Act 1 Part 10- Holiday Hell Raising

Butch gave a loud cough as he felt himself lifted by the scruff of his green sweater and in the same moment, flung to the ground. His blond brother joined him a second later.

"You freaking idiots!"

The smell of acrid smoke and ash quickly filled up the room. Normally this meant Brick committing some form of arson, a personal favorite of his. But not today. Today that fire was reserved for something else. Them.

"Bro, calm down-"

"Don't tell me to be calm." A quick flash of those crimson orbs shut him up instantly. "You set an entire warehouse full of old oil drums on fire! It's a miracle you and Boom weren't killed! When I say no rough housing, what does that mean?"

The golden haired and raven haired boys looked at each other sheepishly.

"No rough housing."

"Exactly. And now we live in this hellhole."

Brick gestured around the hovel they currently called home. It was one of the many sites and abandoned shelters Brick had mapped out across Townsville. The roof had holes in it, dust aligned the railings, floors, and pretty much every square inch of the property. It was apparent there was no running water or electricity. California ensured they wouldn't freeze, however water bottles would be needed.

The Navy Yard had been the best by far of any of the places they've lived in so far, thus their fiery haired older brother giving them the third degree. Of course, Butch with all of his pent up energy and need to move around, to fight, couldn't resist pissing off Boomer to the point where he'd actually throw a punch back.

Doing so in an abandoned room full of oil drums, some of which were full, had not been on purpose. But even so, Butch didn't really think about things like that. It wasn't in his nature.

"You burn stuff all the time!"

"I burn stuff without actually blowing myself up," Brick countered.

"But Boomer-"

"Hey! Don't blame me. I didn't do nothin."

"Whining as usual. Typical baby."

"QUIET!"

Brick slammed the door behind them, nearly breaking the latch in the process, and began dropping off what few possessions they had on the ground. Both brothers awaited his judgment.

"That place blew up and now the cops are all over it. And where there's cops, there's Powerpuff Girls," he spat, twisting his face as he said the hated words. "Which is the last thing we need. Not to mention you two could have died."

"We would've been fine," Butch mumbled but it was the wrong thing to say.

"Really? Shall we test that theory? How resistant Chemical X is to flammable substances and a thousand degree heat?"

When no retort came in he crossed his arms triumphantly.

"Yeah, didn't think so."

He tossed both of their duffle bags to them, each one the color of their corresponding sweaters.

"Get unpacked. After you do, Boom come with me. We're going to get some grub."

"Yay!"

"Awesome, let's go get some sloppy joes. I'm personally going to eat-"

He was stopped by his older brother who moved in front and held up a hand.

"Whoa there, twitchy. You ain't going anywhere."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm officially placing you in the 'no fly zone'," Brick explained. "Which means no powers, no fighting, and no blowing anything up for the next two days."

Butch nearly exploded.

"Are you freaking kidding me?!"

Brick's face became stony faced and his response was equally as unmoving.

"Don't test me, Butch. You've caused enough trouble for a lifetime. Stay here. If you even so much as break a twig, I'll break you. Got it?"

Fuming but unable to respond without directly challenging his brother's authority, the ravenette bit his tongue, though he could almost taste the iron from doing so.

"Fine…bullshit...can't fly...can't blow things up…"

"Haha! You gotta stay inside!" Boomer taunted.

"Shut it Boom, you're a bigger turkey than the ones they'll be serving today," Brick reprimanded.

Butch's eyes popped open at that. Wait, if today was Thanksgiving that meant…

"Bro, please! You gotta let me tag along!"

Huffing and rolling his eyes, Brick bit.

"Why?"

"The football game is on today! It's tradition! Green Bay is playing Detroit! We have to watch!"

"What?" Boomer asked. "Doesn't Detroit suck?"

"It's the principle of it!" Butch continued to insist. "I've watched it every year since I was six. Come on, bro! Please!"

A fiery crimson glare shut him right up.

"Newsflash, dickhead: it's Thanksgiving. Most places are closed."

"There's that one Irish bar: Sligo's. They're always open. Frank's the only one who doesn't rat on me."

"Forget it, Butch. I'm not letting you jeopardize our position because you want to watch a football game. Everyone in this city hates our guts and they'll call the Powerpuffs as soon as they catch wind we're around."

"What are you afraid of the Puffs for?" Butch almost accused. He was treading dangerous ground and he knew it. But the Baron of Berserk wasn't backing down just yet.

"I'm not," Brick responded in a quiet tone, almost always a danger sign that the volcano was about to blow. "But my brothers...my family comes first. Maybe just think about that for once in your goddamn life."

For a split second, the tension almost boiled over. Boomer looked on with deep worry swimming in those ocean blue eyes, but said nothing. However, the magma cooled. Brick knew Butch was looking for a fight. He wasn't going to give him one. Not now, anyway.

"Stay here, Butch," Brick ordered for the last time. "And for the love of God, don't fuck anything up."

Brick took off, but Boomer hesitated before ripping a huge fart and following suit.

"Haha!"

"You bastard!"

Two streaks, one red and one blue zoomed off into the sky, leaving the middle Ruff to sulk and simmer in his own rage and Boomer's gas.

Gazing up at the clouds, it took all of his self control (and there wasn't much to begin with) to not chase after the arrogant, blowhard and give him a piece of his mind. Who the hell was he to take away his powers? The freedom to blow things up because he liked to blow things up? And no football? What sane person said no to football?

