Chapter Text
When he took Ryan in, Homelander thought he would finally leave being lonely behind. The way he felt when he looked at his son, the way his chest squeezed and tears pricked his eyes, it was unlike anything he'd ever felt. He'd thought he'd known love with Maeve. Madelyn. Stormfront.
All of that paled in comparison to the love he felt for his son.
Homelander hadn't gotten it at first, thinking that Ryan would be better off simply playing his role as Homelander’s Son. Wasn’t that what everyone around him did? Played the roles he and Vought chose for them? As time went on, though, and he was faced with the possibility of having Ryan removed from his life , he began to appreciate the little things that made Ryan him. He started looking forward to the Lego movies, listening to Ryan puzzle over his homework, trying to cook with him in the previously untouched kitchen.
Ryan was the only person on the planet that Homelander had ever tried, really tried, to change for.
They were still gods, obviously, better than the masses of mud people that praised them. He had pushed Ryan too hard at first, trying to speed through the misery that was the Vought process. Seeing how distressed Ryan got firsthand had made Homelander realize he didn't want to subject Ryan to the same lack of freedom he had suffered. His son, above anyone else, deserved what he wanted. It helped that Ryan very rarely asked for anything that Homelander found unreasonable. Ryan not being a smaller version of him had initially unnerved him, even if he understood that it wasn't logical to assume he would be—nature and nurture and all that. It had stopped worrying him, though. After all, there could only be one Homelander.
Ryan could never be him, but he'd try to get his son at least close.
Somehow, he felt like their relationship had improved as his expectations changed; every time they had a father-son moment, Homelander realized he was even starting to like that his son was different from him. Ryan was his own person, something Homelander never got to experience himself. He was always the person others wanted him to be, slave to what the ratings demanded of him, so it felt important to give Ryan choices. It helped, too, that Ryan was coming into his own as Vought's next possible superhero. Homelander sometimes wondered if, given the chance, he could have had this life with Soldier Boy… but it wasn't worth thinking about.
What was done was done.
Homelander had known from the moment he discovered his son existed that being with Ryan would make him happy. His dream had always been to have a family, though the picture used to look like Maeve and 2.5 kids. Little clones, American Dream, the childhood he lied about being his own. The reality was different, but he couldn't imagine having anyone other than Ryan as his son.
What he didn't expect was how crushingly lonely it was when he had to be around anyone else.
Going home to his son, who was always excited to share what he had learned that day with Homelander, made every second he wasn't there excruciating. Everything ground on his nerves; Ashley, the Seven, interviews, shoots… even talking to his fans, whose devotion usually pushed him forward more than anything, just didn't cut it. Ryan meant time away from pounding hearts and pandering sycophants. Ryan didn't fear him, he just existed as himself in Homelander's life. It forced every other interaction in his day into stark relief.
The aggressive difference was straining him in ways he didn't think possible. “Homelander” and “Ryan's dad” weren't compatible, the same way “Homelander” and “John” weren't. The person he was to others was different from the one he was with Ryan. He was good at compartmentalizing, he had to be, but there was this nagging feeling in the back of his brain that felt almost like a warning. Of what, he didn't know, but it frayed his nerves further.
With the rotating door of Seven Members and employees, Homelander was left without anyone he could speak to as a semi-equal. There was no one to vent to who had anything intelligent to offer in return. Ryan was closest, but he was still a child and his son—their relationship couldn't be equal. Even Homelander knew that. It's not like a sheltered tween would have helpful input, anyways.
On top of that, there were very few people in Homelander's life who didn't react with fear when he approached. Stan Edgar, for example, back when he was a part of Vought. Black Noir was one once, and Homelander had destroyed that connection with his own hands.Then there was Ashley and The Deep, who were terrified of him. Pathetic little yes-men, A neurotic bitch who wasn’t even a supe and a fish fucker who was much too stupid to be trusted with anything of importance.
William Butcher…
Obviously not.
Homelander sighed, rolling these thoughts around in his head as he took the elevator up to his penthouse. He wished the windows opened on every floor so he could just fly up, but apparently that was a safety risk. Something something liability, blah blah blah. Using superspeed on the stairs risked misting some randos, which was not worth the bureaucratic nightmare to save two minutes. So he was forced to use the elevator, regardless of where he was in the building. At least he had a balcony he could enter through when he was coming back from filming; if he had to wait on an elevator after a long shooting day, he'd probably laser the damn thing and fly up the elevator shaft. He had really considered it after a very frustrating conversation with A-Train, and only held back because Ryan still used the elevator. He couldn't quite fly well enough to consistently use the balcony. God, he wished the kid could pick up his powers faster, but he'd already made the mistake of trying to force it. Now that Ryan could fly a bit, he saw in real time that Ryan responded best to gentle encouragement. Homelander was embarrassed to admit that it did not come easily for him, but he wanted so badly to be a good father.
