Storm

by kiebs

Aliens invade Townsville and Blossom disappears. Eight years later, everything has drastically changed. When Buttercup, now a rebel leader, finds Blossom on a random patrol, everything changes. Where has Blossom been? And why can't she remember?

13. Cleave

Storm

Sorry for the delay with this chapter! I had originally meant to publish this last month, right after I posted it over on AO3, but I completely forgot! I hope everyone is doing well

A reminder that I do update first over on AO3. Usually, I will not do such a long gap between there and here, but as I am only active here for Storm and BTS, you can check out kiebs over on AO3 for my other PPG stories/shorts!

I hope you enjoy this chapter! :)

---

Chapter 12: Cleave

She sat panting among broken furniture, broken glass and metal, and every other breakable thing in this stupid room. Tapestries lay torn and burned, mixed with the remains of her bed and every other piece of furniture she could get her hands on. Feathers still fluttered through the air from the many pillows that had occupied its surface. Broken wood and twisted metal impaled some as sacrifices to her rage. Torn carcasses littered the floor from where most of the feathers had flew.

She shoved her hands into glass and metal and wood, but the detritus just crumbled in her hands. Glass became dust, metal twisted and polished, wood to chips. Her fingers curled, muscles and bones shaking from the pressure. Her breath hissed from her snarl.

That was right. She was invincible. She was made of something more, something better. Better than those sheep, those humans. Better even than the Narcassians, but she knew not to speak that aloud.

Aterex was stronger, faster. He was king for a reason, a deadly, potent reason. One word against his—and his legion's—superiority would mean severe punishment. His mood had gotten fouler and fouler the more months passed without her, after all.

She snarled and glared at the shattered mirror before her. Only a few large shards remained, enough for her to see a decent amount of her reflection. Enough to see her own reflection and almost mistake it for another.

Another with lighter hair and lighter eyes, with a dazed and glazed expression because they had to ply her with drugs for her to obey.

At least Berserk knew she was on the winning side. At least she didn't need a drug to obey. The Narcassians let her and her sisters destroy, let them fight, so what more could they ask for? There really wasn't much…except for maybe some recognition once in a while.

"Yeesh! What a mess!"

The door hissed shut as her creator stepped through. She glanced at him in the mirror, scowling at his green countenance, at the smarmy grin he gave her back. His head tilted as he glanced around with an unperturbed look. Glass crunched under his clawed feet.

"What do you want?" she snapped, clenching her fists. A piece of metal warped in her palm. "I'm not in the mood."

"Aw, but sweetie, can't a father check on his daughter?" Hardly cooed as he made his way over to her in that offputtingly jerky way he moved. "…especially after that tantrum."

Berserk's hands hurt from how hard she squeezed them. The metal bit into her palm, but it was more a discomfort than pain.

They couldn't find her. The Powerpuff. The little pet.

Months. They had been searching for months and nothing. The only thing they had to show about it was fragments of permafrost, from a wall of ice that cut her off from one of those damn boys. She didn't remember or care what they called themselves, but they were annoying for the same reason that she had been annoying. They shared all the same powers that she and her sisters did, that the pet did. The only difference being that they were boys.

And the pet had protected one of them.

Those rats had her. It made the most sense because where else would pretty little Blossom run to? She would run to the other Powerpuffs and their little boy toys. She would run to them because she was a fool who didn't understand the order of things. Every human claimed she was so, so smart, but if she was, she would have sided with the Narcassians instead of letting the aliens cage her. Who ruled this planet? It certainly wasn't the human sheep.

So what if Berserk had lost it with Brute? Brute could annihilate a whole unit of humans by herself, but they couldn't find one damn superpowered pet even when they knew who had her? Brute had been so nonchalant, so uncaring. Losing Blossom reflected badly on all of them since they had been told to watch her after Seattle, which was annoying as all hell. It wasn't their fault the pretty little doll had become catatonic after a glorious spree of destruction. A little blood got on her hands and suddenly she was comatose.

What a weakling.

Not that Aterex saw it that way. He only saw their failure to keep her contained. Their failure to wait on her hand and foot, even when they were every inch equal. Didn't Berserk even look like her?

She snarled at the mirror. Yes, she did look like the pretty little pet, didn't she?

"I understand my failure, Hardly," she snapped. Her shoulders stiffened as he loomed over her. "We'll get Blossom back from those vermin."

"I know, sweetie," he assured, kneeling behind her and grabbing her shoulders.

Her skin crawled at his slow massage. She tried shrugging him off, but his claws dug into her skin. Her lip twitched, but one scowl into the mirror had him loosening his grip.

She rolled the warped metal between her hands. Her eyes bored into her reflection, the cracked reflection that only showed bits of her.

Shards of her

"I don't get why we need her, though," she muttered. "I'm more than enough to take over for her, aren't I? We don't need some drugged up pet."

"Oh, of course, sweetheart, but you know Aterex," Hardly crooned. He waved a hand idly and Berserk could breathe without both of his hands on her. "Blossom is his prize, after all. He loves to show off."

"Fat lot that did him," she grumbled. Again, her fingers curled around the metal, wishing it to heat up or freeze, but nothing happened save it warming to her body temperature. "I can do anything she can do."

"Well, you don't have ice—"

Something viscous and toxic shot down her throat.

She was on her feet before she knew it, her creator shoved to the side as she glared down at him. She towered over him, fingers twitching and heat gathering in her eyes.

The metal fell with a dull thud.

"And you know how the Narcassians feel about that!" she shouted. "So what if I don't! I am more than capable of taking her place! I am her equal!"

Power sparked up and down her arms. Magenta lightning sizzled in the air as she glared.

Hardly just chuckled and stood. He tilted his head like some kind of creepy lizard and patted her shoulder.

Her nose wrinkled.

"Of course, you are," he purred, placing a clawed hand over his chest. "That's what I made you to be." Despite herself, Berserk averted her gaze to the ruined mirror. The sight of her and her monster of a creator turned her stomach for some reason. "After all, you're her counterpart."

He squeezed her shoulder with a razor sharp smile. It set her teeth on edge.

She couldn't bring herself to share the smile, a snarl curling up her lip. If they were counterparts, that meant they were supposed to be evenly matched, that anything Blossom could do, Berserk could do. That Berserk could take the dumb pet's place when Aterex needed a beacon to reel the sheep in. If they gave her the chance, she could do that. They were equals. They were counterparts.

Anything Blossom could do, she could do. As if Berserk would ever admit that the stupid prize pony was better than she was! If anything, she was the better one because she knew who the winner was here. Blossom didn't know what she was doing. She had to be drugged. She had to be contained, to be watched. She…She was weak.

Some…counterpart…

In the light of the tattered room, Berserk's eyes looked almost…red. She swallowed as something constricted in her throat.

Earth wasn't really the opposite of ice, though, was it? Sure, stone could crush ice and ice could break apart stone, but...no one wrote stories or songs about ice and earth. No ballads, no poems, no queasy little sayings.

Ice and fire, on the other hand…

Her knuckles screamed from the tension.

Red eyes flashed over her magenta ones. Red eyes set in a furious face, flames spilling from snarling lips. Flames that curled around his body, cloaked every inch in hellfire so hot it began to melt the very stones she threw at him.

No, earth wasn't really ice's equal at all.

---

Butch would admit that he didn't spend much time in the library. Any kind of basic school stuff, Brick had shoved a workbook into his hands and told him to finish it. Then the aliens had invaded and, well, Butch had dived into military training and fighting and protecting people so things like schoolwork and education had gotten pushed to the side. There was, of course, fundamentals that Lieutenant Hernandez and General Portman had forced him and his brothers to learn, but Butch had no clue where he would be if he were in school. He knew the essentials, anyway: how to survive, how to kick alien butt, and how to piss his brother off when he was being a complete asshat.

Besides, sitting still wasn't his style, so reading was absolutely boring for him if it wasn't a manual for some kind of weapon or the rare comic book. Even though the Professor and Ms. Keane both insisted there were books out there that would grab his attention, he didn't have the luxury of time to find them. They were in a war, after all, and as a sergeant, he had other things to do that didn't involve sitting still.

Blossom liked reading, though. Maybe he would ask her if she had a recommendation. Considering he was now his brother's personal gopher, still on probation even after a week and two days, he had the time to sit around and read.

Brick was being ridiculous. Blossom, of all people, deserved that damn benefit of a doubt, but here they were, both being punished because Brick couldn't get his head out of his ass, was paranoid beyond belief, and refused to fucking listen.

"Don't burn the library down," Brick had hissed at him when they arrived at the library just a few minutes ago. He had then given Ms. Keane and her class as friendly of a look as he could before disappearing into the archives.

It seemed like he was spending a lot of time in the archives, his office, or the communications hub nowadays. And, of course, being Brick, he didn't share a damn thing with either of his brothers.

When Butch had a rare moment where he wasn't stuck with his older brother, he had asked Boomer if he knew anything about what Brick was doing. Turned out, Boomer didn't know either, aside from suggesting it might be about the Big Strike. Yeah, the Big Strike that they knew shit about because Brick was playing his cards awfully close to his chest. Even if he asked Bubbles, it wasn't like she would tell him, anyway.

Well, she had become…different after the death of Emmons and, as of the past couple of days, she had changed. Usually, or what had become their usual, she would nod her greeting to him before launching into whatever nonsense she had for Brick. The past couple of days, she had actually asked him—Butch—how he was doing and chatted with him before launching into her nonsense. It was almost unnerving, but she still had that icy exterior around everyone else and she still had her clipped tone with Buttercup so it wasn't as if it was a huge change. All the same, it was unnerving.

Then there was Buttercup's own interactions with her and...

…and then he remembered that night.

"Blossom…was at…Seattle."

Buttercup's voice rang in his ears, soft and hesitant like she never was, and his fists began to tremble.

Blossom had been at Seattle. Seattle of all battles. The scarred earth flashed before his eyes, the decimated buildings and ruined streets, the bodies.

Earth torn and ravaged with mutilated and burnt bodies littering every direction. Human bodies, alien bodies. He could still smell them. Smell charred flesh and pools of blood and death. Death smelled sickly sweet, like some cheap ass perfume, and it turned his stomach. He gritted his teeth to keep the bile down and ran his hands through his hair.

His breathing picked up. His stomach rolled. His heart raced with adrenaline. His fingers knotted in his hair and tugged. He tugged once, twice, before his racing heart allowed him to count to ten. His count stuttered, but another tug would bring him back. The counting grounded him, allowed his breathing to ease with each number, but he continued to tremble.

He didn't know enough about the city, but almost a quarter had been leveled in that battle. All three Powerpunks and Blossom? Four superhumans, even if three were subpar? He and Buttercup had caused a lot of destruction alone when they were kids. As adults?

That city hadn't stood a chance.

Their soldiers hadn't either.

The ground had been stained, stained red, purple, and black. Human and alien—Narcassian—bodies had littered the ground, strewn throughout the destruction like some kid throwing a tantrum. He had seen so many energy burns, so much evidence of superhuman involvement, and part of that involvement had been…Blossom.

Butch stared without seeing the books. He tugged his hair again and grimaced.

Buttercup's snarling echoed in his mind.

"I'm gonna fucking kill Aterex!"

She really would have to get in line. His hands trembled as he rubbed his face, feeling his own snarl. He was going to bathe in that bastard's blood, effects be damned. To turn Blossom of all people into the trembling mess he had seen? To turn someone who could stand toe to toe with Brick into a quivering, shaking mess who couldn't remember anything? That bastard was going to pay.

Buttercup may have her beast, but Butch was the Baron of Berserk. The two of them combined would be more than enough to level that fucking eyesore in the center of Townsville.

He paused in his angry pacing, clenching shaking hands and taking a breath. He needed to calm down. His powers were already leaking out of him, arcs of green lightning shooting up and down his arms. Not to mention the tremble that accompanied it, the same tremble from when he was kid. The one he would get whenever Buttercup would come soaring after him, the one that preceded a good fight.

The one that told him he had too much pent up energy and he needed to get it out.

He needed to destroy.

