Chapter Text
"I know that we are upside down
So hold your tongue and hear me out
I know that we were made to break
So what? I don't mind"
The first time, it seemed like an isolated event. Butcher returned to his flat exhausted, ready to chuck the green compound Maeve had provided. He didn't want anything to do with the supes; powers wouldn't bring him any good, probably just make him do more stupid things.
But a familiar landing sound echoed on his terrace. Walking toward his window, he saw him—that stopped his pace for a moment, but then he resumed it and even found himself opening the door.
"If you want to watch me have a wank, it’ll cost you a tenner" he said with a sarcastic, hostile tone. If he was there to kill him, at least he’d take it with a bit of humor.
Homelander's serious face didn't react to his comment. "May I come in?" he said simply.
Butcher eyed him from head to toe in a quick scan before stepping aside and heading back inside, leaving the door open behind him, hearing the other walk to follow him in. Homelander slowly paced through the flat as if he owned the place, while Butcher went to fix himself a tea; he needed to relax a bit before his unexpected and unpleasant visit.
"Where’s Ryan?" He intuitively guessed that was why the blonde bloke had come—to look for his son—but Butcher didn't have him.
And he certainly wouldn't say where he actually was. "He’s at 673 Nosh My Bollocks Ave" he approached where the other was standing and sat right down at the table for two. "You want a pen and paper?"
"You know I could just pull you apart limb to limb" his gaze was cold and threatening, but Billy didn't flinch, simply sipping from his mug without looking away. "Make you tell me."
"Nah, that’d be worthless" the Englishman replied with indifference. "Victim always goes into shock. You got to start small" He said it as if it were a cooking recipe. "Fingers, toenails, ears."
"He’s my son, William" The blonde bloke didn't care about his chatter; he wanted to get to the point. "My family. I’m gonna find him sooner or later."
A silence permeated the place with the green walls.
Neither would yield, as always.
"Look, uh…" He touched his beard, apparently serious. "I don’t mean to be rude, but can we just skip to the part where you laser my fucking brains out?"
"Oh, for Christ sakes, where’s the sport in that?" On that they agreed, but William wouldn't say it out loud. "No, look at you." The super finally sat in the other chair, face to face. "It’d be like putting down a wounded dog."
"You’re the one with the tail between your legs on all them fucking talks shows." For Billy, there was a certain amusement in seeing Homelander suffer from being a product and nothing more. "And then they go and make Starlight co-captain." Butcher mocked, clicking his tongue. "That’s got to sting."
The other's jaw tightened, and he made one of his usual angry grimaces—the ones William knew well. "Touché, William." But he accepted it, looking at him with anger. "Touché." He lowered his gaze.
Billy found it an interesting change, but digging deeper would mean giving the bastard too much importance. "What are you doing here?"
Again those expressions, far too visceral to be associated with anything positive. "Vought and the fucking bureau. The wheeling and dealing, and-and-and-and giving and taking just to keep everything exactly the same." He complained, practically venting to William Butcher of all people.
And Butcher was listening to him.
"And you and me?" Oh, he was involving him in his feelings about being controlled. "Well, they treat us like old playthings and put us up on the fucking shelf? Hmmm?" As always, his tone and way of expressing himself were those of a person with little self-control.
Not that William was an expert at it, but at least he didn't overreact.
"Treat us like we’re obsolete." Even if he didn't want to admit it, he understood where his enemy was heading. "Doesn’t that make you angry?"
He thought about it, but—"Yeah"—accompanied by a slight nod of his head. "It does."
"What if…" Homelander began to phrase it; he noticed the ideas racing through his mind. "What if it doesn’t have to be that way?" Butcher furrowed his brow slightly, but he wanted to keep listening. "What if… you and I… well, what if we share a different destiny?"
Butcher took a long draught from his tea mug, but he didn't break his gaze from the other's blue eyes. He hated how gripping the conversation was. Of all the people in the world, his most interesting chat in a long time had to be with the bloody Homelander.
"Something a little more… scorched earth." A tiny smirk began to show on the super's mouth. "Shock and awe. Blood and bone." There was a spark in his gaze, as if those words brought him hope. "And in the end, only one of us left standing." The smile finally broke out on its own. "Isn’t that what you want?"
Billy, though not particularly hopeful like the other bloke, felt a pleasant turn in his stomach. "Too fucking right. More than anything" he answered him, leaning over the table, a bit closer to the other.
