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gunslinginnhogtyin · 11 days ago

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Butch didn’t quite understand at first why it was when his mother started doing much less around the farm. Usually she would be the one waking him up bright and early for their morning chores; they would eat breakfast and then prepare themselves for some heavy farm work. But lately, he had found himself waking up long before she did… not that it stopped him. He would happily take up the mantle by doing the same for her—bounding his way into his parents room and pouncing on the bed to wake her up. He always made sure his father was up and out of the house before doing so, afraid he might snap at him for being a little too excitable so early.

“Mama! Mama! It’s mornin! Early worm catches th’ bird!”

She would laugh, a much weaker one than he was used to but that smile of hers made him smile anyway.

“Alright, darlin’, gimme a few minutes… I been feelin’ a lil’ under th’ weather lately.”

“Kay! I’ll set th’ table!” And he’s off to do just that, setting it up as well as a seven year old can on his own, having to climb on the counters to retrieve the plates and glasses.

A few weeks pass and Butch’s routine is much of the same, except now he’s the one making breakfast. He had insisted after seeing the state of his mother just a few days prior, the paleness in her face, her sunken eyes, and that cough that never seemed to go away no matter how much cough syrup she took. She would gratefully accept whatever it was he cooked too, no matter how burnt the toast turned out. Her encouragement meant the world to him and she was always happy to share some constructive criticism and when she felt well enough and he had finished all of his chores, they would spend their time in the kitchen, baking and cooking various different things she had thought of with all of the time she now had on her hands while unable to do farm work. She could show him everything she knew! Everything that her mother had taught her.

His father wasn’t without complaint though, and Butch heard him on many occasions in the early hours of the morning telling her to toughen up, that she’s just faking because she couldn’t handle how tough all the work was, worst of all—that she was lazy. But that was so far from the truth! And he would voice this himself when his mother hadn’t the energy to argue back, only to end up getting whipped across the face by the back of his fathers hand. The first time it had scared him. The second time it had angered him. The third time… he learned to keep his mouth shut when he had turned his face a little too far to the side upon being struck and had his lip busted open, which effectively had knocked out a few baby teeth a bit too soon.

It dawns on him slowly as months pass and his mothers condition gets worse that this isn’t just some passing sickness. Death wasn’t something he was familiar with, so it was hard for his child brain to comprehend that his mother might not be with them for much longer. She was in bed far more often and when he would stop by her door to bring her lunch, he could hear muffled crying on the other side of the door. He would rush in to find her red faced with puffy eyes but she always wore a smile when she saw him, even if it was pained. At the time he couldn’t have known.

He was full of so many conflicting feelings that he didn’t understand… like, why didn’t his father seem to care? If anything, he had distanced himself from her. If Butch was older and more experienced, he might have assumed that was some way of coping but as a child, it was perplexing and cruel. She did so much for both of them and he couldn’t so much as lift a finger to atleast make her lunch every now and again? Bring her a glass of water? Keep her company? That was all on him, that and all of the chores that were previously his mothers. They were his responsibility now and he kept up with them the best he could, running to tell his mother all about how well he had done and how he’s just like her!

More time passes, and his mother had been completely bed ridden for a while now. Only when his eighth birthday rolls around does he wake up to find her tenderly running fingers through his hair, wishing him a happy birthday—this was the first time she had been in his room to wake him up in a long time. The smile that grows on his face couldn’t get any bigger if he tried to make it and he practically jumps from where he’s laying to wrap her in a hug. In his mind, this was a sign that she was getting better. That was the only birthday gift he truly wanted.

He could tell she was still straining with every step and he was happy to assist her to the kitchen where he finds some treats she had baked just for him the night before! A few are missing from the basket she had prepared for him (courtesy of his father) but he doesn’t notice any difference. He’s practically bouncing with excitement and after breakfast and chores, she and him go for a nice long walk down by the creek, accompanied by a couple of his favorite chickens, Juno and Beatrice. If his mother was in immense pain, he could hardly tell by the way she carried herself that day. Like something on her mind was pushing her forward.

They settle down to take a break near a rather large tree stump big enough for the both of them to seat themselves and they bask in the nature around them, the sound of running water, the birds in the sky, and even the scent of the farm lingering not too far away. It’s a beautiful day, the sun is beaming and the breeze is pleasant… things were getting better. He could feel it.

A gentle hand can be felt against his back and he looks up to find his mother smiling at him. He smiles back.

“I love ya so much, Ernie.”

“Ma…” He contests, making a face at that name but leaning over to hug her tightly anyway. She hugs back, unable to fight the smile in her face.

“M’sorry…Butch. Still gettin’ used t’ that.” She chuckles weakly and it pitters off into a cough. She pulls back from the hug and brushes some bangs from Butch’s face. “Yer my lil’ man, an’ ya always will be, okay? I don’ care how old y’get.” She boops his nose playfully. “But ain’t nothin’ wrong with that. Y’see me… I’m a tiny ol’ gal but I still make stuff happen. Maybe not… s’much as I wanna these days, but…”

“Y’do what ya can, Ma. That’s ’nough.”

