Where The Heart Is: Issue # V (Patreon)

Where The Heart Is: Issue # V

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TEN YEARS AGO

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Jonah let out a long sigh, the old man slowly removing his glasses from his face as he did so. As he finally pocketed the spectacles, his attention turned back to the blond young father standing in his office. "You know I was the one who managed to get the top brass to ease up on your training. After your father died, I couldn't bear the thought of putting you through more of that."

Homelander snapped back to the present, opening his eyes to stare into the retired scientist's own. "What is that supposed to mean to me, Jonah?"

"Nothing, really. I'm just saying that I tried to make things easier for you. I knew what…"

"That what you were doing wasn't right but it was ultimately necessary to ensure that I felt no hesitation when using my abilities or facing combatants that could pose even the slightest threat. That it was important to create a super-soldier with even half the willpower of Soldier Boy, given the possibility that the competitors to Vought super-soldiers appearing were the result of government experimentation or, even worse, corporate espionage." John rattled off, clearly repeating the words from memory.

The superhuman blinked once, gaze locked onto the older man as he watched him swallow with sudden nervousness. "You know, you never really paid attention to how I trained my powers, did you? Despite your best efforts. For one, if I focus, I can hear the neurons fire in your brain. I can smell your sweat and hear your heartbeat. I know when you lie. And my eyes? They can see through anything except Zinc, Jonah… and that little fact took you years to discover. On top of that, almost everything I see stays stuck in my head, even if I don't want it to."

Homelander nodded, something darkly humorous flickering in his eyes. "I never told you, any of you, but it wasn't too obvious so you never noticed. All I have to do is try and remember and it's there."

"What…"

"I saw all your files and all the notes on your desk by the time I was three," Homelander admitted to the other man's clear surprise, interrupting him as he spoke softly. "I couldn't read for shit but they were still in my head. By around twelve, I could understand every single thing you wrote down."

"John…"

"Subject-Two."

"John."

"Just like my father was Subject-One," Homelander continued calmly.

"Johnny…"

"And the same way you've already got my son marked down as Subject-Three in the little fucking notebook you’ve got. You know the one, the leather cover with your initials monogrammed into the center." John stared, mouth a thin line betraying no emotion. “Hidden deep inside that little Zinc-lined vault of yours under your desk.”

If it was even possible, Jonah Vogelbaum paled even further. The room was silent as he swallowed down a mouthful of nothing, the sound competing with his heartbeat to drown everything else out. “W-wha…”

"I don't need to see through it to see you writing in it through your ceiling from two miles up, Jonah."

"..."

Homelander took the moment of silence to sit up once more, red gloves held in one hand as the twenty-year old continued staring at his torturer calmly. "Also, you can try to tell me all you want about how you cared but we both know that's a lie."

The blond allowed himself a smile as Jonah swallowed again, the man forced to clear his throat with a cough as he kept silent otherwise. "You figured it out eventually. Before I even first met my dad. You knew how early I could read, how early I could speak, how early I was doing everything.”

Jonah stared in silence.

“You knew."

Jonah nodded slowly, the man seeming to show all his eighty years of age as a heavy sigh left his throat. "I noticed the drop-off after you figured out object permanence but after that…"

The Vought CSO allowed himself to trail away, looking deeply troubled as he glanced down at the floor.

By the time he glanced back up, he somehow looked even older. "None… none of those deaths after that were accidents. Were they, Johnny?"

Homelander's smile didn't drop. "Not. A. One."

"Hmm."

"So, do us both a favor and spare me the caring father bullshit, Vogelbaum. It might have taken you a decade to figure it out but you and the rest of Vought stopped what you were doing because you knew one day I wouldn't go for whoever was closest." Homelander squeezed the gloves in his grip, Jonah wincing at the noice they made in the superhuman's hands. "I'd go to the top."

"You're better than that, Johnny," Vogelbaum spoke up again. "I know you are."

Homelander rose to his feet slowly before he spoke next. "You may have a pacemaker but I can smell your sweat. I can see those neurons firing. We both know you're not sure I am, Jonah."

"...I'm sorry, John," the doctor finally admitted after several long seconds of silence. "I really am."