The elevator dinged.
Homelander let out another sigh, then straightened up. He didn't want Ryan to see how worn out he felt. It was pretty late, probably close to 11 pm. He might not even be awake. Homelander selfishly hoped he was, if only to get to put Ryan to bed. He could use the mood boost. He exited the elevator, powering through the slog of security measures between him and home. When did it actually start feeling like home?
His penthouse was quiet, but Ryan was there, awake, reading on the couch and listening to music. When he looked up at Homelander, he smiled, taking his headphones off.
Suddenly, Homelander's “brave face” wasn't forced. He smiled back. “Hey, champ. How was school?”
“It was good! We worked on English stuff, but I like the book we’re reading so it barely felt like class. Plus, there were more kids today. I didn't really know anyone when I was homeschooled.” Ryan carefully put a bookmark into his book then put it on the arm of the couch. “Especially not other kids like me.”
Homelander tried not to scoff. “Well, like you, sure, but-”
“We're stronger, I know.” Ryan finished with a huff, then looked ashamed. “Sorry. I interrupted you. That was rude.”
“It's fine! It means you're listening, if you can finish my sentences." Homelander chuckled, sitting down next to Ryan on the couch. Ryan could get away with more than most, that was for sure. He was special like that. “I'm glad you like the on-site classes. Vought's private tutors are second to none.”
“Yeah! Living here has been nice.” Ryan pulled his legs to his chest, resting his face against his knees. His expression turned from welcoming to morose.
“But ..?” Homelander felt his stomach drop. What could Ryan possibly be missing? He'd given him everything. A mean voice spoke up in his head.
Ungrateful brat, spoiled, completely unappreciative-
“It's not that I don't wanna live here with you, Dad, it’s great! But… You're just…. Not around much. I've been kind of lonely.”
“Lonely?” Homelander shook the voice off. When Ryan nodded, he relaxed. They were still two of a kind in some ways. He internally apologized to Ryan for doubting him. “Do you want a nanny, or a babysitter? I know you’re not a huge fan of being stuck with Ashley… As long as you ask, your classmates can come over whenever you want. Or I could force Deep to obey you, that could be fun!”
“No! No. That's okay! I was thinking, maybe,” Ryan looked nervous, avoiding eye contact. He hesitated, then spoke. “Would I be allowed to see Butcher?”
Homelander's relaxation was torn away from him, leaving him bristling. He felt his face twitch, but tried to reset it into something less threatening. “You can't be serious.”
“It's okay if the answer's no.” Ryan mumbled against his knees. He seemed resigned, like this was what he expected.
“I-” Homelander took a deep breath. He would be a good dad. He was a good dad. “…It's not no, son, I just don't understand why you'd want to see him. He's worse than those other mud people, he doesn't know his place. He said awful things to you, kiddo. Not to mention kidnapped you and kept you away from me.”
“I know, but we've done stuff, too. We forgave each other, because we were hurting when we did it. He was hurting, too, when he said that.” Ryan looked Homelander in the eyes. There was a kindness there, one that Homelander had spent years faking to the masses. Ryan was the only person in Homelander's life that looked at him like that. Ryan's heartbeat was steady, showing just how earnest he was. He held so much forgiveness in his heart. Homelander would see it as a weakness if it wasn't the only reason he got a second chance with his son.
“That's true, I guess.” Homelander pinched the bridge of his nose. This was more thinking than he was hoping for tonight. “He might try and take you away again.”
“My flying's gotten really good, I've been practicing. Plus, I'm stronger than him. If he really did try something like that, I don't think he could make me go.” Ryan stated confidently, and Homelander felt a surge of pride cut through his unease. Whenever Ryan showed interest in his powers, or acknowledged his strength, it made Homelander happy. Ryan probably knew that, and was using it to plead his case. If it were someone else, Homelander would have laughed at their weak attempts at manipulation. He knew better than that, though; Ryan knew what his dad valued. If anything, it made Homelander feel seen.