As strong and fast as he was, he wouldn't deny that Aterex would put up a fight. Even with Buttercup, it wouldn't be an easy kill. There was a reason why there contingency plan for Aterex showing up on the field was called "Worst Case Scenario".

Worth it, though, for what that bastard did.

Rubbing his face, Butch took deep breaths until the arcs faded. The tremble didn't, but he hadn't been able to extend any kind of energy as of late. Brick was being exceptionally asshole-ish by forbidding him from using the simulator unless he was also present. Since Brick hadn't set foot in either the training room or the Professor's lab the whole damn week, Butch had no doubt that this was just further punishment and his brother was a fucking asshole.

With a grumble, he turned on his heel and made his way back to the main area of the library. Maybe his royal pain in the ass was fucking done with whatever he was doing.

There was no stoic redhead waiting for him.

There was, however, a tiny redhead with pigtails and big blue eyes looking nervously at him. She rocked on her heels when he stepped out of the stacks.

"Um, M-Mister Butch?" she called and he made a face.

"You know you don't have to call me that," he remarked, kneeling down on one knee in front of her. His height (plus just about everything else) tended to intimidate the kids. "What's up, Faith?"

She produced a picture from behind her back.

His breath caught.

A crudely drawn picture of what was definitely Blossom greeted him. It had her bow and everything, a pink dress similar to what she wore as a child covering up the stick arms and legs. Next to her stood what he guessed was Buttercup and Bubbles, from the blonde hair on the right one and the scowl on the left. Scrawled in that child's writing underneath the picture read, "I trust you, Miss Blossom".

Slowly, aware that his hand was still shaking, he took the paper.

"Um, could you…could you give it to," and she lowered her voice as she leaned towards him, "Miss Blossom for me? I-I saw her go upstairs with M-Mister Boomer and some soldiers earlier."

Butch swallowed. It took everything in him to lift his eyes from the drawing.

"Yeah… Yeah, I can do that, Faith. No problem," he murmured.

He wasn't sure he managed a smile, but Faith beamed all the same. She threw her arms around his neck and squeezed.

"Thank you, Mister Butch!"

"Just…Just Butch…"

Any trembling disappeared with that little hug. He gently patted her back, but glared into the distance. The vow to turn Aterex into a bloody pulp doubled.

Finding Blossom to the deliver Faith's gift proved easier than any kind of delivery mission he ever had done. All he had to do was call out to her mentally and she projected a series of images to him that led him up the stairs to the second floor, to the far back corner where two screens displaying tranquil nature scenes took up part of the walls around a little sitting area. There were large beanbag cushions, a soft rainbow rug, and a lot of what was very clearly children's books in the waist-high bookshelves.

Butch paused at the sight that greeted him when he found her.

Blossom was sitting on one of the cushions, almost cocooned by the others that had been piled around her. On either side of her was her sisters, Buttercup with her eyes closed and Bubbles doing something on her tablet. Hanout and the soldier of the day stood on either side of the children's area, both of whom stood at attention at his approach. Hanout shot a worried look towards Boomer and cleared his throat softly.

His brother sat in the rocking chair in one corner of the rainbow rug with a book on his lap. He lifted his eyes, looking bored before they widened, and he stiffened. The book fell to the floor as he shot to his feet.

"Brick's in the archives," Butch announced, holding up a hand. "At ease, Boom."

"Oh, good," Boomer mumbled and flopped back into the chair. He almost upended himself before he caught his balance. "What're you doing here?"

"Oh, the puppy's here?" Buttercup muttered, not opening her eyes or moving at all from her position plastered to Blossom's side.

Bubbles made a noncommittal noise, but a smile flickered on her face when she looked up. He didn't even hide his surprise at that. He knew she had changed a lot over the years, the change from the teary and lost girl he had seen that fateful day to the cold woman he had gotten used to still making grimace whenever he thought about it, but seeing her all cuddled up with Blossom, and technically Buttercup, made his chest and stomach feel weird. There was something nostalgic about it, seeing them all curled together like that.

Something warm and gooey filled his insides up, something that made him misty-eyed. There was just something right about seeing the three of them like that.

Clearing his throat, because damn it he was a fucking Rowdyruff, he said, "Got a present for you, Blossy."

Blossom looked up curiously, leaning forward as much as she could with her sisters squished to her sides. She placed her book down just as Buttercup's eyes opened suspiciously at him. Bubbles also looked cautious, lowering her tablet to her lap as he moved closer.

"Brick finally get his head outta his ass?" Buttercup grumbled, but her glare darkened at his grimace. "Oh, of course not."

"Brick's stubborn," Butch muttered and held out Faith's drawing. "I think you have an admirer."

"Admirer?" Blossom echoed, taking the picture. Her eyes widened.

Red spilled onto her cheeks at the same time tears filled her eyes. He sent her the image of Faith, of the little girl looking shyly up at him and asking him to send her gift along. The tears overflowed and she covered her mouth to stifle her hiccup.

Bubbles and Buttercup were immediately at attention, rising up like a pair of cobras to see what had upset their sister. Buttercup even looked thunderous until her eyes landed on the drawing. She froze, stunned, before her entire demeanor softened. A small smile curved up her lips and she leaned into Blossom, throwing her arm around her shoulders.

Bubbles wasn't even bothered when she accidentally hit her. She just touched the edge of the paper, her own eyes misty. She too leaned against Blossom, laying her head on her shoulder, just over Buttercup's hand.

"Faith drew this?" she murmured.

"Yup." Butch shrugged. "She didn't say much, though. Just wanted me to deliver it to ya."

"I've…seen her watch me sometimes," Blossom whispered. Her fingers hovered over the paper before she pressed them to her smiling lips. "She always has a smile for me."

"Even kids can see Brick is being an ass," Buttercup remarked.

"…there's a little boy who doesn't like me," Blossom continued, but her smile didn't falter. "He has a red hat."

"Ashton," Bubbles told her. "He loves Brick. He's like a little fan. Wants to be a general and everything."

"Not a Rowdyruff?" Buttercup teased, her eyes flickering up to him.

Butch lifted his mouth in half of a smile, but his eyes darted over to Boomer.

His brother was frowning down at his fists. Pieces of his hair fell into his face, but Butch knew those furrowed eyebrows and clenched jaw. It was a look all three of them were good at, the look of rebellion and of distaste. His knuckles were white.

The longer Butch stared, the more the air felt charged. The tremble returned to his hands.

Boomer sighed after a long moment, lifting his head and his expression smoothed in favor of a smile. He looked as pleasant as a sunny day in summer, but Butch knew his brother. He knew those hard eyes. His fists hadn't loosened.

The air smelled faintly of ozone.

"I don't think Ashton knows we were called that," Boomer explained pleasantly. "He's only…six? And we stopped calling ourselves…Rowdyruff…when the Resistance started, so a year before he was even born."

Blossom frowned. Her eyes flashed, but she didn't say anything. Hers and Butch's gazes met, but he couldn't help averting his eyes. That shrewd look reminded him too much of Brick, that same intensity whenever he wanted an answer. He flexed his fingers.

He let himself remember that day long ago, that day when they were young and still reeling from the invasion. The three of them had had to deal with suspicion, even with the Professor putting his neck out for them, and Brick finally had decided that they would no longer be the "Rowdyruff Boys". A name with bad connotations. A name in opposition with the Powerpuff Girls.

A name that had tied them together.

Blossom's expression darkened.

Bubbles closed her eyes with a breath.

"Don't," she spoke up, her own wet eyes sparking when she opened them. "You…don't have to give up that name."

"The Rowdyruff Boys were villains who beat you three up," Boomer responded, his voice tight. He frowned down at his lap. "The Rowdyruff Boys aren't anymore. We're just…soldiers."

"No. As long as one of us keeps the name, the Rowdyruff Boys live on," Butch corrected. He crossed his arms at Boomer's blank expression and lifted his chin. "I am and will always be a fucking Rowdyruff Boy."

"Y'know, it wasn't a soldier who helped us out that day," Buttercup spoke up nonchalantly before Boomer could speak. Butch didn't risk moving his gaze from him, whose face was slowly pinching with anger. "It was the Rowdyruff Boys who helped us out."

Thunder flashed across his brother's face. Electricity crackled up and down his arms and over his shoulders, so much more so than their energy just leaking out. His hair began to fluff from the static, coming out of the careful coif he styled every morning. His eyes glowed as he glared at the Girls.

Butch flicked his wrist and a shield appeared between them. Those sparking eyes snapped to him.

"Careful, Boom," he growled. "Big Bro's just downstairs."

His brother's eyes narrowed.

"And do you fucking care, Butch? Go be the villain that that name implies!" he snarled.

Butch snarled back, baring his teeth. Boomer returned the gesture, his sharp canines catching the fluorescent lights.

One of them, probably both of them, growled.

"Neither of you are villains." The voice was calm and firm. Bubbles stepped between the two with that steely look of hers. The only difference was the sad look in her eyes. "Whether you choose to keep the Rowdyruff name is up to you, but I think you've all proven that you three aren't villains anymore."

She looked between them, eyes catching Butch's before turning her gaze to Boomer. His eyes significantly softened and his posture relaxed at whatever expression she was making. He took a breath and looked away.

His shoulders sunk.

"…what about you, Bubbles?" he muttered, finally looking back at her. "You haven't called yourself a Powerpuff Girl in a while."

"I know," she answered. Her spine straightened and her shoulders squared. "But I am a Powerpuff Girl. I always will be a Powerpuff Girl. I'm not denying it any longer."

Boomer's eyes tightened, but a weird expression crossed his face. It was gone too fast for Butch to decipher it, though. He sighed and rubbed his neck.

"…I'm glad for you," he mumbled, looking away again.

She hesitated before she lifted a hand towards him. Her step forward was small. Her hand twitched and dropped.

Boomer's hands knotted together. His leg began to bounce.

"Butch, Brick is looking for you."

Butch jumped at the voice, before realizing that he hadn't heard it. Grimacing, he turned to Blossom, who looked less teary and more contemplative. She inclined her head to him before nodding towards the two blonds.

She would deal with them.

Well, her and Buttercup, who was sitting up with a faint grumble. She looked nonplused, arms crossed as she took in the scene before her. Hanout had moved closer as well, giving up his guard duty to appease whatever was going on.

Butch really didn't get whatever was going on between Boomer and Bubbles. Boomer had always had a crush on her, ever since the Professor had taken them in, but Bubbles had shut out just about everyone after what Buttercup had shouted at her. Well, everyone besides Brick, but that was…

He contemplated Blossom as she stared between their siblings, her eyes darting from Bubbles to Boomer. Her head tilted a little, eyes narrowing. Both of their siblings stiffened, Boomer's cheeks reddening as he turned and pouted at her. Bubbles mimicked his movement.

Yeah, that was because of something else other than romantic feelings.

---

The gun felt strangely light in her hands, but, then again, Buttercup could lift a mountain, couldn't she? Of course, something like this would be light as a feather despite the horror it could cause. She turned the weapon over and over, taking in its form and parts, eyes darting between it and the handy cheat sheet Lieutenant Kenny had handed her. Bubbles sat across from her, eyes darting between her tablet and her. Her sister had already showed her once how to dismantle and put the gun together, but Buttercup really didn't see the point.

She could crush this thing like paper if she really wanted to. She could blast someone faster than a bullet with her energy beams. Her whole body was a weapon. She didn't need to know how to dismantle a gun.

Nevertheless, she began the process with only a faint frown, eyes darting between her hands and the paper. The image of Blossom and her entourage flashed through her mind as she worked, reminding her just why she had joined the Resistance in the first place.

Reminding her why she had joined all those years ago.

Her mouth flattened.

She had wanted to talk to Bubbles about her little…thing with Boomer two days ago, the weird standoff they had, and the whole Rowdyruff thing. Clearly, Bubbles knew about it, Hanout or Soldier of the Day hadn't been surprised either, but Buttercup hadn't known. Butch had never mentioned anything before that night a few days ago. Hell, if his declaration was any indication, he had never agreed to…whatever that was. He certainly hadn't cared whenever she called him Rowdyruff all these years, but she guessed that he had never divorced himself from the title.

