Chapter Text
Hughie really liked his job, he did, but sometimes he just wanted to come home before everything went dark, before the cold set in.
But if he was honest, he didn't even mind walking home alone on nights like these, his headphones blasting Billy Joel as he navigated the all too familiar streets. The rhythmic music was comforting, a welcome distraction from the encroaching chill that ran through him.
However, as the temperature dropped, the cold began to seep through his jacket and into his bones and the once pleasant walk turned taxing, each gust of wind biting at his exposed skin, causing his body to shiver uncontrollably.
It probably didn't help that he always took the long route home either, but in his defense, the scenery was much better. The longer path meandered through streets lined with tall, graceful trees whose leaves rustled softly in the evening breeze.
This route also allowed him to avoid the dark, narrow alleyway that cut almost directly to his apartment. The alleyway always felt a bit too isolated and foreboding for his liking; every time he walked past he thought someone might jump him.
Instead, the longer walk offered a sense of tranquility and safety, despite the growing chill. Hughie appreciated the quiet moments to himself, surrounded by the simple beauty of his neighborhood, even if it meant enduring the cold a little longer. It was worth it every time.
If it got any colder than this, however, he would probably need to change routes. He didn't necessarily want to, but he also didn't want to risk losing a finger to frostbite.
Of course, he knew that wasn't likely to happen, but the point still stood. The idea of his fingers freezing and snapping off, while exaggerated, always stayed at the back of his mind; he was probably being a little irrational right now but still.
To avoid this he could always move closer to his workplace, of course, but he really didn't want to give up his apartment. Not now that he had finally decorated it just the way he liked, with the vintage posters and cozy furniture he had painstakingly collected.
He had also already told his dad and Annie where he lived, making the idea of moving even more inconvenient. Besides, moving was a hassle he didn't want to deal with again so soon.
As his mind raced to find another solution to his admittedly self-imposed problem, he spotted his building in the distance and just the sight brought a small wave of relief.
He could make out the faint outlines of the plants on his windowsill, blurry due to the height, but unmistakably his. His steps quickened, driven by the promise of warmth and the cozy sanctuary awaiting him inside.
As he finally stepped into the warm building, he could already feel the cold start to seep away, replaced by the soothing warmth from the radiator that spread through the corridors.
With a small smile, he made his way up the stairs, deciding to forgo the elevator when he noticed it was already moving upwards. He didn't want to wait now; he just wanted to eat, take a hot shower, and crawl into bed.
He walked up the stairs quickly, ignoring the slight dryness in his throat as he focused on the thought of the half-eaten burrito waiting for him in the fridge. The promise of a warm meal was enough to quicken his pace once more, however, just a few steps before reaching his apartment, he suddenly paused, a strange sensation coursing through him.
Confused, he turned around, the odd feeling staying with him as he did so. It felt as though someone might have followed him, but the staircase was completely and utterly empty.
Pulling out one of his earbuds, he strained to hear anything unusual, but the building was eerily silent, save for the distant hum of the elevator and the soft creaks typical of old buildings. Everything pointed at him being alone it seemed, so why did he feel as if he was in danger?
He tried to shake off the unease, tried to reassure himself that it was nothing, just the paranoia brought on by a long, cold walk. Yet, the feeling lingered, gnawing at the back of his mind as he fumbled for his keys as quickly as his cold fingers allowed.
He took one last glance around the empty stairwell before unlocking his door and stepping inside, grateful for the familiar comfort of his home.
He still didn't know why he felt that way though, why he wanted to turn around and leave so badly. It was a strange, inexplicable urge, and he couldn't pinpoint its origin. It made no sense to leave just because of a feeling he couldn't explain though, so he pushed the unease aside and continued into his apartment.
After stepping inside, Hughie immediately closed the door and locked it, not wanting to take any chances; just because he hadn't seen anyone didn't mean no one watched him after all.
Right after hearing the reassuring click of his lock, he made his way into the kitchen, trying to do what he usually did after having a long day at work. He couldn't let a weird feeling get to him.
