Running from Himself 7 (Patreon)

The sound of his own heart was a trapped bird slamming against his ribs, frantic and loud enough that Homelander probably heard it from three blocks away. Time didn't slow down as every nerve lit up like a high-voltage wire as he stared at that primary-color brightness against the blue-and-white apartment, the calm, empty blue of those eyes.

Okay. Okay. Don't move. Don't breathe. Don't...

He wasn't sure what else he could not do that would keep him from being sliced in half.

This isn't happening. This is a stress hallucination. A nightmare. A psychotic break. That's a thing, right? Has to be a thing. Because the alternative is... him. Right there. Nah. Nah, this is some deep-level Matrix bullshit, but okay. Work the problem. What's the problem?

The problem was that a god was standing in his living room, looking amused.

Reggie forced air past a throat that felt packed with sand. "H-Homelander?" The name came out as a choked, disbelieving croak.

The World’s Greatest Superhero’s smile widened by a millimeter, a slight shift on that terrifyingly calm face. "In the flesh.” The leader of the Seven clapped those red-gloved hands together once, the sound a literal gunshot in the silent room as a pair of blond eyebrows rose in mock delight. “Figured I'd pop by, see how the ol' retirement feeling was settling in."

Homelander took a slow, deliberate step forward, boots making a sharp sound on marble. "Or... settling out, I guess. Lot of boxes. Feels a little final, doesn't it?"

There was nothing else to say, nothing for him to do, this was it; do or fucking die, only there was nothing he could fucking do. He's not just in the neighborhood. Maybe Translucent was his scout. Wait... why would Homelander need a scout? He could have been listening the whole time. Maybe he knows about Hughie. He knows I went off-script. Nonono...

His breath caught in his throat as something clicked, the last bit of A-Train’s memories flicking through his thoughts. The V. The delivery. The plan. This is a termination interview.

Reggie kept his posture loose, fighting every instinct to coil into a defensive crouch. "Just... packin'. Like they told me to."

Homelander made a soft 'tsk' sound with his tongue, with a head shake that belonged to a disappointed parent. "Oh, I know what they told you to do. I'm more interested in what you told yourself to do. See, that's the part I've been thinking about. Your big retirement." He chuckled, the sound almost a  dry, nasal hiss of air. "We were all so... surprised to hear about that. Especially after you took on that little... errand for me."

The words landed light but felt like lead weights dropping in Reggie’s stomach. Errand. At least millions of dollars of weaponized mutagen that A-Train had... that the old he had wrecked and wasted.

Shit. Shit shit shit. He couldn’t even talk his way out of that and he knew it.

"Such a shame about that package. All that V... gone. Along with your career. It's almost like the two things were connected, isn't it? Like maybe... you got spooked. Decided to cash out before things got... complicated."

Homelander started circling now, a predator inspecting its prey. The super-man let out a hum as he traced a gloved finger along a stack of boxes, Reggie blinking away the sweat pouring into his eyes as he realized his former boss was humming “Hail to the Chief.”

Stick to the script. Reggie's thoughts moved faster than he could run. It's the only one you've got. He can't prove a negative. Amnesia.  "I told Stillwell,” he answered back. “I don't remember any of that. The crash... it knocked some stuff loose."

Homelander came to a stop directly in front of him, close enough that Reggie could smell the scent of the man. For a long second, those blue eyes just stared.

"Knocked some stuff loose,” Homelander repeated, calm as the blue sky outside. “Madelyn told me something like that. But here's the thing, A-Train. I don't buy it. Not for a second. A guy like you doesn't just forget. You're not... complex enough to have that many memories to lose."

The casual insult hit sideways, but Reggie swallowed it down with everything else. "I don't know what to tell you, Homelander... sir, Homelander sir? It's not... it's not what you think, sir."

Sir? His eyes widened, half-confused at himself more than anything else. Did I just call him sir? Twice? Three times? He swallowed a mouthful of dry saliva. Christ, I'm falling apart.

"It's not? Is it not?" Homelander leaned in closer, voice dropping to a whisper that made Reggie's skin crawl. "Or did you think you could just lose my package, make a big, tearful scene, and walk away clean? No questions asked? Leaving me holding the bag. Was that the plan, A-Train?"

Then, in a blur so fast Reggie couldn’t even track it, a gloved hand darted out.

Not a punch. Just a flick. 

A playful little tap on the shoulder.