Rowdyruff and Powerpuff

That's…what they were. It was a bond, a bond between siblings. That's what those names meant. Utoniums meant all four of them. Jojo… Well, outside of school, the Boys had never really used "Jojo", had they? They had always just been…Rowdyruff.

Just like how they were Powerpuff.

Buttercup's fingers slowed until they stilled. She stared down at the metal in her hand.

"…Bubbles," she spoke, not moving her gaze. "About…"

Bubbles hummed, a flash of curiosity through their bond, but her voice was professional and cold as she asked, "About what, Buttercup?"

Buttercup gritted her teeth and took a breath. She dropped the gun.

"About six years ago… When I…" She swallowed. "When I shouted at you… I'm…sorry."

She heard Bubbles inhale.

A tangled mess of emotions tumbled through their link, a mix of surprise, uncertainty, anger, and sadness. Buttercup shouldn't be surprised that there wasn't a lick of forgiveness there, but there was some kind of gentle feeling in that mess. She couldn't tell if that was Blossom reacting to them, though, or that was some hidden kindness left in Bubbles. A part of her hoped it was the latter.

She risked looking up.

"About damn time you apologized, Butterbrains."

And scowled.

"This is a private conversation, Princess," she hissed.

Princess stood behind Bubbles, her arms crossed and a scowl on her face. Buttercup had been actively avoiding her for the last month and half or so. She had dodged the pretentious sergeant as much as she could, having not wanted to deal with her sarcasm or blatant suspicion for Blossom. She had wanted her sister's powers removed, after all. At least Brick had vetoed that, even if he was still a paranoid dictator.

Buttercup stood up, ignoring Bubbles' narrowed eyes and matched Princess' glare. It was annoying that Princess was taller than she was, especially with her damn heeled boots that she didn't even need. She resisted the urge to float, though, when Bubbles stood up between them.

"Princess—," she began in a chastising tone, but Princess scoffed.

"Don't stop me, Bubbles. Butterbrains fucking deserves this," she hissed. "She abandoned you when you needed her most!"

In her peripheral, Buttercup caught some of the other recruits turning towards them. A murmuring began.

"Princess, now isn't the time nor is it the place," Bubbles snapped coolly.

"Yeah, Prince-ass. Let's take it out of here, huh?" Buttercup growled.

"After you, Butterbitch."

Her lips curled into a snarl. Her fingers twitched into tight fists.

Princess matched her scowl and the two of them stomped out of the room. The murmuring grew into a crescendo as the doors opened and closed behind them.

Sparks danced over Buttercup's hands, but at least her monster was at bay. Then again, with how angry she was already getting, she wouldn't be surprised if that came next. Princess had always had that very special way of pressing her buttons, almost in the same way Ace did.

She had just wanted to fucking apologize to her sister. She already knew she was at fault, but here came Princess trying to rub it in her face like she had any right to do so. Couldn't Buttercup do something as simple as fucking apologize without people getting in her face? Apologizing to Bubbles was hard enough already. All she was getting through their bond was a mix of disappointment and fury, so it wasn't even like she was even forgiving her!

The two of them barely got out of the door before two strong hands grabbed them.

"You two will not be getting into a fight," Bubbles hissed. Her fingers tightened on their shoulders. "Princess, thank you for your…protection, but I can take care of myself. Buttercup…"

She paused and Buttercup turned to her with a scowl.

Her face was blank, but their bond screamed with anger and displeasure. Her apology apparently meant nothing, but, fuck it, Buttercup had apologized.

Her scowl dropped and she shrugged out of Bubbles' iron grip.

Crossing her arms, she muttered, "Yeah, I get it. You don't forgive me."

Bubbles' mouth flattened. Her hands dropped to her sides, curling into fists.

Indecision and uncertainty filled their link.

That soft pleasant feeling followed. Blossom was paying attention then.

"Why should she? You abandoned her!" Princess snapped before Bubbles could say anything. "And then you— And then you show up after years with fucking Blossom!? Who, oh! Was kidnapped by the fucking aliens? And you expect us to trust her?"

Buttercup bristled. The sparks danced quicker over her fists.

"Oh, shut up, Princess!" she snarled. "I know you fucking won't! You've always hated Blossom! You and fucking Brick, what a pair! You probably were fucking thrilled to see him that day!"

Princess' glare was dark. She trembled, probably wishing she still had her damn supersuit then just so she could punch her. That furious, flushed expression was a staple for her.

Buttercup bared her teeth in a mockery of grin. Call her petty, but she enjoyed that angry red face.

"I didn't fucking go to that elementary school for Brick, Buttercup," Princess hissed. "I went for Blossom."

Silence followed that.

Buttercup's eyebrows rose and she stared agape at the sergeant. She had always assumed that Princess had somehow heard the Rowdyruff Boys had returned and that had been why she showed up there. Then again, she hadn't even batted an eye at them, had she? She had immediately looked for…

"What?"

"Yeah. I went because I thought Blossom would be there and Blossom would have a plan, but no." The fury dimmed on her face and Princess swallowed. Her voice was quieter as she said, "No, she wasn't there and then…" She gestured in a wide arc, face contorting with anger again. "And then you run off because of some fucking nonsense! And fuck up your sister! Now she shows up out of the blue? And you along with her!"

"She didn't exactly have a choice, Princess!" Buttercup snapped, immediately back on the defensive. "If you were looking for Blossom, why aren't you happy that she's back?"

The brat in front of her gritted her teeth and rubbed her face. Dark eyes darted away from her with a venomous glare.

"…because we don't know if that is Blossom!" she hissed.

"She answered all of Bubbles' questions!"

"So could a clone that was taught how to be Blossom! What the fuck are the Powerpunks, Butterbitch!"

Buttercup paused because they really didn't know what their rip-offs were. They didn't know if they were clones or someone's failed attempt at making her and her sisters. All they did know was they had similar powers and looked like them.

Maybe they should ask Blossom. If she even remembered who or what the Powerpunks were.

"She's not a clone," Bubbles spoke up and again wedged herself between them. "She shares a bond with Buttercup and I, Princess. I don't think the aliens would be able to recreate that."

Princess' nose wrinkled before she scoffed.

"I guess you have a point," she muttered, but the anger hadn't evaporated from her expression. "I'm still pissed at you, Buttercup Utonium."

"Can't say I'm happy with you either, cupcake." Buttercup crossed her arms and bared her teeth. "You should be happy that me and Blossom are back! That the Powerpuff Girls are back! Don't we deserve some fucking respect?"

Princess' countenance darkened. Her scowl was back to full force. "You want us to respect you?"

Buttercup bristled again. She stood straighter and dropped her arms.

"I should get some fucking respect!" she shouted, stepping around her sister and up to the sergeant. "After all I did for this fucking city? After all we did? Just because I wasn't some wannabe soldier, doesn't mean I wasn't also fighting those damn aliens!"

Princess didn't back down, meeting her glare with one of her own. They snarled at each other.

"I know that, but you're a selfish bitch, Buttercup Utonium!" she shouted back. "You may have still fought but you still abandoned everyone!"

Green flashed across Buttercup's vision.

"Fuck you, Princess!"

Her knuckles hurt from clenching her fists so hard, her jaw hurt from her clenching her teeth, but Buttercup resisted the urge to deck Princess. Princess didn't have superpowers. Princess couldn't take a punch like her sisters or the Boys could.

She still wanted to. How dare she. How dare she!

"Enough, you two!" Bubbles shoved the two of them apart and stood between them. Glowing blue eyes swung between them as she glared. "I think this is—"

Buttercup smacked Bubbles' hand away.

"No, let her vent all she fucking wants, Bubbles!" she growled. "Obviously, Princess has some pent up frustrations! Which is fucking hilarious since she's a bitch to you too!"

Princess reared back, looking shocked. Fury immediately took over and she too shoved Bubbles' hand away.

"What! How am I bitch to Bubbles?" she demanded.

Buttercup raised an eyebrow and scoffed. Crossing her arms, her eyelids lowered over her eyes as she glowered.

"Uh, saying she and Brick have a relationship, dumbass? When they clearly don't?" she said.

Princess' cheeks warmed then. She actually looked a little ashamed underneath all that anger.

"They're so close! Anyone would assume—!"

"It's the same damn relationship Bubbles had with Blossom!"

The hallway rung with silence.

Princess stared at her, eyes slowly widening. They swung over to Bubbles, who had frozen.

Fear and shame flooded their link.

Buttercup's arms dropped as she realized just how much she had fucked up again. She turned to look at her sister as well.

Wide blue eyes met hers. For a moment, they wavered and then they were icy steel.

"Bubbles, were you—?" Princess began.

"I think this conversation is over," Bubbles said frigidly. Her face had gone blank and her eyes narrowed. "Sergeant Morbucks, Miss Utonium. Dismissed."

Before either of them could get a word in, she turned on her heel and left.

Buttercup gaped in awe. She still had more training to do and she was just fucking leaving? Anyone with eyes could see that Bubbles treated Brick like she did Blossom! Just because Buttercup teased her about it didn't mean she believed it! Bubbles had always been clingy with Blossom because, well, because Blossom had the most maternal habits out of all of them. Even now, years separated and her mind fuzzy, Blossom was still trying to take care of them in her own way.

Buttercup threw a glare at Princess before she sped after her sister. Bubbles was fast, but she hadn't resorted to flying yet. She caught up to her easily, grabbing her arm and tugging her down the next hallway before she could say anything.

Bubbles ripped her arm out of her hold. "Let go of me!"

"You fucking replaced Blossom with Brick," Buttercup snapped. Her mouth opened. "No, don't even fucking deny it, Bubbles. I'm not fucking blind."

Her sister's cheeks reddened and she looked around. They were alone, but anyone could come down the hallway.

"I'm not talking about this here," she grumbled. "I'm not having—"

"Find us a fucking office then, lieutenant." Buttercup crossed her arms. "We are so having the conversation."

Blue eyes flashed. Green eyes flashed back.

"We are not."

Again, she turned on her heel.

Buttercup snatched her arm again.

"Do you want to know why I fucking ran away?" she demanded before Bubbles could rip her arm out of her grasp.

Her sister stiffened under her hold. Her face was cold when she looked over her shoulder, but wariness and fear flooded their link.

Cool reassurance came from somewhere else.

The ice cracked. Bubbles' lip wobbled.

"Buttercup—"

"Brick isn't Blossom," Buttercup hissed. Her throat itched and she swallowed. "To me… No one could fucking fill Blossom's shoes."

Bubbles looked away. "I know. You said—"

"I said I wouldn't listen to anyone who wasn't Blossom. Yeah. I remember," she answered. She inhaled deeply. Her breath shook still shook when she said, "And Brick was becoming too much like Blossom."

The air went still.

Bubbles froze and her eyes slowly widened. Her mouth dropped open. She trembled under her hand.

"You— What are you—?"

"Like you didn't notice it too," Buttercup murmured and finally let her sister go. "Like you didn't notice him… Yeah, he's a lot…a lot more…stoic than Blossom ever was, but… It was too much. I couldn't…"

She stared at the ground. Her heart was racing, remembering those days, months, years, after the invasion. Remembering having to train with the Rowdyruff Boys and watching a face change. Watching it change from angry to something calmer, change from wild to controlled. Change from something she wanted to punch to something that she—

That she—

The tips of Bubbles' boots came into her vision. Buttercup took a breath and twisted away. Her chest felt tight. Her throat was closing up and she just…she had to get out of there.

"You're right. We're not having this conversation," she muttered. She hesitated, though, and turned to look at Bubbles. Her sister stared at her, her steel cracked down the middle to show the lost girl underneath. Buttercup hated that her lips trembled. "I am sorry, Bubbles. I'm sorry that I'm such a selfish bitch."

She walked away again, just like all those years ago.

Bubbles didn't try to stop her.

---

"I've sent the reports you requested, General."

Brick flicked through the assorted files on his tablet, not lifting his eyes to the officer before him. Everything was there. Perfect.

He nodded once.

"Thank you. You are dismissed," he said and pulled up the first of the documents.

