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waynes-multiverse · 24 days

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Rehab – Epilogue

Series Summary: Thanks to Soldier Boy, the CIA was able to develop Project Bloom under the fierce leadership of Grace Mallory: a final cure to Compound V and a hopeful end to the supe epidemic three years after the explosive incident at Vought. A secret rehab facility in Upstate New York is supposed to help former heroes find their way back to humanity. The catch, though? Soldier Boy has never fucking agreed to any of this shit and is surely not happy about being powerless for the first time in his goddamn long life.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female!Reader

Warnings: +18, language, some crack, a bit of fluff and angst, hard decisions, a lot of goodbyes & all the feels

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: We're here, babes! End of the road! Thank you guys so much for everything. This was a wild ride, and I'm glad I had you in my passenger's seat 💚

Feedback is my fuel 🖤

<< Chapter 8 || Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

Epilogue: twin flame

You’re gonna be nowhere The loneliest kind of lonely It may be rough goin’ Just to do your thing’s the hardest thing to do…

“Morning.” Y/N smiles brightly as he stirs and slowly wakes. “Wakey, wakey, sunshine.”

Blue eyes flutter open and fearfully widen, his brow scrunches in confusion as he looks around and scans his environment. He tries to wiggle free of the handcuffs around his wrists, keeping him tied to the metal bed frame.

Not that it matters – he can’t leave either way.

She turns off the radio with a blissful sigh. “You know, that was one of his favorite songs. Your father’s,” she clarifies. “He sang it all the time. It was fucking annoying.”

“Why the hell can’t I move? Get me the fuck out of here,” the man in a sky-blue hospital gown demands and lifts his head off the mattress, only a few inches, attempting to get up.

Needless to say, that attempt is futile and fails miserably.

“Don’t strain yourself, John, or you might shit the bed. And I ain’t cleaning that mess… You’ve been in a coma for three weeks,” Y/N tells him with an amused smile. “Oh, and you can’t move because you’re paralyzed from the waist down. I even doubt that meager dick’s still working.”

His nostrils flare and let out a huff. “It’s Homelander, you bitch. No one calls me by that name.”

“Yeah, not anymore.” Y/N twitches her shoulders in mock apology. Her mouth curves into a Machiavellian grin. “Scared yet?”

“Where the fuck am I?” he growls through gritted teeth, upset by her blatant disrespect.

“You’re at a rehab facility for former supes. I mean, it’s discontinued. Abandoned, really. It’s just you and me,” she replies flatly and then forces a customer-service smile to her lips. “So, guess I’ll be your nurse for the day. How are we doing, you–”

Her brow furrows as she tries to remember the exact words, pensively pursing her lips.

“Wait…” She holds up a finger to stop him from interrupting her as she fishes out a crumpled piece of paper from her jeans pocket. She squints her eyes in concentration as she skims over its content.

“Ah yes!” With a smile, she clears her throat and reads from her paper. “So, how are you doing, you bootlicking… carpet-munching… cockboy?”

Homelander frowns at the insults. Y/N does too, but for a different reason as she shakes her head.

“Jesus fucking Christ, your dad’s handwriting is an atrocity,” she mutters as she tilts her head with narrowed eyes at the paper in her hands.

The blond man’s eyes narrow in both shock and confusion. “How do you know my father?”

“Oh, uhm, I’m his wife,” Y/N says and smiles complacently. “Which technically makes me your step-mommy, but let’s not go there, you–… Wait.” She peeks once more at the paper in her hands. “You cumguzzling… cowfucking… cuck fluffer.” Her brow draws up, impressed. “Huh, nice. Little alliteration going on there. Guess all those books paid off…”

“Can we skip to the part where you tell me what the fuck you’re doing here?” Homelander snaps impatiently, annoyed with the shenanigans.

“Alright, your dad sent me here to, you know… gloat,” Y/N says simply and shrugs, flashing him an easy smile. “He wanted you to know that he’s the one that put you into this damn bed. Funnily enough, he once woke up in this very room, tied to a bed. Not in a kinky way, though. Although, he probably would’ve loved that…” She chuckles fondly. “This place really changed him, but I doubt it’ll do the same for you.”

“And why the fuck isn’t he here telling me this, huh?” John asks with a challenging look. “I didn’t reckon him for a fucking coward.”

Y/N’s facade cracks a little at his words, a vicious smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, he was not a coward. He was the bravest man I’ve ever known. He was and is a fucking hero and surely getting celebrated as one.”

Y/N leans back in her chair and grabs the remote from the bedside table, switching on the TV. A news report flickers across the screen. It’s a recording from a few weeks ago, but Homelander doesn’t know that. It shows a row of celebratory parades held all over the country. A statue of Soldier Boy is being erected next to the Statue of Liberty.

Homelander finally defeated. Soldier Boy dies a hero in fierce combat. America breathes a sigh of relief.

Homelander watches the news and reads the taglines as they scroll in front of his eyes. His mouth is agape in bewilderment before Y/N switches the television off again.

“Everyone loves him… and fucking hates you. Like spit-on-your-grave hate,” she summarizes and watches his face darken. She rises from her seat and smiles down at him. “Have a nice life chained to that bed till you rot to death, you dickfaced, inbred, garbage-eating fascist.”

With a wide smirk, she then leans down and whispers into his ear, “Those were my insults, by the way.”

“Well, he’s dead, and I’m fucking alive, which means I won,” Homelander snarls from the bed with a contrivedly triumphant sneer, rattling with his handcuffs. He’s close to an explosion, she can tell.

