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The rain had stopped barely an hour ago.
The world was still damp and shining beneath the streetlights, tiny drops sliding from the leaves of the trees in front of the house.
Ryan was bored.
It was one of those quiet afternoons when Homelander was answering emails at the dining table and Butcher was supposedly fixing something in the garage while actually banging tools around and swearing because he couldn’t find what he needed.
Ryan stepped onto the porch with a mug of hot chocolate.
He liked listening to the sounds after the rain.
Birds.
Wind.
Distant cars.
And then he heard something strange.
“Hello?”
A tiny sound.
Very tiny.
“Mew?”
Ryan froze.
He blinked.
He had definitely heard something.
He set his mug on the railing and hurried down the porch steps.
“Hello?”
The sound came again.
Louder.
“Miaaau!”
Ryan followed the noise toward the bushes near the walkway.
There was a box.
A small cardboard box.
Wet.
Abandoned.
Ryan frowned.
“What…?”
He stepped closer.
The box moved.
Just a little.
“Mew!”
Ryan’s eyes widened.
“Oh!”
He knelt immediately.
“Is somebody in there?”
Another indignant meow answered him.
Ryan carefully lifted one of the flaps.
And instantly melted.
“Oh no.”
Inside was a kitten.
A ridiculously tiny kitten.
Black and white.
With ears far too large for his head.
Huge eyes.
And small enough to fit perfectly in Ryan’s hands.
The kitten lifted his head.
“Mew.”
Ryan felt his heart explode.
“You’re so tiny…”
The kitten stumbled over his own paws trying to reach him.
Ryan carefully scooped him up.
He was light.
Warm.
And trembling.
“You’re freezing.”
The kitten responded by rubbing his head against Ryan’s thumb.
Ryan made a helpless noise.
“I know. I know. Let’s get you some help.”
He ran toward the house.
“Dad! Butcher!”
Silence.
“DAD!”
A voice answered from inside.
“What happened now?”
Ryan burst through the door.
“Look!”
Homelander glanced up from his laptop.
Butcher appeared from the hallway.
Both men stared at the tiny black-and-white bundle in Ryan’s arms.
A full second of silence followed.
“No,” Butcher said immediately.
Ryan hadn’t even spoken yet.
“What?”
“No.”
“But—”
“No.”
Homelander looked at the kitten.
The kitten looked back.
Blink.
Then sneeze.
Ryan made a strangled sound.
Homelander visibly softened.
“Well…”
“Don’t start.”
“I’m just saying he looks small.”
“No.”
“And wet.”
“No.”
“And probably hungry.”
“NO.”
Ryan looked down at the kitten.
The kitten meowed.
A tiny, pitiful little sound.
The sort of sound clearly designed to manipulate humans.
Homelander coughed.
“Maybe—”
“No.”
Ryan hugged the kitten gently.
“Can we help him?”
Butcher closed his eyes.
Sighed.
“We’ll help him.”
Ryan lit up.
“Yes!”
“But he’s not staying.”
“Okay.”
“We take him to the vet.”
“Okay.”
“We find him a family.”
“Okay.”
“And then he leaves.”
Ryan nodded.
But the look he exchanged with Homelander made it very clear neither of them believed a word of that.
⸻
Half an hour later they were at the veterinary clinic.
The kitten had already received:
One blanket.
Several pets.
And approximately a thousand photographs.
The veterinarian examined him.
“He’s a boy.”
Ryan smiled.
“Hi, little guy.”
“About six weeks old.”
“He’s so tiny.”
“He is. But he’s healthy.”
Ryan let out a relieved breath.
“Good.”
The vet smiled.
“He just needs food, warmth, and lots of love.”
The kitten yawned.
Then immediately fell asleep on Ryan’s arm.
As if he’d already decided that was where he belonged.
Homelander took another picture.
Butcher rolled his eyes.
“That’s thirty.”
“Thirty-seven.”
“Worse.”
⸻
The ride home was interesting.
Ryan sat in the back seat.
The kitten slept inside a small carrier.
And Butcher kept looking over his shoulder.
“Is he okay?”
“Yes.”
Five minutes later:
“Is he still breathing?”