"Sir."

Boots clacked. His door hissed faintly before all was quiet.

Well, quiet except for the muted grumble from Butch, who had claimed both chairs in front of his desk and had kicked his feet up not even a minute after sitting down. Currently, he was flicking through his own reports with only a mild scowl. Brick had given him field and personnel data to go over, to make sure that their troops were still in top condition despite him recalling half of them. He needed everyone to be if the Big Strike was going to happen.

His own reports dealt with bureaucratic bullshit, involving moving troops from other bases in time for winter and making sure that those other bases wouldn't be left high and dry. Most of them were just requests for reassurances, that Brick knew what he was doing, that he was capable of heading such a big attack. There were a lot of demands and concerns about whether or not four superhumans could handle such a maneuver while their human comrades dealt with the foot soldiers.

Well, they didn't have to worry about such a small number. It wouldn't be four. It would be six.

He frowned down at the screen.

…five. It would be five.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn't have her in on the strike. Despite her not doing anything that could be considered suspicious (sneaking out to train with Butch aside), he still couldn't trust her with such an important mission. There were too many moving parts to keep an eye on without her being there already. Having her near that damned cancer? He would rather eat his left arm.

He wasn't going to let her anywhere near that fucking eyesore, anyway. The aliens weren't going to touch her ever again, not if he had anything to say about it. There was no risk if she stayed in the base, no risk of them trying to take her back if she stayed behind with the Professor.

How dare those aliens even think of touching his counterpart.

His fingers twitched and Brick rubbed his forehead, letting his hand fall over his eyes. Where the hell was his head? He couldn't let fucking Pinky near those aliens because…because what if something happened? What if she really was acting? What if she was a spy? He knew that was ridiculous, but he had to think of these things to protect his people. Even if he knew Miss Beacon-Of-All-Things-Good would never turn on her city. Would never bring harm to any innocent person, would never bring ruin to the world she had sworn to protect.

Destruction had been his forte, once upon a time.

He had given that up long ago, just as he had given up the name Rowdyruff. He just wished people would quit calling him "Jojo", but, well, that was now on all legal documents regarding them. He even had a stupid little nameplate to show for it too, something he wished he could just melt without anyone questioning him.

He glared at said annoyance before dropping his gaze back to his reports.

"Huh."

He looked up at the noise, finding Butch frowning down at his own tablet. His brother scrolled whatever he was reading back up before he turned towards him.

"Yo, did you see this?" he asked, sliding his tablet over to him.

"See what?" Brick muttered, but his eyes were already skimming the report.

A Citiesville unit was missing.

His jaw clenched. He began drumming his desk, shoulders lifting as he took a deep, deep breath.

Of course, some Citiesville unit was missing. Of course, Citiesville wouldn't listen to him. Their closest ally and the damn branch had to question and fight every fucking order he sent out. General Portman hadn't had this issue, but, well, General Portman didn't have superpowers.

General Portman hadn't been a villain.

"A Citiesville unit went into the MEZ by the bridge and they haven't heard from them since," Butch explained, even as he read it. "They haven't sent any scouts to see what happened and apparently our surveillance equipment in the area is down."

Brick's eyes flickered faster and faster over the words. "Most of our surveillance equipment in Townsville proper is down. The aliens destroy anything we fucking try to send in."

He shoved the tablet back towards Butch before he smashed it. He rubbed his face again before holding it. A long, annoyed groan followed as he leaned forward.

This was just fucking perfect. Another fucking roadblock in getting the Big Strike finalized. First Pinky, then Mojo, and now this. Two years of nigh near perfect plans and then everything fucking fell to pieces. That other shoe hit fucking hard.

A hand touched his shoulder.

"Hey, we can roll with this."

"How, Butch? Just how do you suggest we can 'roll with this'?" he snapped, looking up and glaring at his brother.

Butch shrugged and leaned back in the chair. For his part, he looked apologetic, but his own expression soured as he stared down at his tablet.

A missing unit wasn't something you could just roll with. Those were human lives and if the aliens had gotten them…

Drugged. They could be drugged. Used against them. Tortured for information. Depending on who was in that unit, the Resistance itself could be in danger.

His head dropped back into his hands. His fingers tangled in his hair, loosening it from his ponytail.

"Fuck," he hissed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"Bossma—"

"God fucking damn it! We're so—! Fuck, what if the aliens have them? Who knows what information that unit knew? What fucking unit was it?"

"It was Lieutenant Torino's unit. That was…in the report, Brick." Butch sounded confused.

His fingers twitched.

Torino knew shit.

He took a breath. Right, he had…he had read that. He had seen the lieutenant's name and… He groaned and pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead.

"Right. Right, I…" His head hurt. He rubbed his forehead. "I knew that."

A persistent throb began behind his eyes. He groaned and covered his face again.

"Brick…how many hours of sleep did you get last night?" his brother asked.

Butch was leaning on his desk, looking suspicious.

Brick dropped his eyes to his tablet and scowled. He still rubbed his forehead.

"I'm too fuck busy, Butch," he hissed. "Between your fucking mess and now this, I have too much shit to deal with."

"Oh, my mess? You mean, Blossom?"

He stiffened.

"…if she hadn't shown up—"

"Fucking bullshit!" Butch's fists slammed into the desk. The wood creaked and Brick shot him a glare. "Blossom showing up is a fucking asset, fuckhead! If you would just fucking utilize what she knew—!"

Brick jumped to his feet as well, leaning over the desk so that he was face to face with his scowling brother. Sparks of red and green danced around them.

"And just what the fuck does she know, Butch? From what everyone is telling me, she knows jack shit!"

"Because you aren't fucking letting her remember!" Butch snarled. "They trained her! They taught her about their fucking culture! Maybe if you fucking listened to Boomer's reports, you would know that she's just trying to help!"

Brick bristled. He only really listened with half an ear to whatever report Boomer gave him about Pinky. He didn't really…want to know, honestly. She was safe as long as Boomer watched out for her.

Wait, no. The base was safe as long as Boomer watched her. And her learning the aliens' culture? Not a fucking pet, his ass.

His fingers twitched. Heat gathered in his palms, in his throat. Why the fuck would they do that? Why the fuck did they want her so bad? Bad enough to teach her their culture.

His fingers curled into fists. His breathing deepened.

Those aliens wouldn't…would they? They wouldn't… How dare they… How fucking dare they!

He was going to kill them.

"Brick?"

They couldn't have her.

"Uh, bossman?"

He wasn't going to let that happen.

Brick breathed out sparks and leaned back. He ran a shaking hand down his face. His palm dragged against his scowl, feeling the heat that hadn't dissipated from his throat. He swallowed the growl building in his chest and ignored the thrum there.

His head fucking screamed.

"Pinky is going to remain under prote-under guard," he snapped before muttering, "She can still use the fucking simulator, anyway. That helps, doesn't it?"

Butch blinked at him, the anger in his face changing to confusion.

"Well, yeah…" He narrowed his eyes and leaned more over the desk. "Brick, are you okay?"

"I'm fucking fine." Brick sat back down, still rubbing his forehead.

"Uh-huh… When was the last time you slept again?" his brother pressed. "You're pissier than normal."

"Fuck off," he snapped. "I don't have the time. There's too much going on, too much to coordinate. New York is three hours ahead of us—"

"New York also has Major Glory," Butch interrupted, still leaning over his desk. His eyes narrowed. "…you have killer raccoon eyes."

Brick glared at him.

"And what is Major Glory going to do, Butch? Are you forgetting what the fucking aliens did to him?" he snapped. "Christ, I have too much to do, Butch. Go…Go do what you want. You're dismissed for today."

His brother didn't move for a moment. His eyebrows had risen before he gave one sharp nod.

"All right."

The next thing Brick knew his chair was spinning. He barely had a moment before his stomach slammed into a shoulder. His breath left him in a gasp. He just registered his door hissing open since the blatant disrespect directed towards his person stunned him too much.

He managed to say "Butch! What the fu—" before his breath left him again as Butch activated his extreme speed.

Brick had never realized just how hard to breathe it was when one had a shoulder in their stomach and was flying somewhere around Mach 5. The air around them heated up and a thin green shield flickered over them, but that did nothing for the pounding in his skull. If anything, it made it worse, the pounding spreading from his eyes to the top of his head to the base of his skull. He couldn't tell if the heat shimmers in the corners of his eyes was because of Butch or the pain in his head.

He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to ease the pressure, and gritted his teeth. A wave of nausea washed over him and he clenched his teeth harder.

He slammed his elbow into the back of Butch's skull. His brother stumbled, his speed abruptly decreasing, and it took everything in him not to lose what little he had eaten. Brick slapped a hand over his mouth.

"What…the fuck, Butch?" he hissed between his fingers.

He twisted, trying to wriggle free of his brother's grip, but Butch's hold only tightened. He even clamped an arm over his legs when he tried kneeing him in the stomach.

"You're going to fucking sleep, Brick," he snapped. "You fucking need it."

"I'm fine, asshole!" Brick argued. "Put me the fuck down!"

"Like hell!" Butch began to float again. "Now shut up!"

The good thing about Mach speed was it didn't last very long. One moment they were in the hallway somewhere between his office and the canteen, the next they were outside of the living quarters.

Brick wriggled again as Butch punched in the code. He tried to slam his elbow into his head once more, but a shield flared to life between them. He snarled.

"Butch!"

"You're going to sleep and you're going to fucking like it!"

"Do you know how much work I have!?"

The warm interior of the living quarters greeted him and he struggled more.

"And do you think you're gonna do a good job as sleep deprived as you are?" Butch countered.

Brick froze. He scowled.

"I'm doing fine!"

"Oh, ch'yeah right!"

"Listen here, you fucking—!"

"Boys, what are you doing?"

Both Brick and Butch froze at that voice, the gentle voice they hadn't really heard in a while. Or, well, Brick hadn't heard in a while. Butch had gone through that library much more recently than Brick had.

"Hi, Mrs. Cavadini, lovely day, right?" Butch greeted. He must have waved because the hand over Brick's legs was gone. He immediately began struggling again. "Brick, I swear—!"

"Put me down, Butch!" he demanded. "This is undignified!"

"Oh no! You are going to sleep!"

Brick tried twisting and taking flight, but Butch wrapped both arms around his waist and held him down. He snarled.

"…Butch, put your brother down."

"But—! Mrs. Cavadini, he's not fucking sleeping!"

"Butch."

Butch grumbled, but followed her directions.

Brick was only slightly insulted that his brother would listen to a civilian rather than his own general. Throwing a glare at him, he moved to storm out of the living quarters when a small hand stopped him.

"Brick." Mrs. Cavadini's voice was firm and he stiffened. "Young man, look at me."

He did so, if only so he could get away faster. He had too much to do, too much to plan, and he had no time for this.

Butch moved in his peripheral, no doubt blocking his exit. Brick bit back the scowl and met Mrs. Cavadini's shrewd gaze.

Her eyes narrowed.

He swallowed, but hid it with a delicate cough into his fist.

"Now if you'll—"

"You need rest, young man," she interrupted and ignored his glare. "I can see it on your face, Brick. You need to sleep."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. A throb shot through his skull and he took a deep breath.

"I don't—I don't have time, Mrs. Cavadini," he argued tiredly, letting his hand drop. "There are...things I have to do—"

"An army is only as strong as its leader," she countered and that actually gave him pause. She touched his wrist with a worried frown. "I understand you're busy, Brick, but you're wearing yourself out. If a civilian like me can see that...give yourself time to rest. You have lieutenants who are more than willing to help you."

Brick faltered. "I—"

A hand fell onto his shoulder and squeezed.

"C'mon, bossman. Take a nap at least for an hour or two," Butch said softly. It almost sounded like he was pleading, actually.

Another throb rang through his head. Brick rubbed his forehead to hide his face.

"...all right," he finally said.

Butch slapped his shoulder.

"All right! Naptime, bro!" he cheered and began pushing him farther living quarters. "Seeya later, Mrs. Cavadini!"

"Goodbye, Butch. Take care of yourself, Brick!"

Her footsteps faded behind them the farther Butch pushed him.

