Chapter Text
You fucking pussy.
Light filtered through the blinds, it laid on the pillow and illuminated his whole face, waking him up fully. What a perfect way to start another, excruciating working day.
You fucking asshole. Acting all tough and shit. You lazy, stupid asshole. Get dressed. Sun’s already up and you’re still in bed, what a fucking disgrace of a man. Get your ass out of bed, dirtbag.
A groan, a puff of breath through his nose. The warm, soft duvet got pushed to the side, left foot, right foot. A tired grunt followed by a curse, the floor was freezing underneath his feet, the carpet was nowhere to be seen. Where had he thrown it? Fuck if he knew, fuck if he cared.
You worthless has-been.
Ben stood in front of the mirror above his dresser, a rare mahogany piece that was as old as him - maybe older. A good piece of furniture for sure, sturdy, rather large, perfect to store a few of his shirts and his stash of drugs.
Pills. Where the fuck d’ya put ‘em, asshole?
They weren’t hidden under his t-shirt, they weren’t between his jeans either, let alone inside his socks. He hadn’t lost them; they had been there the night before. Had he taken all of them? Couldn’t be. Could be. His memory wasn’t the best anymore.
Wonder why, you junkie. Shower, breakfast, chop chop.
Life was much different from what he remembered, it had changed a lot while he was asleep. Betrayed by his own team, that served him well, that was what he deserved for being a piece of shit to everyone. Except, he wasn’t. He was a star, everybody knew him, everybody loved him.
So what, he had fucked up and hurt little Black Noir’s feelings, boo-fucking-hoo. There were worse things out there. Danger was everywhere, crimes and evil, those were the real issues supes should try to fight, not him. Not the guy who had basically won World War II on his own. You’re welcome, cunts.
They hadn’t cared back then, though, they weren’t going to care now.
Ben was back in the game, he was back into being praised, into being loved just because he had fought the biggest asshole out there and he had won. Homelander was down, the Seven were back into the spotlight and he was the hero again. Everything was perfectly balanced once more.
Naked, he shuffled to the ensuite bathroom. His clothes were hanging neatly by the shower, a plain white t-shirt and bootcut jeans, white socks, black boxers, leather boots. He opened the cabinet, the comb fell into the sink, bringing the razor down with it. No pills, not even a trace of them. He was fucked. He had to leave the apartment and go to the pharmacy, on his own. He had to charm that stupid old lady into giving him more pills.
Waste of space, junkie.
Ben walked down to the kitchen area, he turned on the coffee machine and rummaged through the fridge and cupboards, looking for anything edible in the house. Nothing. Great, to the list of errands he had for the day, he had to add grocery shopping. Although he was filming from noon until night, maybe he could live with the catering food for the day.
This ain’t breakfast. It’s a joint, moron. Breakfast, now. Food. Healthy food, you don’t wanna become a ball of lard, old man.
Ben looked down at his hands, he didn’t remember getting the rolling paper, the filters nor grinding the weed. He needed to start paying more attention to what he was doing. Well, it was lit up already, he might as well smoke it and call it a day. He could stop tomorrow.
By 2pm, he had smoked half of his weed, so now he also had to go and fetch some by the end of the day. Amazing. Well, PAs were there for a reason, he could always use his charm - or intimidate someone - into running his errands, that way he could do his job and not lift a goddamn finger.
Win-win.
Vought’s car was waiting for him outside his building. Back when he had defeated Homelander, saved the world and the girl - what girl, he didn’t know - he had specifically requested to live everywhere but in the Tower. Those cocksuckers could rot in hell for all he cared. He was the boss, he was the leader, if he wanted a mansion, Vought owed him that. Especially after putting him to sleep twice.
Ben didn’t greet the driver, he kicked his bag with his suit and shield into the backseat next to him and slammed the door shut. His phone beeped, Ashley had been trying to call him all day and he couldn’t be bothered to answer her, she was a spineless rat, she could die alone.
Just like you, big guy.
The drive was short, traffic wasn’t that bad. Being trapped into a car wasn’t his favourite hobby, but he liked being the centre of attention. Flashing lights hit him in the face as soon as he opened the door, shouts and screams filled his eardrums.
Focus, pussy. This ain’t Normandy, they ain’t dying, they are here for you. Smile, git.