Ryan sighed.
“Yes.”
Three minutes later:
“Why is he so quiet?”
“Because he’s asleep.”
“Oh.”
Two minutes later:
“You sure?”
Homelander smiled.
“Billy.”
“What?”
“You’re worried about him.”
“No.”
“Sure.”
“I’m just asking.”
“Mhm.”
⸻
They got home.
Ryan placed the carrier on the living room rug.
The kitten climbed out.
Stumbled.
Fell over.
Got back up.
Stumbled again.
And walked directly toward Butcher.
Homelander burst out laughing.
Ryan nearly did too.
“He chose you.”
“He did not.”
The kitten placed one paw on Butcher’s boot.
“Mew.”
“No.”
“I think he did.”
“No.”
The kitten started climbing his pant leg.
Ryan nearly cried from cuteness.
“Look at him!”
“I am looking.”
“He likes you.”
“He does not.”
The kitten reached his knee.
Curled up.
And fell asleep.
Butcher froze.
Ryan grinned.
“He adopted you.”
“Shut up.”
⸻
Exactly ten minutes later something suspicious happened.
Homelander glanced across the couch.
“Billy.”
“What?”
“Why are you looking up kitten food online?”
Silence.
Ryan turned around.
“What?”
Butcher quickly lowered his phone.
“Nothing.”
“Were you looking up kitten food?”
“No.”
“Then what’s that?”
“Nothing.”
Ryan grabbed the phone.
Read the screen.
And immediately started laughing.
“Dad!”
Homelander leaned over.
“Premium kitten food.”
“…”
“Kitten litter.”
“…”
“Kitten bed.”
“…”
“Cat toys.”
Ryan doubled over laughing.
“You said he wasn’t staying!”
“He’s not.”
“Then why are you buying a bed?”
“Because while we find him a home he needs somewhere to sleep.”
“Sure.”
“And food.”
“Sure.”
“And toys.”
“Sure.”
“And—”
Homelander smirked.
“He has a name already, doesn’t he?”
Butcher went silent.
Ryan gasped.
“You named him?”
“No.”
“Billy.”
“…”
“Billy.”
Butcher sighed dramatically.
“Rocket.”
Ryan smiled so hard his cheeks hurt.
“Rocket.”
The kitten opened one eye.
“Mew.”
“He likes it.”
“It doesn’t mean anything.”
⸻
That evening Rocket discovered couches.
Blankets.
And laps.
Mostly Butcher’s lap.
Which was deeply unfair.
Because Butcher had been the one who said no.
Rocket clearly considered that irrelevant.
Every chance he got, he waddled over.
Climbed onto Butcher.
Curled up.
And fell asleep.
“This is a conspiracy,” Butcher grumbled.
Ryan laughed.
Homelander took another picture.
“Number fifty-two.”
“Delete that.”
“Never.”
⸻
At bedtime, a new problem appeared.
Rocket cried.
A tiny, confused, lonely little meow.
Ryan sat beside the temporary bed they had prepared.
“He’s scared.”
Rocket meowed again.
Homelander crouched nearby.
“Poor little guy.”
Another sad meow.
Butcher watched for several seconds.
Then sighed.
Again.
He walked over.
Picked up the blanket.
And carefully lifted the kitten.
“Billy?”
“Just tonight.”
“Uh-huh.”
Rocket was placed against Butcher’s chest.
Immediately, the crying stopped.
The kitten settled.
Started purring.
And fell asleep.
Ryan smiled.
Homelander smiled.
Butcher stared at the ceiling.
“Don’t say anything.”
“I didn’t.”
“Not a word.”
“Of course.”
“Not one.”
Rocket let out a tiny happy purr.
Butcher looked down.
Without even realizing it, he began stroking the kitten’s head with one finger.
Slowly.
Gently.
As though he’d been doing it forever.
Ryan watched.
The man who had said no.
The man who insisted the kitten would find another home.
The man currently holding a sleeping baby cat against his chest.
And he smiled.
Because everyone knew the truth.
Rocket had already found his family.
And his family—whether they admitted it or not—had already found him.
Especially Butcher.
Even if he would never admit it.