“…I s’pose.” She would sigh, looking up at the sky now. Butch follows her gaze to a flock of birds soaring through the sky just beyond some trees. He feels comfortable, like he could be there forever in that moment and be completely okay with it… but sadly, all things come to an end, and the walk back to the house is far worse than the walk to the creek. Her legs tremble with each step and the little sandy blonde can feel near all of her weight leaning into him as he offers himself as a means for her to keep balance. The hand of hers he holds is much less healthy than it once was but he holds it just as tight as he would have any other time.

“M’sorry y’gotta deal with all this, honey… I didn’t wanna ruin yer birthday…but I couldn’t do too much—”

“N-No—it’s fine! This’s… this’s th’ best birthday ever! I can’t wait t’see what we do next year.” He assures her and be means it. It wasn’t anything fancy but it didn’t have to be.

A fight ensues when they get back to the ranch, one Beverly can hardly keep up with as she’s just barely holding her balance with the assistance of her son. They come back to an angry Ernest due to the fact that they had been out for too long or atleast that’s the reason he barks at them. Butch tries his best to ignore it and they make their way back to her bedroom, trying to drown out the yelling and passive aggressive comments he makes as they do so. He only seems to get angrier when there’s no response.

Beverly lays back down in bed with a sigh, a frown taking up her face which doesn’t look right to Butch. He sits at a stool next to her bed, helping her cover up because he can tell she’s cold.

“Butch… I ain’t gonna be here ferever.” She breathes and there’s a hint of sadness to her tone that even he picks up on.

“Don’t say that, Ma. Yer gonna get better.” He’s sure of it.

“Well… even so, no one lives ferver, darlin. I jus’… want ya t’know how much ya mean t’me. You were… th’ best thing that ever happened t’me on this farm, ya know. Yer so special, Butch. An’ so sweet.” Her smile is warm, and it makes him feel special. “Keep reachin’ fer th’ stars, okay? That’s where I’ll be when I ain’t here no more. I’ll be watchin’ you, an’ makin’ sure yer bein’ good!” She tells him with a weak waggle of her finger. They share a laugh and then he hugs his mother, staying there until she drifts off to sleep.

One week later and things would never be the same.

Butch’s Ma was as okay as she could be just that morning, though she had no appetite. She praised him for the flapjacks he had made from scratch anyway and he left her to rest while going about his morning routine. Lunch time rolls around and he decides to go all out! Since she didn’t seem hungry that morning, he plans to make something she can’t possibly pass up—her favorite. Roast beef stew with plenty of her favorite vegetables that he’d picked from the garden himself that afternoon. It was a little lackluster as far as seasoning was concerned but the meat was nice and tender, and meshed well with all he had combined with it!

He makes his way to her room with a tray and her bowl as well as some fresh water and gives a light knock with his knuckles at the door. No response. She must still be asleep. He pushes his way inside and sure enough, she’s still resting. He lets himself in and sets the tray upon her nightstand after moving the tray of untouched breakfast. It disappointed him a little to see nothing eaten but he knew it wasn’t her fault.

“Hey, Ma, s’lunchtime~ yer gonna love this fer sure! All yer favorites, carrots, taters, corn… even Pa said it was ‘okay’!” He speaks as he sets the old tray down, looking to her. She doesn’t move, nor does she say anything. His smile dwindles slightly and he reaches a hand out to nudge her shoulder gently, “Ma—hey, wake up, sleepyhead!” He tries, noticing that she’s oddly still. A clump of dread is slowly forming in his stomach but he ignores it; he stares at her for a moment before wandering around her bed and pushing the window curtains open, allowing the sunlight to beam into the room. Maybe that would wake her!

“Wakey wakey eggs an’ bakey!” He exclaims, throwing his hands up as he turns to look back at her. Nothing. His hands drop at his sides and he climbs into her bed instead, sitting next to her. He shakes her again watching her face but she doesn’t so much as stir and upon taking her hand, he would feel how truly cold it was to the touch. Unnaturally so.

His shoulders slump and concern knits between his brows. “Ma… you okay? ….Mama?” His smile had long disappeared and he’s clutching her hand tightly in both of his small ones now. What was wrong with her? Why wouldn’t she wake up? “Y’must be… real sleepy…” He mutters mostly to himself, trying to convince himself that’s all this is. He shakes her again and again…and again, and again. “Mama, s’time t’get up. Wake up! Wake up… Please?” He can feel his vision blurring with tears as realization slowly dawns on him; something he never thought could happen had happened.

