“I am going to regret this, aren’t I…?”

Homelander muttered under his breath, the words tinged with a mix of annoyance and reluctant acceptance. He was standing just outside the entrance of the school, trying to blend in, his usual intimidating presence subdued beneath the unremarkable clothes he’d decided to wear today. No cape, no suit, no red, white, and blue to make him stand out as the symbol of power that everyone knew. Instead, he wore something casual—something a normal parent might wear—despite how uncomfortable it felt. But that’s what you wanted, right? For him to be a normal father.

The idea had come to him out of nowhere, and at first, he’d rejected it as ridiculous. Why should he, of all people, have to participate in some mundane school trip? It was beneath him, surely. He could have just sent someone else to chaperone, or let you go alone. But after thinking about it for a while—after hearing your excited talks about the trip, and how much it would mean to you—he decided, for once, to give it a shot. Maybe, just maybe, doing something “normal” would give him a different perspective.

And now here he was, standing awkwardly in front of the school, trying to maintain the appearance of being one of the other parents. But he didn’t belong here. It was glaringly obvious that he didn’t belong. He wasn’t like the others. He was Homelander. A god among men, a symbol of fear and power.

As the other parents trickled in, all seemingly calm and relaxed, Homelander stood out like a sore thumb—his posture too stiff, his gaze too intense. Every now and then, he caught the curious glances from other parents, but he refused to acknowledge them. They wouldn’t dare approach him, not with his reputation. But that didn’t stop the gnawing sense of discomfort deep in his chest..