“Yeah, you’d be telling yourself that if it makes you feel better…”

With a roll of her eyes, Y/N turns her back. As she marches out of the room, Homelander’s furious screams of agony haunt the clinic’s empty hallways, but there is no one here to hear them anymore.

Project Bloom has been disbanded. There’s only a handful of CIA nurses left, tasked to take care of Homelander until his hopefully slow and painful death. If someone decides to hold a pillow over his head at any point, she supposes she wouldn’t be that mad about it either.

Homelander is history. Soldier Boy is dead. And Ben is at rest.

Finally, Y/N can leave this godforsaken place behind her.

Y/N slides into the driver’s seat of her Prius, her head falling back as she exhales a long, exhaustive breath and rubs her temples. That damn brat gave her a fucking migraine with his whiny bitching.

“Finally,” it huffs from the backseat. “Took you long enough. How the fuck did it go?”

Y/N blinks into the rearview mirror and catches a set of expectant green eyes. Her hand drops from her temples as she chuckles.

“Your handwriting is horrible,” she says as a response and pulls out the paper, pointing at a word. “What the hell is that one?”

Ben leans forward between the seats and squints his eyes. “Mmh, pube flosser,” he supplies and frowns. “You didn’t use that one?”

Y/N sighs. “I think he’s got the gist without it.”

“Yeah, but that was a good one,” Ben mumbles and sighs disappointedly. “Did you play him the song?”

“Yes, I did. I played him the song and did everything else you wanted me to do,” she confirms patiently. “You know, you’ve got a weird knack for torture.”

“Thank you. It’s a gift.” Ben blushes and adjusts his baseball cap. “Did you sell it properly? You know, acting is a skill. The most important thing is to–”

“Ben! For the love of God, shut up or I’ll run you over with my car,” Y/N snaps. If he gives her one more acting lesson, she swears she’ll turn herself a widow.

“Fine.” Ben scoffs and rolls his eyes back. “Did he fucking buy it?”

“Yup, he surely thinks you’re dead. Like the rest of the world,” Y/N says and shoots him a smile over her shoulder.

He matches it and scratches his shaved chin, letting himself fall back into the seat. “Good. So, we’re done, right?”

“Yeah, he was the last stop on our list,” she replies quietly, her smile mixing with sadness. “How’s the arm?”

“Good, good…” He nods, his head bobbing thoughtfully as he clutches the scar on his right bicep. “Healing nicely. Finally got a real war wound. Always wanted one.”

“Okay, then… Let’s go, I guess.” With a heavy swallow, Y/N turns the ignition and starts the car.

“You know, I’d really love to kiss you now,” Ben notes, heartache swinging in his voice, and finds her eyes in the rearview mirror.

Y/N bites down on her lip and nods. “Yeah, wouldn’t that be nice…”

Three weeks ago…

A guard gestures down the hallway to the restrooms, but as soon as Y/N rounds the corner and is out of sight, she takes a turn in the opposite direction.

The good thing about a super secret government facility that’s not supposed to exist is that it only comes with the necessary manpower. There’s no abundance of guards at every corner. It’s quiet and desolate.

Moreover, no one expects a silly and weak human to cause any trouble. It surely has its advantages to be constantly underestimated.

Y/N finds the lab she’s passed on their way in, where she spied a glass fridge with vials of different colors. It’s guarded, but only by one person. It’s sloppy, honestly.

A flirty ambush, a stab to the neck with a dull pocket knife, a stolen keycard, and she’s inside. She drags the body in, too, leaving no trace of her crime behind.

Her fingers rummage through differently labeled flasks. There’s plenty of blue and yellow, but not the poisonous green she’s looking for.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon…” she mutters to herself as she desperately searches every drawer, every goddamn cabinet of the laboratory.

Out of breath, she stops and grips her temples, shoulders slumping as her mind spins. She wants to curse and scream, but that would draw too much attention. She knows she’s running out of time. No one takes that long to fucking pee. Decisions have to be made quickly.

She grabs a blue vial.

Rolling down her sleeves, she walks nervously back into the control room. Neither Mallory nor Edgar pays her any mind. Everyone’s eyes are glued to Soldier Boy and Homelander. Father and son. It’s biblical.

It’s as if she isn’t even there.

Her veins twitch, her blood boils. It’s tingling in her fingertips.

“Little help would be fucking appreciated!” Ben yells as he wrangles with a defunct Homelander.

Stan Edgar’s smile. So vicious. So cold. So calculating.

She knows the air in the room is about to shift. Her hands ball into fists by her side, gather their energy.

He gives his command. She screams.

“No! That wasn’t the fucking deal!”

Edgar doesn’t even look at her fully. A sideways glance is all she’s worth. “Take her out, too.”

Mallory sees it first, her eyes widening when she realizes what’s going on. It’s too late to warn anyone, however, her cries for help unheard as the acid rots her throat.

Edgar and two guards are next, metal weapons melt and mix with a puddle of human soup on the ground. Then, she goes after the one that got away.

The third guard hurries inside the prison cell, but Y/N slips through the crack of the door before it slams shut. The first gunshot goes clean through Homelander’s spine, but the second is deterred and only strikes Ben’s arm as the guard bubbles to a pond, a hot spring in the concrete.

Ben clutches his bleeding wound with a hiss before his green eyes lock with hers. They widen, and it takes him a moment to make sense of it all.

“Y/N, what–”

He takes a step forward. She takes a step back.

“Don’t come near me,” she orders him with panic blinking in her eyes like a flashing alarm. Her chest rises and falls with every anxious breath.

He holds his palms up high, surrendering. “It’s okay.”

