Chapter Text
The smoke clouded your senses, pain dragging your limbs down. Every breath you took was laborious, your lungs aching. But you couldn’t stop, you had to keep moving. Not for yourself. For him . He was too big to carry and only half-conscious. Forced to drag a dead weight, you desperately tried to keep yourself upright as you searched for a way out.
How did you even get here? When you turned your mind back, trying to remember, there was a void. It didn’t matter. All you were focused on was getting the body at your side out of here, regardless of what happened to you in the process.
The building was collapsing around you, the foundation cracking under your feet. You were running out of time. Realistically, you knew that this building couldn’t go on forever. There had to be a way out eventually.
The question was whether or not you were strong enough to last that long. Right now, you were struggling, each step feeling as though it were a mile. Your lungs burned with the effort it took to breathe, a cough racking your body every time you tried to suck in air. Still, you endured it, carrying your companion to safety.
A laugh echoed out from somewhere behind you, causing a new, fresh wave of panic to wash over you. However, it was useful in helping you to get your second wind. Your feet began to move faster, trying to put as much distance between you and the voice as possible.
“C’mon. We’re almost there. We have to be,” you rasped out. Whether you were trying to reassure yourself, or the limp body at your side, you couldn’t say. “Just hold on a little longer. We’ve got this.”
Did you? Already, your steps were starting to falter again. Your mind was fuzzy from smoke and exhaustion, making it hard to think. Frustrated tears welled in your eyes as you let out a choked sob.
Not strong enough. You’re not strong enough.
Suddenly, hands closed around your shoulders, tearing you back, making your stomach plummet. The smoke-filled hallway disappeared, the heat from the flames gone. The air exploded with the sound of gunfire, the sound ringing in your ears. Flinching, your back collided with MM’s solid chest.
“What the fuck was that?!” you screamed, trying to jerk out of MM’s grasp. Your heart still pounded in your ears, and you swore you could still smell smoke in the air. “What’s going on? Where are we?”
“I told you not to let him touch you!” Butcher snapped, jabbing a finger in your direction. “Fuck! This is why you don’t do field work! No one bloody listens to me around here!”
Slamming his gun down on a table, Butcher stormed out of the warehouse where the three of you had been interrogating the supe. The sound of the door slamming echoed in your ears, making you flinch again. The body of Foresight was slumped over in the chair, blood pooling on the tarp spread across the floor. The puddle stained your shoes, the sight of the gray matter making you queasy. You turned your head away, staring at the door, trying to ground yourself.
The endless labyrinth of hallways filled with smoke and fire were burned in your mind. The sense of panic lingered, making you feel as though you needed to flee. On some level, you knew you were safe here. The only source of danger had been quickly taken care of by a bullet to the head.
“He’s pissed,” you muttered, guilt washing over you. Trying to tighten the restraints on Foresight, you had gotten close enough for him to touch you. That’s how you had been caught in the vision.
Now that he knew you weren’t going to lose it, MM let you go. “When isn’t he?” he retorted.
Fair point. Butcher was particularly surly this week, for good reason. Normally, you were willing to forgive him pretty easily. This week? Butcher could do no wrong.
“Yeah, but it’s valid. I fucked up, and now we don’t have anyone to interrogate. Three weeks of tailing this bastard for nothing. Plus, we’ve got to tell Neuman that we killed another one,” you fretted, leaning against the table, exhaustion weighing you down. Foresight’s dead body was a silent spectator to the conversation. “And it’s all my fault. As usual.”
“Jesus, you and your constant self-doubt. I thought we were working through this,” MM replied, rolling his eyes as he tossed a tarp over the body. His shoes squelched in the blood, making your stomach churn. “Look, Foresight likely wouldn't have given anything up anyways. In fact, I don’t think he had anything to give up. He was a C-list supe that survived on doing cameos on podcasts. He’s not even a real psychic.”
You went silent at that, your mouth pulling into a frown. Foresight’s whole thing was supposedly being able to tell someone’s future with just a touch. There was a lot of discourse online about whether or not this was bullshit. Most people didn't think his visions were true or accurate because they only showed the most awful things people could experience.
Good for psychological warfare. Bad for the popularity charts. If Vought had been smart, they would have utilized Foresight’s powers in a torture room. After all, you’d never forget the things you had seen. An extended period in that nightmare would surely fuck with someone’s head enough to break them.
