Free Web NovelChapter 15: Chapter 15: If Only All of This Were Real
Benjamin looked at him in silence for a moment.
Sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the conference room and fell across Homelander’s golden hair, making it look beautiful.
Homelander was a little nervous.
Then Benjamin spoke.
"John," he said, "are you wondering why I’m making such a big deal out of little things like A-Train hitting someone and Translucent peeping?"
Homelander’s eyes shifted slightly.
He said nothing, but his silence was an answer in itself.
Yes, that was exactly what he had been wondering.
He did not understand why his father cared so much about those trivial little things.
So what if someone got hit? So what if someone took a peek?
They were superheroes. Superheroes were supposed to have privileges.
At least, that was what he had been taught since he was a child. He had done plenty of things ordinary people would consider wrong, but Vought had never told him they were wrong.
Benjamin leaned back in his chair.
The way he looked at Homelander turned disappointed.
"You’re fucking superheroes," Benjamin said, disappointment clear in his voice.
"And yet you’re this fucking pathetic. So pathetic I almost can’t believe it. The Seven, the top superhero team in America, the elite of the elite selected from all the Supes across the country, one-in-a-million talents."
"And what do we have?
"One dopes himself up and runs into people, one peeps in bathrooms, one fucks dolphins, and another spends all day brooding in silence, only to have my son shove his hand through his chest. This is America’s top team?"
"You have no fucking idea how disappointed I am."
He spread his hands.
"How the hell are every single one of you worse than the last? How are you all such goddamn pussies?"
His gaze pierced straight into Homelander’s blue eyes.
"And you, John. My son. The strongest Supe in the world. In my eyes, your problem is bigger than all of theirs combined."
Homelander’s expression froze.
The last trace of a curve at the corner of his mouth vanished, and his lips pressed into a thin line.
He looked wronged.
Genuinely wronged.
Like a child being scolded by a teacher in front of the whole class, only for the teacher to keep him behind after everyone else had already been yelled at and tell him, your problem is the biggest.
That child wanted to argue, wanted to say it was unfair, wanted to say those people had done far worse things than him.
But he did not argue, because deep down, he vaguely knew his father might be right.
Benjamin stood, walked up to Homelander, raised his hand, and punched him in the shoulder.
It was nowhere near as hard as the punch on the rooftop, but it was enough to make Homelander hurt.
Homelander’s shoulder shrank back. He lifted a hand to cover the spot that had been hit, looking up at Benjamin with his brows drawn together. There was no anger in his expression, only confusion and a deeper sense of grievance.
"From now on, all Compound V circulating on the black market stops."
Benjamin said,
"I don’t want a single supervillain appearing anywhere in America. No, anywhere in the world. I’ve already spoken to Edgar about it. He agreed. And even if he hadn’t, he would have had to."
Homelander held his shoulder and said nothing.
Compound V.
It was Vought’s lifeblood, the ultimate force keeping the entire tower running from its foundation to its top floor.
Superheroes were the product. Compound V was the production line. Cutting off black-market circulation and stopping the creation of supervillains would reduce the demand for superheroes, which meant Vought’s profits would take a major hit.
He opened his mouth, about to say something.
Something about Vought’s interests, about Edgar and the board’s reaction.
But then he thought about how Vought had treated him and his father.
They sold Soldier Boy to the Russians and let him be tortured for forty years.
They pulled him out of a growth chamber and subjected him to endless experiments and torment.
Why should he go against his father’s orders for Vought’s sake?
Homelander’s eyes cleared.
He swallowed those words back down.
But in truth, his confusion had not gone away. What actual harm did the appearance of those supervillains cause him or Soldier Boy?
What did the deaths of ordinary people have to do with them?
He did not really understand, but he chose not to ask.
Not because he was afraid, but because asking might make him look stupid.
Maybe his father would punch him again, too.
There was also one more thing.
Homelander could not tell whether Soldier Boy was doing this to damage Vought’s interests, or whether he was really... a good person.
A good person who liked to curse?
Benjamin looked at him, then bent down again, bracing both hands on his knees so his eyes were level with the seated Homelander’s.
The gesture made it feel like a real conversation between two people standing at the same height.
Homelander looked at Soldier Boy in front of him.
"Listen, John. You’re a fucking superhero."
"No, you’re the strongest fucking superhero in the world. We don’t exist for Vought. We don’t exist to put on some self-directed show in front of the cameras."
"We exist to protect the weak, those helpless little wimps who can’t protect themselves. Got it?"
Homelander’s lips moved slightly.
No one had ever said those words to him in his entire life.
Madelyn had taught him brand value. Edgar had taught him how to weigh interests.
The PR department had taught him how to recite lines in front of a camera and make them sound sincere and moving.
No one had ever told him that his existence was meant to protect ordinary people without superpowers.
"I know you’re a good boy, John."
Benjamin straightened and reached out, gently patting Homelander on the shoulder.
"You’re not a bad person. No one ever taught you the right things when you were growing up. There’s still time to fix that."
Good boy.
The way Benjamin said those words was completely different from the printed praise in Vought’s PR scripts. frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓
Homelander lowered his head and looked at his hands resting on his knees.
Benjamin stood and suggested,
"It’s getting late. Want to come have dinner with me in the cafeteria?"
Homelander looked up.
Having dinner with his father. Those words felt as unfamiliar to him as the molecular formula of Compound V, yet they carried more weight than any perfect line the PR department had ever written.
"Okay."
He stood and followed Benjamin.
Homelander followed Soldier Boy down the corridor, his cape swaying gently behind him.
When the elevator doors opened, Benjamin stepped in first. Homelander followed him inside, turned around, and stood properly. In the elevator’s mirrored wall, the two of them stood side by side.
One wore a dark green Supersuit. The other wore a red cape. They were similar in height, similar in outline.
Homelander stared at their two reflections side by side in the mirror and suddenly remembered something.
He had a shoot next week.
Vought’s PR department had given him a new script.
He had not finished reading it, but he knew the general idea. He was supposed to stand in a warmly decorated, nostalgic old house and introduce his family to the camera.
His grandfather. His parents.
The script said his mother would play a gentle tune on the piano every night. There had to be a real antique piano in the room, with several carefully aged family photos placed on its lid.
As for his father, the script described him in great detail. He was supposed to sit with him at a workbench and build a model airplane.
The moment he got the script, he had thought, if only all of this were real.
Not a set.
Not a temporary old house built for filming.
And certainly not some worn-out piano and aged photos dug out of the prop warehouse by the PR department.
But a real, existing, ordinary family.
Yet now, standing in the elevator, Homelander looked in the mirror at the side profile of the man in the dark green Supersuit beside him.
His father was real. He threw punches, clapped him on the shoulder, and told him, "You’re a good boy."
"Can I have dinner with you every day? I mean, if you’re free."
"Of course, if you’re busy, I can eat by myself."
Homelander could not help asking. He shrugged, pretending he did not care.
