god save the spotlight
butcher x homelander
1.9k words
au where butcher and homelander meet at a military ball prior to their canon first meeting, butcher feels inexplicably drawn to the young star-spangled supe and wonders if he really does enjoy all that attention
(a/n) - inspired by @angeloftuesday on TikTok - genuinely feel like this took me forever and it still isn't enough but we ball, lmk what y'all think and maybe i'll write more :p
William Butcher stood slouched in the corner of the room. A whiskey, neat, held firmly in his hand as he watched over the crowd. It was the night of the annual military ball. A social event for military personnel. A night intended to honour achievements, boost morale and above-all, celebrate. Though William, or Butcher as most knew him, tended to have a more cynical view of things. He didn’t believe that there was anything worth celebrating. Just actions carried out purely of necessity. All to serve a government that truly held no concern for them. But that was never his problem. The work he was doing paid well and kept him busy - and as of right now, that was all he could really want for.
The crowd bustled with smiling faces, shrill laughter and jubilant conversations. Everyone dressed to the nines - suits, ties and too-tight dresses. Polished loafers and high heels.
Everyone was awaiting the main event of the evening. He who would be presenting the awards for the night. In a feeble attempt to get the American military to endorse their product, Vought had brought their shiniest supe to the military ball. That supe was Homelander, the up-and-coming rising star. A young twenty-something, stood at 5’11, and boasting impressive powers such as enhanced hearing, strength, durability, flight and x-ray vision. His body adorned in the colours of the American flag. Bright blue gabardine, (a durable twill used to make military uniforms of the past), made up the vast majority of his suit. While bright red boots, gloves and a collar sat tight with gold embellishments. His strong shoulders had a bald eagle sat on each with the American flag cascading down his well-toned back. A symbol of his undeniable patriotism and unwavering loyalty. There were other supes, even among Homelander’s ranks. Queen Maeve, the picture of strength with long, flowing red hair - the ultimate role model for little girls all over the world. Black Noir, who some described as a shadow of Homelander - just as strong, though quiet in his endeavours. Mister Marathon, the fastest man alive, unbeatable - there was truly no one like him. The Deep - an aquatic themed supe who could speak to all creatures of the ocean. Translucent, whose name spoke for itself. And finally, Lamplighter, who could augment the heat energy of the flames around him. They were Voughts favourites. ‘The Seven’, as they were called, were a picture of what all heroes should be. Chosen by god himself, they were the ultimate. Butcher thought that was a ‘load of bloody bollocks’. There was no man in the sky, there to make everything better. Not in his experience anyway. It was all a lie, made in a desperate attempt to make people feel better. As if it was all part of ‘god’s plan’. Though he knew, as any sensible man or woman did, that geezer had a hard-on for mass murder and giving kids cancer. So much for all knowing, loving and powerful. At the sound of his name called out, William whipped his head to the side.
‘Billy!’, Hank Wilson exclaimed loudly, arms outstretched as if welcoming him in for a hug. Hank was a friend, or the closest he could get to one.
‘Hank.’ He responded, a wide grin plastered across his face as he tilted his head.
‘How’s the missus, come to her senses yet?’
‘Not quite, buddy, not quite.’ Hank let out a chuckle and flashed his left hand, wedding ring proudly on display.
He was recently married, something Butcher wondered if he could ever do. He never really was a romantic. Something he supposed a partner would have to get used to.
‘How’ve ya been?’ Hank queried.
‘Happy as a priest in a primary school, couldn’t ya tell?’
‘Yeah, alright. You know he’s about to come on, that Homelander fella. I hear he can fly.’
‘Yeah? So can any old git in an Aston Martin. And I bet they’re using CGI on his rescues. Cheeky cunts.’
‘Or maybe he’s a hero chosen by the big man himself. You should come sit with us, second row from the front. You’ll get a real nice view.’
‘I’ll come, but I’m not entertaining your hard-on for blondie up there.’ Butcher gestured to the stage where a large poster of Homelander hung proudly.
‘Suit yourself.’ Hank laughed, grin childish and over-excited, and began walking off in the direction of his seating. Butcher followed and after practically hip and shouldering through the crowd, found himself seated right beside Hank. Almost as if on cue, a young Stan Edgar stepped on stage.
‘We are here to celebrate the achievements of all gathered here tonight. And what impressive achievements they are.’
