CHAPTER 35: WHEN WOLVES SLEEP
ME: Hey yo!
BUTCH: Are you trying to be "hip"?
ME: Well, I dunno. I am trying to to survive exams though. Haaaa...
BLOSSOM: Good luck.
ME: Thanks.
BRICK: Well, Kuku doesn't own us or the show Powerpuff Girls. She owns her OC's and the story.
ME: Indeed! This chapter we meet Michael's sister—who is not going to be named Michelle as well—and some more possible shipping stuff. *winks*
BUTTERCUP: ...Okay.
ME: Read on, guys!
Chapter 35: When Wolves Sleep
Tapping his fingers against the wooden arm of his chair, he curled his lip back, revealing sharp teeth. His patience was wearing thin. A knock on the door sounded, and he boomed out, "Come in."
A thin man entered, eyes nervously roaming around the room as he stuttered, "S-Sir, her condition is w-worsening..."
"What?" demanded the man, standing up and slamming his hands down on his desk.
The thin man let out a scared squeak. "Sh-She needs a blood transplant, but—"
"Then do it!" he bellowed.
"P-Please let me finish, sir; she's still u-unconscious and n-no one here matches her DNA..."
He let out a frustrated grumble, turning around and glaring at the wall.
"D-Danes sir?" the thin man whispered.
Suddenly, a loud smashing noise sounded as the man thrust his fist into the wall. It cracked and debris crumbled to the floor. He turned just slightly to glare at the servant, eyes narrowed and flashing a menacing darkness. "Get the car ready. I'm fetching my nephew Michael from his school. Ready it fast or your blood will be spilled."
"Y-Yes sir, Danes sir!" cried the servant, rushing out the door.
Danes turned and stared at the picture frame on his desk, his eyes taking in the details. A tall male with soft shaggy, blond-ish hair and a female with reddish hair were standing together, beside a little girl and baby boy. "Chris, Maggie... I'm sorry to have failed you. I shouldn't have sent Christie on that mission; but she was so promising..."
He sighed and turned the image away.
Michael stared at his phone. Danes had texted him and told him that his sister was back, but he hadn't said anything else. When Michael had asked, it said Danes had seen the text but no reply had been sent.
"Michael! Put your phone away," the teacher called, walking toward him.
He swallowed, quickly shoving it into his pocket. "Umm, sorry," he mumbled. He heard someone giggling in the background, and when he turned, he saw that Robin was giggling while Banana raised an eyebrow.
"Or better yet, give the phone to me," the teacher pressed, holding his hand out.
Michael sighed and reached into his pocket, but then the announcements came on and asked for him to come to the office. He immediately jumped up, still clutching his phone. "Sorry, teach! Gotta go." He could hear the teacher calling after him as he ran out the door.
When he got far enough from the classroom, he slowed down and wondered why he was being called down. I haven't done anything wrong, have I? It's just one mystery after another today, he thought. "Hello?" he asked tentatively, pulling the office door open and peeking in.
The secretary looked up. "Michael...?" When he nodded, she continued, "Your uncle is waiting for you in that room." She gestured at a door.
Michael started panicking inside when he heard his uncle's name. He thanked the lady and hurried for the door. After taking a deep breath, Michael pushed the door open. "Uncle Danes...?"
A familiar muscularly large man with long gray hair turned to see Michael. "Ah, Nephew. How nice of you to join us." Another man sat with his uncle, and Michael recognized the man as one of the school guidance counsellors; the one assigned to Michael's last name area in terms of alphabetical order.
"Why was I called down to the office?" Michael asked, still confused. His heart was beating fast.
The school counsellor gave him an apologetic look. "Your uncle was just telling me about your s—"
"Let's not talk of that now; I'm worried it'll put Michael into quite some shock. I think it's best we go as soon as possible," Danes interrupted calmly, with an edge to his voice. He started to stand up.
"Oh yes, of course; I understand." The guidance counsellor nodded, completely missing the edge in Danes' tone. "Michael, you're dismissed from school today."
Danes thanked the counsellor and walked out the door. Michael followed, trying to keep up with his uncle's brisk pace. "What's going on?" he demanded.
"Get in the car," Danes answered, avoiding Michael's question. When Michael boarded it, he was greeted by a round man in a black uniform.
"Smithers! You're back!" Michael said, surprised. "We haven't really seen you since Ross moved to Pokey Oaks High."*
"I was sent to assist—" Smithers began, but Danes shook his head. Smithers nodded and started the car instead.
When they were on the road, Michael finally dared to ask again: "Now will you tell me what's going on?"
Danes kept his eyes ahead as he spoke, his low voice more rough than usual. "I'm sorry to inform you that we've run into a mishap of sorts."
"What kind of mishap?" Michael pressed.
