Chapter Text
It was starting to become routine by now, Butcher's doctor's visits. Every bloody day, he would come in, a dark smudge in the bright white “luxury minimalist” waiting area. He'd take the stares from the stuck up cunts in the waiting room until he got called back. There'd be blood work, maybe a scan, asking him about any changes. Then they'd blast his head with their rich fuck radiation or whatever, and he'd spend the rest of the day feeling like absolute shite. The January weather didn’t help, dreary and cold. He couldn't even drink to take the edge off.
Butcher had stopped drinking about five weeks into treatment, when they said his condition was actually improving. With good prospects. He had been so shocked he didn't even go home afterwards. He drove straight to Flatiron Building to tell his Boys. He wasn't usually the type to be this forthcoming, but the relief was too much. Thinking about it, he’d never had so many people to share good news with; especially not people who were so invested in him and his health.
“Really? Really!?” Hughie's voice cracked. Annie was holding Hughie's hand, looking genuinely happy for Butcher. “Please don't tell me this is your idea of a joke.”
“Why the fuck would I joke about this?” Butcher was trying to keep a cool expression, like he wasn't absolutely chuffed. “I ‘preciate gallows humor, but that would just be cruel, my son.”
“-c'est incroyable, une miracle, J'y crois pas, Monsieur Charcuter-” Frenchie was rapidly mumbling as he ran up to Butcher. He got two kisses in before Butcher was able to shove him off.
“That's good to hear, man.” M.M.’s voice wavered, offering Butcher a hand. They shook, and M.M. pulled him into a hug. “Oh, damn it, you're so skinny! What are you eating? If you need food, I can whip you up some stuff for your freezer.”
“Ouais! You need to eat well to be well!” Frenchie clapped his hands together. “I will cook for you. Healthy things!”
Kimiko tugged his sleeve, then opened her arms in a “bring it in” motion. He hugged her a bit stiffly, but she pulled him in too hard for him to resist. It made him smile. They didn't always get on, but for a supe? She was alright.
Once he was released, he turned back to Hughie. Hughie hugged him the tightest, as if he needed to physically verify that Butcher was there.
“Th-thank god.”
“Eh, why give ‘im credit? If anythin’, thank the fuckin’ protons for killin’ this bugger.” Butcher pulled back and almost lost his grip on his own tears when he saw how hard Hughie was crying. “Chin up, lad. I'm a cockroach, ain't I? I've come back from worse.”
“Before, you didn't have long… What changed?” Annie held her hand out as Hugie detached from Butcher. Hughie took it, still trying to wipe away his tears with his sleeve. “Is it a clinical trial? I’m happy you’re taking care of yourself, of course.”
“Ah, well-”
Butcher was more forthcoming than usual, but there were limits. If The Boys knew how hypocritical he was being…
There was a small part of him that knew there would be some understanding from them, but that meant sharing his feelings. Sharing how scared he was despite swearing up and down he'd accepted it—it was more than his pride could take. Annie would likely kill him on the spot for extending any trust to Homelander, anyway.
Smart lass. He liked that about her.
Since Butcher started treatment, actual contact with Homelander had been sparse. Small blessings. He expected Butcher to keep him updated about progress, and in turn Homelander bankrolled the doc.
Today was special, though. He had finally, finally felt okay enough to have arranged to see Ryan. Supervised, much to his annoyance, but there was the possibility of independent outings in the future. It also meant having to spend alone time with Homelander, but he'd already decided he was fine paying that price for Ryan when he signed the contract. If Ryan was going to choose to live with his father, then Butcher would do what he could to keep Becca's values alive. Until he figured out how to get rid of the egotistical cunt, that was the extent of what he could do.
They had chosen to get lunch somewhere relatively public, but small enough to let them speak freely without anyone paying attention. A proper hole-in-the-wall. Butcher refused to go to Vought, but most places would lead to them being swarmed by fans. Butcher half-hoped it would happen, if only to have some one-on-one time with Ryan. If it turned into a photo-op, it would be easy to pull him to the side while Homelander soaked up the taint licking.
