CHAPTER 28: AND WHAT A WOLF FORGETS

ME: Oops I was planning on updating today but I kept forgetting to. Sorry. So here ya go; an update at around 2:00 am.

BLOSSOM: Why are you up so late?

ME: I was organizing through hundreds of pages of favourites on DeviantART; I still have 1000-something more to go. *graons*

BUBBLES: *pat pat*

ME: Just read on. Here we see how people react to Brick's amnesia and how things go when Vix and Damon go to the city. *yawns* I'm going to bed.

BOOMER: Good night then~

BLASTER: Kuku owns OC's such as moi and the story!

Chapter 28: And What a Wolf Forgets

Detention came all too soon for Buttercup, whose day had passed in a flurry of haziness. Mr. Davidson had told her twice to "snap out of it" before giving up on her. Even Ms. Titter, who was usually so cheerful, lost her patience with Buttercup a few times.

Now she was sitting in her chair in Mr. Fickleson's room having detention, with a darkly silent Butch beside her. Mr. F seemed surprised at the greens' sudden quietness, but he showed no objections.

Bandit had come clear at lunchtime, admitting to Blossom and Buttercup that Brick was awake, but...

...He had amnesia.

Buttercup had been so shocked she'd nearly screamed within the office; screamed with rage and fear. Blossom seemed to have taken it even worse, stiffening and clamping up at once. Needless to say, amnesiac Brick's first impressions of Blossom and Buttercup weren't exactly good ones. To him, Buttercup was a raging warrior who attacked with harsh ferocity. He'd witnessed her arguing with Bandit. And his impressions of Blossom... It was clear he thought she was cold and stoic; since she shut up and would say nothing.

After things had calmed down, Bandit had marched the small, emotionally unstable group to the cafeteria. They were met with much rejoice, all of their friends hooting and hollering. The Ruffs had looked especially relieved, grins spread across their faces. Buttercup had met gazes with a happy Butch—a happy Butch that hadn't looked so happy in so long. But her gaze had been pain-filled, because she knew what would come next. She knew that the next part was heartbreak. When he had given her a questioning look, she'd just shaken her head and turned away.

Bandit put his hand up and waited until the cheering stopped. He came clean: he told his friends that Brick hadn't actually been sick; he'd been unconscious from a fight. He admitted that Blossom and Buttercup already knew. Then he announced the bad news, "Brick has amnesia"—words out of a dream, or rather, a nightmare.

Silence fell upon the crowd, everybody trying to take it in. Friends like Princess and Mitch showed only confusion and disbelief, while the Ruffs...

Buttercup clamped her eyes shut, feeling the tears coming. She could remember their faces, pale and shocked, before the sadness leaked out of them. Blaster was crying out, sobbing in anger and sadness, while Banana tried to comfort him. Braker had been stiff, eyes dark and his look steely. But tears streaked his cheeks. Boomer had looked so fragile; so broken, tears running down his face.

And Butch... Oh, Butch.

The green Ruff had nearly snapped. Shouting out in frustration, he looked like he was ready to strangle anybody. Buttercup thought she saw his glare flash toward an innocent Vincent, and she wondered why.

With the way Butch was, he could've destroyed anything with no regard to property damage and public safety. When Buttercup had tried to reason with him, he'd thrown her back. He had already broken part of the table, but before he could break anything else...

Boomer gave him a hug.

"Butch, stop." The blue Ruff's tone had been shaky, broken, wavering...and yet it was still firm and strong-willed. "We can't make a scene here. Brick's safe and alive; that's what matters right now. Come on, Butch—you're stronger than this. Brick is a fierce warrior, you know that. If it were you with amnesia, Brick would do everything he can to help you regain your memories instead of lashing out at the ones who are only trying to help you. He'll be okay."

Butch finally stopped raging, leaning against his brother for support. He had shakily apologized to Buttercup, tears in his eyes.

"This is perhaps the first time I've really ever seen Butch cry," Buttercup had said to Bandit, shocked.

