[Oh, he picks up on that note of relief. He's not sure how long it'll last once he picks up the barbed whip. It's going to tear him apart--
Then again, that seems to be dear old Lucifer's point, eh?]
Well, you're certainly welcome to try, mate. [There's a little irritation at this entire set up, being shoved into it by another, told what to do and how to do it. Sure, it may be a bit of petty revenge for his own welcome to Hell, but-- this Homelander hardly remembers that, so it falls a wee bit flat.
If he were to string Homelander up and whip him, he'd have just rather it be done of his own accord, that's all.
He shifts his weight a bit, looking Homelander over.]
Broken upon the wheel, eh? Looks like I'll be cleaning you up again later.
[There's a stubborn jut to his jaw, a note of surety to his voice. He's been through worse than a whipping. It's just a bit of fucking pain -- how bad can it be?
Never mind that he's keeping his gaze focused on the wall ahead, doing his best not to look at Billy or the implement he's supposed to break him with. He's not scared.]
[The touch doesn't linger too long before Butcher is stepping back, delivering the first strike when he's ready. He doesn't know how long this will go on -- until the Powers that Be decide that Homelander's suffered enough, he imagines.
Whatever the lad insists about not breaking - this place will likely ensure it.]
Am I supposed to tell you what a naughty lad you've been, I wonder? Or you think the whipping's enough?
[Oh, a bit of casual conversation is certainly the way to go, isn't it?]
[He misses the touch of Billy's hand as soon as it's gone, wanting to arch back into it -- and the next jolt of physical contact isn't nearly as pleasant. Fuck. He manages to clench his jaw and grit his teeth just hard enough to swallow down the sound that breaks out of his throat.
Fuck, that--hurt worse than he expected. There's a raw, lingering sting and a wetness. He's pretty sure he's bleeding already.
He swallows thickly, trying to ignore the pain, to rise above it.]
Tell me.
[It might takes his mind of the main event, at least. Or maybe he actually wants to hear what Butcher has to say.]
[He reaches out to brush his fingertips just underneath the angry mark, lips curling up privately when he's prompted.]
Well, you're up here for pride, aren't you? [That's what Lucifer was droning on about anyway.]
Sure you want me to list the rest, lad?
[There's another lash, another mark left behind.]
Mm... but you are a prideful little cunt. They're not wrong about that. But see, I'm not sure that alone is a sin. [Of course it is. That bloody book says so, doesn't it? But Butcher's not sure he agrees, and God's the biggest cunt of them all anyway. Talk about prideful...]
[The brush of fingers draws a shaky sigh from him, prompts that urge to lean into the touch again.
He can't quite stifle his next grunt of pain, breathing harder trying to regain composure.
...Pride. Right. Well, it is one of the big seven. Lucifer's personal favorite, if he recalls correctly.]
I fucking--worked for it.
[His pride. It's not something he was born with. It wasn't handed to him on a silver platter. Every injection, every experiment, every punch they threw at him, he took it, endured it, and he grew stronger, better. He didn't whine like a fucking baby.
He's not weak. He's not pathetic. He is better than them. He's not going to fucking apologize for it.]
[Another lash, and another, before he gives Homelander a bit of a break. Go in too fast, too hard, and what's the bloody point? He reaches out to run his fingers over sensitive skin again, giving a thoughtful hum.]
Took every punch they gave you, eh? And everything else.
[They have that in common. If they haven't earned a little pride for the shite they've been through, then what's the fucking point?]
You think you're the big, strong supe they wanted?
[There's something affirming about the acknowledgment Billy gives him, lending him a bit of strength to endure the strikes of the whip, even as it bloodies his skin and digs into his flesh.
It's fine. He can take it. He tries to will away the tears that threaten to leak out, as Billy's question echoes mockingly in his head.]
...No.
[He admits softly, in little more than a whisper. He'll always be too weak, too emotional. An underperforming, unreliable asset.
[He does pause once in a while to give Homelander a break -- to let the pain ebb a bit instead of just constantly building, instead of adding pain on top of more pain. He's not sure if it's more merciful that way, really.
But none of this is about mercy, is it? They want him-- shaking and crying.]
Hmm.
[He reaches up to grasp the other man's shoulder, giving it a bit of a squeeze.]
Well, then. Better question... why do you care what a bunch of cunts who tried to mold you into their perfect supe think?
