Hughie only had one chemistry set growing up.It had never been his thing, that much at least.
Even still, he’d bothered his dad for one seventeen years ago and, a few months before his eleventh birthday, he’d gotten exactly that.
It had been fun, actually, for all of fifteen minutes before he spilled some rubbing alcohol all over the place and his whole room had smelled like isopropyl f- “Man, you gonna stand in the doorway all day, or what?”Hughie started, taking an unintended step further inside the master bedroom as the reek of melted plastic, rubbing alcohol and the bitterness of burnt skin became almost thick enough to taste. “I-”“Just come in and tell me how I look, beanpole.” Reggie didn’t bother opening his eyes, the speedster still propped up against a mountain of ridiculously expensive silk pillows. He was wrapped all over in thick white gauze, the bandages several layers thick over his bare chest and freshly changed for the day. One arm was wrapped tight from wrist all the way up to bicep, dressing already yellow-brown at the edges from whatever burn cream he’d been slathered in a half-dozen times over.
“You look…” Hughie licked his lips, struggling with whatever thoughts he could drag up, looking at the hero in front of him. It took long enough, but he finally found something that he knew Reggie would like. “I mean, you look like you lost an argument with a panini press.”“...Ha.” It wasn’t even a real laugh, eyes rolling back Hughie’s way as Reggie just shook his head. “That the best you got, lanklet? If you had said a George Foreman, that might have got me a lil.”“Tough talk for a half-wrapped mummy.” Hughie stepped forward again, edging in until he was at the foot of Reggie’s California King. Shifting his weight from one sneaker to the right, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets and shot the burned supe a smirk. “Don’t make me get Kimiko in here to cover your mouth too.”“Th-theeeere we go!” The laugh Reggie let out was undeniably real now and, from the looks of it, it seemed like it hurt. “That’s my Hughie.” The laughter came out louder, Hughie’s lips twitching as he felt the urge and instinct to join in with the supe. Why, he wasn’t exactly sure, but the tickle in his throat hadn’t really faded ever since Noir. “Hughie, this ain’t a wake. C’mon, you don’t gotta look so sad.” Reggie’s head tilted back against the pillows, a lazy grin pulling at the corner of his mouth like he hadn’t just survived a literal explosion three days ago. “I’m still breathing, my guy. Just a little… a little aggressive with the exfoliation, you feel?”“...” Hughie’s mouth went dry again, eyes open and staring at the still-healing speedster. “You fought Noir to save us, I… you took a bomb straight-on, Reggie.”
“One of Butcher’s shitty bombs.” Reggie clicked his tongue, one hand thrown up in the air. “And I’m still kickin’, baby. Vought may be evil, but they can build a motherfucker tough as hell. Give me three more days and a couple more protein shakes, and I’ll be running laps around your tall ass again, no sweat.”
"Right. Yeah. Protein shakes.” Hughie nodded slow. “I'll... I'll let MM know to put in a grocery order. It’s just…”“Just what, man?” Reggie shifted, hissing the second word through his teeth. “Spit it out.”
"Just you could've — I mean, you could've died.” He sighed out the words, nothing else to say but the honest truth. “Just, y'know. Putting that out… out there. As a thing that could've happened."
“Yeah.” Reggie said it with his eyes on the ceiling, away from Hughie; voice too flat and too cracked to even fit another joke in it. “Coulda. Didn’t, though. And Butcher’s dumb ass still walking around with all his fingers, so you still got that as a…” He huffed out an almost laugh. “I guess you could call it a silver lining.”Hughie let out a huff of his own. “I… I guess. Just wish I… I wanna say thanks for saving me again.”“It’s the job, man.” Reggie was still staring up at the ceiling. “Besides, I’m not gonna act like I ain’t see you stand up to Noir, man. You did that shit before I ever could. Never let anyone take that from you.”
"Right. Okay." Hughie nodded again, fingers picking at the drawstring of his hoodie. “I… just thanks, R-Reggie. For… for everything.” It was weird to say that, exchanging banter with a guy wearing the exact same face as the limited-edition action figure that used to sit on his desk.
The same face that had left him holding Robin’s hands.
But the guy behind that face wasn't that guy.
"Y-you’re a real hero, man." Hughie forced the words out, jaw tight. "No matter what Butcher says. He’s just… he doesn’t know anything.”