Ben carefully walks around her and steps over the bubbling human puddle on the floor. He peeks outside the door, purses his lips, and nods in impressed satisfaction.

“Those little blobs outside–”

Y/N bobs her head at his unfinished question. “Mallory and Edgar plus two guards,” she replies.

“Nice job.” He whistles lowly and shoots her a devilish grin, taking a step closer. “Gotta say, I’ve never been more turned on by you. I’m getting fucking hard.”

“Ben!” Y/N scolds and backs away from him until she’s pressed against the wall. “I told you, don’t touch me,” she warns him again.

Ben’s smile fades as he recognizes her fear. His features soften, the jokes disappear. “Hey, it’s alright. Twenty-four hours and you’ll be fine again. Just gotta get through it.”

Y/N shakes her head, tears welling in her eyes. Ben’s brow knits in confusion, his face stern.

“What-… Why are you shaking your head?”

A tear escapes and streaks her cheek. “It won’t go away in twenty-four hours,” she chokes out. “They were out of Temp V.”

Ben’s face drops at the realization. “No, no, no… Tell me you didn’t fucking do this!” he yells.

“They were going to kill you! What was I supposed to do?” Y/N explains tearfully.

“Die, Y/N! You were supposed to let me fucking die!” Ben’s jaw tightens as anger surges through his body.

“I didn’t let you die the first time! What made you think I would let you fucking die right now, huh?” Y/N cries through gritted teeth, her hands balling into fists. “Stop trying to kill yourself. You fucking promised me!”

Licking his lips, Ben swallows. He’s quiet, running a palm over his face while his mind races a mile a minute. “Okay… alright,” he says finally, his voice significantly calmer now. “Where did you get the Compound V from?”

“There’s a lab here,” she replies in the same calm manner.

“They got more?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Ben nods and finds her eyes. “Show me.”

Y/N presses her lips into a thin line, shaking her head once more. “No.”

His anger returns, nostrils flaring as his brow creases. “What d’you mean no?”

She swallows thickly. “Look, if you really wanna do this, then I won’t stop you,” she says, a pleading glimmer haunting her eyes. “But you finally got a chance. You can live the normal, boring life. You can go on road trips, see Mount Rushmore… I know you want to.”

Ben swipes his tongue over his teeth and averts his gaze. He pinches the bridge of his freckled nose, and Y/N can see that she’s right.

“I’m not even sure if I want powers,” she continues after a pause. “But at least this time it was my choice. And I don’t regret it if it means I got to save you, okay?”

When Ben finally looks at her, it breaks her heart. “I don’t wanna be alone.”

Y/N gives him a sad smile. “I know… And you won’t be. I promise.”

Their attention is then temporarily drawn to a groan on the ground. Y/N’s brow furrows as she looks at Homelander’s body and notices his fingers twitching.

“Is he still alive?”

“Looks like it,” Ben replies. But as Y/N gets ready to take care of the problem, he stops her, holding out his flat palm. “Wait, wait, wait… Judging by the wound, he’s gonna be a fucking vegetable. It’s a waste of a kill.” He then grins mischievously at her. “I’ve got a better fucking idea. The other question is: how the fuck do we get outta this place… alive?”

Y/N’s mouth opens, but she doesn’t have an answer aside from a helpless shrug for him. This is as far as she has planned. Actually, she hasn’t planned any of this at all.

“I might be able to help with that,” a woman’s voice sounds behind her.

Y/N’s eyes widen as she recognizes the newcomer, her mouth parting anew in both surprise and shock. Ben, on the other hand, furrows his brow and glares at the stranger as if she had just spoken Russian.

“Who the fuck are you?” Ben prompts and then leans closer to Y/N, whispering in her ear, “Kill her.”

Y/N frowns, but her eyes are glued to the young woman in front of her, the familiarity sinking in. “I can’t,” she grits through her teeth.

“Why the fuck not?” Ben asks now loud enough for everyone to hear, including their guest.

“Because I’m the president,” the woman replies, smiling complacently. “And an old friend.”

Ben’s brow creases even more. “President of what? Cunt-town?”

“The United States, Ben,” Y/N tells him flatly. If she could kick his leg right now, she would. Leave it to her husband to get them both killed.

“Wait, a skirt is president?” Ben arches an eyebrow and mutters, “No wonder this country’s going to shit…”

“Charming,” Victoria Neuman says with a small sigh, but seemingly unbothered by the old-school views. Much like Y/N, she ignores the comment and doesn’t take offense to it. “I can see why you married him,” she adds wryly, looking at Y/N.

“Technically, she wasn’t elected. She was Vice President till President Singer died… accidentally,” Y/N explains, knowing Ben only reads the paper for the sports section and the comic strip. She swallows the thick lump in her throat, her heart thrashing wildly in her chest.

“Ah, I know what that’s code for.” Ben smirks coolly. “Bold move. I can fucking respect that.”

“Yeah, God knows some old fuck’s approval is what I’m looking for,” Neuman taunts, the sarcasm dripping from her red-painted lips.

Ben’s face drops as a bit of anger bubbles up inside of him. That bitch is lucky he’s V-free. He forces a tight-lipped smile. “I’m just saying I would’ve done the same thing, okay?”

“No offense, but you’re too much of a moron for that,” Neuman replies dryly.

Ben’s nostrils flare as he grits, “Offense fucking taken.”

“Okay!” Y/N tries to cut the tension with a nervous chuckle, pushing herself between Neuman and Ben. “How about you just tell us what we have to do to get out of this one?”