Danes and Smithers shared looks at the front. Finally, Danes said, "It involves your sister. You know your sister has returned already correct?"
"Yeah?" Michael sat up straighter. "Did something happen to her?"
His stomach sank when he saw Danes nod. "She's not in the best condition right now."
"What happened?" he demanded, suddenly panicked.
"...A mission," Danes muttered.
"What? I thought she was studying abroad at this exclusive private school! Y'know, that one that Michelle's brother Michael—the guy who shares the same name with me—goes to?**" he cried.
"She was," Danes answered promptly, sounding impatient. "But while there, she had a side-mission. She was dealing with the wolfish and dangerous people there too."
Michael thumped his fist against the chair his uncle was sitting in. "How could you!? You knew she might be put in danger!"
"Master Michael..." Smithers murmured, looking concerned.
Danes shook his head no at Smithers. "Let him let it out," he murmured.
Michael hit the chair again. "You're such a terrible human being sometimes! You put my sister in danger knowing she could be hurt! What if she died!? SHE BETTER NOT BE DEAD! IF SHE'S DEAD I'LL BLOODY MURDER YOU! I swear to dear God, I just hate you so much sometimes! I can't believe you always have other people do your dirty work, you—"
Danes noticed Michael's shrinking irises and decided that that was enough. He grabbed Michael's wrist and yanked harshly. "Michael!" he commanded loudly. His voice boomed throughout the entire car.
Michael slumped, his rigid arm falling. "...Yessir?" he whispered scratchily, suddenly feeling very, very tired.
"We need you to do a blood transfer," Danes explained, his tone quieter. "You share her blood type. And Michael... I'm sorry. But it was her idea; she's very loyal to our mission. I was against it, but she insisted. She really wanted to protect you. So I said yes."
Michael slumped even more, feeling tears prick his eyes. "Is she okay?"
"She'll be fine," Danes promised in a whisper. "We just need to be quick."
He wiped at his eyes. "Why does she need the transfusion?"
Danes looked out the window. "...Blood loss. From an injury. She showed up at the door, holding a big scrap of soaked fabric against her side, looking like she was ready to fall over. Smithers noticed her first; he had just returned from his own mission and he saw her fall over. She was carried inside."
This time Michael really did start crying. Danes reached over and started comforting Michael, gently rubbing his back and murmuring, "It'll be okay. It'll be okay, I promise." He even apologized a couple of times, which went completely against Danes' usual self. When they finally got to the mansion and to the room his sister was in, Michael hurried inside and immediately pushed his way to the front of the gathered group of servants. She lay in the bed, looking peaceful despite the red-stained bandages tied around her waist.
Michael's tears fell freely again. His sister was older than him by a few years, but she was the perfect child. Courageous but obedient, strong but gentle, commanding but kind... She was almost as close to star status as Ross, but not quite there yet because Ross' raw ability was far more powerful. Michael had always been jealous of her. He knew she cared about him and would always look after him, but there had been plenty of times he had brushed her off because she got more attention. Even after Danes started looking after them, he too favoured the sister over the brother.
Michael had always felt inferior, whether it was to Ross or to his sister. But Ross had been more friendly and more disobedient, so Michael warmed up to him easily. His sister though—she had been the angelic example of grace and discipline, always pleasing the adults. Michael had remained jealous his entire life.
But that didn't mean he didn't care about her; he definitely wanted her alive...
"Christie," he whispered. "Can you hear me? If you can, then please come back to me. I'll give you some of my blood, so please don't leave. Don't leave me behind. I'm not ready to be alone yet..." Michael felt Danes hand on his shoulder as he continued: "I'm sorry for being jealous and always pushing you away. Christie, please... Come back."
Smithers stepped forward, gently pulling Michael up by the arm. "Come, Master Michael; we're ready for the blood transfusion."
Michael stood up and glanced back at his sister one last time. Christie, please be okay, he begged silently as he was led away. His heart hurt, and he hated the feeling.
"Are you sure you're okay?" fretted Bunny, double-checking the visible parts of his body for any forms of wounds or bruises.
"I'm fine," Darkai answered in his usual low tone.
His voice sounds so smooth... Bunny shook her head to clear it, glancing at Darkai again. Her eyes widened and her face reddened. M-Muscles... Her head felt dizzy.
Darkai had pulled his shirt off and was now looking his body over. Besides a pretty big bruise down his back, he did seem fine. Bunny's eyes traced his spine down until her face was burning red. It didn't help that his front was thin but muscular at the same time, and his skin was so pale. It was the white that some girls wished they had; a snowy glow. It was strangely masculine on Darkai, yet also added a nice feminine touch to his rather rough features.
What surprised Bunny the most were the scars and cuts. They were obviously older and most likely not inflicted by Bandit in the halls, but they were abundant. They dotted Darkai's skin and made Bunny wonder what he did that was so harmful. She even spotted a tattoo of some sort.
