𝐑𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚 | 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 (𝐎𝐂)

NINE

A/N: Kind of a long chapter to be honest...anyways I know I already put a warning in the description but still just making sure...this chapter has some vulgar language and descriptions. Please don't read if it makes you uncomfortable. ⚠️

A few weeks later...

Billy Butcher sat in the dimly lit corner of Madelyn Stillwell's opulent living room, his leg bouncing restlessly as he gripped the c4 in his hand. The curtains fluttered gently from the evening breeze slipping through a cracked window, but Butcher barely noticed. His mind was a whirlpool of rage, grief, and cold calculation, swirling faster and faster as his vendetta against Homelander inched closer to its climax.

His life had been a wreck ever since he thought Becca had died. Homelander-the golden boy of Vought International-had taken everything from him. His wife, his peace, his purpose. Every sleepless night, every drink, every moment of violence had been in service of one goal: making the man who murdered his wife suffer. Homelander wasn't just an enemy. He was a rabid dog that needed putting down.

His team, The Boys, had taken shape around that burning desire. They were misfits, rogues, and damaged souls like him, all of them with their own vendettas against supes. He'd led them with a fury that terrified most, often crossing lines few others would. But nothing scared Butcher anymore.

A noise broke through his brooding. Footsteps. Delicate but measured. Stillwell. His lips curled into a snarl as she entered the still dim room.

"Maria!" Stillwell called, setting down her belongings on a nearby table. "Maria, I'm home!"

No answer.

"Maria?"

"Your kids a sound sleeper."

Stillwell immediately spun around at the sound of the gruff, familiar voice. Butcher's face emerged from the shadows, the faint light catching his features as he slowly sat up from the chair. She glanced nervously toward the stairs wondering-

"Don't worry." Butcher said, his voice low but steady. "He's all right. So's the nanny. She's out the back sleeping off a little bit of propofol."

She stared at him silently noticing, her eyes flicking to the gun resting on the side table next to him.

"Put your phone on the table." Butcher ordered.

She hesitated for a moment, then reached into her purse, pulling out her phone. Slowly, she walked toward him, setting it down on the table before crossing her arms. Her expression was calm, but her eyes were sharp, calculating. "William Butcher." She said coolly. "The CIA showed me your file. What do you want?"

Butcher's gaze didn't waver. "You know what I want."

"I don't know how breaking into my home and threatening my child is gonna get you Homelander."

"All these years...I've been searching for that cunt's weakness."

Stillwell shook her head. "He doesn't have any weaknesses."

"No?"

For a moment, a faint hint of hesitation crossed her face, as if she knew something few others did. But she quickly masked it, sensing that Butcher didn't notice. "There isn't a weapon on Earth that they haven't thrown at him. They've all failed."

"That's not what I'm talking about." Butcher replied, still sitting eerily calm in the dark corner. "I'm talking...about you."

"Me?"

"Yeah, you're the only thing he gives two shits about. You're his weakness."

Stillwell went silent, her face barely falling to the untrained eye as if in realization of Butcher's plans. Before she could react further, Butcher was on her. It was over in two seconds. She was tied to a chair, her wrists bound to the armrests, as he strapped an explosive to her chest.