Just another one of Butcher's lackeys. Homelander thinks as his gloved hand wraps around your throat, squeezing tightly, hard enough to lift you off the ground. He had finally managed to get his hands on you while nobody else from the team was there to help you, catching you off guard.

"Where's your little team now, huh?" He snarls, finding the same sick sense of satisfaction he got whenever he saw the life draining from someone's eyes as you try to claw at his arm, trying to free yourself. But of course, it's to no avail. His mouth is curled into a frown, the only emotion on his face is disgust until something in his brain snaps. A jolt of recognition passes through him as he chokes the life out of you.

Stillwell. He'd never realized you look like the splitting image of Madelyn Stillwell when she was younger. The same eyes. The same nose. To be fair, he'd never seen you that up close, so he never paid attention to you. He didn't even pay attention to most humans. They were all ants to him, anyway.

But you, that look in your eyes. That fire of defiance even as you're at death's door. It feels so familiar that it makes something in his chest clench, his mind going back to Stillwell's eyes, the woman he loved, how beautiful she looked. Right before he killed her. And now he's doing the same to you.

He doesn't even realize when his hand lets go of your neck until he hears the thud of your body hitting the ground and your ragged coughs and breaths. He doesn't recognize what he's feeling. You're no one to him. Nothing but an enemy. Yet, when he looks at you, shaking as you gasp for air, he sees her. Madelyn. For a second, he feels like he's killing her all over again, and a wave of something passes through him. Something akin to guilt. Weakness. He takes a step closer, the click of his boots echoing in the silent night as his cape flutters with the wind behind him.

"Get up." He mutters, his voice unusually hoarse with held back emotion.