Brick rolled his eyes.

"You don't have to push me," he muttered, but he couldn't shrug his brother off. "I can get there by myself."

"Yeah, I don't trust you right now," Butch answered immediately. His grip tightened. "For all I know, you'd take some overly complicated route outta here."

Brick frowned. He had planned exactly that. There was too much to do and, well, he could always sleep in his office if he really needed to. Mrs. Cavadini had a point, of course, but Brick was stronger than the average human was.

He would be fine.

However, the closer they drew to their apartment, the heavier his body felt. His head rang with his heartbeat and not in the pleasant sort of way that appeared in those tacky romance novels. It was like a jackhammer going off in his brain to the point that the warm lights above them hurt. It took everything in him not to start growling.

He did start growling when he fumbled the code to their apartment twice. His fist clenched over the buttons and even he couldn't ignore the faint tremble there.

Butch slapped his hand away before he could incinerate the keypad. His brother shoved him in front of the door as he typed in the code. Brick ignored the snort he received in favor of the welcome darkness of their apartment, already making a beeline to the dark red door right across from the entrance.

On the way, though, he paused to glance at the room. Nothing stood out of place, but something just felt…odd. He couldn't place his finger on why, however, even as he scrutinized their meager belongings. The couch and singular chair were there, as were the small bookshelf with movies and games and the flat-screen television that a younger Boomer and Butch had been insistent on. It had been a small pleasure in a horrible situation, so Brick hadn't had an issue with it and he still didn't, but that wasn't what was wrong. Nothing in the room was out of place; maybe the lack of a mess, but considering that none of them spent a lot of time there anymore, that wasn't really that odd for three young men.

When was the last time he had actually stepped foot in their apartment? He had taken to keeping clean clothes in his office, using the showers in the training room rather than trekking back to the living quarters every day. Maybe the room looked so odd because it had once been so familiar.

Brick frowned, but the pounding in his skull insisted he listen to his brother. He continued to his room and that too looked odd. For a moment, he hesitated before the ache in his body called for his bed. His feet moved of their own accord and he began undoing the buttons of his jacket. A short nap wouldn't…wouldn't hurt…

"I better not see you for at least two hours," Butch was saying. Brick glared at him over his shoulder, curling his lip at the sight of his brother leaning against his doorjamb. Butch was doing something on his communicator, but those eyes glowed in warning when he looked up. "You're a stubborn dick, but you're my brother, Brick. We need you in better condition."

A caustic remark sparked on his tongue, but Brick turned away before his headache got the better of him. He shrugged out of his jacket and threw it at his desk.

"…feel free to use the simulator, Butch," he finally muttered.

"Oh, maybe you do have a heart."

Dropping onto his bed to work on his bootlaces, he flipped him off on the way down. He didn't need to deal with his fucking attitude. Wasn't he being good and taking a fucking nap like he asked? Ungrateful ass.

His brother just laughed. The barking did nothing for his headache.

"What? Are you gonna fucking tuck me in or something?" Brick finally snapped after a full two minutes of his brother just…standing there.

Butch rolled his eyes, but stood up from his lean. "Just making sure you weren't gonna run off as soon as I left."

They both glared at each other before Brick exhaled a heavy sigh. He ran his hand through his hair and let his eyes fall closed.

His body ached, ached in a way that wasn't pleasant, nothing like the ache after a heated spar. His head screamed in protest and his eyes felt like sand. He hadn't realized just how little energy he was running on until he was on his bed. As much as he hated to admit it, they all had a point. Butch, Bubbles, and Mrs. Cavadini were right. He couldn't lead like this.

He couldn't be perfect like this.

He rubbed his face. His voice was muffled, as he said, "No. You're right. I need sleep."

"…holy shit, did you just say I'm right?"

His headache spiked.

"Go the fuck away, Butch, and let me fucking sleep!"

"Okay, okay!" Butch inched backwards, hands held up in placation, before he paused. "…but we're gonna talk later."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Brick closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Opening them, he leered suspiciously at his brother. He just wanted to sleep. What more did the idiot want?

"About what?"

Placing his hand over jamb, Butch leaned back into the room. He looked uncharacteristically serious, the kind of serious that Brick had to literally beat into him when they were younger and this whole war had started. Seeing that look directed at him did not sit well.

"The Big Strike."

Brick prided himself in not reacting to that. He merely sighed and rubbed his aching head.

Of course, that was what Butch wanted to talk about, about which, he would admit, he deserved to know anyway. The only ones who had any clear idea about that plan were Bubbles, Mike, and Miss Bellum, and the latter two weren't supposed to be there for it. Now that Mojo was returning, however, Brick was scrambling to fix all that he could fix before the two weeks were up.

He had three days.

He had barely gotten anything cleared away, not now that a Citiesville unit was missing and all the hemming and hawing from the other branches. The Big Strike needed to be coordinated. They needed most, if not all, of the branches in position around the globe. Mobilizing such a big operation took time and he had been planning since last year. They had had only a few things to finalize and then—

And then—

"By the way, I'm alive. I always have been."

Brick dug the heel of his palm into his forehead. He couldn't blame her. He shouldn't. However, the Powerpunks had become more active three weeks before her arrival at the Resistance. Three weeks wherein she had been with the rebels. More active punks meant they couldn't retreat as easily as before, not with them on such high alert. He had been hoping to throw them into a false sense of security, but with Pinky's arrival here, the aliens were the complete opposite. Too aware of every movement of the Resistance, too ready to counterattack.

He needed time to rework the plan. Two weeks should have been plenty of time, but he had other duties as general and too many hands to hold elsewhere in the world while weathering the veiled insults. How he was so efficient but so young. How he had risen above from where he had come. How he hadn't let such things stop him from becoming a general at such a young age.

He got it. He was young. He had been a villain. He shouldn't be a general, a warrior of peace and good, a protector of people, when he had been destruction and chaos before.

In the end, he hadn't really had a choice, had he?

"…all right," he murmured with a heavy sigh. He dropped his hands into his lap and ignored the throbbing in his head. "I'll brief you. You and Boomer."

He didn't say anything immediately, trying to remember what he had told his brothers before. He had definitely told them the basics of the operation, how it was a plan to hit the heart of the alien empire, but he couldn't remember if he had told them anything more than that. He hadn't wanted anyone going off half-cocked before the time, anyway, and it was hard enough reigning Butch in as it was.

Should he call Boomer here? He didn't know where his other brother was (or, rather, where Pinky was), but he could probably get him here. He was even willing to let Boomer drop her off with her sisters if that meant he could get there quicker. His hands fumbled as he dug his communicator out of his discarded jacket.

"Get some sleep first, bossman." Butch spoke before he could form any kind of coherent thought. Glancing up, Brick found his brother about ready to say something more, but he shrugged and turned. "Two hours at least, General Asshole."

Brick's shoulders sunk. The communicator hung lifelessly in his hands.

"Yeah, yeah. Go fucking spar, Butch."

His brother gave him the bird and an amused smile.

He almost managed one back, but as soon as his door slid closed, it fell from his face. The communicator clattered to the floor as his face dropped into his hands. He had so much to do, so much to deal with, so much so that his stomach hurt and his chest pounded. That only worsened the migraine (because that definitely wasn't just a fucking headache) drilling into his brain. He groaned long and low.

He had to be perfect. He had to be a leader, the type of leader who didn't stand down in the face of anything. He couldn't fucking let something like sleep get the better of him and yet here he was. Forced into his room by his younger brother, forced into his room because his fucking body wasn't cooperating. He had Chemical X in his blood. He had fucking superpowers. He should be better than this!

The shadows seemed to darken. He had to be better. There was no excuse not for him to be better. How long had he…?

His eyes drifted over his darkened room, taking in the bare walls and simple décor. He didn't remember the last time he had been in here. The dresser had been the most recently touched, since he needed clothes, but the desk and the bed hadn't. Still, the sheets under him were clean and there wasn't a speck of dust on the desk.

His eyes stilled there.

Despite the ache in his body and the pounding in his head, he stood and crossed to it with slow steps. He rested his hand on the back of the chair, taking a breath, before sitting down. It felt odd to sit there. How many nights had he stayed up going over reports, formations, and military maneuvers? How many papers had he gone over here, learning the bureaucracy and protocol that General Portman had insisted he learn? How many times he had fallen asleep here and woken up to a blanket over his shoulders? He still did that, but now he had a much more comfortable chair and no more blanket.

His fingers moved on autopilot, drifting underneath and finding the key he had long since taped in the far back corner. The metal felt cold as he turned it over mindlessly before inserting it into the bottom door. With a twist, the drawer opened.

The hat inside had sat untouched for years. That red hat that had been just as a part of himself as his eyes or hair, but like the Rowdyruff Boys, it had retired to this locked drawer, never to be worn again. Eight years it sat. Eight years as a reminder of what had been and what he was no longer.

Brick hesitated for only a moment, his hand hovering above the brim, before he plucked it from the drawer. For something he had used to compare to a crown, it was light. Light and worn, the edges of the brim were a little frayed and the main hat was paler than it once was. How funny that he would have bitten someone's head off for trying to touch this and he hadn't even worn it in years. How funny just seeing it made his chest ache. After all, just as he used to wear this, she…

His eyes lifted from the hat to the little treasure it had been protecting. His fingers twitched, but before he could decide that he was being ridiculous, he was scooping up the ribbon.

It was lighter than his hat, but a shared faded red from years of use. It was thin, thin from wear and from fingers running over its material. This wasn't the ribbon, but it was just as good, just as important. After all, it had been in rough shape when he had taken it all those years ago so she must have worn it as much as her original ribbon.

He hadn't missed the one tied in Pinky's hair when she appeared all those weeks ago. There was no doubt that it was one of the missing one's. Maybe it was the one that Buttercup had taken or maybe it was the ribbon. Whatever ribbon it was, she still wore it like the crown he used to imagine it was. That upright posture, that proud look, and that damn bow, everything exactly how he remembered it in a face and body that had changed.

In a face and body that hid a scar… That shook with an inner turmoil he didn't understand, that trembled at a mere name…

Brick scowled down at the ribbon, twisting it irritably around his fingers. He had no fear of tearing it, even as he wound and wound the fabric over his knuckles. He had become a master at twining this ribbon. A part of him recoiled from that, recoiled from any admittance that he would willingly do anything with something of hers, but he couldn't rightly lie to himself about that. He had spent plenty a stressful night twining the damn ribbon because it was something for his hands to do while his mind raced.

And wasn't that exactly what he was doing now? Even with the throbbing of his headache, even with the ache in his body, as soon as he saw that damn drawer, his body had moved on its own. His hat sat next to his elbow, close enough to touch, but he hadn't fiddled with that in a long, long time. A ribbon was more discreet, could be kept in a pocket on missions, and—

He gritted his teeth and tossed the piece of fabric back into its hole. The hat followed it, capturing it once again, and he slammed the drawer shut.

With a groan, he leaned on his desk, his throbbing head in his hands. Too much. Everything was too much. He had too much work to do, too many things to deal with to spend so much time thinking about Pinky. If she did anything, Boomer could handle it, he was sure of that. Boomer was more than capable, even if his stomach twisted of the idea.

He was the only one allowed to deal with her. She was his counterpart. His.

He groaned again.

He hated her. He hated her.

That was what the burn in his chest and the twist in his stomach meant.

He hated her. And he was the only one allowed to deal with her.

Brick ruffled his hair angrily with a snarl. Where the hell was his head?

Butch was right. He really needed to fucking sleep.

His body felt heavier than ever as he stood. He hadn't felt like this in…in years. The last time had to be after General Portman's death. He immediately dug a knuckle into his temple with a scowl. There were enough unpleasant thoughts bouncing around his head, he didn't have to add anymore.

The short distance between his desk and bed may as well have been miles. He didn't even bother with the blankets or taking off anymore of his uniform. He just fell into the pillow, strangely smelling clean, and let out another groan. Never had a bed felt so fucking fantastic.