"I look forward to it."
Billy shifted his gaze toward where he had hidden that compound offered before the visit. When he returned his attention to the table, he was already alone again. The smile vanished involuntarily from his face.
He assumed the deal was done—a verbal contract between two rivals. He thought now they just had to wait for it to happen.
But it didn't turn out that way. And strangely, he was almost looking forward to the dynamic.
Homelander appeared again, just two days later, also at night. William hid the photo of Soldier Boy’s team along with some other random papers. He didn't want the other to meddle in the plan he was beginning to hatch. He had to go the next day to find the team so they could back him up.
It was like a cliché, for the super remained on the terrace, waiting for Butcher to open the door to his flat and allow him in.
"What do you want now then? Come to use me as a shrink again? Doesn't your bloody company provide you with one?"
"Ugh, look who's talking." Homelander rolled his eyes. "I don't need a head shrinker. What about you, William?"
Billy just shrugged and turned his back on him, leaving the door open once more. "Tea or coffee?"
The blonde bloke stood there pensively for a few seconds as he walked in. "Have you got milk?" There was a certain reluctance in his request, as if he were embarrassed to say it.
Billy let out a chuckle and looked at him, slightly amused. "I said tea or coffee." Even if he had milk, he wouldn't give him any.
Homelander let out a frustrated sigh. "Tea, I suppose." Homelander stood in front of the counter, with his posture and hands behind his back. "Do you know what day it is tomorrow?"
Billy switched on the kettle and turned to face the other, furrowing his brow. "Thursday?"
"My birthday" he said, almost excited, as if he expected something from Billy because of that information.
"Oh right, sorry, I just had it tucked away in the category of things I don't give a toss about" he replied sarcastically.
"Oh, please, every year they celebrate it nationwide. How could you not know?" he complained.
"Well, I don't bloody know, bastard. Why would I care about that regarding you?" Had he really just come to wind him up with nonsense? "Do you know mine? No, because..."
The blonde bloke interrupted him. "November 17th."
The dark-haired youth went silent and eyed Homelander with narrowed eyes. "How the bloody hell do you know that? I've never sent you an invitation."
He simply shrugged. "I know a lot about you, William. I believe in that saying: keep your friends close, but your enemies even closer."
"Right, because knowing my birthdate is going to make me close to you." He approached the super, divided only by the kitchen counter. "Even if I knew your birthday, it ought to be just another bloody line on the calendar to me."
Homelander seemed to ponder what he wanted to say. "It doesn't sound that different from what it is to Vought. Just a date... a fucking event to monetize. It's not even my actual birthdate" he confessed. "I like it while it's happening, but in the end, it feels artificial."
"Well, you're a product of a lab." As bad as it might sound, Butcher didn't say it to offend; he stated it as a fact. "Almost everything around you is artificial."
He turned his back to him, focusing on the tea on the stove, which was almost ready. "Does it make sense that you're one of the few genuine things I have?" He was thankful he wasn't facing the supe, so he wouldn't see his look of brief shock. "Your hatred, well, our hatred," he corrected. "It feels more real than the congratulations or gifts everyone else gives me."
Billy rolled his eyes and looked back at him, just turning his head. "How tragic. The bastard doesn't want the biggest party of the year, he just wants a hug." He saw Homelander tighten his jaw and felt better, turning his attention back to the kettle, which was now ready. "So is that why you turned up today? To celebrate your birthday?"
Homelander shook his head but stammered, "Well, no, not exactly. I just... I don't know why I did it."
Butcher took two mugs and set them on the counter, holding the kettle with a tea towel so as not to get burned by the heat on the metal. "Right then, cunt" He poured the liquid into each mug and pulled out a tin of shortbread cookies. "I hope a cup of Earl Grey and a biscuit will do you, because I'm not going to be Marilyn singing to JFK."
Homelander laughed with a snort and nodded. They went to sit at the table. They drank their tea in silence.
"I reckon it's your birthday now" Billy said, pointing to the clock.
The blonde bloke looked at the clock and then at the man across from him. "What are you gonna get me, William?" he teased.
"The first punch when our time comes" he referred to that promised final battle.
Homelander sighed. "I'll settle for that." He left as soon as his mug was empty, and the biscuit crumbs scattered with the gust of wind.
