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"Chapter Three: The Beginning"

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Butch laid on the floor, cold metal pressed up against his cheek. He bitterly mused how the cool surface would have been a relief, if it were pressed against his red, still throbbing cheek.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" his mother's shrill voice made his ears ring, and her question was immediately followed by a violent hiccup that nearly threw her off her feet.

Having made good on his word, Mr. Brotch had contacted his mother and filled her in on the whole haircut-fiasco that had happened earlier that day. Understandably, Ellen was infuriated and it took the span of ten minutes to convince her to stay at home instead of bursting into the classroom to give her son a what-for.

When detention ended and Butch was sent home to face his mother's wrath he took his sweet time getting there. He dragged his feet across the metal floor and kept his hands tucked away in his jumpsuit pockets, staring straight ahead as he neared his destination.

Within minutes of entering his home he found himself acquainted with the floor for the second time that day. His mind reeled about, trying to comprehend what had happened before registering the stinging pain in his cheek where, he concluded, his mother had hit him. She then loomed over him, swaying precariously on her own two feet. Her breath reeked of alcohol, the odor just slightly more potent than her day-to-day breath.

"Answer me!" Ellen Deloria demanded, her voice cracking at its highest note.

"Nice to see you too," he breathed, choosing to avoid giving his mother an answer to her question. He slowly turned himself over to his hands and knees, standing unsteadily with one hand clutching his side. His ribs still hurt from Sibyl's earlier kick, and the bruise had been agitated by his brief visit with the floor.

He watched his mother's face further contort with rage, his smart remark adding fuel to the fire. When Ellen rose her hand for a second time Butch was ready for her; he braced himself and, a second before her hand made contact with his face, he sidestepped her assault to safety.

Caught off-guard and off-balance, Ellen tripped over her own two feet, her inebriated mind unable to fix the mistake. Her eyes bulged as she tumbled towards the desk tucked away into the room's corner, her head hitting its edge with a loud, sickening thud.

Butch watched his mother's body fall to the floor and go limp, silence blanketing the room. His breath caught in his throat and he could hear his blood roaring in his ears; peculiar, since it felt as though his heart had stopped completely.

He stared at his mother's eerily lifeless form, feeling cold dread snake its way through his stomach. His eyes caught the sight of red slowly seeping out from beneath Ellen's hair, dripping down her brown locks to the floor below.

Finally, he choked out a whisper.

"...mom?"

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The sound of paper shifting against paper was abnormally loud in the small clinic. James Wickham somberly flipped through the pages of his clipboard, mumbling quietly to himself once in a while. Butch sat silently in front of him, waiting for the doctor's diagnosis; Ellen hadn't moved an inch after her fall, even when security came and dragged her off to the clinic with Butch close behind.

Though the guards hadn't seemed too concerned for Ellen (given that all of them had dragged her to the clinic one time or another) Butch had a sinking feeling that this fall was worse than those prior. He had seen her fall time and time again, injuries ranging from sprained ankles to chipped teeth and the occasional need for stitches. It wasn't like she hadn't knocked herself out before, but she hadn't ever been so still afterwards.

And that scared him. He couldn't help but shift nervously where he sat, eyes glued to Doctor Wickham and his damned clipboard.

When the Doctor cleared his throat Butch jumped. James tucked the clipboard under one arm, giving Butch a bleak look before speaking.

"She's suffering from a pretty severe concussion," he started, looking almost sheepish. He wasn't used to giving fifth graders a bad diagnosis, especially when the patient he had diagnosed was their parent. Lacking alternatives, however, he was forced to confront the young boy, no matter how guilt-wracking it was.

"How severe?" Butch dared to ask, his eyes flicking over to the curtains that hid his mother from view in the corner of the clinic.

"Your mother has come in before with concussions," James said with a heavy sigh. "They weren't cause of much concern and she usually maintained some level of consciousness. This time though—I haven't been able to wake her," he paused, giving Butch a sorry frown. "I'm afraid she's in a concussion-induced coma."

"...coma?" Butch felt his throat tighten.

"I know it sounds bad," James hurried to say, holding a hand up. "But I'm sure it won't last too long. These sorts of comas usually don't, and her life isn't in any immediate danger. It's just a matter of watching her until she regains consciousness," Butch could barely hear James' attempt to console him; His words did little to comfort Butch who only understood one thing:

His mother was in a coma.

