𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗘𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗡 𝗢𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗥 | the boys 2

𝘷) 𝐒𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊, 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒

This hadn't been a dream. He definitely saw Becca - and there was certainly a child with her. He had to get her out of there. Rowan would help him... right? Oh, kiddo... how he wished life had dealt her a kinder hand. Wait... that was the last thing he heard. Butcher had never heard a scream like that - especially not from her. 'NO! NO! DA-... DA... BILLY! HELP ME, PLEASE! BUTCHER! PLEASE DON'T LET GO!' Her blood-curdling bawls turned into more dry sobs as the manic sound was muffled out of his ears and her kicks desperate and wriggles weakened. The last thing he saw was her blurry, clawing hands helplessly grasping his. And then she was literally dragged from his arms. And it felt fucking horrible. 

The inside of his eyelids scratched at the hazel brown - a grey sky hung above him, perfectly matching the concrete pressing up against his arched spine. A car park? Really? A fucking parking lot? "Kiddo? You here? You okay?" Butcher struggled to get himself to his feet, desperately limping past the cars in search for whom he'd recently decided was his kid. "Rowan?" He wasn't prepared to do anymore calling and make himself look like a twat. She wasn't here.

The closest civilisation happened to be, in a rather ironic turn of events, a Tony Cicero's - the same company they had used to hide Translucent when things seemed so much more light-hearted, arse-bombing supes and whatnot. The petite waitress at the front desk seemed slightly flustered by his dirty rather appearance but followed standard procedure out of politeness,"Welcome to 'Endless Pasta Week'  at Tony Cicero's!"

"Where the fuck am I?" He panted.

"...You're at Tony Cicero's."

"No, no, what fucking city am I in?" 

"Uh... Fort Wayne."

"The fuck?" Butcher muttered,"Have you got a bit of paper? Something I can write on?" He requested,"A pen! Anything!" 

Her eyes widened and she obediently handed him one of the booklets and an orange crayon. He ripped the first page off, scribbling the words slipping from his brain, pausing occasionally to wrack his brain for the rest of the details. 

"Have you seen a little girl in here?" He stared at her through bushy eyebrows, head still bowed. He was completely oblivious to the television, which was displaying 'A Closer Look With Chris Hansen', who was narrating obnoxiously to awful body doubles of him, Rowan and the late Madelyn Stillwell acting out that fateful night rather offensively. "Mucky, bloody, long hair, pretty eyes." He sighed, the realisation jabbing him sharply in the chest. Butcher was caught off guard by the sheer horror on the waitress' face as her eyes shifted nervously between him and the TV screen.

____________________

"Where is she?" Hughie asked immediately, voice harsh and low. 

Butcher's gaze fell to the ground in shame, flexing his jaw as the memory of her manic screaming for him flooded through his head. He couldn't expect to return to The Boys and not be asked, in all fairness."I ain't seen the kid in a while, actually."

"Well, how long is a fucking while?" Hugh yelled.

"Someone grabbed her but she's alright."

"Who? Who took 'ze child?" Frenchie pressed.

"The amount she gets up to, it could be fucking anyone. But I got a good idea." He mumbled, grimacing at his own awful, borrowed tracksuit of mucky, burned purple and red.

"Didn't you even try to find her?" Hughie sighed - it was strange seeing Butcher without the kid accompanying him for once, it just didn't seem right.