---

Somehow convincing Lee that Blossom didn't need a full guard in her own apartment had proved very easy. Boomer wasn't sure if it was because it was sound reasoning or if it was because Lee was one of the people who preferred to avoid Blossom whenever she could manage it. He personally hoped for the former, but from the narrowed eyes Lee had been giving Blossom all day, he had a suspicion it was the latter. The fact that so many people actually sided with Brick and his paranoia irked him, but Boomer was a sergeant and, well, he did agree that they really didn't know a lot about what happened to Blossom.

Like whatever caused that blizzard a few days ago. Neither of her sisters had told him anything, but with how pale and shivering Blossom had been, he hadn't pressed them on what had happened. Besides, Buttercup's beast was in full rage mode, her eyes literally solid green, and he had really not wanted to deal with that. Even the Professor had backed down, but when the sisters had left, both snarling at him when he tried to follow, their father had sunk into the nearest chair and just held his head.

Boomer had pretended not to hear the sobs. He regretted not doing more for him, but he hadn't really been in the best shape either. The image of a shaken Blossom, pale with glittering tearstains on her cheeks, had shaken him more than he would like to admit. Maybe he had spent too much time with Brick, maybe he had heard his older brother compare her to a devil too many times, but that sight of her so broken had frozen him.

That wasn't Blossom. Blossom wasn't supposed to look like that. She was supposed to smile at him in that simultaneously shy but polite way, a faint glimmer in her eyes when she finally got him to answer her. She was supposed to stand tall and in control, looking out at a crowd of people she hadn't seen in years like she ruled the roost all the same. She was supposed to be demure and prideful all at the same time because while he had gotten used to this Blossom, he remembered the vicious Commander and Leader from their childhood. He remembered bloody lips and frostbite. He remembered glowing crimson eyes and a scowl that bordered feral whenever they crossed paths.

That was Blossom. The twitch of a proud grin, the tilt of a confident chin, and the gentle smile of now. That all made Blossom.

Not…that.

Not that broken girl, that woman who looked shaken down to her very core, who clung to Bubbles and Buttercup like they were her only lifeline.

Boomer cupped his chin and stared unseeingly at said woman talking with Robin and Mitch. Hanout had stepped out to check on the Professor, which left him as the sole guard. They were in the Girls' apartment, though, so it wasn't like Brick could be upset anyway. He had said that she didn't need a guard in her own damn apartment.

Blossom looked…content. She had been subdued earlier, not asking any questions like she usually did. Nothing for him or Hanout to answer, no requests for some story that had happened in her absence. Nothing about protocol or the base or anything. Her smile had been small, her eyes tired, and the sight of the bags under her eyes made his stomach flop uneasily.

He had seen similar bags under different colored eyes, darker colored eyes.

He took a breath, squeezing his eyes shut, before slowly opening them. Brick was wearing himself thin. At the rate he was going, Boomer wouldn't be surprised if his brother blew up over something. He would bet that something would be Blossom, though Butch and Buttercup were contenders. More than likely, though, it would be Blossom because she had always had a way of getting under his skin that neither he nor Butch could.

Boomer was going to his damnedest to make sure that didn't happen. No one needed that, least of all either Brick or Blossom. So he would make sure it didn't.

Nodding to himself, he tried to grab the trail of conversation. He had missed a good chunk of it, as Robin was fervently trying to catch up with Mitch, who had apparently been too busy to visit her.

"I cannot believe you and Buttercup are friends with benefits!" she cried. "How could you not tell me?"

Mitch gave her a look. "Robin, I haven't seen you in years. And we aren't anymore anyways."

"Still! It's called a fucking letter, Mitchelson!" she countered. "Enough units went through the library! You could have passed one along!"

"We also had the vid-coms."

"I am apparently 'not authorized to use them'." Her fingers wiggled with the air quotes, but her scowl was short-lived. "Which, I guess makes sense… Catching up with friends isn't really a…priority."

Boomer winced and he didn't miss the compassionate look on Blossom's face. She gently patted her friend's shoulder, but her look soon turned confused. She tilted her head and pursed her lips.

"What…does 'friends with benefits' mean?" she asked. "I've…heard others use it, particularly Butch being honest, and I'm not sure what it means."

Boomer stared and then shared a wide-eyed look with both Robin and Mitch. Mitch grimaced and covered his reddening face while Robin whipped back around to Blossom.

Boomer put his head in his hands.

The pneumatic hiss of the main door sounded like a savior.

"BUTTERCUP UTONIUM!"

Never mind.

Boomer winced up at the startled Buttercup and Bubbles, both of whom stopped at the force of Robin's bellow. He rubbed his forehead.

"Rob—?"

"What have you not been teaching your sister!?" Robin demanded and Blossom made an irritated noise.

"Robin, will you please ca—?"

Robin whipped back towards her, her furious expression abruptly worried. She grabbed Blossom's hands.

"Oh my God, please tell me you know what sex is."

Blossom's face went redder than her bow.

Mitch and Buttercup sputtered something amazing.

Boomer clapped his hands over his face yet again and sunk low into the chair. His skin felt hot.

Something clattered, probably Bubbles' communicator because she shrieked, "ROBIN!"

"What! I have to ask!" their friend cried.

"Yes! I know what sex is! I received the-the Talk! I just wanted to know what 'friends with benefits' meant!" Blossom shrilled before her voice jumped another octave. "Thank you, Buttercup! I do not need images!"

Boomer sunk lower into the chair, until he was almost horizontal.

A smack echoed in the small room.

"Ow! Fuck, Bubbles!"

"What are you showing our sister! She doesn't need to know that!"

"She asked!"

"Not for pictures!"

The knock at the door never sounded so beautiful.

Boomer pulled himself up, but his face still felt hot and he winced at the scowling Bubbles. Her scowl lessened when she caught his eyes and she rolled hers. Her nose wrinkled and she mouthed something at him, but he couldn't really tell what she had said, too enamored by how cute her nose looked. His lips curled up despite himself and that was apparently the right answer because she smiled back as she moved to sit next to Blossom.

Buttercup had gone to answer the door, grumbling, but Boomer was too caught up in watching how Bubbles softened around Blossom to pay her much mind. His heart had begun to pound at their shared moment, but seeing her so gentle with Blossom eased the rush in his blood.

She hadn't been like that with her a few days ago. She hadn't smiled like that around Blossom or even had spent so much time with her. Whatever had happened in the simulator had changed something. After all, she was calling herself a Powerpuff Girl again so that…that meant something.

He ignored the twist in his stomach, the sour taste in his mouth. It was good that Bubbles could call herself a Powerpuff Girl again. That was their bond, after all, their sisterhood. Just like…Rowdyruff had once been…

He dropped his eyes from the two sisters. They fell upon a frowning Mitch, who looked suddenly a little too pale despite his earlier embarrassment.

"Blossom," the former rebel began, "the aliens didn't—"

Boomer's stomach dropped. He wasn't asking what he thought he was. He couldn't be asking what he thought he was.

Then again, hadn't Boomer worried about something similar a few days ago?

"No." Blossom's answer was immediate and curt, cutting off the rest of the question. "I was not to be touched."

A queasy feeling filled Boomer's stomach even at his relief. Sure, nothing had happened, but that…that 'not to be touched'…

"What are you talking about?"

He swallowed at the snarl, eyes moving against his better judgment.

Two pairs of glowing green glares greeted him, bookending a white Professor and a stone-faced Hanout.

"It's nothing, Buttercup," Blossom soothed, but even Boomer could hear the faint tremor in her voice.

"What do you mean it's nothing!?" Buttercup snapped. "Mitch, how could you—!?"

"That isn't why we asked everyone here, Buttercup," her sister said and the green puff's mouth snapped shut. "Please…I'm fine. Nothing happened."

"Blossom," the Professor breathed and Boomer had never heard him sound so broken.

"Really, dad. I'm okay," Blossom assured him, but he didn't look convinced.

Boomer didn't blame him.

With a poorly hidden scowl, Buttercup took the Professor's arm and guided him over to the couch where the rest of the Girls sat. Robin gave up her seat to the man, squeezing next to Mitch on the loveseat. Hanout took a seat on the floor in front of them and leaned next to Mitch's legs. Meanwhile, the Professor and Bubbles bookended Blossom and Buttercup perched on the arm next to their father.

Butch didn't move from the entranceway. He just took a couple steps to his right and leaned against the wall next to the light blue door. He crossed his arms, but the serious look on his face threw Boomer. Butch didn't look like that unless they were discussing something important.

A phantom scream echoed in Boomer's ears, followed by shrill beeping. Followed by the whoosh of wind muffled by snow and glass.

Bubbles had been insistent when she asked him to convince Blossom's guards to leave them. She had, of course, asked him to remain when he had asked why, but she hadn't explained anything more. Neither had Buttercup nor Blossom. Then again, Blossom hadn't really been very talkative since the simulator, even if she had assured him that she was okay when he asked the next day.

Her smile hadn't reached her eyes and both her sisters had taken to finding them in the library on their breaks. They sat like they were now, like how they always had oriented themselves to her. Bubbles on Blossom's right and Buttercup on her left. Well, this time the Professor was there, but every other time, that was how they sat.

"Now that everyone's here," Robin spoke up, "what was it that you wanted to talk about?"

Bubbles and Buttercup looked at each other, their eyes dropping to Blossom.

Her expression was perfectly controlled, a painful neutral that Boomer felt himself reacting to all the same. It was a stoic look he was familiar with, a look that meant she was trying so hard to keep something inside. Brick was extremely good with that look, to the point that Boomer had begun having trouble reading his own brother. When they were younger, Boomer had been one of the few that could read him and now he could more easily read a person he hadn't seen in ten years. That didn't sit well with him.

Blossom took a breath and laced her fingers with Bubbles'. The Professor, probably sensing her discomfort, wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"Do you want me…?" Buttercup murmured, but Blossom shook her head.

"I…can do it," she answered before taking another breath and lifting her chin. In a clear voice, she said, "A few of you are…aware of what had transpired a few days ago. I…remembered something from my time with the Narcassians and…" She paused, taking a breath and closing her eyes to steel herself. They fluttered open, resolute pink flashing over them all. "And it…was unpleasant."

"Honey…" Professor Utonium murmured with concern, squeezing her shoulders.

She shook her head, but leaned into his hug all the same.

"You and Boomer at the very least deserve to know, Professor," she insisted softly.

Boomer could see her trying to remain strong, but she was beginning to shake. His stomach twisted and a chill slithered down his spine, like slimy bone cold fingers dragging across his skin.

The image of her huddled between her sisters, both of whose eyes burned like embers, invaded his mind, insistent like a fly on a hot summer's day. The image of her broken and small, crying and clinging to her sisters like a drowning man to driftwood. The chill spread over his ribs.

"Blossom, if it's that bad—," he began, but she shook her head again.

"It…It's something I…think you should all know," she answered and his heart dropped. Tears glimmered in her eyes, but eyelashes fluttered them away and she held her chin high. Her knuckles shone white where she clung to Bubbles. "I was…at Seattle. I was part of that…that m-massacre…"

The sound went out of Boomer's ears, save the horrifying ringing of his erratic heartbeat.

He stared, but all he could see was Brick's hollow expression, Butch's trembling fists, and the exhausted face of Lieutenant Hernandez from the aftermath of that horrible day. All he could see was the weight of the world on his brother's shoulders crushing him more and more over the days and weeks and months since, the bruises under Bubbles' eyes from too many late nights, the shaky smile on Butch's face as he pretended that everything would be okay. The Professor had ended up in the medical bay for almost a week straight, trying to figure out a way to take out the Powerpunks, to weaponize Antidote X without someone trying to use it against them.

His breath tore from his lungs. His fingertips tingled as if they had fallen asleep. His vision tunneled to the family curled together on the couch, to the family that barely could hold themselves together.

He felt disconnected from his body. He could see everything, but he couldn't feel anything. He couldn't hear anything. Blossom had been there? At Seattle? At the worst fucking battle they had ever seen?

No survivors. There had been no survivors. He had seen the list of casualties, just how long it was, and Blossom had been a part of that.

The kind, gentle Blossom he had been getting know had been part of that.

The Blossom that could create a blizzard in a moment that could cause the simulator to shriek in protest.

