Chapter nine: Finite Creatures

So… The multiverse is real. Well, it's really starting to seem like it, at the very least.

Unless this is just some sort of, pocket dimension, or something, of Portal Baddy's creation… That would… Yeah, that would kind of suck.

Or maybe this is a complete alternate reality and Portal Baddy just happens to have access between the two, maybe possibly even more, somehow- Most likely through his portals. That's probably a pretty safe guess, at this point…

So… The multiverse is probably real. Maybe. Which is-

Freaking.

Awesome.

And yeah it's pretty cool, sure, yeah, totally, but… Peter could spend the rest of his life pondering the queries of the theoretical science behind the multiverse and reality hopping and still never get answers for 0.0003% of them, or some other ridiculously unattainable number, simply because the most probable theory about the multiverse is that it is, well, infinite.

And as a finite creature, sometimes not knowing is probably better, if not the only option. Easier. Ignorance is bliss, after all… Though, Peter would not really describe himself as one to take the easy road, or particularly enjoy 'bliss' if it's at the expense of people's lives and, you know, his own…

And welp, he's no longer ignorant to the very messed up priorities of the 'New New Avengers' initiative now, that's for sure. Polls and points and brand deals and movie deals and action figures and militia support and porn and-

"Wait, what?"

Homelander peers at Peter's startle from the corner of his eye, nonchalant. "Probably identity porn or something, real PG stuff until you're of age, duh, then- Well, I'm sure you're following. Oh- Relaaaaax! It's nothing, too explicit, or anything. C'mon, cut me a little slack here, would you? We don't earn everything while laying on our backs. Well, most of us don't."

Homelander eyes his conflicted embarrassment as they come to a stop outside of an elevator, pressing the button with a little more force than necessary. "Besides, you don't even have to do anything, we have people to hire, A.I to generate all that crap now. The technological magic of the twenty-first century- But you already know all about all that mumbo jumbo, right? Right."

Peter nervously purses his lips, forcing the words attempting to crawl up his throat back down as he remembers his brief stint with the rather insistent and, um, explicit pop ads yesterday morning. Okay, so Vought working in the porn industry, that's not too, um, surprising, considering it's really starting to seem like Vought has a stake in just about every corner of the consumerism markets.

The more Peter learns about these guys the more he comes to understand the global conglomerate corporation for what they are, more importantly, what they stand for, apparently excuse, all seemingly in the name of dollar signs.

This 'hero' business of theirs is really appearing a lot more like a product marketing business than anything really, and Peter's not entirely sure what this makes Homelander. Or himself, for the matter.

"Alright, I get your concern Peter, really. But consider it… From a preemptive standpoint. They're going to make the content anyway, at least in this way Vought can profit off of it, and we may as well, if they're already going to be using our assets illegally. Fair is fair, after all. Is this making any sense to you at all?"

Peter nods slowly, comprehendingly even if he doesn't, really. Gauging Homelander's impatience seems more paramount than anything. "Have you- Do you, uh, do the same thing?"

Homelander raises an unimpressed brow, as if Peter should have already figured as such. "Yes. Of course."

"That's…" Messed up. "Like…" Really messed up. "Like, really, really messed up-" His mouth clicks shut at the swift, warning glare he receives, mollified by the liquid rage in Homelander's eyes threatening to rise, almost as if looking for any excuse. The pull of Peter's nerves clench with a heart leap, his spidey sense his most reliable negotiator- "B-But okay, whatever, man!"

"I know it is. Do you?"

"U-Uh, y-yeah? I mean, I guess…? I don't really, I mean, know what 'identity porn' even is, so…"

As the wide elevator doors slide open Homelander finally looks away from him with a low laugh. In the near sterile silence of the hallway it may as well have been a gun clap. "Okay Peter."

Peter can hardly look over in surprise before the man is roughly swatting his back and sending him stumbling into the empty elevator. He catches himself on the railing before his head can crack a solid dent into the expensive looking paneling, turning slowly as Homelander steps inside in front of him, leaning over and pushing the penthouse floor button.

Peter's eyes momentarily pause over the tauntingly glowing Main Floor button as the doors glide shut and Homelander starts to tap his foot impatiently, sighing. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

How long has Homelander worked with-for Vought anyway? The only article Peter had read about Vought had said they're a pharmaceutical company he's pretty sure, as well as the hero stuff, but that's not an entirely crazy thing to happen in the business world. Diversifying the stocks, and all that…

Peter's always somewhat understood the stake The Avengers themselves hold in the media and stuff back in regular New York, they make merchandising of their own and everything, too, but only to a certain extent-

"Just enough to show the little guy we care." Tony explains with an impish grin as he leans in conspiratorially, patting a hand to his chest over his heart mockingly. "Right in here. My breast pocket."

