorplan, he silently makes his way toward the hall leading to one of the smaller bedrooms.
He never makes it there.
“William! What a surprise to see you here! It’s kind of late for a visit, don’t you think?”
As always, the sound of that obnoxious, smarmy voice has his blood pressure spiking, pure rage burning like liquid fire through his veins. Beneath his skin, the dose of Temp V he’d taken just in case thrums with an intoxicating power that has him itching to fight, but he reins it in to meet Homelander’s eyes.
“Fuck off,” he says, adamantly standing his ground even in unfamiliar territory. “What did you do with the kid?”
To Billy’s annoyance, Homelander only sighs, looking far too blasé for someone finding a former wanted terrorist breaking into his home at bumfuck o’clock. “I didn’t do anything with him. I just showed him the truth that people like you and your dear, dead Becca wanted to hide from him,” he says, almost sounding bored, and it’s all Billy can do to keep himself from losing it and trying to bash the fucker’s teeth in, ruin that smug fucking smile.
Next time, he promises himself, his jaw aching from the force with which he’s gritting his teeth. Right now, there’s more important things at stake, and he can’t afford to waste any more time. “I’m taking him home. I won’t let him become another you,” he growls, ducking around Homelander to force his way through.
He only gets a few steps farther before he’s slammed against the wall, teeth rattling in his skull from the impact.
“This is his home. Here, with his father. His family,” Homelander says into his ear, his voice low and laced with the distinctive, steady hum of an Alpha warning a trespasser off his territory, and for the first time since he’d gone on the suppressants as a teenager and never looked back, Billy freezes.
As if suddenly stripped naked, Billy finds himself hyperaware of the scents and sounds around him, particularly the sharp smell of ozone that seems to fill the room, marking every wall and corner with an Alpha’s claim.
Three realizations hit him at once.
First, possibly spurred by the cocktail of drugs wreaking havoc on his body, his suppressants are malfunctioning, leaving him vulnerable to Alpha influence.
Second, with the Temp V amplifying all his senses, he’s now hypersensitive to the ridiculously strong pheromones that Homelander is giving off, his body already reacting with a weird, tingling warmth that’s rapidly spreading through his system.
Third, if Homelander finds out any of this, Billy is fucked.
Trying to cover up his brief stumble, Billy blasts Homelander with a laser eye beam, forcing the Alpha back. “Becca was his family. You’re just the sperm donor,” he spits, mind racing as he struggles to come up with a new plan of action.
From across the room, Homelander tilts his head, and Billy’s heart sinks as he sees Homelander sniff carefully at the air. “William, are you going into heat?” Homelander asks, a slow, delighted smile spreading across his face, and despite himself, Billy’s eyes widen in horrified realization.
Fuck. He is.
“None of your fucking business,” he tries to say while wildly searching for an opportunity to escape—but before he’s even gotten the last word out, Homelander has him pinned against the wall again, unyielding fingers forcing his head back to expose his throat in the traditional position of submission.
The smell of ozone fills his senses again and his mind clouds, thoughts slowing as if emerging through a deep fog.
“You smell so good. It all makes sense now. You and I, we’re going to be great together,” he hears Homelander say, the heat of his breath like a brand against Billy’s skin.
“Get your bloody hands off me,” he grits out, trying to twist away for a clearer shot when he feels the sharp scrape of teeth against his mating gland. The sheer panic that floods him is enough to grant him the strength to wrench himself out of Homelander’s hold, and he blasts Homelander with a laser to the throat, getting a few extra hits in for good measure before taking his chance to flee.
He doesn’t know how he manages to get out of Vought Tower, but he does know that when he stumbles back outside, the cold night air is a shock to his heated skin, bringing him back some much-needed clarity.
Judging by the slight sluggishness of his movements and how warm he feels, he doesn’t have much time before he needs to be off the street to avoid becoming a public spectacle, or worse. Assuming Homelander will be looking for him, he can’t go back to his own home, since Homelander knows where he lives. He can’t go to the Boys’ HQ, or any of their homes either, not just because that would definitely be the next place Homelander looked, but also because he doesn’t want any of them to see him like this.
