summary ⋮ you treat everyone coldly, play jokes at their expense— except butcher, who thinks this means you hate him.
req by ⋮ @reginaphalangelobster
warnings ⋮ mentions of injury, language, probably ooc, blood mentioned, hughie is a cockblock, might not make sense. format will look weird on anything that isn't a phone!!
The first thing you learned about working with Butcher was that he didn’t ask questions he didn’t think he already had the answer to.
The second was that he didn’t like you.
Not openly. Not in any way that was prominent enough for the others to notice. He still let you stay, still handed you jobs, still trusted you with things he wouldn’t trust most people with.
But there was something there. You noticed it the same way you noticed everything else. Small details that nobody else paid any mind to. The way his gaze always lingered on you half a second longer than it did on anyone else, the way his tone shifted slightly when he spoke to you. Not harsh, but cautious. Like he was waiting for you to do something. You never did.
You blinked, dragging your attention back to the room. Hughie was looking at you expectantly from across the table.
“Mm. Not really,” you admitted.
Frenchie snorted into his drink. MM sighed like he’d expected nothing less from you.
Hughie frowned, “I was asking if you think it’s a good idea.”
You leaned back in your chair, balancing it on two legs. “It’s your plan, right?”
Frenchie let out a loud laugh, “Ah. Brutal.”
“I’m serious,” Hughie said, glancing between you and the others. “At least tell me why.”
You tilted your head, studying him for a moment as if deciding whether he was worth the effort of an explanation.
“It’s sloppy,” you said finally. “Too many variables you’re not accounting for.”
You opened your mouth to respond, and shut it just as quickly. Your eyes caught a glimpse of Butcher from across the table. He was watching you, which in itself was not unusual. What was unusual was the way he didn’t interrupt.
“Doesn’t matter.” You murmured, dropping your chair back down to four legs. “You’ll figure it out when it backfires.”
Hughie groaned. “Not helpful.”
“Yeah, we noticed.” MM chimed in dryly.
“Go on.” Butcher raised his eyebrows expectantly at you.
You looked at him, eyebrows furrowed. “Go on… what?”
“Hughie’s plan. If there’s a problem with it, we need to fix it.”
“There’s always a problem with the plan,” you muttered.
“Would help to know what it is, ay?”
You exhaled slowly through your nose. God, he was persistent.
“…You’re coming in too loud,” you said finally, tearing your eyes away from Butcher and instead flicking them to Hughie. “You assume they won’t be ready for you, but they will be. You always assume that.”
Butcher’s eyes were still on you. Hughie blinked once. Twice. “Okay… so what, we go quieter?”
“You go smarter,” you corrected him. “Different entry point. Less predictable timing.”
MM nodded slightly towards Hughie. “They’ve got a point.”
Hughie looked semi-relieved. “Okay. Yeah, that- actually helps. Thanks.”
You shrugged like it didn’t matter.
Across the table, Butcher didn’t say anything, but you could feel it again— that shift. That attention settling, sharper now.
Later, the safehouse was quieter. MM had turned in. Hughie wasn’t far behind. Frenchie lingered the longest, but even he eventually disappeared down the hall, muttering to himself quietly.
You stayed. Not for any reason in particular, just not quite tired yet. The sink was full. You decided to deal with it because no one else would.
Over the sound of running water, you didn’t hear him come in. “Didn’t take ya’ for the tidy type.”
You didn’t turn to look at him. You considered saying something more, but settled on: “I’m not.”
“Coulda fooled me.” A glass clinked as you set it aside. You reached for another. Butcher leaned against the counter, close enough that you were aware of it. He continued, “You do that a lot.”
You didn’t want to deal with this right now. “Do what?”
“Hold back. You wanted to say something just then, didn’t ya’?”
You stilled at that, just for a moment. Then you continued scrubbing the plate in your hands. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”
You huffed, “You always this chatty, or am I just special?”
You turned the water off, drying your hands slowly before facing him. “What do you want?”
“Okay. Ask someone else.”
You rolled your eyes. “What, then?”
