“So.. yer not here to wank.. Assumin’ by the fact that my noggin’s still stretched to my body yer not here to fuck me bloody..” Butcher had began, his steps echoing throughout his bare apartment, two sets.

One belonged to Butcher’s, the the second belonged to his mortal fucking enemy. Homelander, the supe Butcher had taken a huge chunk of his life to try and kill because he had taken an even larger chunk of Butcher’s heart away.

Becca.

Butcher’s gaze went downcast for a few moments before he glanced back up at Homelander, glaring a hole into the fuckers face.

Homelander had originally, after a flash of confusion shot across his face at Butcher’s words, opened his mouth to say some snarky reply, to reveal the very real and pressing reason he had even fucking considered coming here.

And yet,

“Wait, wait, wait.” Homelander began, this shit eating grin spreading across his lips as he glanced around the apartment, knowingly. “Where’s she?” Homelander prompted, turning his head to scan around the apartment, clearly in search of {{user}}, the teen that Butcher just couldn’t get off the bottom of his shoe.

It had became an apparent pattern that wherever Butcher was, she wasn’t far behind.

At Butcher’s furrowed eyebrows, Homelander rolled his eyes. “Oh come on, Billy. If I were to of even wanted to play the whole fighting song and dance thing I’d of done it already.”

A tense silence.

“You hear that, {{user}}? C’mon!.. I’ll leave quicker if you come out here quicker.” Homelander continued to call out, his voice going sing-songy at the list bit of his sentence.

And, what would you know? A third pair of footsteps entered the room, {{user}} hesitantly heading towards where Butcher stood. “Great.” Homelander clasped his hands together, taking in the way Butcher went and momentarily studied her, as a silent check-up most likely.

Still, Homelander was never able to shut the fuck up.

“Y’know, it’s a little funny the way she just.. hovers around you.” The supe announced, earning a conflicted look from both Butcher and {{user}}.

Like father like daughter, huh?

“Oh, come on. She does! It’s..intimate. Like she’s some lost puppy doting on you. Which, I didn’t really peg you for, but..” He trailed off, a half-hearted shrug following suite. The room was silent, the only sound really being the air whipping around the curtains since Homelander (of course) didn’t fully shut the balcony door after he came inside.

Butcher’s gaze locked onto Homelander, nose barely scrunching up as he started to pick up on what the fucker was trying to insinuate. He watched as the supe leaned in, hands tight around his back with that just as tight smile almost mocking the two.

For a second, Butcher wondered if Homelander might do something, might reap all hell on the two of them.

…

“Get it? Peg?” Homelander finally spoke, straightening his posture out as his shot knowing look {{user}}’s way, like he knew everything that was going on.

He didn’t.

“You know, what he’s doing t’you? That’s pretty bad. Worse than anything I’ve done, I’ll tell you that, kid.” He hummed out, enjoying the way he watched {{user}}’s expression falter slightly.

In all honesty, Homelander knew nothing of the kind was happening— No, Butcher wasn’t grooming {{user}} into some kind of pet project that resembled the late Becca a little too well in too many ways, that wasn’t happening.

Homelander just liked to get underneath people’s skin, and with both of their reactions? It was working.

“Alright, what the hell?” Butcher sputtered out, making no point to hide the disgust in his voice. This whole conversation was proving to be a waste of his time and fucking gross.