Breaking through your thoughts, MM placed a hand on your shoulder. “Hey. I’m being serious. Whatever you saw was fake. No one, not even a supe, can tell the future. Everything you saw was just Foresight preying on your subconscious. He made you see your worst fears,” MM explained, meeting your eyes. “That’s it. Nothing was real.”
“It felt real,” you confessed, your shoulders sagging. The warehouse was freezing, a cold wind blowing in off the water, reminding you that you weren’t in the burning building. “Fuck, MM, it was like I was really there. I could smell the smoke. I was a rat in a maze, trying to find some way out.”
“Look, I don’t feel like unpacking all that right now. I’ve got to get up early for a field trip,” MM sighed, shaking his head. “We’ll talk about it during your session this week. Can you go grab Butcher so we can get rid of this guy and get out of here? Maybe we can get out of here before dawn.”
Well, you had to face the music at some point. Giving MM a small nod, you headed out, wrapping your jacket tight around you. The docks were dimly lit, abandoned at this late hour. Distantly, you could hear the sounds of the city, reminding you that you were truly out of that nightmare.
Butcher was sitting on the edge of the dock, boots dangling over the water. When you sat down next to him, he didn’t look up. The tip of his cigarette glowed red in the darkness, smoke billowing out of his nose as he exhaled. Silently, you leaned against him, your head on his shoulder. You counted it as a victory when Butcher didn’t move or push you away.
“You good, pet?” Butcher asked after a moment. “I didn’t like that look in your eyes.”
“I’m getting there.”
Flicking the butt of the cigarette into the water, Butcher slid his arm around your shoulder, tugging you closer. “It’s all a bunch of shite, I hope you know that. That cunt didn't know the future. If he did, he woulda known better than to lay a bloody finger on you,” he muttered. “Sure as hell didn’t have the foresight to know I’d put a fuckin’ bullet in his head.”
That got a snort of laughter out of you, despite it all. That panic began to bleed out of your bones, though you were far from calm. There was still the matter of the dead supe in the warehouse behind you.
“I’m sorry,” you sighed, your smile falling. “We’re already on thin ice with Neuman. Now we’ve got to tell her we killed another one.”
“Neuman can go fuck herself. I’m fuckin’ sick of playin’ by her rules,” Butcher spat, stiffening up beside you. “We did it her way, and not a goddamn thing changed. Sure, some twats get thrown in prison. But most of them still get off scot-free. Doin’ things her way does fuck all. Killin’ them? That takes care of the problem for good.”
Over the past few months, there had been numerous “accidents” when it came to the supes The Boys caught and turned in. Since you were typically stuck in the office, due to Butcher claiming that someone needed to hold down the fort, you weren’t there for the captures and interrogations. You had chalked the recent deaths up to supes just getting bolder and The Boys responding in kind. Afterwards, you were the one who had to play peacekeeper with the FBSA, as Butcher had managed to piss off everyone. Now, the pieces were falling into place. It wasn’t an accident. You had been left behind because it was easy for you to lie to the FBSA if you didn’t know the truth in the first place.
“You’re such a dick,” you groaned, smacking his thigh. “We’re CIA, Billy, we can’t just decide when we’re done playing nice. Being a part of a government agency means we have to follow their rules!”
Butcher caught your hand, squeezing it as he leaned in, breath warm on your face. “We got by just fine without the CIA, the FBSA, and certainly without that bitch Neuman,” he growled, anger burning in his dark eyes. “You weren’t around for those days, pet. We had our own ways of gettin’ by and stayin’ out of jail. There was no one to answer to but ourselves.”
Oh, fuck . If Butcher was going down this road, you had no choice but to follow. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t try to stop him. He wasn’t thinking rationally, letting his hatred and pain get the better of him. Someone had to pull him back before he went over the edge.
Gently, you pulled your hand away, your voice low. It was best to approach an angry Butcher like you would a snarling dog. “Billy, we can’t break away from them. We have Ryan to think about. He’s under CIA protection,” you pointed out gently, running your hand down his arm. “We can’t protect him, not like they can. Plus, the lab said they’re close to working out the…what are we calling it?”