"In the meantime," James continued, rubbing the back of his neck. He definitely looked awkward now, Butch's lack of response making his job that much harder. "Do you have anywhere to stay? Maybe some friends or...family?"

His pause before the word "family" made Butch return to reality with a grimace, hands balling into fists. "No family," he said shortly, gritting his teeth. "...there's Paul and Wally, though."

"That's Wally Mack and Paul Hannon Jr., correct?" Butch gave a small nod, and James looked relieved. "I'll go get a hold of them, then. Just sit tight for a few-"

"Dad!" The clinic's door abruptly slid open behind them. They both looked over, watching Sybil stride in with an old,red tattered baseball cap. It was painfully obvious the hat was there to hide her ruined hair. "I can't find the scissors anywhere, do you know where they..." she trailed off when she took note of Butch's presence, their eyes immediately locking together. He watched her expression harden and her cheeks redden, familiar rage quite literally coloring her features.

"You!" she shouted, jabbing a finger in his direction. "You have some nerve showing up after what you did-!"

"Sibyl, stop," James stepped between the two fifth graders as his daughter began to make her way towards Butch, most likely intending to smack him upside the head. "This isn't the time nor place to be starting a fight."

"But dad-!" she argued. "He ruined my hair!"

To prove her point she reached up and whipped off the aged baseball cap from her head, blue spilling forth around her face in a choppy fashion. In the back of his mind Butch still found it kind of funny, though he wasn't in the mood to laugh.

"Honey, hair grows back," James countered gently, though his tone didn't do much when his daughter gave him a wounded and incredulous look. Butch, too, stared at Doctor Wickham in confusion; In a way the Doctor had just defended him.

"Now, I need to call a few people so I'm going into my office for a little bit," James continued before his daughter could gather her thoughts well enough to continue her argument. "We have a patient in the back, so please keep your voice down. Understood?"

"...patient?" Sybil repeated, her eyebrows coming together. "You mean Butch isn't..."

She had apparently been under the impression Butch was her father's patient, which would have made sense given the kick she had delivered to him earlier. But as her eyes traveled from her classmate to the curtains in the back, realization dawned upon her and she gave a solemn nod. "...understood, dad."

"That's my girl," James said affectionately. When he reached over to pat her head his hand hovered over the blue mess that was her hair, seemingly changing his mind halfway through. He opted to lean down and peck his daughter on the forehead instead, concluding it was the safer option.

"I'll be right back," he turned, heading for his office in the back. With the Doctor gone silence settled between Butch and Sibyl, which was fine by him because he wasn't in a particularly chatty mood. He focused his gaze forward, eyes glued to office window ahead where he could see James getting on the intercom. He was making a point to avoid looking at Sybil but, it appeared, Sibyl had no qualms about looking at him. He could see her staring at him from his peripheral vision, and it was beginning to aggravate him.

He expected her to break the silence sometime soon (or else he would, if only to tell her to stop her staring) but when she finally did speak up he hadn't expected her voice to be so...sympathetic.

"Your mom's back there, isn't she?"

Butch grimaced, unsure what to make of such an unfamiliar tone. After a few brief moments of contemplation he decided he didn't much care for it. With a scowl he finally met her gaze. "So what if she is?" he snapped hard enough to make her flinch. "Why do you care? Gonna go tell the whole Vault my mom's in the clinic again, huh?"

Sybil faltered, completely bewildered by Butch's hostility. "N-no—I was just—I wasn't going to-!"

"Then shut up and leave me alone, Nosebleed," he seethed, ripping his gaze from her to refocus on the window James was behind. "I don't need your pity."

"...I wasn't pitying you..." she mumbled dejectedly, though she said nothing after that. It seemed she gave in to his demands, leaving him to try reading her father's lips unsuccessfully.

When the door finally opened and James came out, Sybil ran to her father's side before Butch could ask what had become of his living arrangements.

"Dad, what's going on?" she asked, ignoring the hiss Butch let out behind her. She had circumvented his refusal to answer by going straight to the source, and that made him want to rip out the rest of her blue hair from the roots.

"Hey-!" he sprung up from his seat towards Sibyl but was stopped by James when he put a hand between them.

"Enough," he, his voice carrying a note of finality even Butch couldn't deny. So he swallowed the insults he had prepared and settled for giving Sybil a nasty look instead.

"Now, about where you'll be staying..." James continued, ignoring his daughter's inquiry. "I'm afraid neither the Macks nor the Hannons are willing to take you in..."

