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He’s been waiting for 10 minutes already when the door creaks open. The clack as it shuts echoes in his cavernous room, and Homelander smiles at the patter of the anxious steps now sealed in with him. He’s looking out over the city, mindlessly, thousands of pinpricks in an inky canvas all blinking and dancing beneath him through the clear pane of a curtain wall. The musk of anxious sweat and synthetic cologne is palpable.
“Deep.” He says calmly, his tone inscrutable.
“Yes, uh, Homelander sir. Ashley said you wanted to see me?” Deep’s voice lilts upwards hopefully.
Homelander turns, smiling and saunters over.
“Get on your knees.” He waves a hand listlessly.
Deep pauses briefly but follows the command.
“Sir, I–”
“Did I say you could talk?”
“No sir…”
“Jesus Christ… how have we not replaced you yet.” Homelander mutters, flexing his hands in and out of fists, “Put your hands behind your back. Listen, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about flight 37, would you?”
Deep wets his lips and glances between Homelander and the floor.
“You can speak.”
“Uh, yeah, sir, the plane that went down over the–”
“The Atlantic.” Homelander finishes for him, smiling with that faux warmth now.
He takes a few slow, heavy steps forward and bends down to rest a hand at the junction of Kevin’s shoulder.
“It went down over The Atlantic, didn’t it.” He exhales sharply through his nose and nods to himself before resuming eye contact, “It went down over The Atlantic, and then you had a couple of your little ocean buddies go and check it out, what, dolphins? Did you have dolphins spying on me, Deep?” He laughs, “It must’ve been hard, not being able to tell anyone. Did you see me differently? I hope not, I swear to you, I’m the same upstanding everyday American I’ve always been.”
Homelander sighs sympathetically and rubs Deep’s shoulder. He lifts the hand and straightens the fingers of his glove before slapping him with enough force that he goes flying sideways.
“Who’d you give the footage to?”
“Fuck!” Kevin cries out, grasping his face and scrabbling for purchase against the floor.
“I didn’t say you could talk!” Homelander sing-songs, striding over.
“Who’d you give the footage to?”
Deep’s eyes dart around frantically.
“For fucks sake– you can talk now.”
“Maeve, I gave it to Maeve,” He blurts.
Homelander already knew but it still stung to hear. It was inevitable they’d both find a way to disappoint him, ways in Deep's case. Loyalty only lasts until they think they have another option, he’s learnt that again, and again, and again. In a way he should be glad, he’s weeding out the untrustworthy. The weak.
Looming over him, Homelander pouts and then nods.
“And you didn’t think of telling me?” he strains.
Deep shakes his head, trembling now.
He folds so easily. With no small amount of disgust Homelander imagines that a shred of what he sees in Deep his father must see in him. He nudges Deep in the ribs with the toe of his booth, and then twists his body at the waist and drives a kick into his gut.
Kevin howls in pain and curls around the impact.
Homelander thins his lips and works his tongue around his teeth.
“Get up.” he eggs.
Kevin curls in on himself like fingers in the cold.
Homelander kicks him again.
Again, again, again
And again.
Until he stops crying and his breathing lapses from wet gasps into a shallow rattle. Homelander leans down and takes Deep’s face in his gloved hand, turns it side to side. He tightens his grip until the taut skin beneath his fingers darkens from pale to purple. He imagines it breaking open like a bag of wet cement as he feels the capillaries contort and fissure beneath his hand.
“Beautiful…” He murmurs in that unsettingly level voice, “You know, it really is remarkable,”
His hand slips from Kevin's jaw to his throat, and with a lazy turn of his wrist, he lifts him from the floor.
“How many ways the body can bend.” His eyes light up on the last word, dragging it out.
Kevin's body jerks instinctively, his feet scraping uselessly against the concrete. His hands shoot up to claws at Homelander's grip in his body’s last-ditch effort to preserve itself. The cartilage of his throat shifts beneath Homelander’s hand. Smiling now, Homelander brings Kevin closer and watches his eyes bulge and flutter like he’s looking into the sun. Blood bubbles from between his red lips and drools down his chin.
“You understand why I have to do this, don’t you, Deep?” Homelander says through his teeth, he gets close enough that he can feel the heat of his breath, “what do you say?”
Kevin gurgles as his limbs begin to slack. His jaw works open and closed a few times while his tongue flexes in his mouth.
“Sss– chss…” he gasps.
Homelander tightens his grip imperceptibly.
“Shh… sssir” Kevin manages.
Homelander drops him, and Kevin cries out, followed by a thin, strained inhale as his body spasms uselessly like a pillbug on its back. Thumpthumpthump jackrabbits his little heart, pounding in Homelanders head. All the time, everywhere, everyone thump thump thumping: especially Deep, whether Homelander was the one that bred it into the bitch or Kevin was born scared, he’s unsure.