“See? She’s smart,” Neuman says and smirks at Ben. “I’ve always liked you, Y/N. You know, when Stan and Grace told me their plan of getting you two involved, I warned them. But they just wouldn’t listen. Everyone always underestimates the orphan. I should know, and so do you. Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

“Yeah, guess we’re MVP, after all, Nadia,” Y/N says and makes it a point to emphasize her real name.

Victoria just smiles in response. “So, since you took care of two problems for me, one in here and one out there, I have a proposal for you.”

“What is it?” Y/N knows she’s really out of choices. Either she agrees, or Ben and her will spend the afterlife together.

“I need a new Chief of Staff. I want you to do it. You’re smart, driven, and I know you wanna change shit around here. You wanna make a difference? This is your chance,” Neuman proposes. “You can’t take the cure again. It’s going to kill you. Trust me, we’ve done studies, and the results are not pretty.”

Y/N thinks for a few breaths. “What about Ben?”

“I guess he can live. It’s not like he’s a threat to anyone,” Neuman says and almost sounds bored. “Hell, for all I care, we can even make Soldier Boy a reformed hero for dealing with Homelander. He dies heroically in battle and quietly lives out his retirement in fucking Florida or some shit. We get him a big fucking statue. It’s good publicity.”

Y/N shares a look with Ben. “What d’you think?”

Thoughtfully, Ben clicks his tongue. He supposes it’s the best deal they can get, and declining it would probably get them nowhere, although he hates everything about it.

Swallowing, the former supe nods. “Alright, let’s fucking do this,” he agrees and states his conditions, “But for the record, I’m not moving to shit-ass Florida. I want a nice lake house in Minnesota.”

Victoria rolls her eyes. “Fine, whatever. Minnesota it is.”

“You okay? You ready?” Y/N checks as Ben has made it up the stone steps and halts in front of the big, red door.

“I don’t know. You really think this is a good idea? I’m not sure I can do this,” Ben says and insecurely eyes the entrance.

“You’ll do great, alright?” Y/N smiles encouragingly. “I believe in you.”

“I don’t wanna do this alone. What if I fuck up?” Ben asks.

Amused, Y/N chuckles. “Oh, you’re for sure gonna fuck up.”

The green-eyed man scowls. “That’s fucking reassuring. Thanks.”

“Look, this way you won’t be alone. I’ll wire you money every month and check in as much as I can, alright? You can always call me. This isn’t the end,” Y/N soothes his worries. “Maybe one day there’s a cure that’ll work, and we can be together again for real.”

She forces a weak smile to her lips, although she doesn’t believe her own words. But as long as Ben believes them, it’s enough.

“Okay.” Ben nods and takes a deep breath – in through his nose and out through his mouth. “I think I’m ready now.”

“Good.” Y/N sends him a smile. “You thought of a new name yet?”

“I’m still marinating on it,” Ben grumbles.

“Well, marinate faster. I have to introduce you.”

As they enter the orphanage, Y/N checks them in at the reception and fills out all necessary forms. Ben taps his foot nervously and scratches the back of his neck as they wait before one of Y/N’s former colleagues walks in with a little boy in hand, who’s no older than five.

Ben tries to smile but isn’t sure if it looks creepy, so he stops and opts for a more neutral expression. Y/N, however, immediately kneels down to the young boy and smiles brightly at him. It causes Ben’s heart to ache. She deserved to have all of this, but instead, she gave it all up for him.

“Hey, Benny,” she greets the boy. “You ready to meet your new adoptive parent?”

The boy scrunches his brow in careful suspicion as he eyes his future father-to-be. “I guess so,” he says. “Is that him? He looks like he drives a fucking minivan and offers candy to kids. Are you sure he’s not a pedo, Ms. Y/N?”

Ben purses his lips, biting the insides of his cheeks. The initial smile was definitely a mistake. They’re not off to a good start.

Y/N presses her lips together to muffle her snort. “Yes, Benny, I’m sure,” she replies patiently. “He’s cool, trust me.”

“Fine, whatever.” The kid rolls his eyes. “As long as he’s not fucking vegan like Ms. Teresa. They’re the worst.”

“Ugh, agreed! Do I look like a fucking plant-shitter to you?” Ben asks the boy rhetorically.

“No, you look like a fucking pedo to me,” the boy retorts.

Ben grins broadly at Y/N. “I like the kid. I think I get what you mean now. I see the resemblance.”

“Well, great. Glad you two are hitting it off… I think,” Y/N says with a crinkled brow, although a part of her is doubting her idea. Honestly, it’s wild she’s trusting him with a child. A year ago she would’ve thought that it was insane. “Alright, uh, Benny, this is, uhm–”

“Sam,” Ben proudly introduces himself with his fake name and shakes the kid’s hand. He then notices Y/N’s strange look. “What?”

“Nothing, just… you don’t really strike me as a Sam. That’s all,” she tells him in a whisper-tone, shrugging.

“Oh, really? Well, I don’t give a fuck. I love it,” Ben quips, grinning rather smugly.

“Fine.” Y/N sighs. She turns back to little Ben with a smile. “You guys ready to hit the road?”

“Where are we going?” Benny asks curiously and promptly takes Ben’s hand, dragging the older man through the doors. He’s been waiting to get out of the orphanage for a while, the excitement of finally being able to leave visible in every step he takes.

It’s a fresh start for both of them.

“Uh, Mount Rushmore,” Ben answers.

“Cool! Can we get burgers on the way there? I’m starving.”

“Sure can, kid.”

Y/N can see Ben’s initial hesitance until he eventually accepts it and eases into the situation, holding the boy’s hand tightly. He helps the kid into the car, even puts the seatbelt on, and shuts the door behind him.

