Butterflies

Chapter 10

"Butcher I don't believe this is necessary huh?" Frenchie threw up his hands.

The three of them watched Butcher as he secured Violet's wrists to the chair, holding her head up so it wouldn't drop violently.

"I want an explanation from her, without the use of her powers," he dusted off his hands before pulling up a chair across from her "she's kept a lot from us don't you wanna know the full story?"

"Yeah but come on this is Violet," Hughie said "she's not going to do anything."

"How do you know Hughie?" Butcher sat in his chair, pulling out a gun.

"Wow wow Butcher slow down," M.M. and the others urged.

Their raised voices cause Violet to stir in her slumber, blinking open to the harsh lights of their new location. One of Frenchie's many safe houses. Groaning, Violet lifted her head and shook her wrists, feeling them tied to the chair she was sat on. Everyone paused cautiously, seeing the Supe grumble.

"Why am I tied to a fucking chair?" she moaned, opening her eyes.

"You got a lot of explaining to do," Butcher leaned forward.

"So do you if I recall," she said back, glancing at Hughie and the others "have you told them? Or is this your idea of a share circle."

Tugging at the zip ties, Violet huffed and let her arms dangle behind her, taking in the faces of the men around her. Although knowing it's Violet, the woman they grown to know, it was evident they didn't feel the same anymore. Their mission was to take down Vought and any Supes along with that. One that's helped them, it was a grey area.

Hughie didn't want her to be hurt by the look of concern on his face. When he got the call he was stunned, only was it then he decided to actually look her up. He found the articles of her rejection from The Seven, how she then became a musician. Why he didn't look sooner. It prickled with more anger for Butcher than he intended, as he knew this whole time she was a Supe. Was he using her? The pair were awkward and snappy to each other, in a way Hughie thought something more was brewing however now he didn't know. Because Butcher didn't stop glaring at her even as he carried her through into the room. He was gentle, but it was reluctant.

Butcher wasn't surprised, maybe just disappointed. Disappointed at himself, and her. When he was around her his mind almost went foggy, blinded by her smile that warmed him more than he liked to admit. It was easy to forget he hated Supes with her. They were complicated, too far gone in their own ways of hiding information until they both came crumbling down together. Her story was about to be uncovered, though he wasn't ready to share his own.

"Here's what's going to happen, you're gonna explain who you are and how that purple shit works," Butcher said, "then I'll say why you're still around and I haven't killed ya. Got it?"

"You three better sit down," she motioned her head to a couple of seats around them, "we're going to be here for a while."

•••••••

It's not likely you remember how you're born, the inner workings of that blaring hospital room and how you're now stuck in a world of Supes and corrupt organizations. Although at a few minutes old you don't exactly think of those things. Violet Henry was born on September 1st 1989 in a plain dreary town in England, to two loving parents. Only that's what she was told.

Her home was the lab, an anonymous location somewhere in America where she was raised to be a weapon. Her room was comprised of many things a regular girl grows up with; she had pink wallpaper, Barbies strewn across the floor, floral bedding. All things you would see straight out of a Ikea catalogue. There were fake windows on the wall, playing the same recording over and over of what Violet only could imagine was the outside. She sat on her bed that morning, staring out at the trees rustling in the same way they did every day, wondering what a life is like outside.