[Because he needs the love, needs the approval, right? Same reason they got him to back off with the promise of leaking fucking footage showing what he really is.]
[His breathing grows ragged, tears leaking over his face; all of his focus goes to keeping him moans quietly strangled, and even then, he can only hold back so much. This shouldn't be so hard, he should be better than this.
It's the hand on his shoulder that gives him a tiny bit of room to breathe.]
It--it's the only way I can--
[The only way anyone would ever love him, hold him, tell him he's not just a genetic fucking mistake. It's as essential as oxygen -- Homelander can hold his breath, but not forever -- only it's a whole lot more shameful than that. He shoves it down, again, grasping for something more palatable to say.]
Yeah, well... you haven't even got them down here, do you?
[He circles around to face Homelander, tilting his head to the side, meeting his eyes.]
Come on, lad. You'll spend your whole bloody life chasing that wee bit of affection you weren't allowed because those cunts decided it wouldn't make you into a hard enough hero for'em?
[He sneers just slightly. It isn't better at all, in Billy's opinion.]
[Vought might not have a base of operations down here, but that doesn't mean they're not always in the back of his mind, cold judgment digging into every wound and failure.
He can't help but let his gaze slip down when Billy comes around to face him, not wanting him to see--all of this.]
I--I'm not--
[His face twists. Don't bullshit. Billy will know he's lying.
Of course he's chasing it. He was meant to earn it, but he couldn't. He shouldn't need it, but he does. And he doesn't know how to cut out that craving inside him.]
--'m sorry.
[It's a half-whispered mumble, and he wants to kick himself in the face as soon as it squeezes out of his throat. But it's instinctive, apologizing when he's so obviously failing at a task.]
[He's a bloody mess right now for the lad who was insisting that a spin on this wheel wouldn't break him. All teary eyed and shame twisted in his expression. He huffs out a sigh and reaches out under the other's chin, giving him a bit of a nudge.]
C'mon. Chin up, lad. You're here for pride, yeah? Act like you've got a bit of it then.
[He wonders if this is pathetic enough, broken enough, to let him down yet, or if he'll have to give a few more lashes yet.]
You should be fucking sorry. I'm the dumb fucking arsehole sticking with you down here and I'm not nothing.
[For better or worse, they're-- tangled up in some disgusting mess together, right? Entwined in each other's lives. Maybe one day, one will fuck the other over, but right now it's them against this piece of shite they've been dragged to.
So if Homelander wants to whine about not having anything else besides Vought's judgement living in his head to chase after, he can do it elsewhere after they're out of this latest mess.]
Any more whining and he'll drive Billy off, too. He may not be much of a hero down here, but he's still a man. This is nothing but pain. Wet, slick, red, meaningless.
There's a tinny ringing in his ears, a momentary buzz of power as his eyes glow a dim red, only for a second.]
Yes. [His voice is low, blank, determined.] Let's.
[This is nothing. They can't hurt him if he won't let them. Nothing can hurt him.]
[As many times as he's fantasized about doing absolutely dreadful things to Homelander, it's never as much fun when they're forcing his hand and he doesn't even get to pick the tools he gets to use.
This isn't his game and there are so many worse sins to punish Homelander over than pride.
But he strikes anyway, again and again. He watches blood drip and skin tear and it's all so fucking diabolical, twisted. Appropriate for one of God's punishments, right? The sadistic bastard that he is.
[None of this is new. He just needed to remind himself of that. Of what he is.
His body may jolt and shudder at the strikes, but none of it hits him, none of it is real. He's invulnerable. Made of steel. Godly. He's there but he's not. He's just being tested, and he can't. fucking. fail.
It's all just... nerve endings. Organic mechanisms. All he needs to do is sever a few threads. Transcend. Evolve. Be better.
His vision blurs and darkens, eventually, and his body goes limp. When he feels nothing at all, the restraints loosen.]
[He barks out when the restraints start to loosen, the whip dropped in favor of trying to catch the other before he collapses to the floor.
He might have managed to make himself nice and closed off to the pain, made himself accept each blow like it weren't nothing at all. Maybe Butcher understands it -- the times he's gotten punched or lashed at with a belt.
But he's not letting him fall to the bloody floor and stay there at least.]
[Something else kicks in before Billy can catch him. A shot of adrenaline that awakens a last reserve of strength, a burst of speed that puts him on the other end of the room within a split second, glaring at the source of his pain with wild, uncomprehending red.]