He glanced at her. "See? I'm fine."
Bunny was too busy trying not to be embarrassed by his body to form an intelligent reply. "Umm...okay; I see—a little too much..." Her words quickly turned into incoherent mumbles.
"Are you okay?" Darkai asked, lifting an eyebrow.
"F-F-Fine," Bunny squeaked.
Darkai crossed the room and leaned closer toward her, having to bend down slightly to meet her eyes. His deep blue gaze stared into her purple irises, and he reached forward. Bunny winced until she felt a cold yet gentle touch upon her forehead, and she realized that Darkai was checking her temperature. "Your face is heating up," he pointed out.
"I-It's nothing! I'm n-not sick or anything. It's also not y-you, at all!" Bunny said quickly. She did a mental face-palm at the last part, especially after Darkai gave her a funny look.
"I'm a little worried about you," he said matter-of-factly. "Your temperature is strangely high." He sniffed the air. "And that scent..."
Now it was Bunny's turn to be confused. "Umm...scent...?"
Darkai shook his head. "Never mind. Sit down over there and rest a little. I'm going out—"
"Wait!" cried Bunny, surprised at her own boldness.
"Yes?" He paused and stared back at her, his dark-blue eyes piercing through her soul.
"I-I think I should still look you o-over... Even though Bandit didn't...didn't really hurt you, you're still covered in s-scars..."
Darkai shook his head again. "There's no need. I'm used to the pain, and I heal fast."
"Then why do you have so many scrapes if you heal so fast? What did you do that could cause so many cuts at once?" Bunny asked, tilting her head to one side. She didn't even stammer that time.
"...That's none of your business." Darkai reached for his shirt and stretched his arms above his head, ready to pull it over. But then something overtook him as he dropped the shirt and winced, grabbing his shoulder.
Bunny jumped up and flew towards him, grabbing his arm to look it over. She gasped. Bandages were wrapped up his forearm, which she hadn't noticed earlier. They were stained red. "This is awful!" she whispered.
"It's nothing I'm not used to," Darkai repeated gruffly, gently pulling his arm back. "I'm fine."
"No, you're not." Bunny picked him up easily with one hand. She set him down on an infirmary bed. "These bandages look like they haven't been changed in awhile; the wound could be infected by now for all I know!"
"It's nothing." He tried to brush her off, but Bunny's compassion had once again taken over.
She gently removed the bandages and stared at the deep, long gash down his forearm. It was crusted with dry blood and still had fresh blood too. A bruise surrounded the area. "Oh dear," she fretted. "This part must've hurt an awful lot when Bandit smashed you against the wall..."
Darkai shrugged but grimaced again after the action. He kept his mouth clamped shut though.
Bunny gently brushed her finger over part of the wound. It was definitely not fresh, but it was recent. Darkai let out a hiss that he held back behind clenched teeth. His shoulders were tense from the pain. Bunny closed her eyes and placed her hands above it again, nearly touching but not really. She could feel him shuddering, but he soon relaxed when Bunny's healing powers took over.
Deciding to make conversation, Bunny asked, "How did you get this wound anyway?"
"...Training," he answered roughly. His voice was clearly tight and ragged from pain, but it was also guarded.
"What kind of training cuts a wound this deep?" Bunny murmured.
"My kind." Darkai winced under her touch again, keeping his eyes on the wall. The concentration helped him cope with the pain.
"It sounds dangerous," she remarked softly, opening her eyes to study the wound. The infected areas were getting better. "You're lucky I decided to check; this particular cut was getting infected."
"...Thank you then," he muttered. She glanced at him in surprise and he looked at her from the corner of his eye, before looking away again. "I don't have a lot of time to take care of my own wounds."
"You should find the time... It's not safe leaving cuts like that; uncleaned or untreated."
Darkai sighed, shrugging. The action hurt him again. "It doesn't matter what happens to my body."
"Of course it does!" Bunny chided him gently. "Especially when your body's so...so..." She trailed off, embarrassed as she realized she had forgotten her shyness so much that she'd nearly said something weird.
"So what?" he questioned. "It's not strong enough. I need more training."
"I know for a fact you're very strong. Those m-muscles make it p-p-pretty obvious..." Bunny flushed a deep shade of red. "And I w-wanted to say that...that your body's...nice. N-Not in a perverted way, of course..."
Darkai looked at her, before he let out a very small noise and turned away. "Thanks."
Bunny stared at the back of his head in surprise. Did he just smirk...? The fact that Darkai—of all people!—is smirking at me just makes this even worse. She felt her cheeks heat up from embarrassment again, so she focused back on his wound. It was nearly healed.
"That feels a lot better," he commented quietly, as if he himself—the mysterious and always serious Darkai—was feeling awkward too.