Butcher approached the restaurant, uncharacteristically early. He pushed his appointment back until after the meeting so he wouldn't feel like death warmed over, but he'd gotten used to waking up early. He spent the whole morning pacing around his apartment, until he just couldn't stand it and started heading towards their destination. He was almost 30 minutes early, but the waitress let him in to wait and gave him a cuppa.
Butcher was finishing a second when noon hit and the door chimed. He looked up.
The first shock was seeing Homelander in civilian clothes. Butcher would recognize the cunt anywhere, lord knows he'd spent enough time staring at his smug face to spot him immediately. He didn't need the Old Glory framing to recognize his nemesis of a decade. The second was just how much smaller Homelander looked in his civvies. Butcher had assumed that Homelander’s suit was padding him up (especially ‘round his todger) but the thing must've been a full muscle suit. He was on the skinny side of average, wearing a form fitting t-shirt and jeans. He had a baseball cap on, tilted slightly down to obscure his face, and a jacket that was much too light for the weather. Butcher doubted anyone else in the world would recognize him as Homelander. They might think, hm, that guy resembles America's Golden Cunt, maybe, but people didn't see what they weren't looking for. Half of the investigative work Butcher did was enabled by that simple fact.
The waitress had engaged Homelander, probably asking about party size and the like. Ryan, however, spotted Butcher immediately and bee-lined for him.
“Butcher! I could tell you were here!” Ryan ran up, excited. Butcher stood, prepared for an absolutely bruising hug, but Ryan stopped just short. He looked unsure.
“Oi, what's that look for?”
“I just… I don't...” Ryan mumbled.
“You don't gotta hug me if you ain't want to, son.” Butcher crouched a bit to get on Ryan's level. “I weren't kind to you, an’ you didn't deserve that.”
“It's not that!” Ryan shook his head emphatically before hugging Butcher. It was light, like Butcher was a delicate thing Ryan might break. It felt like a kick to the ego, but he swallowed that feeling down.
“You havin’ trouble with the super strength, are ya?” Butcher smiled in a way he hoped was reassuring. “The supes I know say it's like ridin’ a bike. Takes a bit, but once you got it, you got it.”
“Yeah.” The guilt Ryan wore on his face was beyond what any child should feel. All because someone decided the world needed Supes.
“William. Ryan.” Homelander approached with the same swagger he always had, coming to parade rest in front of the table. “You're looking better. Your brain, I mean. You look like shit.”
“Yeah, well, that's the goal, innit? I can worry ‘bout how I look when I ain't getting irradiated every bloody day.” Butcher snorted, sitting back down. Homelander sat across, and after some hesitation, Ryan took the seat beside his father.
“Dad said you were getting better.” Ryan beamed at him. Christ, he had Becca's eyes. Clear crystal blue, with the same wrinkles at the corners.
“That I am, son.” Butcher nodded. In another setting, he may have ranted about life-saving treatments being behind a paywall, but now wasn't the time. “Doc says I've got a ways to go, but I'm tough enough to get through. Ain't even losin’ me hair, yet.”
Ryan sighed with relief. Homelander rolled his eyes and fiddled with his hat.
“How's it being a ‘no one’ in civvies, John?” Butcher turned his attention to the other man. He smirked at how Homelander's mouth twitched, his lips pursed.
“It's been so cool! We get to go do stuff and nobody bothers us for pictures!” Ryan answered despite his father's palpable distaste. “It's so much better now. I don't like when they do that.”
“What?” Homelander looked taken aback. Of course it would be beyond him that not everyone liked being center stage.
“I like doing normal stuff with you. Like this.” Ryan gave a shy shrug. “When there are fans around, it feels like I'm not even there.”
Homelander blinked, then nodded slightly. “Okay, yeah. Yeah. You want me to pay attention to just you.”
“Well, I mean, I-” Ryan looked like he was about to deny (probably feeling guilty about taking up a superhero’s time or something equally humble), but Butcher interrupted.
