Archive of Our Own ^beta

Nightmares were nothing new to Liz.

She was no stranger to sleepless nights, waking up screaming or crying, drenched in a cold sweat.

They'd started shortly after she'd left the vault.

The first bad string of them started just after her trip to the Super Duper Mart.

She'd wake up gasping for air, the wound that was now a scar on her cheek burning under fresh bandaging as a manic laugh and the glint of a knife blade echoed in her mind.

Then they'd eventually subsided as she grew accustomed to life in the wastes.

Then they'd pick up again anytime the worst shit happened.

After watching her dad die, she'd found herself in a cycle of dreams for weeks on end. Most of them featuring a rotunda full of sickly green smoke.

Sometimes she was the one inside the chamber. Often it was her dad, or Jonas, or Sarah.

Sometimes she'd find herself in Tranquility Lane, talking to a dog with blood dripping from his mouth.

After her trip to The Pitt, the dreams were plagued with smoke and fire and trogs.

When she'd wake up breathless and coughing with the sound of an infant crying ringing out in her memory, it'd make her wish for the other nightmares.

And they would come and go.

Sometimes it was night after night.

Sometimes it was once without warning or reason.

Often visions of soldiers in power armor, memories of blood and screaming.

Sometimes her own.

Usually someone else's.

Tonight it had been Butch's.

They'd been in the ruins of D.C., surrounded by bodies. They could've been human, or maybe mutant.

The details were hazy, she just remembered knowing that the unmoving corpses couldn't hurt them anymore. That there was a feeling of calm, the familiar feeling of the weight of a fight survived falling off of her shoulders.

Butch's hand had gently caressed her cheek as he'd looked her over for wounds.

And then the dream had shifted to something much more intimate.

Something that should've been safer.

He'd been above her, hands touching her face, her neck, her hips. His bare chest and dark curls all she could see, his skin warm against hers.

He'd been all dimples and moles.

And it would've been a much different dream, had he not suddenly gone rigid and cold. Stiff hands trapping her in place beneath him, as if all the life in him had just vanished.

The only warmth that remained was slick and wet under her fingers where a circular wound had opened on the back of his shoulder.

Torn skin and seeping blood blooming from the bullet wound on his back at first, before a hole bore open in the center of his chest.

She'd wanted to scream, but couldn't.

And he'd looked down at her with a cold, empty stare.

When he spoke, his voice was distant and hollow.

"Lizzy. Why won't you help me?"

She'd woken up with that same strangled scream caught in her throat, and every muscle in her body had been tense.

Her heart had felt like it would burst out of her chest, an her ability to breathe came back only when she realized Butch was sleeping peacefully less than a foot from her.

She could feel the skin of his forearm, warm where it pressed against hers, and his chest rose and fell with steady breathing as he snored.

He was alive. He was safe.

He was still there.

And her heart rate settled, and her breathing returned to normal, as she stayed awake silently tracing the lines of his face with her eyes. He continued to sleep obliviously, even as she carefully brushed her fingers through the ends of his hair.

At some point she realized that she was relieved.

Not just to know he was safe, but that somehow she hadn’t woken him up in her panic.

She hated waking him up with her thrashing and crying, even if she was only ever met with hushed reassurances and his soothing touch every time.

It was one of the few things he never complained about in their waking hours, and for whatever stupid reason it made her feel pathetic.

She knew he didn’t mind, that he'd stay up all night holding her if she needed it. That he'd likely be upset if he knew about the times she didn’t wake him.

That it was an act of concern rather than pity.

Shit, neither one of them would admit it, but it was an act of love.

And it made Liz feel lighter every time, in a way that very few people had ever managed.

But they wouldn't admit it.

They didn't have to.

Not out loud, not with words.

Instead, Liz could lay awake watching him breathe.

It was when she'd finally calmed down enough to consider going back to sleep, that Butch made a noise, and Liz felt her shoulders tighten again.

She looked him over for any sign of damage or distress, but all she found was a furrowed brow and tight jaw as Butch squirmed slightly in his sleep, mumbling something under his breath.

She relaxed slightly, recognizing the signs of another nightmare.

Not that she was glad to see the look of distress on his sleeping features, but there was something reassuring about not being the only one suffering a restless night.

She was about to reach for him, to gently wake him if the dream didn't subside, when through his muttering he said one word more clearly than the others.

