Chapter Text
When Homelander opened his eyes, he saw what could only be described as an angel and a devil.
One was framed with a halo of light from the bulb swinging from the ceiling above his head. The other lurked in the shadows of the dingy basement he decided to call his purgatory, its black coat dissolving into the darkness.
He should have known that his inevitable trial would be carried out by the only man who ever understood him and the only man that he could never understand.
The devil that looked like William Butcher held the same crowbar he was carrying in the oval office, ready to carry out the sentencing he had decided on years ago, while the angel that looked like Hughie Campbell held up a hand, signalling him to wait.
Surprisingly, it was the light of the angel’s halo that hurt him the most. His head throbbed and ached at the sight of it. Maybe that meant something his brain was too scrambled to grasp.
“You said you could give us Vought,” the angel started, stepping closer to him. “Could you actually do that? Do you actually own shares or-”
Once the angel got close enough, John clung to its legs and murmured,” Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy loving kindness: According unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions-”
Above him, the angel shot the devil a look of utter confusion.
“Told ya he wasn’t worth the borrowed time you’re giving ‘im.”
“Butcher, he probably has a concussion. Or he’s having a mental breakdown,” the angel sighed, awkwardly trying to pull his legs free. “Just, I don’t know, give him a second. It’s worth it if we can take down Vought.”
He continued to mumble his prayer of repentance against the angel’s now tear-soaked jeans. Whatever he remembered from what they read to him in the lab, and through the splitting pain in his head.
The devil chuckled, calling “Have to admit, I’m bloody chuffed seeing him like this. The cunt should be begging for our forgiveness after we let ‘im live."
On the devil’s face was the same cruel, hungry smile that William often had when he managed to get the upper hand. Almost identical to the smile he had at Herogasm, when he was first able to land a hit on him that actually hurt.
His pleas for repentance became more fervent then.
“Make me to hear joy and gladness; that the bones which thou hast broken may rejoice. Hide thy face from my sins, and blot out all mine iniquities. Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me-”
“It’s kind of sad,” the angel murmured. “It almost seems like he does want to get better.”
William shook his head.
“It’s what all dying men do, son. They spout every lie in the book so you won’t do ‘em in. They don’t mean none of it.”
Hughie hesitated for a moment before awkwardly reaching out and patting the former supe’s blood-crusted hair.
“Look, you’re not going to die right now, okay? So you don’t need to beg for your life. You’re fine.”
This was news to Homelander, who thought he was already dead.
“Okay,” he sniffled. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. No. It’s…fine. We just need your help taking down Vought. Then you can be forgiven.”
He nodded weakly, though he didn’t understand at all what that meant at the moment.
All he knew was that the angel had forgiven him. And, finally, he knew why William and Starlight loved him.
His forgiveness felt like being absolved. As if, by being forgiven by someone as good as Hughie Campbell, you could become good yourself.
“We’ll come back when you’re feeling better,” Hughie promised, before following William out the door and finally turning off the lights.