"Bro, please." Reggie’s eyes slid over to him again, lids halfway down as he waved his good hand. "I ain't trying to hear all that. You got places to be. Go scheme with the Anti-Supe Squad down there.”
“Reg-”“Just get downstairs, Hughie.” The supe clicked his tongue. “Before Mallory comes up here and I get old-lady stink in my room.”“She woul-” Hughie started, before simply nodding and backing out a mumble on his lips about checking in later as he pulled the door shut behind him.A sigh left him as it finally clicked, Hughie standing in the hallway of Reggie’s sprawling New Jersey mansion. The space around him was quiet, a sort of dead-air silence that came with places that were built with excessive square footage. Another sigh left him as Hughie trudged down the sweeping spiral stairs, ribs still aching a dull rhythm from the crash three days ago.
He hit the lower landing just as somebody else chose that moment to walk their way up — “Hey, man.” “Jee-sus.” Hughie breathed out, a hand pressed to his chest as he heard his heart loud in his ears. “Lamplighter, what are…”“Sorry, man.” Lamplighter paused in his path up the stairs, bloodshot eyes blinking at him as the supe stood there in a bathrobe that wasn’t quite tied right and nothing much else. One arm was loaded up with a stack of microwaved burritos pressed right against the supe’s mostly-bare chest, the heat coming off them enough for Hughie to feel at a distance. The smell of cheap pepperoni and stale body odor hit the air as he lumbered up, bare feet slapping the marble like this was his mansion. “Just… stocking up, y’know. Long night.”“Yeah, long night. Sure.” Hughie’s eyes trailed down to the vodka bottle hanging from two fingers as he stepped sideways, trying to squeeze past the guy. “Hey, hey, soup-man. That’s your name, right?” Lamplighter shifted his weight, blocking the top step with a grin on his face doing its best to look easy and falling to sleazy instead, a bag of pretzel rods wedged under his chin and threatening to slide free. Hughie froze at the landing. “What?”“Campbell?” Lamplighter raised an eyebrow his way as he shifted the food again. “Hughie Campbell, right?”
"Yeah." Hughie kept his feet moving in place, trying to find his way past the man. "Just... passing through."
"Yeah... listen." Lamplighter cleared his throat, the sound wet as a laugh slipped out of his mouth almost on reflex. "Hell of a job, man. Really."
“Wh-” Hughie stopped, feet stilling. "...what?"“The way you're giving it to Starlight?” The supe gave him a smirk, words half-slurring into each other. “Heard it, man. Good for you. Good for you. Living the dream, kid."
"Yeah... A wave of hot bile climbed straight up the back of Hughie’s throat, his teeth pressed tight together like that was gonna stop the rest of him from reacting." That's… that's not, that's a weird way to…”Hughie sucked in another pull of air through clenched teeth, another laugh that didn’t make sense bubbling up in his chest. “I… look, I'm not gonna talk about that with you, dude."
“Just saying." Lamplighter gave him a lazy shrug, burrito almost sliding free before the supe caught it against his wrist. "S'a compliment."
"Uh-huh. Thanks." He clipped out all three syllables, voice in the exact tone you used for things you didn’t mean and flat enough he could’ve slid it under a door. Without another word, Hughie slid past the man on the stairs and kept heading down before Lamplighter could continue the conversation. No way in the world I want relationship advice from a guy with a search history like that.
And one he pretty much advertised to anyone who would listen, too.
He almost shuddered, pushing all those thoughts and feelings back down as he finally made his way into the living room.
The main area of the house had the same hospital-like hum as Reggie’s room; low voices and the sounds of people pretending really hard that they weren’t still in pain. Kimiko sat cross-legged on the arm of the couch, back straight and looking like Noir hadn’t thrown her clean through a strip mall like a human cannonball seventy-two hours ago. Kenji sat next to her with hands still wrapped and splinted, though with far less gauze than a few days back, fingers moving little by little under all that dressing.
Butcher was busy pacing a deep groove into the rug, the man wearing one of those Hawaiian shirts he seemed to have an endless supply of. Seriously, where does he even get those things from?
That was a question for another day because as soon as Hughie sat back down on the couch, he found himself pulled back into the same argument from earlier in the morning — almost the exact same one. It was almost funny, even if the actual words were anything but.