It was like pouring salt in a wound. Butch especially despised the idea that they, the Rowdyruff Boys, should be hiding like a bunch of scared little sissies. Who cared what the Powerpuffs thought? Brick wouldn't admit it but he'd been running from Blossom since his last failed attempt at trying to ruin their reputation.

Well he wasn't running. Never, nada, nope, zilch. Butch relished any challenge and backing down and acting otherwise would never do.

Only Brick's raw firepower and strength prevented him from tearing this place down. He already hated it. Worst yet still, it was his fault and deep down he knew it, the words coming back in a haunting manner.

Family comes first

"Fuck you, Brick," he muttered angrily. "I'll show you."

He didn't care about the inevitable ass kicking he'd receive later or the potential dressing down from their suddenly responsible older brother. Butch wasn't going to sit around like some weenie and take this.

What a Rowdyruff Boy wants...a Rowdyruff Boy gets

That hadn't changed since the time of their birth. It sure as hell wasn't now.

Giving the middle finger in the direction of Brick's red streak, he blew another hole through the roof and rocketed away in search of food and football.

*Beep *Beep *Beep

The noise from the oven signalled that the turkey was supposed to be done. At least in theory. In reality, the Professor could not roast a bird to save his life. For all the prowess he usually showed in cooking and preparation, there wasn't a single year in the Utonium household where he hadn't completely burned the main course.

"Blossom, could you come here, sweetie? I need your ice breath!"

And this year proved to be no different.

"Coming, Professor!"

The lid of the oven opened to reveal a smoking mess which threatened to overtake the entire kitchen and living area.

Buttercup coughed as the disaster unfolded yet again. Honestly, why did they even bother celebrating Thanksgiving?

"Geez, dad, did you set the temperature correctly?" she asked as Blossom rushed in and quickly dispersed the smoke with a single breath.

"I thought I did. It says right here in Cooks Illustrated. Roast at 530 degrees for four hours."

Bubbles, who had now joined the commotion, grabbed the cookbook and turned it right side up, squinting closely.

"Oh no, Professor. It says roast at 350 degrees, not 530. You have it backwards."

Buttercup slammed her head down on the table. Of course.

"Can't we go one Thanksgiving without completely ruining everything?" she bemoaned. She took a gaze into the oven and saw a black charred mess completely covered in ice by the virtue of her older sister.

"Come on, Buttercup. It's not that bad," Blossom said positively. "The mashed potatoes are fine. So is the gravy. All the stuffing, cranberry sauce, vegetables, and pretty much everything else are ready to go."

"And yet it's the most famous part of the meal we never seem to get right."

"She's not wrong," the Professor noted with some disappointment. Nevertheless, he tried to put on a bright face for his daughters. "But this year is going to be different. We have numerous guests: the Mayor, Ms. Bellum, Ms. Keane. It's still only noon time. I'm sure that if you go down to Mueller's Pork Store, we can get another one before they arrive."

Buttercup didn't like that suggestive tone.

"What do you mean 'I' go down to the store?"

The Professor placed a couple of green bills in her palm.

"It means I'm asking you to buy another turkey."

Buttercup resisted giving back any sass. 'Ask' in her dad's language was essentially an order. Despite being a softie at heart, one didn't refuse that kind of order.

"Do I have to?" she groused. "Why can't Bubbles do it?"

"Because I'm busy getting ready, heehee," she declared happily yet with a degree of imperiousness as she floated upstairs to their room.

"You have your outfit on and you've brushed your hair twice already!" Buttercup called back up. But it was no use. Happy humming could be heard as the blonde prepped herself once more to be the 'prettiest girl at the party.'

"Spoiled, rotten, lousy…"

"Buttercup," her father warned. "Be nice."

"What? Bubbles doesn't mind wearing these goofy, girly dresses or being seen in them. Why do I have to go out looking like a dork?"

All three of them were wearing their usual party frocks complete with the usual white tights and black Mary Janes. Underneath the frock lay a petticoat which gave it an extra poof. To add insult to injury, tiny green bows were placed on each side of her raven bob for that additional feminine touch…yuck.

The blue Puff adored wearing girly crap like that. Blossom also didn't mind dolling up pretty. But Buttercup would have preferred being coated in monster vomit than find herself in such a ridiculous ensemble. Personally, she felt they were all getting too old for them anyway.

And yet, the Professor insists every year, every Thanksgiving, every Christmas, every Easter

"Honey, you look adorable as always. I know it's not your favorite thing in the world to dress up like this but it's important to look nice on certain occasions."

"Yeah, Buttercup," Blossom added with a smile. "Besides, I know you don't really hate being girly."

"Wanna bet?"

"Gladly."

"All right, that's enough of that," their father cut in. "Buttercup if you promise to go down and get another turkey, you'll have first dibs on the drumstick this year."

The man knows me too well

It was common knowledge that was the green Puff's favorite part of the bird. And the perfect bribe to ensure her cooperation. And it would wipe that stupid smirk off of Blossom's face. Where did she get off telling her what she did and didn't like?

"Fine," she grumbled. "I'll go."

"Excellent. Give my regards to Heinrich. Oh and Buttercup. Remember my rule: no crime fighting on holidays. The hotline is turned off for a reason."

Nodding, Buttercup left the house without another word. She wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. At least it was Thanksgiving and most people were already inside prepping their own meals. It's not like anyone would be around anyway.

When Butch had spoken about 'Frank' not ratting on him, that had not been a lie.

Frank Donnelly was the owner and proprietor of 'Sligo's' a rough and tumble Irish bar that often contrasted with Townsville's squeaky clean West Coast image. He was from Providence, Rhode Island and brought the same blue collar New England work ethic and gruffness to his bar. Transplants from the East were the most frequent regulars, but many appreciated the man's willingness to serve all kinds no matter what the circumstance. That included the Rowdyruff Boys, especially Butch.

