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cursesaway · 1 year ago

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In which my AU Homelander, John Gillman, serves justice in the bloodiest way that he can—at knifepoint.

This version of John is written on Twitter at NYCLetdown. He was not raised in a laboratory; instead, he was put into the custody of a pair of Vought employees and raised as if he was their son. He didn't have an amazing life, but it was still better than the main 'verse's.

Lawyerlander is an attorney for Vought International, dealing with cases of Supes fucking up, and has yet to lose.

Liam had been following Aurelia Lucius for weeks.

He knew of her from her blog, where she reported Vought's supposed crimes and rambled on about superhumans. She didn't think anyone should have powers, let alone random people with no oversight, and Liam had a gut feeling she would go to extreme lengths to deal with the problem.

Her opinions were certainly extreme enough: her hatred of supes was evident in every word. This was a woman who, if given the chance, would take down everything and everyone he held dear and she would revel in the slaughter.

The Godolkin University student recognized the danger in the former firefighter's rhetoric. She had to be one of those radical leftists he was told about, but nobody took his warnings seriously—not even the NYPD.

Oh, they were aware of this woman and her vitriol, but, as far as they knew, she wasn't capable of acting out. She was an angry disabled woman venting on the internet and she hadn't made any actionable threats—the NYPD didn't deal in thought crimes.

Even Vought considered her nothing more than a nuisance. His professors just shook their heads and told him not to take one human's shitty temper to heart.

But Liam couldn't ignore it. This woman knew Butcher and his terrorist cell! How did they know she wasn't one of them?

That thought was what made the young Supe choose to take matters into his own hands. It was better for him to deal with her himself than wait for this radical Supe-hater to proceed with whatever diabolical bullshit she had in store.

So he dedicated his spare time to studying Aurelia. He had to find out what she did when she wasn't playing keyboard warrior, even if it turned out to be a waste of valuable time.

Her routine was simple: every night around 10:00 pm, when most people were heading to bed, Aurelia went for a walk and bought a latte from a nearby coffee shop. She followed the same route every time. All Liam had to do was wait for her to get close, drag her into an alley, and snap her neck.

It wouldn't be hard for him to do. His powers of invisibility would keep him out of sight, and his superhuman strength would make overpowering her a piece of cake. Liam wasn't invincible like some Supes, but he could take way more of a beating than that flimsy woman.

The perfect night finally arrived two months after he started his hunt.

The young man stood in an alley on his quarry's route, invisible and silent, he watched intently for his target. Liam was a bundle of raw nerves. It was too late to change his mind. He had to do it quickly and leave.

But Liam didn't count on Lucius having a guardian angel—if one could call him that—who didn't need the power of invisibility to stalk, unnoticed, through New York's streets.

The young Supe didn't even hear the approach—there was suddenly an iron grip around the back of his neck and his face was slammed into the nearest brick wall, shattering his nose, cracking his cheekbones and eye sockets, and leaving him unconscious. Vulnerable.

Predator turned prey.

---

John Gillman, attorney at law for Vought International, had been observing Liam for months.

The older man had gained access to the back end of Leah's website years ago. He knew all about the threatening comments being left on her blog, and he knew precisely how to find the culprit. John managed to track the young Supe to a Bronx apartment where he lived alone, and he followed the lad's every move from his home to his school.

It was a game to John, but not to Liam, who grew obsessed with doing something about the "Supe-hating bitch" that he was stalking. Every moment the lawyer spent hunting the "invisible" Supe brought him the sort of satisfaction he could only get out of an especially juicy case—and he wasn't getting many of those.

John was most excited about the impending kill: Liam had no idea he was going to die. Only the other man knew, and it annoyed him just a little bit that the lad was so lacking in observation skills.

He never noticed the matte black Chrysler 300 that would sit outside his apartment at night, or the man in the suit that would loom on the sidewalk as he left school to head home. Hell, John had even initiated conversation with him once—asked his major and everything. Told him he was confident that the fellow would be the next Translucent.

It was funny to him, anyway.

That night, John only knew Liam's plan because the younger man was excited. It rubbed him the wrong way somehow, knowing that—and he could see his prey's heat signature even when he was invisible.

He could see everything: his accelerated heart rate, his increased blood pressure, that he was hard as the pavement beneath his bare feet.

Vought's most dangerous lawyer approached in silence. He grabbed hold of his target's neck and, in one smooth motion, slammed the lad's face into the bricks beside him with such force that he knocked him out in one blow.

And fractured his skull in multiple places, but he wasn't dead. No, he needed Liam alive.

"Just remember, kid: you made me do this."

There was a touch of disgust in his voice as he adjusted his black leather gloves, effortlessly scooped the man off the pavement, turned on his heels, and carried him back to his car.