Her heart twinges as she watches the two, wishing she could go with them if things were different. However, she knows the risk is too big. She would never forgive herself if she hurt either of them. She doesn’t trust herself enough yet. Maybe someday she can.

“You okay?” Ben asks as he sees the unshed tears brimming in her eyes. He’d dreaded this day for the past few weeks, hoping she’d still change her mind. He hates that this is goodbye, but he supposes he has to set her free now.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Y/N says with a forced smile, but a tear escapes and rolls down her cheek.

“C’mere.”

Y/N protests as Ben slings his arms around her and pulls her flush against him, holding her tightly. He hasn’t touched her since that night, but he doesn’t care anymore. He presses his lips against hers and tastes her one last time.

Breathlessly, Y/N withdraws and sniffles. “Are you fucking insane? I could kill you.”

Ben simply smiles at her. “Hey, if I die kissing you, then that’s a fucking great way to go out. ‘Sides, insanity is contagious,” he quips and sends her a wink. “Thank you… for everything, you know?”

“You’re welcome,” she says quietly and swallows harshly as the tears fall freely now. Not every film has a happy ending. “I guess I’ve done my job as your sponsor. You’ve been successfully rehabilitated.”

Ben snorts. “If by that you mean I’m fucking boring and responsible now then yeah, you’ve done your job.”

“You won’t be bored for long. The kid’s already trying to hotwire the car,” Y/N tells him, laughing.

“Wha–” Ben spins around and points a warning finger at the boy. “Ay! Hands in your fucking lap!”

The kid raises his palms in surrender and yells, “Hurry the fuck up!”

With a shaking head, Ben turns back to her. “Gotta watch that kid like an eagle,” he mutters. He exhales a dreaded breath and licks his lips. “So, I guess this is goodbye, huh?”

Y/N smiles softly, the corners of her mouth reaching her dimples. “Maybe.”

Little Ben gets me every time 😂 Alright, now you may yell and complain, but I love this bittersweet ending 🥲 (But of course, you're welcome to send in requests. Whether it's deleted scenes, bonus shots of a potential future, or some fun Big Ben/Little Ben drabbles)

Thank you so much for reading, for your gifs and comments! It's so appreciated! Without them, this would only be half the fun 🤍

I'll announce future plans soon. The final five of Plastic Hearts will probably be next up. Get ready 'cause it's another wild one! 🌟

Everything Jensen: @alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey @deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies @agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @imsapphine @globetrotter28

Series Tags: @nancymcl @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @sparkydonugh

#rehab #soldier boy #the boys #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy reader insert #the boys reader insert #the boys x reader #the boys amazon #the boys season 3 #the boys fanfic #soldier boy fanfic

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waynes-multiverse · 1 year

Text

Rehab – Chapter 1

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female!Reader

Warnings: +18, language, angst, homophobic slurs & misogyny à la SB, hints of depression, tw: suicide attempt (not too graphic but pretty obvious)

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: What starts off fun turns dark quickly...

Feedback is my fuel 🖤

<< Prologue || Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

Chapter 1: maybe

“Hey, Derek.” Y/N smiles at one of the nurses as she approaches the reception and leans her elbows on the counter. “How’s the newbie doing?”

It’s been three days since Soldier Boy arrived at the pristine Upstate rehab facility, established by the CIA as Project Bloom and fully funded by the American government to counteract the “superhuman epidemic,” as they call it. Y/N, however, hasn’t seen him since then, the glorified superhero still voluntarily locking himself in his room.

“God, what a prick,” Derek huffs in annoyance and rolls his eyes. “He tried to bite me this morning and then called me a fucking pussy. He’s still not coming out of his room and refusing to eat. Apparently, he thinks going on a hunger strike will get him out of here sooner. I’m inclined to just let him rot in there and die.”

“Well, can you blame him? The food in here sucks,” Y/N jokes lightheartedly.

“Hey, you love the chef’s chocolate chip pancakes,” Derek counters, chuckling.

Y/N laughs, nodding. “Yeah, but it’s not Wednesday yet, is it? Mind if I take a shot?”

“Knock yourself out, girl,” Derek agrees to her proposal. “I need a break from this asshole, anyways.”

“Cool.” Y/N grins mischievously and wiggles her eyebrows. “Can I borrow your car?”

“Fine.” With a deep sigh, Derek fishes out the keys to his Prius from his uniform and throws them at her. “Get me the Happy Hero Meal, alright?”

“Duh.” Y/N winks with a smile, knowing his usual order by heart, and uses her chipped ID card to unlock the rehabilitation center’s doors before heading out.

Maybe she can get the fallen supe to come out with the right incentive.

Taking a deep breath, the sterile air of the clinic fills her lungs. She already misses the smell of fresh rain on green grass and fallen orange leaves outside and the peaceful pitter-patter of small streams that wind themselves through the Catskills. Upstate New York is always the most beautiful in fall, and Y/N considers herself blessed that she’s one of the only patients who’s allowed to leave the facility whenever she wants and is lucky enough to enjoy the outside world for a little while.

Her knuckles softly tap the white door of Room 11, her eyes looking inside the small glass window to see if her new sponsee is anywhere to be found. The bed is empty, as is the rest of the space, but when she hoists herself up on her tiptoes and peers down a bit more, she spies the toes of two socked feet and knows he’s leaning directly against the door, sitting on the cold linoleum.