Bunny nodded. "See? It's not so bad to have your wounds be treated."
"I don't really trust anyone with my body though." Darkai didn't meet her gaze.
Bunny paused. "Then...why did you trust me?" she asked quietly, her surprise obvious.
"You're different," he answered. "You have the power to heal someone in an instant."
"Oh..." Bunny couldn't help but feel disappointment. She glanced back down at the nearly fixed cut.
"And..." he said, causing her to look back up, "I think it's pretty clear that you're a genuinely nice person."
"O-Oh! Thank you," Bunny stated, her disappointment vanishing. Instead, she got a warm, fluttery feeling in her chest. She was relieved when the wound was healed completely. "There you go; all better now. It—"
Darkai flexed his arm and grimaced. "Ugh... Looks like not all the pain's gone yet."
"Y-Yeah, I was just going to tell you that... S-Sorry... It'll still be sore for a little while..."
Darkai looked back at her, tilting his head back. He raised an eyebrow in his usual gesture. "Why?"
"H-Huh?" Bunny, who was kneeling on the bed, looked down at Darkai's tilted back head. "I-I guess my powers don't go that far...? I don't know... S-Sorry..."
"Not that. Why are you sorry?"
Bunny suddenly felt flustered. "I-I don't know...? I guess I'm sorry th-that the cut wasn't completely fixed?"
Darkai sat straighter and turned to face her, reaching over to place his hand on her arm. His touch sent panicked tingles down her spine. "Don't be," he answered calmly, still in his smooth voice, "you were a big help to me today, even though I tried to push you away. Thank you."
"Y-You're welcome." Bunny's eyes were hidden behind her bangs as she stared at her lap, biting her lip. She even drew blood.
Darkai sniffed the air. "I smell something..."
Bunny looked up. "Hm?" she mumbled, her face still red and her head still dizzy.
"Ah, your lip is bleeding," Darkai commented, noticing the red on her pink lips.
Bunny blinked and returned to reality. "I-It's fine!" she stammered, reaching up to wipe her lip.
Darkai grabbed her arm and lowered it. "That sweater of yours seems too precious to get blood on. Here; let me." He wiped away the blood with his thumb.
Bunny's face felt like it was on fire.
"That's strange... You're still heating up," Darkai murmured.
"I-I'm f-f-fine!" stammered Bunny quickly and a little too loudly. Darkai seemed surprised, as that was the loudest Bunny had been toward him all day. "I-I mean," she said as she lowered her voice, "it's just w-warm in here... Yeah, that's it..."
Darkai's eyebrow rose again, but then he smiled. "...If you say so. Thanks again."
Bunny stared at him. When he smiles, he looks even— She stopped herself from finishing the thought. "Y-You're welcome," she answered, relieved.
"I should go," Darkai said, standing up. He reached for his shirt and stopped for a few seconds as another jolt of pain clearly shot through him, but he didn't grimace this time. He slipped the form-fitting material on and have Bunny a curt nod.
"Bye," Bunny mumbled, watching him leave.
Meanwhile, outside, a boy with dark-purple eyes and long brown hair watched them interact. He frowned and turned away, lifting his head to stare at the ceiling.
When Darkai came outside, he paused and said, "Hello, Bandit."
"...What are you trying to do?" Bandit asked, still staring at the ceiling.
"I'm not trying to do anything."
"Don't you dare drag Bunny into any of this; or any of her sisters."
"I won't. She decided to heal me on her own accord. Not all people are as distrustful as you."
Bandit didn't answer. He didn't want to lose his temper again.
"...You're lucky to have such a nice girl be constantly worried about you," Darkai finally said, before turning around and walking off.
Bandit looked up in surprise. "What?"
"You heard me." Darkai stopped walking briefly, holding up his hand as a brief gesture of goodbye. One of his thumbs still had a spot of red on it, which he cleaned off with a lick of one thumb and and a quick rubbing as he kept walking. Soon he was gone.
Bandit held back his irritation at Darkai, turning back to look at Bunny. Her face was completely red, and she had placed her palms on her cheeks in an attempt to cool them down. Bandit sighed, turning away and walking off. Darkai's wrong. Bunny's not worried about me; not anymore, at least. She's got other things on her mind now.
Buttercup bit into her sandwich, tilting her head back in frustration. She needed a moment to calm down—her brain was yelling at her to start screaming; just to let off some steam.
"Are you okay?" a concerned, gentle voice reached her ears, causing Buttercup to sigh.
She looked back down at the person speaking, nodding. "I'm fine. It's just..."
"...I got the answer wrong again, didn't I?"
Buttercup hesitated and sighed. "No—I mean, well yes; but it's perfectly okay."
"It's not okay." The person speaking looked down, eyebrows drooping. "I'll never get this stuff right."
