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It started with the coughing.
Stan Edgar lectured the Seven and him about the recent behavior and allegations: Starlight being a traitor; Maeve being outed as a lesbian; A-train’s reinstatement; Stormfront being a Nazi and now “unavailable.” Underneath his severe glare, Homelander could tell he was relishing that his girlfriend was burned to a crisp, his own son hating him, and now with the enemy.
Like a parent, he asked his troublesome “children” how they were going to fix these problems, how they were going to make Vought look squeaky clean again.
As A-train prattled about making more shitty songs, his throat became irritated. Not wanting to garner any attention, he tried to cough silently. This only worsened the irritation, causing it to spread and him to cough out loud. Everyone turned to look at him with confusion and possibly annoyance. Mr. Edgar raised an eyebrow, unamused.
Before he could say his name, Homelander surprisingly apologized. He excused himself, leaving the meeting early, not caring if Edgar was pissed. The second he left the meeting room, he couldn’t stop coughing.
The next day, he felt like absolute shit. He couldn’t breathe through his nose, he had a sore throat, and his body was hot. Ashley, blind as a bat, couldn’t see that he was sick. All that mattered was an interview with Coleman at seven, a staged robbery with Maeve at nine, and accompanying Noir to visit schools the rest of the day. He wanted to say, “Ashley, fuck off,” but his body was tired.
After she left, he leaned against the wall as his head began pounding. He had never felt this sick since he was a kid, trapped in the labs. Whenever ill, the scientists always loved to test how his body reacted. Sickness would hit him hard: waking up with chills and aches, being unable to breathe, and vomiting on the floor as he suffered migraines. His tiny body would curle itself into a ball, crying for help.
He hated being sick.
Homelander winced as the pounding got worse. The world around him felt hot and began to spin, making him close his eyes.
Why is this happening to me?
“I don’t understand why you’re doing this. Why are you helping him?”
Annie stared at a can of chicken soup in her hand, with Maeve peering over her shoulder. They were at the pharmacy. Maeve, dressed in a hoodie and sunglasses, took the liberty to push the shopping cart. The cart was filled with Tylenol, cough drops, Gatorlyte, tissue, and disinfectant wipes. There were still more things to grab before paying.
“Lose the sunglasses,” Annie sighed. “You look like you’re going to rob the store.”
“You didn’t answer my question. It’s fucking Homelander you’re helping.” Annie shushed Maeve, not wanting to gain the attention of others.
The second she saw Homelander leaning against the wall, she didn’t know what to do. Just seeing him made her eyes shift frantically around the hall. Was it some sort of trap? He has been weird since Stormfront’s “death.” She quietly said his name, but he didn’t respond or move. And instead of minding her business and leaving, she just had to creep up behind him.
She let out a quiet gasp when she saw him sweating up a storm, eyes closed. It wasn’t even hot in the building, but she knew he had a fever when she touched his forehead.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Black Noir standing motionless at the end of the hall. Immediately, she remembered getting thrown around like a doll and almost dying by his hands. Regardless of being back in the Seven, it didn’t mean the suspicion of her being a traitor was gone.
She quickly told Noir that he had a fever and would help him to his room. Noir walked over to check if she was lying before helping her.
“I don’t know.”
The answer was the truth; Annie really didn’t know why she was doing this. She was going to buy soup and medicine for a man that choked and threatened her in the elevator, almost made her kill Hughie, and allowed innocent, helpless passengers to die in a plane. But those were only a few crimes he committed, of course.
Butcher’s voice echoed in her mind, and she could hear what he would say. He'd likely say, “Alright, love, here’s what you gonna do. You’re going to put this lil’ bomb in Homecunt’s soup and let him eat it.” Or he’d tell her to put dog shit in it. Whatever caused Homelander pain, he'd be happy.
As she thought long about it, she couldn’t do it. When she saw his sweaty, distressed face, he almost looked… childlike. There was no trace of a damaged, psychotic man, only a child who needed help. He didn’t attack her but stilled at her touch, and his pained face relaxed.
Memories of herself flooded her mind. When she was sick, her mom would cancel pageants as she couldn't have a sick child on stage. Her mom's bed was where she stayed, surrounded by stuffed animals and her mom's company. Annie loved chicken noodle soup, and her mom always joked, "If you eat too much, you're going to turn into a chicken." Being sick was when she felt like a child, and her mom was a mom, not a star and agent.
But she could tell Homelander had never experienced that. He always sought love and praise from Maeve, Stormfront, and the world. But it all backfired, turning him into a heartless and broken man.
Annie pitied him.
And she hated herself for it.
“Should I get chicken noodle or vegetable?” Annie asked, trying to change the subject.
“I don’t fucking care.” Maeve grumbled.
Annie decided to get both, four of each.
He was under the warm covers of his bed; he forgot the sensation. He never needed sleep, or he never went to sleep. A cool, damp cloth rested on his forehead. His body ached everywhere, but the pounding in his head wasn’t severe, only annoying.
Wait, in bed?