The Green Ruff couldn't help but smile as he remembered the first time he tried to rob the place. Instead of cowering in fear like everyone else, Frank had ordered him 'to get his little punk ass off the counter' and had no trouble standing up for himself. The Yankee Irishman was a fighter and he respected that above all else. That day, he was served an order of a burger, fries, and a large root beer if he kept his mouth shut and watched the football game without disturbing the other patrons.

To this day, the man was the only one besides Brick who'd ever tamed the beast. The insatiable desire to fight or blast everything that moved and even more impressively, keep him quiet. Adding to that, Frank was one of the few people who operated on Thanksgiving day. By choice even.

Whatever, he wasn't going to complain. Brick and Boomer wouldn't be back for awhile. He was going to enjoy himself regardless of what they thought. Of what anyone thought.

Sure enough, when he arrived the TVs were flashing inside and the door left slightly ajar. Always a good sign.

"Hey Frank, what's the word!" he shouted loudly as he walked inside.

"Take it easy, Spikes. Not so loud."

Butch laughed at the common nickname Frank used for him and peered around. Apparently barely anyone else had bothered to show up, only three others were currently seated, drinking the afternoon away. Sligo's was a small little joint, with a standard bar and a handful of booths, tables and chairs crammed into a back open space made entirely of wood. Signs lined the walls featuring numerous New England sports memorabilia including pictures of Tom Brady, Larry Bird, Nomar Garciaparra, and Bobby Orr. Numerous license plates covered the back bar area above the hard liquor shelf from every which where. For some odd reason Frank liked to collect them.

He took in the atmosphere and breathed in heavily. This place always had a funny musty smell which reminded him of mildew and stale beer. Others might be turned off by it, but not him. He loved it. In a sense it was the closest thing to a home the Rowdyruff had.

"Is the game on yet?" he pestered eagerly.

"Yeah, kid. Just started. You know the drill, keep quiet and I'll get you a meal. You want wings or a sandwich this time?"

"Both."

Frank wiped sweat from his brow. He looked to be in his mid sixties with thinning white hair, a wide nose, and piercing green eyes. Though not obese, he did have a small gut most likely from consuming too much of his own cuisine. Rolled up sleeves complimented the Patriots jersey he wore underneath.

"You're a pain in the ass, you know that?"

He was handed a root beer which he drank with gusto.

"Hey, remember our deal. You give me football and food, and I won't blow this place up."

The New Englander snorted loudly.

"If you were going to blow up my place, you would have done it a long time ago. Pipe down. I got your order."

Butch was tempted to laugh or even firing a blast of heat vision at the man. But he refrained. Something about this old bastard entertained him.

Or maybe this is one place you actually don't want to destroy

Pushing that aside, he began to relax as Green Bay kicked the ball off. A shame. Boomer had been right, Detroit did suck. This game was only worth watching because of Brett Favre.

Much as he loved the constant hitting, tackling, and violence of this game, Butch began to feel an emptiness. The same one that crept up on him in private moments where the sudden weight and reality of the world began to make itself quite apparent. He hated it but sometimes there was no escaping the grim sense of nothingness that became increasingly self evident.

There was more to all of this. To life. That their birth and purpose wasn't some prison toilet mix up created by a genius ape. Otherwise, what was the point? What did he have to hold onto if not the same routine over and over again?

Our lives suck. Might as well punch my way through it

"What's the matter, kid?"

That New England accent was certainly hard to miss.

"Nothing."

"Spikes, I'm not a therapist but I've served thousands of people, all of em who had problems of some kind. They all gotta look. Same one as yours right now."

Butch didn't answer. He just wanted to watch football. That's the reason he was here and nothing else.

"Why are you here, anyway?"

The middle Ruff flashed a look of annoyance.

"What do you mean? I'm here every year. Sometimes every couple of weeks."

"What about those hooligan brothers of yours?

"They're doing other shit. Now buzz off, you're distracting me."

Frank gave a sigh as he slung a towel over his broad shoulders and ran a hand through the white patch of hair still attached to his head.

"Kid, do you know why I'm the only joint in town still open on Thanksgiving?"

"I don't care."

"Because I ain't gotta family to celebrate with."

This statement was enough to get Butch to divert his attention from the game.

"No family?"

"That's right. I'm one of four from an old time Irish family back in Providence. Mom and Dad are gone. One brother's doing twenty years, the other kicked it boozing too much, and my sister accidentally drove off a highway. I'm the only one left."

Butch didn't say anything. What was Frank trying to say here? Sure it was sad but what did it have to do with him?

As if the Irishman could read his mind, he answered.

"Point is, I keep this place open so it can be a spot for people who are like me: alone and in need of some company on a day like today."

He gestured around at the three people currently eating and drinking silently. None of them looked particularly happy. All appeared older than fifty and each had an alcoholic beverage in hand.

"Johnny's divorced, no kids," Frank continued to explain, pointing to one. "Barbara? Has a twin sister who she hasn't spoken to in years. Won't go back to Maine for the reunions either. And that poor sap, Ted...well let's just say he's lived with his overbearing mother a bit too long. They all come to this place because it's the only thing they got. They're alone."

Butch shrugged as he tried to return his focus back to the football at hand. But that piercing gaze from Frank never left him.

"Look at me, spikes."

Surprisingly, the most violent and unpredictable Ruff obeyed.

