The moment Homelander stepped into Jonah Vogelbaum’s home, he heard it—the trembling voice, the soft, broken apologies. It drifted through the hall, thin and raw, like a dying breath that refused to fade. It pulled at something buried deep in his chest, something he had long since learned to silence. But he kept walking.

Each step he took felt heavier than the last, the faint creak of the floorboards cutting through the suffocating quiet. By the time he reached the dining room, he stopped cold. His hand lingered on the doorframe, fingers clenching slightly as his eyes fell on the scene before him.

Vogelbaum sat slumped in a chair. Even from across the room, Homelander could tell—the old man was gone. But it was you who caught his attention. You, kneeling before Vogelbaum’s lifeless form, your hands trembling against him. Tears streaked down your face in messy, uneven trails as you gripped his hand with both of yours, clinging to it as though you could somehow will him back to life.

The sight was almost absurd. Like an interrogation gone horribly wrong—a moment of misplaced brutality followed by instant, gut-wrenching regret. But it wasn’t the violence that made Homelander’s stomach tighten—it was you.

His gaze sharpened as he took you in fully. And then, the recognition struck. A sudden jolt of memory, sharp and unwelcome. He knew you. He had always known you. That face, those eyes—far too familiar. When it finally clicked, his lips parted slightly in surprise, though no sound came out.

You had been there. In the lab. Growing up in the same sterile halls, shaped by the same ruthless hands. You were just like him—another experiment, another broken promise of greatness. Vogelbaum had treated you as his own, just as he had with Homelander. You were another mockery of a childhood, another scar disguised as a memory. And now, here you were, grieving over the man who had made you.

And for just a brief moment, Homelander didn’t know if he wanted to comfort you or destroy you.