“Of course he does. What lad doesn't want undivided attention from his father?” Butcher pointed out. He wouldn't call himself emotionally intelligent by any means (he was better at manipulation and mind games than compassion or flouncy things like that) but he could see the gap in communication. Lucky for Ryan, Butcher was an expert in how to navigate an emotionally unstable arsehole.
It had the intended effect; Homelander fully relaxed, putting an arm around Ryan's shoulders to pull him close.
“Well why didn't you say so, champ? If you want my attention, just ask.” Homelander was making that unsettlingly honest face again. Butcher guessed he understood. He'd been told that the person he was for Ryan was different from the Butcher most were used to. “You're more important than any fan. Anyone. It's not even a contest!”
“Thanks, dad.” Ryan smiled back as he was released. Homelander gave him a fond smile before he grabbed a menu and started flipping through.
“Ugh, diner food.” He wrinkled his nose.
“You chose the place, yeah? Why're you complainin'?” Butcher threw up his hands. “If I knew you was showin’ up in civvies, we coulda gone wherever."
“They have fantastic milkshakes. I have Ashley dash them, sometimes.”
“It's bloody January!”
“So?” Homelander glared up at Butcher before looking back down at his menu. “It doesn't even matter because I might have to skip it. There's nothing on this menu that matches my nutritional requirements.”
“They got you on a diet?” Butcher raised an eyebrow, leafing through his own menu. When he wasn't sick from the radiation, he'd actually been eating well. Frenchie and M.M. had made it their life's goal to bring his weight back up, so for the first time in a long time his fridge and freezer were full.
“I'm always on a nutrition diet plan.” Homelander huffed. “I need to stay within a range so my suit fits. I just need to manage sugar intake. Since Ryan moved in, I've been cheating too much.”
“That's miserable, mate.”
“Today's kinda special, though, right?” Ryan offered. Butcher could tell this was a frequent conversation. “One milkshake wouldn't mess you up. Or, um, we could split something so you can get a milkshake.”
“Mm.”
“Why not get all ya want? You let Vought pick what you eat? That's pretty pathetic.” Butcher needled. “You're not Homelander today, anyways. What's Johnny wanna eat?”
Homelander looked like he wanted to jump the table and wring Butcher's neck. Ryan, however, looked overjoyed.
“Yeah, dad! Not… not the pathetic part, but you should eat what you want!”
“I'll get what I'm gonna get. Do not ever refer to me as Johnny again.” Homelander was trying to look intimidating, but he mostly looked embarrassed. He was flushed up to his ears. Now that was new.
“Got it, princess.” Butcher grinned as Homelander's flush got deeper. It must have taken a lot of effort for Homelander to not laser his brains out right there. “I'm gonna get a burger and chips.”
“Better not call them that to the waitress. This is America, speak American. Just a tip!” Homelander popped the p, back to perusing his menu.
“Nah, don't think I will.” Butcher countered, then turned his attention to Ryan. “What's catchin’ your eye, son?”
“Uhh, maybe french toast? With bacon on the side.” Ryan looked to his father. “Can I get a milkshake?”
“Sure can! You should probably get eggs, too. Protein."
“I don't like eggs.”
“Neither do I, it just seemed like a dad thing to say.” Homelander shrugged, making Ryan giggle. “Get a second serving of bacon, though.”
“Okay!”
Butcher watched the two interact. It was bizarre, seeing Homelander look like a normal human being. From the outside, Ryan and “John” looked like any father and son in New York. It was even more apparent when Homelander dropped his fake sheen. It pissed Butcher off but he grit his teeth through it. For Ryan.
The third person at this table should have been Becca.
Butcher was broken from his thoughts by the waitress approaching.
“What can I get you boys?”
“The double bacon cheeseburger with chips. Do you have vinegar?”
“We sure do. I assume you mean french fries and not Lay's?” The waitress smiled, giving Butcher a pat on the shoulder. “I like your accent.”