“Soldier Boy?” Y/N checks carefully, foregoing the use of his real name. Some newcomers don’t like that and want to hold onto their former identity for as long as possible. The greatest superhero on Earth certainly seems to fit that category. “Hey, uh, look, I’m not a nurse or a doctor. I’m a patient here like you, okay? You know, I heard you weren’t eating, and honestly? I can’t blame you. The food in here fucking sucks ass. Chef Matt is an awful cook. His chocolate chip pancakes are pretty decent, though,” she chuckles, hoping to lighten the mood, although there’s still no sound coming from behind the door. “But, uhm, I pulled a few strings and got you something from Vought-a-Burger?”

There’s still no answer coming, so Y/N starts to rustle with the brown paper bag, opening it up enough for the smell of greasy fast food to flow out and find its way to his nose through the thin crack between the door and the floor. She then pulls out a cheeseburger, unwraps it, and takes a big bite from it.

“God, this is good,” she moans loudly, mouth half-full. It’s not even a lie. “You know, sometimes I think a good cheeseburger is better than climaxing. I mean, this feels pretty orgasmic.”

An amused snort can be heard through the thick door, and Y/N’s lips draw a triumphant smile. She’s got him – hook, line, and fucking sinker.

“I’m Y/N, by the way,” she introduces herself, hoping it breaks the ice a little more. “I-, uh, I’ll leave the bag in front of your door, so you can just grab it when I’ve left and lock yourself back in again, alright?”

As Y/N ducks down to place the brown paper bag on the ground, the door abruptly opens a crack and a head peeks through it. She looks up, and their eyes meet. He seems wary of her, but granted, so does she, neither of them sure if they can trust one another. Two lone wolves meeting in the wild.

“Oh, uhm,” she splutters, not expecting he’d actually dare to show himself so soon.

“Are you eating my fucking burger?”

Y/N giggles and straightens on her feet, the top of her bun barely reaching his broad chest as he towers in front of her like the goddamn Rockies. “No, uh, that’s mine, buddy. But there’s four more in there for you,” she says and holds the bag out for him. He observes it reluctantly as if she might’ve poisoned it. God, that guy is paranoid.

“Fries?”

“Duh, of course. I’m not a monster,” Y/N sasses and adds with a smile, “Even got you a chocolate milkshake, so you can dunk.” She then watches him gruffly nod his approval before accepting the bag. “Mind if I come in and join you for a while?”

“Are you gonna talk as much as you have?”

“Oh, I don’t have to talk at all unless you want me to.” She shrugs innocently and casually stuffs a fry into her mouth. “‘Sides, what are you so scared of, big guy? Don’t tell me you’re terrified of a small girl like me. Powers or not, you could probably still crush me with one hand, right? I mean, look at those muscles on your arms… Like, wow.”

Soldier Boy pensively smacks his lips and clicks his tongue, his cheeks blushing the faintest color of red underneath the unkempt beard. “Alright, get in,” he grunts and holds the door open wider for her, glancing down the hallway before quickly closing it behind her again once she has slipped inside. “No fucking chit-chat, though.”

“Fine by me,” Y/N snorts her amusement and raises both palms in surrender. She drops down on the bed with a blissful sigh and makes herself as comfortable as possible, crossing her legs on the bare mattress. He’s not allowed to have sheets and pillows yet, problematic newbies usually being a suicide risk, and just by looking at him, she can tell he definitely seems somewhat depressed over his current circumstance. Who could blame him, though?

Wordlessly, Soldier Boy eventually settles back on the ground, leaning his back against the bed frame directly underneath her spot this time. A gesture that she finds quite odd. A lot of things are strange about him, in fact. Usually, it takes a while before new arrivals start to trust people here, and it isn’t abnormal that they keep their distance. Frankly, he seems quite lonely and in need of some company but still acts too proud to actively seek it. She was the same when she first came here, too – touch-starved, abandoned, and forgotten.

Y/N then spends the rest of her stay quietly eating her burger and playing Candy Crush on her phone, ignoring his curious glances from time to time as best as she can. She knows he doesn’t want her to know that he’s staring, so she lets him believe that she doesn’t. When twilight filters in through the window and dips the silent room midnight blue, she stretches her tired limbs with a big yawn and rises from the bed, sauntering back to the door.

“Where are you going?”

His deep, husky voice startles her, causing her to halt in her fluffy slippers. She hasn’t expected him to speak or even mind if she left. After all, he hasn’t spoken a word to her for over two hours. “Uhm, just going back to my room. Why?”

His Adam’s apple bobs with a thick swallow as his left shoulder twitches upward. “Figured we could hang out more.”

“Nah, sorry. My show’s about to start,” Y/N purposely rejects his offer, although it’s truthfully just a rewatch of X-Files she’s ditching him for. To reel him in, she sends him a sweet as pie smile. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast, though. You should come. It’s Wednesday, which means pancakes.”

With chapped lips curled into a pout, there’s a slight nod of his head in acknowledgment before she leaves his room and closes the door behind her, smiling to herself. She’s got him exactly where she wants him.

Maybe he’ll show.

The next morning, Y/N sits in the cafeteria in her usual spot by the wall-to-ceiling, sun-flooded window, the clinic’s park outside in full golden bloom, maple trees painted yellow, orange, and red. As she’s poking away at her pancakes, her current choice of literature is propped open next to her plate, although she’s barely concentrating on the words on the page, her eyes curiously darting to the corridor that leads to the bedrooms every couple of seconds.

Will he show up?

And then, an hour before breakfast is officially over, Y/N finally spies him stalking down the hall, insecure juniper eyes warily observing his new surroundings like an antelope carefully stalking through the savannah, watchful of hungry lions hidden in the tall grass.