Despite his confusion, Homelander didn’t open his eyes, still exhausted. He decided to investigate when he didn’t feel like passing out.
It wasn’t until his ears picked up the sound of a door opening. The tiptoeing on the marble floor suggested they wanted to be quiet. They should’ve just casually walked because he still could hear them either way. He couldn’t help but chuckle at their attempt to be sneaky. As they entered his room, he opened his eyes and rose to lie on the headboard.
“You’re not as quiet as you think you are.”
The intruder stilled at his voice, obviously wanting to sneak in and out of his room. He could hear how loud their heart was pounding, which worsened his headache as of right now. His vision was blurry; everything was hazy, and he couldn’t identify who it was.
“For fuck sakes, can you calm down,” he fumed. Rubbing his eyes, his vision slowly cleared up to see who it was. “Starlight?”
Annie stared at him, shocked that he was awake. They stared at each other in silence, to which Homelander took the opportunity to take in her appearance. A mask covered her face, and her usual free hair was tied in a ponytail. He looked down to see that she wore rubber gloves and was holding something.
“What’s that? And why are you dressed like that?”
Her eyes were still wide, and she didn’t reply, which annoyed him. “I asked you a question-”
“It’s chicken noodle soup.” She said abruptly.
Homelander stared at her. Usually, he’d give her a smug smirk, but he was not in a good mood. “Why?”
“Because your sick, why else.”
Upon hearing her reason, he let out a wheeze. Starlight made himself chicken noodle soup because he was sick; that was a fucking lie, he thought. He knew she hated his guts and would do anything to kill him. She probably added rat poison to make him even sicker. His thoughts ended as his laugh irritated his sore throat, causing him to cough continuously.
“And that’s why I’m wearing a mask because I don’t want to get sick.” She grimaced, rolling her eyes. She walked over to the nightstand beside his bed, setting down the bowl. “Make sure to cough hard to get all that disgusting stuff out of your lungs.”
There, he noticed the other items on the nightstand: a box of tissue, Tylenol, cough drops, and Vicks Vaporub. He couldn’t believe all this. Did she buy this for me?
She must’ve noticed that he was staring at the items as she turned, looking directly into his eyes. “In your fridge, there is water and Gatorlyte. It’ll keep you hydrated.” Even though the mask covered half her face, she looked stern.
As she continued explaining his medicine and resources to him, he just looked at her with a blank expression. When she was done, she asked if he understood. “I don’t need your help, and I’ll be back to leading you fuckers in two days.”
“Apparently not as you were seconds from fainting in the hall, this morning.”
He didn’t have a defense for that. “What makes you think I’ll eat this? You could’ve poisoned it.”
“Uh, what makes you think I’ll poison you? I’m back in the Seven after being accused of being a traitor.” Homelander snorted at her sass.
“I made sure that Ashley cancelled and rescheduled everything on your agenda."
"Oh, and, you can thank me and Noir for carrying you to your room.” It was evident that she was smirking. “And for Noir lending you a shirt.”
That last bit took him off guard. He immediately looked down to see him wearing an oversized, black Buster Beaver shirt. This was the first time he wore something other than his suit. It felt weird, not because he was wearing a shirt from a kid’s restaurant. But he felt… normal. He felt cared for, not used as a pawn for Vought. It was different than what he felt with Maeve or Stormfront.
Homelander was too deep in thought that he didn’t notice Annie lean forward, touching his forehead. At her touch, a flush of embarrassment rose to his cheeks. She’s not wearing a glove. By removing a glove, he felt she didn’t see him as a disease. Upon feeling her soft skin, he relaxed and leaned into her touch. Thankfully, she didn’t notice.
Looking into her eyes, he was amazed at how concentrated she was. Though she wasn’t dressed the part, she felt like an angel.
She was an angel.
“Your temperature went down a bit.”
“Yeah.” He grumbled as she pulled her hand away.
“Well, eat the soup before it gets cold.” She ordered as she began to walk away. “And get some rest. If you’re hungry, just text me.”
“Ok, thank you.”
The words of gratitude caused him to shut his mouth in shock abruptly. It just slipped out. He rarely says thank you, as why would a God express gratitude to lowly creatures? Her silence and staring meant that she was just as shocked as him. But instead of asking, she just said, “You’re welcome.”
The door opened and closed, the sounds of Annie’s footsteps fading away. Homelander sighed, alone once again. The smell of chicken filled his nose, causing him to get hungry. Turning to grab the bowl of chicken noodle soup, he noticed a card on the nightstand.
The front of the card caught his eye; it had a big sun with a smiley face and a blue sky filled with clouds. The card said, “Sunshine makes everything better.” He quickly picked up and opened the card. The inside told him to get well soon underneath a rainbow.
At the bottom, there were two messages. The first read, “Sending lots of love and hugs your way.” He immediately knew it was Noir’s due to the messy handwriting and a little drawn Buster Beaver's face. The second was in neat, cute handwriting saying, “Wish you a speedy recovery - Annie January.” Right beside her signature was a tiny heart.
Homelander couldn’t help but smile. He'll get better soon.