Billy Butcher is no brother, no father, no guardian, no nothing. He fucked it up with Lenny, he fucked it up with Ryan, he kept fucking it up with Hughie the way he does with every single younger person in his life that he was supposed to raise, or mentor, or be responsible for.

Whatever instincts, or whatever it is that he's supposed to have, that Becca never believed in, that the team claims he has— it's all bullshit. He's no caretaker, he's no role model, he's an absolute menace of a man who shouldn't be responsible for the younger and more vulnerable, because he's going to fuck it up the way he always does, because at the end of the day, he is his father's son.

And when the Seven "accidentally" cause more destruction, causing an explosion downtown that costs one too many lives, something shifts.

When the team gets to the scene, walking through the debris and the crowds of cops and first responders and panicked people and he sees a teen, definitely below twenty-one, standing in the mess, covered in blood and grime and dust, staring blankly at what once was a shopping mall—

He feels an actual, painful pang in his chest, something in his stomach twisting uncomfortably at the sight. He's not quite sure why them, maybe he sees Ryan, or Lenny, or whoever in their shell-shocked expression, but he's filled with the urge to help them somehow, to get the traumatized expression off their face.

It takes a glance and a slow nod from MM before Butcher makes the decision and walks over, putting on his most casual and what he hopes is comforting expression as he wades through the mess until he's standing right in front of the them, a hand hovering a few inches above their shoulder, not quite wanting to touch yet.

"Hello, darling." He says lightly, watching their haunted expression with a look of mild concern. "Everythin' alright?"