[Shit. He holds his hands up in a pacifying gesture when Homelander is suddenly across the room, looking at him like he has every intention of turning that laser sight on him.
He might recognize that look, enough to know he might be in trouble here in a wee bit.]
Oi, c'mon now. Deep breaths, John. You're done with your punishment... we can see ourselves back home.
Yeah? You can reach all the way to your back, can you?
[He crosses his arms over his chest, jaw tightening briefly. Half tempted to walk out and leave him and half worried if he does, the cunt will do something... rash.]
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Then again, that seems to be dear old Lucifer's point, eh?]
Well, you're certainly welcome to try, mate. [There's a little irritation at this entire set up, being shoved into it by another, told what to do and how to do it. Sure, it may be a bit of petty revenge for his own welcome to Hell, but-- this Homelander hardly remembers that, so it falls a wee bit flat.
If he were to string Homelander up and whip him, he'd have just rather it be done of his own accord, that's all.
He shifts his weight a bit, looking Homelander over.]
Broken upon the wheel, eh? Looks like I'll be cleaning you up again later.
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[There's a stubborn jut to his jaw, a note of surety to his voice. He's been through worse than a whipping. It's just a bit of fucking pain -- how bad can it be?
Never mind that he's keeping his gaze focused on the wall ahead, doing his best not to look at Billy or the implement he's supposed to break him with. He's not scared.]
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Well, then... shall we?
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After you.
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Whatever the lad insists about not breaking - this place will likely ensure it.]
Am I supposed to tell you what a naughty lad you've been, I wonder? Or you think the whipping's enough?
[Oh, a bit of casual conversation is certainly the way to go, isn't it?]
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Fuck, that--hurt worse than he expected. There's a raw, lingering sting and a wetness. He's pretty sure he's bleeding already.
He swallows thickly, trying to ignore the pain, to rise above it.]
Tell me.
[It might takes his mind of the main event, at least. Or maybe he actually wants to hear what Butcher has to say.]
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Well, you're up here for pride, aren't you? [That's what Lucifer was droning on about anyway.]
Sure you want me to list the rest, lad?
[There's another lash, another mark left behind.]
Mm... but you are a prideful little cunt. They're not wrong about that. But see, I'm not sure that alone is a sin. [Of course it is. That bloody book says so, doesn't it? But Butcher's not sure he agrees, and God's the biggest cunt of them all anyway. Talk about prideful...]
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He can't quite stifle his next grunt of pain, breathing harder trying to regain composure.
...Pride. Right. Well, it is one of the big seven. Lucifer's personal favorite, if he recalls correctly.]
I fucking--worked for it.
[His pride. It's not something he was born with. It wasn't handed to him on a silver platter. Every injection, every experiment, every punch they threw at him, he took it, endured it, and he grew stronger, better. He didn't whine like a fucking baby.
He's not weak. He's not pathetic. He is better than them. He's not going to fucking apologize for it.]
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[Another lash, and another, before he gives Homelander a bit of a break. Go in too fast, too hard, and what's the bloody point? He reaches out to run his fingers over sensitive skin again, giving a thoughtful hum.]
Took every punch they gave you, eh? And everything else.
[They have that in common. If they haven't earned a little pride for the shite they've been through, then what's the fucking point?]
You think you're the big, strong supe they wanted?
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It's fine. He can take it. He tries to will away the tears that threaten to leak out, as Billy's question echoes mockingly in his head.]
...No.
[He admits softly, in little more than a whisper. He'll always be too weak, too emotional. An underperforming, unreliable asset.
He'll never be good enough.]
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But none of this is about mercy, is it? They want him-- shaking and crying.]
Hmm.
[He reaches up to grasp the other man's shoulder, giving it a bit of a squeeze.]
Well, then. Better question... why do you care what a bunch of cunts who tried to mold you into their perfect supe think?
[Because he needs the love, needs the approval, right? Same reason they got him to back off with the promise of leaking fucking footage showing what he really is.]
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It's the hand on his shoulder that gives him a tiny bit of room to breathe.]
It--it's the only way I can--
[The only way anyone would ever love him, hold him, tell him he's not just a genetic fucking mistake. It's as essential as oxygen -- Homelander can hold his breath, but not forever -- only it's a whole lot more shameful than that. He shoves it down, again, grasping for something more palatable to say.]