"You're not like these people. For better or worse, you have two brothers...a family. That's worth something. I don't know what it is you Rowdies do on Thanksgiving and I probably don't want to, but you belong with them. You understand me?"

No one talked to Butch like that. No one. He'd robbed and forced hundreds of shopkeepers into submission. But Frank Donnelly was a bull, a fighter like him. But this wasn't the language of someone who wanted to fight. It was something else entirely.

Before he could answer, however, the sound of the bell rang and five men entered the bar. Butch turned his attention back to the TV as he didn't want to miss the opening drive, while Frank turned to address the newcomers.

"What can I get you boys?"

"I dunno. That depends."

Something about that accent, the nasally New York twang, was familiar to the ravenette Rowdy though he couldn't quite place his finger on it. It clashed mightily with Frank's New England dialect.

"On what?" the Yankee Irishman asked with a degree of suspicion in his voice.

"On whether youse cough up the goods."

The clicking of a gun could be heard and suddenly Butch realized who it was standing in the doorway. A certain group with a reputation even worse than theirs.

Ace and the Gangreen Gang had come to play.

"Listen up, pal. I'm only gonna say this once. You fork over all the money in the register and your most expensive whiskey and no one gets hurt."

The barrel of that gun was aimed straight at Frank and it began to make Butch's blood boil. He'd heard of these guys, mostly by reputation which was that of low level hoodlums who delighted in torturing those who lacked the ability to fight back. He didn't know all their names. One, despite being older by several years, was barely taller than he was and had a massive underbite. Another wore little more than a potato sack and carried a pronounced hunch in his posture, almost like a reject Frankenstein with bulging eyes. The other two, he did know: Billy something, an enormous, obese moron with one eye and Snake, a slimy, kilt wearing freakshow who couldn't pronounce the letter 's' properly.

And of course, the infamous leader Ace Copular. Sporting his usual sunglasses and slickback, greasy black hair he needed no introductions.

A shot fired in the air, breaking one of the lights.

The gun was new though. Butch didn't like it one bit. Only pussies without superpowers used guns.

"Move it, wiseguy! Billy, Arturo...make sure he complies."

"Si, boss!"

"Sure thing, boss!"

The mindless morons obeyed without question and both quickly surrounded Frank as he was forced to acquiesce. But something about the situation pushed Butch's temper to the boiling point. Seeing the barman being strongarmed like that...wasn't right.

"Hold up."

The entire bar seemed to focus its attention on him now, including Ace, who peeked over his sunglasses.

"Well, well. I almost didn't recognize ya, squirt. You're a Rowdyruff Boy ain't ya?"

"That's right."

"I'll make ya a deal. Youse grab me a bottle of that Jack Daniels and I'll give out a small piece of the cut."

For some reason, the offer didn't tempt Butch. Perhaps he just wasn't thinking straight, or maybe he just wanted an excuse to scrap. But the twisted even fearful look in Frank's eye didn't sit right. No, he wouldn't take advantage of one of the few people who didn't treat him like garbage.

"I gotta better idea. You leave this place alone and I won't slam your face into a glass window."

Ace tisked his tongue multiple times.

"Wrong move, kiddo."

Butch slowly floated himself off the stool and fired two shots of heat vision at Billy and Arturo, who were slammed back into the wall away from Frank.

"You clowns can't take me in a fight. And if you think Buttercup hits hard…"

He cracked his knuckles as emerald orbs began to glow.

"...I'm ten times worse."

Ace didn't look fazed or if he did, refused to outwardly show it and pointed the gun straight at him.

"Ha! Do you really think bullets can hurt me?" Butch taunted.

"Nah. But they can hurt grandma over here."

Ace suddenly snatched the woman named Barbara and held the 357 Magnum straight at her temple. She began screaming but was quickly silenced.

"Shaddap! Unless you want me to put a cap in that wig. Step aside, Ruff boy!"

Butch wasn't going to back down and his eyes began glowing red with heat vision. Hands crackled with green energy that would bring down in full force against this joker and his mutated mooks. He began twitching with anticipation.

"Stand down, kid."

The order came from Frank, who by now was sweating profusely, but the look in his eye betrayed fear. Not for himself but for the patron.

"These shitheads are mine. I wanna fight!"

"And would you really risk her life to get one?"

Frank pointed at Barbara who was too scared to give off anything more than a whimper. Personally, Butch usually didn't care all that much about who lived or died as long as he got what he wanted. But not this time. Something about Frank's question made him reconsider. Even if it went against everything he believed in. Slowly, his twitching dissipated and he lowered himself down back onto the barstool.

"Take whatever you want," Frank told the unscrupulous gang. "And let her go."

"See? This guy gets it. Come on, boys. Grab the money and the hooch and let's scram."

"Yesssss, boss."

It took all of one minute for the Gang to collect the money and several bottles of alcohol. True to his word, Ace did indeed let go of the woman but not before parting words.

"Gentleman, lady. It's been a pleasure. Oh and Rowdyruff?"

He aimed the magnum straight at Butch's stomach.

"Bullets may not kill ya, but it doesn't mean I won't try."

The gun fired and Butch suddenly felt a punch to his gut so powerful it knocked the wind out of him. Throbbing pain entered his left side as he gasped for breath and struggled to stay conscious.

"Hehehe. Suckas."

Screeching tires and triumphant guffawing laughter was the last thing Butch heard before everything went black.

Buttercup knew holidays could become hectic and were stressful for a lot of people. Whoever said they were relaxing either didn't have living relatives or was selling something. Even villains seemed to take a day off or two this time of year.