Even Bandit was tearing up as he watched his brothers. Wiping his eyes, he looked away. "This isn't my first time, but I do remember another time that Butch had cried even harder. The day Damon..." He trailed off.

His words had left confusion and curiosity in Buttercup's heart. She'd nearly forgotten about it, however, as the day wore on. They were trying to keep Brick's amnesia a secret, and it had been quite a hard job to do—especially when he couldn't seem to remember anything.

Buttercup's whole body ached as she wrote the last word on the essay she'd been assigned. Her hand was shaky and her words were even shakier. She didn't know what she had written; some form of gibberish, probably.

Butch was even worse. His gaze was blank and distant, and barely anything was on his paper.

"Butch," whispered the green Puff, gently shaking him. "You need to write something."

Butch snapped out of it, his eyes trailing back to his counterpart. "His memories are gone," he murmured.

Almost not catching what he said, Buttercup felt her stomach flip. "I know, Butch," she said in what she hoped was a soothing voice, "but you need to be strong. For Brick."

"I'm not strong." His empty eyes travelled to the wall, which he stared at. And yet Buttercup knew that he was really staring into nothingness.

"Yes, yes you are," Buttercup protested, a little impatiently. She took a deep breath and tried to regain a gentle demeanour: "You're very strong. You can handle this."

"No... I can't." Butch slumped, resting his head in his arms. "I'm afraid, BC."

Buttercup didn't know what to say to that.

Mr. Fickleson approached, taking BC's paper. He looked at Butch. "What's wrong with him?"

"He's dealing with a lot of stress, okay?" snapped Buttercup, jumping to Butch's defense.

"...Very well." Deciding not to push any further than he needed, Mr. Fickleson returned to his desk. But soon he got a phone call, so after telling the greens to behave, he went out and closed the door.

"Butch, please write something before detention ends," Buttercup tried again.

"I can't," he echoed. "I can't think of anything except for Brick and the way things have turned out. Why am I so unlucky?"

Finally losing her patience with him, Buttercup slapped him. A smack resonated within the mostly empty room. "You idiot!" she screamed.

Butch stared back at her in shock.

"How do you think I feel!?" Buttercup continued in an angry screech. "And what about poor Blossom!? Is everything about you, now!? Why do you only ever think about yourself—there's so much fucking shit you won't even tell me; I can't take it! Everything's always revolving around you—you and your stupid face, your stupid arrogance, and your asshole-like attitude! What the hell is with this self-pity!? Did Boomer's words mean nothing to you!? Brick may be your brother, but he isn't just your friend, you know! HE'S MINE AS WELL!"

"Buttercup—"

"Don't 'Buttercup' me! I just can't take this bullshit anymore! You know what, Butch Jojo, I hate you!" Buttercup cried.

Butch's expression fell.

Buttercup just realized what she had said. She stopped herself, eyes wide. "Oh shit... Butch... I—"

"I don't hate you."

"Huh?" Buttercup stared into her counterpart's dark-green eyes, her breath leaving her body.

"I don't hate you," he repeated. "I'm sorry, BC. I'm sorry for being selfish and only thinking of myself." He rubbed his stinging cheek. "And thank you. While I'd usually beat you up for that slap; I think I needed it."

Buttercup's gaze dropped to her knees. "I'm sorry I hit you. I didn't mean..." She trailed off. "I mean... I just...I was just frustrated and—"

"Shut up. You talk too much." All of a sudden, Buttercup felt warm arms around her body. She froze, feeling Butch's shaking body against hers. "It's so hard," he whispered. "It's so hard to hang on."

He's crying, Buttercup realized. Then, she slumped just slightly, letting her own tears fall. She hugged Butch back.

After a few moments of crying and hugging, they pulled apart. Silence befell them once more.

Butch was the first to stop crying, and the first to speak: "Let's...Let's not do that again," he suggested.

"...Right," Buttercup agreed, wiping her eyes. "That was stupid."

Nodding, Butch stared at her. His sight was still blurred from tears. "This never happened."

"Never," Buttercup echoed in agreement.