"It is okay," she repeated. "It's just like studying for a test, but instead of a test, it's your entire life you're studying for."
"I don't think I'll make the deadline." His eyes were glistening, and Buttercup was afraid the poor guy would burst into tears.
Buttercup frowned. "Come on, Brick—don't think that way. You remember a lot of stuff already; there's just more stuff you need to push through."
Brick shook his head, wiping his eyes. "I'm just letting everyone down."
Buttercup sighed. Brick was so innocent as a person with amnesia. He always felt bad when he got something wrong, making the others around him feel bad too.
"Maybe I should just stay this way." Brick picked at his shirt.
"No!" Buttercup's head snapped upwards and she met looks with a startled Brick. She managed to regain her posture and say, "I mean... I don't think that's a good idea. No one wants the Brick we knew to disappear forever."
"But what about me now? I don't want to disappear either." Brick stared at his lap, entwining his fingers together. "If I get all my memories back, the me right now won't exist anymore."
Buttercup hesitated before placing a hand on his shoulder, reaching across the table to do so. She made sure to meet his eyes as she stated, "I don't believe that. You won't disappear; a small part of you will remain in Brick always. After all, just because you remember all of your past doesn't mean you'll forget about when you had amnesia."
"...That may be so, but...I don't want to be forgotten."
"You won't be forgotten," she promised. "You'll always be remembered." Giving him a small smile, she added, "It's not like you two are two different people in one body, right?"
Brick stared at her for awhile before looking back down. He sighed gently, wiping at his eyes one last time. "...I guess so." He lifted his head and returned her smile with one of his own, albeit weaker. "Thank you, Buttercup. You're a very sweet person."
Buttercup could feel her cheeks heat up as she let go of Brick's shoulder and leaned back. She immediately started eating her sandwich again. "I-It's no problem," she stammered, embarrassed. Brick looked confused by her sudden change in attitude. But everyone else knew why girls went shy around the "new" Brick. This new Brick made girls feel shy and special with sweet words and a caring personality, unlike the old Brick, who was considered attractive for his distant yet protective attitude.
Bandit appeared just then, dumping his dark-purple bag down in a seat next to Blaster. "Hey," he greeted.
"Where have you been?" demanded Butch. "We've been looking all over for you."
"I was busy," Bandit muttered back.
"Bunny's not here either. Did you two...?" Banana raised an eyebrow as she trailed off.
Bandit easily met her yellow eyes with an irritated look that was very close to a glare. "No."
"Okay, just asking." She shrugged her petite shoulders. "And they call me a stick-in-the-mud," she added in a quiet mutter.
This time Bandit did give her a glare, before rolling his eyes. "Go ask Darkai. Maybe he's with Bunny now; I don't know. And I don't care."
"Wait, you mean she was with that tall, dark, and mysterious guy?" Bliss piped up. "Man, shy Bunny struck herself someone like that?" She shook her head. "It's always the shy ones..."
"Don't forget handsome," Buttercup teased.
Bandit shot them both an annoyed look.
Buttercup put her hands up. "Just saying. I don't usually care about guys and romance and shit but even I can tell when a guy's hot."
"What about me?" Braker wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"And me," Butch added.
"You guys can dream," giggled Bliss, poking her counterpart (who was closest to her) in the chest.
"Hey! I'm quite handsome, thank you very much." Braker grinned and ran his fingers through his brown hair, which was swept mostly to the left.
Bliss shoved him gently. "I swear, you are so arrogant."
Boomer chuckled, but it was a half-hearted chuckle. He hadn't been very cheerful the entire day, and no one knew why.
"Guys, please. I'm not in a good mood." Bandit rubbed his temples, gritting his teeth.
"Why? Because you lost Bunny to Darkai?" Buttercup couldn't stop herself.
"No," snapped Bandit, "will you just shut up about that?"
"Whoa, Jesus. Okay, dude." Buttercup put her hands up.
Butch frowned. "You need to like, take a chill pill, man."
Rolling his eyes, Bandit folded his arms across his chest. "Maybe you guys need to stop being so insensitive for once."
"We're just joking," Buttercup said defensively. "You're the one who said you weren't jealous of Darkai and Bunny."
"And I'm not." Bandit's dark expression intensified. He was practically oozing a dark atmosphere, waves of irritation coming off him like steam. "I just don't feel like listening to this unintelligent gabble."
Blossom, who'd been mostly quiet the whole time, piped up. "Let's just leave him alone, guys. Bandit's clearly under a lot of stress right now. Besides, we should focus on more important matters"—She turned meaningfully to Brick—"like Brick's amnesia."
Brick looked worried and even a little scared. "Bandit?" he asked in a small voice. It was obvious that the new Brick hadn't seen Bandit this angry yet—and the thing was, Bandit could get even angrier.