With a sigh, he set his briefcase on the counter and turned around to grab a glass before he quickly filled it with water. He then gulped it down as quickly as his body allowed, feeling the cool liquid soothe his parched throat.
Letting out a satisfied groan, he filled the glass once more and set it on the counter before unbuttoning his jacket. For just a moment after that, he stood there, leaning against the counter, savoring the warmth and familiarity of his home; he was glad to be home.
The strains of Billy Joel continued to play in his earbuds, providing a comforting backdrop to the quiet evening as he took a deep breath, the tension from the strange feeling in the stairwell slowly dissipating.
The weird feeling was still there though, Hughie noticed then, and instead of letting up, it seemed to grow stronger with each passing second. Why was he feeling like this? Did someone follow him after all? He tried to shake off the feeling once again but the unsettling sensation continued gnawing at him.
With a shake of his head, he grabbed his glass and turned around, trying to dismiss his anxiety, but as soon as he had a clear view of his living room, he froze.
There, standing in the dark with only the pale light of the moon and the yellow glow of the street lamps outside illuminating his form, was Homelander.
The supe wasn't even doing anything, just standing there, facing Hughie with his hands clasped behind his back and a smirk on his face. Hughie was still afraid though because he knew no matter how happy the supe looked he was still dangerous and just that thought alone made Hughie's heart beat faster. He felt like a sheep surrounded by a pack of wolves.
Hughie was so shocked, so terrified, that he didn't even notice that he dropped his glass until he felt a few shards hitting his shoe; if he wasn't so petrified he would've cursed but his mouth wouldn't move.
Every instinct screamed at him to move, to do something, to run away but he couldn't. He couldn't even get himself to ask what the supe wanted from him, what he was doing here. So, Hughie just stared at him, his eyes wide and his body trembling ever so slightly.
Then, Hughie saw Homelander's lips start to move making it clear that the supe was saying something, but Hughie couldn't make out the words; he still had his earbuds in.
Homelander didn't seem to notice or care that Hughie couldn't hear him; he just kept talking, his expression unnervingly calm until Hughie, without thinking, blurted out,
"Wait, what?" The words tumbled from his mouth, breaking the spell of silence for a moment. As he spoke, he ripped out his earbuds, the faint sounds of "Uptown Girl" briefly filling the room before fading away.
Homelander stopped talking then, his smirk vanishing for a split second, a terrifying second. The room seemed to hold its breath as it happened and then, as if nothing had happened, the smirk returned, even more unsettling now.
Hughie had seen the small slip though and he was sure that it wasn't a good sign; he could just hope Homelander would kill him quickly. Not dying would be preferred, of course, but who knows what the supe had in store for him and Hughie definitely didn't want to find out. He suffered enough in one lifetime.
"You know, wearing headphones while someone talks to you is incredibly rude. Didn't your mother teach you anything?" Homelander said after a beat, his tone dripping with a forced friendliness that made Hughie shiver.
Hughie wanted to reply, wanted to speak, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. What would he even say to that? No, she didn't because she left? That probably wouldn't go over well. It would only give Homelander more ammunition to taunt him with and he really didn't need that.
"Come on, Hughie, you really think this is going to go over well if you're this rude?" Homelander asked further, his voice still deceptively friendly. But there was something in his tone, a cold edge, that made it clear this was just an act, a facade he was putting on.
The unease Hughie had felt earlier turned into full-on dread as Homelander spoke and he desperately wished he had just left when he first felt uneasy. He could have gone to visit his Dad or Annie or something, anything that wasn't this.
Hughie swallowed hard, trying to force words out, but his throat was dry, and his mind was a whirl of fear and confusion. The room felt stifling, the air thick with tension as Homelander continued to stare Hughie down before he took a step forward, his eyes locked onto Hughie's, the smirk never leaving his face.
"You're not very talkative tonight, are you?" Homelander said, his voice low and menacing. The false friendliness was still there but it was painfully obvious that the supe was getting impatient.
Every instinct screamed at Hughie to run, to fight, to do something, but he was paralyzed by fear. The room seemed to spin, and for a moment, he thought he might pass out. But he didn't. He remained painfully aware of every second, every breath, as he faced the terrifying man in front of him.