Very few people knew he was an Omega. If there was one thing Billy had to thank his bastard of a father for, it would be the insistence that “no child of mine’ll be an Omega” and the falsification of any records that said anything to the contrary. As a result, instead of staying at home to learn how to do domestic tasks and be a good little mate or whatever the fuck else Omegas were allowed to do, Billy had been able to attend school up through secondary school—not that it’d done him all that much good in the end when he’d run away to join the SAS. There’d been a couple close calls over the years, but Billy had been careful, and with the help of black-market suppressants, he’d managed to keep his true dynamic out of public record.
Becca had known, of course, and so had Mallory, but it was a secret Billy was reluctant to share with anyone he didn’t absolutely have to, especially given the many ways it could be used against him. But now, despite every caution Billy had taken, his secret had been exposed to fucking Homelander of all people, and something tells him that Homelander isn’t going to let it rest.
Racking his mind for a place to go as he tries to put as much distance as he can between him and Vought Tower, Billy spots an entrance to an underground station. Hoping that the noise and smell of the underground tracks can help obscure his trail and cover his scent, he dives in, taking the stairs down three or four steps at a time.
Inside, the platforms for each direction are both completely empty, unsurprising given the time of night, but unhelpful for Billy’s anxiety as the seconds tick by, the whole space seeming to hold its breath in wait for a train to arrive. He hops on the first one that comes, slightly unnerved to find it as empty as the station is, and takes a seat next to the exit. Glancing up at the lit-up transit map above the car doors as the train begins to move, he decides that if he makes several transfers, maybe it’ll be enough to let him slip away into the underground system, at which point he can find a room at some cheap, shitty hotel to lock himself away in until his heat has passed.
He settles in for the ride, trying to get as comfortable as possible on the hard, plastic seats. Despite being night, the air of the underground seems hotter and stuffier than usual, and before long Billy’s forced to strip off his coat, leaving it in a crumpled pile on the seat beside him. Tugging at the sweat-soaked collar of his shirt, he tries to ignore the way his body is becoming increasingly sensitive to the feel of his clothes against his skin, the fabric chafing in all the wrong places.
Maybe it’s a good thing that he’s the only one in the car after all.
The train pulls into the next transfer station, and Billy grabs his coat to step off. The platform here is just a narrow strip of cement between the underground tracks and a tiled wall, a staircase leading up to the other underground lines on one end and a dead end on the other. Irritation spikes as Billy sees that, unlike the previous station, this time he’s got company in the form of some idiot preoccupied with his phone who has the good sense to stand right in the middle of the platform, leaving little room to walk past.
Ready to just shove his way through, Billy starts walking toward the stairs, biting back a curse when the man suddenly looks up, nostrils flaring.
“Hey buddy, you sure you should be walking around outside like that?” the guy calls out, the lecherous grin on his face belying the innocent concern of his words.
“Not your buddy, mate,” Billy growls, expecting the man to back down under his glare. To his surprise, the man actually widens his stance, taking up even more of the walkway even as Billy gets closer.
“Hey, you just smell like you could use a little…help, if you know what I mean,” the man says, smirk growing wider, and Billy is hit with a thick, woodsy smell that nearly makes him stutter in his steps. Alarms go off in his mind. Another fucking Alpha, with fucking Alpha pheromones, he thinks, gritting his teeth as he tries to keep from taking another breath.
“Fuck off,” he says, shouldering the guy aside, only to stumble as a sharp pain lances through his stomach, forcing him to catch himself against the wall.
Limbs feeling slow and uncoordinated, he tries to regain his balance as the Alpha laughs and crowds in closer. “Fuck, I was just trying to be nice, you don’t gotta be such a bitch about it. In the state you’re in, you’re gonna be begging for my knot in another minute anyway,” the Alpha says, voice low and mocking.
Dread shoots through Billy’s system just as another cramp does, making him double over in silent agony. Fuck, it’s coming on too fast. If he doesn’t get out of here soon—
Loud as a thunderclap, a crash comes from right behind them, cement and dust flying everywhere as part of the tunnel ceiling caves in.
Besides him, the Alpha flinches, stumbling back. “What the—” A low hum cuts off his sentence, the man vaporizing into a thick mist of red that splatters against Billy’s face as a pair of laser beams bisect his body.
A figure steps out from the cloud of settling dust.
“Found you.”
Clenching his jaw against the pain, Billy musters the rest of his strength to push himself up, barely suppressing a shudder as he stares into Homelander’s manic blue eyes. All around him, the air seems to crackle with electric energy, the space between them filling with the smell of an oncoming storm.