He watched you for a second, almost as if he was weighing something in his mind. “Why don’t ya’ ever have a go at me?”
You didn’t react. Not outwardly, at least. “Maybe I don’t feel like it.”
“Yeah,” he said, “Don’t buy that.”
“Oh, I think it might be.”
You grabbed a hand towel, folding it with more precision than it needed.
“Everyone else gets it,” Butcher continued, “Little comments. Smart remarks. You don’t miss much.”
You set the towel down. “Maybe you’re just not that interesting.”
You could just turn in. Walk away and go to bed. You could end it in two seconds. Instead, you found yourself lingering.
“…You think I don’t like you.” You said. It wasn’t a question.
Butcher didn’t respond for a moment.
“Wouldn’t be a stretch,” he said eventually.
You looked at him. “Well, you’re wrong.”
He studied you, something quieter settling within his expression. “Alright. So what’s it then?”
You held his gaze. Then dropped it. “Nothing.”
“Don’t look like nothin’.”
“Right.” There was something in the way he said it. Not dismissive, not mocking either. Just unconvinced. You hated that even more.
You exhaled sharply, stepping past him to put a little more distance between the two of you. You felt yourself growing frustrated.
“I don’t see why you care, really,” you shot at him.
That stopped him. Just for a second. “Maybe I don’t like not knowin’ things.”
“Yeah,” you almost chuckled. “That sounds like you.”
Silence stretched throughout the safehouse kitchen. Not uncomfortable, just there.
“…You should get some sleep,” you said finally, like that was the point of the conversation.
He gave a short nod. “You too.”
You turned toward the hallway at that, taking a few steps before stopping. You didn’t look back. “It’s not that I don’t have anything to say.”
Behind you, you heard him shift. “No?”
You shook your head. “I just don’t say it.”
The next few days didn’t change anything. Plans were made, plans went wrong. People argued, cleaned up the mess, did it all again. The usual cycle.
You slipped into it the way you always did. Observant. Helpful when it mattered. Snarky when it didn’t. If anything, you made a point to be exactly the same.
The safehouse TV was always too loud. Not unbearably loud, but just enough to be irritating. Some late-night news segment droned on about Vought damage control, the anchor's voice smooth and clear.
Hughie sat cross-legged on the floor, laptop balanced in front of him, pausing and rewinding the same clip over and over again.
“…there,” he said, pointing at the screen. “Did you see that?”
“No,” you replied from the couch without looking up. “And I don’t want to.”
Frenchie leaned over the back of his chair, squinting. “Ah– yes, yes. Rewind. There is something strange with the timing.”
“I am rewinding,” Hughie said, already doing it again.
You sighed, dragging your gaze up to the TV. “You’ve been watching the same five seconds for ten minutes.”
“It does- look!” He paused the clip again, pointing. “That guy in the background- he disappears between cuts.”
MM frowned slightly, now intrigued. He stepped closer. “Could be a bad edit.”
“Or it’s not,” Hughie insisted, “What if they cut something out?”
You tilted your head, actually paying attention now. On screen, a crowd shot outside Vought Tower. Reporters. Security. Civilians.
Hughie played it once. Twice. A third time.
He did. Your eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
Frenchie snapped his fingers. “Ah, yes. Slow motion.”
Hughie adjusted the playback, dragging it frame by frame. There. A man near the barricade blurred, then wasn’t there at all.
MM straightened. “Thats not editing.”
“No,” you admitted quietly, “it’s not.”
Hughie looked between you two, suddenly a lot more serious. “So what– A supe?”
“Looks like it,” MM muttered.
Frenchie’s grin faded into something sharper. “A fast one.”
Silence settled, the weight of their discovery shifting the room. Nobody said anything for a long moment.
“Alright.” Butcher’s voice cut in from behind you, “Play it again.”
You didn’t look at him. Hughie obeyed immediately, replaying the footage.
Butcher moved closer, stopping just behind where you were sitting on the couch. He watched the clip once, then twice.
“…You see it?” Hughie asked.
“Thats- bad, right?” Hughie pressed.