"They have the perimeter.” Grace Mallory stood under the TV, the old woman managing to hold the room simply by being one of the three people present who wasn’t injured and the only one of those three that spoke any English. “Black Noir failed, and the fact that he even had the chance to fail means that Edgar is escalating. We’re looking at simply a matter of time before they start kicking in doors."
“Guys, I’m just saying they might not know…” Hughie bit out a sigh from his place next to Frenchie, the other man nursing a jaw swollen to the size of an orange as he cleaned a gun with the patience, practice and care of a surgeon. “They might not know we're here, right? We slipped the tail in Long Island and-”“And what, kid?” Mother’s Milk grunted, a fresh ice pack raised from the cooler sitting on the coffee table to meet his ribs. “And what, exactly?”“And they might not know about Reggie's place. That we’re here, I mean.” He looked around at all the gathered faces, hoping someone would finally see his point. “Just think about it. It’s been what… a whole three days? Even if they do know, they’re clearly not making a move because they can’t afford to risk it.”“What, you mean they’re scared of the junkie runner topside? Like they don’t got the patriotic cunt on speed-dial?” Butcher didn’t even look his way, a thick layer of bandages visible from under the man’s collar. “Try not to be a daft cunt, Hughie.”“Oh, yeah. That’s real rich coming from you. Daft, huh?” Hughie’s jaw set hard, the second part of Butcher’s insult sliding over him after so much time hearing it.
The old reflex was there, the instinct to duck with a sorry and let the alpha dog bark him back into the corner, but the memory of Noir and the C4 was still strong too; that along with the psychotic group suicide play Butcher had roped them all onto.
It was that second part that anchored his boots to the floor, enough heat in his chest to give his balls the ballast to keep him upright. “Says Mr. Kamikaze over here.”
“You…” Butcher’s thick neck cracked as he turned his head. “You wanna repeat that, lad?”“No, because you heard me.” Hughie’s voice went up half a register, the old reflex still there even as his words came out half a laugh; the pettiness of it all forcing free a giggle. “You strapped a fucking bomb to your chest three days ago, so maybe hold off on pretending you’re some tactical genius, yeah?”
Dark eyes, bruised with bags so big they were more like luggage, locked onto Hughie. "Like you had a better option, sunshine."
"I did! Literally." Hughie shot an arm high, a finger jabbing straight up towards the ceiling and aimed right toward the room he’d just come from. "Him. Capital H-I-M! He showed up! While you were busy trying to detonate yourself in a strip mall, I had the better option, Butcher, and it fucking worked!"
Frenchie snorted into the gun barrel he was swabbing, a possible death sentence if the thing wasn’t in several pieces. "Pardon."
Mother's Milk shifted his heavy weight, ice pack pressed to his ribs as he looked over at Butcher. "Kid’s got you there."
"You lot are a bunch of—"Hughie couldn’t help the laugh, several sets of eyes on him as he covered his mouth almost as quickly as it spilled free. “What? I’m just…” He shook his head, brushing off the weight of all the stares with an ease that was as surprising as the laughter. “He’s predictable, okay? Let me guess, Butcher, you were probably gonna call us a bunch of soft cunts, or weak cunts, or sopping cunts?”
Butcher scoffed back whatever it was he was going to say as he aimed a glare at a giggling Hughie, the British man’s teeth working the inside of his cheek like he was grinding glass between his back molars. “So, we’re trusting the Vought delivery boy to pull our pale arses out the fire every time the kitchen warms up?”“Pale?” “What do you mean?” Hughie snorted right past Mother Milk’s question, shoulders almost shaking as he tried to compare Butcher’s words to reality. “That’s literally what’s been happening since this all started. Kimiko saved us, Starlight saved us, Reggie saved us, Kenji saved us. When are we not getting our asses saved by supes, Butcher?”“Oh, brilliant.” The tall Brit growled back. “He’s fuckin’ turned you, like I knew you would. Losing your girl wasn’t enough. He’s got you suckin’ on his corporate di-”
“Enough.”The word dropped into the middle of the living room, both syllables holding all the force of a single gunshot as Mallory stepped forward.
"If the children are quite finished.” Despite the plural, those hard old eyes aimed themselves solely at Butcher, until the British man finally broke contact and looked at the floor. “I didn’t drive all the way out here to play referee to whatever dick-measuring contest this is.”Nobody argued that, least of all Butcher.
