Disclaimer: I have not read any of the comics. This is purely based off of events that happened in the TV show.

Billy Butcher never understood peace before he met Becca.

He understood reprieve. He understood that it was temporary.

Oh, but peace…. Peace lasted. Peace was breathing in the life they made together. Some fruity shampoo. A cup of coffee. Cigarette smoke and an empty promise of quitting the next day. Peace was listening to his wife ramble about the Spice Girls, and him calling them rubbish in return.

It was a funny thing, realizing that peace too was temporary.

Eight years passed in a blur of basement hideouts, sleepless nights, and a hell of a lot of blood. Didn't matter whose blood it was, so long as it wasn't his own or any of the other Boys'.

None of that mattered at the end of it all. She was his life. His girl. He'd sacrifice anything and everything in the world to get her back.

And now he was about to lose her all over again. The only semblance of peace he'd ever known was dying at the hands of a fucking Nazi Supe. Bullets, massive hits with a crowbar, nothing deterred Stormfront from crushing Becca's throat.

He couldn't save her. She was dying, and he couldn't fucking save her.

A flash of light blasted him off his feet. There was no way to tell what was up or down or anything until he met the jarring slam of the earth underneath. The scent of smoke and autumn leaves quickly stirred him back to some semblance of consciousness.

Butcher shuffled for the crowbar he'd dropped, only to find it lasered imprecisely into two parts. The second half laid by a charred body. Both arms and legs were gone, reduced to ash and bone. Half of Stormfront's face was scorched, and still she muttered incoherently in German.

Fucking hell, Supes were like goddamn cockroaches.

Becca stood pressed up against the tree. Stormfront's clenched hand was still clamped to her throat. She ripped the stump away, gasping in smoky air, coughing it back out. It smelled absolutely foul.

The kid was crying, apologizing profusely. He'd never really known death before. Never understood how powerful he really was.

Becca ran to him without hesitation. She smoothed his hair from his face and wiped away the tears.

He was okay. They were okay. It wasn't his fault.

None of this was his fault.

"I love you, Mom."

She smothered him in tear-stained kisses. "I love you, Ryan. I love you so much."

Butcher stood and watched. The half-crowbar slipped from his grasp. How could he bear to take this kid away from her now? How could he have even thought of hurting her like that?

Becca turned to him, and he nearly sank to his knees next to her. That was, until he noticed the abject fear in her eyes.


A figure covered in blood descended from the sky with all the grace of a fallen angel. It was a reckoning. An executioner that served no judge and no mercy.

They were fucked. There was no way Homelander would let any of them go. There was no way he'd let Butcher or Becca live after trying to take his son away from him.

Butcher's immediate reaction was to snatch up the broken crowbar again. Becca shoved Ryan behind her, inching back towards her husband.

Homelander only stared at them, somewhat dazed, before his eyes flickered to Stormfront's body among the leaves. Her voice strained against her throat, the German spilling louder now that someone she recognized stood by her side.

When Queen Maeve showed up, Butcher thought they were royally fucked. But then she threatened not them, but Homelander. Everything he ever truly cared about would disappear if he so much as laid a finger on any of them.

His fans' adoration or his son. It was his choice.

Butcher didn't think there was any way in hell that would work. He'd lash out at Maeve then go to work on the rest of them. It'd be so easy for him.

Homelander didn't move. He couldn't even look at them. No, the bastard was crying at the mere prospect of losing millions of fans.

He needed to be loved, Butcher realized. Even a Supe as terrifying as him could never have it all.

Butcher scooped up the kid and walked off. Becca clung to his other arm, daring to glare back at Homelander. In a situation as insane as all of this, she glared back. It was such a hardened look of contempt that even Butcher found himself hesitant to say anything, lest that awful gaze turn on him.

That look was a promise. Homelander would never see his son again.

Butcher wrapped an arm around her. She was trembling. With rage or fear, it didn't matter, he supposed. Becca had her son, and Butcher had his peace back. There was no way in Hell he'd ever let that go again.

Mallory arranged for them to be moved to a more secure location. He couldn't be bothered to listen all that closely to her brief of the place. Not with Becca in his arms. Not with the kid clinging to her like he couldn't bear to be parted from her again.

He caught something about the home being much bigger than anything they were used to. Something about it being a prototype Supe-proof home. Whatever the fuck any of that meant.