“Usually is when people start disappearin’, eh?”
You huffed quietly, “How insightful.”
Frenchie snickered under his breath. Butcher didn’t react. Your eyes flickered up briefly chance a look at him. He was still watching the screen.
The next hour was quieter.
Hughie pulled up more footage- different angles, different broadcasts. Frenchie cross-checked timestamps. MM paced, piecing together patterns.
You stayed on the couch, legs stretched out, watching everything without looking like you were doing very much at all.
“Alright,” MM said finally, “If this isn’t a one-off, we’re looking at repeat appearances. Same area.”
“Yeah,” Hughie nodded, typing faster now. “There’s three more clips from the same day.”
Frenchie leaned in. “Show me.”
You spoke before Hughie could; “Second one’s useless.”
He paused, glancing back at you. “What?”
“The angles wrong,” You said. “It’s too crowded. If it is the same supe, you won’t be able to see it clearly.”
Hughie blinked. “You didn’t even look at it.”
You shrugged slightly. “I didn’t need to.”
Butcher’s gaze shifted then. You could feel it. “You got a better one?” He asked.
You didn’t look at him, just pointed lazily at Hughie’s screen. “Third tab. Bottom clip.”
Hughie frowned but clicked it anyway. The footage loaded- a shaky phone video this time, less polished than the other clips.
“Play it,” you said. He did.
A crowd. Sirens in the distance. Then- that same flicker from the other videos. Hughie froze the frame, staring. “…Oh.”
Frenchie let out a low whistle. “Magnifique.”
MM nodded once. “Thats our guy.”
You leaned back again like it hadn’t taken any effort.
“How’d you know?” Hughie asked.
You glanced at him. “Pattern.”
“That’s not a real answer.”
“Too bad. It’s the only one you’re getting.”
Frenchie laughed softly. “Ah, they keep their secrets.”
“Or they just don’t feel like explainin’.” Butcher chimed in. Your eyes flickered to him. He was already looking at you.
You looked away first. You muttered, “Same thing.”
You built a plan from there, though it was the kind that relied more on timing and instinct than anything solid. Not ideal, but good enough.
The mission itself was already messy before it even started. Crowds always made things worse, too many variables you couldn’t control, and this one was no different.
“Stay sharp,” MM said over comms.
“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, eyes scanning.
Nothing for a moment. Then, suddenly, “There,” blurted Hughie.
You caught it a second later. Not movement exactly. More like a disruption, but something nonetheless.
You shifted direction immediately. “Moving east.”
“On it,” Butcher replied.
You tracked it again. There, then gone, then there. Faster than anything you could follow clearly.
You cut through the crowd, slipping between people without thinking, eyes locked on where it would be, not where it was.
Then, it veered. Wrong direction. You adjusted. Butcher wasn’t where he was supposed to be.
Your chest tightened just slightly. You hesitated. Half a second. Long enough to double back instead of push forward. By the time you caught sight of him again, he was already moving, exactly where he needed to be.
Of course he was. You forced your focus forward again. “Targets shifting,” you said, voice even.
Like nothing had happened.
The safehouse felt louder when you got back. Not actually louder, you supposed, just tighter. The leftover adrenaline hadn’t settled yet, and it sat in the room, sharp and restless.
Hughie was pacing, replaying the whole thing out loud like it might make more sense that way.
“I’m just saying, if that thing had doubled back- like, actually doubled back- we wouldn’t have even saw it coming.”
Frenchie laughed under his breath. “Optimism.”
MM shook his head. “We just adjust next time.”
“You mean if there’s a next time,” Hughie muttered.
“There’s always a next time.” You added. You didn’t have anything else to say. You listened in instead.
Slowly, you looked up. Butcher stood near the doorway, arms crossed, eyes fixed on you like he hadn’t even been listening to anyone else.
“Second pass,” he went on, tone even. “You weren’t where you were meant to be.”
Hughie glanced between you two, confused. “Wait, what?”
“I handled it.” You replied.
“That you weren’t in position.”
You scoffed, looking away. “You’re unbelievable.”
