Twist (Part Three)
A Billy Butcher POV fanfic
NSFW under the cut - MDNI
Part One | Part Two
_________
I’ve been up all night. Pacin' the flat. Swearin' at the telly. Drinkin'.
But nuffink I do stops me keep 'earin you tellin' Ollie I ain't never comin' back - it's on repeat in me 'ead, over 'n over again til I wanna punch me fist through the fuckin' wall.
The look on 'is little face… Nah, I can’t let that stand. You don’t get to pull that kinda stunt 'n get away wiv it.
So the next day, I'm back knockin' at yer door, shoulders square, ready for anuvver barney.
I expect ya t'tell me t'fuck off, slam the door in me face, maybe even call the ol' bill on me. But ya don’t. You open the door quick, lookin' like you’ve been waittin' for me t'get 'ere. “Come in” ya say, like nuffink's 'appened.
For a second, I just stand there - blinkin' like a twat. “You what?”
“Come in, Billy” you repeat, calm as ya like.
It throws me completely - but I'll be fucked if I'm gonna let you know that. I just shove me way past ya, an' 'ead towards yer livin' room.
You forget - I fuckin' know you. I don’t trust ya one bit - yer up to summink.
The place is quiet - too quiet. No Ollie running about, no squeals o'laughter. “Where’s the boy?” I ask, me voice sharp.
“He’s at preschool,” you say, closin' the door.
Me jaw tightens. I feel like I’ve been set up. “Right. So what’s this, then? Some kinda ambush?”
You shake yer 'ead, looking… sad. Guilty, maybe. Good. You fuckin' should be, after the shit you pulled yesterday. “Billy, I just… I wanted to talk.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Talk? Oh, now ya wanna fuckin' talk. After breakin’ that poor lad's 'eart?”
“I know,” ya say, and there’s this tremble in yer voice. You're fillin' up. And for a split second, I wanna comfort ya - never could stand it, seein' ya cry. But I soon fuck that train o'fort off. Fuck that.
“I know, Billy. And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It was cruel, and I feel terrible about it.”
“So ya fuckin’ should,” I snap, but the fight’s gone out o'me a bit.
You take a deep breff, steadyin' yerself. “God, he was so upset. He cried himself to sleep last night, thinking he'd never see you again. I can’t do it to him, Billy. I… I want him to see you. Regularly.”
Well that stops me in me tracks. “What?”
“You can see him, as often as you like. We just need to figure out some ground rules,” you say, foldin' yer bloody arms again - but it ain't in anger this time - more like yer tryna 'old yerself togevver. “For Ollie’s sake. He needs stability, Billy.”
Me anger flares up again, hot 'n sharp. “Ground rules? You takin' the fuckin' piss? You fink you get to call the shots after what you've done?”
You flinch, but ya don’t back down. “I’m trying to do what’s best for him, Billy. Can we just - can we not fight about this? Please?”
I look daggers at ya, every muscle in me body tense. Because I know yer right. As much as it boils me piss - you're right. I sigh, draggin' me 'and through me beard. “Fine. Ground rules. Whatever. Just say what you gotta say.”
And then you go straight f'me fuckin' jugular.
“I need you to promise not to tell him you’re his dad…”
The fuckin' balls on you. Fuckin'ell. I'm goona blow...
“You can fuck right off wi'that shite - are you seriously tellin’ me I’ve gotta keep me gob shut 'n pretend I’m just some random fuckin' bloke, while my son - my fuckin' son - walks 'round not knowing the troof? You’re havin’ a fuckin' laugh!"
“For fucksake Billy - let me finish” you shout back, and there's tears fallin' now. “I’m not saying you can never tell him you're his dad. I mean… just… don't tell him yet. Let him get to know you first. Let him feel comfortable. Please.”
I’m so angry I can 'ardly see straight. I need ta fuck off out of 'ere, sharpish - cos if I don't? I'll fuckin' frottle ya.
But outta nowhere, I fink of Ollie. 'Is little grin, the way he ran t'me like I was his 'ole world. I can't walk out on 'im. E's only little, I don't wanna confuse the lad.
“Fine,” I say through gritted teef. “But don’t fink I’m fuckin' 'appy about it.”
“Thank you,” you whisper, wiping at your eyes.
You try t'pull yerself togevva - you gotta pick 'im up in a minute, ya tell me. And outta nowhere, you ask if I wanna come wiv ya - maybe take 'im for a burger t'the park. Me gut's tellin' me ta tell ya t'fuck off. I wanna see 'im on my terms, not yours. But then Ollie pops back in me 'ead again, an' I imagine 'ow 'is face is gonna light up, and I find meself sayin' yes.
But the second I agree, the panic sets in. What the fuck am I doin'? I’ve never looked after a kid in me life, let alone taken one out on me own. What if 'e falls off the fuckin' climbin' frame and cracks 'is bloody 'ead open? What if I feed 'im the wrong fing? What if I fuck it all up?
But I shove it down, 'ard. I'll do it fo 'im. For my boy.
—-----
We walk just down the road to Ollie’s preschool, an' it’s awkward as fuck. Neaver of us says much, there's just the sound of me bloody great clod'oppers on the pavement and the occasional cough. I can feel ya lookin' at me out the corner of yer eye, probly worryin' I’m gonna fuck it up.
You stop in front'o the preschool gates, fiddlin' wiv yer coat zip, and for a second, I fink about sayin' summink. Summink… normal. But then the gate opens, and the noise o'kids pours out. Me froat tightens.
