CHAPTER 24: TEARY WOLF MEMORIES

ME: Don't ask about the title. And if this chapter seems a little rushed or lazy, it's probably 'cause I wrote it all in one night. So shhh; your argument is invalid.

BRICK: *rolls eyes* What's your excuse this time for not updating sooner?

ME: It hasn't been that long, but I've been sick all week. It was originally just a sore throat one night, but it led to me coughing a lot, and now I have mucus and stuff in my throat. Goddammit it keeps getting worse.

BLOSSOM: You should get plenty of rest.

ME: Yeah, yeah. I've been drinking medicine and have had to take pills three times a day now. I hope my cold ends soon. Sickness is not pleasant.

BUTCH: Feel better soon...?

ME: Thanks...I guess. Oh and shout-out to my awesome pal frannyfine29 and my li'l bro, since November 10 happens to be their birthdays! I wrote a Butchercup gift for Franny, which you can find on my profile~ Happy birthday, you guys; eat lots of cake for me!

And tomorrow (the 11th) is Canada's Remembrance Day, where we honour the sacrifices of soldiers. Okay, Boomer, disclaimer!

BOOMER: Kuku only owns the story and her OC's! Read on, everyone!

Chapter 24: Teary Wolf Memories

"...It's about Damon."

Vix stiffened, narrowing his green eyes. "I don't know if I want to talk about him."

"Vix, don't be unreasonable," Shamus replied, his tone warning. "We don't have a lot of time."

"You got that right. It's late and I want to sleep." Vix tossed back his long red hair, glaring out the window. All feelings of playfulness vanished as old feelings began to resurface. Almost unconsciously, Vix gripped his shirt, near the heart. Fuck feelings.

Shamus took a step closer, his gaze searching Vix's eyes for a sign that it was okay for him to push further. Unable to see signs of disgust in Vix's look, Shamus decided to continue speaking: "I know how much you cared about Damon, like a guardian—"

"Like a father," spat Vix, interrupting the older man. His head snapped upwards as he faced Shamus, angry tears in his eyes. "You know what it's like to lose someone close to you, don't you, Shamus?"

Taken aback by the tears, Shamus' response was silence. But then he recovered and managed to say, a little weaker, "...I do."

"You lost your brother because of Damon. I know that, and yet... And yet I can't hate him." Vix let out a shuddering breath, relieved to have gotten that off of his chest. He covered his eyes with his hands and felt wet tears drip down his cheeks. "Why can't I let go of the past? I know none of you trust me because I was so close to Damon."

"Vix, I came here to—"

"No! I don't want to talk about him. I don't...I don't want to relive that night." Vix looked up from behind his wet fingers, his gaze blurred by unwanted tears. "I don't want to think about the fire, or the screams..."

"Vix..." Shamus took a few more steps toward the younger male, until he was face-to-face with him. "Are you okay?"

Swallowing back emotions that he wanted to let spill out, Vix shook his head silently. He hated himself for the weakness that he was showing, but he couldn't help it. His throat had closed up and it burned so much that he couldn't speak.

"It's okay, Vix. You know that Ross and his friends trust you. Maybe the other grown-ups don't, but they don't understand what loss is. I do, and I'm trying to understand you and your pain. I'm making an effort to trust you, Vix."

"...Thank you," Vix breathed quietly, wiping his eyes.

"I know you're sometimes...not happy with Danes and I can't say I blame you. He's done some...questionable things in the past," Shamus pressed.

Vix took a long, deep breath as he leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "He's never been very emotional."

Shamus managed to laugh. "Hardly," he agreed. "The most emotion he's ever shown was when...when my brother..." He trailed off.

"I know. When Damon killed Ross' father; your brother." Vix closed his eyes. "When he killed Tyrone."

"...I haven't heard anyone say his name in a long time," Shamus said quietly. "Most people don't want to remember the events of that night."

Vix opened his eyes and searched Shamus' face. Grief and regret clouded the man's expression. "It goes deeper than that, doesn't it?" he asked in a whisper.

Shamus looked down. "It goes as far back as three men who all fell in love with the same girl."

"Sylvie*, right? Isn't that who you three loved?" Intrigued, Vix stared into Shamus' eyes. "I haven't heard the details before. What happened?"