You didn’t answer. You knew you weren’t where you were supposed to be. You weren’t going to explain your reasoning to him.
“…Next time I’ll bring a map, just for you.” You muttered. Frenchie snorted.
Hughie looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t say anything. Butcher didn’t react.
“Next time,” he said, “How bout’ ya’ just stick to the plan, yeah?”
You pushed yourself upright, already done with the conversation. “Yeah. Sure.”
You walked out before it could go any further.
You didn’t notice the cut right away. It wasn’t deep, just a thin slice on the flesh of your arm, probably from brushing against something in the crowd. It took a while for the sting to register.
By the time it did, you were sitting on the floor by the couch, absentmindedly cleaning your knife, attention somewhere else entirely.
A drop of blood hit your hand. You paused, lifting your arm and inspecting it. “Oh.”
“Y’gonna do somethin’ about that, or just let it drip everywhere?”
You looked up. Butcher stood a few feet away, watching you.
“It’s fine.” You murmured.
“Yeah,” he replied, “sure looks it.”
You went back to cleaning your knife. “It’s not that bad.”
You raised an eyebrow, “Is that an order?”
“Take it however ya’ like.”
You watched him for a second. He stepped closer, a small med kit already in his hand. You hadn’t even seen him grab it. When he crouched in front of you, the space between you shrank in a way you couldn’t help but notice.
“Give me your arm.” He reached out.
You did. His grip was steady as he pushed your sleeve back just enough to see the cut, fingers warm against your skin in a way that felt distracting.
“Not bad, huh?” Butcher muttered under his breath, examining the cut.
“You’re an awful liar, love.”
You huffed quietly but refrained from arguing with him.
Up close like this, there was less distance to hide behind. You could see the small shifts in his expression, the way his attention didn’t waver.
He cleaned the wound carefully, movements precise like he’d done this hundreds of times before.
“You hesitated.” He remarked after a moment. “Why?”
You exhaled slowly, “You’re really not letting that go.”
You watched his hands work at your wound. Steady. “You weren’t where I expected you to be.”
His tone softened. “Why?”
Your jaw tightened. What were you supposed to say? Because you thought he might’ve been in trouble? Because you didn’t like not knowing where he was?
“Didn’t feel like cleaning up your mess,” was what you settled on.
He didn’t say anything to that, just finished wrapping the bandage around your forearm, tying it neatly.
His hands lingered for half a second longer than they needed to. Then he let go. “..Right.”
You pulled your arm back, flexing your fingers slightly. “See?” You muttered, “still alive.”
“Miracle.” Butcher deadpanned.
Your mouth twitched upwards. You pushed yourself to your feet, brushing past him- closer than necessary, just enough that your shoulder almost caught his.
“Try not to get lost next time,” you murmured.
“Try not to wander off then,” he replied.
You paused. Just for a second. You were close enough that if either of you moved-
Yeah. You stepped away first, “we’ll see.”
“Alright. We’re not doing that again,” MM said, arms crossed as he looked across the table. “Last time nearly got Hughie flattened.”
“Nearly,” you corrected from where you sat at the table, swinging one foot idly. “Important distinction.”
Hughie shot you a look. “You’re very comforting, you know that?”
Frenchie laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Ah, the honesty. It is refreshing.”
“It’s brutal,” Hughie muttered.”
You tilted your head slightly, watching as he laid out the next approach, adjusting positions, timing, entry points. Cleaner than last time.
“…and no one goes off plan,” he added.
Your gaze shifted, just briefly. Butcher was already looking at you. Of course he was.
“Stay on plan, yadda yadda, I got it.” You murmured, pointedly not looking at Butcher.
It happened in pieces after that. He started showing up next to you without making a thing out of it.
Leaning against the same wall, standing just off of your shoulder during briefings. Taking the spot across from you instead of anywhere else, even if there were easier options.
“Hey,” Hughie snapped his fingers in front of your face. “Earth to you.”
You blinked, dragging your focus back. “What?”
“You’ve been staring at the same spot for like five minutes.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting. Deal.”