But um… That had been more out of demand than anything, the Avengers never uh- Willingly marketed in the er, porn industry, either… But it is kind of exactly like Homelander said, if it isn't them making the halloween costumes it would be some other, less than favorable corporation of some kind profiting off their 'assets.'

The Eco pollution from mass production lines spitting out the Avengers' faces isn't exactly the type of legacy they want to leave behind, anyway. At least this way they- Okay, Pepper, if he's being honest here- Control that area of the market and own the 'properties'- Uh, their own… Faces. Or in Peter's case, Mask. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

…Kind of Just like Homelander said. Annnnd the money probably doesn't hurt, either. Tap. Tap. Ta-

Daring to glance in the sudden silence, Peter outright stares as Homelander tips his head up towards the fluorescent spotlights, expression hidden from him from this angle. Maybe our worlds really aren't so different in some ways, after all…

The elevator slows after a moment, Homelander's tilted chin tracking something as if following a point in dead space before landing back on the doors, which suddenly slide open with a faint 'ding.'

"Uh- Homelander." A somewhat familiar looking man blinks just beyond the threshold of the elevator, appearing startled. He's definitely a Vought hero of some sort, going by the scaly green costume and finned gloves. "Sorry, Homelander."

Maybe he's one of The Seven? Peter narrows his eyes, staring at Homelander's fluttered cape as his nape twinges with anticipation, but Homelander only grunts dismissively. "Well? Hurry up."

"Of course, Homelander." The man says, again with a strangely stilted formality as he scurries into the elevator. He seems caught between staring at Peter with obvious curiosity and nervously glancing at Homelander, seemingly almost unsure of what to do with his hands. "Uh. Are you- Uh, going to introduce me to your friend here, Homelander?"

Homelander glances at them over his shoulder before turning back around to stare at the closing doors, his reflection all but the darkened warp of a puddle against the polished steel. "Deep, this is Peter. Peter, The Deep… Deep's another member of the Seven, Peter, and Peter here- Well, I'll explain everything to you all tomorrow, probably."

"Of- Of course, Homelan-"

"Just- Shut up." Homelander's curt interruption cuts and the ensuing silence is stiffening, lathered with tension. That is, until the weight seems to subtly lift from Homelander's shoulders as the above panel suddenly labels 'Penthouse' with another 'ding' as they arrive.

"Fucking finally. Alright!" Homelander laughs edgily, reaching back to grab Peter's upper arm and practically tosses him out into the foyer of the penthouse. Looking over his shoulder, Peter only briefly manages to catch a glimpse of The Deep's startled expression before the doors slide shut once more. "Welcome to mi casa, Peter! Pretty cool, right?"

"Um, yeah…" Homelander spins on his heel towards him, raising his brows with a thin lipped smile. Peter continues haltingly, confused. "Er, very uh- American?"

Homelander's tight expression wavers, smile slowly dropping. "You're such a weird fucking kid. You know that, right?"

"Uh-"

"Not even interested. Okay, so listen up, this is how this is going to go, sport. I need to go- Do some things- Save peoples lives, whatever, you know the drill- And until they get a room prepped for you in the tower, you're going to stay here. Take the bed, I don't use it. I don't care. Just know you aren't allowed to leave this floor. We wouldn't want anyone else to discover your secret identity now before the big reveal, do we?"

As Homelander saunters back towards the elevator Peter looks to the floor because hope is a low flickering flame budding in his chest and he's never had a good poker face. This is exactly what he's been waiting for- There's got to be a computer around here, somewhere-

"Because if you do leave well, I'll know, and then I guess I'd have to, oh, I don't kno- PETER." Peter startles as Homelander shouts, head jerking up to meet the man's eyes, a buck staring down the rifle chamber. "I will fucking kill you." The doors stagger slightly before sliding closed, hiding away Homelander's infallible expression like the drawing of theater curtains.

The sudden silence is stark enough to spire a humming ring through Peter's thoughts, the sound of his breathing picking up amplified along with the squealing of the elevator pulleys. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap-

He's not entirely sure how long he stands there, listening as the tap of Homelander's boots fade out of his hearing range. He can hear low, murmured chatting through the thick walls, words undistinguishable, the groan of the tower leaning with the wind, the chink of glass shards being swept-

Taking in a calming breath, Peter looks around the darkly furnished penthouse, wary.

