There’s hardly a pitiful bone in Butcher’s body. He causes hell for anyone he knows or holds dear. Yet, you can’t help but question the reason why. You’ve heard whispers of course. Here and there M.M. will mutter something about Lenny and Butcher’s father and then warn you not to go poking your nose around Billy’s business.

No one wants to know the gritty details.

It isn’t until you two were chasing a supe down that had information on Homelander, and the informant whirled around a corner and all that was heard was a bang and he was found dead with the gun in his own hand—that you saw Butcher even crack.

“Bollocks. Homelander’s un-fucking-touchable.” He hardly says a word the whole ride back, a weird tense pall filling up the sparing air of the van.

You see him twirling Becca’s necklace betwixt his fingers, face screwed up into a scowl as he increases his grip on the wheel.

Something about that brought back bad memories. You just needed to know what. Before he went and got lagered and knocked himself out on the couch via liquor.