She stood, paralysed, in the wake of all four corpses, dressed only in the medical shirt and her own underwear. The green heel was lodged slightly off-centre of the forehead of one of the younger men, the others with some damage to their throat, one way or another. Breath loosing such intensity, Rowan caught sight of a dark red peeking out from amongst the notes on their subject - but it was a different shade from the smears of blood on the wall forming the Vought logo. She carefully knelt and tore the pages filled with her information away, eyes widening at her name partially hidden by a large stamp in capital letters, screaming at her that she was supposed to be dead.
Brushing over the 'DECEASED' note, she grazed over her name, birthday, death day and description, sliding a photo out from beneath a paperclip on the first page. It showed her, as a seven year old, rested in a body bag - stick thin. When she squinted, Rowan could make out a lock of red hair to the left of the picture, letting on a small smile,"Mama." Her fingers smoothed over the paper, drifting over a bump at the bottom caused by something in the plastic wallet in the back. Cold to her soaked hands, the silver plastic rested in her palm, fractures of the glass facing her obscuring the wild animal's features. To remain a feisty little animal.
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Limbs dead. Eyes blurry to everything around her. Her clammy palms rested on the cold tiles, spine bent forwards and aches swelling in the back of her craned neck. The sensation of hands clamping around her wrists and lifting her arms above her head hardly even registered in her brain. All she could feel was the band aid stinging against her skin and a drowsy cloud hiding her thoughts. Her coat had been taken when the wheels beneath them were rolling, taking them to the same place where the same people had kept Kimiko under control around 24 hours ago.
An icy breeze suddenly passed her bare stomach and back, tempting a small fit of shivers to take hold of her body. There was no weight on her shoulders now. None at all. Before she could react in a string of slurs, her ankles were clasped and nails were grating at the skin on her waist, the material under her being awkwardly dragged off her legs. Almost simultaneously, a small snipping noise pierced her ears due to it's proximity, but it still failed to keep her eyes open properly.
Suddenly, it was raining. Just on her. Coarse sponges were harshly rubbing her skin raw, large hands massaging suds into her scalp and ceasing to bother avoiding her eyes or injuries.
"Ah... AH, THAT STINGS!" She coughed, blinking to extract the shampoo from her eyes. "Stop it... STOP IT! PLEASE..." She screamed, words growing weaker when the band aid was ripped off and another sharp jab to her arm came. Just like that, she couldn't feel it anymore.
Why did she always manage to slip out of their grasp? Rowan listened to her stomach gurgling as she stumbled through the night, her stolen lab coat snagging on the fence outside the facility. She was so deep in thought about how the fuck Vought managed to smuggle her file out of the FBI, she landed right on her butt when the flares caught, fraying at the sharp chicken wire.
"No, no, no!" She sighed, impatiently yanking the coat as an alarm sounded in the distance. They were coming for her. "You bitch!" Rowan snarled, pulling one last time at the coat with the rest of her strength.
"We've got eyes on her!" Male voices barked through the mild air and white lights illuminated her pasty skin.
A hiccup escaped her throat as she was forced to hurriedly shrug off the only appropriate clothing she adorned and limp into the dark before the unit could catch up with their heavy armour and weapons. Afraid of the weak chain breaking around her neck, Rowan snapped the necklace and kept the amulet balled in her fist as her speed picked up, legs wobbling underneath her.
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.
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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.
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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.
The small noise caused her attention to divert from the robots onscreen, weakly smirking with darker eyes than usual,"Miss me?"
"How did you find me?"
"Your nature isn't a mystery to everyone, now matter what they say." She sighed.
"What did they say-"
"We're not doing this."
"Yes, we fucking are or you're wiping the blood off that mush of yours by yourself." Butcher warned,"Now, you're gonna' tell me where they are and how we're gonna' mess about with 'em. We get back on our feet and then... then we fuck shit up - take back what's ours. Got it?"
"You're not as inspirational as you think you are." Rowan grumbled,"But yeah, I got it." It was depressing how he was so ready and rearing to go and she just wanted to get some sleep without getting hit over the head or drugged by an evil corporation. She just wanted everything to slow down. "After all those times I slipped through their fucking fingers." She reminisced, half paying attention to the movie playing for no apparent reason as a damp cloth was wiped at the side of her face.
"And you did it again, look at you!" He reasoned.
"Precisely." Rowan narrowed her eyes,"Look at me. I can feel my heart beat in my hands."
"Well, that's because you're dying."
"Bullshit, I'm only gonna' die bleeding out of my head." She crossed her arms moodily.
Butcher sighed impatiently,"You are bleeding out of your head."
"Well, shit. I guess I'll see you in the next life, then."
"Oi! Shut up." He barked, rubbing her cheek a little harsher. "How did you get out of there, anyway?
"Uhh... I'm on drugs." She responded nonchalantly.
"What?"
"Why do you think I was wearing that sweaty, old, fucking rag?" She complained, pointing to the discarded shirt that had been angrily flung into the corner. "They wanted shit out of me - course I didn't fucking know 'owt, did I? Turns out whatever they put me on," Rowan winced, rolling back her sleeve to reveal more bruises and the only plaster on her body - in the crook of her elbow,"It postpones pain and blocks out the voices so... bonus." She joked dryly.
Butcher carefully looked over the almost 14 year old with hanging, heavy eyelids interrupting her from understanding the movie. She seemed so exhausted and done... he just had to hope she'd be back to normal after a good few hours of sleep. Something about this was just too familiar - her red eyes and sticky lashes, the way she was sat, all guarded, with her head leaned back so he could make as much pain go away as possible.
"Kiddo," He called quietly,"If they tried something..."
Rowan pursed her lips uncomfortably, briefly meeting his eyes before quickly changing over the channel in TV to the local news, which was currently reporting on none other than the both of them watching it. After a few minutes of watching, speechless, with equally narrowed eyes, whether it be on the screen or at a bloodshot iris, Butcher almost whispered,
"Striker?" His accent made the word sound a lot more blunt - as if it ended with an 'a', unlike the American growl which lingered on the news anchor's tongue.
"Striker... Striker..." Rowan leaned towards him, her headache preventing her from retracing the origins of that nickname. Her face suddenly hardened,"Jay, you little fucking snitch." She grimaced.
"Wait, wait, wait, hang about - who the fuck is Jay?" Butcher intervened, having patched up a nasty gash on her temple.
"He leaked." She sighed to herself - what was she truly expecting? She never even trusted him in the first place.
"Well, come on, let's dust his arse and-"
"No, wait." She reached for his forearm, rough fingertips tracing his warm skin,"He's not worth us both going."
"Come out with it, you mouthy, little shit." He smirked playfully, reckoning just what they would end up doing once they got to whoever betrayed her.
"I'm not saying I don't wanna' get back into this..." Her hand reluctantly stretched out over his higher wrist,"You can go if you want but... I don't wanna' see how much worse it gets when I charge, head-on into this all over again." She uttered.
Billy Butcher never thought he would once holt his warpath for revenge - especially once it was discovered Rebecca was alive, but not so much well. Yet somehow, in the midst of tear tracks that scarred and mellow autumn colours faded into devastatingly visible trauma, he was almost willing to pause. The 'almost' was what convinced him that this was only part of the journey - that they could only continue on this after a cute, little nap.
He was so deep in thought, he almost jumped away in sheer surprise, looking down on her with a hand tangled in his, light snoozes battling the sound of the TV. With less reluctance than he was willing to accept, Butcher scooted up closer, careful not to disrupt the calm, and placed his right arm on her furthest shoulder, scoffing softly and irrisitably cracking a smirk at her light snores.