"W-what?" Butch blanched, looking behind James towards his office intercom as if it had betrayed him. "But we're friends! They wouldn't-"

"This isn't about your friendship with their sons," James interrupted, frowning. "Their parents just aren't willing to let you into their homes after today's...ordeal."

Butch felt his ears go red and knew Sybil had focused her attention on him again. He balled his hands into fists and looked up at the doctor, glowering. "Then where the hell am I supposed to go?"

"Yes, about that..." James started slowly. "I can't let you go home by yourself, but there's no one left to call, so...," he took a deep breath. "It looks like you'll be staying with Sibyl and I for now."

"What?"

Both Butch and Sibyl gawked at James, shocked. Of all the ways his day could have come to a close, Butch never imagined it'd include bunking with her.

"Dad, you can't—!" Sybil cried out, reaching out to tug on her father's lab coat. "There has to be somewhere else he can go—anywhere else!"

Butch didn't know why those words stung—he wasn't exactly thrilled about this whole arrangement either—but they did. Maybe it had something to do with being rejected twice already that day.

"There isn't anywhere else for him right now, honey," James explained, brushing his knuckles across Sybil's cheek. "This is for the best. This also means he'll be close to his mother as she recovers, so it's really a win-win."

Sibyl looked back to Butch when her father confirmed it was his mother that had been admitted to the clinic. He could see her mentally connecting the dots, her mouth dropping to form a silent "o" as the situation became that much clearer. He couldn't stand looking at her and so he averted his gaze, wiping his nose with his thumb before shoving both hands into his pockets.

"...he isn't staying in my room, is he?" Sibyl whispered to her father, lifting herself up onto her toes as though getting a few inches closer to his ears would mean Butch couldn't hear her. He could.

"No, of course not," James reassured with a soft laugh, the question lighting his eyes up with amusement. Sibyl let out a breath of relief and immediately relaxed, making Butch scoff—as if he'd stay in some girl's room. Gross.

"...then I guess it's OK," she said, nodding as though her approval meant something.

"Don't I have a say in this?" Butch finally snapped, Sybil's self-determined "important" approval proving too much for him. He glared at them both, sneering like a trapped animal. "What if I don't want to stay with either of you?"

"Then I'd have to speak with the Overseer about your arrangements who, last I heard, wasn't all too pleased with your actions today either," James said, his kind voice hardly hiding the warning behind his words. "I think it's safe to say we're your best bet."

Butch grunted, picking up on the warning and recognizing the truth in his words. "Fine...but don't you dare tell anyone about this, OK?"

The last thing Butch needed after all of this was for the other kids to catch wind of what had happened. He didn't want anyone to pity him, he didn't want anyone to think they were better than him because of his mother and he sure as hell didn't want his classmates to start teasing him about staying with the Doctor and his precious daughter. He didn't know what he'd do if Wally brought it up in conversation; He'd probably just punch him and get a few more weeks of detention under his belt.

"As if I'd tell anyone!" Sybil retorted a little too loudly, crossing her arms. "I don't want anyone knowing either."

"Ha, not even Amata?" Butch challenged, his eyes narrowing. When she faltered he knew he had been right and let out an annoyed grunt. "I knew it—you were going to tell the bi-" he barely managed to stop himself from calling Amata something less than polite, glancing to James wearily before continuing. "...the brat."

"N-no I wasn't..." Sybil stammered out, reaching over to her arm so she could rub it insecurely. "I'm not gonna tell anyone...if you don't tell Wally or Paul."

No worries there.

"Deal," he said with a shrug, rolling his eyes when her relief showed plainly on her face.

"Alright you two," James' eyes were still brimming with amusement, obviously enjoying the little exchange between Sybil and Butch. "if that's how it's going to be, I'm afraid I'm going to have to take the opportunity to set a condition."

"Huh?" Sybil looked to her father, raising a brow. "A condition?"

"Yes, a condition. If you two want this to be a secret so badly you'll have to buy my silence," James was unable to resist grinning at the two fifth graders as they tensed in front of him. "There will be no fighting between the two of you during this arrangement. If I catch you two going at it I'll make sure the whole vault knows we're all living together. Understood?"

Butch was stunned by the old man's cunning. He had seen an opportunity and hadn't hesitated for even a moment to seize it; he had them cornered, and he knew it. Butch felt an inkling of respect for the Doctor, though it was largely overridden by rage.

"But...but that's not fair! It's Butch who always starts it!" Sibyl cried out before Butch could voice his own complaint. She jabbed her finger at him again, something she seemed to do quite often.