"My brother, Tyrone, loved her so. I fell for her as well. At the time, she was Damon's best friend. It was clear he liked her, but she chose Tyrone. When she died, my brother was overcome with grief. And we believe that Damon was overcome with a jealous rage."

"So...that's why he killed Tyrone?"

"We think so. I remember opening the door to my brother's room because I had seen Damon enter our house. I found him standing above Tyrone's body. Ross was right behind me, and I believe he was scarred for life," Shamus said quietly. "Damon was overcome by jealousy and he gave into it. I don't think he meant it. He just couldn't fight it back anymore and let his rage control him. Maybe...it wasn't his intention to kill anyone...let alone Tyrone, one of the nicest people we knew."

Vix was silent for a long time. When he spoke again, his voice was low and thoughtful. "...I just don't understand; that doesn't sound like something Damon would do."

Shamus replied thoughtfully, "There's a lot of things about other people we don't know. Everyone hides something underneath some sort of facade. Sometimes the things they hide are darker than others."

"But it just doesn't make any sense. I can't see Damon doing something like that." Vix's voice trembled. "He wasn't that kind of man...was he?"

"But what if he was? We don't know for sure."

Vix sighed, "I guess it's true that everyone hides something. It's hard to trust anyone, huh?"

Both of them fell silent after that.

Ross sighed, closing his eyes as he ruffled his hair. He hadn't slept well. Michael wasn't talking to him either. He felt bad for his friend, because he knew how highly Michael's uncle viewed of him compared to Michael.

But I can't control what Danes thinks of me! I can't help it. Danes always thinks I'm so good at what I do, while Uncle Shamus is constantly disappointed with me. Ross knew Michael was aware of that, but the fact that Michael was still unhappy with Ross didn't sit well with the young boy. He didn't want any of his friends to be upset with him.

He had really only had one good moment the whole day, and that was just talking to Buttercup. Ross thought she was a pretty cool gal. She was feisty, teasing, had a smart tongue, and seemed like a lot of fun to be around.

Butch is one lucky guy, Ross mused. But then he blushed, his eyes flashing open. What am I thinking!? I don't like her that way. I can't like her that way.

Closing his eyes again, Ross thought back to the night that he found his father's dead body. Shamus had been creeping around the house, and when a young Ross asked him why, Shamus had told him to "stick close". Doing as he was told, Ross followed Shamus up the grand old staircase to the black door of his father's room.

Ross remembered Shamus knocking lightly. His uncle had hesitated, then reached for the doorknob. As a young boy, Ross had wanted to tell Shamus that opening the door without the person's consent was rude. But now he knew that Shamus had sensed that something was wrong, and wanted to check it out as soon as possible.

Then...it happened.

Shamus had frozen in the doorway, eyes stretched wide in horror. The room was dark and it had smelled badly. Ross remembered confusion and fear, as well as curiosity. He had tried to look around his uncle, and while Shamus had tried to block his view...

Ross had seen it.

The unnaturally splayed out body of his father on the floor, with those wide, lifeless eyes. There had been a puddle of blood, and the figure of Damon was standing above the body. Damon had been like a second uncle to Ross, always super sweet and caring. Which is why it was so hard to believe he had murderous intents. But at the time, Damon had had a dark expression on his face, which seemed to contain...regret.

Ross had screamed in terror and Damon, as if just noticing them and snapping out of a trance, had looked up. Shamus had yelled at him that he was a traitor, while Damon had escaped out the window. Danes and his men arrived; they chased after Damon, while Shamus stayed with his now orphaned nephew.

Ross really was grateful to his uncle for training and raising him—no matter how ungrateful Ross would act. Ross remembered that for the rest of the night, he had cried like a little baby, ashamed of his tears and scared of the future. He'd refused to let his father be taken away (which he now knew was stupid, as his dad had needed to be buried), and he had refused to leave the dead man's side.

Shamus had stayed and comforted Ross the entire night, rocking the young boy to sleep. Ross remembered tears and himself screaming far into the night, screams of lost innocence. Shamus hadn't said anything; just held Ross in his arms. The memories of that night were hazy and unclear, as Ross had tried to block them from his mind for so long.

The last thing he remembered was waking up in the morning. His father's body was gone, and Shamus had fallen asleep beside him. Ross had at first not remembered the events of last night, but when he did remember, he'd started crying again. Shamus had woken up and tried to comfort him.

