"Shit!"
Peter cursed the moment he saw Adam—his son—standing there, smiling with blood caked across his face, holding the severed head of a hound.
That image—it was far too close to the nightmare Peter had spent years trying to avoid. A glimpse of the past life he desperately wanted buried.
Without hesitation, Peter rushed over and scooped Adam up into his arms.
"What the hell happened?!" he demanded.
The boy's shirt was soaked in black, viscous blood, his hair stuck to his face with grime and filth. The smell was vile, like spoiled meat and iron.
Peter pulled off his jacket and started wiping Adam's face. Even though it barely helped, it was instinct.
Clark stood nearby, pale and shaky.
"It—it attacked us," Clark stammered. "Then John—I mean Adam—his Laser Eyes just—ZAP—and the dog…"
"Got it," Peter interrupted, not needing a full recap. "Help him wipe up. I'll get the car."
He jogged off. Moments later, the old pickup came rattling down the road.
He stopped it beside them, opened the passenger door, and gently set Adam inside.
Then Peter turned back and eyed the lifeless carcass lying in the dirt.
He hesitated. A long moment.
Then, muttering under his breath, he picked up the dead hound by its legs and tossed it in the trunk.
---
Back at Patrick Farm
In the tiled bathroom, Peter carefully helped Adam wash the blood off his skin. The small boy stood in the tub as muddy, copper-smelling water swirled down the drain.
"Are you hurt?" Peter asked, inspecting him thoroughly.
"No," Adam replied. "I just… feel weird."
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at his feet. "So that's what blood tastes like."
Peter blinked. "What did you say?"
"I don't know." Adam shrugged. "It's like… fireworks went off in my head. It was scary, but also exciting."
Peter paused.
That answer chilled him to the bone.
He couldn't afford to raise another Homelander. Not again. Not in this lifetime.
"The smell was gross though," Adam added, wrinkling his nose. "So I guess blood isn't all that fun."
Peter chuckled bitterly and tossed him a towel. "Right. If you don't want to scare people, maybe don't walk around drenched in blood next time."
"Because it's not cool?"
"Exactly. It's not cool. It's creepy."
He looked into the boy's eyes, searching for something… twisted. Something inhuman.
But all he saw was confusion.
And fear.
"Okay, I won't do it again," Adam promised.
There was an honest simplicity in his voice.
Peter felt a weight lift slightly. Maybe… maybe there was still time to guide this kid.
Then Adam asked, softly, "Dad… am I a monster?"
Peter froze.
"My Laser Eyes," Adam continued. "No one else has powers like that."
The boy's voice trembled, just a little. That same tremble Peter had heard before… in a past life… right before it had all gone wrong.
He put a hand on Adam's shoulder.
"No," Peter said firmly. "You're not a monster. What you have is called talent. A gift."
"A talent?"
"Yes. Given to you by the universe—or heaven, or whatever name you wanna call it. But a gift is also a responsibility."
Adam blinked. "What kind of responsibility?"
Peter smirked. "To protect your family."
"You mean… me, and you, and Clark?"
"Exactly. That's your duty."
Peter leaned closer, voice low. "You were given power for a reason. Not to scare people. Not to rule. But to guard the people you love."
Adam nodded slowly.
Peter exhaled.
This isn't PUA, he told himself. This is parenting. Real parenting.
And in his mind, he muttered a silent prayer: Better he become Dom Toretto than Homelander.
---
Later that evening, Peter made his way to the storage shed behind the farm.
Inside, the lifeless hound was laid out on the workbench, its severed neck still dripping. The air was thick with rot and decay.
Peter studied the body carefully.
Judging from the corpse's stiffness, this dog had already been dead for a while—maybe days.
But the head had only been severed hours ago.
Which meant...
"This thing was already dead before it chased my kid."
He leaned over it, brushing aside dried fur with gloved hands. A horrible stench hit his nose.
"This was a walking corpse."
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a shard of green crystal—Kryptonite.
It pulsed faintly, as if aware of what it had done.
He stared at the rock.
Could it really mutate the land so much that it turned burial grounds into resurrection pits?
He knew the meteor shower six years ago had brought with it more than just heat and destruction.
It brought… change.
Creatures buried in that land didn't rest peacefully. They got back up.
But they didn't come back right.
Peter stared at the corpse again.
He was going to need a deep freezer. Maybe two.
Because if this town was becoming a factory for undead creatures… he wanted samples.
Weapons. Evidence.
Something told him this was just the beginning.
He slipped the Kryptonite back into its lead casing, then turned off the lights and stepped outside.
---
At Old Bill's House
As Peter approached the porch, the door creaked open.
"Mr. Patrick," Bill said nervously. "I—uh—I was just coming over to apologize."
Peter stared at him without blinking.
Bill was a thin man, partially bald, wearing an oil-stained T-shirt.
He looked like someone who hadn't slept in weeks.
"I accept your apology," Peter said flatly. "No need to visit."
He stepped inside. "Actually, I came to ask you something."
Bill gulped and gestured to the kitchen. "Coffee?"
Peter sat. His presence was suffocating.
"If I know anything," Bill stammered, "I'll tell you."
"Your dog—Caesar. I heard it died a month ago. But today… it almost killed my son."
Bill's eyes widened.
"I… I got another one," he lied. "Same breed."
Peter didn't buy it.
He reached into his coat and tossed a small bundle of photos onto the table.
Bill hesitated, then picked them up.
His fingers trembled as he flipped through the images.
Pictures of a broken fence.
A mangled dog corpse rising from a dirt patch.
And a wide shot of the burial ground—marked by black soil, scorched trees, and twisted vines.
Bill froze.
His hand fell to the table.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, collapsing into his chair.
Peter waited.
"I made a mistake," Bill admitted. "Caesar was my best friend. He'd been with me eight years."
His voice cracked.
"When he died… I couldn't let go. So I buried him in that place. The old swamp. I know what you're thinking, but I… I just wanted to see him again."
Tears welled in his eyes.
"I know it's not really him. But for a moment… I thought…"
Peter watched silently. No judgment.
"Tell me about that land," Peter finally said. "What happened to it?"
Bill wiped his eyes and spoke.
"Used to be a swamp. Then six years ago, that meteor shower hit—blew the place wide open. Wiped it off the map."
Peter's eyes narrowed. "LuthorCorp had land disputes there, didn't they?"
Bill nodded. "Yeah. They tried building, but nothing would grow. Animals went missing. People started saying the land was cursed."
"And how did you know it could bring your dog back?"
Bill hesitated.
Then his lips parted.
"There was a woman. Said her son came back after being buried there."
Peter's heartbeat slowed.
"Her name?" he asked.
Bill whispered, "Vanessa Louis."
Peter's jaw clenched.
It all came back to her.
The stolen body. The fresh g
rave. The desperate grief.
This wasn't just a coincidence anymore.
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