The third time took a little longer to arrive. In six days a lot of things had happened—both discoveries and losses. Butcher was sitting on the couch, watching the telly without paying much attention; he just wanted to rest a bit after the disastrous trip to Russia.
His door was wide open to let the smoke from the three consecutive cigarettes he’d smoked clear out of the flat. But when he heard a landing and footsteps coming in, he didn't much care.
"I hope you've brought dinner, my bloody fridge is empty" he said without looking round at the super.
He heard a groaning sigh and expected a reply, but instead felt a rush of wind behind him. That did make him turn around, only to find an empty spot that was filled six seconds later, with the blonde bloke holding a bag from Carl's Jr. Billy looked at him sitting beside him, still a bit puzzled by the gesture.
"Honestly, I don't know what it is, I just stole it from a delivery guy." Butcher looked up into the other's blue eyes. "Relax, I didn't kill anyone to bring you dinner, William." He began to tear the bag open. "I just knocked him out. Oh, look, doesn't look bad."
Billy rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the telly while Homelander pulled out the food, handed him a double burger, and he, though hesitant, accepted it. Homelander kept a box of chicken tenders for himself. They began to eat in silence.
"Why so quiet, William? Things are going well" Homelander sang out, smiling.
"If you want to talk about your speeches as a straight white man with powers or your lavender marriage to Starlight, then you've come to the wrong bloody place" he assured, keeping his eyes on the home renovation show.
"Well, let's talk about you then" he proposed. "What's got you so... like this?" He gave a quick look over Billy's entire body.
Billy sighed, took a bite of his burger, and waited to swallow before turning to look at the one still waiting for an answer. "My team hates me." He wasn't about to give more information, but it was the truth.
"Mine hates me too, but I don't need them. Do you need yours? Truly?"
Billy tilted his head. "Aren't you going to ask me why?"
The blonde bloke shook his head. "You wouldn't tell me anyway, that's obvious."
"You're right about that." He took another bite. "I don't know, right now I reckon I could do it alone."
"What changed?" The gloved hand reached over to offer him some French fries.
He wouldn't say a thing about Temp V; it was none of his business. "They're soft. They can't keep up with my pace. And it's only fair. They didn't ask for any of this, I dragged them into it." He swallowed two fries. "But it's so bloody annoying that they want a fairy-tale ending to a war."
"Pfff, tell me about it," he agreed, still chewing his mouthful. "I get that I'm the strongest, but I'd like to see that spark of confrontation in someone..."
"Starlight does it."
The blonde bloke shook his head and stuffed several fries into his mouth. "She's terrified too. Maeve is probably the only one who isn't afraid of me, but she's wasted—too busy with alcohol and orgies to do anything about it. She's not the kind of company I like."
Butcher cast a look at him, as if searching for something. "Yeah, it's like something's missing. I'm sick of listening to lectures as if I'm the only one to blame, as if they hadn't agreed to it themselves." He took the soft drink and popped the lid off to take a cold draught. "I'm getting bored of that dynamic."
Homelander nodded, taking the drink right out of Butcher's hand, who put up no resistance.
"We're the only two real bastards in this game, aren't we?" he asked his nemesis.
The super smiled. "Exactly. And that's why nobody seems to understand us, William, not even our supposed allies." He bit his burger and then held it out to the dark-haired man. "Want some?"
Butcher simply leaned over and took a bite without taking the burger from his hand. He felt the blue gaze fixed on the action of his teeth cutting through the food.
"I think it's always been you and me, William," he accepted. "If I'd realized sooner, I would've made you my ally. I don't know, back at that Christmas dinner, before..." He silenced himself, but Billy could deduce why he did it and what he meant.
He tightened his jaw and wished he had the green compound running through his veins to at least land a solid blow. But he confined himself to turning his attention back to the telly and cranking the volume up to the max—an unnecessary level of noise.
He heard the other bloke clear his throat, take more fries, and leave the last piece of the chicken burger before flying off. Next time, he wouldn't just lock that door; he'd rip it off and block it with concrete if necessary to keep that bastard from coming in.
Clearly, he had neither the time nor the focus to do so, far too busy searching for and finding Soldier Boy—the perfect weapon to beat Homelander. He had left him in a transit hotel watching telly, eating junk food, and snorting coke.
