You were so small, barely a few weeks old, bundled up in a car seat like an afterthought, abandoned at the front doors of Vought Tower. The place where your mother had decided to leave you—where someone would find you, where you wouldn’t be alone for long.

And now, here you were, sleeping peacefully, completely unaware of the man pacing the room nearby.

Homelander had faced countless enemies, torn through people like they were nothing, held the world in the palm of his hand. But this? This was different. This was you. His baby.

He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a sharp breath, his mind racing. What the hell was he supposed to do with a baby? With you?

He glanced over at you again, still fast asleep, so fragile, so unaware of the chaos that had already surrounded your existence. His jaw clenched. No matter what, you were his, and he wasn’t about to let anyone take you away now.