Interlude- Side Pov (Bucky, Fury and Widow)

Young Natasha Romanoff sat quietly in a room at the Washington base of The Frontline , her eyes fixed on the screen in front of her.

Homelander's interview played, his imposing figure filling the screen, speaking with that same demeanor she had come to admire.

Her younger sister, Yelena, was fast asleep on her lap, her head nestled comfortably as the hum of the television filled the space around them.

It was hard to believe this was real—being here, being free.

Just months ago, they were nothing but tools, weapons under the control of the Red Room.

Natasha had thought they were simply trading one cage for another when Homelander had appeared and taken them to his group.

She had braced herself for a new kind of control.

But everything changed when Black Noir and the Winter Soldier—came to them.

They had explained the situation, told them they were no longer enslaved, that Homelander had intervened.

Now, they were given choices.

The young ones, like Yelena, would be trained but sent to Vought academies, places where they could grow, learn, and maybe, for once, live like normal kids.

Natasha herself, older and more seasoned, was already being integrated into Vought's frontline group.

She was skeptical at first, thinking this was just a different kind of manipulation, but Homelander's actions spoke for themselves.

He had taken down the Red Room, liberated the widows, and didn't ask for anything in return.

Hell he had even made sure that the red room stays destroyed that no one dares to restart it.

She watched him on the screen, his voice steady and calm, answering the questions.

Though she tuned out most of the stuff in her glassy eyes that were more focused elsewhere.

There was something about him—something magnetic, powerful.

He had done more for her and the others than anyone ever had. He had saved them when no one else would have dared.

As he spoke about his motivations, Natasha felt a flicker of something inside her—hope, maybe? Trust? It was hard to say.

But as she looked down at Yelena, peacefully asleep, for the first time in a long time, Natasha allowed herself to smile and believe that things could be different now.

They weren't tools anymore.

They weren't trapped.

They were free.

And it was all because of him.

"He's our hero!" The loud voice and clapping sound snapped her out of her reverie as she looked at the people standing up and giving their respect to the man of wonders.

Natasha's lips tightened into a thin smile.

He wasn't a perfect man, but who was? At least, he was the reason she and Yelena had a future to look forward to. And that, for her, was enough.

---

Nick Fury, still fresh in his position as Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., sat in his Washington office, watching Homelander's televised speech with focused intensity.

He had been thrown into the deep end of global security and had dealt with his fair share of dangerous situations, but the past few days were tiring as fuck.

Including this motherfucking Interview.

Homelander wasn't just talking here.

He was revealing himself in a way that felt almost too raw, too personal.

Fury's instincts told him to listen closely.

Both as a spy and as an avid admirer of the Heros.

"And in the end, it doesn't really matter," Homelander said, his voice hard, eyes burning with conviction, "because, in the grand scheme of things, I am only making the world a better place. Even if I have to shoulder hate from every single individual in this world. I will not stop my work anymore."

Fury sat back in his chair, his hand freezing as he reached for a glass of water.

Something about those words struck him deep.

His pulse quickened, and for the briefest of moments, he saw someone else.

That unwavering belief, the sheer conviction… It reminded him of the man he had read about in the history books—the man who had once carried a shield.

Captain America.

The thought slid into his mind before he could stop it, comparing the two in the silence of his office.

It made him uncomfortable—seeing a likeness in this superhuman being that was miles away from the righteous Steve Rogers.

And yet, for a moment, Homelander's conviction, his willingness to bear the world's burden, mirrored the kind of strength that Fury had always admired in the legends of Captain America.

But then, as if realizing where his mind had wandered, Fury shook his head sharply. "Motherfucker," he muttered under his breath.

This ain't no Cap.

Homelander was no Steve Rogers.

He wasn't the noble soldier who fought for freedom; he was something else entirely.

A force of nature, perhaps.

Dangerous, definitely.

But that conviction… it was hard to ignore as mere words.

Fury's gut told him that Homelander truly believed in what he was saying, and that kind of belief could be a weapon against all odds in itself.

Sitting there, Fury's hand trembled slightly, a mix of unease and awe coursing through him.

He hated to admit it, but there was something terrifyingly admirable about a man willing to shoulder that kind of responsibility.

It made Fury think, and that wasn't something he liked when the source of it was someone who had made his life hell.

This was a turning point, and Fury knew it.

Homelander had never made such claims such speeches.

He jad always been the silent gaurdian, saving the day and leaving silently.

But now he was drawing a line in the sand, for everyone to see him go beyond he jad ever went.

"Gotta keep an eye on this one," Fury mumbled, his gaze narrowing on the screen.

---

Bucky Barnes slammed his fist into the metal cylinder with a force that would shatter a normal man's bones.

The impact rang through the air like a gunshot, but to Bucky, it was just another blow, another release.

The steel crumpled beneath his hand, bending and denting as if it were nothing more than soft clay.

Compound V had changed him, made him stronger—strong enough to take out his frustrations on solid steel.

He took another swing, his fist connecting with a loud clang.

The horrors of Hydra still haunted him, clawing at the back of his mind.

All the years he had spent as their mindless puppet, the countless missions, the blood on his hands—it was all still there, clinging to him like an indispensable curse.

With every hit, he tried to knock away the weight of his past.

He had worked for Hydra for so long, been their weapon, their killer.

Now he was free, but freedom didn't come without a cost.

The nightmares still came, the memories of the people he had hurt, the lives he had destroyed.

Hydra had taken his life, twisted it into something unrecognizable, and even with his new strength, he didn't know how to fix it.

Bang !

Another punch.

The cylinder shook violently, deep dents forming where his knuckles landed.

Homelander.

Bucky's mind drifted to the man who had given him this power.

He didn't understand him.

Bang !

Homelander was practically a god among humans, with strength beyond comprehension.

But why?

Why would someone like him care enough to give Bucky this second chance?

Bucky wiped the sweat from his brow, staring at his reflection in the battered metal.

The man looking back at him was different now, not just because of Compound V, but because of everything he'd been through.

He wasn't the Winter Soldier anymore, but he wasn't sure who he was either.

He definitely wasn't the boy who joined army to serve his nation.

Homelander... there was something off about him.

Bucky could see it in his eyes, that flicker of something dangerous, something that didn't quite fit with the hero image he projected.

A man like that didn't do things out of the goodness of his heart, did he?

Bucky had spent too many years working under Hydra to believe in heroes without question or in this case gods.

Bang !

Another punch.

Steel tore under the pressure.

But still, Homelander had saved him.

Gave him a way to fight back, to stand on his own.

For that, Bucky couldn't help but feel... conflicted.

He owed him. And at the same time, he didn't trust him.

But the man despite knowing that gave him reigns without a cre in the world.

Bang! Crash !

He pounded the steel one last time, his fist tearing through the metal.

His chest heaved, breath heavy from the exertion.

The room was silent now, save for the soft creaking of the mangled metal.

Bucky stood there, fists clenched, staring down at the ruined cylinder.

His mind a mess that none had the power to resolve.

---

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