She fully focuses on her book and food then, observing him inconspicuously from her periphery and trying not to smile as he behaves like a shy toddler on their first day of kindergarten. Pausing for a minute by the cafeteria doorway, he then straightens his sturdy shoulders and, with a brave swallow, grabs a teal tray, marching over to the counter with feigned confidence.

Good boy, Y/N thinks and chuckles inwardly. She’s happy there’s still a bit of a soldier left in him, albeit he’s never truly been much of one, to begin with.

Soon enough, a tall and wide shadow casts over her table and steals her sunshine like an approaching thundercloud, and while he clearly expects her to look up and notice him, she pretends that she doesn’t until he simply takes a seat across from her and obnoxiously clears his throat in an attempt to catch her attention.

That’s when Y/N decides to lift her head from her book and acts her surprise. “Oh, hey, Soldier Boy… You’ve made it,” she says, smiling, and then instantly turns back to her book, hearing him grumble some muffled swears under his breath.

“I’m Ben,” he states with a forced smile, surely expecting a welcoming parade among words of flattery and sheer admiration. Maybe she should fall to her knees and kiss the ground he walks on?

“I know,” Y/N replies with indifference, pretending the book is still more interesting than the company across from her.

Giving up for the moment, Ben then starts to take bites of his pancakes, Y/N feeling his emerald eyes constantly fixed on her, and yet, she still ignores him as best as she can. It’s honestly not as easy as it sounds. While he might be a racist, sexist asshole and a vicious, coldhearted killer, he admittedly is pleasing to look at. No wonder the guy used to be a major womanizer back in the day. The sparkling forest green eyes, the golden freckles on his tanned skin, the muscles that clad his body, the light brown locks that fall into his face, and the bearded, well-defined jaw would surely make a lot of women’s knees weak.

It’s a shame his personality sucks, but Y/N also knows that Compound V, and Vought especially, have a habit of causing people to forget their own humanity, turning them into divine beasts instead. And if anything, Soldier Boy was the very first lab rat, after all – kind of like her. Only time will tell what really lies beneath the hardened shell now that the suit and superpowers are gone.

“You were right, doll. The pancakes are decent enough,” Ben mentions, clearing his throat once more, and Y/N wonders how many times he’ll actually try to earn her heed.

“Told you.”

“What do they serve tomorrow?”

“Well, I hope you like runny scrambled eggs that share the consistency of fucking diarrhea,” Y/N snorts a giggle, hearing him laugh softly, too.

“I don’t,” Ben chuckles and licks his plush lips, his stare intensifying. “But you said you pulled some strings to get me burgers, right? Think you can do that again?”

Y/N briefly glances up from her literature to lift an amused eyebrow. “We’ll see,” she shrugs, the mischief gleaming in her eyes and smile, “Depends on how many favors you wanna owe me.”

Pursing his plump lips, his head bobs as he suppresses a laugh. “You’re spunky. I like that. I’m sure we could come to some sort of a… deal, doll,” Ben notes, the baritone voice laced with a hint of flirtation as his mossy green eyes show a newfound hunger – but certainly not for the food on his plate.

“You wish,” Y/N laughs and is even a little surprised to see her rejection doesn’t bother him all that much.

“Alright, your loss,” he relents and swallows lightly, wiping his palms on his thighs under the table. “So, uh, can you just tell me something?”

“Uhm, sure, I guess so.” She nods encouragingly, noticing his change in demeanor, sadness and fear suddenly festering in his orbs.

“How long was I-…” Ben stops, swallows thicker this time, and then tries again, “What-, uhm, what year is it? How long did they put me in that fucking box again?”

Y/N stumps, not expecting that sort of question, and a bit of anger bubbles up inside her chest. She figured the CIA had at least briefed him before throwing him in here. “Oh, uh… not that long,” she shares, sending him a reassuring smile, “Three years. It’s 2025. You haven’t missed that much, except for a few bad movies and even more awful reality TV shows.”

Fucking Mallory… Not telling him after what he’s already been through in Russia just seems downright cruel.

“And apparently, a cure for Compound V,” the infamous hero adds with a joking huff. “So, uhm, what do people do around here all day for some fucking fun?” he inquires and then mutters bitterly, “Except for not trying to fucking hang themselves…”

Y/N chortles at his obvious abhorrence for the clinic. “Well, most patients here go to therapy, group or single,” she informs him. “But I already know you’re not ready for that yet.”

“Try fucking never,” he scoffs his repulsion for mental health.

“Otherwise, there’s, uh, board games, a library, movies and TV shows in the common room... Couple of months ago, we even got a VoughtPlay 5 and some cool video games. There’s also a gym, which you’re not allowed in yet, by the way. And well, there’s even a spa with a pool and an arts and crafts room,” she tells him patiently without looking up from her book, aware neither of those things will pique his interest in the slightest. “I doubt they’ll give you access to scissors right now, though. But hey, there’s still glue and glitter.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“Nope.”

“Why doesn’t that fucking bitch just fucking kill me,” he murmurs under his breath and stabs his pancake with his fork, his jaw locking tight with resentment.

“Who? Grace Mallory?” Y/N checks and finally meets his gaze, having noticed some tension between them when they dropped him off, although she’s not sure if he isn’t just simply blaming the CIA agent for his current status. “No love lost between you two, huh?”

Soldier Boy scoffs darkly, “Yeah, you could say that. That dyke’s still bitter I turned her down for a fuck in the 80s.”

Y/N purses her lips, now wishing he hadn’t opened his mouth at all. “Yeah, uh-huh, why don’t I quite believe you…”

His brow forms angry v-shaped creases at her response, his knuckles turning white around the cutlery in his large fist. “Are you calling me a fucking liar?”