“Thank you, luv. This one here thought ya wouldn't get my meanin’.” Butcher winked, gesturing casually at Homelander. Homelander gave him a tight smile that meant he was fuming.
“No, I gotcha!” Her hand hadn't moved. Butcher wasn't particularly interested, but he was getting a kick out of how pissed it made Homelander. He really couldn't tolerate others getting attention, huh?
“Can we order now? Or do you want to keep flirting?” Homelander snapped.
The waitress drew her hand back, shocked. “Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize-”
“He's out of your league, by the way.” The corner of Homelander's mouth twitched. Butcher stared at him, boggled. He'd expected sulking, at most, not bitching the waitress out for approaching him first. "It isn't happening, so you can concentrate on your job.”
The waitress blinked, too stunned to react. “.... uh, what would you like?”
Homelander pointed at Ryan, who looked like a startled deer.
“Oh for the love of- okay. He wants french toast, two sides of bacon, and a milkshake. What flavor do you want?”
“...chocolate.”
“A chocolate milkshake.” Homelander crossed his arms. “I want a full stack of chocolate chip pancakes, with a side of bacon, two orders of homefries, and onion rings. To drink, I'd like a vanilla milkshake, extra whip, and a glass of milk. Whole, if you have it.”
Butcher barked out a laugh despite himself.
“You said to get what I want!” Homelander snapped defensively.
“Sure did, Johnny-boy.” Butcher shook his head. The nickname had Homelander looking absolutely murderous. “Sorry ‘bout him. Can you add a chocolate malt? Don't wanna be the only sad chap without a milkshake.”
“Okay!” The waitress squeaked and scrambled away.
A beat of silence.
“You ever thought,” Butcher said, leaning forward on the table. “that maybe it ain't just your powers that put people off?”
Homelander clicked his tongue, simply not answering. Ryan looked down at the menu, just to have somewhere to look.
“I'm sorry, son. Your dad's not the best with manners, I'm sure you know.” Butcher kept his eyes on Homelander.
“What's that supposed to mean?” Homelander rolled his shoulders, posturing. Butcher now understood why they had him in the muscle suit; compared to it, Homelander looked almost diminutive. He knew it didn't matter, that Supes could look any type of way and still punch through walls. Even Ryan, by all means an average 10 year old, could probably lift a car without issue. It was just sort of satisfying for Homelander to be even less intimidating than usual.
“It means that you're a right cunt.”
“I am right.”
“Fine, I'll say it in American, yeah? You're a huge fuckin’ asshole.” Butcher mocked, putting on an (admittedly bad) American accent.
“Did you want her that bad? Didn't know you went for 3s.”
“I was bein’ friendly. Is that what pissed you off?” Of course. God, how could a grown man be such a brat?
“No, I-” Homelander exhaled sharply. “Don't flirt with ugly people in front of Ryan. It'll give him the wrong idea.”
“What the fuck…”
Butcher and Homelander both froze, looking at Ryan. Ryan looked mortified, sinking in his seat.
“Sorry! I didn't mean to say that out loud!” Ryan squeaked out. He was almost as red as his shirt.
Butcher started laughing. He was laughing so hard no sound came out, bracing against the table from the force of it. It made him cough, but the cough broke into more laughter. Homelander looked startled, then bristled. It reminded Butcher of a puffed up cat trying to be scary.
“William! This isn't funny!”
“‘S pretty funny!” Butcher choked out.
“I blame you for that-!”
“Like you don't cuss all the damn time-”
“This is impossible. You're impossible.”
“I try.”
Ryan returned to sitting normally, though still red, and watched the two men bicker until the food came.
Homelander, as if to prove a point, sat up straight when the waitress returned. She was shakily putting down their plates, looking terrified. She flinched when he spoke.
“I want to apologize.” He said, then glanced meaningfully at Butcher and Ryan to make sure they were watching. Attention whore.
Homelander took out his wallet and pulled out a crisp bill. “Here's a hundred as your preemptive tip, assuming you didn't spit in our food. You can check it, but it is authentic.”