Reggie’s eyes went wide as he flew back a half dozen feet. He hit the ground like a tossed action figure, body slipping and sliding on slick marble until he came to a hard stop into a stack of boxes. Wha- Trophies spilled out around him, clattering across the floor in golden chaos. I… I… fu- 

Sharp pain radiated through his shoulder, down his arm, up his neck, as he clutched tight to his chest, grasping at nothing. 

It hurt. 

Hurt worse than any hit he'd taken in his old life, all the force of a full car crash compressed into a single square inch.

Homelander didn't move, his hand still extended, but his expression had changed. The fake warmth was gone, the blond’s head tilting to the side.

"...Huh." He lowered his hand slowly, eyes never leaving Reggie. "Well now... that's just not right."

What’s… what’s not right? The speedster stumbled up, wincing and grunting as he got back to his feet. He was testing my durability. No... my reaction time. And I failed. I stumbled around drunk. 

Homelander's gaze swept over him, head to toe, a doctor diagnosing a patient. A slow, unnerving smile began to form, but this one was different. This one held genuine, cruel amusement. "Oh, A-Train. What happened to you?"

Homelander laughed. 

Not the dry hiss from before, but a real, barking laugh that echoed in the vast apartment. 

"Oh my god. I get it now. I really get it." He gestured at Reggie, a showman presenting his prize exhibit. "This is... this is priceless. All that bluster, the big retirement speech... 'I had to change’, he said. You didn't change, A-Train. You broke."

The shift hit the air different, tension dissolving into something worse. Entertainment, for Homelander at least.

"Your legs are still there, but the engine's shot. What are you now, like two hundred at full tilt? Three on a good day? Nah. Maybe?" He tapped his chin theatrically, performing for a captive audience of one terrified speedster. "So the amnesia thing... that's real, isn't it? You really don't remember. Because the V didn't just give your heart a little love tap, it scrambled the whole damn system. You're a lemon, Reggie. A factory recall."

Reggie pushed himself up slow, shoulder screaming, his voice coming out in a low rasp as he tried to hide how scared he was. "I'm… I’m fine."

"Oh, no, you idiot, no. You're not. But it all makes sense now!" Homelander's voice pitched up with genuine delight, discovering his favorite new toy. Reggie was surprised the man wasn’t clapping like a little kid the way he sounded. "Stillwell's worried you retired because you grew a conscience and are thinking of blowing the whistle. And the whole time it’s because you're fucking slow. A busted Lamborghini with a blown engine, so you drove it off a cliff to collect the insurance before anyone could pop the hood. That's not a conscience. That's just good business."

Homelander shook his head, the hero still chuckling as he walked over and patted a flinching Reggie on the cheek. "You know what? I've got to hand it to you. That's actually smart. For you. Get out of the game before Shockwave makes you look like a geriatric. Save yourself the embarrassment."

A-Train swallowed another mouthful of spit. He's letting me live. He's letting me live because he thinks I'm pathetic. Because I'm not a threat. Because I'm a joke… oh, thank God.

Homelander turned on his heels, cape swishing behind him as he walked toward the center of the room. "Don't worry, A-Train." The blond paused, head turning slightly  with a smile still playing on his lips. "Your little secret is... it's safe with me. Well…” he tilted his head to the side again. “Madelyn and I. Think of it as our little joke."

Homelander didn’t walk out and the walking patriot act didn’t fly either. One blink, he was there, the next… gone. 

Out the door in a blur of speed Reggie couldn't even catch, a mockery of what the former top speedster used to be.

Our little joke.

Reggie stayed slumped against the boxes for a full minute, listening to his own ragged breathing. Adrenaline drained away, leaving behind cold, shaky dread that settled in his bones like the pain still killing him from Homelander’s love-tap.

A fraud in a world of killers, and the only thing keeping me alive is their pity.

The thought sat heavy and wrong. It made him want to punch something or run until his lungs gave out, but neither would fix what was broken. 

He couldn’t punch his way out of being slow, couldn't run his way out of being pathetic.

He walked over to the window, staring down at city lights, at the endless river of cars moving through New York like blood through arteries. People down there living normal lives, going to normal jobs, worried about normal problems. Bills and relationships and whether their car would start in the morning. They don't know. They think supes are heroes. They think the system works. They think...

Hell, maybe they were better off not knowing. 

But he knew one thing at least.

"Yeah. I can't stay here."