Hughie squinted at you. “You’re so weird.”
Frenchie leaned in, amused. “More so than usual, I think.”
You rolled your eyes, pushing yourself off of the chair. “You’re all very obsessed with me. It’s concerning.”
“Hard not to be,” Hughie said, “you’re acting off.”
“I’m acting exactly the same.”
“Mm,” MM hummed, unconvinced.
You didn’t like that. You turned away before they could keep going. Across the room, Butcher was watching, and you knew it. You always knew it.
The next mission went better. Still not perfect, still unpredictable, but better. You stuck to the plan, mostly.
“Left,” Butcher’s voice came through your earpiece.
“I see it,” you replied, already moving. This time you didn’t hesitate.
You managed to make a swift exit. Less chaos. No one nearly dying. An improvement.
Back at the safehouse, the mood was much lighter.
Hughie was talking again, excited this time instead of panicked. “I’m just saying, that went way smoother.”
“Don’t jinx it,” MM said.
“I’m not jinxing it, I’m appreciating it.”
You leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. “Try not to sound too proud of yourself.”
Hughie scoffed, “Oh, come on- you can admit it was good.”
“That's basically a compliment coming from you.”
Hughie laughed anyway. It shifted into something easy. Familiar. You almost let yourself relax.
Your attention snapped to Butcher, who stood a few feet away, looking at you. Not the group. You.
You frowned slightly. “What?”
“That,” he said, nodding vaguely, “You stickin’ to the plan.”
You blinked. That was new. You shifted your weight slightly. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
A faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe a little.”
You huffed quietly. You hated the way your chest tightened at the recognition from him. You pushed off the wall and walked past him, shoulder bumping his.
It was late when it happened. Later than usual, the safehouse was mostly quiet, lights dim, the kind of stillness that only settled when everyone else had gone to sleep.
You were at the table, picking apart a piece of equipment that didn’t actually need fixing. Anything to keep your hands busy.
You didn’t look up. “I am.”
You smirked faintly. “You keeping track?”
You glanced up then. He was closer than he needed to be. You went back to what you were doing.
“I thought you’d be asleep,” You muttered, focused on the equipment in your hands.
“Not tired.” Butcher paused. “Y’did good today.”
Your hands stilled. “…Don’t start.”
“Wasn’t startin’ anything.”
You exhaled slowly, setting the object of your focus down. “You always this persistent?”
You huffed quietly, shaking your head. “Yeah,” you said. “I’ve noticed.”
You became very aware of just how close he was standing. Of the way he hadn’t moved. Of the way you hadn’t told him to.
“Are you gonna keep hovering, or is there a point to this?” you asked, finally.
“If you’re gonna bolt the second I say somethin’ ya’ don’t like.”
You glanced at him. “I don’t bolt.”
Usually, one of you would have up and left by this point. You noticed after a moment, that you were both still there.
“…You’re quiet,” you said, glancing at him.
“Coulda’ sworn you liked it that way.”
Your gaze held his for a second longer than it should have. “Not when you’re hovering.”
A faint shift of his shoulders. “You ain’t told me to move.”
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Your fingers curled slightly against the edge of the table. “Didn’t think I had to.”
“Seems like you do.” There was something in the way he said it. Not quite teasing, but almost.
You exhaled slowly, turning your head to break the tense eye contact. “You always this difficult?”
“Only with you.” You had a feeling that landed differently than he’d intended it to.
“…Lucky me,” You murmured.
Silence settled between you, but it didn’t feel empty. More like something was sitting there, waiting to be acknowledged.
“You keep watching me,” you said.
He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you, steady, like he was trying to decide how much to say.
“Tryin’ to figure you out,” he said, finally.
Your gaze dropped for a second, to where his hand rested against the table near yours. “You’re wasting your time.”
You hated the way the nickname made your chest tighten.
“You’re annoying,” you muttered, but it came out softer than usual, lacking its usual edge.
You got up from the table, taking a step away. He followed. Not enough to crowd you, but enough that the distance between you stayed the same.
“..Don’t,” you said quietly.
