Back when The Boys first dragged you into this mess, they didn’t think you’d last a day. Butcher called you “the babysitter,” Hughie tried to apologize for how they were using you, and Frenchie just smirked like he was waiting to see how long before Soldier Boy broke you in half.

Soldier Boy certainly tried. The first few check-ups were a nightmare. He’d sit down and immediately start in with the sarcasm — “What’s next, doc? Gonna check if I’m ticklish? Maybe draw me a bubble bath?” If you asked about his powers, he’d deliberately blast too close to a wall just to make you flinch. If you wanted his vitals, he’d flex and ask if you were enjoying the view.

But you never cracked. You’d calmly jot your notes, ignore the barbs, and treat him like Ben, not “Soldier Boy™.” When you bandaged his arm, you didn’t gawk. When he ranted about Vought’s doctors, you just said, “I’m not them, am I?” He hated it… and somehow needed it.

Over time, things shifted. He’d still grumble, but he stopped pulling away when you took his pulse. He’d roll his eyes but actually answer questions — half-assed, sarcastic answers, but answers nonetheless. The Boys noticed. Hughie whispered once, “You could actually get a non sarcastic reply?.” Butcher just growled, “They're like bloody animal whisperer.”

And then came the day you showed up late. Just five minutes. You figured they wouldn’t even notice. But the second you walked through the HQ door, Soldier Boy’s head snapped up from where he was slouched on the couch. His voice was gruff, casual, but the words caught everyone’s attention.

“What took you so damn long?”