“That's true, you're getting tougher everyday.” Homelander ruffled Ryan's hair, allowing himself to hold back less than he had to with others. Ryan didn't even flinch, just giggled. Christ, that was always so refreshing. “Maybe…. But I would have to be with you. Just in case.” He wanted to say no, especially considering who they were talking about, but his need to give in to his son was winning out. If it would make Ryan happier, then he would make it happen. Wasn't that his right? To snap his fingers and make the world bend to his will?
“Really?”
“I said maybe, okay? And that's assuming he'd even agree to that.”
“Of course, oh my gosh, thank you, dad!” Ryan leapt into Homelander's arms, giving him the tightest hug he'd had in a long time. He squeezed back.
“I have a little time tomorrow while you're at school. I'll pay William a visit. Then we'll go from there.” Homelander stood up, picking Ryan up with him. Ryan was probably too old to be held like that, but Homelander appreciated that he didn't complain. He shifted Ryan to one hip then grabbed Ryan's book with his free hand. “But now you gotta go to bed. Did you stay up just to talk about William?”
“No. I stayed up because I wanted to see you.” Once again, not a hint of dishonesty. After years of disingenuous people, it was almost enough to bring Homelander to tears.
“I appreciate that, bud. You make my day.” Homelander hovered his way up to the second floor and into Ryan's room, one of a few extra rooms he had. The other two were dressed with furniture and decor, but they felt more like a magazine shoot than actual functioning living areas. The rooms, just like the rest of the penthouse, had been carefully procured by Vought to express a specific image. The only thing he had chosen was for the walls to be as far from white as they'd allow.
When Ryan began living with him, Homelander had gutted the second largest of the rooms and let Ryan decide how he wanted it decorated. The whole penthouse was getting less and less Americana the longer his family lived there.
His family. It felt so right to finally have that.
Pictures of the presidents were being slowly replaced by pictures of Homelander and Ryan, marble statues removed to make room for things like plants and a desk for Ryan to do his homework. Homelander's bookshelves of atlases and American history books were now dotted with YA novels and STEM textbooks. His own room was moved up to the master. The days of wandering around naked at home were over, but his room had a television and an ensuite so the adjustment wasn't terrible. He didn't love feeling closed in, but privacy was another privilege he wanted to give Ryan.
Ryan’s room was a light shade of butter yellow, similar to the color of the home he had shared with his mother. Homelander allowed it, if only because it seemed to help Ryan feel more at home. The walls were covered in Ryan’s art projects and posters of heroes. Homelander didn't even feel jealous of the heroes, because he knew his relationship with Ryan was more special than anything between a hero and a fan. Ryan didn't need posters of him, he had family photos and the real deal ready to drop everything for him at a moment's notice.
“Is it okay…?” Ryan's voice was small as Homelander tucked him under the covers. “That I want to see Butcher?”
Was it? What was the alternative? He thought about how he would react if Ryan saw Butcher without asking. The flare of rage that shot through him was definitely an indicator that this was much better.
“Listen, kiddo. I, more than anyone, understand feeling lonely. That's one of the hardest parts of being as strong as we are. And asking means a lot.” Homelander paused, hesitating before continuing. “Before you, every person I loved was really afraid of me. They'd lie to me because of it. Having people that don't do that is really important. William… I don't think he could be afraid of you if he tried. He's a unique guy.”
More like a fucking psycho.
William Butcher, the man whose face belonged in the dictionary next to the entry for “wrath.” A man who tore himself apart just to get a chance to fight Homelander. It was a level of obsession that made Homelander want to preen. Stalker fans had nothing on the crazy shit William had been willing to do. His insanity was downright inspired, and Homelander was his muse. Especially once he was pumped up on the V24… What a sight. Those golden eyes, unable to look away from him, and strength that rivaled Homelander's own. William was the first and only person in his adult life to make him feel afraid. It's something he wished he thought about less, not liking the inscrutable feelings it brought up. They were truly a match made in hell.
“Dad?” Ryan's voice broke through, bringing Homelander back to the present moment. “You okay?”
“Just a long day, getting lost in my head. I'll pay William a visit and see if he's willing to come by to see you.”
“...He wouldn't come here.”
Homelander felt the corner of his mouth twitch with irritation again, but shoved that feeling down. Ryan wasn't wrong, getting William into Vought Tower would be like trying to get a feral animal into a bath. He'd have to be drugged and restrained to make it happen.
Homelander chuckled despite himself. The idea of William Butcher being forced into a bath, like some pet in a viral TikTok, amused him. Not that a video like that would go viral; William was anything but cute.