The battered leather satchel at Mallory’s side opened up in the silence, the old spook pulling out a manila folder stuffed to bursting. "Your new landlord has been surprisingly accommodating to all of us, despite your utter lack of discretion.” Hughie didn’t miss the way her attention slid to Kenji for all of a second, her jaw tightening every time she bothered to acknowledge his existence in the living space. “And he’s been even more helpful in debilitating Noir. Our intel has the silent sadist on a far worse recovery timeline than your fast friend. But right now, we have a bigger problem than that.”“Bigger than Noir tryin’ to have our guts for garters in a car park?” “Yes.” Mallory nodded at Butcher, the woman answering without so much as a breath. “And it all revolves around one of the newest of the Seven. Stormfront, or as she used to be known…”
She dropped the folder onto the coffee table, black-and-white photos spilling out of the folder for all to see. “Liberty.”
Hughie stepped closer, eyes wide open as he joined the rest in looking at all the documents and images splayed out in front of them; redacted police reports from the sixties, grainy poorly-lit shots of a woman in a hood and domino mask standing over bodies, and another of what looked like a wedding in front of a… a… “...she’s a fucking Nazi?!”
"From the very start, Marvin.” Mallory breathed, eyes closed for just a moment. “And I do mean from the start.”
"Mon Dieu…” Frenchie snatched up a document, eyes scanning the text as he jumped back to his feet with the weapons forgotten. “Zis is… Stormfront."“Stormfront. Liberty. And…” The former deputy-director sighed out loud. “From the eighties onward, Vought slapped her with the branding of Tempest. The woman’s a relic. A surviving piece of the original Nazi party and all that comes with it. Including being the first successful recipient of Compound V.”
It was almost too much to accept and Hughie still found it hard, even as he raised another document to his face.
"Born Klara Risinger." Hughie read out loud, hands shaking around a picture of a faded birth certificate. "Married to Frederick… Vought.” Oh shit. His eyes dropped down to the rest of the photos, the oversized swastikas, the smiling face in black-and-white from across the last century that was currently dominating the news cycle with millions of followers across social media; a younger, terrifyingly familiar woman standing next to men in SS uniforms. Oh shit.“CIA archives are a maze, if there ever was one. We compartmentalize our own lies for so long that it’s hard to know what leads where at this point." Mallory crossed her arms. “But I spent the last week leveraging some very old and very unpleasant favors. When you cross-reference CIA files with the internal communications we obtained from the Church of the Collective ... the picture becomes undeniable."
“...how? I mean… how?” The words stumbled their way out of his tongue. “She… she has a TikTok. She posts memes. She’s… she’s young.”"On the outside, maybe. It’s not unheard of for some supes to age slow.” MM’s rumble grew louder as the man leaned forward, eyes scanning the documents without ever touching a single one. "She’s been out in the streets hunting Black folks since World War II, just under different masks.."
"Exactly.” A pack of cigarettes found itself freed from Mallory’s front pocket, the old woman ignoring the fact that they were indoors. "And Vought is currently positioning a Nazi as the face of their response to the street supe crisis. You see where this is going?”
"Okay.” Hughie swallowed hard, another laugh almost forcing its way out before he tightened his vocal cords. "Okay, so we have the proof. We just... what, we leak it to the Times? We put it on Reddit? We drop a zip file online?"
"No." Mother’s Milk shut that down with a bass that had all eyes on him. "Vought controls the media cycle, kid. You put it on the web, they flag it and bag it before it can get out. Algorithmic manipulation. Russian bots.” Big fists clenched tight at the man’s sides. “We need her to bleed in public."
"Exactly.” A printed Vought-branded itinerary, glossy and neat, landed on the coffee table atop everything else; Stormfront’s face right next to Homelander on the brochure. "Both she and Homelander are headlining a live unedited town hall broadcast on VNN after the ‘Rojo’ hearing this week. Stormfront’s there to discuss Vought's new response to the 'street supe crisis'."
“Live?” Mother’s Milk looked up. “No five-second delay?”Mallory nodded back. “No censor sitting by to trim any unpleasantness.”
"So we hijack the feed.” Hughie’s mouth fell open as he looked around the room. "Put it on the screen while she's sitting right there on the stage."
“Oui.” Frenchie’s eyes lit up. "We rip ze mask off."
"Right in front of the whole bloody world," Butcher grinned, the expression spreading across his face in something that looked downright ugly. "Wellll, ain't that a lovely thought."