I can't remember the last time I couldn't sleep in peace.
The cursor blinked insultingly at Homelander, the white background taunting him with its vast stretches of emptiness. He read and re-read the line he'd just typed. The content of it was not even the only thing about it that surprised him. For the first time in his life, the mighty Homelander was journaling his feelings. A wave of insulting rage crept up inside him as he slammed the lid of the computer shut.
A familiar, expected knock on his door rescued him from his newfound feelings. He stood up and, straightening out his cape, cleared his throat with the most Homelander "Come in!" he could muster in that moment. His secretary Trish entered with a beaming smile, carrying his tray of breakfast.
"Good morning, Homelander," she said, as she set the tray down on his bedside table. Homelander glanced over at the tray. Hotcakes and milk, his usual breakfast. The smell of fresh milk filled the room, bringing with it a surge of memories that it had not caused for a long, long time.
"Would you like me to read your list of meetings for the day, Homelander?" asked Trisha, in her usual robotically sing-song voice.
"No, thank you Trisha. That will be all," Homelander managed to get the words out without his voice breaking.
Trisha smiled, and left the room, closing the door behind her. Left all alone with his thoughts once again, Homelander walked over to his tray of breakfast and picked up the milk. He brought it close to his nose and sniffed it, the freshness of the smell slightly easing his mind. He drank it all in one gulp, without stopping to savor the taste of it.
"Good. That's better", he thought to himself.
But no, it wasn't better for long. Before he knew it, he glanced over at his bedside dresser and Stormfront's makeup kit caught his eye. She'd used it only the night before. It was hard to imagine that she would not come back for it, picking up that gold-tipped brush as she came back from the shower. If he closed his eyes, he could probably hear her now, letting the water run in the shower for a few seconds before getting in.
He walked over to the dresser and angrily threw the makeup kit on the floor. It burst open with a loud noise, spilling its contents all over his off-white rug.
"Is everything alright, Homelander?" Trisha had rushed into the room, her face showing a sense of alarm that made her almost seem like a real person and not just Homelander's secretary.
"Get out," said Homelander, his teeth gnashing against each other. Trisha didn't need to hear the words, the laser-red glow in his eyes had made her feel unwelcomed enough for her to sprint out of the room, though she could've sworn she saw some moisture in the whites of his eyes.
Homelander couldn't take it anymore. Everything in the room reminded him of Stormfront – the spilled makeup kit, the broken-down couch, the hole in the wall, everything. Fuck, it even smelled of her now that the fresh odor of the milk had gone away.
He could not take this any longer. He felt suffocated, even in his spacious bedroom. He stepped out into the balcony and, with a rush of power to his legs, flew up into the morning sky. The crisp, fresh air was a welcome change and he instantly felt better. He decided to stop by at the Planet Vought on Pennsylvania Ave, see a few people, and get his head straight.
He plummeted down onto the rooftop of Planet Vought, and then made a gentler landing on the sidewalk near the door. Immediately, people flocked to him. Selfies, autographs, the usual clamoring that he lived for. This is what he enjoyed the most in the world about his job and himself, the reason he let Starlight back into the Seven and let Billy Butcher walk away with his son. His fans, their approval and support and love were the most important things to him in this world.
Yet, as he smiled for the cameras and hugged awestruck fans, he could not feel the strange feeling from earlier in the morning creeping back into his head. For the last few months, he'd always be with Stormfront by his side whenever he stepped out among the fans. They'd be holding hands, smiling and waving at the adoring masses. Today, even in the midst of so many people, Homelander felt incredibly alone. Yes, finally, there's a word for what he'd been feeling – loneliness. He may be loved by everyone around the country but the people who he loved and liked being around were all snatched away from him. Madelyn first, and now Stormfront and Ryan. After Madelyn's loss, he'd moved on very quickly since Stormfront came into his life. But now, there was no one to fill the big hole in his heart.
He was trying his best to not let his face betray what was going on inside his head, but he could feel his resolve crumbling away. He pushed himself hard one last time, pulling a few large smiles before indicating to the people that he had to leave. They cleared a small radius around him, as he flew up into the air with a deafening whoosh.
He couldn't go too far, though. His cloudy eyes and cloudy head forced him to land back down in a back alley, not too dissimilar from one of the many back alleys that he and Stormfront had hooked up in during their daily adventures around the city. He leaned against a dumpster, breathing out loudly as he tried to contain the explosions inside his head. A single thought kept bombarding him at every moment.
Gone. They're all gone. They've all left me alone.
"Whoa, are you Homelander?" a voice interrupted him. Homelander looked up at a ragged, homeless woman, his face covered with grime and dirt that had not seen clean water for days on end. On her body was a T-shirt that was full of holes, but there was no mistaking the Supe on its front.
The image of Stormfront's shredded face filled Homelander with a wild rage. He grit his teeth, and grabbed on to the woman's neck in a flash. Her eyes bulged as he lifted her up from the ground and, in one swift motion, crushed her neck with the palm of his hand. Her blood spattered everywhere, drenching Homelander's face and suit and the walls of the building in front of him. Even the familiar feeling of a victim's blood on his face did nothing to calm down America's favorite hero. He wiped away the blood with the back of his clean glove and flew off again.
His flight was interrupted by a loud scream, a woman shrieking for help. He went down to get a closer look of what was happening and saw a woman being snatched into the back of a minivan by three masked figures, as a fourth beat down another man on the street, presumably the woman's companion. Having satisfactorily neutralized the helpless man on the street, the masked man joined his comrades in the minivan as they drove off with great speed. Homelander rushed down and landed in front of the speeding vehicle, his laser eyes searing a hole into the masked figure riding shotgun. The driver screeched to a halt and got out of the car, his eyes wide in panic. Homelander made short work of the men in the car and flew away, leaving the kidnapped woman alone in the midst of four dead bodies.
Homelander landed on top of Vought tower, passing the trashed Seven room on his way up. He stood in the middle of the helipad, away from the edge, and looked at the New York City skyline. The top of the Chrysler building glistened in the sunlight below him, as the old thought came back into his head.
They've all left me alone.
But no. They had not left him. They were taken away from him. Madelyn and Stormfront and Ryan, all taken away from him by one man. Billy Butcher, that English bastard. And he had to let him go, for what? A stupid video on Maeve's cellphone? A video that would ruin his image among his fans and destroy his stardom.
The day's experiences had changed the man. Homelander no longer found joy in the people's adulation, but rather it made him feel even emptier knowing that they were just fans who loved him for his hero status and not who he was. Stormfront loved him for who he really was, the man beneath the cape. Ryan was finally starting to share a bond with him, and he was looking forward to giving him the childhood that he himself should have had. And Billy Butcher took all of that away from him.
As the sun shone on top of Vought tower, Homelander's eyes lit up once again. But this time, there were no tears beneath the burning lasers in them. There was a viciousness that only a cornered predator can identify with, a dangerous being that had every reason to remain civil snatched away.
I've played your games long enough, Billy Butcher. Now, it's my turn.