Before he knows it, he’s sobbing with his face pressed against that once warm and life filled hand of hers. Part of him knew this was coming… he just didn’t think it was possible. How could it be? She was so strong, so healthy, so good—how could she be taken away from him like this? So soon? And leave him…

“M-Ma, please… don’ go… don’ go without me. I can’t… I can’t be here by m’self. I c-can’t… I can’t be with him, please….” He begs through tears and hiccups as if that will bring her back.

His eight year old brain is running a mile a minute, pondering what this means for him, for his father, for the farm… what he would be losing. Those long morning walks, their cooking sessions, feeding the animals together, her encouragement, and simply being in her presence that made him feel safe and comforted no matter where they were or who was around. It was all gone now. His safe haven, his happy place. It had been taken away from him and he had no one to blame. No one to yell at. He didnt understand why it was happening. She didn’t deserve this… and it’s a treacherous thought and he knows it but goddamnit, why couldn’t it be his father instead?

Butch doesn’t know what to do or where to go from here—the most important person in his life was gone, just like that. But she was fine just a few hours ago! It didn’t make sense. He stays there in that spot and cries his little heart out on her chest, except now those arms can’t wrap him in her comfort. It’s not until his father hears all the commotion upon stepping back inside of the house that Butch finds himself being pried from her lifeless body. He doesn’t want to let go. He doesn’t want him to pull him away.

“Let go now, boy! That ain’t her no more.” He hears his father’s irritated voice through popped ears; it sounds distant and cold. It’s hard to hear anything over his own hysterical crying and there is no comfort. He kicks and screams as Ernest hoists him up into his arms and the man quickly grows impatient and simply drops Butch outside of the room. The door slams behind him and he throws his tiny body against it, pounding on it with his fists until he can’t anymore.

“Pa! Please! No! Lemme see ‘er! I jus—I jus’ wanna see ‘er! D-Don’t—please!”

He stays by that door for what feels like hours and winds up crying himself to sleep curled up in a ball on the floor. When he wakes up, he’s in his bed, and for a moment, he thinks it was just a nightmare. He jumps up from his bed, tear filled but relieved and barges into his parents room where he finds…! …No one.

“….Ma?” He calls out. It’s late, he can tell that much by moonlight now beaming in through the window, the same one he had opened earlier. His stomach drops and he races to the kitchen; his father is sitting at the table, and he can smell the liquor from where he stands. His nose crinkles as he walks over, getting a whiff of cigar smoke as well.

“Yer Ma’s gone, boy. I done heard ya cryin’ ‘nough ‘bout all that.” He grunts, not looking at Butch. His words are cold and Butch moves a hand to sheepishly rub at his own arm, looking down. Heavy tears begin to fall once more without warning, but he’s silent save for a few sniffles. “Have a seat, son.” He can hear him say in more of a demand and he complies, climbing into the chair across from his father. His gaze remains down and his tears don’t stop but Ernest doesn’t seem to care.

“Y’need’a start steppin’ up, ya hear? Now that she’s gone, I don’t wanna hear no complaints. Cut all that cryin’ out, yer jus’ feelin’ sorry fer yerself.” He sneers, growing irritated when his son doesn’t meet his gaze. “Hey, lookit me.” He reaches over to grab the child’s face, forcing him to look up at him. “Im jus’ as torn up ‘bout this’s you—she was my wife.” It sounds more like Ernest is trying to convince himself more so than Butch, but the child stares up at him with fearful eyes full of tears. “…We were s’posed t’grow old t’gether, an’ her ass went an’ died on me. Left me with all this. You. How th’ hell does she ‘spect me t’do this alone? With a six year old as my only help?”

“I-I’m eight, Pa…”

“Whatever.” He states dryly, releasing Butch’s face from his vice grip of a hand. A heavy sigh escapes him accompanied with cigar smoke that sends Butch into a coughing fit. The man shakes his head, rubbing at his eyes as if to ease some tension. “Can’t believe she did this t’me… so selfish…” The drunk man rambles to himself and Butch slips away from the table while he has the chance.

He makes his way out of the house and races over to the stables, tears streaming down his face all the while. He’s comfortable enough to break out into a sob when he’s in the barn. It’s cold outside but his head feels hot and heavy. This was a nightmare. Butch greets the horses weakly as he enters the stable, his favorite one in particular that he had helped raise from a foal clopping its way on over and licking away his tears without hesitation. He’s still crying but he can’t help but manage a little laugh at the action, and for the first time since he found his mother like that, he feels… somewhat comforted. The mare lowers her head and he hugs her face, brushing his little fingers through her mane, and that’s where he falls asleep for the night. In a pile of hay surrounded by horses in the barn.

#Drabble #about Butch #ooc #(I didn’t mean for it to get so sad but YOU KNOW you can’t smile without being able to frown!!!)#(if u know what happens to that horse a few years after this incident say hallaaaa 8’) )#child abuse tw #abuse tw #domestic abuse tw #death tw

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