Chapter Text
Ryan brings it up over dinner. Homelander has had the sense that he is being fattened up for something the entire day. Ryan's done his homework on time, for one. Then, he cleaned up after himself. He even carried all his socks to the laundry basket upstairs, even though Homelander can still see one forgotten sock under the couch. It's an attempt, at least. He'll lift the couch later and take this one upstairs himself. Consider it a gesture of goodwill. But there is the nagging feeling that Ryan's good behavior is leading up to... something. And it's over steak and fries at the dinner table that Vought staff have dutifully carried in like they do every night that Ryan breaks his silence.
"I'd like to make a call."
Homelander puts down his knife and fork, swallows a mouthful of food, makes sure he is looking at his son and able to tap into his senses for whatever is worrying Ryan if necessary. "Mhm. Sure. To whom?"
Ryan takes a deep breath. His pulse is picking up the tiniest bit. "It's a doctor."
The word itself brings up flashes of images, vague enough that Homelander can't decipher them in his mind, but he doesn't have to. He knows what he'd see, if he was allowed to look for longer. His appetite is gone at once. "You- There- There's- I mean, there's nothing wrong with you, you don't need to see-" He clears his throat because the words keep getting stuck there and won't come out properly.
Ryan's eyes widen briefly. "Not the kind of doctor that, like, pokes you with stuff. No, I looked her up today. She's... um, she's specialized in... She's a psychiatrist. Specialized in helping kids that have... gone through stuff." He swallows hard. "Like me."
"Gone through stuff?" Homelander can practically feel his face scrunch up in distaste. He doesn't enjoy it when Ryan gets this way. Like he's mourning some ants he stepped on. It's unworthy of who he is, and Homelander would agree someone should probably talk sense into his son, set him straight, but why, oh why, does he have a feeling some human therapist is not the person to do it? "Bucko, you can just talk to me about that, right? Why involve anyone else? You don't really want to talk to someone who doesn't even know you, and-"
"I want to try it. If it doesn't help, I'll stop. But I want to try. I've already looked everything up, I have her number, and I want you to call and make an appointment for me." Ryan shoves a crumpled piece of paper into Homelander's hand that he previously kept in his jeans pocket and eagerly pulled out while speaking. Wow. His son's quite literally holding the knife's point to his chest here. Bossy. Not bossy enough to overcome his fear of making phone calls, though, it seems.
"Dad?" Ryan asks when Homelander stays quiet for a bit, and Homelander is relatively sure he'll never quite get used to the way it makes him want to smile to be called that. "Just trust me on that, 'kay? This is something I feel I need, and so I'm going to do it." His son sits up a bit straighter, holds his head high. Just like his old man, sometimes. That apple didn't fall far from the tree. "Look. It'd be stupid not to make her work for me to make me feel better, right? That's what she's there for. She's just a human, sure, but she can be of use."
Homelander feels slightly dazed. Was he not clear enough about what doctors can do? Even the ones who don't poke you, to re-use Ryan's terminology. He would tell his son about the sessions he spent with those so-called 'psychiatrists' in a room with only one light source, where all the voices echoed weirdly off the walls, and the things they told him, repeated, had him repeat back, until they were satisfied and he fel like he was about to be sick, but only in his mind. His stomach always felt fine. He would tell Ryan about it, but truth be told, he can't remember what they said to him, all those years ago. So all he does is nod his agreement weakly.
Ryan smiles, genuine happiness radiating from every pore, but then falters. "Um... I mean, you'll have to pay for it, though, 'cause I don't have money, and her session's are, like, damn expensive, and I think I don't even have insurance. I'm fairly sure I don't even have an I.D."
Homelander sighs, but dutifully reaches into his chest flap and pulls out his wallet and the credit cards therein. "Only the best for my boy. But-"
"Dad." He's being practically shoved over to the landline phone by sheer force of Ryan actually using his strength for once. "Make the call, come on. Come on, come on, come on!" One final shove positions him perfectly by the phone, and so Homelander acquiesces and calls the number on the crumpled sheet.
The appointment is two days later. Apparently, the waiting list was months long, but one mention of his name, and Homelander watched the queue practically disappear in front of his mind's eye as the psychiatrist's secretary stumbled over herself to give Ryan an appointment. They likely would have gotten in an hour or so after the call, but Homelander will not let Ryan skip class for such a silly thing.
Ryan is twelve, so apparently he needs Homelander's permission to 'receive treatment', and the words alone make Homelander gag, but Ryan's eyes are still gleaming with having won him over, so he quickly notes down that no, his son doesn't have any allergies to medication, and yes, he consents to whatever ridiculous human pep talks will happen in that woman's office. He puts his signature under it all and sends Ryan off with it.