Vought's premier superhero put his gloves back on just as slowly as he had risen to his feet before bothering to look down at the aging man who had made his life a living hell. "Don't be sorry. Be careful. If you go after my son, whether or not he has powers, I don't care…"

Blue eyes lit up into glowing red as Homelander remained in place, perfectly still like a statue. "If you go after my son, I don't give a damn about the consequences. I will burn this worthless company to ashes."

Jonah nodded again, the man flinching as he avoided the twenty-year-old's literally-piercing gaze. "You've made your point, John."

Homelander nodded back at him, eyes dimming back to normal as a smile burst across his face. "Dont worry too much, Jonah. Nothings gonna happen as long as you play your part. It might have taken you a decade but you made yours, too. I have a family now.

I have a team.

I can't afford to let either of them down. I may have hated every single fucking moment of what you put me through but it made me… it made me strong.

It made me me."

"And that's a good thing?"

"It is a thing."

The air in Jonah Vogelbaum's lavish home office grew heavier, the tension between the two men palpable. Jonah’s gaze flickered over Homelander, taking in every inch of the superhero he had helped create. His eyes, once sharp and calculating, now held a mix of regret and fear.

“You know, Johnny,” Jonah began, his voice barely above a whisper, “I often wondered what kind of man you’d become. I saw in you... potential for something extraordinary.”

Homelander’s expression remained unreadable, but his stance shifted ever so slightly, a subtle sign of his attention. What’s this now? Remorse? Or another manipulation?

“I remember the day you first flew,” Jonah continued, lost in his memories. “You were barely four, and you just... took off. Like a bird discovering its wings for the first time. I saw it then, the joy in your eyes. But that joy... it didn’t last long, did it?”

Homelander's face softened for a fraction of a second, a distant memory surfacing. Flying... The first time I felt free, really free.

Jonah sighed, his shoulders slumping. “We took that from you. Your childhood, your freedom, your chance to be... just a boy. We molded you into a weapon, a symbol. I see now, too late, the cost of our ambition.”

Homelander’s gaze sharpened, his voice laced with bitterness. “Do you, now?”

Jonah nodded, his eyes downcast. “Yes, I see it. And I’m sorry, Johnny. More sorry than you can ever know.”

Homelander’s fists clenched, his mind racing. Sorry? Does he think an apology can undo years of...

His thoughts were interrupted by Jonah’s next words.

“And your son, Johnny, I want you to know... I won’t touch him. I won’t let Vought touch him. He deserves to have the childhood you were denied, the chance to be a kid, to grow up away from labs and tests.”

Homelander's eyes narrowed, analyzing the sincerity in Jonah’s voice. Can I trust him? Can I trust anyone at Vought?

“Promise me, Jonah. Swear on whatever shred of decency you have left that you'll keep him out of it. That you'll protect him from Vought.”

Jonah met Homelander’s gaze, nodding solemnly. “I promise, John. On my honor, I swear it.”

Homelander studied the man before him, the architect of his life's pain.

A part of him wanted to believe, to hope that Jonah meant his words. But another part… another part wanted…

Well, he knew what it wanted.

He took a step back, his eyes still locked with Jonah’s. “I’ll hold you to that promise. If you break it...”

The threat hung in the air, unspoken but clear as day.

Jonah swallowed hard, nodding in understanding.

Homelander turned, his cape billowing as he moved toward the open window. He paused, looking back over his shoulder. “Remember, Jonah, I’m watching. Always.”

With those final words, Homelander launched himself into the sky, leaving Jonah Vogelbaum alone in his opulent office, surrounded by the trappings of his success and the ghosts of his regrets.

He was well over a mile away in the sky when the man spoke next but Homelander still heard the last words Jonah had muttered a few seconds after he had left.

"Like father, like son."

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NOW

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The blond boy stood in his mud-splattered shorts and a blue-and-white t-shirt and stared at his father with frustration and irritation on his face. John Veder, known to the world as Homelander, towered over his son, his cape catching the breeze as they stood in the vast emptiness of a Midwest field, tens of miles from civilization.

"I just don't get it, Dad!" Greg complained, spitting out dirt, mud and grass from his latest faceplant. "Every time I try, I just end up in the air, not forward."