The Blossom who had been able to leave frostbite on Brick, on someone who was fire incarnate.

Boomer felt sick.

"No…" Robin murmured. "You… Seattle?"

Blossom nodded, but the resolution on her face cracked. Even as she met their eyes, tears began to pour down her face, which scrunched with the first labored breath. That tiny sound hit harder than any punch an alien could dream of landing on him.

The sight of her trembling and crying but trying so hard to remain strong reminded Boomer too much of Brick, too much of his brother looking more and more tired but keeping his head held high. His chest constricted because watching one person shouldering the world was already too much. Watching Blossom of all people, Blossom of the Powerpuff Girls, Blossom who could bring his brother and leader to his knees, Blossom who Boomer would maybe admit he was befriending these past couple of weeks, collapse from a memory of something she couldn't control chilled him more than the blizzard he had witnessed days ago. With the tears cascading down her face and her family bookending her, she looked nothing like the warrior something like Seattle said she was.

Even then, she wasn't supposed to look so small and broken, held together by her sisters and father. She wasn't supposed struggle for a brave face, a commanding face. Blossom was Brick's counterpart! Blossom was strong! Boomer couldn't understand. He didn't want to understand.

Bubbles pressed against her side, leaning their heads together. She stroked her hair as her sister tried and failed to keep her face stoic, to pretend that tears didn't soak her skin. Her face contorted with a sob and Bubbles tugged her face into the crook of her neck.

The Professor slumped next to her and only Buttercup's arms around his shoulders held him up. He had gone ashen, his mouth slack. His hands trembled.

"Those…Those…" he murmured and his jaw clacked shut. He threw his arms around Blossom, around Bubbles, and held them close. "Oh, honey. Oh, my Blossom, I am s-so s-sorry! I-I'm s-so sorry you had-had to go through that!"

"N-No, I-I'm s-s-sorry," Blossom gasped in a voice that held none of the cold resolution with which she had begun. "I-I couldn't…the drug was t-too s-s-strong! And he-And he told me—!"

Sobs cut her off, sounding more like choking. Her teeth grit, fighting through her tears, and she pressed her face to her father's shoulder this time. Her shoulders shook as the façade shattered.

Boomer's breathing felt fast. He saw and didn't want to see, didn't want to witness this breakdown. Not when he imagined red eyes instead of pink, not when the mere imaginary image broke cold sweat across his forehead. They couldn't afford a shattered leader.

The air tasted like ice, but he couldn't tell if that was Blossom or his senses fighting against him.

"He told her to destroy," Buttercup hissed, even as she hugged her family.

Blossom sniffled. "And I— And I did. I d-destroyed. E-Everything. Human, aliens… I-I didn't-I didn't—"

Her sisters and the Professor hugged her tighter as her voice faded with her sobs. Buttercup's monster flickered over them.

"I'm going to fucking kill him," she growled. "You hear me? I'm going to kill Aterex!"

"I told you. Get in fucking line, Butters," Butch snarled and Boomer jolted at the angry rumble of his voice. Butch's face was dark with an anger that burned in his eyes. He was even baring his teeth and his own knuckles shone white. "Fucking piece of shit."

"Oh my God, Blossom!" Robin cried.

She threw herself over the Utonium family's knees, hugging Blossom's waist. She curled as close as she could get with her face in her stomach, her shoulders shaking from soundless sobs or just the effort of holding onto Blossom, who dropped a hand and stroked her hair.

Robin made a gasping noise that cut deep into Boomer's stomach.

Hanout had his face in his hands, body curled forward as if he could curl himself into a ball and out of existence. His fingers trembled. His whole body trembled.

"Shit," he hissed. "Shit, shit, shit!"

Mitch ran a shaking hand through his hair. He squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced.

"Yeah, that…that doesn't get better the second time around," he muttered. His breath shook. "Fuck… Fuck Aterex. Fuck all those God damned aliens. Just…fuck."

That…was odd.

Boomer latched onto that odd statement. It was the only solid thing his mind could latch onto when he stared at Blossom and saw the world collapsing.

"What do you mean…second time?" he managed to ask after finding his voice.

It sounded weird. Like an echo of his voice put through one too many sound filters.

Buttercup stiffened.

A light blue glare swung up to her.

"I…may have vented to Mitch…and Butch…after all that…happened," she admitted when even Robin looked up at her disbelief.

"And you didn't tell me!?" Robin demanded. "I'm your best friend!"

"Blossom was still fragile!" Buttercup argued. "And it's not like… Look, we were going to tell them anyway!"

"But still!"

The two of them continued to squabble, but Boomer couldn't focus. The little bit of solidity from Mitch was gone when the other man leaned down to rub Hanout's back. Boomer's own hands shook when he looked down at them fisted in his lap.

Blossom took part in Seattle. In the battle that had even shaken the rebels, the battle that even bases outside of the United States Resistance had mourned. The battle that Brick had refused to let either he or Bubbles see.

Boomer had read the reports, of course, just to see why his brothers had looked like that. He hadn't needed to see the wasteland Seattle had become to have nightmares. Just that long, long list of names and that longer list of causes of death. He had spent too many nights that first month wondering what would have happened if they had been there. If he or Brick or Butch had been there? If Bubbles or even Buttercup had been there? Would they have been able to push the Powerpunks back?

…would they have been able to save Blossom sooner?

Just how many on that list had been Blossom? How many of those names had died at her hands? They hadn't bothered listing the aliens and Boomer wondered if that had been her. If she had been the one to kill the aliens and the Punks had only focused on their forces. Aterex had told her to destroy so… Maybe… Maybe she had focused on the aliens. Maybe she hadn't. They didn't know. What had been Blossom and what had been the Powerpunks?

Seattle had…

Seattle had broken Blossom.

Blossom wasn't supposed to break.

She was Brick's counterpart! Brick didn't break so Blossom wasn't supposed to either!

It…It was wrong!

His fingers shook as he rubbed his face.

Fuck. Brick.

If Brick found out…

When Brick found out that Blossom had been at Seattle… When he found out that she had killed, that they had ordered her to destroy and she did… Boomer remembered pure red eyes, remembered smoke billowing from a snarl, remembered crimson energy heating the very air. He remembered a low, low growl that made him shiver. Whether that growl would be directed at Blossom, however…

Maybe if they explained that Blossom had been drugged, had been heavily drugged, he would listen. Blossom would never do something like of her own volition. Even Boomer knew that and he had only really gotten to know her these last couple of weeks. Brick had been the one who knew her best before. He should…should understand…

Who was Boomer kidding? Brick wouldn't understand. He would just see another threat and the ban would get worse. Or maybe he would finally lock her up somewhere, choose a room and keep her there. The base didn't really have a jail since they honestly didn't need one so house arrest was the closest they get. Maybe he would finally give in to Princess and those other officers' request: take Blossom's powers away.

The thought made Boomer sick. He hated the thought of Blossom losing her powers, of one of them losing their powers. Even if they had been enemies before, it had always been the six of them. They couldn't keep this a secret, though. This was too big, way too big, and about Seattle.

They couldn't.

Boomer swallowed and dropped his hands. "We have to tell Bri—"

He didn't get to finish. There was a bright flash of blue, something he felt was vaguely familiar, and then his head snapped back and forth, as his chair slammed into the wall. Power crackled around them, the faintest hint of ozone in the air making his hair stand on end.

Glowing solid blue eyes met his. A snarl crinkled that cute button nose. He didn't know the last time he had seen her so vicious. He didn't know the last time that viciousness was directed at him.

Something south of his chest hopped excitedly. He swallowed.

"Don't you fucking dare, Boomer Jojo," Bubbles hissed. Her arms bracketed his head and he sunk as she leaned forward. "Brick is not going to learn about this yet, capiche?"

His mouth felt dry. He blinked rapidly.

"But Bub—"

"No, Sergeant Jojo," she growled. "Not now. Not when Mojo is returning in three days. Not when my sister is like this. Not when Brick hasn't slept for more than two fucking hours a night! Do I make myself clear?"

"C-Crystal, ma'am," he murmured.

Her eyes narrowed before she nodded and stood. She returned to Blossom's side, ignoring everyone's stares as she sat down and returned to soothing her sister.

Boomer could only stare as well. His heart raced and he held the arms of the chair too tight. It creaked.

With much difficulty, he managed to move his eyes, but found his brother staring at him with an unreadable expression.

Butch's eyes narrowed when their gazes met. Rather than the scowl he was expecting, a frown pulled down his lips and he gave a small shake of his head. The look he threw to his right screamed of worry and…protection? Boomer was sure he had seen a similar look before, a worried and combatant look that Butch had directed too many time towards their brother in the aftermath of General Portman's death.

Butch would do anything to protect Blossom then. If, in his mind, not telling Brick about her involvement in Seattle protected both of them, he wasn't going to say a word.

No wonder he hadn't mentioned anything.

Boomer wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

---

Managing to get both of his brothers in a meeting proved more difficult than it should have been. Brick had arranged for Bubbles to take over Pinky's guard for the last three days, but something always came up that made him unavailable until now. Either he had an issue to address in regards to another base or, because he was busy, Boomer had taken the time to work with his troop. Butch had no such issues, but that was also because Brick hadn't yet lifted his probation and he had diligently stayed at his side with only minor grumbling.

Finally, on the third day and the day that Mojo was due to return, Brick had managed to get both of his brothers into his office with a vague threat to everyone to give them at the very least an hour. He didn't really think it would last, since the disappearance of the Citiesville unit had made waves and whispers were beginning. More bases had started to worry and to question his leadership, which, while his own base remained loyal, nevertheless caused some stirs.

A whole fucking unit deciding to ignore orders and go into the MEZ wasn't exactly his fault, but of course, Brick had to be the one to soothe the panic and hold everyone's hands. He was still the main General of the West Coast Resistance, so any unit that decided to step out of line apparently reflected on him. Because he was young. Because he had been a villain.

Because he wasn't a fucking beacon of light and trust.

That didn't matter right then, however. He had promised Butch he would tell his brothers about the Big Strike and that was what they were going to do.

With one last glance over the latest bellyaching from one of the bases down South, he placed his tablet aside and laced his fingers together. Butch sat in the chair to his right, looking bored out of his mind, but his heavy-lidded gaze never left Brick. Boomer, on the other hand, sat stiffly in the other chair, looking almost like he had swallowed something bitter and kept fidgeting. He would cross his arms and then uncross them, cross his legs, uncross those, fuss with his jacket, and then he would cross his arms again. He also wouldn't meet Brick's eyes, no matter how long Brick stared at him.

He would question Boomer about his odd behavior after the briefing. If he had something to say, he might as well say it when it was only the three of them.

"As I have told you before, I have an operation I've been planning since last year called the Big Strike," he began and stopped at Butch's snort.

"It's just us, bossman. Drop the theatrics," he remarked.

Brick narrowed his eyes at him before huffing.

"Fine. I planned the Strike for December of this year," he said and, again, his idiot brothers cut him off.

"What!?" both cried, leaning forward in their chairs.

"You didn't fucking mention that before, Brick!" Butch snapped.

"December!? We're almost through September! Is that enough time to prepare!?" Boomer asked.

Brick lifted an eyebrow.

"Why do you think I had people returning in summer?" He rolled his eyes and dropped his hands. "Look, the original plan was to have half the units return so we could begin doing drills. There is a reason I had upped the training regimens of every unit and had the medical wing working overtime to make sure everyone was in top condition. The other half of the units would spread out to our closest allies, Citiesville and Farmsville in particular, so they could help organize them. You did notice that certain units hadn't returned, right?"

"…I was wondering where Lieutenant Hernandez was," Boomer admitted.

"Exactly. Lieutenant Hernandez in particular I had stay as much in the field as possible, cooperating with Citiesville and whatever survivors still live in the suburbs," Brick explained. "…of course, this was all before…"

His mouth twisted and he took a breath.

"Before Blossom?" Butch lifted his own eyebrow. That heavy-lidded look returned. "C'mon, bossman. Use that big fucking brain of yours. She's a fucking asset."