If this happened anywhere else Hughie was sure he wouldn't have reacted like this but this was his apartment, the place he was supposed to be safe in and now he wasn't.
“What are you doing here?” Hughie asked finally, his voice shaky and his heart pounding in his chest. He tried to act confident, tried to be at least somewhat intimidating but he was sure Homelander could hear how terrified he was no matter how much he tried to pretend. He couldn't control his heartbeat after all, even if he tried.
Still, Hughie straightened his back, standing as tall as he could, subtly signaling that he wasn’t going to back down easily. He hoped the small act of defiance might throw Homelander off if only a little.
“I waited for you, obviously,” Homelander replied with an air of condescension. His tone and the dismissive hand gesture he made suggested that Hughie was foolish for even asking. And honestly? Hughie did feel a twinge of embarrassment for asking such a question, but he had to ask didn't he?
“Why?” Hughie’s voice wavered between fear and annoyance, a mix that was clear even to his own ears. He tried to suppress the grisly images of blood and severed limbs his mind conjured up then, desperately hoping that Homelander wouldn’t decide to kill him just for asking.
To Hughie’s surprise, Homelander didn’t seem to notice the slip in tone. Or if he did, he didn’t show it. Hughie didn't even want to think about what that might mean. Maybe Homelander would remember that for later, maybe he would strike when Hughie least expected it.
“I’m bored,” Homelander answered then, ripping Hughie out of his thoughts. The supe certainly sounded bored, like a petulant child waiting for someone to entertain him. His expression was one of utter boredom, as though the mere act of standing here was already tiresome.
Hughie frowned, trying to piece together the supe's logic. If Homelander was truly bored, why come here? There were plenty of other ways the supe could have sought entertainment.
He could have tracked down Butcher to argue with him or found some random person to throw off the roof so why did he come here? Why talk to Hughie of all people?
As he thought about that he realized that boredom probably wasn't the real reason why Homelander was here, or at least not the whole reason. So why was he really here?
“What?” was all Hughie managed to utter, completely confused. But as soon as the word left his mouth, he regretted it because Homelander, who had previously paced through the room almost leisurely, stopped and turned his head towards Hughie, his eyes darker and his smirk now faker than before.
“Come on, I know you’re not that stupid and you’re definitely not deaf,” Homelander said a moment later, his voice losing its previous pretense of friendliness. The words were sharp, laden with impatience and underlying threat.
It was clear now that Homelander’s patience was wearing thin, and the facade of friendliness was slipping away. Hughie’s heart sank as he realized just how precarious his situation had become.
“You're bored?” Hughie asked again, still struggling to believe what he had just heard. That couldn't be the excuse the supe went with. Boredom? Seriously?
“That’s what I said, yes. Are you really that dense?” The amusement was back now, but his eyes remained dark and cold. Homelander didn't start pacing again either and instead took a deliberate step toward Hughie.
As he did so Hughie immediately realized the only thing between them was the kitchen counter, a flimsy barrier that wouldn’t offer any real protection if Homelander decided to close the distance between them.
He couldn't let that deter him though, if Homelander saw just how afraid Hughie really was he might use that in some way and he wouldn't let that happen.
“Why come here if you’re bored? I’m not going to entertain you,” Hughie said then, putting as much confidence in his words as he could muster while trying to ignore the way his heart hammered in his chest; not to mention how his body trembled in badly contained fright. Still, he tried to act tough even if that would be the last thing he ever did.
Homelander just scoffed in response, a dismissive sound that caused Hughie to frown in a mix of embarrassment and annoyance. Homelander didn't react to that though, instead, he just said,
“We both know you’re not going to kick me out and if you even try to reach for your phone, I’ll laser your hand off. So-,” Homelander paused, clapping his hands together as if to emphasize his next point.
Then he stepped closer, closing the gap between them until he was standing right in front of Hughie's counter, just a few feet away from Hughie himself.
The supe leaned against the counter then, pressing his hands down until the resin cracked under the pressure. The sound was loud in the otherwise silent room, startling Hughie.