“Oh, no, it's okay-!”
“I insist.” Homelander held it out, and the very stressed waitress took it. As she hurried away again, Homelander gave Butcher a smug look. “See? Fixed.”
“Mhm. Really wrapped that up.” Butcher returned the look. “This your first time apologizin’?”
“No! Whatever, let's just eat.” Homelander began angrily cutting into his pancake. What, did he want to be praised for that? Not likely.
“So, Ryan, how's life in the tower?” Butcher grabbed the vinegar and drizzled it on his chips.
“It's pretty cool! I go to school with some other kids. Sometimes I hang out with my friend Zoe.” Ryan seemed relieved to be able to change subjects. “It's cool to be around kids my age. When I lived with mom, it was just us.”
“Aye, havin’ mates is important!” Butcher pointed with a fry. “I'm learnin’ that more and more myself.”
Homelander snorted into his pancakes. Butcher ignored him.
“An' you started hero work?”
“Uh, a little. I don't think I'm very good at it. Right now I keep accidentally breaking controllers when I get excited. I don't wanna do that to a person.” Ryan sighed. “Dad's really good at it.”
“Gotta be, sport. You'll get there. I had my powers much earlier and still struggled with control at your age. But, I also didn't have a dad to help.” Homelander bumped shoulders with Ryan. “Just like with flying.”
“Oh yeah! I can get up to Dad's, now! Most of the time. One time, I got stuck on the 70th floor. The windows don't open up there and Ashley had to call Dad.”
“Glad your dad was there to help.” Butcher tried not to think about what he would or could possibly do in that situation.
“Oh, that reminds me.” Homelander pulled out a small gift bag that Butcher hadn't noticed before. “Here.”
“What's that?” Butcher frowned.
“It's a phone that works. Feel free to have Campbell give it a once over, but I didn't mess with it.” Homelander shrugged. “It's paid up, all that. And there's a credit card in there, too.”
“I ain’t your sugar baby. We talked ‘bout the terms already, all this ain't part of it.”
Homelander stared him down. “I'm giving you these for Ryan's benefit, not yours. Make your apartment tolerable. If I find out you're spending it on alcohol-”
Butcher cut him off. “I stopped drinkin’ when I stopped gettin’ sicker.”
“What's a sugar baby?” Ryan asked, voice timid.
“Never you mind that, son, it's an adult thing.” Butcher said quickly, taking the bag. He needed to get better at censoring himself, as funny as Ryan swearing was. “My phone is fine.”
“No, it isn't. If you're going to spend time with Ryan, you need a phone that works. Your prepaid gets exactly zero priority on networks. We're on the Hero network with VNet, up with first responders and police.”
Butcher pursed his lips and reluctantly put the bag on the seat next to him.
“Oh, I'll give you my number, either way!” Ryan pulled out his own phone (which was nicer than the one Butcher got, not that he cared) and pulled up his contacts. He handed it over to Butcher. “I can change it if you get a new number.”
Homelander looked like he wanted to say something, but gritted his teeth instead.
“There ya go, lad.” Butcher gave him back his phone, with his number typed in. Ryan sent him a text, making Butcher's phone vibrate. He checked it.
[Unknown Number]
Hi ! It's Ryan !
Butcher smiled to himself, then another text came through.
Super Cunt
don't get any ideas, I check his phone
if you shit talk me I'll know
Of fucking course. He gave Homelander a look, who just squinted back. Butcher closed his phone.
“You gotta send me all your new Lego movies, yeah? You still makin’ those?” Butcher asked, returning to his food.
“Yeah! Dad got me a set up for it and everything. I wanna do As Good As It Gets, next, but I gotta decide on a piece for Verdell.”
“I really don't get your taste in movies, champ.” Homelander covered his mouth as he spoke, chewing on one of his onion rings. “Don't you wanna watch something for your age group? We have Vought+.”