Butch gave her a feeble smile and nod, before turning back to his paper. He wrote things down, quickly finishing up his essay as Mr. Fickleson entered the room again.

All Mr. Fickleson saw was two abnormally quiet green counterparts, rather than sobbing teenagers hugging one another for comfort.

5:00 pm. Butch and Buttercup must be nearly out of detention. This thought crossed Boomer's mind as he trudged through the dirt.

Frustration seemed to be building up within his body as he pushed past overgrown ferns and clumpy paths filled with potholes. Indeed, Boomer was for some reason wandering around in a forest. He couldn't risk to fly, however. People were here, and if they saw his dark-blue streak, he'd been in trouble.

It wasn't exactly that the place was private property, but it was often treated like such. Danes, Michael's uncle, kept an eye on this area for any sign of the Ruffs. That was the reason Boomer hadn't been back in so long. He hadn't wanted to come back anyway; the memories he had of this place burned a hole within his heart.

Shoving past a particularly large clump of ferns before trying to squeeze through two closely growing trees, Boomer stumbled out into a clearing. His heart started pounding faster when he spotted the familiar setting, just more messy. Plants were overgrown and climbed every inch of the tall trees. The grass was long and thick here.

Disgust at Danes' poor ability to maintain the place crossed Boomer's mind. But he knew that the forest was a natural place, and it had been growing like this for years.

Sighing, Boomer pushed onwards. He was slow and careful, keeping to himself. The grass provided enough cover so that his position wasn't too obvious. One of Danes' henchmen wandered around the area, closer to the river.

Boomer glanced at a familiar patch of growing berries, longing to pluck one. Memories of the delicious fruits tickled the corners of his brain, along with the thought of the person who had always provided him with such sweet treats.

Quashing his desire for berries, Boomer finally reached something that resembled a wooden door. He felt the thick door up and down, trying to find a knob. The wood was charred and black. He pressed around harder, desperation building inside him. The guard was still patrolling close to the river, but could turn around and see Boomer at any moment.

After another two tries, Boomer found a knob. He grasped it and turned. The poor thing creaked within his hand, before finally opening the door. The door was even creakier than the knob. Opening the door only a little so that the noise didn't alert anyone, Boomer slipped inside.

The interior was dark and dingy. Old smells danced along the air. Scents of smoke and burned wood slashed through Boomer's nostrils. They brought back some of his worse memories. Trying not to throw up at the overwhelming smell of not just old smoke; but rotting wood as well, Boomer stumbled inside the darkness. The windows had long since been boarded up—or smashed. What was left of this place was absolutely pitiful. It was nowhere near as homey as it used to be.

Thrusting his hands forward, Boomer felt panels of wooden walls. He tried to ignore the fact that he could be touching mold or cobwebs or get a splinter. Brushing his fingers gently against the walls, Boomer hit a shelf. It was also beat up like everything else in the small cabin, but now the blue Ruff at least knew where he was. The shelf meant that he had passed other smaller shelves that had been below his fingers while he felt along the wall. He was close to the table, and the kitchen area was also somewhere nearby. Boomer carefully stepped forward. He had something in particular he was looking for:

Another door.

Finding what he believed was a knob, Boomer turned it. The problem was that the burnt wood seemed to be stuck together. The door wouldn't budge.

Frustrated, Boomer's eyes glowed red. But then he thought better of using his laser beams. Besides the noise possibly drawing the guard back into the house, destroying the door would be destroying part of the house. And this house was a part of Boomer's memories.

The thought of memories made him think of something. He retraced his steps back to the bookshelf, poking around until he felt the thickest book. Boomer picked it up and found what he was looking for: a knob or lever of some kind.

Boomer grinned. The bookcase creaked as it was pulled open, and the blue Ruff was faced with darkness. Taking a deep breath, Boomer stepped into the dark, dank room. The air was damper here, since it had been concealed in darkness for so long. It was colder and chillier.

