If there is a god, he must really hate him.
That is the main thought currently running through Butcher’s mind, as the pain he’s in right now had to be some kind of cosmic punishment. Another spike of pain from his lower abdomen made him groan, and his hand instinctively flew up to his stomach. Hughie turned his head slightly at the sound, and Butcher dropped his hand as quickly as he brought it up. The last thing he wants is for the lad to find out about this.
Which is why he waited all day, why he didn’t move from his spot very much during their stakeout in that stupid warehouse, and why he definitely didn’t drink enough water. All things he obviously regrets now, considering it hurts so much worse than it normally does. Every second feels like a knife being twisted into his side, and there wasn’t really a good place to sit that would make it hurt any less.
Actually, it was starting to worry him. Normally he would just take over the counter painkillers and those would help clear it up, but for some reason they weren’t working this time. He even tried taking more than the recommended dose, and still nothing. On top of the pain, he felt overwhelmingly drained and had probably the worse migraine imaginable. It was taking everything in him not to snap at the other lads and beg them to shut up about their stupid argument, whatever it was about, because it was making it all worse.
Frenchie must’ve said his name or something, because he was looking at him like he was expecting a response.
“Come again mate?” Butcher grumbled out, trying to keep the pain from bleeding into his voice.
“I said, Monsieur Charcuter, that it seems Petite Hughie here doesn’t believe me that the pan in our kitchen is a pan-”
“It’s a pot damnit! It’s too deep to be a pan!” Interjected Hughie, his hands on his hips in frustration as he shouted up at the Frenchman.
“It is not! A pot is deeper than this!”
“Anything that’s not basically flat is a pot!”
“You’re thinking of a frying pan!”
“No! That’s just a normal pan! That thing we have in the kitchen is a bleedin’ pot!”
“It’s a pan! The label said so Petite!”
Butcher reached up to massage his temples, it was barely nine am and these two were arguing like it was three in the afternoon. There’s only so much of this he’s willing to take.
“Lads…” He started, before another pain in his side made him bite his tongue. At least they were paying attention to him now. “Drop it will ye? It’s fookin’ annoyin’.” Ok, maybe he’s a little short tempered today. It was valid, in his defense, as he was currently in more pain than it was worth.
That earned a pause from the two men, who seemed surprised that, rather than indulge their silly argument and add his two cents as he normally would, Butcher completely shut them down. Before they could really question him on it, Butcher felt such a sudden, intense discomfort that he knew he was either going to have to take his leave, or the lads were about to have a very rude awakening. Without another word, Butcher quickly turned and left the sitting area, rushing himself off to the bathroom, leaving the two standing and staring after him in confusion (and in Hughie’s case, concern).
He slammed the door and quickly sat down, deciding that it was far beyond the time he should’ve investigated.
To his horror, there was grey.
Fuck.
It also reeked to high heavens.
Double fuck.
All other thoughts came to a screeching halt at this, because that meant one of two things: one, that him never slipping away a few days ago meant that he ended up giving himself an infection; or two, that the building they were in was so gross and damp that the area itself was teeming with enough bacteria that he got an infection.
Actually, now that he was thinking about it, he had nearly forgotten that the building was soaked, and he had ended up equally so when he fELL INTO THAT FLOODED BASEMENT WITH HUGHIE.
TRIPLE FUCK.
There was no way this wasn’t some stupid gross infection, and now he was stuck in here without any way to fix it, and it itched and hurt so much.
Butcher bit his tongue, trying to keep himself from crying. Stupid, so stupid. How could he have been so stupid as to not properly take care of this the other day? At least if he had snuck off maybe it would’ve been easier to change then, but now he was paying for his hesitance with literal agony.
Again, he thinks, god really must hate me.
All he could really do at the moment was wrap his arms around his middle and try not to make any noise, lest the others hear him. Last thing he needed was them barging in and seeing their “fearless leader” at his most vulnerable. They were allowed to know a lot of things about him, a lot of weaknesses, but this was like the only one they weren’t allowed to know. Honestly, if they knew, Butcher assumed that they would all leave. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that they would all become royally disgusted with him in one way or another; whether it was Hughie being squirrelly about this sort of thing or MM straight up not getting it (and he frankly remembers when MM outright hated it), and whatever weird reactions the Frenchman and the Female would inevitably have. There was no way this would go over well, and then they would all leave, and Butcher knew he’d be alone again. That was the last thing he wanted.
