Chapter Text
The Vought tower remained ablaze as if the world weren't rotting beneath it.
Giant screens blanketed Manhattan's buildings, displaying the same flawless smile over and over. The same woman. The same perfectly styled golden hair framing her slender figure. The same blue eyes, too bright to be human; if she weren't a prefabricated Vought product, she'd be a Playboy model.
AMERICA STILL BELIEVES.
Butcher let out a dry laugh as he read the neon sign through the shattered motel window.
"Yeah. Of course it does."
The television in the room crackled with static. Some idiot on the news was debating whether Homelander should still be considered a national hero or a terrorist threat. Again.
It was always the same.
Half the country wanted to see her crowned.
The other half wanted to see her dead.
And yet, absolutely no one did a thing.
Butcher set his glass of whiskey down on the grimy table and ran a hand over his face. He hadn't slept more than three hours straight in weeks. Maybe months. Time had become strange since… everything.
Ryan.
Vought.
Neuman.
The blood.
The chaos.
And her.
He always came back to her.
The television showed recent footage of Homelander leaving the Vought tower surrounded by cameras. He smiled as if he still owned the world. As if he weren't just one bad day away from ripping someone's head off in front of millions.
Butcher knew that smile.
It was fake.
Not because it concealed kindness.
That would have been funny.
It was fake because it concealed hunger.
Need.
Something broken.
The…
The commentator continued speaking. —Polls indicate that female support for Homelander has increased by twelve percent this week following his speech on national security—
—another poll indicates that Homelander is the sexiest heroine—well, I could agree with that about that damned woman with the big tits. Butcher snorted.
“Damn cult.”
The speech clip appeared on the screen.
Homelander behind a podium draped in American flags. Perfect posture. Soft voice. Eyes moist at the precise moment.
—What Americans need right now… is someone who loves them enough to protect them, to show that what we need are family values—he raises his hands like a messiah.
The crowd erupted in applause.
Butcher felt nauseous. That woman is responsible for his misfortune for killing Becca…
And yet he seems obsessed with her, with how to finish her off, to make his revenge give meaning to his life.
Because he had seen those sensual lips smile as a person turned to ash.
Because he knew what lay behind the flawless makeup and the warm voice.
Emptiness.
A black hole wearing human skin.
The television continued playing the speech as Butcher lit a cigarette.
Then it happened.
For barely a second.
The camera accidentally zoomed in on Homelander's face.
And the smile faded.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing visible to most.
But Butcher saw it.
Exhaustion.
Loneliness.
A vacant, weary expression that vanished as quickly as it appeared.
Then the perfect American smile returned.
The cigarette burned slowly between his fingers.
"Christ…" He hated understanding her.
That was the worst part.
Not the fear.
Not the rage.
Not even the unhealthy obsession they seemed to have had with each other for years.
It was understanding her. Because beneath all the power… she was still a product.
A monstrous one.
A murderous one.
But a product nonetheless.
And deep down, he desired her.
And perhaps that was what disgusted him most.
The phone vibrated on the table.
Butcher stared at the unknown number for a few seconds before answering.
"What?"
Silence.
Then a soft breath on the other end.
He would recognize that breath even in death.
His shoulders tensed immediately.
"Hey Billy." That voice…
Homelander's voice was lower than usual. Softer. Like honey mixed with poison.
Butcher picked up his glass of whiskey again.
"Don't you have a country to terrorize, bitch?" He took a raspy sip, finishing the liquor.
A small laugh came through the line.
"Still charming, I see."
He had hoped.
Because she never called without reason.
And because something about her tone was… off.
She didn't sound furious.
She didn't sound theatrical.
She sounded tired.
He liked that even less.
"How did you get my number?"
"Please. Do you really think you can hide from me?"
"Fine." Butcher took another drag of his cigarette as he watched the rain pound against the window.
"What do you want?" He exhaled the smoke.
Silence again.
Too long.
Then:
"I'm interested to know what your next useless plan is to finish me off."
"Butcher closed his eyes slowly.
"Fucking hell."
"You called me to tell me that shit?"
"Maybe I wanted to hear your voice."
"That's disgusting."
She let out a real laugh this time. Brief. Almost human.
And that was worse than any threat.
Because
For a second, he could imagine her alone on some enormous floor of the Vought Tower, barefoot, staring at the city with that empty expression the cameras would never capture.
Butcher clenched his jaw.
No. He wasn't going to humanize her.
That was exactly the problem.
"You look tired, Billy," he hesitated.
"And you sound psychotic, Jane." He didn't like it when they tried to read him.
"You're the last person who should be telling me that." Ouch.
The rain intensified outside.
The television was still talking about her.
Always about her. Homelander let out a soft sigh.
"They keep talking about me like I'm not even a person." He crossed his arms behind his back.
Butcher let out a cold laugh.
"Does that bother you now?" he sighed.
Another silence.
"You're one of the few who doesn't see it that way." He had that look again.
And there it was.
The rift.
Small.
Pathetic.
Dangerous. Butcher felt something uneasy twisting inside his chest.
No sympathy.
Never, simply.
"Ryan says he wants to see you this weekend," the blonde declared through the line. A loud clap of thunder sounded, and Butcher's jaw just clenched.
"Cut the crap. You're the one who took him and filled his head with lies that you're the good guy." The direct accusation annoyed the blonde.
"I do what's best for him," she argued defensively.
"Yeah, right... what's best," he laughed sarcastically.
" Yes, of course, darling, Give him the foolish illusion that you are a good person "
" Now she sounded angry.
"I'm his mother! I have an image to uphold!" She cleared her throat.
"And if I don't remember, I helped you make it happen when we fucked like rabbits that day, you bitch," she reminded him.
I hang up the call