The Boys - Let Me Show You A True Hero!

Kimiko's eyes fluttered open, her head pounding like a drum.

The dim light filtered through the cracked blinds of the rundown hotel room, casting long, jagged shadows across the peeling wallpaper. Her body ached all over, a dull throb that sat just beneath her skin like an unwanted guest refusing to leave.

Instinctively, she flexed her fingers, her senses returning sluggishly as she fought to shake off the haze of unconsciousness.

Then, she smelled it.

Blood.

Her body tensed instantly, the scent was thick, suffocating, metallic…

Familiar.

Her stomach twisted, and her mind raced with alarm. Was she injured? No… this wasn't her blood.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she slowly turned her head towards the source.

And that was when she saw him.

Saw him entering the room, carrying someone over his shoulder and putting them on the couch.

The man stood near the rickety bed she was lying in.

Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a simple blue bodysuit. His red and white cape hung over one shoulder, his boots caked in grime and dust.

His face was eerily familiar, almost identical to—

Noir.

But it wasn't him.

Because Noir was lying on the couch.

Her breath hitched.

The hero, the one who had saved and protected her more times than she could count; was unmoving, bloodied, and maskless.

His blonde hair, damp with sweat and crimson streaks, clung to his forehead, his eyes shut. His breathing was shallow, labored. His body was littered with bruises and wounds, his suit torn in several places.

Kimiko's heart clenched, the sight of him in such a vulnerable state sent a violent storm of emotions crashing through her chest.

Fear. Panic. Rage.

And then, her gaze snapped back to the man standing over him.

His features were too similar to Noir's to be a coincidence. Same chiseled jawline, same piercing blue eyes, same unnervingly perfect face.

But the way he carried himself was different.

The Noir look-alike stood there, arms crossed, exhaling as if contemplating his next move.

Kimiko saw red.

Before the rational part of her brain could catch up, she moved.

With a feral snarl, she launched herself from the bed, crossing the room in a blur. Her fist shot forward, aiming for the bastard's too-familiar face.

The man barely had time to react, his eyes widened in surprise before he brought his arm up to block her punch. The impact sent shockwaves through the air, the old wooden floor groaning under the pressure.

Kimiko didn't let up.

She twisted mid-air, planting her feet against the wall before launching herself again. A devastating kick arced towards his ribs, but the man shifted, catching her ankle in an iron grip.

He spun, using her momentum to gently hurl her across the room.

She crashed into the nightstand, splintering it into jagged pieces, but she barely felt the pain. She was already back on her feet, blood roaring in her ears.

The man raised his hands in a placating gesture.

"Whoa, hey! Calm down!"

She lunged again.

He sighed.

This time, he moved faster, sidestepping her entirely before catching her wrist mid-swing. He twisted, forcing her to spin, and in one smooth motion, he pinned her arms behind her back.

Kimiko thrashed, kicking at his shins, snarling like a caged animal, but his grip was unyielding.

"I get it, I really do," he said, voice laced with tiredness as he held her in place. "You think I hurt him, but I promise you I didn't."

She didn't believe him, continuing the fight to get out of his hold.

But stopped from what he said next.

"He nearly killed himself protecting you."

Kimiko froze.

Her breathing was ragged, her body still tense, but her mind latched onto his words like a lifeline.

The man, whoever he was, took her hesitation as a chance to slowly let go of her wrists.

He stepped back, hands still raised to show he wasn't attacking.

She whirled around, fists still clenched, watching him like a hawk. But now, she hesitated, her eyes flickered to Noir's unconscious form on the floor. The blood pooling beneath him was still fresh, it had dried in patches, evidence of a battle fought long before she woke up.

She knelt down beside him, grabbing hold of his bloody hand.

She sucked in a sharp breath, chest rising and falling erratically as the rage that had blinded her began to clear.

The man sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck while he pulled off his cape.

"Look, I get that this is a lot, but he's alive, barely, and if you want him to stay that way, we need to get him out of here."

Kimiko swallowed hard, her pulse still racing.

She didn't trust him.

Not fully.

But if there was even a sliver of truth to his words, if Noir had really almost died for her, then standing here and wasting time was the worst thing she could do.

Her jaw tightened, and she gave the man a sharp nod.

He exhaled, relief flashing across his face. "Good, let's get moving."

She brushed his blood-streaked hair from his face with trembling fingers, getting ready to pick him up.

He was warm.

Too warm.

She could feel his body was working overtime to heal, but it wasn't enough.

The man crouched beside her, watching her carefully while carefully wraping his cape around Noir's face.

"He needs medical attention."

Kimiko shot him a glare that screamed no shit before carefully hooking Noir's arm around her shoulder.

The Noir look-alike stood, helping lift Noir's dead weight with ease.

As they maneuvered towards the door, Kimiko cast the man one last wary glance.

She didn't know who he was.

Didn't know if she could trust him.

But right now, getting Noir to safety was all that mattered.

And she'd kill anyone who tried to stop her.

——————

John exhaled sharply as he landed outside one of his hidden outposts.

The building was inconspicuous, an unmarked facility tucked away in an abandoned industrial district.

It was a base specifically for healing, filled with personal doctors he personally hired and even a few supes with the powers to heal.

And no one besides his most trusted allies knew about his bases.

As they entered, John carefully laid Noir onto the medical bed, stepping back as healers immediately got to work.

Kimiko hovered nearby, her gaze never leaving Noir, her hands twitching as if resisting the urge to intervene and rip the doctor's head off as he pulled out a syringe.

Before calming down when the needle broke against his skin.

