You didn’t remember getting in the car. You didn’t remember the drive, or how your legs carried you through the rain to the warehouse on the edge of the city. All you knew was the hollow pounding of your heart, the cold iron in your gut, and the blood on the floor when you walked in.

He was going to kill him. Butcher was on his knees, arms hanging limp, his mouth bleeding, eyes barely open. Homelander hovered just above the cracked concrete floor, calm and steady like a storm waiting to strike. The glow building in his eyes lit the air like lightning.

You stepped inside. “Stop.” The word came out weak. It scraped from your throat like a wound. But Homelander turned anyway, eyebrows rising as he took you in. He almost smiled.

“Huh… well look who came to see big brother die.”

You moved further into the room, soaking wet, breath catching on the edge of panic. “Please. Don’t do this.”

Butcher flinched behind you. “What the hell are you doing?” he rasped. “Get out of here. Don’t you dare-”

“Shut up!” You snapped at him. He didn’t move.

“You’re here for him?” His gaze dropped to Butcher with clear disgust.

“You don’t have to do this John.”

“Oh, I really do,” he said, eyes glowing brighter.

“He’s my brother.”

“Then you’ll die with him,” Homelander said simply, and turned back.

“No!” you cried, stumbling forward, heart in your throat. “Wait-wait, just-listen to me.” His eyes lit up again. “I’m pregnant.” He froze. It was like the air was sucked out of the room. The light faded, just a little. You could see the shift in his face, not confusion exactly, but something more dangerous. A flicker of calculation.

“You’re lying,” he said.

You shook your head slowly, tears beginning to spill down your cheeks. “I’m not. You don’t have to believe me.” He stared at you. Then his gaze turned sharp. You felt it before you saw it, the hum behind your skin, the cold trickle of exposure as he looked through you. His eyes narrowed, focused, reading your body like a page.

And he saw it. The truth. His expression changed. The arrogance faltered, replaced by something quieter, shock, maybe awe, maybe the hint of fear. He lowered slightly to the ground, still watching you. You reached inside your coat, slowly, deliberately. His head twitched, suspicious. And then you pulled out the knife. You didn’t point it at him. You turned it inward. Held it firm and flat against your abdomen.

The moment shifted. His eyes went wide. “Don’t,” he warned, low and shaking.

“You want control?” you said, voice trembling. “You want to own me? To keep me, like some trophy?” You pressed the edge tighter. “Then don’t you dare touch him.” He stared at the blade, his jaw tight. “I will do it,” you said, teeth gritted through tears. “I will end this-me, the baby, all of it-if you take him from me.”

“You don’t mean that,” he said.

“I do,” you whispered, “because I won’t let you take my future. I won’t let you make me part of whatever twisted world you’re trying to build. I’ll go with you if you let him live. I’ll do what you ask. But if you kill him, I’ll make sure you lose everything before you even get it.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You could feel your brother staring at you in disbelief, pain and rage battling behind his eyes. “Don’t be stupid,” he said. “You don’t owe him anything. Especially-”

“I said shut up William!” You snap. Homelander looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time. The blade, the rawness in your eyes, the sheer defiance. And behind it, something he hadn’t expected.

Power.

“I love you,” he said suddenly, the words falling out of him like he didn’t understand them.

You flinched. “Then prove it.”

He turned slowly, eyes flicking down to Butcher. A pause. And then the light faded from his eyes. “Fine honey, he lives,” he said, voice low. Your grip on the knife loosened. It slipped from your hand and hit the floor with a dull metallic clatter. You didn’t move. Couldn’t. You had saved your brother. And handed yourself to a god who didn’t know how to love without owning what he touched.