They sat on his bunk, facing each other. He took her hands and gazed at them. To say she was confused would be an understatement.
When the Girls, Brick, and Boomer had came back from the battle, they all met in the living room of the Boys' house. Now with Brick and Boomer busy with party plans and Ms Keane, Blossom, and Bubbles unaccounted for, Butch and Buttercup had slipped back upstairs. Butch said he wanted to talk. Buttercup was still confused.
He put his forehead to hers, his reddish tan eyelids closed over his emerald eyes. His raven eyebrows opressed his eyes in such a way that it was obvious he was upset about something. Not angry, not in a scowl. Troubled.
"Is there something wrong?" She asked awkwardly.
He didn't respond, but opened his eyes halfway and rested them on her. After a moment, his gravelly voice barely audible, he broke the silence.
"What would you do if something happened to me?"
"Cry like heck. Then probably kill something. Why?" He closed his eyes again.
"What if I had done it?"
"Huh?"
"What if I did something to make something happen to me?" She cocked her head, still clearly confused. Older teenager or not, his grammar wasn't the best. When she figured out what he meant, her eyebrows closed in.
"I would slap you for thinking like that! What's wrong with you?! What happened to my little crackhead?!" Butch's eyebrows turned vertical on his eyes.
"So you wouldn't even care?"
"I didn't say that. Why, what's going on with you? Why are you talking like this?"
"I don't know. Just forget it."
"No, there's something going on. Come on, Butch. I love you and you love me, right? If you can't tell me, you're screwed." Butch seemed to ponder this.
"BC, do you think it's weird for someone to want..."
"Want what?" Butch didn't finish. He leaned in closed to her face and kissed her passionately. She didn't respond except for a mixed expression: A third loving, a third concerned, a third sympathetic. His tounge slid across the roof his mouth, making his words liquid.
"Sometimes you're the only thing keeping me alive." He barely said, tenths of a decibel from whispering. He breathing became heavier, and his chest trembled. "Go. Get out of here. You don't need to see me whine like a baby."
"Butch, that's just wro-"
"GO!" He yelled. She wrinkled her face at him, and then left in a flurry. He held his head in his hands. He silently promised himself not to be weak. Even until the end, whenever that may be. He sat there for a minute, his thoughts racing. A small, weak voice interrupted his mind's high-speed path.
"Butch? Are you alright? Buttercup just..." It was Ms Keane. She trailed off when she saw Butch's back heaving, breaths labored.
"Leave me alone."
----
Butch slowly drifted awake. He was still in the room, alone. I must have dozed off. He jumped off the bunk, landing on his feet. He noticed the door was still on the floor, hinges shattered by the impact. He shrugged and walked right over it. He went to the railing of the second floor's edge and took in the scene. Boomer and Brick, along with their mother, were standing the living room, talking and laughing about something.
"I'll go see if Butch is up yet." Butch jumped at Brick's words. His strange survival instinct that had taken over when he knocked over the trash can kicked in again, and he started to fret looking for somewhere to hide. Trying to keep quiet, he tried to fly as fast as he could to the nearest window. When he heard Brick's footsteps reaching the top of the stairs, he lept out of the window. He started to panic again as he began a long fall to the ground. Oh wait, moron, you can fly. He counteracted gravity and flew back to the outside of the window. He peered in and he saw Brick saying something about Butch's abscence. A voice from downstairs that he barely recognized as Boomer's suggested he was in the bathroom. He saw Brick shrug and go back down the stairs. Butch sighed with relief and collapsed against the side of the house, gently falling against it to the ground. When his feet hit dirt, he noticed two strange black shoes on the ground in front of him. He looked up to a smiling Professor.
----
"So you see, I think I have finally found the breakthrough for a medication that can treat you properly." The Professor sounded excited. Butch just kept his hands in his pockets. "Not only is it strong enough to penetrate your superhuman organic barriers, but it can successfully restore balance to the chemcials in your brain."
"What...?"
"It will make you feel better." Butch didn't answer that. He didn't feel like talking. Suddenly, his eyes caught ahold of a strange sight - strange, orange knives. Their sharp edges were lined with tiny bumps.
"Hey Professor, what are those?" Butch took a hand out and pointed to them.
"My special surgical knives. I plan to submit them to Townsville Regional, should anything happen. I strengthened them to be able to cut through your tough skin, plus they're coated with a compound to keep the skin from healing right back over after the cut. Or at least, that's the theory. If any one of the six of you should require surgery, these should be able to do the job. I haven't tested them yet."
"I could test them."
"Butch, I couldn't ask you to -" The Professor was cut off by Butch grabbing a middle-sized knife. The Professor held out a hand in protest, but Butch ignored him. He lifted up a sleeve of his layered black and green shirt and made a deep slice in his arm. Blood dripped down his skin, and proved the theory of the non-healing compound correct. The Professor was too stunned to react, and it shook him that Butch didn't even blink when he made the cut. Surely it must have have hurt! He quickly snapped out of his stupor and grabbed a roll of a special bandage off of a shelf and proceeded it to wrap it around Butch's sliced forearm. Butch didn't say anything then, either. When he was finished, he returned the roll to its home on the shelf. He's worse than I assumed.
"Did... that... um... hurt?" The Professor stuttered.
"Yes."
"Why didn't you show any... reaction?"
"I was supposed to?" The black-haired teenager stared at the man.
"I... I guess not," He stumbled.
----
He sat up against the side of his and Boomer's bunk bed. I'm spending way too much time in here. He fingered the small bottle he was given. So this is supposed to fix me, huh? Supposed to make me stop being a depressed freak? I don't need this crap. I'm strong. I can fight this on my own. I don't need this. I don't need it. I don't. He stood up, opened the window, and threw the bottle as far as it could go. He was filled with remorse. The Professor went through heck to make me that. Why do I have to be such a jerk?
----
A few days later...
----
Boomer and Brick flew through the house with excitement. In their fretting, they accidently collided.
"Sorry, dude!" Boomer laughed as he helped Brick up.
"Eh, it's no problem!" He chuckled back.
"By the way, the Girls took Mom out until we can get everything set up for later!" Boomer started to laugh uncontrollably - his way of showing he was nervous. Brick just grabbed his brother's arm and pulled him off into the kitchen.
"Come on, you have to make the cake!"
The two flew into the kitchen, unaware of Butch walking into the impact site. Unknown to the laughing brothers, he hid something underneath a black jacket. It was long and orange.