“Don’t worry, William. I’d never let anyone else touch you,” Homelander says, smiling and spreading his hands out, palms up in a parody of supplication.
“You ain’t gonna be touching me either,” Billy says. With all the energy he can muster, he shoots another laser at Homelander, blasting him back into the dust and rubble.
Sprinting for the exit, he makes it to the bottom of the stairs before he’s grabbed by the back of his collar, pulling him off-balance and sending him crashing to the floor.
“I have to say, William, I like our little games, but this is getting a little old, don’t you think?” Homelander says as he crouches over him, undeterred by Billy’s snarls and struggles as he holds him down against the rough pavement.
No, no, it can’t end like this—
A gloved hand firmly grips the tender skin at the back of his neck and all the fight rushes out of him, millions of years of evolution forcing his whole body to go limp.
“Wow, you really are an Omega,” Homelander says, sounding unnaturally breathless.
Billy feels his skin crawl. “You’re fucking dead,” he spits, trying to get his traitorous limbs back under control.
Homelander just laughs. “Oh William,” he says, grabbing Billy’s chin and twisting his head to the side.
Billy tries to move, tries to do anything, but despite his best efforts, all he can do is twitch weakly as Homelander places sharp fangs against his neck.
The bite is swift, teeth ripping through skin like paper. As if struck by lightning, Billy arches his back, a strangled scream caught in the back of his throat as the bond snaps into place. Pain lances through every nerve as it burrows deep inside him, tendrils of it threading through his bones to irrevocably bind his every molecule to his Alpha’s will.
It’s wrong, it’s the antithesis of everything he’s ever fought for, but the worst part of it is that it feels so right. All that he is belongs to his Alpha, just like it was always meant to be, and he can already feel his body changing, filling with yearning for that monster’s touch.
“Mine,” he hears Homelander growl when it’s finished, a note of awe in his voice, and Billy is grateful for the darkness that swallows up his consciousness if only to spare his dignity from succumbing to the urge to reply back with a quiet, choked, “Yours.”
He wakes to the sensation of silky sheets against his naked skin, the coolness of the linen a poor balm for the intense heat raging through his body. The bed he’s on is soft in a way he’s never experienced before, but as sensitive as he is right now, even the slightest brush of fabric against his skin feels like torture, and he’s briefly grateful to not be wearing any clothes.
Catching the smell of ozone, he whines, a stab of need curling deep within his gut. His Alpha’s scent is all around him, clinging to the sheets and hanging thick in the air, but he doesn’t know where his Alpha is, and the thought that he may have been left behind has a sob threatening to burst out of his throat.
He needs his Alpha so much it hurts, his entire body aching with the desire to be touched. Trying to shift to a more comfortable position only makes him more aware of the painful erection hanging heavy between his legs, but neither reaching down to stroke it nor pitifully humping the mattress does anything to check the waves of arousal racking his body.
Dizzy with desperation, he manages to push himself up onto his knees, chest instinctually dropping down to press flush against the mattress in proper presenting position as he reaches back to press two fingers into his hole. With how wet he is already, there isn’t much resistance, and he moans at the stretch. Two fingers quickly become three, but though it helps lessen the ache of the emptiness inside him, it’s just still not enough.
Whimpering as he fucks himself on his own fingers, he nearly misses the sound of the door opening. Relief rushes through him as the bond sparks with his Alpha’s presence, the air growing thicker with that sharp, electric scent.
“Alpha,” he calls out, trembling with anticipation. He hears his Alpha chuckle, then feels the bed behind him dip with the weight of another body.
“Feeling a little needy, hmm, Billy?” his Alpha says, sounding indulgently fond in a way that has his inner Omega preening from the attention. “You know, I think I like you better like this.”
Better than what, a strange, small voice in the back of his mind asks, but before he can dwell on it further, his Alpha is wrapping iron fingers around his wrist, and it’s all he can do to keep from crying out as his hand is pulled aside, the emptiness reopening inside him.
“Shhhh, don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” his Alpha says, soothing his panic with a few caresses to the small of his back. A warm hand strokes along the curve of his ass, continuing down to swipe through the mess of slick that’s dripped down the inside of his thighs. “God, look at you, you’re so wet. Wet and ready, and all just for me.”
