Work Text:
There was something slightly awful about the living situation he’s in. It used to be more awful with all the constant starvation, neglect, sudden bursts of physical violence and whatever kinds of humiliation ritual one can think of for Homelander from the man who keeps him here, in this slum of an apartment. At least now he gets to eat more often and not locked inside a single room for days on end. Homelande- John, curls into a fetal position on the couch in hope of comforting himself somewhat.
4 months and 9 days, he counts. There isn’t a calendar around here for him to keep track of the date, although thankfully he can see it at the bottom of the screen as Butcher lets him watch the evening news daily- albeit only to catch up on people shitting on him on national TV. John stares blankly at the talk show host laughing with Vought’s new superhero icon that he doesn’t bother to remember the name of; he wonders if the guy would end up like him in 10 years or so.
Apparently his public downfall that day has propelled the idea of every “hero” needing a recurring “villain” to go with, which Vought has been trying to soft–launch for the past month to moderate success. He gets it, it’s a fresh distraction from the marketing disaster that is… him- but if they can’t even account for a “bad product”, what makes them think they’d be able to control whatever “villain” they’re trying to create and pair up with their existing “good products”? Bad ideas all around.
John avoids the thoughts by burying his head into the cushions, accidentally pressing on a relatively fresh bruise that reminds him how he hasn’t seen Butcher around for a good bit.
“William?” He called out but didn't expect an answer right away. Butcher does that sometimes, ignoring John whenever he pleases and then coming back whenever he can. It can get lonely being holed up in one place for so long; John wishes he still had some remnants of his powers, even if it’s to just see where Butcher is in the apartment at all times, to know when the man is coming up the stairs home, where he’s been based on smell alone, or to guess what the brute is feeling from the sound of his heartbeat.
Besides the apartment and Butcher, John doesn’t get any new information about the outside world. He thinks Hughie and MM caught a glimpse of him through the door once when checking up on Butcher, they seem apprehensive at best. He’d be blessed with the opportunity to hear Ryan’s voice talking to Billy through the phone sometimes, even if it’s muffled due to him being locked in another room. John stopped trying to break out after the first time. Because William’s right, where else can he go? Who else can he see without killing him on sight? What can he even do to survive on his own?
The sound of the shower turning on and water running soothes him from his own mind. ‘Ah so William’s in the bathroom’- See? He's adapting to being powerless. Soon enough he’ll be able to beat Billy in a fight haha…maybe not, he doesn’t want Butcher to be mad at him and kick him out. Perhaps just enough to endure better when Butcher would inevitably slam his head onto the floor just because the man “felt like it”. There are times where he saw a specific glint in Butcher’s eyes before prompted rough hands to rip through him, coming to claim bits and pieces of bruised flesh beneath his already thin shirt, trying to get between his legs, ignoring his feeble attempts to get away,… it only stops when he was screaming, sobbing “No!” over and over again- fortunately nothing ever goes beyond him being put in the nude. Butcher would always call him pathetic afterwards.
Last time Butcher did it, John managed to bite him then blacked out when he got understandably choked. He remembers the sight of William hovering over his naked body as he slowly regained consciousness, he remembers being touched but doesn’t recall where- it was just very slow and a blur, a ringing in his ears. Hands on his face. Throughout the whole ordeal he didn't feel any pain either. Next thing he knows, he was given a blanket and a glass of warm water. Butcher hasn’t tried doing it again since.
Of course shit hurts like hell when Butcher beats him up but John’s getting used to it, it’s quite like how the doctors would throw him into random endurance tests back then: He’d suffer for a while but afterwards they’d give him some kind of reward- most likely food or something to keep him entertained. With Butcher however, he’d get an additional reward in the form of time being near the man, an extra sandwich, banter without it devolving into verbal abuse, perhaps even getting to sleep on the bed instead of shackled on the dirty floor.
Butcher hasn’t beaten him today, yet. That’s another thing that’s different from his time at the lab, at least here he knows that the endurance tests are daily.