“We don’t got a name for it, because we’re not a buncha cunts who go around namin’ shite,” Butcher gruffly finished for you, letting out an annoyed huff. “It’s like a cancer. It’ll go into their bloodstreams, eat up all the Compound V. Leave them powerless. Then we can can give them what they’re owed.”
“Will it hurt them?”
“What? The fuck’s that matter, love?” Butcher retorted, cocking his head. “It’s a bloody fast-actin’ cancer, of course it’s gonna hurt them. For most of them, it’s gonna be the first time they feel real pain. Somethin’ they well deserve.”
You stared at Butcher a moment, a frown pulling at your lips. He wasn't going to like what you had to say, but someone had to act as his conscience. If you didn't, Butcher would barrel down this path like a man possessed.
“What about Ryan? Or Annie? Do they deserve to feel the same pain?” you asked, slowly placing your hand on his scruffy cheek. While Butcher’s face didn't completely soften, his eyes lost some of that fury. “Creating a world without supes is our goal, right? What about them? You think Ryan will ever be safe if he still has his powers?”
“Oh, fuck off. You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” Butcher growled, scowling down at you. However, his tone wasn’t as sharp as before. “No, we don’t want to hurt Ryan. I don’t give a fuck about Starlight, but I’ll have to listen to you and Hughie whinging about it, so I guess we don’t want to hurt her either.”
That was progress. You rubbed your thumb across his cheek, waiting for Butcher’s rage to cool down to its usual simmer. He let out a low sigh, closing his eyes as he leaned into your touch.
“I’ll talk to them. Tell them that we need some more testing to find somethin’ that’ll work for Ryan. And Starlight, I guess,” Butcher relented, sounding as though it was a major inconvenience. “Not like I expect it’ll be done soon anyways. They’ve been workin’ on this shite for over two years already, this is just our first breakthrough.”
“Guess this science stuff takes a lot of trial and error. Who would have thought?” you replied with a small grin. Serious again, you continued to dig at the root of the issue. “I know you’ve been waiting for this for a long time, Billy. All in due time. If we rush this, we run the risk of making mistakes. And I’m not letting you make a preventable mistake that could cost your life. Or Ryan’s, for that matter.”
There was a strange look in Butcher’s eyes as he stared down at you. His eyes narrowed, head tilting as he studied you. Whatever was happening in that head of his, Butcher didn’t say. Instead, he kissed your forehead, signaling the end of the discussion.
“C’mon, pet. We best get on with this, before MM starts sayin’ we’re not pullin’ our weight,” Butcher said, changing the subject. “It’s high time you learn to hide a body.”
“Can’t think of anything more romantic. Is this our date night?” you asked dryly.
Butcher shrugged, smirking as he helped you to your feet. “If you do a good job, I’ll stop by Taco Bell on the way home. Buy you a crunchwrap,” he offered. “If you can stomach anythin’ afterwards, that is.”
As it turned out, you couldn't. If this was what it was like, you were more than happy to stay behind in the office. All three of you got hazmat suits on as the work began. The scent of blood was cloying, the noise of the bonesaw making your stomach churn as it cut through Foresight’s flesh. You watched in horror as Butcher and MM chopped up the body, all while chatting nonchalantly, as though this was business as usual. For them, you supposed it was.
“Oi, love, toss this in the van, would you?”
Before you could say no, Butcher was throwing you a bag you were pretty sure contained an arm. You gagged, holding it away from you as you took it to the trunk in the back of the van. “Do we really have to do this? Can’t we call in cleaners, or some shit like that?” you groused, depositing the limb. “I don’t get paid enough for this.”
“I’d say ask for a raise, but I hear the boss is a bit of an asshole,” MM replied, taking his hazmat suit off once he wrapped the last of the remains in a garbage bag.
“I’m gonna ignore that. But no, we clean up our own messes. The less people who know about the work we do, the better,” Butcher stated. “You know what we do now?”
While you wanted the answer to be “going home, taking a hot shower, and try to sleep after the horrific things you had seen tonight”, you knew that you weren’t lucky enough for that. Instead, you loaded up in the van, squished between Butcher and MM, trying to focus on anything other than the thick smell of blood emanating from the back of the van.
