Work Text:
Billy Butcher was a man who enjoyed wallowing in misery and self-condemnation, drowning himself in a sea of alcohol and remaining trapped inside his own cocoon of contempt; a slow, progressive suicide that would eventually reach its conclusion.
Because even bastards like him deserved to rest.
Then a pleasant smell caught his attention. At first, he thought it was an illusion, perhaps his mind had become so damaged that it was making him perceive things that weren't actually there. Fearing the worst, especially when he heard the sound of metal hitting the floor downstairs and plates scraping against one another, Butcher knew someone had broken into his apartment.
With a gun in hand that he had pulled from underneath his pillow and no time to get dressed, Butcher moved slowly through the hallways, taking great care to look in every direction and glance around each time he peered through a doorway, carefully checking the perimeter. When he descended the stairs and reached the ground floor, he saw that the front door was closed and there was no possible way anyone could have entered because the lock was still engaged. There were no signs of forced entry either.
Until he reached the kitchen.
And there he saw him.
“Oh? Well. Hello, William.”
Homelander remarked with considerable surprise upon seeing Butcher naked. Apparently, he hadn't expected to be greeted that way.
“How the bloody hell did you get in here, cunt?”
Butcher asked angrily, pointing his useless and inferior handgun at John.
“Aren’t you going to say good morning? The sun’s barely up. Come on, sit down and eat something. You’re skin and bones.”
“Answer me!”
“And what’s the point of telling you how I got in if nothing you can do will stop me from trying again? Besides, I can smell you. I can always know where the fuck you are. So, are you going to sit down or not?”
Butcher swallowed and, still irritated, chose to sit on one of the wooden chairs. He watched as John casually brought over a couple of plates containing fried eggs and a well-cooked piece of meat.
“I’ve been refining my heat vision. It’s not just useful for cutting things in half, handsome. Eat.”
“Is it poisoned?”
“Poison? What kind of stupid question is that, William? Do you really think so little of me that you think I’d kill you with poison? No. I’m not going to kill you like that. You and I deserve a long session together, but not that.”
Homelander looked more than offended. He appeared genuinely hurt that his intelligence had been insulted in such a way.
“Right, right. Sorry. Yeah... that was a bloody stupid question. Sorry.”
“You... mean that?” Homelander tried to find the lie in his words, in the smell of his sweat, in the rhythm of his heartbeat. Nothing. “Oh... well... if you want my forgiveness, eat. I know how much you like meat, so I put some effort into preparing it for you.”
Butcher didn't waste any time. He placed his gun on the table, picked up a knife and fork, and at the first bite his eyes widened in surprise before he immediately began cutting another piece. He picked up a glass of the mango juice John had prepared for him.
“Do you like it?”
“Do I like it? This shit’s brilliant! Since when can you cook?”
“Uh... I learned. The internet. Yes... so...”
“So? Does Vought know you came here?”
“They can believe whatever they want. You don't know this, but there’s a spy on every street. One of your neighbours is an infiltrator, so at least twenty people already know I’m here. Two of them, I’m not entirely sure if they are human at all.”
“What? Aliens?”
“If you want to know, you’ll have to die. Next question.”
“You’re serious? You lot are a bunch of lunatics!”
Butcher continued eating with genuine enjoyment, making various expressions and letting out a small groan because the meat was excellent.
“By the way, we’re shooting some films, and you’re going to appear in them. Every actor who’s tried to play you has failed miserably. I want you to act with us.”
“What?”
“I’ll say you’re a shapeshifter. No one will question my word. The film’s been delayed because of your character, so we need Billy Butcher... what was the other actor’s name? Karl? He nearly got it right, but I want something else.”
“You’re a right-”
“Come on, we’ll pay you well. Then you can buy prettier guns and carry on with your experiments with that waste of life friend of yours and see how many of those things you make actually manage to kill me.”
“Oh, piss off. I’m not doing it.”
Butcher said it with absolute disgust, still enjoying the meat until he finished it, along with the eggs and rice.
“Ugh, you’re boring. You’ll have fun. Look, your character only insults us for no reason and does all the things you do when you think nobody’s watching, except when you're doing all those dirty and nasty things.”
“I bet you enjoyed the show. You can pay me for the privilege.”
“Pay you for what? To make me laugh? Don’t flatter yourself. I’m doing this as a courtesy.”
“Oh, give over. As if I don’t know you’re somewhere out there watching me, keeping tabs on every bloody move I make. Maybe you like what you see, but you’re too much of a coward to ask for it.”
“Ask for what? I know your panties get wet whenever I’m around. I don’t think you realise...”
Homelander walked toward Butcher, who was still sitting down, and with incredible speed appeared directly in front of him, placing a hand around his throat.
“You’re incapable of understanding just how insignificant and little you are in my eyes. I can do whatever I want to you whenever I want, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
“And what the fuck d’you wanna do to me, eh? Go on, then. Finish the job.”
Homelander grimaced in disgust. Butcher always found a way to ruin the fun.
“And what would be the point? Why would I break your neck? No... I want to see you squirm. I want to see whatever’s left of you fight to cling to life. I want to see you on your knees, begging and saying anything you can think of to make me let you live.”
“Oh, yeah? That what you wanna hear, is it? ‘Please, don’t kill me! Don’t kill me, John! For fuck’s sake, think of the good old days! Please... I’ll do whatever you want. Anything, mate. Just name it... please...’”
Homelander bit his lower lip, and a sinister smile spread across his face.
“You...”
“I reckon that’s the only thing that gets your motor running, isn’t it?”
“And you have no idea...”
“If you want a personalised Butcher audio, that’s a twenty. Video’s thirty.”
“What? No... no! Agh... what a terrible idea! Knew I shouldn’t have come here.”
“If I accept... can I get access to The Seven tower? You know, so I can learn the layout and figure out where I can plant the explosives.”
“As if I’d let you wander around there freely. I can see what you’re doing even from miles away. Don’t push your luck, William.”
“Let me see the contract. I want a physical copy. I wanna have a laugh and then wipe my arse with the pages.”
“You’ll accept?”
“Why the hell not? You’re gonna pay me to ‘act’ and still let me carry on with my little side projects. Use your super speed or whatever other tricks you’ve got. I’ll be waiting. Might as well get dressed while you’re gone. Cheers for the food.”
Homelander looked pleased and placed his hand on Butcher’s shoulder, giving him an approving pat.
“You’ve made the right decision. Probably the most sensible one of your pathetic life. I’ll be right back.”
And there, William realised that the little dignity he had left was running out.
Far too quickly.