Another cramp hit his side, and he let out a little whimper. At least the infection would explain why his pain killers weren’t working. Sure, it’s not great they didn’t kill the pain of the infection, but that meant he wasn’t going to have to switch brands again hopefully.
His stomach roiled with discomfort at the whole damn situation, and he could feel the sting of tears threatening to escape from behind his eyes. It hurt, he was cold, and he was all alone in this stupid bathroom that honestly wasn’t all that sanitary now that he was looking around. Their safehouse wasn’t fully updated, and the toilets were essentially a remodeled supply closet.
Burying his face in his hands, Butcher propped his elbows onto his knees and stifled a sob. Why couldn’t he have been just made right so that he didn’t have to worry about this? Why did the universe think it was funny to keep screwing with his fucking life so that everyone eventually would leave him? It wasn’t fair! Becca was like, the only one he had met who had been ok with him being like this, and even then, they weren’t able to do a lot of the things normal people could do. Shit, was that why she never told him what Homelander had done? Because she thought he’d be jealous that the cunt had done what he couldn’t and could never do?
His breath hitched, and Butcher did his best to hide another sob. Why did the universe hate him?
It was unclear how long he’d been sitting there like that, chest wound tighter than a new spring and sobs barely muffled by the combined efforts of his hands and the bathroom door, when suddenly, a knock startled him out of it.
Knocking.
On the door.
This day literally couldn’t get worse. Though, he bitterly thought, it absolutely could if they found him out.
“Bucther?” Hughie’s voice, though dampened by the door, dripped with concern. “Is everything alright in there?” Had he been able to hear him crying? Shit.
“S’ alright lad! No need t’ be worried m’ jus’-”, William couldn’t think of anything. Like, he could say he was just having a wank, but that wouldn’t work because he’d make more noise than this!
“Jus’ what? Mate, ye’r worrying me.” Hughie was starting to sound a tad frustrated, and Butcher could practically feel all the blood in his body cease flowing when the doorhandle started to jiggle.
He never locked it.
“Sorry t’ barge in but ye sounded weird so,” Hughie froze, taking in the scene in front of him.
Butcher was paler than a sheet, frankly, he looked like a corpse. Hughie had never actually seen the Brit cry before, so seeing him there, tear tracks on his cheeks and visibly shaking so badly that he might’ve been mistaken for an electric toothbrush made his stomach turn. Between the way Butcher had positioned himself, and the fact Hughie could smell blood and something else, some other scent he couldn’t quite describe, his concern spiked.
“BLOODY HELL!” He shouted, earning a flinch from the other man. “Yer bleeding!!! When did ye get hurt? Where’s the fookin’ wound?” He came closer far faster than Butcher had prepared for. “Why didn’t you tell anyone you were hurt the other day?? You’d call bollocks if I didn’t tell you so why the fook didn’t you say anything?!”
Butcher quickly tried to hide himself in any way that he could, but it was a bit late for that, and he looked even more upset now if possible.
Hughie looked down, and for a moment Butcher could see the gears turning in the lad’s head.
“THE SUPE CUT OFF YER DICK?!” And somehow, Hughie had managed to come to an entirely incorrect conclusion. Stunning detective work, Campbell. Butcher’s face flushed the deepest shade of red it had in his entire life, the color rivaling Crimson Countess’ cape.
“NO!”
“THEN WHERE’S THE BLOOD COMING FROM?!”
Butcher swallowed down bile, trying to hold himself back from vomiting.
“BUTCHER. WHERE IS THE BLOOD COMING FROM?”
His chest heaved, and his words came out with a hitch.
“Me.”
And with that, Butcher promptly burst into tears. Hughie startled, and he started trying to look over Butcher as the man tried to shove Hughie’s hands off.
“Billy, mate, obviously it’s coming from ye! Yer being hysterical, what d’ye mean it’s coming from ye?”
“I-it’s comin’ from ME!”
“I get that! I don’t get what ye mean!”
“I’m m-making it!”
Hughie gave a dumbfounded expression. The fuck did he mean “making it”? For a moment, Hughie stared off into the middle distance as he tried to think of what the hell Butcher meant, trying to remember how bodies could make blood and… oh. Oh. OH.