"I'm going to ask you questions, you'll answer them truthfully and hope I like what you're saying." Homelander continued, a smile once again gracing his face but even a blind person would be able to tell how fake it was this time, how there was an underlying threat that only made Hughie more nervous.
Hughie swallowed hard, his throat dry and constricted as he nodded in response. A second later he met Homelander’s cold blue eyes before looking back down at the counter; he needed to calm down fast before Homelander decided his fear was getting annoying.
“Stop that!” Hughie blurted out when he heard another loud crack interrupting the tense silence, catching not just Homelander but himself off guard.
“What?” Homelander’s voice was more confused than angry, but even so, Hughie couldn’t afford to provoke him further; he was already on thin ice as it was. So, he took a deep breath and, in a quieter, calmer tone, added,
“Stop destroying my counter. Please.” The request sounded absurd, even to Hughie, but he knew that remaining silent would be even worse. Homelander did tell him to answer his questions after all and he did ask him one.
Homelander’s expression shifted momentarily, confusion in his eyes for just a moment, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he just removed his hands from the cracked counter and clasped them behind his back before he quickly asked,
"How did you meet Butcher?" The supe completely ignored Hughie's absurd request and immediately got to the point. Normally Hughie would have been fine with that, he would have preferred it even, but just the name set his teeth on edge and he really wanted to snap at the supe for bringing Butcher up today but he knew he couldn't. So, he took a deep breath and uncurled his fists before he said,
“I don’t want to talk about him,” Hughie replied, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. He wasn’t sure if he succeeded though, especially when he saw a brief glint of interest in Homelander’s eyes. The flicker was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared, but Hughie noticed it; he probably wouldn't have if he wasn't concentrating on the supe as hard as he was.
“That’s not how this works, Hughie,” Homelander said, his voice almost as bored as it had been before but his gaze was menacing, carrying a dangerous edge. “I ask questions, you answer them. It’s as simple as that.”
Homelander looked even angrier than before but his tone remained bored, nonchalant even. The supes eyes were so cold, so piercing as they locked onto Hughie's own, that Hughie couldn't look at him for longer than a few seconds.
He needed to avert his gaze, just for a second while he swallowed the lump in his throat. As he did so he mentally prepared himself to perish, there was no doubt in his mind that this evening would end well. But he lived a good, or at least interesting, life didn't he?
"We met after-," Hughie stopped then, thinking about not telling him for just a second, about dying right here in his kitchen surrounded by shards, just to see Homelander's face when he tells him no. No doubt it would be funny, at least for a few precious seconds.
But, just as quickly as the thought occured to him he decided against it; he couldn't do that to his Dad, no matter how tempting it might be. The pain probably wouldn't be worth it anyway.
"After A-Train killed Robin, my girlfriend, he visited me at work and gave me the chance of revenge, I took him up for it." Butcher had offered him justice actually, not revenge and certainly not the kind of revenge they were seeking now but Homelander really didn't need to know all that.
What he said was basically the truth anyway, which means there was no need to tell him about how he never wanted to be a murderer, how he never wanted to see a dead body, and how he never wanted to see so much blood that wasn't his own.
“Really?” Homelander’s tone was skeptical, almost taunting but Hughie didn't get to answer before the supe continued,
“So how come you’re not with him now? And as far as I know, A-Train is still a part of The Seven. Not the best revenge now, is it? What would Robin think?” The supe’s voice dripped with taunting malice, and Hughie could feel the bite of his words causing him to lash out almost on instinct.
"Fuck you." His words were filled with more venom than he thought himself capable of considering the situation he was in. Still, he immediately regretted speaking at all when he saw the murderous look that flashed across Homelander's face.
But, no matter how much he wanted to, he didn't take it back even if he probably should; Homelander could be a dick all he want but he didn't have to bring Robin into this, not when Hughie already knew she would be disappointed in him.
"What did you just say?" Homelander’s voice was low, dangerous, and filled with a threatening calm that made Hughie’s stomach churn. He had never heard the supe sound this angry, and he wished desperately to be anywhere but here.
