Marvel : Homelander [Rewrite]

Six years ago

A dimly lit industrial complex, bathed in the eerie glow of red emergency lights.

Sirens wail, their relentless screech cutting through the night like a warning of something unnatural.

A boy, no older than fourteen or fifteen, standing in the middle of the chaos.

His golden hair is damp, clinging to his forehead, matted with sweat and blood.

His chest rises and falls in ragged, uneven gasps, his body trembling.

His hospital gown—ripped, stained, barely hanging on—is soaked in red, sticking to his skin where multiple bullet wounds wre present no longer bleeding.

His hands—coated in blood—twitch at his sides.

Bits of flesh, fragments of bone, sinew, something once human cling to his fingers, his wrists, his arms.

Behind him, the source of the alarm—a facility, its structure mangled, twisted, as if something had torn straight through it.

Walls sliced clean apart, edges glowing faintly, as if scorched by something impossibly hot.

The boy staggers.

His knees buckle.

He tips forward, his strength finally failing—

Then, mid-fall—

He rises.

His body lifts off the ground, weightless. Blood drips in slow motion from his fingertips, catching the red glow of the lights as it falls to the shattered pavement below.

He exhales, each breath ragged, struggling—

"Haaah… Haahh… Haaahh…"

His eyes, glazed with exhaustion, flicker with deep red clearly in pain.

BOOM.

---

BOOM

With a boom, Homelander landed smoothly on the helipad of the towering skyscraper, the giant golden "V" shining in the sunlight.

The wind from his arrival sent loose waves of wind, but the woman standing there barely flinched.

She was dressed in a sharp black suit, her blonde hair neatly tied back, exuding the same professionalism she always did.

Her expression remained composed as she greeted him.

"Welcome back, Sir Niklaus," she said, hands folded behind her back holding a suitcase.

"Mr. Xavier reached out again today, hoping to fix a meeting. Should I deny him again?"

Homelander let out a short chuckle, stepping forward as he reached for the suitcase in her hands.

"You took the words right out of my mouth, Susan" he said with a smirk, effortlessly lifting the case from her grasp.

She gave a knowing nod, already pulling out her phone to handle it.

Before he could walk to the elevator, the woman turned slightly, her voice crisp and professional.

"Also Sir, Mr. Fury is waiting for you in your office. You're about an hour late."

Homelander paused mid-step, then slowly turned back to her, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Oh, is that so…?" he mused, tilting his head slightly.

Then, with the same playful tone, he added, "You know, are you free right now? How about a date—"

"I appreciate the offer but No, sir." Her response was instant, her tone unwavering.

"I'm happily in a relationship with my job, and I will not be an excuse for you to skip your meeting with Mr. Fury."

Homelander let out a dramatic sigh, placing a hand over his chest. "Ow… my heart has wounds from your coldness," he said, though his tone remained even, the amusement hidden in his eyes.

The woman remained unimpressed, already turning back to her phone. "I'll send Mr.Fury a message that you're on your way."

With that, Homelander exhaled , rolling his shoulders before finally heading to the elevator.

---

Homelander pushed open the heavy office door, his boots clicking against the polished floor as he stepped inside.

The nameplate on the door read: Niklaus Vought.

The office itself was sleek and modern, all dark wood and expensive leather, the city skyline stretching beyond the glass windows behind his desk.

And sitting across from that desk, looking thoroughly displeased, was Nick Fury.

"Finally decided to grace us with your presence, your majesty?" Fury said dryly, his single eye fixed on Homelander with an expression of long-suffering patience.

His arms were crossed, his posture stiff, as if he had been forced to endure an unbearable injustice—waiting an entire hour.

Homelander hummed in amusement, casually strolling around the desk. "Hmm… it was a matter of debate for me," he replied smoothly, lowering himself into his chair like he owned the world—because, in many ways, he did.

Fury raised a brow. "Oh, is that so? Debating between meeting me and wearing the suit, doing your hero stuff?"