“Kinda the essence of my statement, yes.”

His upper lip twitches in offense, averting his glare to the view outside the clear window. “You’re fucking one of them, aren’t you?”

“Who? A lesbian?” Y/N arches an eyebrow and laughs. “Yo gramps, just because a woman doesn’t wanna ride your wrinkly dick doesn’t make her gay. It just makes her smart.”

“You fucking stupid cunt,” he snaps, nostrils flaring as he brews up a storm in his chest and shows her the monster that slumbers within. She knew it was just a matter of time till it reared its ugly head. “You know, you should be grateful someone like me is even talking to someone as pathetic as you at all. No man would wanna fuck you anyway, princess. You ain’t that fucking pretty.”

“Ouch… Oh no, please don’t hurt my feelings,” Y/N mocks with a sarcastic pout, laughing, and grabs her empty tray, rising from her chair. “I can already see you’re gonna make a lot of friends here. Man, I bet the people in your life always hated you… Guess what? There’s a reason for that. No wonder your own ex and your so-called team sold you out to the fucking Russians,” she huffs harshly, turning to leave. “Now, excuse me. I don’t wanna be late for my backgammon date. Unlike you, people actually like me and are not just pretending to outta fear. Which, by the way, you don’t have that leverage anymore either, so truly good luck. Have fun being alone for the rest of your miserable life, you fucking wimp.”

Maybe he’s just a fucking asshole, a hopeless basket case, after all.

It’s late at night, the full moon standing high and beaming in through her bedroom window when Y/N reaches the last few pages of Virginia Woolf’s To The Lighthouse. Her mind, however, constantly wanders back to Soldier Boy. She knows she overstepped and crossed a line, getting unnecessarily angry with him. She should’ve resisted the urge to stoop to his level. After all, what kind of person does that make her? Who would start an argument with a 106-year-old grandpa? Of course, his views would be bigoted and outdated. It’s like picking a fight with a grave, just screaming meaningless words at a cold headstone.

‘No, she thought, one could say nothing to nobody. The urgency of the moment always missed its mark. Words fluttered sideways and struck the object inches too low.’ – Virginia Woolf.

There’s a reason patience is considered a virtue, and unfortunately, Y/N has always possessed very little of it since she was a child. Blame it on the years of abuse and mistrust she’s suffered. Her defense mechanism is probably as strong as the former hero’s, her heart guarded by razor-sharp barbed wire. She knows all too well that change takes time, and Ben is admittedly experiencing a lot of that right now and really going through it.

For how long has he been a supe? An adored celebrity? An icon? How long has he relied on his powers, his strength, his stamina, and the fact that no one and nothing could hurt him? God, it’s been probably more than 80 years at this point, and while Y/N once had powers of her own, she can barely imagine what that must feel like – to lose something you’ve had and loved for decades and then be reduced to nothing and no one. She never wanted her own abilities to begin with, but Ben did. He chose that life willingly, just like she chose to have a life without.

Moreover, no one in this facility here is innocent. They’re all assholes, addicts, thieves, rapists, and murderers. They’ve all done things they shouldn’t have, made unforgivable mistakes, crossed too many lines, or lived recklessly without regard for others. That’s why they ended up here in the first place. They’re all guilty of something. Every single one of them, including her.

Sighing deeply, Y/N gets off the bed and slips her bare feet into her fluffy slippers. Maybe she should’ve listened to Mallory when that woman told her she’d have her work cut out for herself with this moronic bastard. Maybe she shouldn’t care this much. Maybe she should be the bigger person and take the high road. Maybe he’s wrong and old, but that doesn’t make her right, either. Maybe she should apologize, albeit she doesn’t really mean it.

One minute, two seconds, and three knocks later, she’s waiting for an answer by his door. She takes four deep breaths; it’s still silent. She tries five more times before pulling out her phone, turning the flashlight on, and shining it through the small glass cut-out for six anxious heartbeats.

Orange pill bottle. Pair of scissors. Pool of blood. Maybe he’s gone before she even counts to ten.

Chapter 2: papercuts

Welp, see ya! Happy Easter, folks ✌️🐰 *sneaks off to safehouse*

Tag Lists:

Everything J (Prologue & Chapter 1 only): @extraterrestriali @this-is-me19 @writercole @awkward-and-indecisive @eevvvaa @panicking-outside-the-disco @globetrotter28 @imherefordeanandbones @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior @xlynnbbyx @jassackles @maggiegirl17 @perpetualabsurdity @deans-spinster-witch @deandreamernp @foxyjwls007 @roseblue373 @lyarr24 @deanwanddamons @deanwithscissors @mrsjenniferwinchester @justrealizedimmascifygurl @akshi8278 @flamencodiva @chriszgirl92 @wittyboldsoul @djs8891 @leigh70 @snowlovespie @b3autyfuldisast3r @ladysparkles78 @muhahaha303 @mimaria420 @creepzeyecandy @iamsapphine

Rehab Series: @eevvvaa @deans-spinster-witch @iamsapphine @jessjad @suckitands33 @ladysparkles78 @spalady26 @zepskies @syrma-sensei @muchamusedaboutnothing @deansbbyx @stoneyggirl2 @zannemes @foxyjwls007

Note: Wanna be on the series tag and don’t see yourself yet? Lemme know! Everything J won’t be tagged anymore after Chapter 1.

#rehab #soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy series #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy fic #soldier boy fanfic #soldier boy reader insert #the boys fanfiction #the boys #the boys tv #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy x #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x y/n

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