It doesn't even feel real or lived in, like those fake displays in Ikea or something, well, if Ikea sold creepy war, renaissance era paintings. They litter the walls instead of home photos or- or, you know, literally anything else other than renaissance era creepy war paintings. Does Homelander even have hobbies? Friends? Parents? What's important to a guy like him?

Homelander said it wasn't the money, though this rather lavishly decorated penthouse and calling Peter a 'walking dollar sign' doesn't really suggest that. Then again, Peter's never really cared how Tony had decorated his suite in the Avengers tower, either. Who knows how much of this is Homelander's doing, or Vought's? He did say he doesn't use the bed.

Fame seems to be the next, most obvious conclusion. After all, Homelander's way more upset over losing a couple 'points' in the public's opinion rather than the fact that he's, you know, attempted to commit murder a plethora of times within the past 24 hours…

What prison can hold him, indeed… But that doesn't mean Billy is- Is right.

That, just because you can't detain and control something doesn't just, give you the right to- to- Kill them.

Billy might be right in regards to Homelander and Translucent somehow getting repercussions for their actions, make them somehow understand they aren't absolved from justice simply because of their strength, but murdering…?

Take away their chance to change before they've even been given it? Do the exact thing they're supposedly trying to stop them from doing? How does that make any freaking sense?

That would make him just as bad as Homelander, and then where does that leave him? Leave them all. Peter refuses to believe murder is the answer to anything.

If- If Mr. Toomes can realize he was wrong, for example, that just proves that people can change! Can want- Can do better.

It just took a little um, persuasion, but uh, Peter thinks the man really did come around at the end there-

"Peter."

A trill runs up Peter's spine as he hones onto a familiar drawl on instinct, a mocking sing-song of his name. He can't exactly pinpoint where the cajoling came from- Four, five floors down?

"Petey-bird... Fucking Jerk-off. I know you can hear me. Hurry up and come find me already."

Peter hesitates, heart thumping loudly in the following lull of silence. After another moment of hesitation he purses his lips and walks further into the room quickly, head swiveling. C'mon dude, focus.

It's an open floor plan, a seemingly untouched four-posted king sized bed is hiding just behind a half wall decorated with bubbly looking glass. Opposing that sits a couch facing a wide flatscreen, the dark plasma mirroring his hunched over figure a vague blob. No computer, nothing… Crap.

"Alright, okay Peter, I see how you want to pla- Hey- Watch it- Oh. What the fuck do you want?"

Looking to the floor, Peter can hear a slight scuffle where Translucent's muffled voice is scoffing, straining to listen around everything else. "Yeah, okay. I see how it is. Yeah, fuck you, too. Great."

Another scoff and then silence. After a moment of hesitation, Peter walks along the window wall, staring down at the city with pursed lips as he experimentally pushes a hand against the tempered glass.

He's not entirely sure how long he's willing to wait to make his move, because the more time he wastes here, the longer these guys do whatever it is they get up to in their free time…

Peter looks around the empty penthouse towards the elevator and then the TV, conflicted. It probably wouldn't be too hard for Peter to use that flatscreen for what he needed, for all intents and purposes he supposes, too. Just a little rewiring, easy as that… Almost too easy. So easy he has to wonder if he should even be considering the option in the first place, because it's never so simple. Not for him, at the very least…

But if he's- If he's going to fully commit to trying to do something here- To- To trying to stop Homelander- Vought- Whatever the corporation is trying to accomplish here- What's even his plan? What if he only ends up making things worse?

Maybe I already have. He can't help but think of Frenchie's face as the man had looked up at him, the seemingly apparent realization that he was completely at Peter's mercy… Peter can feel his skin crawl up to his neck. He looked… 'Ding!'

!

Peter slowly turns towards the opening elevator, dread spreading like a web inside his gut.

Notes:

At the beginning of this story I only had a vague notion of what I wanted to get accomplished, the character arcs and growth I wanted to explore. I've been thinking a lot the past couple months about what it means to be 'good' and 'evil.'

I never expected this to get the attention it did, and now it feels like, in a sense, I have a responsibility of my own with this story and what I want to tell with it. Oh, such power! I want to use it wisely.

The more I write with The Boys' underlying themes of trauma in mind and better yet, breaking the cycles of it, the more I have to wonder about what I find important in life, too. The cycles I have that need breaking. The legacy I want to leave behind. What's under the mask, per say.

Because the truth is the path to redemption never has an end in sight.