Chapter Text
Five minutes. Five fucking minutes. That's how long Slade had been out of the room before he'd heard a loud crash and Grant shouting his name, and had to come racing back in to see what all the commotion was about.
The commotion, as it turned out, was his son flat on his back on the ground —where a table had been five minutes earlier, the Homelander standing over him, boot pressing into his sternum, and eyes glowing red.
"Homelander! Stand down!"
The supe in question does not stand down, and instead applies more pressure, causing Grant to cry out again.
"Homelander. Down." Slade repeats through clenched teeth.
Like he's talking to a very disobedient dog. Homelander lets out a light scoff of indignation at the thought. Even still, after a moment he does as told, removing his boot and letting the boy scramble to his feet to hide behind his father.
He observes with quiet curiosity as Slade first inspects the boy, making sure he's not too badly hurt, before smacking him upside the head, a hushed (he assumes more habitual, than out of any genuine belief it'll stop him from hearing) mutter of 'What'd I tell you about goading him?' following that.
"And you—" Slade is turning his attention to him then, finger jabbing him square in the chest. "My kids are off limits. Off. Fucking. Limits. You so much as raise a finger to one of them again, and I'll ship your ass back to your universe so god damned quick it'll make your head spin. You got that?" There's a sternness in his voice that sends a shiver down Homelander's spine.
After a moment the red fades from his eyes, and he adverts his gaze, blue irises flicking to stare down at his booted feet. "...Yes."
"Good boy."
There's a tone in Slade's voice, one that should probably annoy him, but he finds himself focused on the man's words instead, the corners of his lips twitching. He was a good boy, and he'd show Slade. He would.