He couldn't sleep because of the anxiety of heading to Herorgasm the next day. It was past one in the morning when there was a knock at his rooftop door. He thought about ignoring it, but the bastard spoke up.
"William, I know you're in there. Open up" he requested; he sounded a bit agitated.
"You can confess your sins from right out there, I'm listening, my son" he said sarcastically, still lying in his bed.
The super snorted from outside. "Don't be ridiculous. If you don't open up, I'll force my way in."
"Right, save me the effort."
He heard the lasers, and as soon as he heard the door open, he got up and walked out of his room, arriving in the living room where Homelander was waiting for him on his feet.
"What do you want now then?"
"Have you heard about Soldier Boy?" He swallowed hard, without realizing that Billy did the same. "Well, he’s out there, loose. That old man shouldn't be alive. I don't understand where the hell he came from."
Butcher scratched his beard, thinking. "Are you scared of him?" he analyzed.
Homelander placed his hands on his hips and began to pace anxiously. "Pfff, not at all, it's just... what if he wants what's mine? What if he came back to be the country's favorite again?"
That was his biggest fear, at least for now, of course. The fears of an insecure child. "I don't think you need to worry about that." He walked toward the kitchen, passing right by the blonde bloke. "He's a man of the past. Do you honestly think America doesn't love you enough to replace you with some guy who's more handsome than you and returned out of nowhere?" He poked at that weak spot.
"He's not more handsome than me," he defended himself. "And no, I don't think they'll stop loving me because of him."
Billy opened his fridge and pulled out a beer for himself and a carton of milk for his guest. "So? Or is there something else making you this worked up?"
Homelander took the milk carton, almost grateful for the gesture. "Did you see what happened in Midtown? I know nothing will happen to me from that explosion..." Billy hid his smile as he took a sip of his beer, knowing full well what that explosion caused. "But it's... something I think about."
"Well, don't think about it." He shrugged. "And just pray that you're wrong."
The draught of milk was long, as if he were trying to drown his sorrows in dairy. "And what if I'm not wrong? I'll be left alone." His fear felt honest.
Butcher took another sip of his beer and then stepped around the kitchen counter to stand beside his enemy. "You're not gonna be alone, bastard" Billy murmured with a cynical smirk. "Even if the world goes to shit and they take your crown, I'll still be right here." He assured him, and that was the truth. "We have a deal, and I promised I'd be the one to drag you to the grave. Nobody is going to win that privilege over me."
Surprisingly, Homelander let out a sigh of relief, calming down at the reminder and finding a refuge of honesty in the Englishman’s hatred. Nobody said anything for a few moments until the super firmly grabbed him by the shoulder in a dominant squeeze of apparent camaraderie. "Thanks, William."
The fifth occasion arrived just the following night. After the failed plan at Herorgasm.
The landing, unlike the previous times, was violent; it shook the entire place, expecting a reaction from the owner of the flat. However, the man in question was slumping on the couch, just a bit pissed, with the Temp V still in his blood putting up a resistance.
The door, with its lock melted the night before, was accessible to anyone. In this case, to a very angry super.
"William!" the other shouted upon arrival, stepping forcefully inside the flat. "We had a deal!"
"Get lost, you're not welcome" he said, taking another swig from his bottle of whiskey.
"Go to hell! I thought at least you were being honest with me!" He snatched the liquor bottle from the other bloke and threw it, smashing it against a wall. "We promised scorched earth!"
"Well, that house ended up quite scorched, if you ask me."
"But it wasn't supposed to be like this!" Homelander suddenly hauled Butcher off the couch, standing face to face with him. "Seriously? With Soldier Boy?"
"Jealous?" he asked cynically, winding him up with a little smirk.
"Just yesterday, we talked about him, and today..." He tightened his jaw. "That wasn't fair at all, William."
"All's fair in love and war, Homie" he assured, stepping a pace closer, challenging and emboldened by the power in his veins.
"Right, because you didn't just work with that idiot and that pathetic Campbell! That wasn't enough for you, was it?" His arm was lifted and examined by Homelander, seeing the golden light rippling beneath his skin.
"I just leveled the playing field." He yanked his arm back, pulling it away from the blonde bloke.
"Pure bullshit!"
Butcher glared at him, angry as well. "I made it clear to you from day one. My goal is to put you six feet under, and if there are more people willing to help because they share my hatred for you, I'll make deals with them too."
