I sat at an old table with an outdated laptop in front of me. I staunchly believed we needed to stick together in order for our plan to work — but I did not believe our victory hung solely on my living in a musty dungeon. So, I pulled up some real estate listings and began searching around places near-by. Something low-key, no strings attached. Places that liked to take cash — okay, so it wouldn't be the Ritz but hardwood floors and a decent shower were absolutely necessary.

"Oi..." Butcher's voice sounded from behind me. I turned from my homework as he passed me a print out, "You ever heard of this thing?"

The flyer advertised an upcoming festival: The Believe Expo. I chuckled and nodded, passing it back over to Butcher, "Yeah. It's Vought's outreach to the Christian sector. They're one step away from calling supes the second coming of Christ."

"Ah, subtle," Butcher crumpled up and unceremoniously shoved it into his pocket. "Have you ever attended?"

"Once. Homelander and I made an appearance side-by-side during their final day's big blow- out "Family First" conference." I shrugged, "I smiled, I waved, I got paid."

Butcher smirked — I saw admiration pass over his face but he said nothing, "Well...you're going again. But this time, ain't no pay day."

I laughed, "You're kidding right? That's worse than Daniel walking into the lion's den. At least the lions didn't have his scent yet."

"It's the last thing they'll expect but we're going to need your expertise either way. Besides, throw a wig over those Goldilocks curls and a pair of sunnies, no one will be the wiser." Butcher obviously had a plan and was not used to taking 'no' for an answer.

However, with the thought of a wig and a proper disguise — getting an inside look again could help and I wasn't one to shy away from a challenge, "Alright, I'm in. But you're buying me cotton candy."

Days Later: Believe Expo

I would be lying if I said I didn't love myself as a brunette. My usual disguise had been simple; mostly civilian clothes, a hat and/or a pair of sunglasses. Civilians were pretty unobservant overall. But we weren't just dealing with civilians. I had to stay hidden from Vought and other supes, likely including my brother.

"Quit staring at yourself, you're alright but it ain't like you're the next Monica Bellucci." Butcher rolled his eyes. Hugh gave a laugh at Butcher's distaste — I think the boy enjoyed anytime Butcher was annoyed.

"Speak for yourself," I returned, enjoying the new level of anonymity. It was a different world on this side of the velvet ropes.

Butcher sighed but he did not take the bait. I called it a win as I had the last word, but I'd bet if you asked him the answer would be different.

Hugh split off from us. I could tell he was nervous but he maintained such a non-threatening (and if we're being honest: average) demeanor that I was pretty sure he could slip through anywhere unnoticed and unmemorable. I wondered if that part of Butcher's brilliance, or a lucky happenstance.

It was time for Ezekiel to take the stage and I could have gagged. He was one of my least favorite D-listers that I ever had the displeasure of meeting. However, Butcher pulled me to the gathering crowd eager to hear him speak. It was an interesting look at the people who revered supes. Standing in the crowd on their level was sobering. I know how much my Brother got off on the reverence of the 'common person' but — the common person, to put it plainly, was disgusting. Look, I do not believe they should be harmed and I firmly believe in the general safety of the human race but the average American was a bleak specimen.

Hypocrisy and shameless pandering filled Ezekiel's faux-inspirational speech but it delighted the crowd around me. I was glad to have a kindred spirit in Butcher who sat with the same mildly-disgusted expression, his jaw set slightly slack, in disbelief in the slop that the people around us consumed with fervor.

By the time he was done the crowd was beside itself. Then I realized, I knew. He had been the warm-up act. I froze. I felt a lump swell in my throat but I tried my best to hide my discomfort. I'll admit, the wig and sunglasses helped.

Too soon, Homelander graced the stage and the crowd lost their minds. I wanted to scream: He's not who you think he is! but it would fall on deaf ears whether I did or did not speak.