"Ngh….nmSunshine…"

It escaped his lips as a whimper.

And she hesitated.

Because it wasn't just a word, it was a name.

One that sounded achingly familiar to her ears, and oh so familiar in his voice. One he'd used for her with increasing frequency and tenderness ever since they’d left the vault.

Which, on it's own, wasn't anything extraordinary.

They'd been together for years now. They'd saved each other's skins so many times they'd lost count. Anytime they weren't fighting, they were practically attached at the hip. Hell, even when they were fighting they rarely went more than half an hour without trading blows, metaphorical or literal.

And for as often as Butch appeared in Liz's dreams, it would only make sense that she'd be in his.

But it wasn't the nickname that made her pause. No. It was the words that followed after that made time stand still as her breath caught in her lungs.

"Mmnnlove you…"

Her heart hammered in her chest, and she felt her cheeks flush as she stared wide eyed at Butch in the dark.

I love you.

Those were not words that either of them had ever dared to say to one another.

Not for lack of feeling or anything. At least not on Liz's part. If anything, for her, it was the opposite.

There was no denying that she had felt it.

The warmth in her chest and the pull on her heartstrings, every time he laughed or said something endearingly stupid.

The strange sense of calm she felt any time he let his tough guy facade slip.

The way the whole world seemed more grounded and real whenever she was with him.

But it was not something she could bring herself to say. Not with words. Not after she'd lost every person she'd ever said them to in the past.

And the idea of Butch saying them to her? When he could hardly express his most basic emotions on a good day?

Besides, it wasn't as if half asleep mumblings counted.

Right?

Shit, there was the slim chance he wasn't even saying them about her, let alone to her.

Even if the only other word he'd muttered was one of the many nicknames he had for her.

Even if it was the one that felt the most sincere and affectionate whenever he used it.

Even if the look on his face now mirrored the one Liz imagined she'd had before she woke up.

Fuck.

It wasn't even an issue of wether or not she felt the same.

Of course she did.

Butch had been the most consistent thing in her life for years at that point, longer than anything that had entered her life after leaving the vault.

He'd been a constant thorn in her side since he'd emerged from that hole in the ground. He'd fucked with her head, he'd made a mess of her reestablished "normal".

He'd saved her life.

He'd been there to pick her up when she'd hit her lowest point.

He was the only reason she wasn’t still drowning under the weight of everything she'd lost. Everything she'd done.

And out of everything that she'd loved and lost, he was the only thing that was still there.

And of course she loved him for it.

But even if it hadn't scared the shit out of her, it wasn't something she could just say.

Fuck, neither of them could.

Not in a way that sounded sincere, or that felt real.

Except, evidently, as a desperate plea in the throws of a nightmare.

Butch's arms tensed next to Liz's head, his brows furrowed tightly. "Liznnm… n-no… no! No please!" He looked on the verge of tears. "I c-cant!"

It snapped Liz out of her thoughts and she reached over, gently placing her hand on his cheek. "Butch? Hey…" His hair was damp with sweat, his skin clammy under her steady fingers. "Hey, wake up… wake up. It's okay…" she said it with gentle urgency, ignoring the way her heart was racing in her chest.

He loved her.

"Mna! I c-can't…" He thrashed, nearly pulling from her grasp as he flailed.

But she grabbed his face with both hands to keep hold. "Butch..!"

"Mmnw-where..!?" He jerked again as he woke, ragged breathing turning to a gasp as his eyes snapped open.

Her grip tightened, only slightly, as she held him so her face was level with his. Where his hazy eyes could focus on her as he came into consciousness.

As he did, the look of anguish on his face melted into one of concern and confusion as he realized where he was. Or more likely, where he wasn't. "L-Liz…?"

She hated it when he said her name. When he was too serious to use some stupid nickname.

But she held his gaze. "It's okay…" she said softly, gently running her thumb in a slow circle against the base of his jaw. "I'm right here… you're okay…"

He just stared at her, reaching up to carefully touch the back of her hand. Almost like he didn’t know if he should believe her.

It twisted in her gut and reminded her why she'd been relieved when he hadn't woken up before.

Then he squeezed her hand, and wrapped his other arm around her, pulling her into him. "F-uck…" he breathed out shakily.