“There he is!” Ashley’s thill voice made Ben recoil. “Let’s all make some room for Soldier Boy, thank y- hey! Watch where you’re fucking going, fucker!” She bumped her shoulder on a paparazzi as she tried to approach Ben. Her hand grabbed his forearm, tight and grabby, slimy. “Smile, do your thing.” She muttered through gritted teeth.
Ben plastered his usual sex icon-shit-eating-grin as he waved, chatted and laughed, signing pictures, replicas of his shield, a pair of arms, a neck and even one or two cleavages. Yeah, being at the top had its perks.
Ashley’s grip on his arm only tightened even more once they reached the inside of the studios. She wasn’t happy, the permanent scowl on his face was deeper, it morphed her features into something straight out of a Romero film, she could easily star in Night of the Living Dead with that disfigured head of hers.
Bald slut.
“I’ve been trying to call you all morning!” Ashley’s voice was going to go down in history as the most annoying sound ever created.
“I’m not blind, I saw the calls, and the texts, and the attempted facetime things.”
“Then why didn’t you answer? You have an interview tonight, a journalist wants to write a b-” She shouted, right in his ear.
“I’m not interested.”Cutting her off, he let go of his bag, the shield planted on the ground right by Ashley’s foot. “Don’t call me again. If I need you, I’ll reach out. Clear?” Menacing, assertive, it was his second nature after all.
Ashley gulped, fear made her eyes liquid.
Good job, old fuck, you made her cry. Just like your son always did. Apples don’t fall far from the tree after all.
Ben picked up the shield, and only the shield, before making his way into his changing room. Left, left, left, right, left. He left the door open, hair and makeup was going to be there at any second, he didn’t want to stand up just to unlock his stupid door to let those stupid pansy fuckers in. Waste of money, all of them.
The pages of that day’s shoots were on his chair, neatly placed next to three bottles of water and a bag of trail mix. He shoved everything on the ground expect the scripts, he skimmed through them and rested his heavy feet on the vanity in front of him.
Junk, he was filming a hot pile of junk. Nothing made sense, the movie was supposed to be “about him but not really”, an homage to his heroic acts through time, an ode to the immortal hero who had saved everyone from certain death.
Except nothing was how it was supposed to be.
He had never seen Homelander as his son, he had never “cried, bawling his eyes out” while killing him, he had never buried him wearing all black with his head down and a hole in his chest. He had killed a motherfucker and left, no hard feelings, no remorse. It was a job, it was all part of the plan anyway. Butcher be damned, those cocksuckers of his pseudo friends too - especially Starlight and her lap dog of a boyfriend.
The actress Vought Studios chose to play Crimson Countess sucked ass, she could barely deliver her lines, she was ugly as shit and her breath smelled too minty. Payback’s cast didn’t match his old teammates, nor did the Sevens, well they did, but he didn’t like working with them.
Now that the big bad was dead, they thought they were going to be free, they could do anything they wanted. Not really, though. They were Vought’s bitches, flesh puppets who did what they were told without complaining about it. Soldier Boy was Vought’s property, but not Ben.
Ashley stood by the set throughout the whole day, her eyes were still watery and she kept dropping her clipboard and iPad, over and over again. She was stressed, Ben couldn’t exactly understand why, but he was ready to bet that it was Starlight’s fault. She was always meddling into everyone’s life like she had a right to do so.
“Soldier Boy, please, come this way.”
A PA rested a hand on his arm, he scrolled it away with a grunt. He picked his shield, his real one, from the ground and followed the pimply boy to a separate room. What time was it? Had he remembered to ask a PA to run his errands? Yes, of course, he needed those pills. He needed his weed, his alcohol.
His makeup got wiped off his face, a bottle of water and a salad plopped in his lap, along with a crips pack of cigarettes and a beer. Now we were talking. He ate, he drank, he smoked, all while Ashley kept going on and on about the stunt he pulled two weeks before.
After a long, boring day on set Ben had simply decided to go to a bar, get a drink and find a frisky woman to fuck in a bathroom stall. Maybe he had lost track of time, maybe a few hours ended up being several days, all blurred together in what happened to be one of his most intense benders of his life. Lots of drugs, lots of booze, lots of women who adored him. He disappeared for eleven days.
Living the life.
Yeah, living the life of a fucking loser.
