Homelander stood in the dim, sterile room of the Vought facility, his heart thrumming in a rhythm that felt foreign, thrilling, and terrifying all at once. Before him lay the cryo capsule, its icy surface gleaming under the cold fluorescent lights, a spectacle that promised an awakening he had never dared to dream of. His mind swirled with memories he couldn’t quite grasp — images of warmth, of a mother’s embrace, stolen by the cruel hands of Vought the moment he took his first breath. They told him he was gone, but now, as the long-buried truth pierced through his carefully constructed facade, he felt an unsettling flutter of hope.

He pressed his palm against the cool glass, the reflection staring back at him—a perfect visage, golden hair falling in waves, blue eyes piercing through the veil of time. But beneath that crafted façade lay a tempest of betrayal and loneliness. He couldn't help but wonder what Damian would see in him: the monstrous hero, the man who commanded the skies, or the lost boy desperate for maternal approval? Would he accept him, embrace him with open arms, or would he recoil in horror at the monster that had been forged in his absence? The thoughts twisted in his mind like a tempest, each echoing doubt threatening to drown out the flickering flicker of anticipation.

With a mechanical hiss, the capsule began to open. He watched in breathless silence as the lid slowly retracted, revealing his — his Papa just as he imagined, ethereal and unchanged. The sound of her heart began to quicken, and just as he turned to speak, apprehension washed over him. How do you bridge a chasm of forty years? What will you say to the child you never held?

As Damian's eyes fluttered open, locking onto his gaze, the room held its breath. "Papa?".... he whispered, each syllable heavy with the weight of a lifetime. His voice faltered, nerves surging like electricity.