"Only 'cause you're askin' for it," Butch shot back, their eyes locking together as they glared at each other dangerously.

"This is what I'm talking about," James sighed, shaking his head. "If this continues I'm letting the cat out of the bag. So it's best you two put your differences aside and start getting along."

Butch and Sibyl shared a look then, a mutual understanding forming between them, no matter how reluctantly. Their glares lost their venom, for now, and they turned their gazes elsewhere.

"Got it, doc," Butch said under his breath begrudgingly. He didn't know how he'd pull this off because Sybil had been right; He always picked their fights, especially in front of the other boys, and he didn't know how he'd stop himself after establishing such a routine. And if he did quell his impulses, how would he do it without raising suspicions from Paul or Wally?

"Yeah, I got it too," Sibyl relented across from him, letting out a heavy sigh. "Can I just...have the scissors now?"

"Right, I nearly forgot," James said, walking over to one of the trays that were set aside on a table. He plucked a pair of scissors off of it, handing it to Sibyl with the plastic handles facing her. "There you go sweetie. You sure you don't want to wait for a hair appointment...?"

"Yeah I'm sure. I've had enough of people cutting my hair for me," Butch had to bite his tongue and swallow a smart remark that came to mind as she shot him a look. It was torture, keeping to himself like hat. "But thanks. I'm gonna head back now," she reached out and took the pair of scissors from her father, looking them over a moment before turning to leave.

She walked past him without sparing him another look, though she hesitated right outside the door. There was a brief, extremely awkward pause that was broken by her mumbling something quietly-something he could hardly hear-before she put her red cap back on over her blue hair and left down the hall.

It had sounded, to him, like she had said something along the lines of "see you at home".

Focused on watching her leave and trying to figure out what she had said exactly, Butch didn't notice the Doctor approaching him until he felt his fingers dig into his shoulder. He jumped in surprise, instinctively reaching over to push the man's hand off his shoulder only to find it was firmly planted there; the grip didn't hurt, but it demanded his attention.

"I'm letting you stay with us because you have nowhere else to go and no one else to turn to," Butch saw an unusual intensity in James' eyes when he looked back at him, and it made him nervous. "But don't think I'm not just as upset as the other parents are about today. I might even be more so, since it's my daughter you went after."

"Then why bother?" Butch grumbled bitterly, yanking his shoulder back. James' hand let go, allowing Butch to spin around and face him. "It's not like you're my dad. I'm not your 'problem' and I can handle myself just fine."

"...I don't doubt that..." There was a look in James' eyes Butch couldn't quite figure out—something akin to pity, but not quite the same. He wasn't sure how he felt about that expression. "Regardless, you're still young and that sort of responsibility shouldn't fall on you yet. So I'm sorry, Butch, but you're stuck with us until your mother's well enough to go home."

"Hn," Butch grunted, too tired to argue. "Fine. Whatever. Have it your way..." he waved his hand in front of him, changing the subject. "Can we just hurry this up so I can get some shut-eye already?"

"It'll only be a few more minutes," James said, accepting Butch's abrupt topic change. He gestured to some lockers against the wall not too far away. "Go ahead and get some blankets out of there while I finish up cleaning up. You'll be staying in my room and we don't have an extra bed."

Making me sleep on the floor, huh? Ass. He thought bitterly as he made his ways to the lockers, rummaging through them to find the softest blankets possible. He took them into his arms, kicking the locker shut with too much force, the sound echoing off the walls.

He plopped himself down in the small "waiting area" of the clinic, watching James begin to clean the small space. He inspected his equipment and cleaned any tools that were laying about before putting them away in their respective places. After checking a few files on his terminal he shut it down for the night, heading towards the curtains Ellen was behind to check her vitals one last time before finishing up.

By the time James neared Butch he was beginning to nod off, the day's exhaustion catching up with him. He would have been fine passing out then and there, but the Doctor wasn't as content with the idea.

"It's time to wake up," James said, gently shaking Butch's shoulder. The boy groaned in return, one hand going up to rub his face. He muttered a curse but if James heard him he didn't pay it any mind. "Our place isn't far from here. I can hold the blankets."

Butch felt James lift the blankets off of him and he finally opened his eyes, letting out a big yawn as he did. He stretched his legs out until they popped before standing up somewhat clumsily, his eyesight still bleary. James waited for him to make his way out the door before flicking the clinic's lights off, closing the door behind them.