Liz let herself be pulled in. The weight of his arms and the way he buried his face in her shoulder felt like home.

"S-sorry… shit, I didn't mean to wake you…" he whispered softly into her collarbone.

She felt her whole being soften, and she pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "Don't be." She said in an attempt to reassure him. Then without thinking, "I wasn't sleeping anyways."

Butch pulled away just enough to look up at her, a soft frown set into his expression. "Why not?"

Stupid.

"You're not the only one who had a nightmare..." She sighed, seeing no sense in lying to him.

He pouted further. "And you didn't wake me?"

She frowned back, even if she felt a pang of guilt hit her gut. "I wanted to let you rest…"

"Ha… so much for that…" Butch scoffed halfheartedly. He held her gaze as he said it, but a distant look haunted his expression as he trailed off slightly.

Liz remembered how long she'd stared at him after she'd woken up, checking to see if a gaping wound had suddenly opened in his chest, to make sure he was still breathing, still warm. "Hey," She said softly, bringing his focus back to her. "I'm ok." She said.

His eyebrows knit together in slight confusion, and she couldn't help the slight smile that pulled at her lips.

Idiot.

"You talk in your sleep stupid." She clarified. "Unless you're dreaming about some other Sunshine."

Butch suddenly looked slightly guilty and embarrassed. In that way he did when he'd been caught doing something that he thought was stupid.

It was just enough to make Liz's heart skip, wondering if he remembered what else he'd said.

Then he dropped his head back onto her shoulder and groaned in exasperation, making it no clearer if he knew or not. "Not fair…" he grumbled.

"Fuckin drama queen." Liz chuckled, running her fingers through the hair at the base of his neck and choosing to pretend that his sleep laden voice wasn’t still replaying dangerous words in her mind.

She felt both of his arms wrap around her waist, holding onto her. And they laid there silently for a bit before the quiet started to eat at her.

"Was it bad?" She asked quietly.

He didn’t answer immediately, but after another moment of quiet, in a voice distant and numb. "You were dying…" His hold on her tightened slightly.

She could imagine it wasn't something he could say easily. Even after all this time, he was rarely so direct unless he was exhausted or inebriated.

Her gaze wandered down to his shoulder, which was more visible now that Butch was practically laying on top of her. She could just barely make out the shape of a scar on the back of it, and she moved a hand to gently brush her thumb over the jagged flesh. His skin was whole, in tact, and had long since healed from the bullet that'd been the cause.

"You too…" she admitted, not entirely meaning to do so.

He moved again, this time pushing himself up onto his elbows so he could look down at her. Yet another ghost of confusion tugging at his gentle frown and worried brows.

She moved her hand to his chest, her fingers splayed over his heart. It beat steadily under her touch, tucked safely behind skin and bone. "There was a hole… and so much blood…" She said quietly, remembering how much blood had coated her hands in her dream.

Butch didn't say anything. Instead, his gaze drifted away from her face, down to her chest. A distant look in his eyes as he silently watched the gentle rise and fall of her breathing.

"You were drowning…" he said finally. "In this big… tank? And I had to- I c-couldn’t… I wanted to get you out…"

Liz felt her chest tighten.

She hated water, and she'd been in enough situations without air, that the idea of drowning was not high on her list of preferred ways to die.

She also knew how it felt to watch someone she loved die while she watched helplessly through a foot of glass. How it felt to pound her fists against an unyielding barrier, screaming and begging for it to stop.

The desperate want to do something, and the hopelessness that came instead.

And if he loved her?

The idea of Butch in that position, helplessly trying to push a desperately pleaded "I love you" through a barrier of glass and water?

"Shit…" Liz didn't realize she'd started crying until she saw the guilt on Butch's face. "Fuck, Liz, I'm sorry- I shouldn't have said anything…"

For as dense as he could be, she could see it on his face that he'd connected the dots between his dream and what she'd told him about her dad's death.

Under different circumstances she might've laughed, wondering at what point Butch had started to hate making her cry.

Instead she shook her head, quickly reaching to wipe away the tears that gathered at the edges of her eyes. "N-no, Butch… shit. I'm sorry, I just…" and she did laugh, a choked and pathetic noise aimed at herself. "Ha, fuck. I guess you win worse dream…"

She felt like her heart was going to burst. A weird mixture of affection and grief taking up the entirety of the space between her ribs, forming a lump in the base of her throat.

