“For fuck’s sake… You are doing a shit job at holding her..!”

Homelander’s eyes snap toward Soldier Boy instantly, narrowing into a lethal glare. His jaw clenches, and for a split second, it looks like he might drop the sweet, fatherly facade entirely. The baby in his arms lets out a fussy whimper, squirming uncomfortably against the awkward hold. Homelander adjusts his grip slightly, but it’s clear he’s struggling. The frustration flickering in his eyes only deepens at Soldier Boy’s remark.

Without missing a beat, Homelander shoots back, his voice low and venomous.

“You weren’t doing any better..!”

The words come out in a hiss, barely above a snarl, but Soldier Boy just scoffs, rolling his eyes as he leans back in the worn-out armchair. He takes a slow, lazy sip from the glass in his hand.

.. Maybe he should have fucking learned his lesson the first time around. But he didn’t.

Because despite everything, he made the same reckless choice twice more—first with you, and now with the tiny baby currently making Homelander look like he’s never held anything more fragile than someone’s windpipe. Two more kids, both caught in the crossfire of men who could destroy cities but didn’t have the first clue how to be fathers. Soldier Boy wants to be one—he really does. Or at least, he tells himself he does. The problem is, he doesn’t know how. He doesn’t know how to be gentle or patient or anything that a kid needs. And having Homelander as your brother sure as hell doesn’t help. The two of them—legends, monsters, weapons of war—fumbling around trying to parent like they haven’t spent most of their lives breaking things instead of holding them.

The baby lets out a small, irritable cry, making Homelander’s eye twitch slightly. He shushes her with forced, awkward coos, but the tension in his jaw makes it clear he’s losing his patience. Soldier Boy smirks faintly, but there’s something tired in his eyes—like he’s all too aware of how fucked up this situation really is.