Ryan mixed his milkshake with his straw thoughtfully. “I dunno. I like to watch movies about stuff I don't know, and superheroes are just normal for me. Plus, mom really liked movies like that. Watching them helps when I miss her.”
An uncomfortable silence settled over the table, the only sound between them was the scraping of cutlery. It stretched on until Butcher cleared his throat.
“Your mom ever show you Steel Magnolias? Used to make her cry buckets, that one.”
“Yes!” Ryan's eyes sparkled, all discomfort evaporating. When was the last time he was able to talk about his mom? “I like that one, too, but it makes me too sad to watch now.”
“Some day, lad.” Butcher glanced at Homelander, who was pushing food around on his plate with an absolutely foul look on his face. “I’ve been meanin’ to do some rewatches, if you're keen.”
“I'd love to! But, um…” Ryan looked over at Homelander, who was struggling to readjust his expression. “...I was kinda hoping Dad would watch them with me.”
The storm clouds in Homelander's expression immediately cleared. “We can watch them! I'll make time for it.”
Butcher snorted. All of those human struggle movies would probably bore Homelander to death. He'd love to see that: Homelander sitting through a film that wasn't Vought propaganda or self-fellating drivel, held hostage to watch romcoms and dramas by a preteen with weird fuckin' taste.
The rest of lunch went as smoothly as it could, Butcher and Homelander managing to keep their bickering curbed for Ryan's sake. Butcher was reluctantly impressed that Homelander polished off everything he ordered, though considering how many calories supes burned in a day it probably wasn't all that strange. Once they had finished, Homelander checked the time and clicked his tongue. He pointed at the bag he'd given Butcher.
“Use the card in there and pay. It's tucked in the phone's box” Homelander stood up, and Ryan did the same. “We have to get going. This took longer than I expected.”
Butcher got up as well, shaking his head with exasperation. “I don't want your damn money.”
“Then think of it as me paying, I don't give a shit.” Homelander laughed humorlessly as he and Ryan shuffled out of the booth. “I already tipped. C'mon, bud.”
Ryan hesitated, then turned to Butcher. “I'm glad you came. I thought- well, when I said I hated you, I…”
“I hurt you, my son. I know you was just reactin’ to that. I'm the one who's gotta apologize.” Butcher clapped Ryan on the shoulder. “I told you to not be a cunt and I don't even take my own advice. That ain't fair.”
Ryan rushed forward, hugging Butcher properly. Butcher couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face, hugging the boy back. Maybe someday he'd be able to give Ryan the pendant back, if he wanted it.
“C'mon, kiddo. You're gonna see him in a week.” Homelander sounded exasperated.
“Sorry, yeah, okay!” Ryan released Butcher and took his place next to his dad. “See you, Butcher!”
Butcher waved as they walked away, then picked up the bag Homelander gave him. The phone did in fact have a Vought branded credit card tucked into the box. It was the heaviest card he'd ever held, black with crisp silver detailing. His personal credit card was so cracked it was basically a chip with a grip, the numbers worn completely away. Typical that the pompous cunt would give him this to rub that shit in.
Butcher sighed as he ambled up to pay. The poor waitress Homelander had harassed was at the register, visibly relieved that Homelander was gone. That seemed to be the consensus of most who knew him.
“‘Ere ya go, luv.” Butcher handed her the card, which she also took a second to stare at. She started processing the order when she peeked up at Butcher, looking embarrassed.
“I wanted to say sorry, I didn't mean to make your partner upset.”
Huh?
Partner?
“Oh, no. No, no, nope.” Butcher shook his head, willing away the wave of nausea that hit him. “You've got it wrong. He ain't… we just share custody of the lad. He's a bastard.”
“Oh! Exes, then?” The waitress handed him the card and receipt back. He took it reluctantly.
“No, we ain't ever been anythin’. I barely tolerate the cunt. What you got was the equivalent of him grovelin’ on his hands and knees. He ain't the apologizing type.” Butcher sighed.
“Oh. Good luck with him, then, sir. He seems difficult.”
“Difficult ain't the half of it.”