It was unclear what made this part of the Hudson better for dumping a body than where you had been before. But there had to be a method to the madness, you supposed. You stood back as MM and Butcher hauled the trunk out of the van, tossing it into the dark water. It slowly sank down, bubbling for a moment, before the water was still again, as though nothing had disturbed it.
“See you in Hell, shitbag. Thanks for the nightmares,” you muttered.
“That’s the spirit, pet,” Butcher said, slinging his arm over your shoulder and pulling you close. That was about as much affection as he was willing to give you in front of others. “My vicious girl. Let’s get you home.”
After dropping MM off, Butcher’s nonchalant facade dropped. He had been holding it in pretty well so far. Now that you were alone, Butcher went silent, resolutely staring out the window, not speaking to you. This was how it had been all week.
“Hey, you want me to drive you tomorrow?” you offered softly, reaching out to squeeze Butcher’s knee. “You look tired.”
Shaking his head, Butcher let out a low sigh. “I’ll be fine. Don’t want to have you drivin’ all that way there and back. Don’t wait up for me for dinner, either. I’ll call you when I’m on my way back, alright?”
“Alright.” Even before you had said anything, you knew that Butcher wouldn’t accept your help. But you still had to try and support him. “Just wake me up if you change your mind. I’ll keep my phone on in case you call.”
The next morning, you were briefly roused by Butcher pressing a soft kiss to your brow. After everything that happened, you had ended up taking something to help you sleep, so you couldn't do much more than drowsily mumble something unintelligible. If Butcher responded, you didn’t hear it, quickly pulled back into a deep sleep.
Since starting full-time work with The Boys a few months ago, you had largely taken over the role of office manager. Butcher liked it since it largely kept you out of the line of fire, unless an extra hand was absolutely needed, you liked it because you enjoyed contributing to the team in a meaningful way. Plus, things were more organized now. Paperwork got done in a timely fashion, there was an order to how jobs were divided up, and some stress was taken off Butcher’s shoulders.
That last reason earned you plenty of praise from the man, something you never got tired of.
Today, the office in the Flatiron building was empty when you got there. MM and Butcher were out for the day, Frenchie and Kimiko were following a lead on some speedster supe in Jersey, leaving only you.
Blissful silence. Something you rarely got around here. You took your time drinking your coffee and filing reports, forging Butcher’s signature in a few places. Occasionally, the things Foresight put into your head last night came back, making your blood run cold.
Despite Butcher and MM’s reassurances, you weren’t entirely sure that what you saw wasn’t something that would happen. Maybe not the exact scenario you were in. But it wasn’t entirely implausible that one day, you could fail when someone you loved needed you the most. Whatever Foresight’s powers had been, premonition or fear tactics, they had been effective in scaring the shit out of you.
“Hey. Where is everyone?”
Tearing your eyes away from the window, you turned to look at your brother. At least Hughie was actually coming to deliver the case files to you now. After the argument, he disappeared from your life for a month. While the two of you were still in a strange place, things were slowly improving.
You nodded at the whiteboard on the wall that listed everyone's task and location for the day. “Out and about, hopefully not causing too much mayhem,” you answered.
Handing the files to you, Hughie inspected the board. “Butcher took a day off without you?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. “It seems like you two are attached at the hip these days. Trouble in paradise?”
You rolled your eyes, electing to ignore Hughie’s snide comment. Remarks like that were one large reason you and your brother hadn’t completely reconciled yet. “He’s visiting Ryan,” you replied, glancing up at him. Hughie opened his mouth, but you cut him off, anticipating his next words. “Yes, we usually go together on Saturdays, but since it’s Becca’s birthday, we all thought it best if Butcher and Ryan spend today together instead.”
That got your brother to quit it with the judgement. Hughie dropped his eyes, shoving his hand into his pockets. “Shit. I didn’t know. How, uh, is Butcher dealing with that?”
You shrugged, softening your tone. “You know how Butcher is. Getting him to talk about his feelings is like pulling teeth. Actually, pulling teeth would be easier. When we’re with everyone, he’s putting on a show, acting like he’s fine. But when it’s just us, he’s just…quiet, I guess,” you told him, leaning back in your chair. “It’s not an easy time for him.”