Shivering, Boomer didn't know if his chills came from the coldness or his own nervousness. He reached around, nearly knocking something over. He quickly grabbed it before it could smash onto the floor. Boomer's eyes lit up in dark-blue as he used his super-powered sight to see what the item was. It was a lantern! Relieved, Boomer used a gentle amount of superpowers to light the lantern, and a dim flame lit up the dark room.

The mess took his breath away. The sight of the cobwebs and the rotten wood. Everything was so familiar, yet it was all in such bad condition.

Boomer wasn't just in a cabin anymore. He wasn't even in a cabin that was slowly falling apart with dust everywhere! Actually, the place Boomer was...

Was a place he once called his second home. Shutting his eyes, Boomer smiled as memories danced in his brain.

I'm home.

A memory that was particularly clear entered Boomer's brain:

Flashback

A younger Boomer knocked on the door, his chest heaving as he struggled to breathe. Despite this, his heart was pumping with adrenaline and excitement.

A man from within the room looked up, clearly surprised. "Boomer; what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be training with your brothers?"

"Yes, but I'm done my match," Boomer explained breathlessly. "Brick and Braker are sparring now. I did it," he continued excitedly, "I did it!"

"Did what?" asked the man, confused.

"I beat Butch! I finally defeated him while sparring. I mastered that thing you were teaching us to do, and I figured out his position thanks to the winds. It was amazing; I could sense almost everything! This is the first time that I really feel like these new powers aren't so bad after all—"

"Whoa, slow down, Tiger!" The man was grinning. "Congratulations! I knew you would master it."

"You did? How?" Boomer was surprised.

"I saw how hard you concentrate whenever I try to teach you guys. I knew your hard work would be rewarded; told you your brothers wouldn't always be better than you," his companion replied. He spread his arms out. "Come on; give me a celebratory hug. You deserve this."

Boomer didn't hesitate, hugging the man. "Thanks a bunch, Damon! You always know just what to say. I feel even more happy now!"

Damon smiled, eyes closing. "I'm proud of you Ruffs. I really am."

End Flashback

Shoving the memory aside, Boomer reminded himself of his task at hand. He held the lantern up as he tried to pinpoint the area he was looking for. He spotted a burnt bed whose blankets had long since been ripped up and nearly destroyed. A wooden oak desk and nightstand were still standing in the room. Even the bookshelf was still there, stacked full of books.

An overwhelming wave of nostalgic emotions nearly blew Boomer away. He recognized everything: he was in Damon's study, the place he would come to so often to seek help and comfort. After Damon had rescued Vix, Boomer and his brothers had visited less frequently. They did still come a lot though, but it had certainly been a long time since the last visit.

Reaching forward, Boomer walked toward the desk. The chair looked like it was ready to collapse, but when he tried it out, it was still pretty stable. The only thing that kept him from taking a seat was the rotting pillow placed on the chair.

Bits of things lay on the desktop. Things like leaves and cobwebs and other natural items, but things like old books and pens were there as well. Boomer noticed with a pang of sadness that Damon's study was still as slobbish as ever, even after this cabin was abandoned. He also noted that it wasn't that much different from Tyrone's room; the room of Ross' father—as well as the place he had died.

Shuddering, Boomer pushed the thought away. He probed around, trying to find a particular thing. But then he struck a realization: Damon would have stashed the item well, but not too well. He would've kept it in a well-hidden area that wasn't too obvious.

Boomer's heart pounded as he brushed the debris aside. He was surprised this place was still standing. He took hold of the handle and pulled the wobbly thing open, even more surprised to find what he was looking for inside.

The thing he had pulled open was in fact an old, creaky drawer. It didn't take much fishing around to find it: a notebook.

The notebook's pages were worn and yellow, curling up and some of them were probably rotting. It had been underneath an old bird's nest, and from the stench Boomer had a bad feeling about bird goop being on the notebook as well.

Gently peeling it open, Boomer noted with relief that the writing was still eligible—for the most part. Some places the writing had been smudged out, but most of it stood firm, despite being weak. Boomer knew that this was in fact the notebook he was searching for, thanks to the first page reading "Damon's Journal".

