WEIGHT OF AMERICA || Homelander

005: Shattered Skies

The air was thick with tension, an almost palpable weight that settled over Homelander as he flew alongside the private jet. The rhythmic thrum of the engines blended with the wind rushing past his ears, but all he could focus on was the presence hovering just a few feet behind him—Phantasm. Her presence was an unwelcome reminder of everything that had been wrong ever since she joined the Seven.

The sky was his domain, the place where he reigned supreme. He was the ultimate force, the beacon of strength and hope for the world below. But now, even up here, that sense of absolute power was being chipped away by her constant, silent challenge. Every time she was near, it felt like she was undermining his authority, just by existing.

"Try not to mess this up, Scarlet," he called back to her, not even bothering to turn his head. He didn't need to see her to know that his words would hit their mark.

"It's Phantasm," came her curt reply, her voice carrying a chill that cut through the wind like a blade. "And I'm not the one who makes mistakes."

He clenched his jaw at that, her icy tone setting his teeth on edge. "Just follow my lead," he snapped, forcing himself to stay focused on the mission ahead.

This was supposed to be an easy PR win—a quick rescue mission that would bolster the Seven's image and remind everyone just who the real heroes were. But having her around complicated things. She was a wildcard, too powerful, too independent, and worst of all, too smart to fall in line like the others. And she didn't worship him the way she was supposed to. She didn't even pretend to respect him.

The private jet loomed ahead, its sleek white body cutting through the clouds. Inside, the situation was already dire. The terrorists had taken control, and the passengers were terrified, but the moment they saw Homelander and Phantasm board the plane, hope flickered in their eyes. It was the reaction he was used to, the reaction he craved. But as his boots touched the floor of the jet, that familiar rush of adoration didn't come. Not fully. Because she was there, too.

Homelander strode down the narrow aisle, his cape brushing against the seats as he moved with an air of absolute authority. The terrorists' eyes widened in fear, their hands trembling as they gripped their weapons. But he didn't even give them the satisfaction of seeing him acknowledge their presence. He was above them, above this entire situation. It was all just a game to him.

Phantasm was right behind him, her movements silent and predatory. She didn't wear a cape, didn't need one. Her power was her presence—a cold, unyielding force that seemed to drain the warmth from the air around her. The passengers were staring at her too, but with something other than hope. There was fear there, mingled with something more complex, something they couldn't quite put into words. She wasn't like the other heroes. She was something else entirely.

Homelander ignored the unease that crept up his spine, focusing instead on the terrorists who were now frozen in place, their weapons slowly lowering as they realized just how outmatched they were. He allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. This was how it was supposed to be.

"Let's get this over with," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to her. He strode toward the cockpit, ready to take control and finish the job.

But Phantasm's voice stopped him in his tracks. It was low, almost a whisper, but it cut through the tension like a knife. "You can't save them."

He turned to face her, a look of pure incredulity on his face. "What did you just say?"

"The plane is going down," she said flatly, her eyes locked onto his with an intensity that made his blood boil. "There's too much damage. You know that."

For a moment, the entire world seemed to freeze. The hum of the engines, the soft sobbing of the passengers, the muffled cries of the terrorists—it all faded into the background as her words sank in.

"No," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I can save them. I just need you to get out of my way."

Phantasm didn't move, didn't even blink. "You can't save them," she repeated, her voice like ice water being poured over a fire. "And if you try, you'll only make things worse."

He was in her face before she could say another word, his hand gripping her arm with a force that would have shattered bone in a normal human. But she wasn't normal, and she didn't flinch. "You don't get to tell me what I can and can't do," he snarled, his eyes burning with barely restrained fury. "I'm the one in charge here. Not you."

She met his gaze with that same unyielding stare, her voice calm, almost detached. "You're going to get everyone on this plane killed if you don't leave. Now."

The words hit him like a physical blow, his grip tightening as the rage bubbled up inside him, threatening to spill over. How dare she? How dare she question him, undermine him in front of these people? Who did she think she was?

But even as the anger surged through him, there was a part of him that knew she was right. He could see it in her eyes, the cold, calculating certainty that she always had. She was never wrong, and that was what infuriated him the most. He could feel the truth of her words gnawing at the edges of his mind, but he refused to acknowledge it.

"Fine," he hissed through clenched teeth, releasing her arm with a shove. "Let's go."

As they turned to leave, the sound of desperate prayers and choked sobs filled the air. The passengers' eyes were wide with terror, their hands clutching at their seats as they realized that their last hope was walking away. The reality of their situation was sinking in, and it was like a knife to the gut.

Homelander didn't look back. He couldn't. If he did, he wasn't sure what he would do. He needed to get out of there, needed to get away from her before he did something he would regret.

They flew away from the doomed plane, the weight of their decision pressing down on them like a physical force. The tension between them was thick, almost suffocating, but neither of them said a word. There was nothing left to say.

When they finally landed, Homelander turned on her, his eyes blazing with a fury that he could barely contain. "This is your fault," he spat, his voice low and dangerous.

Phantasm met his anger with a cold, unyielding stare. "You know that's not true. You're just angry because you couldn't play the hero this time."

The words cut deeper than she could have known, his fists clenching at his sides as he fought to keep his temper in check. "Don't push me, Scarlet," he warned, his voice trembling with barely restrained rage.

"Or what?" she asked, her voice calm and controlled. "You'll kill me? Go ahead. But we both know how that will end."

For a moment, it looked like he might actually do it, might actually snap and go through with the threat that was hanging in the air between them. But then he turned away, his shoulders tense with the effort of holding himself back.

"This isn't over," he snarled, his voice low and dangerous.

"No," she agreed, her voice icy. "It's just beginning."

---

The air between them was charged, an electric tension that neither of them could ignore. As they stood in the aftermath of the disaster, the clash between Homelander and Phantasm was no longer just about power or control—it was personal. And neither of them was willing to back down.

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I'd like to give clear point in this fanfiction. I try not to follow much like the series does. And this chapter only adds to the pot of being a fanfiction, a story that came from the author's imagination. Thus, the characters may certainly act OOC, hope you don't mind it. Enjoy.