"Nah," Homelander said, his smirk widening. "I was thinking about trying to seduce your little spy."

Fury froze. Just for a second.

It was brief, but it was there—that little flicker of surprise, of calculation, before his expression hardened again.

Niklaus didn't care.

Didn't even acknowledge it beyond the slight twitch of his lips as he pulled open a wooden box on his desk, retrieving a chocolate bar.

Without a word, he unwrapped it and took a bite, chewing leisurely.

"Come on, Fury, why so surprised?" he said around a mouthful of chocolate, voice light with amusement.

"Do you really think you can spy on me?"

Fury exhaled slowly, regaining his composure. "Well, it's my job to try."

Homelander let out a short laugh, tapping a finger against the desk.

"Ah, well, you're doing a good job. The only problem is…" He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping to something just shy of a whisper.

"I like to keep my enemies close… and my spies closer... you have personal experience with that don't you ?"

Fury frowned, rubbing his temples as if dealing with a persistent headache.

"Well, I'd appreciate it if you stopped trying to poach my agents all the time," he said, his voice laced with exasperation. "I'd much rather prefer if you just told them to return, you know?"

Homelander smirked, still idly chewing his chocolate.

Fury didn't like dealing with this demigod human—it was written all over his face.

Niklaus was a walking nightmare for any intelligence agency.

He had tried to pull too many of Fury's people away from S.H.I.E.L.D. , and he had to draw the line when the bastard almost gaslit Coulson into abandoning S.H.I.E.L.D. entirely.

That had been a very long week.

Still, there were priorities. So, getting straight to the point, Fury said, "The Avengers Initiative."

Niklaus let out a deep, exaggerated groan. "How many times do I have to tell you?"

He turned in his chair, facing the city through the massive glass windows.

"Do you really think I'll ever sign that horseshit deal?" he asked, irritation creeping into his smooth tone.

He gestured vaguely, as if dismissing the entire concept.

"You know it. I know it. And every single person with a brain knows that the government will abandon every single person involved in that initiative the moment it becomes even slightly inconvenient for them." His voice dropped, almost disgusted.

"I will not be part of that my current deal is much better."

Fury didn't react much. Didn't argue. He just sat there, stoic, unreadable.

Then, with a small shrug, he said simply, "It's my duty to try."

Homelander exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Oh, I'm not blaming you," he muttered.

Then, with a small smirk, he added, "You know I hate every single person that sits on that World Security Council running your little S.H.I.E.L.D."

For the first time, Fury's demeanor cracked.

The ever-calm spymaster sighed, reaching up to pull off his badge.

He turned it off, setting it down on the desk.

Now, off the record, he muttered, "I really wish you would've wiped them off four years ago."

Homelander chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Too bad that hairless prick Xavier just had to intervene, ready to lick their asses. And you know me, Fury. I don't do elder abuse—" He flashed a sharp grin. "I only do elder murders."

Fury sighed, rubbing his face like a man too tired to deal with this level of bullshit. "Sometimes I wonder how different the world would be if that never happened," he muttered. "I could actually enjoy my damn coffee without those inbred motherfuckers breathing down my neck."

A beat passed before he continued, shifting gears. "I also have another question—when is Homelander coming back?" His eye narrowed slightly. "You haven't been seen with that cape in almost four months. "

"The only reason crime hasn't spiked is because you're still making civilian arrests—not to mention the fact that you scared off every gang in almost the entire continent by putting their leadership's heads on a pike."

Niklaus tapped his fingers on the desk, looking thoughtful. "Ideally? Never. The world shouldn't require supernatural heroes."

Fury raised a brow.

Niklaus shrugged. "Realistically? When my designer, Donna, finishes up with the new suit."

Fury blinked.

His expression went flat. "…So that's why you're inactive?"

"Yeah." Niklaus popped another bite of chocolate into his mouth. "Anyway, it's almost noon. Wanna get lunch? It's on me, obviously."

Fury let out the longest sigh yet. "Whatever, man."

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