How It’s Made was the type of show that you watched when there was nothing else on, the sort of edutainment people put on when they wanted to learn things that would never be useful in their lives ever.
It was like TikTok but longform, with the added benefit of dropping actual facts into your brain and also not nuking your attention span down to goldfish levels so…
Well, actually, maybe it wasn’t like Tiktok at all, then… huh.
Either way, Hughie had watched his fair share of it, the show having filled many a free hour at the store when customers were especially slow to make their way into a small-box audio-visual location.Which was often, considering it had been 2019.
Besides that, Hughie knew exactly how many things were made; hotdogs, especially.
Even the ‘higher-quality’ stuff was still a mess of mash formed into the shape of a tube and it was only because he had already been good at compartmentalizing that he could ever hope to eat one again.
But now, with the smell of processed pork and artificial yellow mustard wafting his way downwind from Billy Butcher in a weaponized cloud, Hughie was beginning to wish he would never even see a hotdog again.“I mean, how can you even eat that, Butcher?” Hughie blurted out the question into the late autumn air as he watched Butcher go through his fourth hotdog of the day. Dirt crunched loud under his sneakers as he stared at the half-eaten bun in the other man’s hand, stomach rolling over slow like a geriatric stunt pilot. “You got those at a gas station.” What didn’t need to be said was that gas station had been a whole hour ago, almost a good fifteen miles down the road back in the Palisades. A low scoff pulled itself out of Butcher’s nose, his mouth too full as he leaned back against the car like everybody else; all of them waiting by the dirt pull-off in front of the tall treess. “I ain’t quite getting your point.”“That’s basically just room temperature nitrates now.” A hand waved its way at the mangled piece of pork byproducts and probably brains. “A cold sweaty tube of red dye 40, man. You’re eating a bio-hazard.”
“Well, lad, y’see, it’s quite simple.” Butcher didn’t bother to stop chewing, jaw working the stale bun like it was something gourmet to savor. “When you’ve had the distinct pleasure of dining on military rations that expired sometime during the first Gulf War, a slightly chilled seventy-nine-cent frankfurter is a bloody culinary triumph, ain’t it?”“...I…” Hughie blinked. “I guess.”“Preservatives, Hughie.” The man grinned like he didn’t have mustard in his beard, swallowing another bite hard. “Good for the constitution, mate.”
"Okay, but …” A hand scrubbed its way down Hughie’s face, fingernails trailing over the patch of fuzz he hadn't had the chance to scrape off. “Did we really have to steal Reggie's Escalade for this?" The sheer insanity of his life, crimes and all, was settling hard on his shoulders; same as it did most mornings over the last year honestly. "Like, the guy gives us a roof over our heads and — and you just snatch his hundred-thousand-dollar SUV for a joyride in the woods? To eat a hotdog?”
"Borrowin', son." Butcher jabbed the last bit of mustard-splattered bun his way, before tossing it back into his mouth. "Borrowin'. And he wasn’t usin’ it, was he? I’m just keepin’ the engine in use and runnin’ smooth-like”“He runs at, like, Mach whatever, Butcher!” Hughie threw his hands up with a sigh. “You don’t just borrow a custom Escalade from a supe, man! He’s going to notice it’s gone!”“He might.” Butcher shrugged with a sound closer to a Muppet than a human. “And it ain't a joyride."
