Death Blooms Eternal: Chapter Four
Butcher demands an explanation.
"You were just supposed to get information, not fuck them," Butcher said furiously.
Kerwin looked around the bunker, where the rest of The Boys were staring at him with a mix of shock and disbelief. There were so many things he wanted to say, things he wanted to shout from the rooftops in the hopes that someone would actually listen.
He didn’t ask to blow Deep. It wasn’t some strategic ploy he’d come up with to aid the “cause”. He did it because he didn’t want to find out what would’ve happened if he didn’t. But he didn’t know how to say that. He didn’t even know these people well enough to know if they’d care.
So Kerwin did what he was good at. He deflected.
“When in Rome, you know..” he shrugged, smiling awkwardly.
Butcher's fist slammed into the table, making everyone but MM jump. “This isn't a fucking joke, Kerwin!” he roared. “You're s’pposed to be gatherin’ intel, not dickin’ down the first cunt to pay attention to you!”
“You just don't trust me because I'm a supe, and all supes are evil, right?” Kerwin bit back. That familiar anger was bubbling in his chest now, coating his words with an acid that was uncharacteristic of him.
Butcher's face twisted in a snarl. He looked like those taxidermy bears you’d see mounted in a Bass Pro Shop. “This isn't about trust, you fungi fuckup!”
“Calm down, Monsieur Charcuter,” Frenchie spoke up from where he’d been lurking against the back wall. “Let us hear what Champignon has to say.”
Butcher glared at Kerwin, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the table. “You've got five seconds before I put a bullet in your skull.”
Kerwin swallowed hard, his scrawny frame seeming even smaller under the weight of Butcher's fury. How could he explain this away without looking like a loser? “Look, I know it's not ideal,” he began, his voice quivering slightly. “But it's not like I planned it.”
Half-truths.
“You're tellin’ me that you just happened to get your dick wet in the enemy camp?”
Kerwin's cheeks flushed a darker shade of pink, his eyes darting around the room. “It's complicated,” he mumbled, his gaze finally settling on Hughie. There was a time in his life where he might’ve trusted the other with the truth. He would’ve dragged Hughie to their spot under the bleachers and told him everything. But there were no bleachers to hide under, and the man standing just behind Butcher was no more than a stranger to him.
“You've got more complications than a teenager's love life, you little shit,” Butcher snarled. “What's complicated about keepin’ your dick in your pants and doing your job?”
Panic rose in Kerwin’s chest. Just think of anything, anything but the truth behind what happened in that conference room. He looked away from Hughie and his eyes settled on the Frenchman in the back of the room. Frenchie appeared entirely uninterested in the drama unfolding. But he spared Kerwin a glance that could almost be called encouraging.
“The Deep is pathetic,” he blurted out, desperately trying to save face before Butcher put a bullet in the back of his head. “He’s a coward with an IQ below zero. If I can make him think there’s something between us, I can control him.”
Butcher fixed Kerwin with a stare that could melt steel. He felt the familiar itchiness of small mushrooms growing in his hair. Kerwin scratched his scalp, sending a flurry of spores sprinkling to the ground like living dandruff. MM was already breaking away to find a dustpan to clean every square inch of the floor Kerwin had walked across.
Butcher did not grace Kerwin with a verbal answer. The brute merely grunted in acknowledgement and stalked off to drink himself to death in his room. Kerwin sighed.
He’d live another day.