Billy Butcher had never been a good man. He knew that, even before he met Becca; even more so after she died. He never claimed to be one, not when his hands had been dirty since childhood.

You, somehow, forgave him for the blood he shed.

You had joined The Boys by complete accident; an innocent bystander caught up in Storm Front's rampage. Kimiko, with the wound of her brother's death still fresh, was the one to find you hiding in the rubble of the apartment building.

You had watched as Vought covered up Storm Front's heartless actions from the tv in their hideout. Vought chalked it up as an act of terrorism, but you had seen the truth.

You naturally drifted towards Billy. You were his complete opposite; young, bright eyed, bushy tailed. Kind, even to those who didn't deserve it. Part of him envied you.

But, you had your life ripped apart at the careless hands of a godforsaken Supe, too. Hughie might've been his canary, his conscience, but you? God, you were like a lucky charm. The angel on his shoulder. Pure in the face of evil. He swore to keep you safe; to protect you like he couldn't protect Becca.

Yet, he was bound to slip up. After hearing that you had seen what Storm Front had done, Vought sent a team out to kidnap you. To keep you silent.

Three months. Three months of an absent room in the hideout. An empty space in Billy’s bed. Three months of a loss of the one thing that remained completely and irrevocably good in The Boys. Sure, they had Hughie, but there was plenty keeping his hands dirty. You embodied the why of what The Boys did; keeping good unharmed by the corrupt supposed to protect.

Billy had gone nearly insane; doing everything in his power to find you. To get you back safe, and kill whoever decided it was smart to take you. He spent days, weeks without sleep, just searching for leads, tips, hints as to where they had taken you.

And then, he saw you.

In the middle of New York. Running like your life depended on it.