The bathroom door opens and closes, the sound of Butcher’s feet hitting the wooden boards approaching the living room. John scrambles to sit up, turning the TV’s volume down just in case the other man is in a bad mood and doesn’t like loud sounds- that happened before.
John tries to greet with some kind of anticipatory joy, hoping that if he looks like he’s in a good mood that it would infect Butcher too. “Will-”
“Shut it mate.” Butcher cuts him short, throwing himself into a bottle from the fridge.
“Wow okay… rough day today?” John just mumbles in his mouth loud enough for his housemate to briefly hear. Butcher only shoots him a glare that John doesn’t know how to decipher besides annoyance.
Billy sits next to him on the couch, John makes room for the both of them. He gets pulled right back where he was.
They both sat there mindlessly watching whatever program was showing on late–night TV, though their minds are ultimately elsewhere. Billy puts the bottle down then curls an arm behind the other man- not to touch, but to make sure the fucker doesn’t go anywhere. The silence stretches which makes John more nervous with each passing second, usually Billy would be up in his ears trying to get him to slip up to use as reason to hurt him already.
Their proximity is another point of contingency that John’s unsure on what to make of it, surely the “reward” can’t come this early right? Butcher has barely even pinched him.
“William.” -he whispered. “How was work today..?” John attempted a smile in the middle of it.
“Didn’t I tell yer ass to shut up?” - Billy doesn’t bother to look at him.
“Well I just thought-”
“I wasn’t gonna hit ya tonight but you’re really pushin’ it.”
John stares at him for a moment. “Really?”
Billy raises his hand and John instinctively tenses up to brace the impact, however what came down was a half-hearted swat on the head. The sudden movement wafted the scent of William to his place; the Brit still smells faintly of cigarettes even after a shower- just now mixed with the vague lemony 3-in-1 shampoo that they have.
John was thrown off guard by this subtle disinterest in violence towards him, yet decided not to ask more questions in fear of genuinely setting Butcher off. But if Butcher’s not hitting him today then… would he still be eligible for the “rewards” later? He picks at the fraying ends of the old shirt he’s wearing, it used to be Billy’s so explains why it's slightly too big for him. Smells like Billy too.
“Eaten today? Sandwich in the fridge?” Butcher asks him, lighting a cigarette as he speaks. John was going to respond but remembered about shutting up, so he nodded instead.
“Showered?”
Confirmed with another nod.
“What ‘bout takin out the trash?”
To that John looks away. There it is, a reason to beat him up.
“Forgot didn’t ya?” Billy finally turns his gaze towards the dirty blond.
“I’m not allowed outsi-”
Another swat to the cranium. “I didn’t say you could run yer mouth.” He blew the smoke towards John, making the man cringe in discomfort. His scrunched up expression never fails to amuse Billy it seems, considering how the man held him by the back of his head for a good moment to take a look.
“Aight then.” Butcher snuffs out the rest of the cig before flicking it away; grabbing the neck of John’s shirt and drags him up from the couch. The blond stumbled to his feet with a lack of resistance, turning the TV off in the process of being pulled into the bedroom. ‘Here it comes.’- he thought, their old song and dance by now.
John prepares his sanity to be thrown onto the floor, have his legs bent over the door frame or something like that by the time Butcher manages to scrape him from the corner of the bedroom. He knows there’s no way out of this once Butcher decides that it’s time he endures his punishment- though running away helps buy him time to get slightly more mentally ready. ‘It’s okay’ John comforts his erratic heart, ‘It’s going to be fine’- he’ll get a reward after Butcher is done with him and then get some sleep, maybe he’ll be allowed on the bed this time if he’s good. Warmth, even.
Hands ram John’s thinning body onto the bed’s hard mattress. Billy took no time to curl his grip around the other’s neck, a frantic pulse beneath the tip of his fingers reminds him that John breathes too; A pair of lungs, heart, organs, bones and all… John doesn’t try to claw his way out of being choked anymore, or thrash as hard When Billy pins him down- He doesn’t like being reminded of how his powers are gone. Instead, the man squeezes his eyes closed each time a punch threatens to land somewhere on his body. Billy raises his fist; John flinches with his nails digging into the sheets.
. . .