"...Sorry, Brick. I'm fine." Bandit forced a small smile onto his face—it wasn't very convincing. He relaxed his shoulders and uncrossed his arms. "See? I'm fine. I'm not mad anymore."
"Oh... I'm glad to hear that," Brick murmured, still looking concerned.
Blossom turned to Brick. "How are you feeling?" she asked.
"I feel fine. A little dizzy, but I'm mostly okay," Brick answered tentatively. Blossom was extremely smart, and as someone who participated in science, she was working extra hard to help Brick regain his memories. She was so determined and up front with her tests that Brick was obviously more than a little nervous around her. It was evident she wanted to bring the old Brick back, which the new Brick had already mentioned to Buttercup kind of scared him.
"That's good." Blossom looked down at the book she was reading, before glancing at the helmet she'd built. "I'm still hoping to get this fixed up even more so it'll help your memory process."
"Oh." Brick glanced down at his hands, which were fiddling awkwardly beneath the table. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." Blossom adjusted part of the helmet, clearly thinking back to how Buttercup had mentioned it actually brought the old Brick back for awhile.*** She wanted to be able to expand on that.
Bandit sighed inwardly, reaching into his bag and pulling out a sheet of paper. He read over the lines:
"'My dearest Sylvie,
Without you, I'd be lost at sea,
Unable to find my way,
Or see the light of day.
With whirlpools swirling beneath me,
The darkness hides things I cannot see,
And nights are cold without you.
The stars here don't shine as bright as you do.
Because my dear, you are my North Star,
The one that guides me back every night from my travels afar.
But I always know your glow will light my way home,
Over land or air or ocean foam.
If you're beside me, I can be the hero.
Your love warms me up when it's below zero,
And I need you in my arms tonight,
Because you drive the darkness away with your brilliant light.
So I'll wish on a shooting star,
And wish that this love will go far.
My darling I'll miss you whenever we're apart,
So please think of me with all your heart.
Signed, Love Has Made Me Cave In,
Damon.'"
Bandit read the poem over again. Damon had written so much just for Sylvie, the love of his life. But she'd chosen someone else despite all of the love Damon gave her. He ended up killing Tyrone and now the consequences were surfacing. It meant war.
Butch grabbed Bandit by the shoulder and shook him slightly. "Bandit," he muttered.
"What...?" Bandit flicked his eyes toward his brother, raising an eyebrow.
"Seriously, what's gotten into you?"
"Nothing, okay? Just forget about it." Bandit shook Butch's hand off, folding up the slip of paper again.
"Last time I checked, Bandit Jojo never gets mad just for no reason—that's my job," Butch fired back.
Bandit let out a groan under his breath. "Just leave it, alright? I feel fine."
Butch didn't argue, narrowing his eyes. "Fine then." He turned away to talk to Brick and Buttercup, leaving Bandit alone as he had requested.
The purple Ruff tucked stray strands of brown hair behind his ear. I'm fine—this is what I wanted, he told himself.
Meanwhile, Butch was testing Brick. "What's my name?"
"Umm...B-Butch?" stammered Brick.
"Yes!" The green Ruff grinned widely. "You didn't call me Booth, or Butcher, or Bush!"
Brick's lips curled into a proud, shy smile.
"Wow, congrats," Buttercup offered, smirking. "Did he really call you all those things?"
Butch stopped his little cheering session to shoot her a "charismatic" smirk. "Indeed, and there's more too. Like Beau."
"Seriously...? The Beau as in 'beautiful'?" Buttercup couldn't help it—she snickered.
"Hey, he's also called me 'Hot Rod'," Butch added, his eyebrows rising suggestively.
"But I never c—" Brick tried to say, but Butch cut him off.
"Hush, my dear brother; I'm currently in the Zone."
"The only Zone you're in is the stupidest, most ridiculous one," Buttercup answered.
"Buttercup, you wound me with your harsh words of pain, sharpened like glinting steel knives underneath the pale moonlight. When all is dark and hope is lost, you drive these weapons home and through my chest, past my beating heart till it beats no more and instead spills the blood of a lost hero, and a forgotten soul."
Buttercup stared at Butch like he was the most ridiculous creature on display she'd ever seen. "...What the hell?" she finally said.
"I uh...memorized that from a poem," Butch explained. One Damon wrote, he added silently.
"Why would you of all people memorize something from a poem?" demanded Buttercup. "Are you sure it doesn't take up so much space in your small brain you won't remember anything else?"
"Hey!" remarked Butch, "Your words hit me like a thousand stones—" He stopped when he saw Buttercup's look. He coughed awkwardly. "Err...sorry."
Buttercup sighed, "I'm just teasing you." Then she managed a smile. "Still, it...is kind of admirable that you memorized a part of a poem...in a weirdly odd way."
Butch smirked back, "Thanks."