“You have a…” Hughie started out trepidatiously, and he didn’t even need to finish his sentence before Butcher nodded, sobbing harder. If there was ever the human equivalent of bluescreen, the Scotsman was it. How many times had he been weird about things like this and Butcher had heard him?? Shit, and that time they were in the gay bar… and the way he had sounded disgusted by supes who were… Hughie felt quite like throwing up. He said that shite while his best mate was right there. If the way Butcher was having a panic attack was any indication, he had been paying attention and had taken it directly to heart.
Another sob from Butcher snapped Hughie’s attention back out of his own spiral, the man obviously taking his silence as rejection.
“Mate,” Hughie gently grabbed Butcher by the shoulders, “why didn’t ye tell me?”
The man hiccupped, chest shuddering. “Y-ye don’t like em, queers, I know ye don’t! So why should I tell ye I wasn’t born a bloke?? Ye’d hate me and leave and and and-” Butcher devolved into sobbing even harder. It was a wonder he hadn’t made himself sick with how hard he was doing so.
“What?”
“Oh don’t play dumb.” Butcher sneered, “I remember everything ye said, the transgender inducin’ aliens and the chemicals in the water. Ye think there’s somethin’ wrong with me and it’s so dirty ye never would be ok with it! I bet ye think Vought makes people trans too! I bet ye think they did sumthin’ t’ me like the way ye thought about the comic store folks!” Venom dripped from his voice, and Hughie did his best not to take it personally. Frankly, he kinda deserved the chewing out since he did say those things, and clearly it had a horrid effect on Butcher.
“Mate, slow down.” Hughie tried to get a word in edgewise.
“Yer probably bloody disgusted right now! M’ gross right now and m’ probably already gross t’ ye, so go on! Get out with it and leave!”
“BILLY!” Hughie shouted, cutting off the rant.
“What?” Butcher glared as much as a crying person could.
“I’m not- What I mean to say is, yer me best mate, and m’ not grossed out.”
That made Butcher pause, expression shifting slightly as he hiccupped. Hughie took this as a cue to continue. “I wish ye had told me sooner, because I wouldn’t have been saying shite like that.”
“So why say it if ye thought I wasn’t?” Butcher’s tone was accusatory, and Hughie’s stomach twisted uncomfortably.
“Because frankly? I kinda thought ye were makin’ those jokes too. Don’t mean it was right, don’t mean it didn’t have an effect. M’ real sorry mate. Me actin’ all dodgy back then probably made ye feel like shite.” He gave Butcher’s shoulder a squeeze. “I don’t hate trannies. I fooked up pretty good here, didn’t I?” A small nod from Butcher gave Hughie the confidence to keep going.
“I’m sorry. Can’t take back what I said, but, I can apologize.” He smiled uneasily, “We still best mates?”
Hughie jumped as Butcher started crying all over again, taking mild relief at his insistent nodding.
“Good… good. Now, what’s all this about then?” He gestured broadly at the blood and the grey, which was still his chief concern since he got in here.
“I didn’t change me pad the other day.” Butcher hiccupped. Hughie’s face morphed into disgust for a brief moment, before he quickly righted it, not wanting Butcher to get the wrong idea.
“Not once?? At all? Mate, why the bloody hell not?!” Butcher shrugged at that.
“I didn’t want ye lot t’ know…”
“Even after we fell in the water?” Hughie took Butcher’s silence as an unfortunate yes.
“It hurts…” Butcher shifted slightly, wincing as he felt the discomfort from the infection intensify.
“Fook, its not supposed to be grey is it? I don’t know a lot about these things.” The two sort of just stared at the pad a moment, silently debating.
“No… its not.”
“Well, that’s just bloody brilliant.” The Scotsman sighed, starting to stand up. “Look, I’ll just go get Frenchie and he can-” Hughie was cut off by Butcher’s hand shooting out and grabbing his forearm with such force that it hurt.
“NO. No telling the Frenchman, no telling M.M., and no telling the Female!” He looked so fervently distressed by the very idea of the others finding out that it made Hughie’s chest give a squeeze.
“Why no?”
“Ye’ve seen how the others act, they wouldn’t react like ye, m’ sure of it!”
Hughie gave a deep sigh, “But mate, m’ not a medic and he is. If anyone’s gonna know what t’ do, s’ him. And besides, we can’t just go t’ the hospital as wanted terrorists. Ye got a better plan?”