The chair in front of him was empty, a recorder was lying on the table next to them, a notebook and a black pen, only the date had been written down. Ben plastered his best smile on his face, his nails found a chip in the wood of the arm rest of the chair and he started picking at it, lifting it up and bending it back without breaking it.
“Hello.” A calm, secure voice broke the silence in the white room. “Nice to meet you, Soldier Boy.”
Ben lifted his eyes, quiet. Stunning, the woman - girl, young woman? - in front of him surely was something to look at. Shiny hair, a smooth face complimented by the makeup look, glossy lips, a long neck adorned by a simple gold chain, a blouse with the two top buttons undone, a long skirt, heels that click-clacked with every step. He was going to have fun.
“Hello to you, too.” He didn’t stand up. “Call me Ben, Soldier Boy’s too formal.”
You sat down, Ben smiled. “I assume Ashley told you everything already.” You grabbed the notebook and the pen, resting them over your crossed legs. “I think it’d be quite interesting, it will surely boost your engagement and it’ll make people forget about Homelander, don’t you think?”
“Of course, of course.” His voice was deep, sultry and out of place. “A piece about me always sells.”
You frowned. “A book, you mean?”
Fuck, you fucking old fart.
“Yeah, that.” He needed his goddamn pills. “How’s it gonna work?”
“Well, I’ll follow you around, we’ll have weekly sessions where you’ll tell me about your life, about being in Payback, about dying and coming back to life only to find that Homelander was the new… well, new you.”
The wood chip broke.
Whatever useless PA he had asked to run his errands needed a raise. The pills were neatly placed in his bathroom cabinet, the weed was in his bedroom and the whiskey was back onto the liquor shelf, bourbon and vodka too. Food was in the fridge and his laundry had been picked up, folded and put into the dressers and walk-in closet.
Who on Earth wants to read about a useless fucker like you, huh? You poor excuse of a supe, got surpassed by some toxic jizz you pumped into a cup.
You were nice enough, though. The day after you were waiting for him in the car Vought sent to take him to set, a different blouse on, a different skirt, same pair of heels. You looked at him whenever he spoke, you stared and held his eye contact without blinking, without looking to the side or folding onto yourself like everyone always did. You chatted about nothing in particular, you mostly bitched about the weather and he listened, quietly.
Ben's suit was still in the same bag, the shield was next to his leg and Ashley's grabby hands were on his arm as soon as he stepped out, steering him from place to place while whisper-shouting in his ear. Rehab, getting clean, finding a PR relationship, ADs, more bullshit he didn't care about but he knew he was going to be forced into.
Soldier Boy filmed his scenes, Starlight was by his side through all of them, spewing out her idiotic lines with her shrill voice. His head was going to explode if he had to endure more of her, more of the "Hollywood" shit. Vought was a nicely oiled machine - it had always been one - yet now it was obvious to everyone, perhaps even more.
Filming a fight scene was nothing but a dance, every step was scripted, the blast of energy emanating from his chest was nothing but pure CGI, his smooth face was nothing but pure CGI, the absence of his wrinkles was CGI. He didn't age like everyone else did, he was over 100 years old and he barely looked over 40 - being put on ice might have helped, of course. Yet, that wasn't enough, he wasn't young enough, he wasn't as young as Homelander had been.
Work, drink, bennies, sleep. Left, left, left, right, left.
Good job, pal. Drinking and getting high in front of the girl who's gonna write a goddamn book about you.
Ben didn't care, as he sat on the couch in his living room, sitting in front of you with a joint between his lips and a bottle of rye whiskey by his foot, he realized that he didn't care. Why would he care? People had fallen in love with a sleazebag like Homelander, they had adored him, seen him as their God. He could be an asshole, he could be the asshole he had always been.
"I was a soldier all my life." A puff of smoke, you coughed. "Bred into one, actually. All the movies made about me... bullshit. None of that was true. Came from a filthy rich family, boy did we have it good. Money can buy you anything, even being a supe." You shifted in your seat, uncrossing your legs for only a second.
You could feel Ben's eyes on your body, perhaps trying to sneak a peek at what was hiding under your skirt. You had heard stories about him for all your life, your dad loved Soldier Boy, he collected all of his movies from the 50s to the 80s, every piece of literature written about him, every single news article written about him, action figures, comic books. You grew up seeing him as a hero, as your saviour, as America's saviour.