He whines as his Alpha pulls away, but before he can protest further, his Alpha’s hand is back to dig fingers into his hip, holding him still as a blunt cockhead presses against his hole. His eyes roll back into his skull as his Alpha pushes home on a single, harsh thrust, finally filling him exactly how he needs.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he moans into a pillow, barely aware of the wet spot of spit he’s making as his Alpha pounds into him with a merciless tempo, too far gone to do anything but hang on for the ride.
“See, isn’t it so much better this way? I knew we shared a destiny. I’m gonna fill you up and watch you grow round and huge with my pups,” his Alpha pants, breath hot against the back of his neck. “Our pups will be so strong, so perfect, and you’ll look so perfect wearing my collar and all heavy with milk. Ngh...”
The words filter slowly through the haze filling his head, and despite how good he feels, he frowns, a flicker of unease crossing his mind. He should want everything his Alpha wants, but something doesn’t sit right.
He opens his mouth, but whatever he was going to say is lost as his Alpha hits that spot in him that makes stars explode behind his eyelids, and all other feelings are washed away. “Please,” he says instead, his back arching with the pleasure that his Alpha has granted him. “Need you, Alpha. Love you.”
At that, his Alpha’s hips stutter and he hears him moan, impaling him with one last thrust before stretching him impossibly wider with the swell of his Alpha’s knot. He comes undone at the first hot splash of cum inside him, his ass clenching down around his Alpha’s cock as his world fades out in a burst of gold. Boneless and blissed out from the press of the knot as it continues to pulse within him, he doesn’t even flinch when his Alpha groans again and leans over to mouth at the still-fresh mating bite on his neck, latching on and suckling at the skin in a way that would be painful if not for the endorphins flooding his brain.
Yes, yes, they whisper to him as his Alpha pushes them both onto their side and curls around his back. This is perfect. This is what you were made for.
And so, with his Alpha’s cock still filling him with seed, he closes his eyes and drifts off into a satisfied, dreamless sleep.
Consciousness comes back to Billy in fits and spurts. His body feels as exhausted as it always does after the Temp V’s worn off, the ache of his muscles making him reluctant to open his eyes. For the first time in a long while, he feels warm, comfortable, and safe—that is, until he registers the body pressed up behind him.
His eyes snap open as the memories return to him in a rush, all warmth evaporating as cold dread strangles his chest.
“Good morning, William,” Homelander purrs, arms tightening around Billy to trap him in a twisted parody of a lover’s embrace.
Knowing that physically fighting is useless without Temp V doesn’t stop Billy from trying. “Let me fucking go.”
“Rude. That’s no way to greet your Alpha, is it?” Homelander chides, completely unbothered by Billy’s attempts to throw him off as he presses his lips against the sore spot on the side of Billy’s neck.
“You’re not my anything,” Billy growls, bile rising in his throat at the reality of his new situation. “Let me go or I’ll cut your bloody fingers off and stuff them up your arse.”
It’s an empty threat. He knows it, and Homelander knows it, but it doesn’t hurt any less when Homelander just laughs. “Wow, kinky. I gotta say, you are pretty feisty for an Omega, and I like it, so I’m glad you haven’t changed on me. But, whether you want to admit it or not, that little bite on your neck says that I’m your Alpha, so you really don’t get to tell me what to do. How about you try asking nicely?”
Choking from rage and bitter humiliation, it takes a while for Billy to find the voice to answer. “I’ll eat a bullet before I beg you for anything. First chance I get, I’m jumping off this bloody fucking tower.”
“No, you won’t,” Homelander says after a brief pause, smiling into the back of Billy’s neck. “And you know why?”
A timid, short series of knocks rings out from the closed door leading out from the bedroom.
“Dad? Are you still sleeping?” a young voice calls out, and whatever scathing response Billy was about to shoot back dies in his throat. Ryan.
Homelander huffs a laugh, his breath puffing against Billy’s skin. “Hey, you came to see him, didn’t you? Want me to let him in?”
“Are you fucking daft? We’re bloody starkers,” Billy hisses.
“Well then, stop moving around so much or you’ll kick the sheet off,” Homelander says before raising his voice to call out, “No, I’m awake, Ryan. Come in.”
And with that, Billy can do nothing other than stare in mute horror as the door swings open and Ryan steps inside. “Hey Dad, I was wondering—” Ryan starts to say, then stops, eyes widening as they land on Billy. “Butcher?”
“Ryan,” he manages to choke out, unable to tear away his gaze, a sharp stab of pain piercing his chest as he’s hit with the memory of how Ryan had looked at him in the aftermath of the fight with Soldier Boy.