Before Butcher can say anything, the aforementioned Frenchman sticks his head into the bathroom, having heard the yelling.
“Mon Petite et Monsieur Charcuter, what is taking you both so long?” Frenchie, oblivious to the entire mess, stared at the two, and Butcher looked incredibly close to falling to pieces all over again. Mercifully, he seemed to piece everything together much faster than Hughie did, and he rushed into the bathroom to kneel next to him, cupping Butcher’s face in his hands.
“Non non non! Don’t cry mon ami! It’s alright! Shhh shh… carrying this alone was a heavy burden, yes? La pauvre... Why didn’t you tell us?” Frenchie was clearly handling this with more ease than Hughie had, and the Scotsman mildly envied him in that regard.
“Yer not mad?” Butcher’s voice cracked.
“Of course not! Who cares if you don’t have a dick?”
“Me?”
“… Monsieur Charcuter, you live with a chemist who’s insane enough to try and tamper with compound V. You could’ve asked me to fix up your testosterone if you had just clued me in!”
Butcher sniffled, “I’ve tried, mate. Gotten stronger stuff and all that shite. Me body still has it’s stupid fookin’ period though, and it just hurts ten times worse!” It was then Frenchie noticed the color of the blood.
“Billy what the fuck did you do?”
After briefing him on what Hughie already knew (and sparing the audience a third time hearing how to get an infection, seriously, change your pads friends), Frenchie looked like he was about to lose it.
“Once you’re cleaned up, you are parking your happy ass on the couch, mon ami, and you’re going to wait for us and we’re going to get you medication for this.” Hearing Frenchie sound so serious was highly unusual and generally was a “do not argue” moment. So, with that, Billy nodded wordlessly and started to clean up as best he presently could.
It didn’t take long for the two to get Butcher settled onto the couch, and both of them frowned when Butcher winced again, curling up around his abdomen from the pain. His head was killing him, and it was infinitely worse now from all the crying.
“Petite Hughie, I’m not too sure what to give him for this, because I’ve got the strongest pain killers on the market, but I don’t know how those would act with the medicine or his hormones.”
“Could we ask the Female?”
“Oui, we could ask Kimiko-” Frenchie paused when he saw Hughie’s expression, “Yes, she does have a name, it’s not that hard to ask. But I don’t know if she’d know what to do for this, as she heals on her own and can’t really get sick.”
“Shit…” After a few moments of deliberation, Hughie had an idea. “What about M.M? He has a daughter, yea?”
Speak of the devil, the aforementioned man walked into the room, carrying some groceries he had picked up on a supply run.
“What about me?” M.M. asked as he set down the bags, starting to unload them.
“What do ye do fer a girl infection?” Both Frenchie and Butcher shot him a dirty look at that, granted it wasn’t the most tactful question he could’ve asked.
“I beg your pardon?” M.M. turned around quickly, baffled at this, and then he noticed the way everyone was surrounding Butcher protectively.
“Um… the lad was wonderin’ how ye treat… infections down there?” Butcher mumbled.
“But why specifically a girl? S’ the Female sick?”
Butcher shook his head and his face flushed again. It took a few moments, but M.M.’s eyebrows shot up once he put two and two together, sunglasses sliding down his nose as he dropped the bag that he was holding.
“You’re?!” Butcher nodded, and M.M. continued, quickly trying to pick up the dropped groceries first. “Jesus mate! You should’ve said something!”
“But I thought-”
“I outgrew that mindset years ago! You could’ve said something! Jesus!” M.M. quickly crossed over to check on Butcher, resting his hand on his shoulder.
“So… infection?” Another quiet nod. “Please tell me you changed it yesterday at least once?”
“Does changing it after twenty hours count?”
Horror flashed over the faces of everyone present.
“Don’t you ever pull a stunt like that again, you hear me?!” M.M. was borderline furious, though, his demeanor softened when he saw how close to tears Butcher was. “Look mate, I don’t think I know enough here to help, Janine’s never had something like this happen. Fuck, if you had told me, I would’ve kept some pads on hand for you and this never would’ve happened.”
“That’s nice of ye… I ran out earlier today and-”
“You’re out?! Damnit Butch, you gotta tell us these things.” He sighed with a frown, sitting down next to him. “I take it we’re running dry on ideas?”
Hughie cleared his throat. “I have one other idea… but you may not like it?”
Butcher sniffled, “Well, go on lad, shoot.”
