The Only Good One (Billy Butcher x OC)

Hughie

"You're worthless," John said, "you'll never be anything except a copy of me."

"Really? That's the best you can do?" I asked, sitting up from where he had thrown me, cracking the concrete of the huge training room, "I'm the original, they made you from my DNA."

"They refined you. I'm better, I'm faster, I'm stronger, I-"

"Have a smaller ego?" I interrupted, standing up to be eye level with him.

"You're insufferable," he said.

"Well John, that's what siblings are for," I responded, shrugging my shoulders, "Trust me, dealing with you is my penance for leaving my family."

I shuddered remembering the men in the suits, how they promised that I could help 'save the world'. What a load of shit that was. I had said yes, and then they had stolen me away and buried my memories so deep in my subconscious that I wasn't sure if I would ever remember them. The only thing I still retained was my southern accent. A long drawl that was the only memory I had of home.

I had been taken when I was ten, and my DNA was used to refine Compound V. This refined Compound V was then given to a fourteen year-old John. I had been at the compound for almost three years now, my memories of my old life wiped from me like a clean slate. I knew I had a family, a home, a life before this, but the details were fuzzy. I couldn't remember voices, names, or even faces. I could look my sister in the eyes and not even recognize her.

"At least you had a family," John responded, his shoulders sagging in sadness. He was only eighteen, born and bred to be the latest super hero for Vought. I walked over to where he stood, stopping only feet from him.

"We could still be a family," I said softly, reaching a hand out to him. He looked at me, a peculiar expression on his face. He looked from my face back down to my outstretched hand, unsure of what to do. He turned and walked away from the training room. I sighed before heading back to my 'room' across the facility from him. Sitting on my bed I began to meditate, committing this day to my memory.

____________________________________________________________________________

"Oi, what're you doing?"

A thick British accent broke me out of my meditative state. I opened my eyes, looking up at the familiar face of Butcher. I stood up, stretching out my legs and back with a satisfying popping noise. I almost stood eye to eye with him, but fell short by a few inches.

"Memory exercises," I told him, ignoring the small scoff that he let out, "I told you I'd help you in any way possible, one of those ways is trying to remember what weaknesses ol'Johhny boy had."

He looked dismissive but didn't voice anything aloud, he knew who I was and what I was capable of, having found me about seven years after I escaped from Vought. It was a rough night for him, especially when he started the interaction by pulling a gun on me. I smirked at the memory of his face when I had used a little super speed to grab the gun and unload it before snapping it in half.

"What's so funny?" He grunted, taking his heavy trench coat off to reveal a bright Hawaiian shirt underneath.

"Just reminiscing," I said, walking over to my small kitchen to start a kettle of tea for us. He had been over enough that I had figured out we had a shared enjoyment of tea, even if it was in different ways.

"Oh, I see. Thinking about the good ol'days as a reporter before the Butcher ripped you from your happiness," he said, only half-joking.

I sighed, I had worked with him for almost 3 years, gaining his trust and his friendship. It had been a rough start, with me having to save his life on several occasions for him to finally, somewhat trust me. From there we continued to work together, slowly but surely solidifying our relationship into one of friendship. It helped that we both hated my brother.