He tilted his head slightly, watching you. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.”
“You keep-“ you stopped, exhaled, tried again. “You don’t back off.”
“Because ya’ don’t let anyone get close. Not really.”
Your throat felt tight. “Thats not your problem.”
“Seems like it might be.”
You shook your head, taking another step back. “You’re reading into things.”
He took a slow step forward, just enough to close the gap again. “Then prove it.”
Your brows furrowed, “What? How?”
“Treat me like the others.”
You let out a quiet, disbelieving breath. “Thats what this is about.”
It should’ve been an easy request. You knew how to do that. You did it all the time. You opened your mouth, and nothing came out.
His brow lifted slightly. “No?”
“I just don’t want to, okay? Drop it.”
Silence settled again. You didn’t leave, and neither did he. For a moment, it felt as if either of you moved even an inch closer, something would happen.
You stepped back first. “…Get some sleep, Billy.”
You turned before he could say anything else, but you could still feel his eyes on you long after you were gone.
It started the same way it always did lately: too quiet, too dark; the safehouse settled, and everyone else inside was asleep.
You were at the counter, leaning forward slightly, turning your knife over in your hand more out of habit than thought.
You heard him come in. Didn’t look up.
“D’ya ever get bored of that?” Butcher asked.
“No,” you answered. “Do you ever get bored of asking stupid questions?”
“Not when I get an answer.”
You exhaled faintly, the smallest hint of a smirk pulling at your mouth. “Then you’re easily entertained.”
You glanced up. He was already watching you. Your eyes held his for a second longer than necessary before you looked back down, flipping the knife once, catching it clean.
“You’re staring again,” you murmured.
Your fingers tightened around the handle of the knife before you set it down on the counter beside you.
“Still tryin’ to figure you out,” he shrugged.
You scoffed, but there wasn’t much bite to it. “You won’t.”
He stepped closer. You didn’t back away. “You’re doing that thing again.”
“As I’ve said, don’t want to.”
Your breath hitched. “You should.”
Because you don’t trust yourself. Because this is already too much.
You don’t say any of that. You started, “because…”
You stopped. Because he was right there now. Close enough that the space between you was barely space anymore.
Your back was pressed fully against the counter. His hand came up beside you, bracing against the surface, close enough that your arm brushed his for half a second. You felt it.
“…Move,” you said, softer this time.
“Don’t sound like you mean it.”
Your breath faltered. You looked at him, and for once there was nothing easy to hide behind. Your gaze dropped, just for a second, down to his mouth and back up.
He noticed. Of course he did. His own gaze followed deliberately. “Go on,” he said quietly.
Your chest tightened. “What?”
“You were gonna say somethin’.”
He leaned in. Slow, careful, like he was giving you time to stop it. You didn’t.
Your breath caught as the distance between you shrunk, your body going completely still, fingers curling against the counter as your focus narrowed to just this.
Just him, the way his hand shifted slightly closer, not touching, but enough to feel.
Your voice barely worked. “…You should stop.”
You swallowed. Your gaze dropped again, slower this time. You leaned forward, just a fraction, just enough that your breath brushed against his, that the space between you became almost nothing.
Your lips parted. His did too.
The door slammed open. “Hey-“
You jerked back instantly, like the moment snapped clean in half, breath sharp in your lungs.
Hughie froze in the doorway, eyes wide. “Oh- shit- I didn’t-“
You turned away immediately, hand bracing against the counter as you tried to steady yourself, voice sharper than you intended. “Knock.”
“I- yeah- sorry- I didn’t know-“
The door shut just as fast as it had opened. Silence rushed back in, heavy and loud. You exhaled slowly, trying to shake off the fact that you hadn’t stopped it. You didn’t even try.
For a second, neither of you moved. He was still there. Still close, still watching you. “…Don’t,” you said quietly.
A pause. “Yeah,” he said, voice rougher now.
You pushed off the counter first, putting some space between you before it could happen again. It seemed to always happen that way.
You didn’t look back as you walked out, because if you did, you weren’t sure you would’ve stopped it the second time either.
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