He hears his son's take-off from the helipad, watches him jet away, sits down, turns on the TV. He gets through half an episode of Double Standard, A-Train's new show that he has early access to. The VFX isn't where it should be, but it's really coming together. What is gnawing on Homelander isn't the subpar quality of the program. He catches himself looking out the window once, twice, three times, before he gets fed up with it and turns off the TV.
Thirty-two seconds later, he is right above the psychiatrist's office for a little fly-by. Just to check that everything is alright. He doesn't trust doctors. Much less those that doctor around people's brains. And it isn't paranoia, it isn't, he has every reason to be-
He isn't scared.
He has no reason to be scared, apart from for one thing: the safety of his son. Ryan's safety from feel-good propaganda that does absolutely nothing. He has seen those terrible therapist shows on Monday morning reality TV, he knows it's all crap.
He blinks himself into x-ray vision and lets the building's brick wall melt. The office is a light, open space, a seating area and then a gallery upstairs, lined with bookcases and beanbags in pastel colors. It all looks very much like a child's bedroom, except public, like an exhibition. There's posters on the walls, and Homelander squints to be able to read them. Health crap. Faces of smiling kids. Propaganda. He knew it.
But in the middle of it all, there's Ryan. Sitting in an armchair, his hands wedged between his knees, looking like a scolded boy while he's talking, and the one who is sometimes interrupting him with questions is a woman, roughly the same age as Homelander. He somehow expected her to be older. She isn't good-looking at all. Nothing about her stands out. He doesn't know why Ryan chose her.
The woman is taking notes, and Homelander carefully flies to the other side of the building to be able to properly zoom in and read, but apparently it's true what they say about doctors' handwriting. He can't make out anything, no matter how much he tries.
If he can't read, he must hear, and so he strains his ears and tries to listen to the conversation. It's Ryan's voice he listens for first, simply because he is familiar with it, and it is easy to pick out among the millions of New Yorkers he is forced to hear if he uses his senses this much.
"- and I sometimes feel like it's the heaviest thing I can imagine. Like a weight pressing down on my chest. And I get scared."
"Of yourself?" the woman asks, and alright, yes, she has a nice voice. She sounds... warm. Homelander tilts his head.
"My powers feel like a sickness sometimes. Like they're not actually a part of me. I- When I was younger, I always wanted them gone." Homelander finds himself floating forward a little and has to actively stop himself. That tight feeling in his chest Ryan was describing? He's feeling it quite acutely with how his son is talking. What does any of that even mean?! Ryan is absolutely over all that. He has accepted his powers many months ago, after having finally lived with his own kind for long enough. "But that's changed. I now realize I can't get rid of them, that they're an extension of me, like my hands or my feet." Homelander nods, mollified. There it is. His son is just embellishing. Why would he scare his poor father this way? "But that made it worse, you know?" Huh?!
"How?"
"If I can't get rid of my powers, then it'll never be better. And that tight feeling I have, I think it's the fear of that, that there's no other way and that I can never make everything undone."
Homelander blinks. He can barely react in time when Ryan gets up from the chair and walks to the window front to look out at the city. Homelander just about manages to fly out of his line of sight and does his best to even hold his breath, just in case Ryan has also tapped into his senses and can hear him from this close.
He's too far away to listen properly now, the wind making it impossibly hard, like it carries the words away before they can reach Homelander's inner ear. He can make out some little things, however, if he really tries and gives himself a headache with it.
"And................... mother................. not you."
Are they talking about Rebecca?
"Mom never......................... and never would have said that."
".......................... your father."
Homelander exhales. Ryan is still standing by the window, and Homelander can see his lips move, but he can't hear anything. The wind is picking up. Ryan's face doesn't look sad. He just looks neutral. But at peace.
It has to be good enough for Homelander if he doesn't want to be caught. Not that that would be a bad thing, but he knows Ryan would be upset. Boys need their privacy, he understands this.
Which is precisely why he waits until Ryan is at school to pay the therapist a visit himself. He walks through the door into some kind of waiting area. There's some miserable-looking teenagers in there. He can smell a sour assortment of alcohol, drugs, and medications in their blood. Some of them have their parents with them. All of them are staring at him.
He smiles, waves in greeting, then walks past them all to the desk where the secretary's eyes are about to bug out of her skull. Stupid woman. He talked to her on the phone, after all. She knows his son is a... 'patient' here.
"Where's the doctor?" he asks.
"Currently still in a session with another patient," the secretary is quick to explain. "The session will end at 10:15. Is anything the matter?"