All he really paid attention to was the fact that the CIA cleared him and The Boys of any and all charges held against them. No more dinky basements. No more hiding or barely scraping past death or fast-talking his way out of a deep pile of shit.

Just domesticity. Admittedly, not the lifestyle that suited him and his talents, but he'd easily fall back into it for Becca's sake. For her child's sake.

Ryan, he reminded himself and snuck a glance at him.

The lad was muttering the names of states under his breath. He hadn't stopped since they got in the car together.

Butcher still wasn't sure how to feel about him. He saved his mother the only way he could. He loved her just as much as Butcher loved her.

And yet, he was Homelander's son, not his. He looked so much like the Supe that it stirred up his hatred of the unnatural bastards all over again.

Becca loved him, though. She loved him with all her heart.

He fumbled for his Saint Christopher's necklace and clumsily handed it to Becca.

She threw him an incredulous look. "You still had this?"

"Kept me safe all this time," he mumbled. These were the first words he'd spoken since they left Homelander standing alone in the woods. The most he'd done when meeting up with The Boys again was a simple nod. They all had the biggest grins on their faces upon seeing them safe and sound. What a bunch of soft bastards.

He'd smiled back, of course. They won.

"You give it to him. Might make him feel better."

She planted a quick kiss to his cheek then turned to her son. Ryan put it on without a fuss. "Thank you," he said shyly.

Butcher nodded and turned to the window.

He expected the place to be something nondescript. He did not think the ridiculously flash mansion they rolled up to was theirs at all. Not until Mallory told Ryan that this is where they would all be living from now on, anyway.

"What, this?" Butcher sputtered.

Mallory threw him a look. "Have you really not been listening to anything I've been saying?"

"Got a lot on me mind, alright?" he said with a mocking smile.

Becca's hand found his. "Billy, relax. We'll be okay."

Ryan gawked at the place. "This house is huge. Are we really gonna live here?"

Before his mom could reassure him, Butcher replied, "Nah, that there's a mansion, not a house. It's usually made for rich cunts with too much free time on their hands."

His wife slapped him. "Billy! Language."

"Alright, rich twats—"

Mallory looked like she approved of him being smacked again. No doubt she found it impressive Becca could rein him in like that.

Much to his surprise, the kid started laughing. When he glanced down at him, however, Ryan retreated behind his mom. "Um, Mom, do grown-ups have to put money in the swear jar, too?"

Butcher tilted his head, amused. "A swear jar? Really?"

"You know, bringing back the swear jar is an excellent idea, Ryan. It's not good to use that kind of language no matter how old you are." Becca pressed her lips in a thin line, and he knew it'd be dangerous to question her further.

He raised his hands in mock-surrender. "Fine. I'll add some money in when you find a jar for me, yeah?"

They followed Mallory and her security detail up the mansion's front steps. "It's a model home, so you'll find it's already furnished and wired up. The roof and walls are all plated with zinc to prevent Homelander or any other Supe from finding his son, you, or Becca. The windows and doors are specially designed to be absolutely soundproofed. You could hold a concert in there and it wouldn't even be on a Supe's radar. And of course, we'll have officers standing by 'round the clock to ensure the boy's protection. Homelander's not getting anywhere near your family without us knowing about it first."

Mallory gestured at their feet. "There's also an elaborate tunnel system the developers are working on that leads to another safe house further away. Should you ever need to take it, our operatives will pick you all up at that location. I suggest you not explore it by yourselves. Entering the tunnels without a work pass will trigger an emergency alert system that lets us know if you're in danger."

Butcher's eyebrows shot up. This was the kind of mansion the head of a drug cartel or a mafia boss would kill for. Their neighbors were bound to be dangerous people to buy a place like this.

"It's definitely not your usual style, but it's the best precaution we have against the Supes," Mallory added, handing Becca the keys.

"Weren't thinkin' that at all," he said. "Just needs a few more curtains. Maybe a different coat of paint. I ain't too keen on the beige, y'know?"

Mallory snorted. "You are insufferable."

He spread his arms wide. "It's why you love me."

Becca finally managed to unlock the front door and the three of them strolled in.

Mallory left with a curt goodbye. Butcher responded in kind.

Ryan's excited babbling echoed around them. A gigantic crystal chandelier hung above the main entryway. Two sets of marble stairs rose to meet in the middle, leading up to a longer hallway ahead. Red carpets bled down the steps to welcome them up to the other rooms branching out above them.