This continued for many nights, as Ross' sleep would be plagued by memories of his dad's death, as well as the dark, almost murderous look on Damon's face. And each time Ross would wake in a cold sweat, crying and sobbing, and screaming.

After that, Shamus trained Ross extra hard to take his mind off the whole ordeal. But Ross was scarred for life. He did recover bit by bit, but nothing could erase the memory. That was why Shamus and Ross travelled so much; why Ross hardly ever got to see his friends. Still, he liked being far away from his father's old bedroom. The room scared him now. No one really ever entered that room, and Ross tried his best to stay away from it. The black door...the door of death.

Feeling tears streaming down his cheeks, Ross wiped at his eyes. He was sniffling. He was crying again. He hated being this weak.

"Ross...?"

Freezing, the shadows disappeared from Ross' face as his teary eyes widened. Someone was behind him. Taking a deep breath, Ross quickly wiped his eyes and turned around. He let his hair fall into his face so it covered his tears. "What's up?" he said shakily.

The boy who had talked to him was Butch. The green Ruff looked concerned. "Are you...crying?"

"No." Ross bit his lip.

"Are you sure? 'Cause it looked like you were—"

"I'm not crying!" snapped Ross, losing his shy boy persona for a brief second. Then his eyes widened and he gripped his scarf for comfort. "I mean...I'm fine."

"...You're not okay." Butch stepped forward and stared at Ross, who was looking at his feet. "Something's up. It...It can't be about the past, could it?"

Eyes widening, Ross' gaze snapped upwards and he stared at Butch. "How did you...?" His voice felt hoarse. He took a step back. "How did you guess?"

"I just thought that maybe something traumatizing happened to you in the past," Butch said softly. "Did it, Ross?"

Ross blinked back tears and looked back down at his shoes. "...Something did happen to me in the past; something I don't really like talking about." He wiped at his eyes. "There...There was this man; his name was Damon. He was like...a second uncle to me, besides Shamus. He was so nice. I didn't realize that he hid such a dark heart, though. H-He tricked us all..."

"What did he do?" Butch pressed gently.

Ross bit his lip. "He killed my father. I can't forgive him." Tears streamed down his cheeks freely now. "Maybe that's wrong, maybe it's not justified, but I don't care. It's wrong to kill someone. I won't forgive him."

"...I'm sorry," Butch murmured. "I'm sorry that happened to you."

"I-It wasn't your fault. It's not like you knew Damon." Ross pushed his hair back, sniffling.

Butch paused, suddenly stiff. His gaze seemed guarded.

"Butch...? Is something wrong?" Ross looked up, swallowing.

"No...I just...I just feel upset for you, that's all. No one should have to deal with the loss of a father."

"...Thank you. I really am grateful." Ross closed his eyes. "Thanks for listening, and thanks for the kind words. I know we just met, but I trust you. Michael has known you for a long time, after all."

Butch hesitated. "But you do know how much Michael dislikes me, don't you? Why do you trust me?"

"I don't see any reason to hate you. You haven't done anything wrong." Ross gazed into Butch's troubled eyes. "Doesn't that mean I can trust you?"

"I-I suppose." Butch looked away awkwardly, clearing his throat. "Sorry; I'm not...good with this mushy stuff."

Managing to laugh despite his pain, Ross placed his hand on Butch's arm. "I can tell. You're sorta like Michael in that regard." He smiled slightly. "Thanks again, Butch. I...I needed that."

Surprised, Butch stared at Ross. He managed to smile. "...No problem."

Counting to ten, Buttercup watched as the seconds on the clock slowly ticked away. Come on... She fidgeted impatiently.

When she reached sixty, the bell rang. Jumping out of her seat, Buttercup dived for the door. She could hear her teacher calling out in protest, but she didn't care. If she missed a last-minute announcement, she could just message Robin about it later.

All Buttercup wanted to do was go to her locker and grab her lunch. She wasn't hungry, but she needed something to distract her. Something that wasn't as mind-numbing as school, that is.

Turning a corner, Buttercup perked up when she heard voices drifting along the air. She tuned in, peeking around the corner of a wall.

Bandit stood there, talking to Blaster. Their voices were low and hushed, so she used her super-hearing to eavesdrop.

"How much longer till Brick...y'know?" Blaster's gaze was concerned.

