Buttercup leapt out of the car and hit the floor running. At this point she just wanted to find Mitch. She was soaked from head to toe, and the rain showed no signs of stopping. Lightning flashed across the sky and the thunder was loud enough to make her flinch.

The Junkyard was a maze of skeletal cars and abandoned tires, each forming lopsided towers that suddenly looked unstable in the swirling wind. She made her way to their spot, and in true idiot fashion Mitch was waiting for her. Thank goodness he'd had the sense to find shelter.

She ducked under the sheet of metal wedged between two towering cars. "Anyone else would have left. What's wrong with you?" She yelled over the loud pattering of rain.

He waved his phone in her face. "Reply to my texts Buttercup."

"My phone died," she muttered, already feeling guilty; he wasn't even wearing a coat, just a stretched out navy t-shirt.

"What?" He yelled, leaning closer.

"I said, 'let's go'."

"Don't you want to smash things?" He shouted.

She did. She wanted to snatch up the first steel pole she could find and pound into the cars until she was out of breath, and her arms ached, and the voices in her head were drowned out by the screeching of metal. Because all she could hear was the phrase 'you heroes don't even have your powers', and every variation she'd heard over the past month was eerily similar. People thought she was weak; they labelled her as pathetic. And she couldn't even argue because she thought the same thing.

So yeah, she needed to wreck something. But still…

"Let's just go," she yelled again. It would be beyond idiotic to mess around with a steel pole in the middle of a storm.

"Alright then." He paused. "Looks like the rain is calming down a bit."

"But the damage is already done." She made a point of squeezing out droplets from her stringy bangs.

Mitch stepped out from the safety of the steel sheet. He looked like he'd just been to a tropical island compared to Buttercup. The only drops of rain were on his shoes. Buttercup stepped out and strode towards the Junkyard's exit. "Are you coming?"

"We can still –"

"Nope." She glanced at the sky. The rain might have stopped but the lighting was still going strong. "We really can't. Not unless you want to fry."

He fell in step beside her. "'Fry'. And what makes you think I won't get superpowers?"

She smirked; he really just set her up for these. "People who get powers always have some kind of redeeming quality. You know, admirable bravery, unwavering selflessness, an unbreakable determination, but you…"

He snorted. "Then somebody screwed up with Buttercup Utonium."

Her smirk withered away. "I can't believe I ran all the way across town for you."

"You ran?"

"Yeah," she lied.

"Let me re-phrase that." He stared down at her. "You ran?"

She turned to face him. "What? You think I can't run?"

"You were passed out in front of my gym earlier this morning." He said this with cool control, as if it was a fact and not a complete insult to her physical state.

"I wasn't passed out." She spat.

"You were practically…"

His words trailed off, and Buttercup nudged him. Hard. "Practically what, Mitchelson?" He was focused on something behind her and his mouth went slack. Buttercup spun around.

She tensed. She hadn't seen this face in over six years, and honestly, she could have lived with sixty more.

"Butch Jojo?" Mitch murmured, but his voice seemed to carry even over the clap of thunder.

Buttercup swiped her bangs away from her eyes – she couldn't miss even a muscle spasm. The raven haired boy stood with an impossible slouch, like he was leaning against an invisible wall. His jaw was tipped skywards, and stamped with the same grin he used to flash six years ago – right before he tossed a woman off a skyscraper, or kicked a plane out of the sky.

Buttercup stepped closer. Butch had a wiry athletic frame and was an inch or three taller than her; probably thanks to his hair. It was spiked skywards like he was trying to convince the lightning, that yes, he was most certainly the highest point in Townsville.

"Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of," Buttercup barked.

Finally, and very slowly, Butch righted his posture and faced her. "You're some kind of hero, right? Being hospitable and welcoming is part of your job description."

He could not lecture her. "You can tell me off when you quit stealing candy from kids."

He raised an eyebrow. "…You won't even ask why I'm here?"

"Don't push me," she hissed. Townsville didn't need a Rowdyruff boy; another villain for the near powerless puffs. "Leave. Or I will drag you out."

Butch's lips stretched into a tight grin. "Not happening."

Buttercup leapt forward; it was a matter of pride. She had to salvage what was left of her superhero status. The simple fact that Butch could appear in front of her was a massive challenge to everything she was. Plus, she just didn't like the guy.

Buttercup swung high and her fist brushed against Butch's jaw as he skipped back. She followed quickly, stamping down and grinding his foot beneath her sole. With a yell she snapped her knee up, hitting Butch full in the gut.