Then as he made his speech, I perked up a little. I couldn't say for sure but the more he spoke, the more I could picture the vein in Madelyn Stillwell's forehead pulsating against her expensive Chanel bronzer. I looked to Butcher worriedly — Homelander had an endgame that differed from Madelyn's and although I couldn't say what it was — I knew it wasn't good.

"What?" Butcher muttered under his breath.

"This isn't good," I replied simply. Butcher remained unimpressed, "That ain't a surprise."

Then Homelander ended his speech by floating out over the crowd like He was Jesus Christ himself coming down from the cross. The closer He got to the crowd, the crazier the crowd became: it was a frenzy.

"Jesus, wanker's gonna start a riot," Butcher mumbled as he began to be jostled by those around us, "You'd think He's shitting gold or something..."

"You have no idea," I mumbled. However, the crowd became more and more unruly as Homelander urged them on in their "patriotism". I was so focused on Him, I didn't realize the craze around us until it was too late. An unfortunately timed elbow sent my sunglasses into my left eye, breaking the frames and sending tempered glass and tiny metal into my eyeball.

When my head shot back from the sheer force — the mob effect unceremoniously pulled the wig from my head and I barely had time to react. My focus was on the injury to my eye but it caused Butcher to spring into action. Suddenly, his hands pushed me down to my knees and he followed, holding my shoulders tightly, "Here," he started. He threw his jacket off and pulled it around me, trying his best to hide my blonde hair, "We've got to get out of here before He sees you."

I nodded, one hand to my eye. My other eye watered violently and I could barely see anything at all. So much for being a superhero; get poked in the eye once and I suddenly become a useless paperweight. However, when he stood up, I moved to rise with him but his hands roughly pulled my head right into his crotch. I had half a mind to punch him in the dick but I could hear his voice, "Stay. Down." I froze as his hands held me against him. Homelander was approaching, His eyes scanning over the crowd to fill up on the looks of adoration that fueled His massive ego.

It felt like an eternity with my face pressed against the front of Butcher's jeans but he finally relented and helped me up, while keeping his coat draped around my shoulders. I could see the blurry image of Homelander down the way, disappearing for the VIP section.

"Sorry 'bout that," he mumbled. He moved my hand from my eye to get a look but he sighed, "How fast do you heal?" He asked rhetorically. But before I could answer he was pulling me through the crowd under his arm, "We gotta blow this biblical popsicle stand. Hughie will have to find his own bloody way home."

"Hey, she alright — there, mister?" A teen in a "Believe Expo Staff" t-shirt called as we managed our way out of the thick of the crowd towards the exit.

"Fucking ace, Dougie Houser, piss off!" Butcher called, trying his best to keep the attention off of us, not only for their survival but the survival of those around us and our ultimate plan.

The teen made a move to raise his walkie but Butcher abandoned me and seconds later was gripping the wrist of the teen so hard he cried out, "You say one fucking word and you'll be eating through a straw until the day your son grows facial hair." He said dangerously. The teen nodded quickly, the fear of God shining through in the form of Butcher. Billy yanked the walkie-talkie from his hand and chucked it as hard as he could before he was at my side again.

"I fucking hate this place," he commiserated as we finally made our exit, down a few blocks to our van parked on the side of the road. We climbed in and Billy took the driver's seat, "I'm sure MM can patch you up nice when we get back."

Tires squealing, he put the Believe Expo in our rearview.

"I'll probably be healed enough by the time we get back," I said. Now that I was sitting, I was able to pull the tiny shards of glass from my eye one by one, "Fuck." I muttered.

"Don't let the bad guys catch wind — our country's mightiest supes can be incapacitated by a poke in the eye," he teased me.

"I could've kicked anyone's ass harder with one eye than you can do with two — but someone had a hankering to dry hump in public." I accused.

"Look, I couldn't risk that Fucker seein' you, alright? Didn't really have time to build you a tent or nothin'," Butcher defended.

I broke into a small smirk, "Well... you pitched a little bit of a tent."

"Don't you start. I swear I will turn this van around and deliver you right to Vought," he returned, waving his finger at me.

I laughed in return, "Just drive, asshole."