Aurelia passed by five minutes later, completely unaware of what had just transpired—or how close she'd been to death.

---

"It's about fucking time you woke up."

Liam blinked owlishly and slowly raised his head toward the voice. He was cuffed to an uncomfortable metal chair. A single art nouveau light fixture hung from the glossy black ceiling, coating the room in a dull red glow.

That was all he could see; at best guess, even the walls and floor were black, like he was trapped in a shiny box.

His captor stood staring out at the city of New York, his back to his prisoner, watching the lights faintly twinkling in the streets below. There was something satisfying about the knowledge that, no matter what the other Supe did, he would never see the light of day again. He could dole out justice in his way—no court of law, no judge, and no jury to hold up the process.

"What's happening?" Liam asked, groaning. His head throbbed, especially whenever he moved. His reflection in the tiles beneath him was puffy and blurry, he couldn't see anything out of his left eye and what he could make out made him want to vomit.

"You know… you can't break out of those cuffs. You're strong, but you're not strong enough, especially in your condition. If your hands were cuffed in front of you and you didn't have a concussion… maybe."

John Gillman glanced over his shoulder at his prey and offered a crooked smile.

"Seems really unfair, doesn't it? You, with your powers, hunting down a woman that doesn't have any," he said as he turned toward the younger supe. John was casually playing with an old V-42 stiletto—a WWII-era combat knife, with a keen double-bladed edge—as he gazed upon his guest.

That crooked smile didn't match his eyes; they were cold and still, a country lake in the depths of winter just before it freezes over. Dark.

"She needs to be taught a lesson," Liam spat. He was in mortal danger. "That little bitch wants us all dead."

John spread his arms in a helpless gesture.

"Can you blame her? You read her blog, Liam. You know what she went through. You know how powerless she is. I suppose that's just the nature of bottom-feeders like you, isn't it? You try to hide your uselessness by creating threats where none exist. You want to be one of the big guys so badly, you choose to fuck over those that can't fight back."

He cocked his head as he regarded the younger Supe. Such wasted potential.

"I'm here to level the playing field."

John sneered, then, and brandished his knife.

"Now, be a good boy and scream for me."

---

Everything John ever did was meticulous: from the outfits he picked every morning to the car he owned, there was a rhyme and reason for everything. He was particular. Fussy, even.

The same applied to the way he killed.

Each cut, each jab, every insult hissed between clenched teeth, there was purpose to it. If he did this, he'd make up for the things he didn't or couldn't do. He'd right the wrongs of his employer. His keeper. His prison.

Every ounce of blood he teased out of his prey was payment for his failures.

There were many that weren't his fault—he just couldn't acknowledge that. It wasn't his fault that he wasn't born into the right family with the right powers. It wasn't his fault that, despite his accomplishments, he was a grand disappointment.

It wasn't his fault that he couldn't save his girlfriend when she needed him most. Ex-girlfriend. She made that clear when she woke up from the coma and he had to hand her Vought's offer. An offer he begged her to take. He could take care of her, look after everything, if she'd just agree to Vought's terms he could protect her.

But he failed at that, too.

---

By the time John was finished with his work, the younger supe was barely recognizable. He was slumped forward, every ounce of blood in his body pooled around his feet. Liam's killer stood before the corpse with his head tilted to one side, gazing absently at his work.

Pondering it.

With one gloved hand he broke Liam's handcuffs and shoved the body to the floor. This boy, partway through his studies at Godolkin, wasn't nearly as durable as Translucent—thankfully. That would have made his preferred method of slaughter very inconvenient.

John methodically began to cut the body apart, making several quick cuts that separated flesh and connective tissue from bone before grasping the offending parts and snapping them apart at the joints. Organs were simply dumped into a pile to be dealt with separately, the spine split into several pieces, ribs broken and set aside.

Bite-size pieces for crocodilian mouths.

He idly wondered what Leah would think if she knew the things he did for her. Would she be horrified? Would his coworkers? After all, this wasn't the man they knew—was it? He left strongly-worded letters and pushed through passive-aggressive behaviour.

"I'm still better," he pointed out to nobody in particular, while he cut into the muscle of the shoulder joint. "Somebody has to keep these people accountable. Why not me? I can't do anything about the other versions of me but I can deal with assholes like THIS guy."

He punctuated that statement by reefing the shoulder apart. Each piece was slid aside, spreading blood across the floor, but it didn't matter. That room would be spotless before he headed into work the next morning.

John was, after all, nothing if not particular.

#the boys au #lawyerlander #homelander #oc x canon #cw gore #cw violence #my writing #I'll add an icon to that blog one day

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