𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗘𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗡 𝗢𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗥 | the boys 2

𝘪𝘪) 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃

Rowan had posited that Butcher hadn't been caught. She had looked for him in the facility but got nothing, not to mention reckoning that he would have broken out and found her before she even regained consciousness. She couldn't even begin to imagine how he was feeling, if he even wanted to see her, if he would hate all kids now Becca had a child with that thing. It was then it dawned on her that she would've killed to speak to Becca. Not to threaten her or interrogate her, maybe just to say sorry. Sorry for all that creature had done to them both. But at the moment, she just needed Butcher.

_____________________

Rowan's eyes uncontrollably flickered - because there was no Hermione anymore. It was a stupid decision and she didn't suppose it helped in the slightest bit. Everything had officially turned to dog shit. Nothing could stop this awful sensation of vile infection - not even the tightest, British bear-hug she could imagine. She didn't appreciate being beaten to a bloody pulp but this shit was serious - exploitation left scars on her mind deeper than jagged blades to her porcelain skin. But at least she'd found him. Her knees were weak and feet were grazed and bleeding - at a minimum, some of the pain felt like home.

She uncomfortably pulled the sodden shirt past her waist for the hundredth time as an early daylight shone over the quiet streets of New York. The ones where kids her age were told to stay away from. The wood was slammed on again, meeting no answer. Her entire face stung like a bitch, swelling and bruised beyond comprehension.

The door creaked open a matter of mere millimetres, prompting her jaw to clench and fingernails to dig into her palms,"Butcher, I swear to God, open this fucking door or I'll-" She growled through gritted teeth and was immediately pulled inside, pulling away from the large hand that had a hold of her wrist. "Get the fuck off me." She muttered.

Butcher had expected her to be a lot more relieved to see him than she appeared - dilated pupils, helplessly swaying shoulders and determinedly averted gaze. To Hell with that - his slight disappointment was drowned out by a flood of worry as a series of hoarse coughs erupted from her lungs, so powerful they forced her back into the wall, and the splodges of purple and red inflating her face were noticed,"Jesus, kid, what the fuck did those wankers do to you?"

She let out a small groan, a grunt of sorts, in response and continued fidgeting restlessly with the hem of the small shirt to keep it halfway down her thighs - still too short. "You ain't got 'owt underneath that, 'ave ya'?" He guessed rather lowly, guilt invading his head.

"Just my panties," She mumbled as quietly as possible, embarrassed out of her mind.

"Shit, kiddo-"

"May I please have some pants and possibly a cupboard to finish having my mental breakdown in?" Rowan interrupted, finally meeting his eyes.

____________________

After a good ten minutes of rocking uncontrollably to herself and fighting not to fall asleep now she warm and more comfortable in some other clothes, Rowan sat on the sofa in the the surprisingly cheerful space, light shining through the windows and a Transformers movie playing quietly in the background. She curled up in a massive jumper, one of Butcher's shirts underneath, and humongous track pants with ankles that hung around her heels. Her lip was bust and a purple line ran down from the outer corner of her eye the same side Billy had made himself comfortable, letting out a breathy sigh at the marks clearly caused by human hands.