Homelander chuckled, his eyes softening. "Running isn't as simple as it looks, son. Believe me, I know." His head tilted to the side, remembering his own early struggles. “I’m faster than Marathon and except for those charity races, do you ever see me on the ground with him?”

"Why bother with running then?" Greg grumbled, kicking at a loose stone.

Homelander watched as it took off into the air like a bullet, his son’s face paling slightly as he realized he used much more force than intended. “Don’t worry, I picked this place for a reason. Worst come to worst, you’ll traumatize a family of geese.”

“...that’s good?” his son offered.

“Better than a family of farmers,” Homelander answered with a slight smile. “Anyway, why bother with running? Because, Greg," he continued his voice firm yet gentle, "you can't fly... yet. And your jumping... well, it needs work."

Greg opened his mouth to protest, but Homelander raised a hand. "No more arguing. We need to get this right. I don't want you bouncing around out of control."

Greg sighed, a slight smile creeping onto his face. "That's kinda mean to the Behemoth, Dad."

Homelander smirked. "He's the one with the drinking problem, not me. Now, focus on running. One more try."

Greg nodded, squaring his shoulders. The teenager took a deep breath and braced himself.

Homelander's senses sharpened, every detail magnified as he took a moment to focus. He watched as Greg's muscles tensed, the ground compressing under the sheer force of his son's power as the air seemed to crackle with energy.

With a burst of speed that rivaled a bullet, Greg shot forward. The ground erupted beneath him, a cloud of dust and debris trailing in his wake. Homelander watched in slow motion, analyzing every movement. Too much force on the left foot. Slightly off balance. He's trying to compensate mid-air.

Just as Greg began his uncontrolled ascent, a scream leaving his mouth, Homelander rolled his eyes and sprang into action. He moved with a grace and speed that defied his size, reaching Greg in a heartbeat. He caught him by the scruff of his shirt, preventing yet another crash.

"You're pushing too hard, Greg," Homelander advised, setting him down gently. "It's about control, not just raw power. You have to ease into it."

Greg nodded, catching his breath. "It's hard to control it. It feels like... like a burst of energy I can't hold back."

"You're getting the hang of it, just need to dial back the power a bit," Homelander advised, patting Greg on the back. "Remember, it's about control, not just raw strength."

Greg brushed himself off, looking up at his father with a mix of admiration and frustration. "It's easy for you to say, you've been doing this for years."

Homelander's smile widened. "True, but I had my fair share of crashes and burns. You should've seen me the first time I tried to fly. Let's just say landing was... an acquired skill."

Greg laughed, the tension easing from his shoulders. "I wish I could've seen that."

"You would've laughed your head off," Homelander admitted with a grin, a hand on his chin. "But back to you. I see the problem."

Greg blinked, looking up at his dad again this time with confusion. "So, what it is it?"

"Well, if I'm gonna be technical, it's two problems," Homelander replied, tapping his son on the head with two fingers. "And they're both up here."

"Ow," Greg replied, rubbing his forehead.

"That didn't hurt," Homelander responded without even looking in his son's direction.

"It could have," the fourteen year old pouted.

"Like I said, your problems are both in your head," the hero continued, ignoring his son's whining yet again. "One, you're treating your powers like something you can turn on and off, like magic in one of your video games. And two, you're not thinking of your powers like what they are."

"What?" Greg blinked. "I don't get it."

"Which one, first or second?"

"No no no, I get the first, but number two...?"

John nodded at his son. “Fair enough. Powers are more mental than they are anything else. My d…” The patriotic hero paused, a look of hesitation on his face before he shook his head. “Your grandfather had his powers longer than most supes had been alive and he always told me that when it comes down to it, despite how it seems, your powers are all in your head.”

“I don’t…”

“Fair enough.” Homelander shook his head again at his son’s confusion. "Think of it this way, you know when you have to use the bathroom and you're standing up to pee. Do you squeeze the same muscles you do when you're pooping?"

The young blond pulled a face, the sight of it making Homelander snort. "Wha-why-who-whyyyy would you say that, Dad? Who even thinks of that? How's that even gonna help me?"

“Just trust your old man.”

Greg tilted his head, considering. "Fine, I guess, but it's still weird. How do you keep it all straight in your head?"

