Running from Himself 4 (Patreon)

Homelander. That was the first thought, the only thought, running through his head as his heart slammed against his ribcage so hard he was worried his vision was about to blur. All he could see was those laser eyes already glowing red, ready to turn his black ass into the world's fastest piece of charcoal.

But the figure standing up from that uncomfortable looking chair wasn't blonde. And as they walked out of the glare of the sunlight coming through the windows, Reggie could tell they weren’t wearing that stupid cape or that serial killer smile. 

No, it was just a black man, looking stressed and tired and familiar in a way that made Reggie's brain stutter. Nathan. He recognized him and so did what was left of A-Train’s memories. It's his brother, Nathan. Not Homelander. 

The relief hit him so hard his knees almost buckled. Better than a painkiller, that pure morphine feeling of I’m not about to die. Unfortunately, it lasted about half a second before reality caught up, because this was still bad. I’m not ready for A-Train’s people. I can’t take emotional shit right now.

A different kind of bad, sure, but bad all the same. Okay. Okay, I can handle this. Maybe.

Nathan Franklin stood there in some sharp designer tracksuit, holding a tablet with "A-Train's" face frozen mid-confession on the screen. The man’s voice came out deep, controlled, heavy with the kind of disappointment that sank into your bones. "I'll ask you again, Reggie. The hell. Is wrong. With you."

It wasn’t a question, not in the slightest. And Reggie could tell without a doubt this was something the man had gotten used to saying over the years.

"Been calling your personal line since you got out the hospital,” Nathan continued right on, the man clearly familiar with not getting an answer to the not-question. “Hell, today I been calling you for three hours. Straight to voicemail. I called your assistant, she said you weren't picking up her calls either. I called Stillwell's office, they said you were 'unavailable.' You know what that means, Reg? It means you're fucked. So I came here."

Assistant. Reggie blinked. "...My assistant?"

It was the only actual question floating around in his head, but even saying it felt wrong. Like asking what color the sky was or something equally obvious.

"Reggie, stop fucking around and be serious for a minute, man!"

Okay. Reggie took a deep breath, trying to buy himself some much needed time. Unfortunately for him, A-Train wasn’t the kind of speedster who could think fast. Fuck me running. He was an actor with no script, standing across from someone who knew every line A-Train had ever spoken. Every habit, every tell, every way he'd ever disappointed people.

"Nate... what are you doing here?" His voice came out hoarse, rough around the edges.

That sound Nathan made wasn't quite a laugh. It was too bitter, too sharp. He gestured with the tablet, movements tight with the kind of fury that had been building for hours.

"'What am I doing here.'" He let the words hang there, heavy. "I'm your brother. Your trainer. Or did that part of your brain fall out on stage?"

Brother. Trainer. The words bounced around Reggie's skull without sticking to anything real. No muscle memory there, no flash of recognition. Just empty space where a relationship should be.

"You retired. On live television. You incinerated at least forty million dollars a year, and you want to know what I'm doing here?"

Nathan started pacing the marble floor, controlled storm moving through this sterile corporate showcase. Ran a hand over his head, picture of a man pushed past his limit and still trying to hold it together.

"Just got off the phone. Marketing. No, scratch that. Legal, from marketing. They're talking morals clause, Reg. A full-on, career-ending breach of contract. They're saying your little 'confession' constitutes gross negligence and brings the brand into disrepute."

Forty million. That number sat heavy in his chest. Forty million a year, just for being fast and wearing the right logo. He knew A-Train had fuck-you money but that was fuck-your-whole-family money.

And he'd just... walked away from it.

Nathan threw his hands up, frustration finally breaking through the man’s patience. "The AT-10s, man! The new shoe launch. Everything we worked for. Since that dirt track behind the house when you were just a kid with fast feet and a bad attitude." 

He stopped pacing to lock eyes with Reggie. "You threw it all away. For what? A moment of clarity? You could've had that in therapy, Reg. A lot cheaper too."

"I al- I almost died, Nate. I’m p-pretty sure I did. My heart stopped, man." The words cracked coming out, A-Train clearing his throat trying to keep it together. Real memories, from A-Train’s life and his hit him back to back; twin heart attacks flashing against each other, twin bodies out of control. "I ran through... I killed someone."

His chest felt tight saying it. Not from shame, exactly, but from the weight of it. From having to make it real with words instead of just carrying it around in his head.

"Something had to change. I had to change."

It's the truth. Even if it wasn't the truth.

Nathan shook his head and started moving, his trainer/brother pacing back and forth across that marble floor, stress radiating off the older man in waves. The tracksuit definitely was expensive but it was also wrinkled now, like he'd been wearing it too long, traveling as quick as he could to even get here.

"Change. Yeah, things had to change, dummy," Nathan shot back, voice cutting right through everything Reggie had to say with that older brother tone. "I told you that back in January when I caught you running around with that dumbass model.”

His brother clicked his tongue, clearly still feeling some type of way about the memory. “Change is… change is good. But this isn't change, Reg. It's suicide."

Dumbass model. More A-Train memories he didn't have, more history that lived in other people's heads but not his.

"Look, you're out of the hospital. We get you clean. We hire a new manager.” Nathan's voice dropped, each word measured and heavy. “You let the Vought PR machine do its job. A hero's exhaustion. A minor setback."

Nathan shook his head as he started pacing again, the man looking half-ready to jog.