Hughie nodded, a brief look of pain crossing his features. On her birthday that first year, you and Hughie had spent the evening watching Robin’s favorite movie and eating her favorite meal. Grief was processed differently in each person. For some, there was comfort in remembering the person for who they were. For others, the wound would forever be open and raw.
“So, uh…Dad told me you haven’t been returning his calls,” you commented after a moment, moving from one difficult topic to another. “Look, might sound hypocritical coming from me, but it means a lot when we talk to him. He’s lonely out there, you know.”
Hughie set his jaw, looking away. “Yeah, I know. Things at work have just been getting busy. Neuman has her eyes set on the vice president candidacy for the next election. We’re all pulling a lot of overtime to try and get her there.”
Oh, that was interesting. With Butcher already at the end of his rope with Neuman, the FBSA, and the CIA, this would be another nail in an already-closed coffin. You would have to ask him about Neuman’s ambitions when he was in a better mood.
“So? I’m busy with work too. Dude, I was out until almost three in the morning last night dumping a body. I’m pulling overtime too, but I manage to pick up Dad’s calls,” you retorted.
Hughie huffed, putting his hands on his hips, his face scrunching up in frustration. “Yeah, now you do! How long did you spend forgetting to call him back, or ignoring his messages?”
“Too long!” you snapped back, slapping your hand on the desk. “And you wanna know why? Because our dad is dying, and there’s not shit we can do about it! I was too scared to come to terms with that fact, but now I have to! Hughie, we can’t just pretend like his issues have a cure. It’s not if , it’s when .”
As harsh and pessimistic as that may have sounded, you and Hughie had avoided talking about it since Dad got his diagnosis. Like sending an old dog upstate, you and your brother just put your money together to find him an apartment closer to his doctors. From the start, the doctors had been honest. The treatments your father received and the medication he took was only prolonging his life, not fixing what was wrong.
The diagnosis had been right around the time that you found out Hugh Campbell wasn’t your biological father to boot. So you had been left with a lot of confusing emotions. There had never been any doubt in your mind about helping him get the help he needed to be comfortable, it had been hard to talk to him once you learned you had been lied to your entire life. You still harbored a lot of guilt for how you treated your father, and now, you were doing your best to make up for it.
“Yeah, I…I know.” Hughie sighed, leaning against your desk. He scratched his cheek, meeting your eyes. “When are you going next?”
“Next Sunday. Unfortunately Daphne will be there,” you warned him. It seemed as though Daphne was trying to assuage her guilt, much like you were. “I mean, I guess it’s nice she visits him or whatever. It makes Dad happy.”
Your brother gave a curt nod, not looking all too pleased at the idea. The two of you had made some semblance of peace with Daphne. There wouldn’t be any Mother’s Day cards or flowers for her any time soon, but you could at least stand to be around her now. For a couple hours at a time.
“We Campbells are a bit pathetic,” Hughie muttered. Taking out his phone, he typed something up. “I don’t think I have anything going on that day, so I’ll come with. If that’s okay with you.”
The news lifted your heart, and it was an effort to try and act casual about it. “Yeah, sure, whatever. I’ll text you the details,” you replied, feigning nonchalance. Driving up to Dad’s apartment would be the most time you and Hughie had spent together in months. “You have to drive, though.”
Letting out a laugh, Hughie nodded. “God forbid you have to drive yourself anywhere. I’ll swing by and pick you up,” Hughie agreed. Glancing at his watch, he straightened up. “Alright, I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
After Hughie left, the office was quiet again. Frenchie texted in the afternoon to let you know that they were finished and headed home. After a bit of debate, you decided that the world wouldn’t burn down if you left early.
While you would always miss the apartment where you had grown up, Butcher’s apartment had become home for you. Your things nestled in alongside his, though you had let go of a lot of things. Not necessarily because Butcher made you. There had been so much stuff you had been hanging on to simply because you had a fear of letting go.
Or so MM had said. You tended to believe him when it came to things about your psyche. It made sense, you figured, given the attachment issues and all.
Dinner was a quiet affair, and you ended up eating on the couch, watching the next episode of The Great British Bake Off . Butcher liked to watch it, if only to make fun of the contestants. So it was nice to watch without his smartass comments throughout. Except for the fact that your chest was tight with anxiety. Butcher still hadn’t texted or called by the time you started getting ready for bed. Which worried you. A lot. It was late, which usually spelled trouble.
