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Soldier Boy wanted to sit the fuck down.
He stood with The Seven beside Homelander onstage after the Fort Harmony event, the sun beating directly over his head hard enough to make his scalp burn beneath his hair. Every second the press conference dragged on scraped harder at his patience. Endless speeches to answer the public’s questions, barley, people droning on about hope, resilience, stamina—words stuffed full of fake security.
He hated listening to people he didn’t give a shit about ramble for hours about issues they didn’t lose a second of sleep over, just to keep up an image.
Not that he was any better. At least he acknowledged it.
A sound, or specifically a song pulled Soldier Boy out of his thoughts. A Russian song.
He froze on the spot. His eyes scattered across the crowd quickly, scanning each and every person, trying to understand where it came from. He knew it had come from a radio—or one of those newer small technological devices.
Instant flashbacks clouded his head; his skin attempting to be burned at scalding temperatures, his mouth forced open to be fired at his throat repeatedly, being drugged at every waking second—
His chest feels warm. His thick body armour does nothing to help the hot warmth that’s steadily rising. He brings a hand up to his chest, rubbing and clutching at it. He can’t hear if the music had stopped over the loud ringing in his ears.
He hurriedly turns around and bolts out. Some part of his brain acknowledges if he stays he’ll lose control and end up hurting people, once again.
If someone called out after him, he didn’t notice.
He goes to the most convenient place he could think of, the room he’s staying at. He clumsily grabs at the doorknob, slipping a few times, before yanking it open and slamming it.
Once in the quiet, stillness he slid down against the door with his knees tucked tight to his chest. He gripped his hair tightly, fingers threaded through them and pulling. The warmth in his chest was heating up, an intense sensation building up gradually.
He couldn’t get a hold of himself. His mind was all over the place, memories of endless torture flooded his head. Hot tears were threatening to blind him, and before he could stop himself a sharp, wet sob tore itself from his throat, hunched over. He gripped his hair, tears streaming down his cheeks as he hiccuped another blubber of sobs.
Memories of Russia continued to pound in his head. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing they’d just go away and let him be. Warmth and light sizzled with each memory, and distantly he felt drowsiness start to take over.
_
Soldier Boy was startled awake by a persistent knocking.
He looked around in confusion at where he was before he remembered what happened.
He rose onto his knees and rubbed at his face. Dried tear streaks were evident and Soldier Boy felt the ever growing feeling of embarrassment grow in the pit of his stomach.
“I know you’re in there, I can hear your heartbeat quicken just now!” Homelander voice came through the door.
Soldier Boy held his breath to avoid making a sound.
“Why are you not breathing?” Homelander’s voice sounded genuinely curious. “I can just break this fucking door down, you know..why are you not answering?” He continued exasperated.
Soldier Boy groaned. “What the fuck do you want?”
Homelander was quiet for a moment. “Well—you just suddenly left and—and I was wondering what happened..” His voice trailed off. Soldier Boy could imagine him fiddling with his fingers.
He can’t talk. Here he was with tear tracks on his puffy cheeks, having had sobbed and trembled like a whiny child, cried himself to sleep like a fucking baby. Who was he to talk, truly? All he did was put up a parade of fake resilience and dominance when he couldn’t even handle music from another country.
Embarrassment curled in his belly, his cheeks turning the slightest bit of pink.
“Nothing is wrong.”
“Are you sure? You looked really bothered by something—“
“I said nothing is wrong.”
No reply back. Soldier Boy assumed he left until he heard the doorknob jingle and open.
“The fuck are you doing?” He scrambled to stand, infuriated. “I told you to leave.”
“You didn’t sound..what’s the word? Confident in your answer?” Homelander shuffled his weight from one leg to another.
Soldier Boy’s cheeks heated up. “I told you nothing is wrong, so get the fuck out.” He turned his back and walked further into the excessively large, assuming Homelander will get the damn hint and leave him the fuck alone.
“You looked bothered by something. Did someone do something? I can put them in their place—“
Soldier Boy felt a twinge of guilt at Homelander’s desperation to get him to warm up to him. All his son did was give and give, and what did he do in return? Insult and degrade him like a piece of stain bread, unimportant.
He shoved the feelings down before they could surface more.
“Listen, I just heard..a song I didn’t like.” Soldier Boy muttered. His heartbeat sped up at the remembrance of that song. “So, I just left.”
“Song? What song?” Homelander quickly asked.
Soldier Boy didn’t answer. He pretended to be busy with inspecting the zipper on his suit.
“Did it remind you of something?” Homelander’s voice was strangely soft, unlike his usual gruff tone.
Soldier Boy didn’t answer. Homelander took it as a yes.
_
Days later, Soldier Boy was suprised to find out the Russians that experimented on him for decades were tracked down and brutally murdered. Their bodies were split in half, skulls crushed, organs torn and hanged around their necks. Laser beams that ate their eyes.
“If I had known they you doing this to you..I would have came.”
Homelander had told him. Pulled him aside and quietly, voice lanced with softness, explained what he did to those fuckers.
Soldier Boy didn’t have a response. He stared at him. He didn’t know where to begin, how Homelander found out about the Russians let alone where they were in hide out.
“I’m sorry that happened. As long as I’m breathing, no one will lay a fucking finger on you.”
Soldier Boy blinked the tears of guilt, one he didn’t try to push down this time. He hurt his son, over and over, just for him to still care about him.
He wetly smiled at his son.