“Butcher, why are you—Dad, why’s Butcher here?”
“Ryan, did they ever tell you about dynamics in school?” Homelander asks as Billy tries to pull himself together, shame and guilt and panic crashing into each other to fill his mind with a dull static roar.
Ryan furrows his eyebrows. “A little? I mean, I know in school they said that Alphas are the strongest and Omegas are the weakest, but Mom always said—”
“Never mind what your mom said,” Homelander interrupts, a touch of irritation in his voice. “The truth is that Omegas need Alphas, otherwise they get very sick, and it makes them confused. Alphas need Omegas to mate with, so that they can have more healthy Alpha pups, like you. As Alphas, it’s our duty to guide and protect Omegas, or else they might get hurt or even hurt themselves.”
“Is…is Butcher an Omega?”
“Yeah, he sure is, buddy. He was very sick, because he hadn’t had an Alpha to help him in a very long time. But now I’m here, and I’m going to keep him safe and make sure he behaves properly so he doesn’t get sick again. And maybe, in a few years, you’ll have a little brother or sister to play with, how does that sound?”
Ryan’s eyes grow huge and round. “Really? I’ve always wanted to be a big brother, I—I’m sorry Butcher, I knew you were sick but I didn’t know…I’m sorry I got mad.”
“No, Ryan,” Billy starts to say, then winces as Homelander tightens his arms around him in warning. “…I’m sorry too. Didn’t mean to say any of that shite to you.”
Ryan smiles at him, eyes looking a little watery. “I forgive you. I…really missed you.”
The relief that washes through Billy is almost enough to drown out his growing nausea. “Missed you too, lad.”
Behind him, Homelander lets out a satisfied purr, the vibration of it rumbling through Billy’s back. “Well, I’m glad that’s all sorted out! Now, Ryan, what was it you wanted to ask about?”
“Oh! I wanted to ask…me and Mom used to make pancakes together for breakfast sometimes,” Ryan says in a small voice, fidgeting slightly and dropping his gaze. “Could we…do that too?”
“Yeah, of course, buddy! That sounds fun!” Homelander says with an exaggerated cheer that sets Billy’s teeth on edge. “You go on ahead to the kitchen. William and I just need to get up and get dressed and we’ll be there in a second.”
Ryan’s whole face lights up. “Okay! I’ll look for the ingredients! Mom used to say I was the best assistant,” he says, bouncing up excitedly and skipping out of the room, looking just as healthy and happy as a kid his age should be.
“See, was that so hard?” Homelander whispers into Billy’s ear, nipping none-too-gently at the nape of Billy’s neck as Billy tries to headbutt him. “We’re going to make the perfect family.”
“I ain’t having your fucking kids, you cunt. Even if I don’t off myself, I’ll be dead in a year anyway.”
Homelander heaves a put-upon sigh. “Please, William, didn’t you hear anything I just said? You’re my Omega, and I’m going to keep you safe,” he says with a level of assurance that sets off every alarm in Billy’s head.
“Whatever else you or Vought’s got cooking up, I don’t want none of it.”
“Mm, we’ll see,” Homelander says as he finally lets Billy go, nimbly avoiding Billy’s furious right hook to sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed. “Now, am I going to need to make you take a shower, or can you get cleaned up yourself? Ryan’s waiting. You wouldn’t want to disappoint him, would you?”
Billy snarls, but there’s no heat in it. Homelander has him beat, and there’s nothing Billy can do—not right now, anyway, and the sheer humiliation of it tempers his urge to have another go at Homelander and damn the consequences.
But later, as he’s in the kitchen showing Ryan how to flip a pancake without fucking it up too badly, trying to keep from grinding his teeth together every time Ryan turns around with a megawatt smile to slide a pancake onto Homelander’s plate, that same humiliation crystallizes into a cold fury that fills him with a steady, unyielding resolve.
His body may ache for Homelander’s now, the instincts that scream at him to obey even the slightest suggestion of command from his Alpha’s mouth growing undeniably stronger with every minute spent in the fucker’s presence, but he’ll be damned if he lets himself become like his mum, personality and will completely overwritten by the nature of the bond.
After all, mated Omega or not, he’s still Billy fucking Butcher, and no matter what he has to do to keep his promise to Becca, he’s going to make bloody well sure that Homelander never fucking forgets it.