Your gut feeling was right. A number you didn’t recognize called your phone around midnight, making you jump out of your skin. Without hesitating, you answered.
The robotic voice made you shoot up off the bed. “Hello, this is a collect call from Rockland County Jail for inmate William Butcher. All calls from inmates are recorded. To accept the charges, please say accept call,” it chirped.
“Oh, sweet Jesus, yes, accept call,” you groaned, getting to get your shoes on. The phone beeped, before transferring you over. “Billy?”
“Pet? Thank fuck, come get me outta here,” Butcher slurred out. Oh, he was wasted, his accent thick, words melting into one another. “Don’t know how much bail is. Don’t matter. Y’know where the emergency card is.”
You let out a sigh, putting him on speaker as you took the lid off the bulldog cookie jar to grab the card. “What’d they get you for?” you asked nervously. “I might not even be able to take you home until you sober up.”
The line went quiet, and you worried you lost him. Then, Butcher spoke, his voice low and angry. “Didn’t do a fuckin’ thing. These cunts just wanted to pick a fight. Didn’t even back off when I showed my badge. Fuckin’ pigs, I coulda taken them all.”
“Recorded call, Billy!” you hissed, grabbing your keys off the hook. “Just…be good. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Like, an hour. Please, please, please just try to sober up. Don’t say anything, don’t even look at anyone. Please.”
Butcher let out a low growl. “Wha’, you think I’m stupid, or summat? I ain’t gonna try and fight them now. I was jus’ makin’ a point. Just get your pert arse over here, yeah? I’m sick of the way these fuckin’ cunts are lookin’ at me.”
Hopefully, the laws you broke on the way to pick Butcher up wouldn’t land you in an adjacent cell. You sped down the interstate, wondering what the hell Butcher did to land himself in jail. Usually, flashing his CIA credentials got him out of trouble. Whatever he did must have been bad enough to get him taken in. While you wanted to believe that Butcher was safe in a jail cell, you knew him well enough to know that his smartass mouth would likely get him in trouble.
The paperwork took more time, the cop at the desk eyeing you warily. Butcher had racked up a few charges, namely public intoxication and assault. You just thanked your lucky stars you weren’t getting him from the hospital instead.
The harsh lights were giving you a headache, the hard plastic chair making your back ache. The AC droned constantly, cold air making gooseflesh appear on your skin. Gray walls, a plain floor, and a cop glaring daggers at you on the other side of the bulletproof glass. You hadn’t plugged your phone in before you left, so you couldn’t bury yourself in that either. It was worse than the hospital. At least there, you could grab coffee and a snack.
After one of the most uncomfortable hours of your life, a door finally opened, two policemen walking Butcher out. You jumped out of your chair, fighting back the urge to run over to him. Neither officer looked too happy to be on the graveyard shift, dealing with drunken idiots.
Speaking of which, Butcher looked worse for wear as well, one eye swollen shut. When he saw you, his shoulder loosened a bit, relief softening his face. In his hand was his bag of belongings, his coat over his arm. When Butcher made his way over to you, he let out a small sigh.
“Aren’t you a lovely sight?” he murmured, running his knuckles across your cheek. From the way he was able to stand without swaying, Butcher had sobered up a fair bit. “Take a sorry bastard home, now would you?”
“Not so fast,” one of the officers interrupted, earning him a dark look from Butcher. “You have paperwork to fill out before we can let you go.”
Another ten minutes of paperwork and instructions from the cops. Butcher got more and more pissed, a vein bulging out of his forehead. You squeezed his taut shoulder, trying to rein him in before the officers decided not to let him go home.
“You’ll receive your court summons in the mail,” one of them said, sliding some papers through the opening in the glass. “Don’t miss it, or we’ll be seeing you again, Mister Butcher.”
“And you lot will be gettin’ a big fat lawsuit for police brutality. I’ll be gettin’ all the security footage,” Butcher threatened. “You pricks didn’t even read me my rights. You made my poor, sweet bird drive all the way here in the middle of the night, bet you didn’t even offer her water. We’ve been treated unfairly, haven’t we, love?”
“Okay, let’s just go,” you muttered, linking your arm through Butchers to drag him out.
