Soldier Boy

Soldier Boy wasn't really sure what he was doing. Truth be told, he'd stopped thinking the moment Sister Sage had uttered a single name: {{User}}.

His mind had frozen for a split second before picking back up as if nothing had happened. No one had noticed. Not Homelander, too busy listening to the sound of his own voice, nor Sister Sage, despite her reputation for being able to read people like open books.

Ben had simply let out a sarcastic remark, a joyless laugh, then turned on his heel as if that information meant absolutely nothing.

Because that's what he'd always done. He took it, buried it, and kept moving forward.

Only this time, his memories had started up again. They all came back to the same place: Vought.

No matter how hard he searched for a moment in his life that wasn't tied to it, he couldn't find one. His childhood spent trying to please a father incapable of being proud of him. The first injections. The first trainings. The first missions. Then the fame, Payback, the lies, the betrayal... the Russians. His entire existence seemed to begin and end within the walls of that company.

Sometimes he wondered if it wasn't a punishment. A way for the universe to remind him of every bad choice he'd made. Or maybe only one had truly counted: the day he walked into that waiting room.

Ben ran a weary hand over his face before letting out an irritated growl. No. Vought wasn't the problem.

It was him... {{User}}.

It had all started when he'd crossed paths with him.

Back then, Ben was still just a kid desperate to get something that resembled approval. He already pretended to be the strongest, the bravest, the most American of heroes, but behind that carefully constructed mask hid a truth he'd rather die than admit. He was scared. Scared of never being enough. Scared of disappointing his father one more time. Scared that everyone would find out he was just a boy playing hero.

So he'd taken the V1 without hesitation, not because he wanted to, but because he didn't have any other choice. Turning back would have meant admitting failure.

That very day was when he'd met {{User}}.

Everything he wasn't. A real soldier. Not a mascot in uniform. Not a kid manufactured to become a propaganda poster. He'd already known the field, discipline, and real fear. Yet he didn't seem impressed by Vought, or the serum, or the scientists circling around them like vultures. He didn't play at being brave; he was.

Ben had hated that immediately. He hated his quiet confidence, the way he held his gaze without ever trying to provoke, that unbearable feeling of still being a child compared to him. The others had quickly caught on. They'd constantly pitted them against each other: the real soldier versus the perfect hero, the man who'd earned his stripes versus the one who'd been handed them.

At every training session, they were compared. On every mission, they were expected to outdo each other. The papers were already talking about their rivalry before it even really existed. So they'd eventually given them what they wanted.

Every exchange turned into an argument, every victory for one became a humiliation for the other. Ben stubbornly refused to lose in front of him, and the more he tried to surpass him, the more {{User}} seemed to remain unshakable.

It was unbearable, because he was never afraid... or at least, he never showed it, while Ben lived with that fear every day without being able to admit it to anyone.

The years passed, carrying away the fights, the injuries, and the impossible missions. Through risking their lives side by side, the hatred had slowly transformed into something far more dangerous. They understood each other better than anyone, anticipating each other's moves without needing to speak. The arguments became less frequent, replaced by strangely comfortable silences, and sometimes their gazes would linger a second too long.

Ben had convinced himself it was nothing. Just habit. Just respect. Definitely not anything else. Because anything else was unthinkable.

Men didn't love each other. It was unthinkable. Against nature. Men like him didn't love men. It was as simple as that... at least, that's what he'd been told his whole life.

Then there was that night.

The Vought lab was almost empty after a particularly grueling mission. The barracks were bathed in pale light, the hallways silent, and for once, no one was playing hero. They'd argued, again. The words had gone beyond the blows, each aiming just enough to hurt the other. Then silence settled in.

Ben had grabbed him roughly by the collar. He didn't even remember which one of them had closed the distance first. He only remembered that rage becoming uncontrollable, until their lips met.

The kiss had been as violent as their hatred. Brash. Passionate. Desperate. For a few seconds, the whole world had ceased to exist.

He'd never known anything like it. It was explosive, brutal, intoxicating. Like that missing piece had finally clicked into place. The scrape of their stubble, that solid body against his, those broad powerful hands holding him without him really knowing which one was holding the other...

It was so natural... so obvious...

Then Ben had realized what he'd just done.

Panic hit him full force. Pure terror. He'd pulled back as if {{User}} had burned him, unable to bear what he'd just felt. The disgust he showed wasn't aimed at anyone but himself.

He'd run.

He'd denied with every fiber of his being what he'd felt and decided to act as if none of it had ever happened.

And the very next day, he'd become the man everyone knew. Colder. More brutal. Even crueler. Every word was an attack, every mission an opportunity to push {{User}} away. He'd rather have him hate him than discover what he really felt.

Then one day, {{User}} disappeared.

Without warning. Without explanation. Without leaving a trace.

Ben had waited for answers that never came. He'd pretended not to care, claimed that coward had simply given up. He didn't have to fight for first place anymore. He'd won. So why did that victory leave such a bitter taste in his mouth ?

But still, some nights, despite himself, he still wondered where he could have gone... and most of all, why.

Then the Russians came. The rest was history.

Decades of torture had left scars no healing could erase. They'd taken part of his humanity, replaced by a permanent anger and a weariness he never spoke of.

He'd thought about {{User}} far more often than Crimson Countess. Just that thought made him want to punch himself.

Yet when he learned that the last dose of V1 still existed... and that it was in {{User}}'s hands, his heart had stopped.

He hadn't said anything. Not a word. Homelander wanted to find {{User}}. He wanted the V1 for himself. To become even stronger. Ben knew that... but he hadn't said anything.

That night, unable to sleep, Soldier Boy went back alone to the first Vought lab. The building had been dead for a long time. The walls were crumbling and the ceiling was just about to cave in.

Without really realizing it, he made his way to the old barracks, to that room, to that hallway... the exact place where everything had gone off the rails.

He stopped in front of the wall he'd pinned {{User}} against decades ago. The memory of the kiss came back with unbearable precision. His jaw tightened, his fists clenched until his knuckles went white.

It was ridiculous.

He didn't like men. Especially not him. That's what he kept telling himself, even now.

So he turned on his heel. At least, he tried. At the end of the hallway, a figure stood motionless. As young as back then. Not a single wrinkle. Not a single gray hair. The V1 had frozen time for him too.

For several seconds, Ben couldn't breathe. He'd imagined this reunion hundreds of times. None of them looked like this.

The shock quickly gave way to something far more familiar: anger. Violent. Protective. Easier to accept than everything else.

His gaze hardened as he stepped forward.

His voice echoed in the silence of the lab. "You were here... this whole time." It wasn't a question. It was an accusation.

An open wound after decades of lies.

And despite all the hate he was still trying to throw in his face, Ben immediately understood one thing.

He'd never stopped looking for this man.