John sobs hysterically- Butcher’s doing it again. His clothes are being torn off but he knows better to just let it pass. He puts a hand over his face to staunch the tears from staining William’s pillow, hides himself too, focuses on something that isn’t the feeling of his pants being pulled away and leaving him in nothing but his underwear. ‘Nothing’s going to happen, I just need to beg.’- John reminds himself. All his might is being drained into suppressing another round of sobs to get his voice ready to say “No”. Until Butcher let go of the grip around the ex-supe’s wrists before settling on top of him completely.
It was odd enough for John to sheepishly peek through his fingers, watching through the blur of tears to witness Butcher shedding off his shirt as well. The man has never done that before and- Something guttural churns inside him at the sight and its implications. John immediately began to thrash violently. He kicks and he screams, he claws at Butcher’s bare chest in hope that it’ll let him get away somehow. He doesn’t even want to look at what’s happening around him. Nothing was supposed to happen, nothing ever happened, so why is this happening now? He doesn’t understand-
“William. No please-“ John begged, his voice wavers which each failed attempt to push Butcher away. “William. William. Don’t do this to me. I’m sorry okay? I know I’m a piece of shit okay? I’m sorry- William-“
“I told you to shut your fucking mouth, haven’t I cunt?” John felt Billy’s hand fly onto his mouth in full force to keep him quiet, the other to apprehend him in place. It hurts. Butcher smells like sweat.
“Don’t know when to stop hm? Last chance. Stay. Quiet.”
John nodded in a panic yet still he groaned a pathetic “William…” from under Butcher’s palm. He doesn’t want to look so he clams his eyes tightly. Maybe it’d be easier to think of something else with his eyes closed, imagine that he’s anywhere else; woe how the sound of Billy’s pants unbuckling, thrown to the side, then the slow feeling of hands letting go of his mouth to begin examining the sides of his bruised body is too much. John starts wailing despite Butcher’s command to keep silent.
Staring down at the defeated form of used-to-be America’s sweetheart in propaganda and mass religious psychosis gives Butcher a good kick out of it every time. Billy presses on a particularly large welt beneath John’s heaving ribcage that came from his belt a week ago. Steel-toed boots do a great job in making tiny blood vessels pop underneath the cunt’s skin. Ignoring the increasing sobs, Billy drags his fingers along tiny sun spots of bruises that stubbornly have yet to fade. He’s definitely not feeding Homelan- John enough for the wounds to heal at a normal pace, but he can’t be here to babysit the wanker all day every day. And meal prepping? He can’t be bothered to do it for himself let alone fucking John of all people. Billy digs his thumb onto the arch of John’s throat, feeling how it bobs so heavenly miserable under pressure like he could crush it similar to how one pops a zit. So human, so fragile and as pathetic a snivelling needy cunt as John can be. Pitiful. When he looked up again, he found glossy blue eyes staring back at him with fearful curiosity.
“Fuck you lookin’ at?” Billy’s volume teethers below yelling. John flinched anyway.
It took the other a while to break from his emotionally-glued lips to respond a shaky “Will-“
“Say my name one bloody more time and I have your bollocks on a skewer.”
That only made John choke up more. “I-”
“Spit it out.”
“Please get off me-”
“Tellin’ me what to do, are we?”
John hides his face in his hands. “No- just- can you… can we get this over with? Please?”
Billy forces John to look at him by the grasp of the man’s hair. “What exactly is it that you want to get over with, love?”
The term of endearment only serves to make John feel mocked and degraded, ushering him into another bout of wiping away his sniffles. “What- whatever you’re planning to do. William. . . whatever that requires both of us to be in our underwear apparently.” He just wants to get to the “reward” part already.
A brief silence befalls them as John stares at anything else that isn’t the sight of Butcher’s gaze, waiting for what’s to come. “You asked for it.”
. . .
The initial horror of being flipped to his side then forced to stay down on the mattress fades as quickly as it came. John could only cower for a moment before Billy roughly pries him open, sliding beside him on the bed. Quick enough for the blond to stammer on processing what’s going on; Before long, the bedside lamp has gone dim leaving only the moonlight to consume them. His face is near Billy’s chest and his legs clumsily manipulated into locking with the other man’s.
