𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗘𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗡 𝗢𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗥 | the boys 2

𝘪𝘪𝘪) 𝐒𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒

"On your feet, kiddo - we're off!" If Rowan was granted a cent every time the likes of something along those lines escaped Butcher's throat, he would practically be giving her pocket money: "Chop, chop, Sunshine!"

She let out an exhausted groan - despite the past few hours being, possibly, the most obliviously pleasurable ones of her life. He was the only person who'd entered that proximity without intent to harm for a painfully long time. She flinched at the sound of him clapping from the other side of the room, stretching her shoulder blades out and switching off the TV. "Yeah, let's waltz into the street and pretend it's safe. Pretend everyone doesn't fucking know the twats who 'killed' Madelyn Stillwell." Rowan shrugged.

"Good job we ain't fuckin' waltzing into the Goddamn street then, innit'?" He barked defensively while still attempting to rally her into action. "We have means of transport, I don't qualify as a complete wanker."

"Not yet."

"Fine, what did I fucking do?" Butcher challenged, marching towards her.

"It's not all about you, dickhead." Rowan stood rather abruptly,"I know you-"

"Oh, I see - you're turning into a fucking teenager, that's it!" He clapped sarcastically.

She reached yelling volume, yet again,"A fucking teenager?! Maybe it's the fact I turned into this for monsters to be created!"

"Rich, coming from someone only born to be one of 'em." As soon as the child froze, it was apparent that a line had been crossed. The unspoken line which hardly prohibited certain curses or insults, but more so the tone used with them.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" She whispered, genuinely clueless of this man.

"Alright-"

The moment noise escaped, Rowan exploded,"NO! NOTHING ABOUT US IS FUCKING OKAY!"

"Us?" His eyebrows furrowed.

"The only reason we're together is because we lost people." She pointed accusatively,"At least your wife's still fucking alive!" She didn't intend for words like those ones to come out, but they had brewing since her head came into intentional contact with the ground that morning.

Butcher took a few steps towards her, consoling his smoking fury caused by this kid,"Kiddo," He paused as she flinched a second time - she didn't really think he would...

Jaw clenched and fists roaring in view, Rowan simply grimaced - it may have been in his direction, but she was more disgusted by the attacks she had recently spewed. "I'm sorry." She sighed, eyes rolling before her bare feet turned against the cool floors and she wandered straight out of the door, waltzing into the street, pretending no one would fucking recognise her, pretending it was safe.

___________________

Rowan's mind shouldn't have been particularly blank - but it wasn't like she could exactly help it. She was literally stumbling aimlessly - where the fuck else did she have to hide now she let people into her privacy?

"Now's not the time, sis." She groaned as heavy breathing filled her ears, whispering incoherence about the middle of the road, jumbled up with a cruel drum kit inside her mind. "Stop it..." She groaned, wobbling through her feet. "We really need to work together, you and I - we could both turn out fine if you weren't constantly telling me to fucking kill myself." She muttered, almost walking into a wall.

Her body impulsively cowered away from two boys nervously approaching her, cell phones clenched in their hands.

"A-are you really her?" One of them stammered out nervously, face frozen in terror,"Are you The Striker?"