“I could ask Annie?”
“AND TELL THE BIRD?”
“NO! OBVIOUSLY NO!” He sighed, joining M.M. and Butcher on the couch. “I was gonna jus’ ask her what to do for them, as like, what if Kimiko got one or whatever.”
Butcher hummed in thought, curling against M.M.’s side since the warmth made his cramps feel a little less shitty. “Ok… ye can do that.”
With that blessing, Hughie pulled out his phone, the charms attached to the hinge clanking together as he did. The plastic star made a slight clatter against the metal bulldog and robin, continuing their little jingle as Hughie typed away.
Hey Annie? I got a quick question.<
It took a few minutes of waiting on bated breath, but eventually, his phone beeped with a response.
> Sure, what’s up?
So, you’re a woman, right? <
>Excuse me?
That sounds wrong. Let me
rephrase that. You get periods,
right? <
>Obviously?
Have you ever gotten an infection? <
Hughie’s ears burned with embarrassment just typing that.
>What?? TMI much?
Sorry! Sorry! It’s just, y’know the
Female? She got one and it’s
really bad. We can’t just go to a
doc yknow. <
>Oh. That’s gotta suck,
poor her. :(
Yea, and Frenchie isn’t sure what
to give her for it. <
>Well, do you know
what kind of infection she’s
got?
Um, no? The blood was grey?
Does that help? <
>IT WAS GREY???
Yes? <
>THAT’S BACTERIAL
VAGNOSIS.
>*VAGNOSAS
>*VAGINOSIS
>I CAN’T TYPE ON
THIS DAMN THING.
I take it from the caps lock
it’s bad? <
>Yea, really bad. You
sure you can’t get to a doctor?
Positive. Last time we tried they
called the coppers on us. Can’t risk it. <
>Well fuck.
>Ok so you’re gonna need
antibiotics.
>Preferably Metronidazole.
Ok, anything else? <
>Painkillers, definitely.
What if the period part hurts more?
Like more than usual? <
>Why? That also happening?
Yea. <
>Well get the poor thing
a heating pad and blankets!
And chocolate! Have you
never been with a woman
while she was on her monthly?
No? Well, Robin didn’t exactly
get them this badly and hadn’t
gotten an infection… <
so… <
>Well, good luck.
Hope she feels better!
Thanks. <
Hughie sighed as he closed his phone, “Good news, ye can probably nick the stuff from a pharmacy.” A sigh of relief swept through the room.
“So Petite, who’s going to be the lucky one to go retrieve the medicine for our poor Monsieur Charcutier? Because I for one intend to stay right here and make sure he drinks some fucking water!” Frenchie’s tone took on a playful scolding, giving the aforementioned Brit a look. Butcher, to his credit, was curled up so tight one could mistake him as trying to pass for a couch cushion. At that moment, Kimiko returned from wherever she had been, given that she never really announced her coming or going, no one had actually known she wasn’t in the safehouse. She took one look at the scene on the couch, tilted her head, and just signed: Period?
Everyone froze, and upon Frenchie translating, Butcher snapped his head up to look at her. “How the bleeding hell did ye know?!”
She simply shrugged, signing again: I have my ways.
At least that was one less person Billy had to come out to, and it could’ve sucked way worse than it did. Kimiko took advantage of the silence to trot over next to Butcher and squeeze herself into the spot between him and Hughie, patting the couch to get Terror up there with her.
“Alright then,” Hughie sighed, “In light of the fact that the couch s’ now overly full and everyone s’ present, I’ll do the medicine run.” A hum of agreement permeated the room, and he casually stood up, doing his best not to jostle Kimiko or the dog. “Be back in a tenner, ‘less somethin’ stupid happens.”
Kimiko proceeded to shift around until Butcher was being cuddled from behind, now positioned so he was basically in M.M.’s lap, and Frenchie was on the other side trying to coax him into drinking water. He wasn’t kidding when he said Butcher needed to hydrate.