As they sat there, awkwardly smiling at each other, Blossom got up from her seat and walked over to the trio. "Brick, are you still feeling okay?" she asked.
"I-I'm honestly fine," Brick replied.
"Take this with you just in case," she answered, "in case you...have another spasm."
Brick hesitated before taking the helmet from her hands. "Thank you...Bloom?"
Blossom sighed. "No, my name is Blossom."
"Well, thank you for being so concerned about me...Blossom," Brick offered gently.
Surprised, Blossom gave him a smile. "No problem."
"But...could I please ask why you're so intent on bringing the old Brick back?" The red Ruff fiddled with the wires on the helmet. "I'm just...wondering."
Blossom flushed red, looking away. "I... I umm... That is to say... B-Brick and I, we..."
"—Were totally dating," Butch cut in with a smirk.
"We were?" Brick's face was immediately lifted, shock in his eyes. "Oh my, I am so sorry I never realized!"
"N-No! That's not it. We never d-dated. I'm good at Science. It's my job to help my dad and your dad to bring back your memories." Blossom glanced down at her lap in embarrassment, her cheeks still pink. "And...w-well, Brick and I parted on some...bad terms, let's say."
Buttercup gave Blossom a sympathetic and apologetic look. It was her fault that Blossom's "'I hate you'" text had even been sent to Brick, causing them to further ignore each other.
"Oh, that's awful." Brick reached over and gently rubbed Blossom's back. "I'm sorry he would do such a thing. I for one think you're a very sweet and beautiful, as well as smart and capable, person."
"Huh? Do what?" Blossom stared at her counterpart in confusion. Her face was burning, especially at the compliment and Brick's touch—two things she hardly ever saw or felt happen.
"I'm sorry he broke up with you like that."
There was a long moment of silence following Brick's words. Buttercup was stunned, trying not to giggle. Butch was fighting back laughter (and not really succeeding)—he hadn't known why Blossom and Brick weren't talking before Brick got amnesia; he figured it was just another dumb fight, so he found the whole thing pretty funny instead of serious. Blossom was the most shocked of all.
"I-I told you, we never dated!" Blossom got up and shook her head. "I never dated you!"
"I'm sorry," fretted Brick.
"I-I gotta go." Blossom gathered herself and her things, before hurrying away.
"Where are you going?" called Buttercup, standing up as well.
"To my locker! I'm not hungry anymore." Blossom shot straight past a surprised Vincent and Ross, who were walking into the cafeteria.
"Oh, hi Blossom," greeted Vincent.
"We were just getting chips—" Ross added.
Blossom answered with a quick, "Sorry, gotta go!" Then she disappeared out the door.
"Wait!" cried Brick, getting up. "I—" He took a step forward but had to stop, groaning as he grabbed his head.
"Brick...? Are you okay?" Butch stood up too.
"Everything's just...so blurry... It's all...spinning..." Brick uttered weakly, trying not to scream from the sudden pain. His brain was whirling around like a tornado, and his whole head was pounding like crazy.
"Oh shit," Buttercup said, reaching over to grab Brick. Bandit was getting up from his seat as well.
It was too late.
Brick toppled over, with everyone's voices of panic and fear—all calling his name—vanishing behind him.
"BRICK!"
He felt weak, and his eyes were starting to close. The last thing he saw was the yellowish-white tiled surface that he was falling toward, and then he connected with the floor with a thud.
Flashback
"Michael, back straight! Stop slouching."
Sighing and grumbling to himself, the young boy sat up straighter. "Yes Uncle."
Danes turned to the taller girl beside Michael and nodded. "Beautiful posture as always, Christie. That dress is very befitting of you."
"Thank you, Uncle. I have a date tonight." Christie fluffed her long blond hair, which had been tied back with a ribbon in a long, thick braid. The rest of it fell in waves of shimmering gold, all the way to her waist. With turquoise eyes, her pale-pink-and-white dress was indeed very befitting.
"It brings out your eyes quite well. Reminds me of your mother." Danes scooped up a small spoonful of sweet pudding, taking a bite.
"Thank you," Christie repeated, smiling.
Michael gagged silently, annoyed that as always; his sister was getting all of the good treatment.
"Michael, you're slouching again." Danes lowered his wine glass of red liquid, narrowing his eyes at his nephew. "How was school?"
"It was fine." Michael frustratedly stabbed his spoon into his pudding. It wasn't as satisfying as stabbing something with a fork.
"How is your English?"
"...B. I'm at 83%." The young boy didn't bother meeting his uncle's gaze; he could practically read the man's mind—Danes was clearly displeased—even 83% wasn't good enough for him.
"And your Math?"
"...C+," Michael grumbled.
"Michael, speak up."
"I got a C+, okay!?" he shouted back.