After a long winded speech regarding the unit’s history and how far it’d come, Stan Edgar welcomed the Homelander on stage. The crowd cheered in crazed excitement and Butcher leaned forward in his seat, curiosity peaked. There was something about seeing him in person, up ever so close. A short speech commenced, then naming each recipient of any one award and congratulating them personally. William had of course been forewarned of this, but nothing could quite prepare him for the firm grip the star-spangled supe held on his right hand. His gaze almost as if he were sizing him up, Butcher’s stone cold glare faltered, giving his hand one final shake before he hastily made his way offstage. It was a nervous feeling, unlike anything he’d felt before. And he wondered if maybe it was the alcohol or if someone had slipped something in his drink. The rest of the presentation was lost on Butcher as he sat there, heart and mind racing. He hadn’t cared for him previously, not at all. But there was something about seeing him up there, on that stage, muscles held tight under his suit, he wanted more. He wanted small talk and to know all about him. And Butcher always got what he wanted. The best that he could come up with, was that he’d find Homelander in the crowd later. Approach him, make some conversation and maybe get to know him a little better. So after waiting around, his one-track mind focused on the only thing that currently mattered, he strolled on into the crowd. Homelander wasn’t hard to find. People swarmed around him like flies. Wanting pictures and autographs, even just a glimpse of he himself. Butcher wondered if that really was his name - Homelander, or whether it was something regular like John. He couldn’t just be Homelander all the time. Surely that wasn’t all he was. Upon approaching, Homelander’s eyes locked onto him, and he stepped forward. Out of everyone in the crowd, he and Butcher seemed to be drawn to each other.
‘William, was it? Great to see you up on that stage!’ he smiled wide, first pointing a finger as if to single him out, then making a grand gesture with his hands.
‘Billy Butcher.’ He extended his hand, hopeful for another one of those firm handshakes and he got exactly what he wanted.
A firm grip, a smirk and a curious glance from the other party.
‘Love that accent. Where are you from?’
‘London’s East End, Millwall specifically. I did a stint in the special forces over there before being transferred.’
‘How are you liking it in the land of the free?’
Something remained stagnant about their conversation. Like they both wanted more, but were held back by their position and setting. The same crowd still remained around Homelander, all vying for his attention. But Butcher kept him there all the same.
‘I’m well chuffed, never been happier. Say, why don’t ya come for a drink?’
Homelander seemed taken aback, he hid it well but it were as if he’d never been asked for something as simple as his company before.
Trailing behind Butcher, he smiled to himself. A crooked smile, nothing if not his. It was nice to have the company of someone who didn’t seem to want anything from him.
Making it to the bar, William ordered two double Jack and Cokes, sliding one across to Homelander. He took a sip, immediately and unintentionally grimacing, before quickly putting on a brave face. It wasn’t his drink of choice, but a small price to pay to keep the conversation going and maybe get a break from the crowds. Butcher knocked his drink back with ease. Then watched as a young woman approached Homelander from behind. Bright red lips and a dress that hugged her curves perfectly, she sloppily placed a hand on Homelander’s right shoulder.
‘I cannot believe you’re here!’ she squealed in excitement, slightly slurring her words. It was clear she’d had some to drink. Probably liquid courage working up to this very moment. Homelander smiled haphazardly, as she offered up a pen and paper. Without further questioning he signed it and she was off on her way. Butcher watched curiously. There was no hesitation in that interaction. It was all very clinical and practiced, like he’d had to do it a million times before. But he didn’t seem to enjoy it. It looked like an effort, something that he had already grown tired of.
‘Don’t you ever get sick of that? Reckon I would.’
‘Yeah, well it’s — part of the job, so…’ Homelander found himself at a loss. No one had ever questioned his feelings like that and he lacked a proper response. He tried to laugh it off. But there was no script for this. If there had been it wasn’t one he had read.
‘Right, I suppose a lad like you wouldn’t mind havin’ birds like that all over ya. Would give ya something to think about.’
Part of Butcher wished he’d think about him. This morbid curiosity that bubbled up so quickly had him wanting to know him far more intimately. It was something he couldn’t put a lid on.
‘Oh yeah, I’m all over it.’ Homelander gave a dismissive wave, and tried to keep his facade. He was flustered at the very least. This felt like another test.
Butcher would not let up, he was having far too much fun with this. Getting all the attention of Vought’s best to himself sure did something for his self-esteem.
‘Well, it comes with the job.’
The more Butcher pushed, the more absorbed Homelander became in the conversation. He wasn’t obsessively checking the crowd to see if anyone was approaching, he even seemed relaxed.
‘Sounds to me like you got your hands full.’
‘And what about you, William?’
‘Do you usually spend all night asking questions, or is this a special occasion?’
Butcher put his hands up in surrender, a cheeky grin sported on his face.
‘Sorry, special forces. You know how it is.’
The two shared a smile, maybe the first genuine smile from either of them in a while. He didn’t even like the first drink, barely got through it - but Homelander found himself ordering another two. Just as they were set down, a stern hand set itself on Homelander’s shoulder.
‘The bureau are waiting for you, do not make them wait.’
Stan Edgar. Face flat and serious, demanded Homelander’s presence. He immediately folded and just as Butcher felt he was getting somewhere, Homelander stood up, shot Butcher a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and walked away. It was like watching a different person. He was no longer a man sharing a drink with a friend, but a hero elected by God. Dutiful and made to protect and serve the people, he’d never be more. Nonetheless, Butcher couldn’t shake this feeling. A sense that this wouldn’t be their last meeting. That maybe, someday, they were destined to meet again.