An indoor pool laid undisturbed ahead. To their left was a cozy, darkened parlor room with a pearly fireplace inside. Fake books lined the dark oak bookshelves firmly attached to the walls. A gilded mirror reflected his dirty, cut-up mug back at him.

Butcher smirked. Soon as he found the poncy bathroom, he'd pull Becca in for a long shower.

"Can I explore, Mom? Please?" Ryan begged.

Becca brushed the hair out of his eyes. "Yeah, go ahead. Not too far, though, okay? Don't want you to get lost."

Ryan took off to the golden hallway tucked on the right. Butcher caught sight of what looked like a game room past the curtains, billiard table and all.

Becca finally turned to him, a huge smile plastered on her face. "Can you believe this place is ours, Billy? I mean, all this?"

"It's ours for now," he conceded, wrapping his arms around her waist.

Her nose brushed against his as she laughed. "Mallory said she'd have Terror brought here for us. I can't wait. I've missed him so much."

"Yeah, well, he's missed his mum, too, y'know. Always barkin', howlin' out the window."

She pouted. "Oh no! Poor baby."

Butcher brushed her hair behind her ear. "Nah, he's a tough boy. Figure he'll become all soft once you get a hold of him, though. All them belly rubs."

"Oh yeah?" she asked. "You sure you're not talking about you?"

He chuckled under his breath. "Don't need belly rubs to be happy, love. Just you."

Becca laughed in between kisses. The sound far outshone anything else this flashy place had to offer.

"Billy," she said after a little while, "promise me one thing."


She turned away when he leaned in for another kiss. "Ryan's a good kid. I raised him to be good and so, so smart and kind. You'll see. I want you to get to know him. Promise me that you'll try, okay?"

He studied her face, her vibrant eyes.

"Billy, I need you to promise me."

Butcher looked away. Right as he opened his mouth to answer, they heard Ryan calling out for her.

Becca immediately broke away from his arms to follow her son's voice. "Ryan? Baby, where are you? Are you hurt?"

Her questions grew muffled in the much narrower right hall. Butcher stalked calmly after his wife, taking in the sights. Whoever designed this place went overboard with all the expensive, plush shite.

They found him standing in the middle of a small movie theater with an ecstatic grin stretched across his face. "This is a movie theater, right? How come our old house didn't have one?"

Butcher and Becca exchanged an amused glance. "Well, honey, a lot of houses don't actually have movie theaters in them. Our house is special."

Butcher shifted on his feet. "You, uh…. You ever been to a cinema at your old place?"

Ryan shook his head. "They didn't have any. Just my mom's house and some older neighbors."

"No other kids?"

He shook his head again.

Butcher looked to Becca for help. She put her hands on Ryan's shoulders. "Hey, bud, you wanna see if we can watch a movie?"

The thought made him grin again. "Can we watch Dances with Wolves?"

"We'll see what they have back there."

As it turned out, the booth had a projector but no movies. That didn't stop Butcher from wiring up a laptop to the thing and finding a digital version for them all to watch anyway.

"I'm gonna see if the kitchen has any popcorn. Or food, for that matter. You want popcorn, Ryan?" Becca asked, starting to turn away.

"Yeah! Do you want me to help?"

"No, it's fine. Why don't you and my husband find a seat, and I'll meet you there?"

Becca threw Butcher a look before she turned away. She was always so determined to see her plans through, no matter what they were. If she wanted him to get along with her son, that was what he had to do. No ifs, ands, or protests against it would help him now.

Butcher clapped a reluctant hand on Ryan's shoulder. "What say we sit right in the front, eh? Get a good view of all the action."


They sat down right in the middle of the front row. Fortunately, pretending to watch the movie was a good enough excuse not to speak to him further.

During a lull in the movie, Ryan suddenly piped up, "Mr. Butcher, sir?"

Butcher nearly snorted. No one ever called him "sir" unless they were being sarcastic or he was in trouble.

He threw the kid the barest glance. "Yeah, what?"

Ryan squirmed in his seat. This was clearly an uncomfortable topic for the lad. Maybe he was just uncomfortable being around him. Most people were.

He took a deep breath. "I don't think I'm ready for another dad."

Butcher's eyebrows shot up. Not at all what he was expecting the kid to say about him.

"To be fair, you ain't exactly got the best track record when it comes to 'em," he said. "First, you got no dad, then that cunt Homelander, then me. I'm not exactly an upstanding sorta person myself."