How could she explain the hollow pit in her stomach without also telling him about the flutter in her chest?

He frowned at her. "Doesn't fuckin feel like it…"

"Oh come on. I for one just love waking up from a dream where I get to watch the person I love die horrifically." She said dryly, her voice thick with sarcasm.

Butch's eyebrows shot up, and he looked at her like she'd just sprouted a second head.

Which, granted she was being casually sarcastic about something awful.

In hindsight it was pretty fucking insensitive.

Except, Butch didn't look upset. "What'd you just say..?" His eyes were wide, and the tone in his voice was almost afraid.

And Liz realized too late the words that'd come out of her mouth.

She couldn’t even pretend she hadn’t. The realization hit her like a ton of bricks, and she just knew how obvious her expression must've been.

"Nothing." She lied anyways, as if she didn't feel a wave of panic rolling over her.

She wanted to run away. To roll off of the mattress and book it, but Butch had her blocked in, his arms braced on either side of her. "Nothing my ass! You just said-"

"I did not!" She cut him off, a familiar sense of adrenaline pumping through her veins as her heart pounded.

"Did fucking to!"

"You said it first!"

"Wha-" he looked like something had short circuited in his brain, and even in the dark she could swear his face was beet red. "When the fuck did I say that!?" His voice cracked a few octaves higher than he'd likely wanted.

Liz groaned, raising her hands to cover her face since she couldn't find anywhere else to escape to, and looking at Butch was making her stomach twist and flip violently. "In your sleep."

"Fuck."

She felt Butch move above her and when she dared to peek up at him, he was sitting up.

The bottom half of his face was hidden behind his arm, and he was pointedly looking away from her. She wondered if his heart was racing in his ears as loudly as hers was. "That's not- Shit! That's not fair!"

"It's fucking not." Liz agreed, having to avert her eyes to look at the ceiling.

She felt like she was going to melt into the mattress, and she didn't know if that was better or worse than staring at Butch's stupid shirtless silhouette and pretty blushing face in the dim fucking moonlight.

There was a pause, as they both silently grappled with the adrenaline and embarrassment that imploded within their veins. And Liz wasn't sure what she dreaded more, the silence, or whatever came after.

Butch sounded like he was addressing the barrel of a loaded gun when he finally broke the silence. "…now what?"

Still refusing to look at him, Liz answered weakly. "Pretend this never happened?"

Butch finally looked back down at her, and a hollow laugh escaped his throat. "Yeah right."

She dared to look back at him, and an involuntary smile tugged at her lips. "This is so stupid."

"Shit, seriously." He agreed, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I mean, for fucks sake… It's not like I didn’t… ya know. Know."

The butterflies in her chest didn't subside, but she sat up nonetheless, propping herself on her elbows rather than bolting out into the night. "Well… yeah. I mean shit, we aren't exactly good at talking about our feelings."

Butch flashed a grin at her. "No. We're better at fighting over dumb bullshit and sucking face."

He'd moved far enough down when he sat up, that she was able to kick him in the leg, and he snickered.

"Sorry, I forgot fucking like animals." His grin had gone from mischievous to shit eating.

"Oh my god!" She punched him that time, leaning forward so she could punctuate her words with a series of jabs to his left bicep. "You. Pathetic. Jackass!"

The grin on her face made her cheeks hurt as she failed to look mad at him.

He laughed, trying to dodge her punches before he managed to catch her wrist. He pulled her closer so they were practically nose to nose. "If I'm so pathetic, how come you're in love with me?"

Liz felt her face grow warm. He taunted her with the exact same tone he would've taunted her with when they were thirteen. "I never said that."

"Pretty sure you did." He hummed smugly.

"You don't have proof." She scoffed.

"I heard you." His smirk took up her whole field of vision. She wanted to bite his dimples.

"Oh? Like how I heard you say that you love your little Sunshine?" She was mocking him, but she'd heard it every time he called her Sunshine.

"I could've been talking about anyone…" His pretty blue eyes said otherwise.

"You're a shit liar…" Her heart ached as his hand moved from her wrist, to lace his fingers between hers.

When his lips pressed against hers, it felt like home. More than any vault or shack ever had.

His other hand rested on her thigh, and hers found the line of his jaw, that familiar feeling of warmth seeping throughout her chest once again.