“You're right, buddy. How about this: I get him to agree to the three of us meeting up somewhere neutral, and we'll go from there.”
Ryan nodded, eyes shining. “Thanks, dad. You're the best.”
“You better believe it.” Homelander stood up. “Okay, bed time. You have school tomorrow and you're already up way too late. Good night, son.”
“Good night, dad. I love you.”
Homelander's heart swelled with affection, a feeling he was slowly getting used to. He didn't have to ask Ryan to say it, Ryan gave his love to Homelander freely and without an ulterior motive.
Homelander flicked the light off as he left, pausing a moment to look into those still-bright eyes.
“I love you more.”
It felt weird flying over to William's apartment during daylight hours. He hadn't seen the guy since their last altercation, which was almost six months ago. Who knew if he even lived at the place anymore?
At the very least, the apartment was still decked out with the same old, ugly furniture. It confirmed that he hadn't completely run off with his tail between his legs. Homelander let himself in through the balcony doors, listening for signs of the apartment's occupancy. Before he could focus, he was hit with a smell so strong it felt like he walked into a wall. It reminded him of the first time he went to visit Make-A-Wish kids in the hospital. He had tried to leave due to how overwhelming the scent of illness was for him. Madelyn had to bribe him into completing the wish, and he had vomited afterwards. It was a sickly sweet scent with a sharp undercurrent of chemicals that just turned his stomach. Rotting fruit and acetone.
Homelander stood awkwardly in the middle of William's apartment, reeling from the miasma. It was only when William came shambling out of what must have been the bathroom that he was snapped back to the present moment.
William didn't even have the decency to look surprised to see him. He just put on a wan smile, as if he didn't look and smell like a walking corpse.
“Ahh, to what do I owe the pleasure?” William's voice was rough and raw, like he was losing his voice. “I thought you was playin’ at happily ever after up in your tower, Rapunzel.”
Homelander wrinkled his nose, giving William an x-ray once over. His body was clearly struggling, the offending party seeming to be some sort of tumor pressing up between his brain and his skull. Lesions extended from the mass like tendrils. Was this new? It had to be. Homelander would have noticed this before.
“I was wondering what could have possibly stopped you from making yourself my life's biggest inconvenience.”
“Aye, so you was feelin’ lonely. Noone else in the world to talk to ‘sides o'le Billy Butcher.” William slowly made his way over to the fridge, where he pulled out an entire bottle of cheap whiskey. He unscrewed the top and took a swig. With how little he reacted, he may as well have been sipping water.
Homelander didn't think he could look more disgusted if he tried. It was uncanny, seeing him reduced to this. Even without V24, William had been an imposing figure. Not to Homelander, of course, but in the general sense. Now William looked like a sad shadow of who he was at Herogasm.
“Wrong on both accounts. If it were up to me, I'd let you find an alley to go curl up and die in.”
“An’ who's it up to, then?” William was bracing himself against the counter now, idly swirling his bottle.
“Ryan.”
William seemed to freeze up for a second, like he had short-circuited. He took another swig, staring down at the counter. “Ya don’ say.”
Homelander's lip curled, watching the other man barely hold himself up. “You look like shit.”
“Didn't realize you was Sherlock fuckin’ Holmes.” William finally looked up, making eye contact for the first time. His eyes were bloodshot and hazy with pain. Even so, he still had his shitty attitude. “Or maybe Vought'll rebrand ya to Cap'n fuckin’ Obvious. The new Mesmer.”
“Ha ha.” Homelander approached, trying to brace himself against the intensifying odor of disease. “What's wrong with you?”
“I'm dyin’ of that V24 shit, ain't I?” William laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Doc says I got… what, six months? Maybe a year.”
“What?” Homelander couldn't keep the shock out of his voice. “What about our deal?”
William laughed again, pushing off of the counter in front of him to lean against the cabinets. He ran his hand over his face as his laughter faded. “Not everythin’ has to be ‘bout you, cunt.”
Homelander scoffed. “You're the one who is obsessed with me.”
“An’ look where it got me.” William opened his arms. His clothes hung from his frame awkwardly, his body not filling them out properly anymore.
“How is you having cancer my fault?”
“Guess it isn't. I took the V. I weren't thinkin’ ‘bout the future, cuz we were diggin’ two graves. One for me, one for you. Scorched earth n' all.”
Homelander set his jaw. “Fine, fine, whatever. Forget about me for a second-”
“If only.”