At this, Ryan gave him an unsure once-over. He was right to be wary of him. In fact, Butcher welcomed the distance.

So why did he feel bad for making the lad anxious all over again?

"My dad was a right cunt, too. I know what it's like. And truth be told, I ain't ready to be a dad yet neither. So what say you 'n I—" He gestured between himself and Ryan. "—start off as mates gettin' to know each other first?"

Ryan gave a small smile. "Yeah, okay. That sounds good."

"Yeah? We square then?" Butcher held out a hand to him.

Ryan clasped it tight and shook it a few times. "Yeah, we're square."

"Square?" Becca asked behind him. "What're you two getting square about?"

Butcher threw her a lazy grin. "Just gettin' friendly with each other, love. Nothin' to worry about."

Becca glanced at her son. His smile seemed to be enough reassurance for her. She handed him the bowl of popcorn and took the other seat next to him.

"Y'know, my job ain't too different from Kevin Costner's in this movie," Butcher said when said actor crossed the screen.

Ryan frowned. "You were a soldier?"

"Once, yeah. British Special Air Service. But that ain't what I'm talking about."

Becca shook her head at him. Oh, so the kid could laser other Supes to barbecue, but knowing about all the other violent shit in the world was too much for him?

Butcher rolled his shoulders, ignoring her pleading look. "For the past eight years or so, me 'n my team have been trying to find your mum. We went through Hell and back just for her."

"What're you gonna do now that you found her?" Ryan asked.

Butcher tilted his head. "I'm gonna take care'a the both of you. Promised I would."

Becca smiled and held out a hand to him. Right as he was about to take it, she pulled away. "Nuh-uh. Not your hand, Billy. You owe me money for the swear jar."

He blinked. "What? What'd I say?"

She covered Ryan's ears. "Hell."

"Wh—Hell ain't a bad word. It's in the Bible."

"There's a lot of words in the Bible. I'm not allowing that one around Ryan."

She held her hand out to him again.

Butcher drew his wallet from his pocket with a light sigh. "Alright, how much?"

"A quarter," Ryan piped up.

"Right. Dunno if I got change—"

A quarter sat right in the little change pocket. He rolled his eyes and pressed the coin into her palm.

"Thank you." She pocketed the coin right away.


Butcher leaned down as if to tell Ryan a secret. "Yer mum's gonna rob me blind at this rate."

"My mom's taken her fair share of my allowance, too," Ryan admitted with a giggle.

Butcher smirked, impressed the lad knew any curse words at all. "Where'd you learn that stuff if yer mum's so strict, eh?"

Becca playfully slapped his arm, making Ryan giggle even more.

The music swelled on-screen, and she finally turned her attention away from them. After a few minutes, Ryan tapped Butcher's arm. "I'll tell you where I learned that stuff later, okay?"

Butcher repressed a laugh. "You do that."

The movie was dreadful. Becca always had a soft spot for sappy films like this. The very specific feel-good kind that made him roll his eyes all the way back into his skull.

Still he endured it. He'd endured far worse without her.

Dinner afterwards consisted of various canned foods the CIA so graciously stockpiled for them. Apparently, they'd be handling groceries for them for a while, so that meant a more military-like diet. Becca swore to make a better, healthier list for them to use for next time.

Then it was off to bed. The master bedroom was an extravagant explosion of ivory and pearl everything. It'd almost be blinding if it weren't for the elegant doilies laid over the bedside lamps. Fake white rose bouquets in vases decorated the room. Pure white sheets and plump pillows lined an impressive four poster bed. A stiff-looking chaise lounge with white and gold pillows, a plush armchair, and a fancy ottoman were carefully arranged by the window that looked out over the garden.

A jacuzzi, automated toilet, and a gigantic shower that could fit at least five people in it were haphazardly scattered around the bathroom. The closet could've been a clothing store for all the space he could see for shoes, jewelry, and other kinds of shit.

Fucking hell.

Ryan took the room right next door. It was definitely more manageable. A twin-size bed pushed against the far wall, a walk-in closet far smaller than the one they had, and a bathroom with a fancy sink, toilet, and shower and tub combo. A set of unopened toiletries laid neatly on the counter, all ready to be used.

"Ryan, we'll be right next door if you need anything, okay?" Becca assured him. "You can come to us if you get scared."