“Then what is it?” Mother’s Milk rumble came from Hughie’s left, the big man standing with his arms folded over his black ‘RUN DMC’ shirt. “Cause I been wonderin’ that shit for too long myself.”“Now, that’s the question.” Butcher nodded the same way he had the last few times Mother’s Milk had tossed the question out, smile gone as the other big man pretended at a seriousness Hughie knew well enough was bullshit. “Y’see, the th-”The iPhone in Hughie’s pocket chose that moment to start ringing loud, a familiar theme that had him wince. Forgot to put that on silent.“Really?” He looked up to see Mother’s Milk eyeing him, one eyebrow raised and annoyed question for Butcher forgotten. “Green Hill Zone?”“W-well, you both call me Urkel and he also played Sonic, so I figured…” The eyebrow went higher and Hughie found the explanation going nowhere. With a sigh, he simply pulled the phone from his pocket, thumb swiping across the glass immediately.“My Escalade?” Reggie’s voice snapped through the speaker, completely in disbelief. “Really?”“...h-hey, Reggie?”“Hughie, explain to me right now why I’m getting a call from OnStar right now asking me if my vehicle is stolen.”“Well, see…” He licked his lips, eyes on Butcher as the man suddenly found the birds in the trees positively interesting. “The thing is…”“Hughie…” Reggie repeated his name and didn’t stop there. “Explain right now why I’m getting a call from Onstar about my stolen Escalade. The one with the custom rims, Hughie? You took my rims?”“...Butcher.” One word was all he had and, honestly, it was all he needed.“Who else could it fucking be?” For what sounded like a serious second, the sound of grunting and screaming came from the other end of the call before Reggie spoke again. “Not an explanation, man.”“A-are you busy right now?”“I’m a superhero and it’s noon on a weekday.” Reggie grunted again, traffic blaring over the speakers. “Of course I am, Hughie. Now, what are you doing with my car in Harriman fucking State Park?”“I… I didn’t know you drove.”“...Hugh Campbell Jr, do not piss me off right now.”Hughie swallowed, the use of his full name enough to reset the laughter already bubbling in his throat. “S-sorry.” He coughed out loud, fist in front of his mouth. “Look, Butcher just found the fob and the rest of us were basically abducted for a mission or whatever.”"Oh, well that makes it so much better!" Reggie's laugh came out with nothing funny riding underneath it at all. "'Hey Reggie, thanks for the free room and board, by the way, the British psychopath just Grand Theft Auto'd your hundred-thousand-dollar SUV to go look at pine cones or some shit.’”A sigh sounded out into his ear. “I swear to God y'all are the worst roommates in the history of fucking ever, man.”“...sorry?” Hughie winced as the word left him, holding the phone just slightly further from his ear.
“You tell that limey bastard if he puts one single scratch on the paint.” Reggie huffed. “I'm throwing his ass into Long Island Sound. From Manhattan.”Hughie’s eyes slid over to where Frenchie, Kimiko, and her little brother were sitting on the hood of the SUV, the heels of their shoes kicking back against the grill. “...uhhhh.”
“You hear me, Hughie?”“I… I hear you.”“Uh-huh.” The call went silent as Reggie ended it.A short laugh holding about as much humor in it as a funeral left Hughie as he shoved the phone back into his front pocket, gaze sliding back to Butcher. “He’s pissed, by the way.”“I bet.”“Like, royally.”“The cunt’ll live.” Butcher wiped a smear of mustard off his thumb straight onto his jeans. “It’s what money’s for. He’s got plenty of that.”“I’m asking you for the fifth time, Butcher.” Mother’s Milk forced attention back onto him, the man still standing up against the car with his arms crossed. “Why. We. Here?”
“Patience, MM. It’s a virtue, ain't it?” The Brit scoffed as he wiped his beard again. “Though I s’pose they don't teach much of that in the Marines, just how to polish your boots and say 'yes sir' to tossers in tailored suits.”
“You’re dodgin’, man. I know when you’re dodgin’.” “MM…”“Seriously, Butch…” MM leaned forward across from Hughie to stare dead-on at William Butcher with hard eyes. “This a mission? A dead drop from Mallory? Just tell me what this is. We been out here since before noon just starin’ at trees, man.”The big black man just shook his head slow to where Kimiko sat in between Kenji and the resident Frenchman, quiet as usual. “Little Miss Lethal over there looks about two minutes from chopping down a tree with her bare hands, she’s that bored. Be better off if there was trouble for her to deal with”“Ain’t gotta worry about trouble, MM.” ”The Brit nodded back. “Lil Boy over there can just crunch ‘em up with his mind, can’t ya, son?”"Jesus, Butcher." Hughie actually flinched, not expecting a sudden reference to Hiroshima. "You can't call him that, man."
“Call him what? Lil Boy?” Butcher's brow went up, dragging his drawl lazy over each word. I”t’s a term of endearment, Hughie. Shows we're a proper little unit, doesn't it?”
"He doesn't understand English!" Hughie threw his hands up again. “Bet he’d like it either way.” A rasp of a chuckle scraped its way out of Butcher’s throat, the Brit tilting his head. “Look at him. Grinnin’ on the inside, I reckon.”"You might as well be calling him Hiroshima!”“...same difference, innit?”Kenji chose that moment to stand up from the hood, sliding down onto the road as he made his way over to the three of them standing by the side of the car. Sharp eyes darted between Hughie and Butcher, a string of Japanese spilling out fast enough that Hughie’s brain was almost smoking trying to track it in real-time.He just squinted back, staring at the fully-healed telekinetic — bruises gone and broken hands back in place — trying to piece together meaning from the last few weeks of panic-cramming Duolingo lessons in the mansion. “Uh… w-wait, okay… he said teki, that’s enemy. And Vought too, so…”
Okay, wait. It only took a few seconds more of backtracking before the lightbulb went over Hughie’s head and the soft raspy string of syllables started making sense. “He’s saying he gets it now. That he’s on our side and that the real bad guy here is Vought.”
