The house had finally gone quiet… or at least as quiet as it could be after everything that had happened.
The sun had disappeared hours ago, and the only light entering the living room came from the headlights of the Vought cars parked outside, carving shadows across the walls and reminding Ryan, every second, that nothing would ever go back to normal.
Becca closed the curtain without much force — her hands were still trembling.
She took a deep breath, trying to look calm for her son, but her eyes still shimmered with the mix of fear, relief, and exhaustion.
Ryan was sitting on the couch, curled up as if he could fold himself inside his own body. He held a mug of hot chocolate that Becca insisted on making, even though everything tasted metallic and chemical to him ever since his senses started awakening.
She sat beside him, saying nothing for a few seconds. She just watched him.
His small face lit by the hallway light.
His hands gripping the mug too tightly.
His eyes lost somewhere on the floor.
He looked so… small.
And at the same time, so heavy on the inside.
" Ryan…" her voice cracked a little, " why didn't you tell me sooner ?"
The boy closed his eyes. He had been expecting that question, but hearing it didn't make it any easier. The lump in his throat returned, heavy and hot.
" I…" he swallowed hard, trying to find words that wouldn't hurt, but they all felt sharp, " I was scared, Mom."
Becca frowned, leaning in closer.
" Scared of myself," he forced a sad smile, " and scared of what… they would do if they knew. Scared of hurting you. Or… or not being able to stop someone from hurting you."
He rubbed his face, frustrated with himself.
The confession finally poured out of him. As if it had been compressed inside him for months.
Becca felt her heart break with every word.
" Oh, my love…" she cupped his face gently, as if touching fragile glass, " you would never hurt me."
Ryan looked away, unsure.
" You saw what I did today… I could've… when that agent grabbed me…"
Becca took a deep breath — steady, grounded.
" You were scared. And even then… you protected me."
Her voice held a conviction Ryan didn't expect. She herself was surprised by the strength she found.
Outside, footsteps crunched on gravel. Armed agents, radios crackling, clipped orders. Vought lingered outside like an absurd, inevitable shadow.
Becca continued:
" Ryan, listen… you're my son. Before any powers, before anything from Homelander, before any Vought business, you are my boy. And I know you. I know who you are here."
She tapped his chest gently.
He finally looked at her, eyes glistening.
" I just wanted to keep you safe," he whispered.
Becca smiled — sad and proud all at once.
" And I just wanted you not to carry something so heavy on your own."
Ryan inhaled shakily. The whole house seemed to breathe with him — the wood creaking, the lights flickering, the world outside waiting.
" What do we do now ?" he asked, his voice small.
Becca looked toward the door, where the shadows of two agents crossed like sentinels. The future was a narrow corridor filled with thorns, but she didn't hesitate.
She turned back to her son.
" Now…" she squeezed his hand tightly, " we decide together. And no one — no one — is taking you from me without a fight."
The ceiling had always just been a ceiling — white paint, a few small stains Becca kept saying she'd retouch someday — but now it felt like a huge surface compressing the air, pressing on his chest.
He lay on his side, wrapped in the blanket despite not feeling cold.
His senses were sharper than ever: he heard the leaves rustling outside, the click of a distant radio, the muffled whisper of two agents talking on the street.
Every detail was a cruel reminder that his life wasn't his anymore.
And Becca's soft breathing in the room next to his was the most painful reminder of all.
He shut his eyes tightly, trying to contain the growing knot in his throat.
'I need to get stronger.'
The sentence echoed again and again, a desperate mantra, almost a punishment. He saw in his mind the red flash of Homelander fighting Butcher, the destruction, the fear in his mother's eyes, the nearly explosive burst of light that came from him when he tried to stop the worst.
He had managed to save her once.
What if next time he couldn't ?
What if she was standing in the path of his rays ?
He rolled onto his back and pressed his hands against his face. The chemical taste was still there, coating his tongue — as if the world had become artificial, toxic, from the moment his powers began awakening.
'I can't stay still. I can't wait.'
But the next thought hit like hot poison:
'I can't protect Mom alone…not yet'
Ryan felt his stomach twist.
He hated admitting that.
Hated it with every fiber of his being.
But it was true — and that truth hurt more than any punch he had ever thrown at a tree.
Stan Edgar.
The name came like a shadow.
Cold. Strategic. Unyielding.
But… different from Homelander.
Different from Homelander's predator grin.
Stan Edgar was dangerous, yes — but his danger was predictable. Calculated.
Almost… trustworthy, in the most uncomfortable way possible.
He wanted Ryan.
Not Ryan the boy.
Ryan the asset. The resource. The weapon.
Even so…
Even so, Edgar was the only person there who didn't seem driven by whims, psychological obsessions, or inflated ego.
He moved pieces.
He kept his deals — cruelly, maybe — but he kept them.
And he had something Ryan desperately needed:
Resources. Grounds. Instructors. Technology.
And most importantly…
the ability to hide Becca somewhere even Homelander couldn't reach.
A bitter taste filled his mouth, as if he had swallowed pure detergent.
Vought.
The word made him shrink.
Cooperating with Vought.
With Stan Edgar.
With everything he knew — from his old world — that was rotten to the core.
But the alternative…
The alternative was much worse.
He imagined Becca hurt. Or worse.
He imagined Homelander showing up again, with that smile that wasn't a smile.
Imagined the blue glow building in his own hands without control.
His heart raced.
He pulled the blanket up to his chin, as if it could protect him from the choices the world was forcing upon him.
The idea was terrible.
Logical.
And absolutely inevitable.
He felt tears build, silent, a hot burn at the corners of his eyes.
Because that decision wasn't a child's.
It was one no child should ever have to make.
'I will protect her.
Even if I have to work with monsters.
I am not like them.
I will never be.
But I will use whatever I must to keep her alive. And maybe, with the right resources, I can still help her and other people.'
A deep, trembling breath left him.
Outside, the agents' footsteps continued, indifferent to the weight of the universe resting on the shoulders of a child.
Ryan turned onto his side, pulled the pillow to his chest, and closed his eyes.
There was no turning back.
The decision had been made.
And it tasted bitter — like fear…
and sacrifice.