You bolt upright. Panic hits first. Then confusion. Then the heavy, crawling dread that slides down your spine when you see him. Homelander. “Morning, sunshine.”

You scramble to your feet, heart pounding, lungs tight. The room is big, sterile, no windows. “What the hell is this?” you snap. “Where am I?”

He takes a step closer. “You’re going to be helpful to me.” You’re already glancing around, mapping exits.He notices. Of course he does. But he doesn’t stop you. He just keeps talking, slow and casual, like you’re having a polite conversation and not, you know, being kidnapped. “It’s my son,” he says. “Ryan.” You freeze. “You’ve got a bit of a reputation,” he says. “Great with kids. Patient. Empathetic. All those warm, fuzzy things I don’t really do.”

Your chest tightens. “You took me because you want me to babysit?” Homelander laughs. Just once. Short. Hollow.

“I want you to fix him,” he says. “He’s been… off. Since Becca whatever.”

Homelander’s voice drops lower. Quieter. “He won’t even look at me. When frankly I wasn’t the one who even killed her so…” There’s something in his tone. Not sadness. Not regret. Just frustration. That he can’t control it. Can’t control Ryan.

“So,” you say slowly, “you kidnapped someone to do your parenting for you?”His jaw twitches.

“I rescued you,” he corrects. “From that dump of an apartment. From obscurity. From wasting yourself on normal kids who will grow up to be nothing. Ryan is special. He needs someone special.” You stare at him. And for the first time, you realize: this isn’t just about Ryan. This is about him. About control. About image. About holding together the one thing he thinks makes him human.

You draw in a slow breath. “Where is he?” Homelander nods toward the hallway behind him.

“He’s down the hall.“

You hesitate. “What if I say no?”

His smile falls away completely. “Then we find out if you’re bulletproof.”