Footsteps crunched on gravel and dirt as Frenchie stepped out from around the other side of the Escalade, half-lit hand-rolled cigarette hanging off his lip. Ash flicked down from his paint-splattered graphic tee and down into the dirt as he rattled something back at Kenji.
Kenji turned with a smile, whole body loosening at once as he stared at Frenchie and nodded firmly back at the other three.
Hughie froze, mouth open in a small dumb ‘O’ of simple shock as he stared at Frenchie. “Wait. You…” That hadn’t just been passable, it had been downright smooth; the words fast, clean and confident.
Just actual fluent Japanese with barely the slightest bit of hesitation.“You speak Japanese?”
“I’ve always been good with languages, Petit Hughie. It is… how do you say… a gift. ” A little smile stretched the corners of his mouth as he took a slow drag of his cigarette, the tip glowing bright orange. “Just need the right motivation sometimes.”Hughie’s eyes slid over to Kimiko on instinct, the supe watching Frenchie with something soft in her eyes. Ah, yeah…
Motivation.Right.
Well, it wasn’t like that didn’t track.
Frenchie had been trying to talk to Kimiko for a year now. The crazy pill-popping and producing engineer must have been grinding out Japanese in every spare moment this last month to get that good with it which…
Well, it wasn’t all that surprising now that Hughie thought about it. What better motivation to communicate with her than the second-best thing, right?
“I don’t give a damn who speaks what, man!” Mother’s Milk had an undeniable pair of lungs on him, the way his shout echoed out into the trees. With a grunt, the big man pushed his weight off the glossy black siding of the Escalade, Hughie instinctively shrinking back to give him space he didn’t need. Even with that, all MM took was a single step closer to their fearless leader, finally uncrossing his arms. “Why the hell are we out here, Butcher? We been waitin’ for over an hour and for what?”
“Patience, MM.” Butcher’s eyes slid down to his wristwatch, the man almost taking his time to do it. “Just a spot of patience.”
“I ain’t playin’ games today, man.” “Well…” Butcher finally looked up, bloodshot eyes tracking something high in the sky. “The game’s all over, so no need to worry.”
Marvin Milk could only blink at Butcher’s sudden change, the Brit wearing a sudden genuine smile across his battered face. It was something lighter than Hughie had ever seen the man wear in all their time together.It was light, cheerful even.
Almost downright… giddy.Which made it terrifying to look at.
“No more waitin’, then.”Hughie turned his head, following Butcher’s gaze high in the sky as he stepped out of the shadow of the SUV with his head tilted back. At first, all he saw was an empty sky; a vast unbroken expanse of pale blue and wispy white clouds.It didn’t take all that long for his breath to catch in his throat, eyes going wide enough to hurt as a shape broke through the clouds. The fuck?A speck at first, growing larger and aimed straight down toward the dirt clearing ahead of the parked Escalade. A figure, smaller than it had any right to be, and dressed in… a polo shirt and neatly pressed khakis?
As it dropped all the way down, a pair of small bright sneakers touched the dirt with barely a sound, kicking up a tiny puff of dry dust as all of them found themselves staring at a kid. Just a blond boy, maybe eight or nine years old, eyes glowing a familiar red that faded the moment his soles fully found themselves on solid ground.
If that wasn’t weird enough, in his arms — held awkwardly but securely — was a woman. A pretty woman with wind-whipped brown hair and in an oversized cardigan over a simple blue t-shirt, but absolutely one-hundred-percent a woman. The moment the kid let go and her feet hit dirt, her eyes locked dead onto Butcher like he was the only real thing in front of her.
“Billy!”
She hit him at a full run, face buried deep into his chest as thin arms wrapped around the man tight enough that Hughie could see her straining into the hug.
Butcher's eyes actually squeezed shut as his arms came up around her slow, face pressing down into her hair. For a second, Billy Butcher actually looked at peace.
Then the man opened his eyes again, pulling back just enough to keep one arm locked tight around her waist, as that smirk came creeping back onto his face.
Still, somehow softer than Hughie had ever seen it sit there before.
"Boys, meet my wife."