An' then I see 'im. My boy. 'Is little 'ead bobs up, scannin' the line o'parents, and when 'e clocks me, it’s like the sun’s just come out. “Billy!” 'e shouts, droppin' whatever e’s holdin' and leggin' it towards me.
I don’t fink I’ve ever been hit so 'ard in me life - not by a punch, not by a bottle, not by anyfin. 'E crashes inta me, little arms wrappin' 'round me legs, face liokin' up up at me wiv that massive grin of 'is. “You're back you're back! Yay yay yay”
I crouch down, me 'ands on 'is tiny shoulders, and for a second, I can’t say a bloody word. I swallow 'ard. “Course I am, mate,” I finally manage, me voice rough. “I told ya I'd be back, dinni, ay?”
You’re standin' there, watchin' us, and when I glance atcha, there’s tears in yer eyes. It pisses me off a bit, but I push it aside for Ollie’s sake.
“Hey, Ollie,” you say, your voice gentle. “How would you like to go for lunch with Billy? Maybe to the park after?”
Well - 'e lights up like a fuckin' Christmas tree, bouncin' on the balls of 'is feet. “Yes! Can we, Billy? Please?”
I'm desperately tryna keep me face neutral, but inside I’m shittin' meself. “Yeah, alright, little man. Let’s do it.”
You pass me 'is little backpack, and the strap feels weird in me 'and - too small, too light. I feel like I shouldn’t be trusted wiv summink so important. “Have fun,” ya say, but yer voice is quieter now, almost 'esitant.
I nod, not trustin' meself t'speak wivout crackin'. I take Ollie’s 'and, n' we 'ead down the street, 'is little legs tryna match me stride. He’s chattin' away, excited about lunch, excited about the park, excited about playin' dinosaurs and an 'undred uvver fings I don’t fully follow.
And me? I’m just tryna keep it togevva - pretend I know what the fuck I’m doing, while 'is tiny hand in mine makes me feel like I’m 'olding the most precious fing in 'ole fuckin' world.
‐—-----
We 'it the burger joint first. Thought I’d feel a bit more confident starting there. I mean, 'ow 'ard can it be t'sit down 'n eat? Turns out, a lot bloody 'arder than you’d fink.
Ollie’s bouncin' in 'is seat before we’ve even bloody ordered, natterin' away about dinosaurs again, which ones eat meat, which ones eat plants, 'n which ones'd like burgers if they was still kickin' about. I’m noddin' along, tryna keep up, but troof be told, I’m out me depth.
“Do you like T. Rexes, Billy?” 'e asks me for the tenf time, 'is little face all serious.
“Course I do,” I say, crackin' a grin. “Mean little bastards, ain’t they?”
'E giggles, and it’s a sound I don’t fink I’ve ever 'eard before. Pure joy. It does summink to me, 'earing 'im laugh like that.
When the food comes, I figure e’ll settle down, but nope. He’s dippin' chips in ketchup, then lickin' it off like it’s some kinda game. Gets it all over 'is face. The table. 'Is shirt. Jesus Christ.
“Oi, Ollie, mate,” I say, tryna sound firm but not too 'arsh. “The chips go in yer mowf, not everywhere else.”
'E grins up at me, cheeky as anyfin, an' shoves an 'andful into his gob. “Like this?” 'e mumbles 'round a gob full o'food.
I can’t 'elp it - I laugh. “Yeah, just like that. Perfict.”
By the time we’re done, the table looks like a bloody war zone. Ketchup smeared everywhere, squashed chips scattered, and I’m pretty sure e's got 'alf a milkshake down 'is front. But e’s grinnin' from ear to ear, and I feel like I’m doin' alright.
“Ready for the park, then?” I ask, standin' up and grabbin' some napkins to clean 'im up.
“Yeah!” 'e shouts, jumpin' out 'is seat like I’ve just told him we’re off to Disney World.
We walk over to the park, and e’s practically draggin' me there, 'is little hand clutchin' mine. It’s weird, 'oldin 'is 'and like this. Feels… right.
When we get there, e’s off like a shot up the climbin' frame, shoutin' down at me to watch 'im. “Look, Billy! I’m up really high!”
My 'eart’s in my froat the entire time. E’s bloody fearless, this kid, swingin' off bars, 'angin upside down like e’s got no sense o'danger. I’m standin' there, arms out, ready to catch 'im if 'e so much as wobbles.
“You alright up there, mate?” I call, tryna sound casual while me stomach’s doin' bloody backflips.
“Yeah!” he yells back, laughin'. “I’m the bestest at climbing!”
“Yeah, I can see that,” I mutter, more to meself than 'im.
Eventually, 'e makes his way to the slide, and that’s a bit less terrifyin'. E’s up and down it a dozen times, his laughter echoin' across the park. Uvver parents are 'ere, watching their nippers, chattin' amongst 'emselves. I feel a bit out o'place, like I don’t belong, to be honest. But Ollie’s avin' the time of 'is life - so I don’t let it bovver me.
When 'e finally comes runnin' back over, 'is cheeks are pink an' 'is 'air’s a sweaty mess. E looks up at me, beamin'. “That was fun! Can we come back tomorrow?”
I crouch down to 'im “We’ll see, mate. We'll see. You 'ad a good then time, yeah?”
“The best!” 'e says, frowin' 'is arms round me neck.
An' just like that, the world stops. It’s just me and 'im, an' I feel summink I ain’t felt in years - peace. Pure, unshakable peace.
“Alrigh', let’s get you 'ome,” I say, standin' up and rufflin' his hair. “Your mum’ll 'ave my 'ead if I keep you out too long.”
He laughs, grabbin' me 'and again as we walk back.
Maybe - just maybe - I can do this parentin' lark.
_________
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