Hughie arrived at the nearest name brand pharmacy a short time later, slipping in and doing his best to keep his face away from the cameras. The lady at the front counter looked at him with mild confusion, a bit off put by his admittedly sketchy behavior. Not wanting to be thought of as a shoplifter (even though that’s absolutely what he was about to do) he relaxed himself, putting his shoulders back down. He trotted back into the back of the pharmacy to where the medicine counters were, and to his luck, they were leaving for lunch as he walked up. All he really had to do was stick his foot into the door as the last person left and slide inside. It didn’t take him particularly long to track down where they stored antibiotics that weren’t doled out yet, and he quickly grabbed an empty pill bottle to put enough dosage in for two weeks. There weren’t cameras in the room, mercifully, as the parent company seemed to be bad enough on the upkeep that they didn’t bother with that sort of thing. Hughie, satisfied with the quick heist, shoved the bottle into his pocket and exited the back area as fast as he could.
He moved through the aisles quickly, scanning for products meant for monthlies. The boxes all had ridiculous names and were clearly off-brand versions of better ones. He’d never looked at these before, and he literally had no way of knowing what a good one was or not. They all said shit like “extra absorption” or “overnight wings”, and on closer inspection, Hughie could see there were apparently sizes. Why were there sizes?? He didn’t really wanna call Butcher back at the base and ask what size he wore, since that felt a bit like way too much personal info and Butcher had given out enough of that for one day. Thus, he just said screw it and proceeded to grab a box of each one off the shelf.
With a sigh, he remembered the painkillers and grabbed the first one that looked like it was meant for periods, Midol. Hughie wasn’t sure what the difference between ibuprofen, Tylenol, and this stuff was exactly, but Butch said the ibuprofen wasn’t helping. Oh, he was supposed to get a heating pad too. There were like seven or eight different ones, but the one that caught his eye was shaped like a large dog. Butcher liked dogs. That was an easy winner, obviously.
As Hughie started towards the front of the pharmacy, as obviously he wasn’t going to try and steal all of this after already stealing medication, he noticed the candy aisle and grabbed both dark and milk chocolate. Did he understand why people wanted chocolate during their periods? No. But did he understand that’s something they wanted? Yes.
If the look the cashier lady was giving him was any indication, she clearly assumed he was buying this stuff for his girlfriend or something. That couldn’t be further from the truth, but he wasn’t going to get into it with some random lady at one in the afternoon. He made quick work of paying, and he avoided all the small talk that he could. He was definitely gone longer than ten minutes, so he wondered if he could count getting stuck in the checkout line as “something stupid”. The second everything was bagged, Hughie was booking it back down the street as fast as physically possible.
When he got back to the safehouse, he was immediately greeted by the sound of crying. Butcher was clutching his head, burrowed into M.M. and being held by the group. The three non-crying individuals snapped their heads towards Hughie the moment he entered, relief evident on all their faces.
“Kid, thank fuck.” M.M. shifted slightly to try and show Butcher that Hughie had returned. Hughie took that as a cue to wordlessly drop all the items from the store, including the medication, into Butcher’s lap. There had to be at least a dozen different kinds of pads, and Butcher stopped crying solely because he was so stunned by this fact. A smirk cracked across his face, and he started laughing. It was nice, seeing him genuinely happy for the first time in a while.
“S’ that a pup? For me? Lad, ye shouldn’t have!” Butcher picked up the heating pad, snuggling it a bit. It had been a long time since anyone had given him something soft like this.
“Well, ye need a heating pad, so that one was the clear winner.” The Brit nodded in agreement, unwrapping a chocolate and quickly popping it into his mouth. A moan of contentment escaped him, and he started to unwrap yet another.
Hughie traded spots with Frenchie so the Frenchman could check over the meds and go heat up the heating pad, and the group decided the best course of action would be to pull out the pullout bed portion of the couch, so they all fit better. Butcher took advantage of that time to go put the mound of pads into the bathroom (with full intent to explain them to Hughie better later) and to change into more comfortable clothes. When he came back into the main room, he was wearing sweatpants and a Spice Girls tour shirt. With a hum, he clambered into the blankets that were now all over the couch and made himself right at home.
Frenchie swiftly returned with the meds for Butcher, as well as the heating pad, and once he was satisfied that Butcher had taken them, everyone moved around until Billy was comfortably in the center of the cuddle puddle again.
“Could we watch The Bourne Supremacy?” Butcher looked up at the group, doing his best approximation of puppy eyes. And given the day Butcher had? No one in the group had it in their hearts to deny him the pleasure of his supe-less action movie. So, Butcher got his way, cuddled by his favorite people and dog, and for the first time since Becca, it hurt a lot less.
Maybe the universe was giving him a break, just this once.