"That's the change we needed." He stepped closer, close enough that Reggie could smell his cologne, something woody and expensive. "Not this. This wasn't a play, Reggie. This was a forfeit. You didn't just quit the team. You gave Vought the justification to put you down. You think Stillwell's just gonna let you walk away with all their secrets in your head, when they didn't choose to let you go?"

Secrets. Right. Because A-Train probably knew where all the bodies were buried. Literally, maybe.

Nathan closed the distance fast, desperate energy pushing him forward, and grabbed Reggie's arm.

"Look at me. The Reggie I know finds an angle. He fights. He doesn't just quit."

The moment Nathan's grip tightened around his arm, something electric shot between them. 

Literally.

An arc of brilliant blue light crackled from skin to skin, energy that made every hair on his arms stand up as the apartment lit up for a split second. They both stumbled back, staring at each other, then at the space where their skin had touched.

What the hell.

"What the hell was that?" Nathan's voice came out barely above a whisper. "Static? Since when do you do static, boy?"

Reggie looked down at his own hand, flexing his fingers. The energy still buzzed under his skin, faint but there. It felt... right. Natural. Not like something foreign in his body. "I... I don't know. I..."

That wasn't just static. That was the thing from the mirror. What is happening to me?

The shock broke whatever momentum their argument had, and left them both standing in tense, confused silence.

Reggie took a breath, deciding now was the time to break the news to A-Train’s people. "Nate... I'm not... I'm not him."

Nathan's eyebrows pulled together, frustration mixing with concern. "The hell is that supposed to mean? You're not who?"

"The guy you're yelling at. The guy who designed a shoe with you... I don't remember him."

Nathan laughed, the sound harsh enough it was pretty much an insult. "Oh come on, amnesia, nigga? Fuck the hell off with that shit, man! This ain't Days of Our Lives! Reggie Franklin, that's weak as hell, even for you."

"It's not an angle." Reggie turned his head, tilted it down to show the side where the barber had lined him up clean. The haircut was a near-fresh cut of barely two weeks, but running right through it was something that made the other man go quiet. Pale against his dark skin, jagged and three inches long, a thin scar that cut through everything.

"They told me I hit a wall. Hit a lot of shit, really. Fucked up my spine. Cracked my skull.” He winced at the thought, knowing exactly how insane it was he was alive, let alone fine a week after all that. “Those healed up... faster than I've ever healed before, probably cause my body wasn't doing anything else but... but when I woke up... shit was just... gone, man."

Nathan stared at the scar, and Reggie watched as all that anger just... deflated. A man-sized balloon that someone just let the air out of. 

The man in the tracksuit stepped closer, too close, close enough that Reggie could see the little lines around his eyes, the stress of a father of two and brother to an idiot junkie clear on the man’s face. 

"How bad is it?" His voice came out quiet, all the fight gone, as the man almost seemed to break right in front of him. "What do you remember?"

"Flashes. Running. Most of the last few weeks, maybe a couple months..." Reggie shook his head, that queasy feeling hitting his stomach again. "But us? Growing up? Mom? Almost nothing. It's watching a movie of someone else's life. I don't... I don't know you, Nate. Not really. I just know you're supposed to be my brother."

Nathan sighed, that sound carrying weight that felt decades old. He collapsed into one of those ridiculous angular chairs, scrubbing a hand over his face. The fight drained out of him completely, leaving him looking smaller somehow. Older.

"Jesus Christ, Reg…” the man let out a laugh that A-Train knew wasn’t real, his face still covered. “So you went out there... you said all that... you didn't even know what you were blowing up?"

"I knew I killed a girl. I knew it was wrong. That's all I knew. That's all that mattered."

Silence stretched between them, as Nathan sat up, his brother staring at the wall with suddenly blank eyes. Reggie felt his heart drop in his chest at that half-dead look. 

Finally, Nathan’s eyes turned his way again.

"So... so my brother, he not in there?” the other man asked, voice too hesitant. “You don't remember me?"

The question hit different. Not angry, just... lost. Like a kid asking if his favorite toy was really broken. Reggie let out a low sigh. "Not enough of you, man. I know I love you, though."

That wasn't a lie. 

It couldn't be, not the way A-Train's heart sped up when he said it, warmth spreading through his chest even without the right memories to back it up. Family knew family and blood knew blood. 

Nathan sighed, raising a hand to scratch his eye. Reggie didn't mention the back of his hand coming away wet when Nathan turned to focus on him again.

"Look, lil bro, Vought is a dragon. You punched it in the face without even remembering what a dragon is. We'll deal with that." The man sighed again, the sound low. "But you made other promises, Reg. Smaller. Messier. Promises to people who don't care if you've got amnesia."

He leaned forward, Reggie leaning in too. "What am I supposed to tell Popclaw?"

Reggie’s eyes went wide behind his A-Train brand running glasses. Oh shit. 

"P-Popclaw..." The name came out choked, Reggie almost stumbling on just two syllables. Oh, god. Her too? I... I forgot about... 

He remembered Popclaw's arc from the show. Remembered her apartment, the landlord, how her whole story ended. This wasn't just corporate crossfire anymore. This was personal. 

Messy. 

Nathan nodded, the man’s face still sad from Reggie’s bombshell.

"Yeah. Her. She knows you had access to the V. She was trying to get in the hospital with you for days. She's also been calling me. Damn near non-stop." He paused, letting that weight settle on Reggie's shoulders. "Your retirement party might have to wait, little brother. Looks like you still got some running to do."