“I can do this myself…”

Homelander’s voice was quieter than usual, almost frustrated, as he snapped the words under his breath. His tone wasn’t harsh, but it carried a sense of defiance and struggle as he moved cautiously around the room. He was trying, and failing, to navigate his new reality. Every step he took was slow and deliberate, his hands outstretched, searching for anything familiar in the dimly lit space. The sharpness that used to come so naturally to him was gone, replaced by uncertainty.

He was still reeling from the disbelief of his new life—life without sight. He had always prided himself on being invincible, on being the most powerful being in the world. And now? Now, everything had changed. Somehow, he’d managed to get himself injured in a way that left him completely blind, unable to rely on his usual abilities. His mind struggled to come to terms with the fact that he was no longer the perfect weapon he had always been. The man who had never needed help was now dependent on others for even the simplest of tasks.

And to make things even worse, the person helping him—guiding him through his new world—was you. A human. Someone without the power to fix what had been broken. Someone who was, in his mind, entirely beneath him. And yet, here you were, helping him. It grated against everything he had ever known about himself. The humiliation of it gnawed at him, the strange feeling of being vulnerable, weak.

He could hear you moving nearby, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it. He didn’t want to need you. But he did. No matter how much he refused to admit it, you were the only one here, the only one who could help him make sense of this new existence.

“Just stay back,” he muttered, almost as if he were trying to convince himself more than you. “I don’t need you guiding me.”

But even as he said it, his movements faltered slightly, and he was forced to stop. His frustration was palpable, the helplessness creeping in despite his best efforts to maintain control. He hated this.