They're--all I have.
[That's not much better, is it.]
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[He circles around to face Homelander, tilting his head to the side, meeting his eyes.]
Come on, lad. You'll spend your whole bloody life chasing that wee bit of affection you weren't allowed because those cunts decided it wouldn't make you into a hard enough hero for'em?
[He sneers just slightly. It isn't better at all, in Billy's opinion.]
They're not all you've got.
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He can't help but let his gaze slip down when Billy comes around to face him, not wanting him to see--all of this.]
I--I'm not--
[His face twists. Don't bullshit. Billy will know he's lying.
Of course he's chasing it. He was meant to earn it, but he couldn't. He shouldn't need it, but he does. And he doesn't know how to cut out that craving inside him.]
--'m sorry.
[It's a half-whispered mumble, and he wants to kick himself in the face as soon as it squeezes out of his throat. But it's instinctive, apologizing when he's so obviously failing at a task.]
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C'mon. Chin up, lad. You're here for pride, yeah? Act like you've got a bit of it then.
[He wonders if this is pathetic enough, broken enough, to let him down yet, or if he'll have to give a few more lashes yet.]
You should be fucking sorry. I'm the dumb fucking arsehole sticking with you down here and I'm not nothing.
[For better or worse, they're-- tangled up in some disgusting mess together, right? Entwined in each other's lives. Maybe one day, one will fuck the other over, but right now it's them against this piece of shite they've been dragged to.
So if Homelander wants to whine about not having anything else besides Vought's judgement living in his head to chase after, he can do it elsewhere after they're out of this latest mess.]
Now, let's finish up, shall we?
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[Stop blubbering. You're better than that.
His jaw clenches shut, chin drawing upwards.
Any more whining and he'll drive Billy off, too. He may not be much of a hero down here, but he's still a man. This is nothing but pain. Wet, slick, red, meaningless.
There's a tinny ringing in his ears, a momentary buzz of power as his eyes glow a dim red, only for a second.]
Yes. [His voice is low, blank, determined.] Let's.
[This is nothing. They can't hurt him if he won't let them. Nothing can hurt him.]
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[As many times as he's fantasized about doing absolutely dreadful things to Homelander, it's never as much fun when they're forcing his hand and he doesn't even get to pick the tools he gets to use.
This isn't his game and there are so many worse sins to punish Homelander over than pride.
But he strikes anyway, again and again. He watches blood drip and skin tear and it's all so fucking diabolical, twisted. Appropriate for one of God's punishments, right? The sadistic bastard that he is.
Loving father... what a load of shit.]
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His body may jolt and shudder at the strikes, but none of it hits him, none of it is real. He's invulnerable. Made of steel. Godly. He's there but he's not. He's just being tested, and he can't. fucking. fail.
It's all just... nerve endings. Organic mechanisms. All he needs to do is sever a few threads. Transcend. Evolve. Be better.
His vision blurs and darkens, eventually, and his body goes limp. When he feels nothing at all, the restraints loosen.]
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[He barks out when the restraints start to loosen, the whip dropped in favor of trying to catch the other before he collapses to the floor.
He might have managed to make himself nice and closed off to the pain, made himself accept each blow like it weren't nothing at all. Maybe Butcher understands it -- the times he's gotten punched or lashed at with a belt.
But he's not letting him fall to the bloody floor and stay there at least.]
C'mon...
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[Shit. He holds his hands up in a pacifying gesture when Homelander is suddenly across the room, looking at him like he has every intention of turning that laser sight on him.
He might recognize that look, enough to know he might be in trouble here in a wee bit.]
Oi, c'mon now. Deep breaths, John. You're done with your punishment... we can see ourselves back home.
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I... can't go back there.
[He's at the brink of...something. He can't be near Princess. If he even glimpses her pathetic crying face, he'll tear her fucking head off.]
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[He nods. Well-- that's usually the safest fucking place, but...]
We don't have to go back there yet. We can go wherever the fuck we want, yeah? Maybe find a room to break into, get you cleaned up a wee bit.
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You don't need to do that.
I'll take care of it.
[It'd be too fucking humiliating to have Butcher clean up after him, too.]
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[He crosses his arms over his chest, jaw tightening briefly. Half tempted to walk out and leave him and half worried if he does, the cunt will do something... rash.]
Did they even bring you any bloody clothes?
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