Which is why her heart sank like a stone in water when she saw police sirens surrounding Mueller's Pork Store. Broken glass was strewn everywhere, police lights flashed, and they were interviewing what looked like multiple witnesses, none of whom appeared seriously injured but quite shaken.

This can't be good

She touched down and immediately recognized one of the officers: Dave Duncan. A middle aged mustached man of lanky build and even temperament. Buttercup liked dealing with him the most out of the TPD. He was serious about his work but not overbearing and always played it straight.

"Officer Duncan? What happened here?"

"Stick up robbery," he told her straight away. "Out of the blue. Mueller was about an hour away from closing time when it happened."

"Fuckers. Who robs a Deli on Thanksgiving?"

That was another cool thing about Officer Duncan. He didn't care if she said four letter words.

"We're trying to find that out," Duncan replied. "I got Pitts over there talking to the old German himself. But he's hysterical….by the way what are you doing here? I thought the hotline was switched off today."

"It is," Buttercup clarified. "I was sent to get another turkey for our dinner tonight."

They were suddenly interrupted by a squeaky, frightened voice.

"Oh! Thank goodness! You're here!"

The ruddy faced Mueller, a barrel chested German man with broad shoulders, sprinted forward from the cop asking him questions and appealed to Buttercup directly.

"Buttercup, I was doing a last minute give away for the soup kitchens. Every year, I take all the unsold turkeys and hand them out, when Ace showed up and pointed a gun at me! He took all the turkeys and all the money in the register! His thugs destroyed my shop!"

Accent aside, the green Puff clenched her fists as her temper began to rise dangerously. She'd fought all manner of monsters and villains but the Gangreen Gang hit a particular sore spot she did not like to be reminded of. Especially that, greasy haired, fork tongued rogue, Ace.

"Where did he go?" she asked quietly, in a furious tone.

"I don't know, Buttercup," Mueller said, tears brimming in his watery blue eyes. "They took off before I could see their license plate...this-this has never happened before. Those bullies have caused me trouble before but a gun?!"

Officer Duncan placed a comforting hand on his back before being paged on his walkie talkie.

"We got a robbery down at Sligos," the voice informed on the other end. "Gangreen Gang. There were shots fired apparently. We're on our way over."

"Copy that. Cut off the main road and bring them in. Do not fire unless fired on. I want those motherless bastards alive."

He placed the speaker back on his belt before addressing the Powerpuff once more.

"Buttercup, you can go home if you want. It's a holiday. We can handle the Gangreen Gang."

She recognized straight away that Duncan was being noble. The Townsville Police dealt with more crap than any other in the country and no one ever complained (save for Officer Brikowski, the corrupt asshole). On any other occasion Buttercup might have been inclined to take up the offer. But not this time. The Gang had become increasingly violent as time went on and if Ace was currently sporting a firearm it only made them much more dangerous.

The hotline was turned off, leaving no way to contact her sisters or the Professor. She couldn't let those numbskulls get away with it.

"No. I'll take care of it, Officer. Trust me."

"Are you sure? I can-"

"Trust me."

Officer Duncan did not argue, having enough intelligence to know when Buttercup sought blood. In situations such as these, it was best to turn a blind eye, no matter how noble their heroes were.

"All right. You know the drill. Drop em off at Precinct 13. Hopefully the lawyers can get the charges to stick this time...Sergeant belay that order. The Powerpuff Girls are on it."

The city still considered the Gangreen Gang a relative non threat and therefore kept getting sentences reduced or dropped altogether in favor of crime bosses and other villains the Powerpuff Girls hadn't caught yet.

Buttercup nodded and wasted no time in taking flight. This was personal.

Rule or no rule, she wasn't going to let a lowlife like Ace ruin Thanksgiving.

Not for her or anyone else.

"Kid! Kid! Oh for crying out loud...Spikes wake up!"

Butch finally came to when a glass of water was drenched over his head.

"Ack!" he sputtered. "Frank!?"

"Don't do that to me, kid. I thought you died."

He sat up and saw those piercing green eyes giving a hard but concerned stare. His stomach gave a painful jolt as a bullet dropped to the floor.

"He got you straight in the gut."

Butch brushed aside the concern and tried to play it off best he could.

"Come on, like I said bullets can't kill me."

"Doesn't matter. Apparently they still pack a punch. Even for you."

Butch reached down and touched the spot where he'd been hit before a painful jolt ended that little adventure.

"It's probably a bad bruise," Frank told him. "I have some first aid."

"I'm fine," Butch said through gritted teeth. "I got Chemical X. It'll heal in a few hours. Where'd those shitheads go?"

"They're long gone, kid."

"How long was I out?"

"Only five minutes but they had a getaway car. No way is anyone catching them."

"No one except me," Butch growled with unspeakable fury. They tried to kill him. Those lowlife, green skinned punks thought they could challenge a Rowdyruff Boy and get away with it? They were in for a rude awakening.

"Spikes-"

"I'll rip their fucking heads off! "

Realizing he wouldn't be able to stop the ten year old, the Irishman relented but not without parting words. And a warning.

"You'd best get out of here then. Cops are on their way."

He didn't elaborate further and didn't need to. Police officers didn't have the capability of taking on or arresting anyone with superpowers. That didn't mean they wouldn't try or worse yet, call the Powerpuff Girls. Butch appreciated the gesture. Frank Donnelly...the one person in this world who didn't treat him like some prison toilet fiend. Something deep welled up inside but he pushed it back down. Now wasn't the time to be a sissy.