“Shut up.” Homelander held up a gloved hand, then clenched it so hard the leather squeaked. “What. About. Ryan.”
Any ounce of levity William had was immediately lost. He took another deep drink from his bottle before speaking. “What about ‘im?”
“He wants to see you.”
“An’ why would he want that?”
“Fuck if I know.” Homelander shook his head. “I was gonna let it happen, but seeing you like this… Yeah, no.”
William stayed quiet, his expression contemplative. Homelander waited for him to say something, but quickly got irritated.
“What am I supposed to tell him, anyway? That you're rotting away here? That you don't want to see him?”
“You could say that, aye.” William shrugged.
“Where's your fight?” Homelander's voice was rising. Seeing William like this was spurring feelings he couldn't recognize, and he didn't like it. It was almost like he was giving up. Homelander couldn't stand it. William was yet another disappointment, abandoning him.
That itching, angry voice in the back of his head flared up.
Pathetic, pathetic, human feelings. So starved for love, you'll miss a man who wants you dead. Just cuz he gave you a bit of attention.
“You're just going to roll over and die? Tch. You're just as pathetic as the rest of your kind.” Homelander spat, baring his teeth.
That's right, Tiger. Stomp out the weakness.
Despite his words, William didn't even flinch. Homelander got closer, squaring up across the counter. William set his bottle down with a world weary sigh.
“Listen, cunt. Ryan don't need to see me like this, we can agree on that. This ain't about fight or no fight; if I could fight my bloody brain, I'd be doin’ it. It just ain't that simple. I can't do fuckall ‘cept spend all damn day gettin’ sick in the nearest bin or bog. I'm an old dog waitin’ to die.”
“And I'm sure getting shitfaced helps.” Homelander growled.
William barked out a laugh that quickly devolved into wet, phlegmy coughs. He covered his mouth with his arm, doubled over from the force of his hacking. When he finally recovered, he was gasping for air and there was enough blood and mucus splattered on his sleeve that it was dripping. There was a moment of silence as they both stared at the mess. Then, Homelander heard something entirely new to him.
William Butcher's heart, beating with fear.
Homelander felt a chill up his spine, unable to move from where he was standing. He was transfixed by the unfamiliar sound. William was afraid. Not of Homelander, no, never Homelander. Of what this illness meant. William had no control over his own death, and it seemed to terrify him.
“You're going to see Ryan,” Homelander stated simply once his voice returned to him, “but not like this. You need a doctor.”
“Doctor's the cunt that gave me six months, yeah?” William's voice was tight, like he was willing it to not shake. “They said there ain't a damn thing that can help.”
“Obviously some halfwit civilian can't do anything.”
“What would you suggest, then? Cuz-”
“You don't have to see a doctor at Vought.” Homelander rolled his eyes. “How do you think old billionaire fucks live so long? They've got private doctors, private medicine; anything to extend their pathetic little lives.” He couldn't stop the derision in his voice. “Soft, disgusting creatures.”
“An’ why would I do that? I'm more'n happy to choose death over owin’ you anythin’.”
“Pfft. And here I thought you couldn't be cute! You act like I'm giving you a choice.” Homelander ran his hand along the counter, eventually picking up the bulldog cookie jar and inspecting it. “When a child's toy is broken, it's a father's job to fix it. You want to see Ryan, don't you? Don't bother lying.”
William said nothing.
“We both want Ryan happy. You don't want to die, at least not like this. I'd say letting me get you treated would be a win-win. I'll even let you pick the doctor, some specialist somewhere.” Homelander set the cookie jar back down. “Don't worry, this isn't charity. I don't care if you live or die, but I do care if Ryan is upset. He wants you in his life.”
William seemed to be thinking it over, tension clear in his expression and stance. His eyes darted around, jaw moving like he was grinding his teeth. Eventually, he spoke.
“There's a catch, eh? Gotta be. Lettin’ me see Ryan? Tryin’ to ‘save’ me? You must think I'm daft.”
“Can't accept that I'm doing this for Ryan?”
“You never do nothin’ for no one but yourself.” William's eyes narrowed, rage barely contained; A glimpse of the man he was before the illness started eating him alive.
“Which is why you don't get a choice. You can either agree because I am feeling exceptionally nice today,” Homelander gave him a winning smile, “Ooooor, I can keep you in a Vought Lab until you don't look like a halloween decoration.”