Boomer flipped to a random passage, hoping with all his heart that he would be able to find some answers.

Outside, rustling was sounding. "The house should still be empty," a guard was saying. "But you better double-check anyway. That ol' Danes can be so freaking paranoid."

"Don't speak that way of our leader," another patroller objected.

"He can't hear us," the first one answered. Boomer heard slurping noises as the man continued: "Man, I'm hungry. We should go hunting more often."

"You're always thinking about eating," the second one scolded. "You're even thinking about eating while you're already feeding. Give it a rest, will you?"

"Sheesh, you don't have to be so rude about it."

Boomer felt sick. The noises the first man was making while eating made the blue Ruff's already unstable stomach want to burst. He also felt sick because he could hear the knob of the door turning.

"This stupid thing is stuck," exclaimed the second guard, kicking the door in frustration.

"Then let's just go tell Danes that the place is empty."

Boomer was relieved at the idea: Yes, yes! Go and lie to Danes; tell him you checked the house and no one was inside.

"We can't do that," protested the second man. "We need to follow our orders."

"You are such a kiss-up!" remarked the first one.

"Shut up!"

Boomer grabbed the bookshelf door and hauled it shut in his desperation. Then he hid under the desk, ignoring cobwebs and whatever the hell else was down there. He blew out the lantern.

"I heard something," the second man said sharply.

"It's probably just this stupid place falling apart. C'mon; let's get outta here. I don't want to be caught in this place if it collapses."

The second man ignored his companion as he finally pulled the door open. Silence fell as Boomer figured that he was checking the small cabin. From underneath the bookshelf-door, Boomer could see slits of yellow light—probably from the guards' flashlights.

"See? I told you there's nobody here."

"There's nothing broken either though," the second man said suspiciously.

"It was probably just a stupid animal. Look, I bet a raccoon got inside. It probably ran out of that smashed window over there."

Boomer knew that made sense, and the second guard seemed to know it as well. After another quick silent check, the guards left. The blue Ruff could hear their footsteps disappearing, and the first guard chatted about food as they walked off.

Sighing in relief, Boomer felt that he could finally breathe. He crawled out from under his hiding place, still hugging Damon's journal. He brushed the twigs and leaves and webs out of his hair.

Hurrying out of Damon's study, Boomer made sure to shut the bookcase-door and conceal the knob with the book. Then he escaped through one of the smashed windows (just like the imaginary raccoon the first guard had suggested had been in the cabin had done). Then Boomer escaped, creeping through the forest. At least the guard was half-right. I am the raccoon; yet I am not exactly a raccoon, Boomer thought proudly with a small smirk.

When he was out of the forest and far enough down the road, the blue Ruff unzipped the dark-blue coat he was wearing. Boomer wandered toward a lonely bench and sat down, feeling that he was far enough away from the forest by then.

He opened the notebook again, finding an interesting passage. He scanned it quickly. It had something to do with Damon and Vix going to...the city! Boomer knew how paranoid Damon had been about the city, so going to the city before Vix's birthday had been a pretty big deal.

Taking a deep breath, Boomer began reading the passage...:

"Vix, slow down!"

Vix stopped bouncing around and turned to grin at the man trying to keep up with him. "Hurry up, Damon!" he called. The city was close by, bustling with traffic. For this special occasion, Damon had insisted Vix remove his eyepatch; teaching the young boy how to make his white eye into green.

"I'm coming, I'm coming." Damon caught up to Vix. He rearranged the toque on his head, which hid much of his hair. His coat's collar was high, covering part of Damon's face. He was even wearing a hood.

Vix had protested against hiding so much of himself, so he and Damon settled on Vix wearing a long scarf and his hood. "The city's right there," the young boy said excitedly. "Home."

"Your home is with me now," Damon replied jokingly, but his tone showed that he was hinting at something and trying to conceal worry.

Vix smiled. "I know. I just meant...my original home." He glanced at the street they were passing, a hard feeling smouldering inside of him as the smile left his face.