"They'll regret messing with me!" he declared loudly as he returned to his feet and dusted off the trademark green sweater.

"Spikes?"

"Yeah?"

"Give em hell."

He didn't need to be told twice. And he didn't need to go far. Everyone knew where the Gangreen Gang liked to get their kicks.

Butch blasted through the doors and sped off towards the Townsville junkyard, green energy practically pulsing through his fists..

Finding the dump took about five minutes. Butch had been here a few times with Brick and Boomer, paling around, breaking things, lighting tires on fire, etc. All in a good day's work. They usually didn't run into Ace and his gang of sycophants given the size of the facility.

But today was a different story.

"All right. If I was a worthless, green skinned piece of shit, where would I be hiding out?" he thought out loud.

He stood in the middle of the dump, where piles upon piles of garbage, trinkets, abandoned cars, and all sorts of junk stood like a mountain range, almost completely obscuring the view of the skyscrapers which lay in the distance. The smell was equally as foul, but Butch didn't complain and ignored the stench. He'd been in worse situations. Brick once threw him into a pile of elephant dung at the zoo.

The pain in his side throbbed once more and he winced in an effort to fight through it.

"Fucking bullets. Cheap shot me, why don't ya."

He gazed around again, searching for any sign or clue that might lead him to the gang's respective location. Unfortunately for Butch, patience was not a virtue he currently held. Besides, it was easier to just blow things up...most of the time. People responded to that threat.

"Hey assholes!" he yelled out while raising himself into the air. "You have ten seconds to come on out here and fight me or I'm going to turn this place into a wasteland...even more than it already is!"

When no one answered, Butch began his countdown. So be it, the stupid cowards.

"Ten!"

Still no answer.

"Nine!"

He began to charge up his power.

"Eight!"

Slowly building.

"Seven!"

He truly did relish destroying things.

"Six!"

That trademark green energy felt so good in between the finger tips.

"Five!"

He winced as the bruise gave another jolt. Motherfuckers. They'd be sorry in a second.

"Four!"

Two balls illuminated like emeralds inside his hands.

"Three!"

Getting ever closer to the outcome he desired.

"Two!"

Fuck it. He gave them fair warning. A hand raised in the air.

"One!"

Sayonara suckers!

"HEY!"

Much to his chagrin, Butch turned around and saw the person he liked least in this world: Buttercup Utonium.

"Stand down, idiot!"

"Why don't you make me?"

"Are you trying to get everyone killed? Do you realize how much flammable material is in this junkyard?"

"YES! That's why I'm trying to blow it up!"

The greens seethed at each other for multiple seconds as the forefront of their rivalry was nearly brought to bear in a violent cataclysm that marked every conflict between them. Until Butch got a good look at her attire.

"What the hell is that?"

"What is what?"

Snickering turned into full blown hyena like laughter.

"That thing you're wearing. Lose a bet?"

Buttercup's eyes began blazing, lime green orbs glowing. She grabbed Butch by the scruff of his sweater.

"Do you have a death wish?"

But the Rowdyruff only grinned like a maniac in response as his own eyes gave the same glow.

"By all means. Make my day."

It seemed inevitable a clash of the green titans was afoot. Until a voice interrupted the potential brouhaha.

"Go ahead, Buttercup. Make my day too."

Ace and the rest of his goons had appeared. All five, now in their early twenties, had a bottle of some form of alcohol in their hands. Aside from Big Billy, who's girth prevented most forms of intoxication, they appeared quite drunk. Especially their ringleader who leered nastily towards them.

"Oh, don't mind me. Keep doing what you were doing," he said, slurring his words ever so slightly. "I enjoy a good fight after a meal on Thanksgiving."

Buttercup let go of Butch and redirected her ire towards the gangrenous miscreants.

"Those weren't your turkeys to steal," she said aggressively. "They were meant for the homeless and the soup kitchens."

"Aw well good thing we fit both of those categories, don't we boys? A little Thanksgiving gift to ourselves."

The rest of the gang began laughing and hiccuping rather stupidly.

"You're not homeless," Buttercup countered. "You choose to be lazy assholes that live in a dump while preying on actual vulnerable people."

"And you shot me!" Butch added indignantly.

Buttercup gave him a curious glance.

"Shot you?"

"Yeah! Down at Sligo's! They robbed Frank. So I followed them here to kick their ass!"

"Shouldnta got in the way," Ace with a shrug. "Still bruisin, kiddo?"

Butch tried not to wince as the pain in his side throbbed once more. Goddamn it, Chemical X needed to work faster!

"Not as bad you'll be in a second," he growled, raising a glowing fist.

"Oh, but I don't think that's going to happen," Ace said almost a little too cockily, pulling out his gun once more and aiming it towards them in a sloppy manner. "You see, we all got firearms now."

A series of metallic clicks could be heard as every member of the gang followed suit, barrels all aimed at Butch.

"Bullets don't kill but they hurt don't they?" the Italian American continued with an increasingly smug smirk. "And I got an 'ace' in the hole to speak."

"What?"

"My darling Buttercup, of course."

Butch snorted. What was this guy talking about? But when he turned to look at his counterpart, she held an odd expression. It was almost...hesitant.

What the hell?

"Shut your mouth, Ace," she said in a voice uncharacteristically flustered.

"Oh but you love it when I talk, don't ya? In fact there's a lot of things about me you like."

"I can think of ten thousand things I'd rather do than listen to you talk," she seethed back.

"See if that were true, you wouldn't be here right now," Ace continued to slur, gun not moving from Butch's head. "Face it, Buttercup, you're a lot more like us than you realize."