Ryan looked up from fiddling with his new necklace. "Okay, Mom. Good night. Love you."

"Love you, too."

Butcher waved at him awkwardly before she shut the door behind her.

She leaned against the back of the door with a short sigh. "You think he's okay sleeping by himself tonight? I mean, today was…."

"The lad was makin' fart jokes while we were eating beans. He's fine."

Becca laughed softly to herself. "Don't act like you didn't find them funny. I saw you trying to hide your smile, Billy."

He shrugged off his dusty jacket with a scoff. "I wasn't smiling. I'm not that immature."

"Hey! I laughed. Does that make me immature?" she teased as they headed to their room.

"Yeah, it does. Grown woman laughing at fart jokes. I mean, come on."

She playfully shoved him towards the bathroom. "Okay, rude. Go wash up before you get back here, Mr. Mature."

Neither of them had a change of clothes in this place. They opted for cranking up the heater and stripping down to their underwear instead.

His eyes trailed down her figure, pausing at her hips as she shimmied out of her jeans. He crossed the room and planted several kisses along her bare shoulders.

Becca whirled on him, eyes wide. "Oh! No, Billy. Not tonight."

"Why not?" He looked over at the opposite wall. "You afraid the kid will hear? He got super-hearing, too?"

She burst out laughing at the thought. "No, no! I'm just tired. I want to sleep."

He sighed, landed a quick peck to her cheek, then climbed under the sheets. The lights went off right after.

His hands immediately searched for her, groping in the dark, pulling her as close to him as he could.

He twitched when she ran slow fingers over his beard. "Y'know, I'm still not sure about this thing."


"Nope. But maybe I'll warm up to it. We'll see."

He snorted but said nothing else.

"I'm glad you and Ryan seem to be getting along. Kind of."

"Kind of," he repeated.

The kid was…. Well, he was a kid. He'd never been all that fond of them.

She settled against his chest with a content sigh. "Mallory said Congress is going to set up an Office of Supe Affairs soon."

"Oh yeah?" He didn't sound the least bit interested.

"Yeah. She offered me a job with them. Said I'd be useful."

His eyes shot open. "Wait, what? You told her no, right?"

Becca ran a longing hand down his face. "I said I'd think about it."

"Becca, I just got you back. We barely made it out of the last scrape. I don't want you putting yourself in danger again."

"I'm not gonna sit here and wait for other people to handle my problems for me," she snapped and looked away. "I want to help them. For the first time in eight years, I can finally do something to pin Homelander, and I can do it the right way. I'm so tired of being afraid of him. I'm tired of hiding."

Butcher merely laid there, stroking her hair as he thought.

He was quiet for a long time.

"Okay," he finally whispered.

She looked up at him.

"I get it. I do. It's what I done for the last eight years. You want your shot. So...okay."

"She offered you that same chance, too, Billy."

He made a face. "My methods ain't really CIA material, y'know?"

"She said you'd say something like that," Becca muttered. "She also said we'd be able to work together if you wanted to."

"So it'd be like old times, eh? Fort Bragg all over again."

Becca's hum resonated nicely against him. "Might be more bureaucratic work than that."


"You'd tell them to shove it, and do things your own way, though, huh?"

"Oh, definitely. Fuck 'em."

Becca held out her hand to him. "Hey. Swear jar."

"Ryan's not here. He don't hear me. It's just you."

"Yeah, well, you're gonna have to stop swearing all the time if we're gonna be living together," she said, her arm flopping back over him. "The swear jar might help you set a better example."

"Or it'll fill up too damn fast because I refuse to learn my lesson."

"That, too."

Their exhausted laughs crackled in the air.

Her eyes glinted in the dark, and he was glad, so glad, that he had the chance to stare into them again like this.

It was funny, realizing that peace could be made up of such mundane qualities. Soft skin and soft laughter. The sound of Becca breathing slowly against him. Drowsiness he could trust to slip into.

Peace was a swear jar stacked with all his money, and a kid who laughed every time he was forced to drop a coin into it. It was a reluctant family living in a ridiculously posh house.

Peace was just him, her, and the kid. And that was alright for now.

"I love you," he whispered.

Becca pressed a kiss to his lips. "I love you, too, Billy."

A/N: There is a surprising lack of Becca is Alive Fix-it Fic, so I've come to, well, fix that. Their relationship was really cute. I wish we could've seen more of them in the show.

Thanks for reading! Until next time!