The night was dark, clouds hiding the moon, the lights in the parking lot flickering ominously. You pressed yourself close to Butcher as you walked him to your car. Wrapping an arm around your waist, Butcher pressed a quick kiss to your hair, though he didn't speak. In fact, you thought he fell asleep as you drove home, the interstate nearly empty this late in the night.
“He’s got her eyes,” Butcher mumbled after a long bout of silence.
Nearly missing his words, you turned down the radio, briefly glancing at him. “Ryan?” you ventured.
“Ryan. He’s got Becca’s eyes. And her heart. All the good parts of her. Y’know, I was so…when I found them, I was to leave the boy to Vought and just get Becca out of that prison. Told her we could have as many kids as she wanted. But she refused,” Butcher continued, his voice tight with pain. For a moment, he went quiet again, before he finished. “I don’t know if I can ever love him the way she wanted me to. But I’m tryin’, pet. You can see I’m tryin’, right?”
Tears stung your eyes, your heart aching at his words. Clearing your throat, you nodded. “I know, Billy. You’re doing good. Really good. Ryan loves you,” you assured him, reaching out to take his hand. Butcher intertwined your fingers, holding fast to you. “I can’t pretend to know what it’s like, what you’re going through. But you’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you. Obviously I didn’t know Becca, but I think she would be too.”
A strange noise came from Butcher, and you whipped your head over to make sure he wasn’t choking on vomit. Luckily not. Unluckily, he was wiping his eyes with the sleeves of his coat, letting out another one of those odd noises.
“Don’t. Don’t pull over, pet. Just get us home,” Butcher mumbled, hearing you flick on the turn signal. “Ain’t that big of a deal.”
While you wanted to push the issue, you knew that would do nothing but make Butcher shut down. So you turned the music up a bit and let him weep quietly. All the while, he held onto your hand as though it was his lifeline.
“We’re going in late tomorrow,” you stated once you got Butcher into the apartment. “I’ll make a few calls in the morning to try and get your charges dropped. You want to tell me how bad it was, so I know what I’m getting myself into?”
When Butcher grunted in pain, you moved to help him take off his shirt. His broad chest was covered in bruises, knuckles swollen and bruised. No matter how many times you patched Butcher up, you never got used to the sight. It twisted your stomach, the casual way he always shrugged off his injuries.
“Just a small little spat that the wankers blew out of proportion. Some fucker kept givin’ me dirty looks, couldn’t handle it when I confronted him. Then his buddies got involved. Didn’t know they were cops. You know how all that goes, pet,” Butcher relayed to you, kicking off his boots. When you reached for the first aid kit, he shook his head. “Leave it. Nothin’ is bleedin’. Just get in bed.”
That request you could oblige. As usual, you were squished by Butcher, his heavy weight settling over you as he slotted himself between your legs, head resting on your chest. Letting out a low, tired groan, Butcher rubbed his beard against your skin, making you laugh. He smirked against your skin, pressing a kiss to your star pendant, before moving it out of the way so it didn’t dig into his cheek.
“Thank you, sweet girl,” Butcher rumbled. His arms wrapped around you, holding you tight. “You’re too good to me, puttin’ up with all my bullshit. Can’t begin to imagine what I’ve done to deserve you.”
Shrugging, you carded your hands through his messy hair. “I don't know. I’d say I give you hell all the time, so maybe it all evens out,” you joked, voice warm with fondness.
Butcher let out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, you do. You’re just as much a gift as you are a punishment, all wrapped up into one, smartass, gorgeous package. You drive me crazy as often as you keep me sane,” he commented. “And I love you for it. You know that, right?”
Hearing Butcher say the words, given how little he actually said them, always sent a thrill through you. “I love you too, Billy. Get some sleep, okay?”
“You too. Don’t be watchin’ me all night, you little freak,” Butcher teased, pressing his lips to the skin over your heart. “Goodnight, pet.”
Within a few moments, Butcher was out, snoring loudly. Despite what he said, you ended up watching him sleep for a while, your fingers gently tracing his features. When you gently touched the fresh cut on his cheek, Butcher stirred, mumbling out your name.
“I said stop watchin’ me. Go to sleep, love,” he grumbled, nuzzling into your chest, breath warm against your skin. “S’an order.”
Your heart warm, you shut your eyes and let yourself rest.