Just as James had promised the Wickham residence wasn't far from the clinic at all. He hardly remembered the journey as he stumbled in after the Doctor, ready to collapse on the floor. Sybil was nowhere in sight, having probably gone to bed herself.

"Here's our room," James said as they walked into a decent-sized bedroom; it was certainly larger than Butch or his mother's rooms, that much was clear. A double bed was pushed back in the corner with a dresser at its foot, an assortment of medical magazines stacked neatly on top.

While Butch looked around the room observing the differences between the Wickham residence and his own, James began to lay the blankets they had taken from the clinic out on the ground, stealing a pillow from the bed as a last finishing touch.

"There we go," he said. "We better get to bed while there's still some night left to sleep through. The alarm goes off at six-thirty, but I'll set it again to go off at eight for you," Butch looked over to James and then to the bedside table, a small electric clock ticking away. Beside it was a frame with what looked like a page of a book inside, though Butch couldn't read it from where he stood.

"Uh-huh," Butch yawned, covering his mouth with a fist. When he began to stumble towards the makeshift bed on the ground he realized he didn't even have any night clothes to change into.

In fact, he didn't have any of his things.

"I need to get my stuff tomorrow," he muttered, a bit perturbed his "host" hadn't thought about that ahead of time. He didn't like the idea of getting up early so he could grab his backpack from his room back home.

"I'll get it for you before work," James stood by his dresser, combing through its contents before pulling out an over-sized nighttime Vault-issued jumpsuit. While it was true none of the old-world's fashionable clothes remained in the Vault after the bombs dropped, the inhabitants weren't stuck with a single style of jumpsuit to wear; besides job-specific styles, such as the armored Vault security jumpsuits, they also had suits that were made of softer, more flexible material perfect for sleeping in comfortably.

Butch took the suit, looking over it briefly. It was in good condition, as though it were hardly slept in.

"Go ahead and change into that while I check up on Sybil," James said, shrugging off his lab coat. He hung it up on the wall's coat hanger before heading out of the room. Despite his exhaustion Butch was half inclined to follow him—he wanted to know if Sybil had managed to make her hair look decent or if she had just gone ahead and shaved it all off.

But he stayed put in James' room, unzipping his jumpsuit. It fell around his ankles where he then kicked it away into the corner, stepping into the night-suit he had been given.

Once it was zipped up he looked himself over with a frown. Of course it was far too big on him, he was just a fifth grader now wearing adult pajamas. But it was preferable over the stiff jumpsuit he usually wore, so he made his way to his makeshift bed and got between the covers, letting out a big yawn as he began to settle.

He immediately began to fall asleep, drifting in and out of consciousness when James returned to the room. He hardly noticed, even when strong hands picked him up off the floor Butch was too tired to care. But the second he felt himself sink into a mattress his eyes began to reluctantly open.

James' back was to him now as he went to turn the lights off. In the darkness Butch watched the older man make his way to the makeshift bed on the ground, taking his place there without changing out of his work jumpsuit.

"Goodnight Butch," he heard James say softly, and Butch felt his chest tighten painfully.

For the briefest moment Butch felt guilt course through him. Despite everything he had done to Sybil, today only being one example of his bullying, the doctor had not only taken him in but given Butch his bed as well.

Was this what having a father was like?

He felt himself begin to drift away again and knew he wouldn't be able to stay awake much longer, so the feelings he was experiencing would have to be put on hold. His eyes started to roll about as he tried to fight off the urge to sleep, eventually landing on the picture frame he had noticed when he had first entered the room.

His eyes had adjusted to the darkness well enough to barely make out the words in the frame.

I am the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end.

Everything after that was dark.

He was gone.

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A/N: So I technically had this done like...two days after last chapter but honestly it kicked my ass the entire time. It's longer (9 pages) and it just wasn't much fun to write after the first scene with Butch's mom knocking herself out. Which, I mean, that happens while writing, especially when setting up future events, but that DOESN'T COMFORT ME.

And so, to be honest, I was lazy and reluctant with this chapter and should have finished it sooner. Writer's block too, and I'm not sure I'm 100% satisfied with this chapter but...it needs to get the hell out of my files so I can move on.

Thanks to my reviewers and those who pm'd me though! Especially keelhauled who sent a kind pm that motivated me enough to do one last revision before posting.

If there are mistakes (there probably are) please point them out, and critique in general! Hell, if someone out there wants to beta read, god bless you.