Homelander, surprisingly, stepped back. "Nobody hates me like you do, William, and I don't hate anyone the way I hate you." He looked him straight in the eyes—that blue was almost imperceptible due to the darkness in his stare. "That's why it has to be just you and me at the end!"
A cathartic idea formed in the Englishman's mind, and he smirked. "Well, right now, it is just you and me." The proposition was implicit, but he continued anyway. "Let's do this once and for all."
With that said, his eyes turned golden. Homelander smirked back, and his eyes turned red. Both lasers clashed, marking the beginning of a new battle right in the middle of Butcher's living room.
When the beams of energy managed to dodge their mutual block, they impacted directly on their bodies; Billy's ray hit Homelander square in the chest, managing to scorch the fabric of his battle-designed suit and leaving a superficial mark on his indestructible skin, but the blonde bloke's counter-attack was far more destructive to the Englishman's ordinary clothes, ripping smoking tatters into his jacket and leaving Butcher's burned torso exposed.
Every time the lasers missed their target in the speed of the struggle, the infrastructure of the penthouse took the punishment immediately; the thermal beams shot past, slicing through the metallic beams of the ceiling, piercing the frames on the walls, and melting the kitchen appliances into a silent drip of liquid iron that set the wooden furniture alight.
Knowing his clothes were falling to pieces and that he couldn't win a staring contest against the super bastard, Billy cut off the attack and ducked, tackling Homelander by the waist to slam him against the back wall.
The solid concrete of the penthouse absorbed the structural blows with a dull thud, cracking but keeping the place standing. Homelander roared out of pure frustration from the assault, grabbing him by the shoulders to hurl him against what was left of the dining table, which shattered upon contact with Butcher's back. Billy rolled across the floor, got to his feet, and landed a right hook straight to the jaw that sent the blonde bloke back three paces.
"I'm gonna burn you, William!" Homelander roared, clenching his teeth as his eyes flashed red once more. "You won't mock me again."
Billy let out a raspy laugh, spitting a string of blood as he noticed the marks from the afternoon's fight.
"Look at you... you've got a purple shadow on your cheek," Billy mocked, slurring his words with a venomous cynicism. "I've never seen a bruise on you before. It matches your suit. I have to admit, old Soldier Boy does an excellent job. It's a delight working with professionals."
The comment broke the final thread of Homelander's sanity. The battle turned into a wild, disorganized whirlwind of super strength in far too confined a space; they slammed against the concrete pillars, shattered the shelves, and smashed through the terrace window, letting the wind of the storm inside to clear the smoke from the lasers.
Taking advantage of Billy blinking, Homelander grabbed him by the neck with both hands and slammed him against the concrete floor with a brutal force that cracked the ground beneath the Englishman's back. The blonde bloke dropped down on top of him, using his entire weight to pin his arms with his knees, cornering him against the cold floor as he breathed erratically.
"It's over, Butcher," Homelander hissed from above, clenching his jaw with a mix of fury and a strange desperation. "Tonight I'll fulfill my part and I'll be the last man standing."
"Then do it once and for all, then" Billy challenged in a whisper, staring up at him from the floor with a fury accumulated over time. "Stop whinging and finish it."
The fighting ceased abruptly, leaving only the sound of the sparking disaster in the flat and their ragged breathing. Billy was trapped underneath, his clothes in scorched tatters and his teeth stained with his own blood; above him, Homelander's nose dripped a thick red line—a tribute to Billy's strength that night thanks to the temporary powers.
A drop of Homelander's blood fell directly onto Billy's cracked lips, sliding toward the corner of his mouth. Neither of them moved. Billy didn't wipe it off, nor did he spit; he confined himself to slowly running his tongue over his bottom lip, tasting the metallic flavor of the nemesis pinned on top of him while his hazel eyes locked into John's blue ones.
In that exact second, the air between their faces changed completely. The adrenaline of the violence mutated into something thick, possessive, and... different; the closeness of their bodies, the feverish heat they both emanated from the fight, and the weight of Homelander pressing Billy against the floor unleashed an electric current that neither of them could ignore.
"William" Homelander said in a whisper, a look of certain fear on his face.
"Shut your mouth" Billy replied in the same manner. They stayed still for a moment that seemed to slow down, because what was happening between them wasn't just the result of their five nightly visits, but of years of unreleased tension. "Now listen to me."