“Sir, what?” Homelander drawls, tucking his arms behind his back.
A hint of that wicked grin slithers its way onto his face while Kevin blubbers and gasps. He watches his lungs cramp, how it makes him contort in on himself. So fragile. Homelander nudges Kevin in the chest with his boot as it palpitates with effort,
“Gh- shhh…. Suh- sorry, sh… sir.”
Homelander frowns, draws his foot back and nails him in the gut again. Kevin’s jaw bubbles open like a goldfish as he spews up more blood. Thump, thump, thump. Homelander laughs, barely more than a puff of air as he lifts his foot and places it on top of Kevin’s head. His shallow breathing picks up.
“Ngh- nnnn–” Kevin can’t speak past his tongue as it thickens in his mouth.
Homelander feels it swell, sees the way his gills flutter, hears the rush of blood, the stutter of his heartbeat, the way his windpipe clings to itself. An infectious panic that finds his every extremity. Leaning down on that leg, he presses until Kevin’s face bulges and purples. Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Go on.” Homelander grits, “say it again.”
Kevin’s erratic breathing cuts off entirely, Homelander can smell him pissing himself. He grimaces and steps off. Kevin’s face drains of its dark colour, bruising blue around his lips and eyelids. He looks like an over ripe plum, it’s inky fluid leaking down his chin.
He turns away and stalks over to his mirror.
“Okay, that’s enough of that.” He inhales sharply, “Stand up.”
His gaze catches in the mirror's lower corner where Kevin’s lifeless form is no more than a dark stain.
“Get up.” He snaps.
A chuckle,
Kill him.
Homelander stiffens and briefly touches his fingers to his mouth. The reflection slopes his shoulders and bends to the side to try and catch his eye. Homelander refuses to meet his gaze. He’s become bolder as of late, more frequent too. It’s become hard to discern who’s talking.
He takes a steadying breath as his composure returns in a wave, starting with his smile. The strength dissipates when he endeavours for eye contact. God is this really what people see when they look at him? The reflection tilts his head expectantly.
“I can’t. He’s 8 points up with girls 13 to 18, we need that demographic with Starlight out of the picture. He’s our…” He waves a hand before sneering: “teenage heart throb. If you could even call him that.”
The reflection cocks a brow, a slow smile splitting his face. Homelander tries a confident chuckle.
“Besides, he’d never leak.” He scoffs.
So you trust him?
“No.” Homelander answers instantly, “he’s like a…. a pet.” he waves him off again and begins to pace.
Then kill him.
He tosses his head, “No, no, I–” He wags a finger, “I can’t do that– I just told you why I can’t do that.”
He can feel himself scowling but his reflection doesn’t drop the commercial grin, it softens his spine, makes him fight the eye contact again.
You already have.
Homelander snorts and glances around, “I already have wh-... where do you get off on this?”
The reflection’s eyes light up
John? Are you losing control?
That wicked grin.
Do you know what you’ve done?
Barbara. Madelyn. Ryan.
“Shut the fuck up!”
The reflection purses his lips wryly.
And suddenly the dark stain is tiny and there is no more thumping, and there hasn’t been a thump thump thump since he walked away.
Go on.
“Deep?” Homelander strides over. “Deep, get up.”
He picks Deep up by his limp shoulders. His head lolls back, chin and teeth slick with blood now; they glitter like a brooch.
“Shit.”
Homelander shakes him. His head bobbles.
Classic.
“I– he’s fine, I’m–”
Get a grip, you don’t need this sycophant.
“Stop it!” his ears start to ring
C’mon John! What, am I next? Pull yourself together, this is why Mad–
Homelander whips around, red light lancing from his eyes and shattering the mirror like a pane of ice. The room falls silent save for his own erratic breathing, sterile and cold.
And suddenly he’s 12 again. He pulls the body close and buries his face into the fading heat of its shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” He murmurs, breathing in the smell of skin and blood.
The body feels small against his own, he shakes trying not to crush it.
A cough. Wet and small.
Homelander tenses.
Another.
Deep's chest jerks violently and blood spills from his mouth as his body convulses.
Homelander drops him, to little reaction from Deep, who hits the floor with a thud and curls in on himself. He touches the spray of blood leaking down the chest of his suit, “Oh jesus christ…”
Homelander can feel his own heart rate pick up as Deep lifts his head and stares at him with wavering, glassy eyes.
The thumping returns, steadily.
Homelander tucks his arms back behind his back, “Deep?”
“Gnh… y-yes– sir?” Deep says hoarsely.
His voice wavers, “Get out.”