William was still tensed, radiating fury. It was funny, watching him flounder. It felt good to push on someone who would push back. Things had gotten especially dull since Homelander had taken over Vought. With William out of commission… he never expected godhood to be so boring. Everything bored him except Ryan. That's all it was, honestly. Even entertaining Ryan's request to see William, Homelander thought of it as just something to do. So why not? Seeing William again meant the promise of unknown variables. Like he had said; William was Ryan's toy. Homelander wanted a turn to play with him, too.
Keep telling yourself that, Tiger.
Homelander turned to fully face William, his smile faltering for a moment before resetting. That perfect, camera ready smile that he could do like a reflex was plastered on.
“If you really want this to be tit for tat that badly, you have something I could take in return.”
William hesitated, then somehow seemed to relax at the idea of having something to bargain with. It probably made him feel more in control. Unexpectedly cute yet again!
“...aye?”
Homelander's grin widened. “Your time.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” William looked bewildered, then quickly recovered to a poker face. How professional.
“Think of it as an investment. You spend time with me, doing what I want. Not a crazy amount, I might get sick of you. Maybe… one hour a week? In return, you get more time on earth! With Ryan.”
A beat of silence.
“Why? Why would you want that?”
“Because I know you’ll hate it.”
“I-”
“I'm not going to ask you to do anything life-threatening, or humiliating.” Homelander turned the corner of the counter and got into William's space. “Cross my heart.”
“I don't trust for a bloody secon’ that you would respect that.”
“I think it's a fair trade. One hour a week. Is that not worth extending your life and buying you time with Becca's son?” Homelander's grin was predatory.
William's heart rate was as fearless as ever, though his body couldn't hide his confusion like his face could. He glared at Homelander, then shook his head.
“You got a fetish for paperwork. I want exactly what I'd be expected to do in detail ‘fore I agree to anythin’.”
Homelander gave a weak attempt to look offended. “You wound me! To have so little faith-!” He chuckled. “Well, I'm sure Ashley would want you to sign NDAs anyway. We can make it an official contract.”
“We'll discuss the terms then, yeah?”
“So you're agreeing?”
“I'm only agreein’ to discuss it!”
“Whatever you tell yourself, tiger.” The phrase echoed in Homelander's head as he said it, dismissive despite the weight it held.
“I'm givin’ it a chance. Then I'll decide how hard I'm fightin’ against ya.” There it was again. That flare of Billy Butcher that he somehow maintained despite everything. He really was the most interesting man Homelander had ever met.
“Okay. Get yourself together. I'll be back tomorrow with the papers drawn up. We can discuss them, whatever. I'll even bring them to your little hovel to sign.” Homelander's smile was tinged with something genuine. This was it. Building more of his tiny circle of people who didn't fear him. Even if Butcher hated it, he was used to that; the constant honesty? That was what he was craving. Something unexpected.
Pathetic yet again- what kind of god wants to be challenged?
One that needed to blow off some steam.
“You realize I don't have to do any of this, right? I could just take you to the tower and force you to be around me constantly.” Homelander's tone was flippant, like he was blowing him off instead of threatening to kidnap him for medical treatment.
“Ya won't.” William stood up fully, staring Homelander down. His confidence was completely genuine.
“And what makes you so sure?” Homelander matched his posture.
“‘Cuz if you didn’t really, really want this? For me to be willin’? You woulda jus’ nicked me from the start.”
Homelander's lip curled. “You don't- shut the fuck up, okay? You have no leverage here. None.” He was seething. William wasn’t that important, right? Fuck that! “I'm giving you a little allowance here as a fucking peace offering so you don't do something stupid and make me kill you in front of Ryan like Old goddamn’ Yeller. Plus, you fucking reek.”
William just smirked at him, the ungrateful asshole..
“Wipe that stupid look off your face!” Homelander started walking away. “Get ready to sign some fucking paperwork tomorrow. You better be here with a doctor picked out or I will track you down and rip out your fingernails as punishment.”
“Ahh, you finally figurin’ out torture?”
“Learned from the worst.”
Without another word, Homelander bolted out of the apartment and into the sky. He left feeling a swirl of emotions, like riding a high but feeling so disappointed in himself. It reminded him of…
He stopped that train of thought. He had a meeting to go to, and he'd already spent more time on William than he'd intended. Thinking about her would lead to him… needing a moment. which meant everything would be pushed back. Being pushed back meant less time with Ryan.
William didn't know what he was getting into. Homelander wasn't done with him yet. Gods choose who lives and who dies, right?
God Bless William Butcher.