"I am nothing like you!"

Butch didn't understand why his counterpart was slowly turning magenta or why her fists were clenched in denial. What the hell was going on? Buttercup didn't back down from anyone. All of a sudden this sleaze made her go all loopy?

"But that ain't true, is it?" Ace continued to purr. "You hung out with us on multiple occasions. In fact, I'd say you rather enjoyed yourself."

"You tried to kill my sisters!" Buttercup roared back.

"Nothing personal, babe. A man's gotta do what he's gotta do, ya know? But there's always room for one more…"

He took a step forward, that smug smirk turning into a cheshire grin.

"Look at you dressed up all nice and pretty."

"Shut up," Buttercup said through clenched teeth, her face growing redder by the second.

"Come on, Buttercup. I think we both know who the real enemy is here. It's that spikey haired punk always givin ya trouble. So do us both a favor and get rid of him...before I do."

Wait a minute...was this prick really trying to turn his counterpart against him. I mean sure they hated each other to begin with but seriously, what did Ace have on her?

The green Puff closed her eyes and clenched so tightly her body began to shake.

"Go ahead...it's what you want after all."

For a split second Butch really did believe Buttercup would do as told. She opened her eyes and gave him a look...one so pained and vulnerable it hit harder than any punch he'd received in his life.

The sound of a blast could be heard but instead of the green energy hitting Butch, it set aflame an abandoned car directly behind the gang, forcing them to jump to avoid the blast.

"You don't know what I want, Ace," she snarled. "And you never did."

Whoa that was kinda badass

"Very well then, have it your way. Open fire, guys!"

Thankfully, Butch was ready this time and raised a green shield while the bullets bounced harmlessly off of its energy.

"Can't believe you actually took my side, Butters," he said to her with a small grin.

"Yeah, well don't get used to it. There are some things I hate more than loud, obnoxious boys."

"I knew you liked me after all."

"Zip it, pinhead. Let's put our differences aside this one time and kick the shit out of them. You take the left and I take the right. That cool with you?"

Butch's grin turned manic and his right eye began that familiar twitch once more.

"Though you'd never ask."

The shield dropped but by then, the Gangreen Gang didn't stand a chance. Butch used his heat vision to melt the guns currently held by Lil Arturo and Grubber. Summoning his full strength, two punches and a kick was all that was needed to send them flying backwards. God, he hated that dwarf.

Turning, he saw that Buttercup did the same with Big Billy and Snake leaving Ace as the last man standing, practically fuming by now.

"You little turds! Why I oughta-"

Butch zoomed towards him and Ace prepared to fire the Magnum once more. But he'd lost the element of surprise. He also forgot to count. Firing two shots that both missed, the greasy leader realized too late the chamber was empty and required a reload.

POW!

A punch to the kisser slammed Ace up against the wall of their hideout. But Butch didn't stop there. He punched him again, again, again, and again, each collision of his fist to the jaw skyrocketing his adrenaline. Hitting something hadn't felt this good in a long time and he wanted this prick to suffer. The rush, the excitement, the thrill...nothing in life compared to this.

Then the punching stopped suddenly. Turning he saw Buttercup floating three feet behind him. That look in her lime green eyes didn't lie. She wanted a piece. Far more than he did. Butch wasn't the most intelliigent of folks, but he knew enough about his counterpart. He knew about fighters and how you felt when someone did you wrong.

"Here. He's all yours."

At first, Buttercup did nothing, bowing her head slightly, leaving Butch to wonder if she actually had the guts to do it. To deliver the final blow against this piece of shit.

"Aww Buttercup," Ace said with a bloody smile. "I knew you couldn't-"

WHAM!

The subsequent punch was so powerful it instantly broke Ace's nose.

Blood spurted and a pair of sunglasses shattered. Ace Copular was down for the count.

"Not gonna lie, I enjoyed seeing that right hook used on someone else for once," he said through slight panting.

"Don't get used to it," came the sharp retort. Buttercup still gave a hardened stare at the Gangreen leader, currently unconscious, his blood splattered all over her party dress.

"What's your deal with him anyway?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come on, Butters. I ain't that stupid. He was sweet talkin ya. It was really creepy actually."

For a second he thought he might have pushed it too far. Buttercup muttered something about 'losing self control' before she gave a vague, tired response.

"We...have a history. Let's just leave it at that."

He didn't ask any further questions. Pushing Buttercup's buttons was a favorite pastime of his but not today. What would be the point anyway?

Wow, did I actually think that?

"He shot you."

Their attention diverted to the hole in the lower part of his sweater where the bruise was slowly receding but still quite evident in its purplish coloration.

"You uh...gonna be okay?"

"I'm fine. The X in my veins will take care of it."

The fact that she even asked was a miracle in itself. They didn't care about each other's well being, the whole relationship depended on how hard they could punch! Right? Since when did the world get so crazy?

"Well in any case, let's put things right," Buttercup said as she entered the doorway to the gang's hideout.

"Huh?"

"The stuff they stole, moron," she called back out and soon exited with a bag full of giant turkeys and bottles of hooch.

"Oh, yeah that."

"Going to go back to Sligo's?"

Butch thought about it. He had originally gone there as a way to simultaneously entertain himself and to piss off Brick. But considering the circumstances, the mood to go around being a rebellious hooligan had temporarily lost its appeal.

"Nah, I'm going to find Brick and Boom."

He awkwardly shifted wondering if Buttercup planned on trying to arrest him. But she made no move to do so, instead tossing one of the turkeys at him. They'd both had enough for one day.

"What the hell am I supposed to do with this?"