Then you met Butcher, Hughie, M.M., Kimiko, Frenchie. Your opinion on him changed, you started to see what truly was hiding behind a perfectly constructed persona.
"Did you spend your whole life fighting wars?"
“Fuck, no. I also did other shit on the side, Vought is a 24/7 kind of job, you see. Back in the day... you see, when I was in Payback I had a great time, great team."
You blinked. ”They're dead now, though. You murdered them.”
“Allegedly.” Ben finished his joint with a chuckle, pressing the butt into the ashtray as he blew out the smoke. "Thoughts and prayers, or whatever. Fuckers are more useful now." The light in his eyes changed, it dimmed down and his frown deepened. "I don't fucking care anymore. I wasted years doing their jobs for them, I wasted years on a woman who only wanted to see me dead. Fuck 'em."
"So why lie to me?" You crossed your legs again.
A beat of silence. "Why not?"
Spending time around Ben wasn't always pleasurable. There were instances where he would go quiet for hours and not say a single word, other days he would chat your ear off about his bigoted, outrageous views about the world. He refused to upgrade his ideologies, he refused to get in touch with the ever changing times, he refused to let go of his status.
"Are you going to be at the Vought party?" You started packing your notebook and pen. "I heard everyone's gonna be there."
"Of course I am." He didn't move from his spot on the couch, he only toyed with the cap of the bottle of whiskey. "Bunch of cum guzzlers all in one room? Can't miss it, it's bound to be a shit show." He uncapped the bottle, flicking the neck with a finger. "You gon' be there too?"
"Yes, of course." You strapped your bag to your shoulder, eyeing him as you stood up. "I'm going with Hughie and Annie."
"Who?"
"Butcher's friends?"
"Ah, the bitch and the cum sommelier." He raised his feet and rested them on the coffee table, yawning. "Didn't realise you were friends. Ah, well, doesn't change shit, they can go fuck themselves."
"May I ask why?" You already knew the answer anyway.
After Homelander woke him back up, Ben rebelled once he got the gists of his fucked up plan to take over the whole country. He knew Butcher and the others were still trying to find a way to eliminate Homelander, they weren’t too fond of him either, yet they accepted the help he offered without complaining too much. Not only did they need help fighting the biggest threat the world had ever seen, they also needed help with Butcher, who had lost his fucking mind once and for all. He fought with them, he took care of the problem the best he could and he blasted Butcher’s blood system clean of any trace of V. He didn’t even get a fucking “thank you” from those shit eaters.
"Fuckers put me back to sleep, that disappointment of my son woke me back up only because he wanted me to help him out." You didn't reply, you only watched him light up a cigarette. Few moments of silence, you were at a loss for words. "What'd'ya say?"
“Nothing, Ben, I said nothing. I'll see you tonight."
You left, Ben was alone again.
She's pretty. Young. Too young for you. Look at you, poor excuse of a man. What'd'ya say to that cocksucker back then? That you were never afraid because you aren't a fucking pussy? How have the tables turned.
Ben shuffled through his apartment without socks on, the book was a bad idea, you were only going to write a well-polished version of everything, of his life, you were going to push forward Vought's ideas and he was going to be used as a puppet, again. He had fought for Vought, he had fought for his country and they had forgotten about him, they had replaced him in a heartbeat.
Crimson Countess tricked him for years, she worked with Stan Edgar to take him down, to give him to those commies, yet she made love to him every night, yet she held him and kissed him and filled his mind with foolish ideas about the future, about kids, marriage. Only a year later, she gave him up, she poisoned him, she got rid of him.
Your damage isn't interesting, you waste of shit.
It wasn't. He was only interesting because he was popular again, because he was the "hot one" once more, without The Deep and Noir II around he was the only male supe in the Seven - where they even still called Seven? Only Starlight had been in the group, and she was back, but were they the Seven? Homelander was dead, the others too probably. Sage had been a fun one to kill, seeing her brain trying to reform in his hand had been quite the pass time.
He remembered everything. He remembered going to his dad's golf buddies for some V, he remembered fighting wars, he remembered being put to sleep, he remembered killing his old teammates, he remembered fighting Homelander, he remembered being gassed and woken up again, only to see that nothing had changed yet everything had developed.