"No, no. I would just like a chat with her, is all."
The woman takes a look at her computer. "Well, we're already all booked today. You would have to make-"
"Jesus, it's a quick talk. Talking is what you guys do, yes? So where's the matter?"
The woman looks at the packed waiting room, then at the closed door to the doctor's office. "I assume I can pencil you in."
"You're a darling." He knocks on the desk with his palm and gives her a dazzling smile.
As if on cue, the door to the office opens, and out steps the doctor herself with her little patient: a boy of maybe eight years who is carrying a backpack. A Homelander backpack. One of the newest editions with the re-designed Fall 2024 color scheme that includes his suit pattern. The boy's mouth practically drops to the floor, and Homelander smiles, reaches over the desk, and pulls one of the secretary's markers out of the cup she keeps them in. He uncaps it with one finger and crouches down in front of the boy who still hasn't recovered. The marker is oddly glittery and definitely meant for children, but it's good enough to leave an autograph on the backpack.
"Now that's something your friends at school will be jealous of, huh?" he calls after the boy who is slinking out of the office backwards, still staring. Didn't even say thank you. Ungrateful brat.
"This is a surprise," the doctor says, but extends her hand for him to shake. She is professional, he gives her that. "I was not expecting you."
"Well, my son is your patient now, so I can drop in, can't I?"
"We have plenty of appointments for parents to discuss treatment, but since yesterday was only a session to get us started, it wasn't necessary to-"
"I just have a few questions." He lets himself into the office, satisfied that the woman follows him and closes the door on the waiting room. The office looks nicer from this angle. Still ridiculous and childish, but calming. They are clearly going for relaxation here. There's toys around. A swing hanging from the ceiling, apparently for particularly hyper-active patients.
"Please take a seat." The doctor points out the armchair Ryan was sitting in yesterday. It still smells faintly of him, Homelander notices. He pulls the cape back and sits. "What can I do for you, Mr. Homelander?"
"I would simply like to... recap Ryan's hour with you yesterday."
"Recap?" The woman blinks, then nods and pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. It is an odd moment to realize that Homelander doesn't know her name. He somehow constantly managed to ignore it on all the paperwork, and now it feels too late to ask. Not that it matters. Ryan is right about her. She is the service she is paid for. Nothing else.
"Well, you should tell me what he talked about, right? What he needs, what worries he has."
"I cannot do that, I am afraid."
"What?"
"Confidentiality is a value we take seriously."
"For adults, maybe. But I am the one paying for Ryan's sessions here, and he is twelve. I am his father, and I have a right to know what is being discussed here."
The woman's brows furrow. "You did sign off on not being informed about Ryan's sessions unless it concerns a full treatment plan, diagnoses, or possible medication."
"When did I-?"
"Yesterday. Your son brought the paperwork with him." The doctor rises from her chair and slowly walks over to her own desk to pull out some documents. His name is underneath all of them. He knew he should have read them more closely. The devil is always in the details, and you simply cannot trust a doctor.
She hands the paperwork out to him willingly, but what good is it? It's the lock to the mind of his own son. "And you have to take it this seriously? I mean, what if there is something I should know?"
The doctor smiles. "I am sure if it was something you needed to know about, Ryan would tell you. He is a very open young man. He has a lot to say." He didn't, when Homelander asked. Monosyllabic to a fault.
"About... About me, too?" If he already has her talking, it's worth a try, isn't it?
"If you are in any way worried that Ryan is talking ill of you, let me reassure you, Mr. Homelander, he is not." How did she know? Fucking doctor voodoo. "While I can't tell you what we talked about, I can say that he is very thankful that you gave him this opportunity."
Homelander nods, takes it in. "And is he making... progress?" That is usually what you ask about in this setting, right?
"Well, we started yesterday. Progress requires a clear itinerary, and we are only mapping the way right now. But Ryan is remarkably self-aware. A very intelligent boy. He has a healthy dose of confidence."
Pride blooms in Homelander's chest, warming him from the inside. "He has it from his old man."
The doctor sits down opposite him again, nods along to his words. She is entirely relaxed. Her vital signs are so calm that Homelander's heartbeat involtunarily starts falling into her rhythm. She is keeping secrets, though, keeping them in her sphinx-like demeanor. Like every doctor. And if Homelander wants to find out about them, he best check what this 'therapy' his son is going to entails.
And there is only one way to do that, it appears.
"You know what, Doctor-" Shit. The name. "Doctor. I wouldn't want to... halt traffic too much." He leans over conspiratorially. "Why don't the two of us make a proper appointment? One of those... one-hour sessions."
The doctor blinks. "For you?"
"For me."