Chapter Text
Rain dampened his trenchcoat as Butcher stood by the road and breathed life into a cigarette. He took a long drag, watching car headlights cast colourful lights onto the wet pavement as they sped by. It was nearly midnight and the rain that was once a downpour had eased, but Butcher didn't mind- he quite enjoyed the melancholic atmosphere. He flicked his ash and cast his eyes towards the rows of buildings emitting an inviting yellow glow- kebab shops, barbers, that one charity place that everyone knew was a money laundering front. His eyes settled then on the last building on the corner- this one was different, with blacked out windows and colourful graffiti adorning it's walls. He figured it to be a bar given the windows, and found himself absent mindedly wandering towards it.
He didn't often find himself feeling so lost, but events three days prior had left him feeling hollow. They had done it, what he'd always wanted- they had killed the last supe. He could still hear his pleads for help as they had dragged him from his hiding spot in an abandoned bulding- what is it with supes and hiding in abandoned places? This one had been some kind of invisible cunt, as Butcher had described at the time. They had been alerted to his presence when he started killing locals. If I was a bloody supe, the last thing I'd do is fucking broadcast it, he thought to himself. They had enjoyed the final hunt, knowing from other bounty hunters across the country that he had been the last on their radar. Yes, they had done it. But now he felt lost, no direction or purpose. He sensed Hughie and Frenchie felt the same. After they disposed of the lifeless corpse they sat in silence for a while, not a word shared. The end of an era.
Butcher arrived outside the building. He figured it had perhaps once been an old factory given the architecture. He took a step back as two men stumbled out of the door, thumping music bleeding into the air behind them. They swayed in each others arms, laughing and spilling their drinks, before turning the corner into the night. Rowdy fuckers.
''You coming in or what?'' the burly tatted bouncer said. Butcher hadn't even noticed him holding the door.
Butcher took another drag, scrunching his nose in displeasure at the suggestion.
''Well, suit yourself, but I can't hold this door open all night for ya. Noise complaints and all that.'' and with that, the bouncer was gone and the music was silenced once again.
Butcher contemplated for a moment. He was at a crossroads- literally and figuratively. He had spent years repressing his 'unclean' thoughts and desires and focusing soley on the hunt, the slaying of supes. He didn't like this new realisation that he'd have to spend some actual time with his thoughts and urges. He thought of the two men stumbling down the alley, drunken hands clutching each others shirts. His early retirement had given him a new sense of impulsivity and with one last drag he flicked his cigarette into a puddle and marched towards the door.
''Fuck it.''
His head jolted back as the music pounded into his ears, flashing lights blinding him as he stepped inside. Disorientated, a voice chirped up beside him- that of the tatted bouncer.
''I figured you'd change your mind.'' he said with slight smugness. Butcher grunted indistinctly and sauntered through the strobing lights and crowd of dancing bodies towards the shining oasis of the bar. After jostling through the sweaty dancers he slumped himself onto a bar stool. He patted his coat pockets, thankful that he'd only had his arse briefly grabbed and not his wallet stolen in the swarm.
''What's your poison?'' the barman asked as he wiped a glass with a rather unclean looking rag. Butcher had been in worse pubs back in England so it didn't phase him much.
''Pint of Guinness.''
As the barman poured his glass Butcher swiveled to the side to get a better view of the place. His eyes swept over the frenzied dance floor to the couples snogging in booths and on sofas around the edges of the large room. He looked upwards to see an overhanging top floor with more tables and chairs, all full. He felt wildly out of place yet strangely comfortable all at once. His pint was placed infront of him and he chugged a good half of it in one go. As he placed the glass back down his eyes fell upon a figure at the end of the bar. Time seemed to slow as he watched the stranger, the dancers blurring into the background as the man took a sip from his drink.
He was devilishly handsome, with a striking yet somehow sorrowful face. His hair was the colour of wheat in a summer field, shorn short at the sides and swept back on top. He looked effortlessly well groomed, wearing a simple white shirt and a dark green jacket yet managing to look like a golden haired action figure. The veins in his sturdy hands popped as he lifted his glass of what Butcher guessed was Gin and tonic.
Butcher felt a surge of saliva across his tongue and a heat in his crotch as he gritted his teeth. Fuck. He cursed himself silently for walking into a place he knew would cause him to fight with himself. Tonight was different though. He had no life to put up a front for, that was over. No reason to rise early and fit in. Perhaps it was the Guinness thinking, but he slowly reasoned that it was the night for saying who fucking cares anymore. He'd spent his life caring, just like he'd spent his life hunting supes, but things had changed. New beginnings and all that bloody bollocks.
He downed the rest of his pint and slid his way off the stool. For a moment he hesitated, watching the stranger as he observed the dancers. Well he's alone isn't he? They're all here looking for a shag, it's not the Queen's bloody ballroom. Swallow your fucking pride and go.
''So what's your name then?''