Hughie's voice came through the earpiece. "Butcher, he's here."
Those words were like a wrench, tightening the spring in Butcher's head.
"Frenchie." Butcher spat out the grass root he had chewed tasteless. "Time to work."
Homelander stood on the wooden steps of the porch, hands on his hips, staring hard at a plastic slide in the middle of the yard.
He had a headache. A serious headache.
It was a kind of helplessness he had never experienced before. He could easily deal with opponents and terrorists using Heat Vision or power. But now, faced with the little brat who shared his blood, he found that none of his usual methods worked.
When he first brought Ryan over, everything had clearly been heading in the best possible direction. The boy had looked at him with longing and a faint trace of anticipation. In that moment, Homelander had even had the illusion that he would finally have the family a normal person should have.
But that illusion had not even lasted a day.
Ryan seemed to have confirmed some kind of truth.
He stopped staring at Homelander's cape and stopped asking about going out to play.
For the past few days, Ryan had shut himself in his room all day, only coming out to eat. Even when Homelander took the initiative to talk to him, all he got was silence or a perfunctory nod.
Even when Stormfront tried to teach him how to use his powers, the boy was extremely resistant and ignored her completely.
What was this supposed to be?
"Still worrying about the little guy?"
Stormfront walked over to him, slipped an arm around his waist with perfect ease, and rested her chin on his shoulder.
Homelander tilted his head. "He won't talk to me. He won't even look at