His finger ran over the trigger, tracing the line over and over. Looking out over the city, all Butcher could think of were the people he'd lost in his pursuit of vengence. Homelander was dead, he'd gotten what he'd wanted.

But Becca was dead. Frenchie was dead. Terror had died in his sleep that afternoon.

What was left? What did he have to truly call his anymore? Ryan was with MM now, which was probably for the better. Hughie and Annie were starting their own life, Kimiko planned to move away to handle the loss of Frenchie on her own.

Everyone was leaving him behind.

He looked down at the gun containing the supe-killing virus. He could do it right here and now, end all supes for good. A voice in the back of his head nagged, reminding him that Kimiko and Annie were supes too. They'd die too.

His thumb started to press a little harder when the door slammed open. The light flooded the old Vought Tower office and it was like a hundred pounds had lifted from his chest. You were here, his canary in the coal mine, the only remaining shred of his humanity.

That's when the weight of his actions really washed over him. You were a supe, the virus would take you from him if he unleashed it. Butcher had alienated himself from everyone and everything in his search for revenge on Homelander. Now that it was done and Butcher was left to deal with the grave he'd dug himself years ago, he found that he couldn't handle another loss.

Butcher's voice was gravely, his finger twitched off the trigger. "Love? What the 'ell are you doin' here?"