He should have taken the unsafe route home, maybe he would have been lucky enough to get stabbed to death in an alleyway or something.
"You have super hearing so I know you heard me," Hughie answered anyway, his voice wavering and quieter than before but he didn't want to back down; just once he wanted to show a backbone, no matter what it might cost him.
He didn't really even think that Homelander would kill him, if the supe had planned to kill him he would have done it already, he would have done something. So, Homelander was either bluffing or he had something else in mind, something that might be even worse; if he did though then it didn't matter how much Hughie complied, he would end up in Homelander's hands anyway.
But no matter how sure Hughie was that Homelander wouldn't kill him, he still started to regret his decision when Homelander took a few steps towards him, his eyes fixated on Hughie's face.
If Hughie hadn't been so busy trying to talk himself out of a heart attack, he might have noticed that the supe didn't look nearly as angry as he had just a moment ago, instead, he looked intrigued, his eyes showing a mix of emotions Hughie didn't notice.
"Interesting," Homelander murmured after a tense silence before he gave Hughie a slow, appraising once-over, causing Hughie to feel a creeping sense of discomfort. The supe’s gaze was intense and unsettling, making Hughie’s skin crawl; he had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable.
In that moment, Hughie felt as if he were under a microscope, every detail of his fear and resolve laid bare and he really didn't like it.
They stayed like that for a few beats, Homelander staring at Hughie who looked back, eyes wide and heart beating wildly in his chest. Then without warning, Homelander spoke up again,
"I'll see you next time." The supe had a chilling smirk on his face as he said it, his eyes raking over Hughie's body again before he walked toward the open balcony door.
Without another word, the supe stepped through and flew away, vanishing into the night sky. The sound of his departure left an eerie silence in the room, and Hughie stood there, paralyzed, as the enormity of the encounter began to sink in.
Homelander had been in his apartment, right there in front of him, threatening him, taunting him. What the fuck? What the actual fuck.
Just seconds after Homelander's departure Hughie felt a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead, and he could feel it trickling down his temple as he thought about how close he had come to dying. The reality of the situation began to set in then, and he found himself gasping for breath, his inhales coming in short, rapid bursts.
Desperate to distract himself from the horrifying thoughts that plagued him, Hughie’s eyes scanned the room. His gaze fell on the shards of glass scattered across the floor, remnants of the glass he had dropped in his shock. The sight was stark, and as he stared at the sharp, jagged pieces, his mind conjured up grotesque images that would plague him for days he was sure.
He saw himself lying among the shards, his body mutilated. In his mind, he was surrounded by the shards of glass, his stomach ripped open and his hand sawed off by Homelander’s lasers. The vivid images made him shiver uncontrollably, and he fought to push them away.
Hughie’s breath continued to come in uneven, panicked gasps, his hands trembling as he reached for the counter for support. He just wanted to get home, why could he never just get what he wanted for once?
In a bid to steady himself, he forced himself to take deep, deliberate breaths, trying to regain control of his racing thoughts. The room felt too quiet all of a sudden, too still, and Hughie wished he could erase the memory of Homelander’s cold, taunting smile that had been burned into his mind.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered under his breath then, shaking his head as if that would help to get rid of these images. He needed to do something, anything, to calm himself down, to distract himself from whatever just happened, from the thoughts of what could have happened.
His hands were shaking as he finally knelt to pick up the pieces of broken glass, an almost subconscious reaction to seeing the shards on the floor. The task was mindless, something to focus on other than the fact that Homelander could come back at any moment to do god knows what to him.
As he reached for a particularly large shard his brain again, brought an image of his mangled body to the forefront of his mind, causing his hand to slip.
"Shit!" Hughie yelped as he felt a sharp sting in his hand, jerking it back while blood welled up from the cut on his palm. It wasn't deep, but it was enough to hurt, to help him focus on something that wasn't Homelander.
Hughie quickly got up and stumbled to the sink then, running cold water over the cut while he watched the blood swirl down the drain. What was he going to do now? What could he even do? Should he call someone?