Homelander chuckled, ruffling Greg's hair. "Practice, son. At your age, I was just figuring it out too. And… well, you're young, literally a baby supe," Homelander continued, gaze roaming over the dozens of small craters Greg had created in just thirty minutes. "You’ve only had your powers for two weeks. You can figure out how to use your powers all at once later. Just focus on the mental muscle that feels right for moving, and less for punching. We'll work on finesse later."

Greg squinted at his father, skepticism etched on his mud-splattered face. "But it's not like I'm trying to punch the ground every time I run," he protested, his tone a mix of confusion and exasperation.

Homelander chuckled, the sound rich with warmth. "I know, kiddo. But think about it. When you're jumping, you're using a lot of force, right? It's like a punch but with your legs. Running... It's more about control, finesse. Imagine it like a gentle push, a constant flow, not a series of explosive bursts."

Greg mulled over his father's words, his brows knitting together as he processed the advice. "So, less like a Behemoth Bash and more like... like water flowing?"

"Exactly!" Homelander beamed, proud of his son's quick grasp. "You've got to be like water. Flowing, adapting. Let your power be a part of you, not something you force."

Greg nodded thoughtfully, absorbing his father's words. "Okay, but how do I make myself just... run without launching into orbit?"

Homelander's laugh echoed across the field. "Start small. Think about moving forward in a constant motion, not all at once. And remember, it's not about how hard you push off the ground; it's about how you direct that energy."

The teenager nodded slowly, a spark of understanding in his eyes. He took a deep breath, focusing inward, trying to visualize his father's analogy. Homelander watched intently, his superhuman senses attuned to every minute change in his son's posture and muscle tension.

"All right," Greg said, determination lacing his voice. "Here goes nothing."

Homelander watched as Greg braced himself, his son's determination etched in every line of his body. The young boy's muscles tensed, a clear sign of his readiness. "Remember, think light, think swift,".

Greg nodded slowly.

With another deep breath, Greg took a step forward, this time more controlled. The ground beneath his feet held firm, no explosions of dirt and grass. He took another step, then another, gradually picking up speed. Homelander's smile broadened as he observed the change, his heart swelling with pride.

This time, instead of a chaotic explosion of force, there was a more controlled burst. He moved rapidly, a streak of blue and white that zipped across the field, kicking up a trail of dust.

"Yes, that's it!" Homelander called out, a broad smile spreading across his face. His heart swelled with pride, seeing his son finally getting the hang of it. He's learning to control his power, to channel it. Just like I did.

"That's it, Greg! You're getting it!" he encouraged, his voice booming across the empty field.

Greg's steps became more confident, his speed increasing, but still controlled. He was running now, truly running, his body a blur as he zipped back and forth across the field. Homelander's eyes tracked his son's every movement, a sense of awe filling him.

Greg slowed down, skidding to a stop half a mile away, his chest heaving from the exertion. "I did it, Dad!” he yelled back. “Did you see that?"

"I sure did!" Homelander replied, blurring over to his son as he tousled the boy’s head of messy, dirt-stained hair. "You were like a bullet, Greg. You're a natural."

His son’s face lit up with a wide, triumphant grin. "It felt amazing! Like I was flying, but on the ground!"

Homelander laughed, clapping Greg on the shoulder. "You're getting there. Soon you'll be outrunning bullets."

Greg's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Can I try again? I want to see how fast I can really go."

Homelander raised an eyebrow, thinking for a moment. "Alright, but let's keep it controlled. No need for any more craters in the field, right?"

Greg nodded eagerly, getting back into a runner’s position. This time, there was a noticeable difference in his stance. He seemed more relaxed, more confident.

"Focus on the horizon," Homelander instructed again. "Let your body do the work, but keep your mind in control."

Without waiting a single moment longer, Greg took off again, this time even faster, cheering at the top of his lungs as he moved faster than normal eyes could hope to track. 

Homelander watched, his superhuman vision tracking Greg's every move. He could see the precise moment Greg reached his peak speed, the air around him vibrating with energy.

Homelander couldn't help but feel a sense of déjà vu, memories of his own early days of discovering his powers flooding back. He's really doing it. My boy. With a smile on his face, John Benjamin Veder turned his gaze upwards and looked up at the sky as his son whooped in joy. Are you seeing this, old man?