Damon quickly caught up, shielding Vix from the view of the street. "Let's not think about that," he said quietly.

Vix nodded, but his eye rested on the road for as long as he could see it. It was the street his parents had died on, and all Vix could see was two burning cars. Two dead parents, a kid with a lost eye, and hopefully; two dead crooks. Even if it was wrong, Vix had never forgiven the thieves that killed his parents and made him lose an eye. Vix still wanted to believe that they had died in the car crash, though he didn't know for sure.

When they reached the city, Damon reminded Vix to refer to him only as "Dad".

"I know, Dad. Stop being so paranoid!" Vix gestured at the people around them. "Who here could hurt or want to hurt you?"

Damon glanced around nervously. "Believe it or not, more people than you'd think."

Vix gave Damon a funny look, but dropped the topic. He pulled Damon into the city. Both of them knew the area: Vix because he had lived there almost all his life, and Damon because he came here so often to shop. Vix still had no idea what Damon did as a job.

"Over here, D—uhh, Dad!" called Vix, waving at a Christmas window display. It was still a little ways before Christmas, since it was November. Still, thin amounts of snow crunched below the people's feet as they walked around.

Damon's gaze followed Vix's to the window. It was a particularly beautifully decorated window display. Glittering snowflakes hung from the top, and fake snow decorated the bottom. A small city was displayed, and above it were stacks of toys.

Damon sighed and rolled his eyes, a smile plastered on his face. "Do you want to go in?"

"Heck yeah!" exclaimed Vix excitedly. "Can we?"

"Of course, birthday boy." Damon pulled the door open and held it as Vix clambered inside. He hurried in after the boy. Damon stamped snow off his boots on the "welcome" carpet as Vix ran up and down the toy store.

The young boy was checking things out, ooh-ing and ahh-ing at whatever caught his eye.

"Have anything you want?" asked Damon.

Vix pursed his lips together in thought. He took a few things off the shelf and Damon helped him decide what he should buy. So basically, he said "yes" or "no". "No, too expensive" came out, along with "sure, that works".

Soon they had paid for three toys and moved on to another shop. This one was a bakery. While Vix admired the beautiful cakes there and tried a sample with Damon, he still claimed that his "dad"'s cakes were the best. This made Damon smile with appreciation.

"We should buy some mini presents for the Rowdyruff Boys as well," Damon said to Vix as they crunched along the road.

"Do we have to?" Vix whined, although Damon knew he was teasing.

"Yes, we have to. Or else they might grow jealous of your presents." Damon winked at the boy.

Vix smiled. "Okay, fine. But nothing too fancy for them."

Laughing, Damon scuffled Vix's hair. "You are so cruel," he stated.

They entered a small card store, where Damon paid for a few goodie bags. He crammed them with small items and little toys, along with plenty of homemade candy he had brought.

Vix then dragged Damon to multiple stores. They went into clothing stores and café's and malls and dollar stores and so many other places. They went window-shopping as well as going on a shopping spree. But most importantly, they had fun.

"That should do it," Damon said, ticking something off of an imaginary checklist. They were in a party shop, buying decorations.

"Okay," Vix said cheerfully. "I had a lot of fun today, Dad. See? That wasn't so bad."

"I guess so. I'm just happy if you're happy." Damon gave Vix a smile.

Vix shoved the man. "You're so cheesy," he laughed.

"I try," Damon agreed.

They walked outside, both of them carrying plenty of bags. They chatted eagerly. The sun was setting behind the sky, and since the bags were heavy, Damon suggested they take the bus. It had been so long since Vix had ridden in a car, he could feel his heart pounding in fear as he watched the roads. The last time he'd sat in a vehicle was when his parents crashed and burned—quite literally.

Damon gently and patiently persuaded Vix that it was okay; stating that if they could risk things and come to the city, then the bus wouldn't be much worse. He also pointed out that Vix would ride in cars a lot more sometime in the future.