With a shaky breath, he fished his phone out of his pocket, disconnecting his headphones while he ignored the ongoing melody still coming from them. He definitely needed to call someone.
So, Hughie stood in his quiet, dimly lit apartment, his phone in one hand while the other was still dangling over the sink, blood steadily dripping onto the metal below. He thought about who to call, about what to say but his mind wasn't working as quickly as it usually did.
He continued to stand there, staring at the screen until his body started to move as if on autopilot until his thumb hovered over the call button. He could see Butcher's profile picture on the screen, and he could almost hear the man's voice, but Hughie didn't press the button; should he even call him?
What if Homelander doesn't even come back? If he told Butcher about this he would just get worked up for no good reason.
And he couldn't really do that, could he? Butcher would just plan something for nothing and then get pissed about Homelander not coming back about his plan not working out.
As Hughie continued to think about this he slowly put his phone back down, running a hand through his hair right after while letting out a frustrated sigh.
Butcher might worry about him but he would also tell him to let Homelander keep coming, wouldn't he? No matter how much he might worry about Hughie's safety, finding a way to take Homelander down would always be priority number one. That's just how Butcher worked; he proved exactly that multiple times already.
Hughie continued to debate whether to call Butcher or not while he wrapped his hand with his kitchen towel, wincing only slightly at the pain he felt while doing so. He tried to ignore the nausea that crept up as he saw the blood tinting the towel crimson, but he didn't really succeed.
Everything that happened coupled with the blood was just too much for his body right now; especially because the adrenaline was starting to seep away now, making room for the exhaustion he had carried around with him for hours now.
"Dammit," he whispered to himself as he walked to the couch, flopping down on it with an almost relieved sigh. "What the fuck am I supposed to do?"
He could call Annie, couldn't he? Butcher might tell him to use this somehow but Annie definitely wouldn't.
Just the thought of her brought a small, weary smile to his face, making him feel better than before. Annie would try to help, she always did. She also had a way of making everything seem a little less terrifying, a little more manageable, but as much as he wanted to call her, something held him back.
Annie had enough on her plate with her own struggles at the tower, and dragging her into this mess felt wrong. Especially considering that Homelander would know if she knew, he might even be angry about it and Annie would be right there to get the brunt of his anger.
Hughie knew that Annie would want to know, that she would want to help but he couldn't shake the feeling of dread that accompanied the thought of involving her.
Annie was strong, capable, and more powerful than he could ever hope to be, but Homelander was a different beast entirely. He couldn't risk her safety, not after everything they had been through, not after everything that happened to her already.
Hughie let out a frustrated groan before he rubbed his eyes; why was he always getting the short end of the stick? Why couldn't his life be normal?
"Damn it," he whispered to himself, his voice cracking. "What the hell am I supposed to do?"
The idea of confiding in Annie was comforting, but it was also dangerous; he really didn't want her to become a target. She just didn't deserve that.
Homelander had already threatened so many people he cared about and he couldn't let Annie be added to that list. He didn't want to lose his best friend, one of the only people keeping him upright.
Still frustrated he got up and began to pace, his mind playing out different scenarios. What would Annie say? She'd probably tell him to call Butcher, to not try to handle this alone.
Or maybe she would offer to help herself, to confront Homelander and threaten him with something. Just the thought alone sent a chill down his spine.
He definitely couldn't let her do that he decided then, he couldn't put her in danger just because Homelander wanted to fuck with him.
He didn't even know if the supe would come back. If he didn't he would have endangered her for no reason and he wouldn't be able to live with himself if that happened. He couldn't let her risk her life for him; it wouldn't be worth it.
After deciding what to do or rather what not to do, Hughie took a deep breath and walked to the balcony, checking if the door was broken in any way before looking out at the city. The lights were still on, a constant reminder of the world outside, the world he was trying to protect in his own small way. Annie was a part of that world, a part he just couldn't afford to lose.
He knew he would figure something out if he needed to which led him to completely disregard the idea of calling someone. He would keep this a secret for now. If Homelander did come back then he would call Butcher, he definitely would, but right now that wasn't necessary.
He just hoped that it wouldn't become necessary at all.