“William?” - John asked, not knowing where to put his hands or which position to lay.
“Christ, it's like a dog’s barking. What now?” Billy just swivels an arm across John’s torso, in a hold that’s almost like cuddling.
“Aren’t you gonna.. you know. Hurt me? I thought we weren’t done yet..”
“You want to keep goin’?”
John thought about it. “No.”
Billy slides that arm upwards to reach John’s nape, pressing the guy closer. “Then quit askin’ daft questions like that. Get sleeping.”
“I don’t get it-”
“Don’t have to. One more and ‘m throwing you on the floor.”
“You can’t just scare me like that William..” John mumbled as he hesitantly settled into this weird embrace of theirs. He supposes that his reward today is a night on the bed and.. cuddling; Although he doesn’t feel like he “earned” it- but who is he anymore to question William Butcher?
John scoots closer to where he’s allowed to lay next to William, with a little encouragement from the other’s arm- he’s practically pressing his head against Billy’s chest. It’s not like they have never shared the bed before, but John isn’t used to this certain proximity. Yes it’s nice, however the sudden nature of Billy’s behaviour raises more questions than answers. He wonders if there’s a catch waiting for him during the night.
It’s warm and John really couldn’t ask for a better prize, so it took him a while to gain the courage and put his arm across William’s waist too. The chest hair alongside the smell of shampoo mixed with natural body odor isn’t something John would often get a feel off of from Butcher, yet here he is now. The tears he shed didn’t matter as long as William is nice to him afterwards, as it is the only time he receives any attention at all.
William smells nice- cigarettes, alcohol, cheap shampoo, sometimes iron and traffic. It’s William. John presses his ears against the warm body in front of him. Soft thumps keep him listening and arouse his own internal rhythm. It has been a while since John had heard anyone’s heartbeat, and never without his powers- until now. William’s heart hasn’t calmed yet even though they’ve been laying for a good while, the blond thought of guesses to why that is.
“William?” - John whispered.
“Oh for fuck’s sake-” Billy groaned, patting his hand onto John’s hair like how he’d pet a mutt.
“What’s wrong?” He didn’t wait for Billy to respond. “Your heart’s beating really hard.. like a viper’s nest is in there.”
John felt William’s hand lands on his face with minimal threat to hurt, it just stays there while he tries to read what the fuck is going on with Butcher today. “You’ve been acting weird.”- He confessed.
Thumb sliding back and forth on the creases of John’s crows feet. A heavy sigh leaves him. “Nothin’ to worry about. I’ll hit ya proper tomorrow.”
John’s knee-jerk reaction was to beg again “Please don’t-”
“Then I won’t. Happy?” Another pat on the head. John didn’t answer to that, though by how the man was clinging onto him, Billy took it as a ‘yes’. Pity, William wishes he hadn’t kept thinking about pity since the first time it crosses his mind. Every time he looks at John is another reminder that he feels like he’s kicking a dog, one that comes back every time as long as he gives it affection. A dog nonetheless. A dog he’s not willing to put a collar on but can’t seem to abandon.
“Then what would you do to me?”
“We can… do nothing, John.” He’ll say the mutt’s name just this once if it means keeping the man quiet, still it feels like shame on his tongue when it lingers. Through the dark, he can acknowledge those blue eyes looking up at him in awe of being considered with something that isn’t punishment. Pity.
“Go to sleep, yeah?” He pets John on the head. John’s hair smells faintly of lemons. When he drags his fingers towards the other’s neck, John doesn’t back away, he can feel a pulse there. Pity.
John nodded wordlessly, then finally letting himself relax within their confusing temporary and strained intimacy. He might not get hit tomorrow and William doesn’t seem to be willing to explain anything right now. He just hopes that tomorrow he’d still get a “reward” for simply behaving the way Butcher wants him to. But for the time being, he’ll sink into William’s arms.
“Goodnight, William” - John listens to the slowing of Billy’s heart as a guide to lull him asleep.
“Night’, John.”