"I don't know," sighed Bandit. "He hasn't shown any signs of recovery. The Puffs are getting worried."

Blaster nodded in agreement. "They know he's...sick, but they don't know much more than that. They're starting to ask questions. I've had to talk to Blossom, Banana, and Bunny today about Brick's condition."

"You were careful though, weren't you?"

"Of course I was."

"Good." Bandit nodded. Then he stopped walking, pausing to listen for something.

Buttercup's breathing slowed as she forced herself to stand still.

Blaster stopped walking as well. "What's the matter, Bandit?"

"We're not alone." Bandit narrowed his eyes.

Her breath began shaking. The last thing she needed was to deal with more annoyed Ruffs. Buttercup tiptoed away from them until she could fly off freely. How did he sense me? He couldn't have heard me, could he? I was completely silent! That's impossible. Her thoughts were swirling around in her head, and she became lost in her concerns. So lost that she couldn't see where she was going. That proved to be not such a good thing though, as she ended up crashing into someone.

"Oof!" she exclaimed, falling backwards.

"Oh, sorry; I wasn't watching where I was going. You okay?"

Buttercup rubbed her sore head. "Yeah, I think so..." She stood up, looking at the person she'd just bumped into. Her eyes widened.

The male she had bumped into was busy dusting himself off. He reached up and quickly fixed his dark hair, before turning to check on her. His eyes widened as well.

"YOU!" both of them yelled, pointing fingers at the other.

"I can't believe you, Butch!" shouted Buttercup.

"What did I even do this time!?" snapped Butch.

Buttercup had to admit that even she herself was unsure. "You...You crashed into me on purpose, didn't you!?" she said quickly, trying to find an excuse to be mad at him. She face-palmed inside.

"What...? No I didn't! Jesus Christ; why would I crash into you on purpose! That would hurt, you know! This already hurts!"

"Oh, so you actually feel things, huh? I thought you were just some unemotional jerk!"

"What the hell?" snarled Butch, his eyes narrowing. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You don't seem to understand how other people feel," sniffed Buttercup. "You don't understand how I feel."

"Of course I don't understand how you feel!" Butch threw his hands into the air. "You're crazy, woman! You switch from violent to passive-aggressive to happy with barely any warning! Are you on your period or something!?"

Offended by his remark, Buttercup kicked him in the leg.

"Ow! What the hell was that for!?" he yelled.

"You don't ask a woman if she's on her period!" Buttercup snapped back. "Are you trying to piss me off!?"

"I don't know; what do you think!? You're the one who thought I crashed into you on purpose! I'm not that big of an asshole, okay?"

"I think you are," Buttercup retorted, spinning around and storming off. "Stay away from me, Butch Jojo, or I might just kill you!"

"Fine by me!" he called after her. "See if I care!"

Rolling her eyes, Buttercup walked until she could no longer hear his loud complaining. By that time, she was quite far from the cafeteria. She was closer to the music room.

Someone was standing at the entrance of the music room, staring at the doors but not going in. Instantly recognizing the person, Buttercup brightened. She hurried over, waving. "Ross; hey, Ross!" she called.

The teenage boy looked up, his wavy chocolate-brown hair framing his face. "Oh, hi BC." He smiled at her. "What's up?"

"Nothing, really. I just happened to see you and thought I'd talk to you." Buttercup stopped jogging and started to walk slowly, so she didn't appear too eager to see him.

Ross smiled again, flashing pearly whites. "Cool."

"What's up with you?" asked Buttercup, feeling embarrassed.

"I was just wondering if I should go in. Michael and the gang are inside eating lunch, but...I'm not on such good terms with them—or rather, with Michael—right now." Ross' smile fell, but then it returned, more sheepish. "I guess I'm a little nervous."

"That sucks," Buttercup remarked. "It's never cool when friends fight."

"Yeah, I guess that's true." Ross took a step away from the music room. "Maybe we could just—"

The doors opened right then, and people started walking out. Michael's irritated voice filled the air: "Do we really have to go?"

"You're his pal, Michael. You can't stay mad at him forever."

Buttercup spotted Michael's pouting face. "I am not mad at him."

"Completely ignoring him counts as being mad." Vincent's voice drifted through the air, and Buttercup managed to catch his red hair.

"You can be so prissy sometimes," DJ remarked in a teasing tone.

Michael rolled his eyes. "Am not."