He gasped and rocked forward, shutting his eyes and clutching his stomach. Buttercup had known Butch would be weak. It made sense: he was her counterpart.

She kicked out.

Butch caught it. "Enough already." He gripped her ankle with hands of steel. Buttercup felt a burning pressure at every point his fingers squeezed. Her bones suddenly felt unbearably brittle.

"Get off," she grunted, attempting to yank her foot back. Her muscles seemed to tear apart with each pull. "Get the hell off me!" She yelled, voice wavering, she was certain her ankle would shatter.

Mitch materialised at her side. "You know Butch, things won't look too good for you when her sisters show up."

Butch released Buttercup's ankle like it had burnt him. "I didn't come here for a fight."

She stumbled back and fell on her butt. Mitch crouched down and gripped her elbow. "You okay?"

She snatched her arm away. He called Blossom and Bubbles. Could he make it any more obvious that she was useless? That she was a complete non-threat? That now, she was the type of person who needed to be saved?

Buttercup glared at her ankle. Already it was swollen and tinted a vibrant red – like a beacon for lost ships. Thanks to her jean shorts, the throbbing lump was proudly displayed and Buttercup desperately wished she had worn her sweatpants.

With a deep breath, she hauled herself up, smothering a groan when her heel hit the ground. Mitch shot her a questioning glance and again offered his hand. She shoved it away. The pain from her ankle was making it difficult to even form curse words. And boy did she have a lot for the two morons in her presence. "You have super strength," she managed to spit out.

Butch nodded, annoyance warping his features. "Bet you wish you knew that before you tried to kick my head in."

"No, not really," she sneered, "If I had that information, the only thing I would have done differently was win."

"You're still so damn –" Butch took a deep breath, and just like that, his features smoothed. "This isn't getting us anywhere. You're not the one I should have approached. I was just hoping for a little understanding from my own freaking counterpart, but obviously, you haven't matured with the rest of the world. Still irrationally angry."

"Insults? You said you didn't come here to fight." Butch said nothing and she took that as a sign. "I want answers. Why do you still have your super strength? It makes no sense." But what she really meant was, why you and not me? Why the villain and not the hero? Why the freaking injustice?

Butch's tone became exasperated. "You were made in a lab with chemical X. And I was created in a prison cell – nothing about us 'makes sense'. Quit trying to guess what will happen next."

So, there was no guarantee that all the counterparts had the same powers. Out of the six counterparts, was she the only one who was completely powerless? Did one of them still have all their powers? And did Butch have any more hidden abilities?

"Why did you come looking for us?" Mitch said.

Buttercup kicked herself. It should have been the first thing she asked – it would have been the first thing Blossom asked.

Butch examined Mitch from head to toe, and then turned to Buttercup. "Does he always do the talking? I thought you were the one with the 'hero' status."

Buttercup dampened her flaring annoyance. "Answer the damn question."

Butch lifted his hands in mock surrender. "Fine, fine. It's about time someone asked me anyway – I'm here to offer my help."

Buttercup raised an eyebrow, hopefully it made him feel as small as when Blossom did it to her. "And how could you possibly help me?"

"By helping Townsville."

"You want to help the people you terrorised, tortured, and tormented?" She snorted. "Not buying it. Take your bull elsewhere."

He examined her for a few seconds before nodding, ever so slowly. "Believe what you want then. It's Blossom I need to convince, right?"

Low blow. She was ready to shoot back an insult, when a thought cut its way through the fog of anger. "…What kind of help are you offering?"

His lips quirked up. "The superhero kind. You could use another body; another power. I mean, how long do you think Townsville will last with the less-than-powerful puffs?"

Sheesh. He couldn't be civil for even a second.

"Not an insult," he added, noticing her expression, "just an observation." Buttercup remained silent, and Butch sighed heavily. "People change, okay? I'm just trying to set things straight – get rid of some bad karma. What type of hero are you if you wont even let me do that?"

This is what Bubbles would call a 'moment', Buttercup mused. That brief minute when someone would lower their guard and reveal a vulnerable side you never expected, blah, blah, blah. This was a Jojo: they didn't do 'vulnerable'. Not for real.

"You believe in karma?" she sneered. The 'are you stupid?' was heavily implied. She wouldn't be swayed. She wouldn't allow him to convince her of a heart he didn't have.

"Ya." He said, his expression instantly souring. "I also believe in destiny and fate and Homo sapiens who can fly –"

The screech of tires drowned out the rest of Butch's sentence. Buttercup looked beyond his shoulder and scowled when she saw the orange Hummer – it was offensive – and not just because it was ugly as hell.


Enjoy! Updates every Saturday