Doux Mouton Noir

He’s been on the brink of death before, but he’s never actually died. Never had his heart actually stop; his brain actually shut down. Until now. “You shouldn’t have lied to me.” He hears Homelander mumble brokenly, then, hears him walk away. Leaves Noir there on the floor with his entrails and blood leaking out of him. And Noir, despite just being gutted by the man, he still feels sympathetic towards him, still feels guilty for lying to him. Because despite all his fucked up and so obviously evil “quirks”, Noir knew that the man actually did think they were real friends. Homelander had always respected that Noir wasn’t afraid of him even though he knew he could easily overpower Noir—he just didn’t know Noir had already been through the worst moments of his life with someone even fucking worse than Homelander. And now? Noir didn’t know that this wouldn’t be the end for him. He knew coming back to Vaught; to Homelander would be his last move once Homelander began questioning him about Soldier Boy. He was prepared for it, because he knew with his death, neither Homelander nor Vaught would ever be able to find her. He knew she would end up hating him for meeting his end without so much as a goodbye, but he would rather she be alive with hate in her heart than that pure sweet heart of hers being ripped out of her pretty chest. Just like his guts have been ripped out of his belly a few moments ago... He feels his heart stop. Hears Homelander leave the room. Hears the doors sliding shut and just as he sees a flash of her beautiful smile. And then...nothing. He feels nothing at all. But then, he hears her voice; feels her scratching at his brain; at his soul, not allowing him to let go. “Wake up, sleepyhead.” He awakes with a gasp, a few coughs and sputters for air. He is alive, but he is not healing. Maybe he didn’t die after all. Maybe he just blacked out. Or maybe he’s dead now and doesn’t even realise it... “You’re not dead yet, silly.” Buster Beaver doesn’t sound as chipper as usual. He doesn’t look all that chipper either as he stares down at Noir with his little paw-hands resting on his knees and his big eyes shining with concern. Yet. Noir thinks, So, I will be soon. Buster Beaver nods, but sounds optimistic as he says, “Soon, if you don’t pick up your insides-out and put them back in.” Noir barely manages a shake of his head even as his hands begin to follow Buster Beaver’s instructions by inching slowly upwards. Won’t make a difference. I heal fast, I don’t regenerate. “You don’t have to. The girl that healed your sweet lady friend. I know you’re dying, but try to remember her name.” I don’t ask for names. It’s not safe. Buster Beaver laughs, nods, smirks and says, “The sister seer told you her name...” Noir blinks up at his little critter friend through his black mask, his breaths growing more ragged again. They both know he remembers her name. He’s just being stubborn. No. Keep Mya safe. Which she won’t be if I go tracking my blood and insides-out right to her door. Buster Beavers disappears with a huff, his voice lingering over Noir, who’s eyes widen behind his mask after he hears his friend’s words: “You know she will come looking for you—you guys had a date tonight.”