The group stopped walking when they saw Buttercup and her companion. Silence stretched on between the guys, until Michael spoke. "...Ross...?"

"Hi, Mikey." Ross waved sheepishly.

Michael blinked in surprise, and as if remembering that he was trying to avoid Ross, his expression turned sour again. "I think I'll just go get a drink—"

Vincent rolled his eyes and shoved Michael forward. "Make up. Now. Or else you two will have to kiss to make up."

"Eww, Vincent—" Michael began, but Vincent interrupted.

"I'm serious," he said pointedly.

Sighing, Michael rolled his eyes. He turned to Ross. "Look, I'm sorry about—"

"Don't worry about it. I don't want you to be mad at me, Mikey. You know I don't control what Danes thinks of me," Ross replied quietly.

Michael sighed again. "...I know. Sorry; I was being stupid."

"It's cool." Ross smiled. "Friends?"

"We were always friends," Michael managed to laugh. "I was just an asshole of a pal for a little bit."

Grinning, Ross punched his best friend lightly.

"Umm...glad to see you two made up," Buttercup said, feeling guilty about her own fight with Butch.

Ross blinked, as if just remembering that she was there. "Thanks, BC." He glanced at his friends. "You guys go enjoy your lunch. I'm going to eat with Buttercup here."

"She can join us if she—" Vincent was saying.

"I sort of want to talk to her," Ross explained.

"Oooooh," Deth Jackson Jr cooed. "A boy wants to talk to a girl, huh~? Shipping, anyone? BC x Ross? "Butterross"?"

Buttercup shot him an unamused look. She still hadn't forgotten his challenge that made her climb a tree, where a branch had broken under her weight and she had fallen.**

Ross waved at his friends and started to walk off. Buttercup followed, trying to keep up. "What did you want to talk about?" she asked.

"Just some stuff." Ross stopped walking at a corner, sitting down. He looked up at her, patting the floor beside him. "Take a seat?"

Buttercup's face reddened as she sat down close to him. "So...what is it?"

"How do you feel about Butch?"

The question caught her off-guard. Buttercup turned away to hide her red face. "He's an asshole. You're much nicer than he is."

"But maybe he's trying not to be." Ross took Buttercup's arm, making her turn around in surprise. "We were talking and he admitted that you two had fought."

"We did. He's such a jerk." Buttercup pulled her hand back and looked down, her face burning.

"I think he cares about you."

She blinked, staring at him. "...That's crazy," she managed to say.

"Not really," he replied carefully. "I mean...I do happen to care about you, BC. It's not that hard to believe that he would too."

Darkness stretched for many miles. It was all the boy could see. From close by to far away, everything was black.

The boy was dizzy, feeling cold and lonely. The glowing mirror was still sitting right beside him, but he just didn't want to go through it.

It had hurt.

He remembered going through it a little, and a massive electric tingle had overtaken him. He didn't want to go through it again, even though he had a feeling that he should go.

Despite the loneliness, he did quite like the little world he was stuck in. It was boring at times, sure; but at least he couldn't feel pain of any sort.

Someone from beyond the mirror was calling for him though. The boy wondered who it was. The mysterious person seemed to be someone who had cared about him while he was still awake.

The boy's memories of when he was awake were hazy. He turned to stare at his reflection again. All he could see was a blank red gaze and long orange hair. He rested his forehead against the cool surface of the mirror, feeling that prickly tingle again. He ignored it as he stared deeply into his reflection's red gaze.

Who's calling for me? Why do they care? Why do they want me to come...

...Home?

*(A/N: Reference to chapter 13!)

**(A/N: Reference to chapters 7 & 8!)

ME: Bam. Done.

BUTCH: This chapter was certainly...interesting.

VIX: I can't believe you made me cry in this chapter.

ME: Oh, hi Vix! You don't usually visit the Author's Notes.

VIX: I think you can see why. It's pretty stupid here.

ME: Hey!

BRICK: I can't believe I'm still out for the count.

ME: Well, at least you're not dead.

BRICK: ...As if that's of much comfort.

ME: Okay, okay.

BUTCH: Review, people! Review if you want to see the next chapter sooner.

ME: Oh, and I want to thank everyone for reviewing last chapter! You all made me feel motivated and loved. *sniffs happily, wipes away imaginary tear*

BRICK: *rolls eyes*