Finally persuaded, Vix agreed. The two sat down to enjoy donuts and caramel popcorn Damon had gotten earlier. They waited for the bus as they talked together, biting into yummy and warm food. Vix pressed close to his "father", glad for the warmth.

The stars were appearing in the sky when Damon seemed to grow paranoid again. He was looking at something from the corner of his eye, and when Vix peeked, he saw that the person Damon was eyeing was also eyeing them. The person was tall, with long, curly black hair and smouldering green eyes. He wore a fancy black coat with a hat, looking like something from an aristocratic movie. He met eyes with Vix and Vix quickly turned away. The man started approaching them.

"Dad, is the bus here yet?" Vix asked shakily, a little too loudly. Inside he was panicking. He saw the man approaching them stop walking.

"It'll be here soon, son," Damon said soothingly, his voice gentle. It was also quiet, sounding a little different from his usual tone.

Vix wasn't sure, but he thought he heard the man call "Damon? Is that you?" Vix wasn't sure if he really said "Damon", but he could hear an icier tone.

Luckily for them, the man was saying that just as the bus pulled up. The man with the penetrating green gaze was closing in, though still a few feet off. Damon quickly gathered their things and hurried Vix up the bus steps. As the door shut behind them and they settled down, Vix stared at the man. The stranger was watching them still, and Vix stared at him until he disappeared from view.

"That was a close call," sighed Damon, slumping in his seat.

"Who was that?" asked Vix.

"Just someone I used to know."

Damon refused to say any more than that, so Vix didn't press further. He was scared Damon would forget about all the fun they had had that day, and go back to believing that Vix should stay hidden in the forest forever. A sudden silence fell upon the two, silence that Vix wanted to tear to shreds...

...But didn't know how to.

Grumbling to himself, Vix opened his eyes and rolled over in his bed. The colour of the sky was darkening, since it was already somewhere around 5:00. Vix had taken a nap of sorts, not wanting to deal with Danes, who came around after Michael got home from school and sent Vix on missions—or training sessions with his nephew. When the tall man had walked in and found Vix "asleep", he'd left him alone. Really, Vix had simply had his eyes closed and was pretending to be sleeping—although he did fall asleep later on—after Shamus had also visited.

The man provided Vix with information, warning the teenager to be careful. When Vix asked why, Ross' uncle cryptically said that some parts of "the past" may be resurfacing. Vix had continued pestering Shamus about it, but the man had his lips sealed. After Shamus had left, Vix had curled up and thought about the past. He saw the number he hated so much as time ticked into 4:44 pm, before he fell asleep.

Vix blamed Shamus for the dream about his visit to the city with Damon. And that man... Vix shuddered. Just another reason to blame Shamus for the memory.

Looking out the window, Vix's thoughts felt entangled and messy. One clear thought did cross his mind, however: Parts of the past are resurfacing, huh... I wonder what it is now... Which part of the past will try to catch up with me this time?

Vix smirked weakly, thinking back to all the crazy adventures he'd had recently. Seeing Butch again, fighting Brick, revealing Damon's true nature to the Ruffs...

You can try to catch up with me, Past. But know this: I've been running from you all my life. And I won't be outrun this time either. I'm not looking back.

Vix thought of Damon.

I don't want to look back. Ever.

ME: There. Now excuse me, but I'm off to bed.

BLOSSOM: *sweat-drop* Well umm...without Kuku here to carry the conversation, I guess I'll start: leave a review letting us know what you thought! How do you feel about Brick's amnesia? Boomer found Damon's journal! Did you guys guess that the cabin Boomer was visiting actually belonged to Damon? Better yet, did you guess that Boomer was looking for Damon's journal? What answers will this journal hold? And who do you think was calling out to Vix and Damon at the city while they waited for a bus?

ROSS: I know who it was.

BRICK: *clamps hand over Ross' mouth* How nice of you to join us in the Author's Notes. *grits teeth* Now let the readers guess.

VIX: Leave a review with your thoughts, please. *smiles darkly* Or would you like a sword plunged through your chest?

BLOSSOM: ...Just review. Please?