John crossed his arms, leaning against the wall while keeping watch, deep in thought.

The fight with Metal Hand, the serum, the terrifying extent of Noir's injuries, Noir's face, fucking Kimiko of all people being with Noir.

It was all piling up, and the worst part? He had no idea what to do next.

Vought wouldn't ignore this.

Whatever mission they had running was clearly out in the open now, with all the chaos that happened during the fight.

The fact that Noir, who was clearly his clone, had nearly been killed proved just how dangerous it was.

His jaw clenched.

And he had just thrown himself right in the middle of all this bullshit.

John's mind raced as he watched the healer work on Noir, now with a syringe that could actually pierce his skin, the rhythmic beeping of the medical equipment filling the air.

The implications of everything he had witnessed were staggering, each new revelation adding another layer of complexity to an already tangled web.

Someone was experimenting with a new version of Compound V, creating new supes...

It was all somehow connected, but how? And more importantly, what was Vought's endgame in all this?

John's gaze drifted to Kimiko, her blood being the key to the new Compound V.

She hadn't moved an inch since they arrived, her eyes fixed on Noir's unconscious form. Her body was tense, coiled like a viper ready to snap at the slightest provocation.

The devotion and protectiveness she displayed was palpable, a stark contrast to their nonexistent relationship in the show and comics.

Just what was their relationship here?

The pieces were there, but John couldn't quite fit them together.

Not yet.

He pushed off the wall, approaching the bed cautiously. The healers glanced up, giving a respectful nod before returning to their work.

Noir's wounds were extensive, even for someone with his healing factor.

It would take time for him to recover fully.

John cleared his throat, getting Kimiko's attention.

"He'll be alright, he's tough."

Kimiko's head snapped towards him, her gaze sharp and assessing. She didn't speak, but due to spending a lot of time with Noir, he had more than enough experience reading body language.

Who the fuck are you?

John sighed, rubbing the back of his head, he could practically feel the distrust radiating off of her.

He met Kimiko's piercing gaze, his own expression calm and collected despite the intensity of her scrutiny. He could feel the weight of her suspicion, the unspoken accusation hanging in the air between them.

He couldn't blame her, really.

"I know you have questions," John began, keeping his voice even. "And I'll do my best to answer them. But first, let me properly introduce myself."

He took a step forward, extending his hand in a gesture of goodwill.

"My name is John… but the world knows me as Homelander."

Kimiko's eyes widened a fraction, recognition flashing across her features.

Of course, she knew who Homelander was, everyone did.

The golden boy of Vought, the greatest hero on earth, the most powerful superhero on the planet.

But unlike everyone else, Kimiko knew him from the rants from the scientist and soldiers growling angrily about the false white idol.

The Golden-Haired Devil.

But the confusion remained.

Why was he here? What was his connection to Noir? Were they brothers?

She didn't take his hand, instead crossing her arms over her chest, her posture defensive.

John let his hand drop, unfazed by her refusal. He understood her wariness, given the circumstances.

"I get it, you don't trust me, and you have every reason not to. But right now, we both want the same thing, for him to recover."

He nodded towards Noir's still form on the bed.

Kimiko's jaw clenched, but she didn't argue. Her gaze flickered back to Noir, the worry in her eyes unmistakable. She took a step closer to the bed, her hand hovering just above Noir's, as if wanting to touch him but hesitating.

John watched the interaction closely, piecing together the puzzle in his mind. The bond between Kimiko and Noir was strong, that much was clear, but the nature of it remained a mystery.

Were they friends? Lovers? Something in between?

He needed more information.

Clearing his throat, John caught Kimiko's attention once more.

"How long have you two known each other?"

Kimiko's head snapped back to him, her eyes narrowing. She didn't answer, instead raising an eyebrow as if to say 'why do you care?'

John held up his hands placatingly. "I'm just trying to understand the situation. Noir is... well, he's not exactly the most social guy. Seeing him with someone, especially someone he's clearly close to, is new for me."

Kimiko's expression remained guarded but slowly held up her hand and showed nine fingers.

"…is that nine months?" He asked hesitantly.

She shook her head with a frown, Noir would've understood immediately, before raising nine fingers again.

He raised a brow, before sighing to himself. Disappearing and reappearing back before she could even blink, now with pen and paper.

"Yeah, I should've done this from the start." He mumbled to himself before handing her the items.

Hesitantly taking the items, Kimiko looked at him with a frown, not understanding what to do.

"Can you write it down for me?"

Kimiko stared at the pen and paper in her hands, a frown creasing her brow. She turned them over, examining them as if they were foreign objects.

Her fingers traced the smooth surface of the paper, the texture unfamiliar beneath her touch.

John watched her, his own expression shifting from expectant to confused. "Is... everything okay?"

Kimiko looked up at him, her dark eyes meeting his vibrant blue ones. She shook her head slowly, a hint of frustration flickering across her features.

She set the pen and paper down on the nearby table, the items making a soft thud against the sterile surface.

John's confusion only deepened. "What's wrong? I thought writing it down would be easier..."

Kimiko sighed, a soundless exhale that spoke volumes. She tapped her temple with two fingers, then made a slashing motion across her throat. She pointed to the pen and paper, then repeated the gesture.

Realization dawned on his face, his eyes widening. "You can't write."

Kimiko nodded, a mixture of embarrassment and defiance in her expression. She crossed her arms over her chest, as if daring him to judge her for this perceived shortcoming.

John, to his credit, didn't react with pity or condescension. Instead, he let out a soft chuckle, face palming himself.