Butcher had been out of control for the majority of the year, Hughie had barely been able to hang on, Starlight - Annie - was a mess, a mess Vought had tried to fix over and over again without succeeding. War happened all over again, this time on the American soil, this time between supes and only supes, causing more casualties than ever before. Whenever he had fought against Homelander, against Butcher, he had found it hard to discern nazis and commies from John and Billy. They were all jumbled together into a formless blob of rotting flesh, blood and bones. He was ashamed to admit that he had found it troubling to distinguish between the past and the present.
A black suit, a white shirt buttoned up to the top, his beard had been trimmed too. Ben combed his hair back, it wasn't as messy as it had been during the day, he hadn't cut it, he had just styled it differently, he had actually put some effort into it. Vought had suggested hiring a hair guy for the event, paparazzi were gonna be there and he needed to polish his image after his bender. He had declined, of course, he was perfectly capable of doing it himself.
The drive was quiet, his suit was itchy in all the wrong spots, the shirt was too tight over his arms and the shoes were far from comfortable. Once the car stopped, a smile crept over his face and he made sure to keep it there, to play his part as he was supposed to do. Last thing he needed was a pissed off Ashley on his tail. One pill was not going to hurt him, it was actually going to relax him, to make him more mellow.
He posed for the paparazzi, he smiled, he let Starlight hang on his arm and clapped Hughie on the back, giving the paps the right angle for the perfect pictures. Greetings were exchanged, small pleasantries were shared, difficult topics were left behind. Annie didn't seem interested in picking a fight, she was already eyeing the open bar. He beat her to it, yet decided to order her a margarita just for the sake of it.
The tie was going to strangle him, he was sweating, everyone he hated was there, the cast from the new Vought movie was all chatting together, people were laughing, lounge music was playing in the background and the line to get coked out in the bathroom was never ending. One more pill, just for the sake of it.
Someone screamed behind him, a glass shattered. Ben's whipped his head around only to find nothing, no broken Martini glass, no screaming people, yet the warmth in the middle of his chest kept bubbling up, it kept rising and rising and he could see the faint glow of it through the suit. He needed to calm down, he needed to keep his cool. Left, left, left, right, left.
New York's cold early autumn days were no joke, the air was freezing his nose off but he could breathe for a change. The terrace was empty except for you, you were sitting on a chair with a lit cigarette between your fingers, your pearl colored dress reflected the moonlight, your shoes were sparkling and so were your lips, still glossy, still rosy. No coat in sight, perhaps you were crazier than him.
"What are you doing here?" Ben stood behind you. "Pretty dress."
"Thanks." You took a drag from your cigarette, not bothering to look at him even for one second. "Needed some air, Annie is with Hughie doing some shit I don't understand, I don't blend easily into this situations, you know? I feel out of place. I mean, I grew up admiring supes, I loved Maeve and A-Train, so this is all so... so fucking weird."
Ben grunted and walked past you, leaning over the balcony with a lit cigarette. "What's weird? Being surrounded by celebrities or understanding that this is all fake?"
You joined him, the view was stunning, the skyscrapers were lighting up the whole night, honking cars and chattering people could be heard even from up there, yet the city looked so cold, so gray. You wondered if everyone in NYC ever felt alone, if they ever felt out of place as much as you did.
"Why do you keep lying to me, Ben?" You flicked the butt of the cigarette down. "I need you to be honest on record, I need you to open up about yourself and your life. I can do a standard and empty book about the American Hero, but I doubt you want that.”
"I don’t, I’d like to be honest.”
“Do you? It doesn’t look like that.”
He sighed. “The truth wouldn't be approved by Vought, so why bother."
"I don't work for Vought."
"They're paying you, though. They're paying you to make me relevant again, to make me someone." Ben's voice was growing angrier by the minute. "I'm still someone, I'm still me, I am the supe, I'm the one who put his goddamn ass on the line against nazis and commies! What do I get in return? Shit! Nothing! I get gassed, burned, tortured and then put to sleep like I'm a goddamn flea-ridden dog!"
"I understand-"
"Fuck you, you don't." The hand on the rail tightened, the metal started to bend. "You want me to be honest? Fine. From now on, you’ll get the real me or whatever stupid shit you need. Good luck trying to sell that.”