Brick gritted his teeth, but all he did was hiss out his displeasure.

"The rebels and…Pinky's return have not been…ideal," he muttered. "It…threw some wrenches into the plan. The rebels give us more manpower, but—"

"Uh, doesn't Blossom give us more…superpower?" Boomer piped up. He shrunk when Brick's gaze swept towards him. "I-I mean, t-the more superhumans we have on our side—"

"Pinky will not be taking part in the Big Strike," Brick growled. "She isn't going to get anywhere near those fucking aliens, do I make myself clear?"

"C-Crystal, sir."

"Oh, come the fuck on, Brick!" Butch snapped. "Blossom is more than capable—"

Heat settled in Brick's throat, in his eyes. Butch swallowed nervously and sunk in his chair.

"Blossom," he growled, "is not going to be part of the Big Strike. We do not know what those aliens did to her and I am not going to risk them getting their dirty fucking paws on her again. She can stay here and help the Professor for all I fucking care. She is not going into the field!"

He didn't like that look Boomer and Butch shared, but they intelligently kept their mouths closed.

Boomer cleared his throat nervously. "R-Right, so… The Big Strike is…happening in December?"

"Yes, right." Brick rubbed his forehead and breathed sharply through his nose. "It's a global stri—"

"Global!?" Butch stared at him agog, mouth hanging open and leaning forward again.

Brick narrowed his eyes and his brother immediately sat back.

"Yes, Butch, global. That's why I had recalled most of the units," he answered. "This way other bases around the world could get their units back in time and start coordinating with their closest allies. For us, I had you come back so soon so we could run the…Worse Cast Scenario simulation with all four of us. Five now, if Buttercup would curb her fucking temper."

Boomer's face went white.

Butch began to twitch.

"D-Did the Professor allow—?" his youngest brother began and his mouth snapped shut at Brick's look. Of course, the Professor wouldn't allow them to run that simulation, but desperate measures needed to be taken sometimes. "Brick! There's a reason that simulation needs both yours and Professor Utonium's codes!"

"We need to be prepared, Boomer," he argued. "I hoped— I planned on the Big Strike being the thing that brings down this so-called empire. We need to be prepared to do so and that simulation—"

"It's a death wish," Butch snarled. "You should fucking know that, Brick! Don't you remember the last time we tried that simulation?"

Brick's fingers twitched. His chest tightened and he blew out a hot breath.

The last time they had tried the Worst Case Scenario simulation had been a couple months before General Portman's death. They had a whole simulated unit and all four of them present, but the simulation had been a…disaster. Aterex was a formidable foe, for sure, and combined with the simulated army he had come with had led to bloodshed they wouldn't see until Seattle. Despite having very little data on Aterex, aside from Mojo's eyewitness account and some early footage from the war, the simulation had been an utter failure.

They hadn't been able to get more data on the self-proclaimed emperor either. The damn alien had stopped coming out of his hellhole over the years or, if he did, he didn't go far from it.

Now that they knew that he had had Pinky, that made sense he wouldn't go far. Best to keep an eye on his prize, right?

Brick swallowed the fire he felt in his throat. He clenched his fists tightly to stem the tremors there.

"We're stronger now," he muttered. "We could—"

"We could use Blossom's knowledge," Boomer interrupted and this time, he didn't back down at his glare. "Brick, Big Bro, they trained her. She…She has personal experience with the aliens. She doesn't…have to run the simulation with us, but if she…watches, maybe she could give us…pointers?"

Brick's mouth twisted. His knuckles hurt from clenching his fists so tightly.

"No."

A second voice echoed with his.

Eyebrows lifting, he turned to his middle brother, surprised that Butch was agreeing with him.

"Boomer, have you seen Blossom say Aterex's name?" Butch growled lowly. "She's fucking terrified of him." Brick twitched at that, at the very idea that his counterpart could be terrified of anything. "It may be a simulation, but who knows what seeing Aterex could trigger."

A look passed between the two of them. Brick didn't like it for the mere reason that he didn't understand.

"…you have a point," Boomer relented. "But she-she can still help!"

And back to this.

Brick rubbed his face.

"Let's…just get through this briefing first," he grumbled. He pulled his tablet back towards himself and flicked it on. "The Big Strike will take place in winter, as I said. I'm sure the two of you noticed that the aliens don't attack very often in winter."

They both looked surprised, but Boomer was the one who looked down thoughtfully, even pressing his knuckle to his mouth.

"…and if they do come out, they have special armor," he murmured.

"Precisely." Brick nodded and folded his hands. "All of the alien bases are also in areas that tend to be hot and humid. Paris is the farthest north of any of the alien bases. It's also one of the larger ones, of course, but no other alien bases are on the same latitude. The same can be said for the Southern Hemisphere. Comodoro Rivadavia is the farthest south of their bases. They like heat. They hate winter and the…cold…"

Cold.

The aliens hated the cold.

Brick stared between his brothers, but he vaguely registered a similar dawning look on Boomer's face. The aliens didn't go anywhere farther north than Paris. They had no bases in Canada or most of Russia. They had no other bases in southern Argentina than Comodoro Rivadavia. They had no bases in Chile or the Andes. If it snowed, any battles that occurred between their forces involved the humans who had sided with the aliens.

He felt ice crawling over his skin. He could see ice hitting his flames, saw steam rising between him and—

And—

Pink eyes glowed at him.

They had always assumed the attack had been…abrupt. But had…had the aliens…?

"Does…the Professor have any of Emmons' blood left?" he murmured, but he was standing before either of his brothers could answer.

Boomer followed on his heels as he made his way to the door.

"Whoa— Hey, guys!" Butch cried.

"I'm not sure," Boomer was saying when their brother caught up to them. "I know he's been studying it, but I'm not sure if he was studying her effect on it. Would that even be enough to test?"

Brick's mouth twisted.

"It will have to be for now," he admitted as they hurried down the hallway. "…I'll have to send a unit out to collect a sample."

"I'm willing to go," Boomer immediately said. "Brick, if the aliens purposefully—"

"She was a fucking prize," Brick snarled. "A fucking…"

"What are you two talking about?" Butch demanded, throwing his arms around them and forcing them to stop.

"Butch! We have to get the lab!" Boomer cried, shrugging out of his grip.

"Use you God damned head, Butch," Brick snapped, glaring at his brother. "The aliens don't like the cold."

"What's cold, Butch?" Boomer added. "You should be more than familiar with ice."

Butch froze. His eyes widened and flickered.

"Fuck."

"Exactly."

They continued their hurried pace. If Brick weren't so keenly aware of people giving them odd looks, he would have them fly to the damn lab.

"Do you think the aliens took her on purpose?" Butch murmured in a rare moment of self-awareness. They were running through a packed hallway, after all.

Heat bubbled in Brick's chest.

"I don't know. I don't fucking know, but they're not getting her back," he growled. "Mojo probably has some fucking freeze ray lying around we can use."

"If we can repurpose that, maybe see if the Professor could…replicate it—" Boomer began.

"I'm all for that, but won't that put…too much stress on the Professor?" Butch cut him off.

"This is a breakthrough, Butch!"

"The Professor is already overworked with Emmons' blood, Boomer!"

Brick ignored their arguing and picked up his pace. Maybe they should fly. Yes, they weren't far away now, but…before Mojo returned…

He turned a corner and immediately walked into someone.

"Fuck!"

He caught their arm and froze.

"…Mike?" Boomer asked.

Brick stared down at the lieutenant, his lieutenant, and felt cold wash over him. He shouldn't be here. It was too early. If he was here, that meant...

Robotically, he helped the other man stand up.

Mike Believe rubbed his head before standing at attention. Panic flashed over his face.

"There you are. I need to talk to you," he breathed.

"Can it wait? We have something we need to talk to the Professor about," Boomer countered.

Brick didn't like that dark look on Mike's face. The lieutenant looked over his shoulder before rubbing his face. His knuckles looked torn. Dark circles shadowed his eyes when their gazes met.

He definitely didn't like that unpleasant feeling curling in his stomach.

"Trust me. This is something we need to talk about now," he said lowly.

"Then tell me on the way, Lieutenant Believe," Brick answered and took a step around him.

"Brick!"

"Lieutenant, I am very busy at the moment so spit it out," he demanded.

"You—! Ugh!" Mike panted from where he was jogging next to him. "It's about Mojo!"

"Oh fuck, did he die?" Butch asked, sounding not at all saddened.

Brick didn't exactly blame him.

Yes, Mojo had helped the Resistance a lot. His intellect combined with the Professor's had created this whole base in a scant year or so, but there was no love lost between them. Mojo still treated Brick and his brothers like rambunctious children, even though Brick now outranked him and the three of them had proven themselves more than what he had made them.

"You always were failures when it came to these girls."

An alien species deciding to invade the planet wasn't their fault. Neither was their only bid for survival being to form a truce with the very Girls that they had been created to destroy. It wasn't their fault that fighting the Girls had grown boring and Mojo unoriginal. How many "greatest plan ever"s did they witness before they finally packed their minuscule bags and left?

"Unfortunately, no," Mike grumbled and Brick felt his own mouth twist. "It's what he brought here."

"Brought here? What could he—?" Boomer asked, but cut himself off with his own growl.

The heat returned to Brick's throat.

"Hello, my sons."

There, in front of the Professor's lab, stood none other than Mojo Jojo himself. He looked older than he had a year previous, his fur more noticeably gray rather than black and more wrinkles on his face. Other than that, he was the same as ever: the obnoxious helmet covering his enlarged brain, his damn cape over his Resistance jacket, and his shiny white boots.

"Who the fuck are you calling 'sons', pops?" Butch snarled.

Brick threw an arm across his brother's chest.

He met Mojo's watery gaze with one of displeasure.

"Mojo. You're back…early," he greeted.

"Of course! I had a breakthrough, that is to say I had an epiphany, or if you prefer, I have come to the realization about something that would revolutionize this war!" Mojo cackled. He really hadn't gotten rid of that evil laugh after all these years.

Brick could already feel the headache coming on as Mojo led the way into the Professor's lab. Yelling immediately assaulted their ears.

His head throbbed.

"Brick, tell him to get rid of it!" the Professor yelled and Brick had never seen the older man so distressed. His face was so red it looked purple. "It's a danger to everyone!"

"It's for science, Professor Utonium! Surely you of all people should understand how momentous, how pivotal, how important this is!" Mojo argued. "Do you not want to turn the tide of this war? Or do you like living underground, that is to say under the Earth's surface, the surface being the crust and—"

"You know I don't!" the Professor shouted back with a scowl. "But that-that thing—! I don't want it here!"

Something twisted in Brick's stomach.

A dreadful feeling he hadn't felt in years suddenly overcame him.

He turned to Mike, whose jaw was clenched and his skin pale. Their gazes met and those gray-blue eyes closed with his breath.

"Follow me," he muttered and he walked past the bickering scientists.

Walked past the pallid scientists who stared at him in askance.

Mike led him to a familiar door, a familiar door with a thermostat next to it. It had only been two weeks, hadn't it? Two weeks since Brick stood in front of this door and learned of what those aliens could do with their blood alone. What they had done to Pinky to keep her under their control.

The dreadful feeling doubled.

"Mike…" Butch murmured behind him, but the lieutenant had already opened the door.

There was a container inside the frigid room. A large container made of a dark metal with reinforced corners and a small porthole window on the small door. It looked like one of those old-fashioned diving pods, something straight from the Industrial Era. Frost already caked the whole thing and a small thermostat read somewhere below negative.

Ice covered the window.

"This is what I was trying to tell you," Mike said as he rubbed his arms. "This is what Mojo brought here."

Brick frowned before activating his x-ray vision.

His heart stopped.

One, or both, of his brothers sucked in a sharp breath. Both cursed.

Brick knew those gauntlets, knew that skin. He stared at the frost covered gold, eyes slowly travelling upwards.

A blank, inky face covered in frost. Milky bulbous eyes because those eyes had films and not eyelids like a human.

"He brought an alien?" Boomer breathed. "Is it…?"

One slow heartbeat echoed in his ears.

Brick clenched his fists.

"It's alive."