"Eat it, roast it, burn it, whatever, I don't care. Don't question a gift. Just my way of saying...thanks."

Butch processed the gesture for a moment, hardly daring to believe the Toughest Fighter capable of such thoughtfulness. Then that wide jokester grin reappeared.

"Who'd have thought you had a soft side, Butterboo."

"If you don't leave in about five seconds, I'm changing my mind."

"See ya!"

He zoomed off until he was nothing but a dark green streak in the overcast sky. It presented quite the monumental occasion. For the first time since their inception, the greens had walked away without a fight.

"See ya, Butchy boy," Buttercup muttered softly.

When Butch arrived back, the awaiting older brother did not look happy. This was to be expected. Brick had told him to stay in the house and he'd directly disobeyed.

He didn't even bother going through the door, instead landing straight in the living room through one of the existing holes in the roof.

"Butch, do you remember what I told you a couple hours ago?"

"Yes."

"What was that?"

"You're gonna get in trouble," the blond sang from behind.

"Shut up, Boomer. I'll repeat the question: what did I tell you?"

Brick's eyes weren't blazing, but they were hard and held no patience for whatever perceived excuse he was about to receive. A single foot taped up and down like clockwork. Also a bad sign.

"No powers, flying, or blowing things up for two days."

"Exactly, and what did you do?"

Butch knew he had to pull a fast one before Brick got seriously upset. Fortunately, he had a plan.

"Listen, bro...I know I ran off."

"There's a bullet hole in your sweater. Just what the hell happened?"

"It's a long story…" he said slowly, not desiring to divulge the full details of the day's adventure. "But while I was out, I got something for us to share."

Without warning a turkey was sent straight in the air and a series of heat rays roasted the bird into edible form within seconds. Boomer caught it but he had to toss it around like a hot potato.

"AGH! Hot! Hot!"

"You're right, Brick. Sometimes I don't think before doing shit. So to make it up to you guys...I got us a turkey."

Brick raised a brow before responding. Crimson eyes stared intently at his brother

"We don't usually celebrate holidays."

"True, but we're still a family like you said. A family that needs to eat."

He gave a cheeky grin to which Brick rolled his eyes signalling he was off the hook.

"You are one hyperactive dumbass. Come on, let's chow down. Boom and I stole some food at the market." He then whistled over to the blonde. "Boomer! Stop juggling that thing like a rodeo clown."

"I can't! It's too hot!"

"Well then drop it in the kitchen sink. We have one of those at least."

Butch's smile widened. Thanksgiving or no, that empty feeling from earlier had largely disappeared. Frank had been right all along. Even through all the bullshit they faced on a daily basis, at least he wasn't alone.

None of them were.

Buttercup prepared for the inevitable scolding she'd receive upon arrival back to the house. A blood stained party dress, ripped tights, and scuffed shoes...yup the Professor was going to have a fit. So were her sisters.

Sure enough, the dressing down began almost as soon as she entered the doorway.

"Buttercup, where have you been?!"

"Yeah and what happened to your pretty dress?"

"You look like you were in a fight!"

"On Thanksgiving of all days! Can't we all just get along?"

Blossom and Bubbles certainly weren't helping. But to her surprise, their father intervened and did not pile on as expected.

"That's enough, now. Buttercup, would you like to explain what happened?"

The fact he was giving her a chance meant he wasn't upset. At least not yet. Nevertheless, Buttercup took advantage of the opportunity.

"Professor, I went down to Mueller's like you asked. But all the leftover turkeys had been robbed by the Gangreen Gang. They were committing multiple robberies. I had to stop them."

The Professor nodded indicating for her to go on.

"I tracked them to their usual hideout. They were drunk but had guns this time around. It got a little messy."

No one needed to know about her situation with Butch. That would remain a secret. She'd never hear the end of it from Blossom, who already resumed judgmental comments.

"Buttercup, you should have alerted us. Have you-"

But the Professor held up a hand to stop her.

"Blossom, I'll be doing the parenting around here. Now you and Bubbles go set the table. Our guests are arriving soon."

"Yes, Professor."

Once they'd left, Buttercup dropped her head and pulled out the turkey seemingly from nowhere and handed it over.

"There's still enough time to roast it, I think. I'm...sorry I got into a fight and ruined my dress."

"Oh, honey. It's quite alright," her father said, kneeling down fully aware of his middle child's remorse and embarrassment.

"But I broke the rule."

"You broke it out of necessity, sweetheart. Yes, I don't like you crime fighting during holidays. However, given the circumstances it was appropriate. I'm very proud of you."

He planted a kiss on top of her forehead, something she only allowed him to do. A gesture that all was forgiven.

"Just go get freshened up and join us when you're ready, okay?"

"Okay."

He watched her float all the way up the stairs and out of sight before sighing. Robert Utonium would never forgive Ace Copular and those like him for what they did to vulnerable people.

Despite carrying the label of being the toughest, sometimes Buttercup was also the one in need of the most love. Even if she'd never admit it.

All right, quick clarification just so everyone knows and it saves a bit of time: Buttercup does NOT still have a crush on Ace. Ever had a really embarrassing memory that still makes you cringe? That's what she was experiencing. Shame over the fact Ace was able to manipulate her the first time around. The guy is a genuine sociopath. He was trying to mess with her head again.

The Greens are my personal favorite (Buttercup was/is an inspiration for me) and there will be more chapters focused on them in the future. But we've barely hit the tip of the iceberg. Next update will probably be next month. After that, they'll start becoming more frequent.

All the best!

~The Wasp