"Don't shout," Danes snapped back, "I won't put up with your attitude. It's even worse that you're doing so badly in each subject. You've had years to learn these things."
"Whatever!" grumbled Michael angrily.
"Christie, tell us your grades," Danes instructed expectantly.
Christie gave Michael a worried look, but he turned away and snorted. She could share the best grades in the world for all he cared. "But Uncle—"
"English."
"Uncle, please—"
"English grade. Now."
Christie sighed in defeat. "...Okay. I got a 98."
Danes nodded. "Good. Math."
"95%."
"Science."
"97%."
"Art."
"99%."
Danes continued to ask and Christie continued to answer, all the while hesitating as she glanced back in concern at Michael. He ignored her, frustrated at her perfection.
When he finished, Danes turned to Michael. "Look at how well your sister is doing at school. Why can't you work harder like she does? Stop being so lazy and start acting as smart as you talk; you're not of any real use unless you know what you're doing. And at the rate you're doing, your laziness is dragging you down."
Christie sighed, "There's no need to be so harsh on Michael—"
Danes thrust his hand onto the table. "Michael needs to work harder if he wants to succeed in this household as my heir!"
"It won't matter if you live even longer than your already long life," Michael snapped back.
Danes glared at the young boy. "Have you forgotten what those wolfish friends of Damon's did to your parents?"
"Don't talk about them like you knew them! I wish we weren't even in your care!" Michael yelled back.
"Don't give me that attitude!" Danes yelled, his voice booming across the table. He had smashed his fist down, sending plates and cups flying into the air. A part of the oaken table cracked.
Christie stood up, screeching, "Enough! Both of you, stop arguing! This type of behaviour is not tolerable!" She turned to Michael. "It's true you're smarter than this, Mikey. You can work harder and get better grades; I know you can."
"What do you care, anyway—?"
"I care because I'm your sister. I've watched you grow since you were a baby!" she answered. When Michael didn't answer again, she turned on Danes. "And stop being so harsh on the poor boy! We were left in your custody, so you can at least try to be a little nicer!"
Danes frowned, but then he nodded. "Very well. I'll leave you two to discuss your issues then." He got up and left, leaving his pudding and the cracked items behind.
Michael stared at Danes' receding back in shock. "Why does he always put up with your attitude?" he complained loudly.
"I admire her bravery to stand up to me in a calm, sensible fashion," Danes called back over his shoulder, his voice low and gravelly. "You could learn from her." Then he was gone.
Michael growled, "It's always 'learn from you this' and 'learn from you that'. You're so annoying."
"Michael, come on. Stop acting like you're eight—"
"You're completely perfect! Stop acting so nosy—I'm fine just the way I am!"
"I didn't say you had to change—"
"How else am I supposed to do better at school?"
"I know you're smart. I just know it. But you need to stop being lazy!"
"SHUT UP! I don't want to hear it!" yelled Michael, just as the door opened.
Shamus stepped in with Ross. The man looked around, clearly concerned at the volume and the mess. "Oh my," he said, "perhaps this isn't a good time."
"It's a perfect time." Michael hopped off of his seat and walked quickly toward Ross, grabbing his friend by the arm. "Come on; let's go play. I don't want to hang out with this show-off." He stuck his tongue out and shot off.
Ross, still confused, managed to say an "okay" before he was completely whisked away.
Christie sighed and Shamus joined her. "Is your brother displaying attitude again?" he asked.
"I don't know, Shamus; I just don't. I'm worried about him but he's so unappreciative and Danes is always so harsh on him, but he just pushes me away!" fretted Christie. "He's already in grade 4; after he enters grade 5, more of his training will ascend into harder levels."
"Perhaps that's not such a bad thing," Shamus answered.
"Perhaps...but I'm worried about his capability of working harder instead of half-assing everything," Christie murmured.
Shamus patted her shoulder. "Have faith in the boy. I was worried about Ross, but after so much travelling, he's been doing great. He's even got A's and B's in most subjects."
"I wish I could say the same about Michael. He's mostly getting B's, and Danes gets pretty upset enough as it is with them."
"...He'll work it out; I know he will. Michael's a smart boy."
"I know. I just hope he realizes he's got so much potential. He's smarter than he's currently acting and if he actually tries, he could surely formulate sturdy plans for the benefit of our future."
"Well, with a sister like you, he'll probably be fine."
"...Thanks, Shamus." Christie smiled.
Michael had been listening from behind a wall; that was the day he wanted to start working harder. It was also the day he found reason to be jealous at Ross too for his success.
Michael crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. He hadn't dressed up too fancily for the occasion, but he was still dressed up. His shaggy blond hair fell into his eyes—it was getting a little long—he'd probably have to cut it later. He wore a slim form-fitting white shirt with sleeves that reached his elbows. It was just a little baggy, and was lined with navy-blue stripes. His gray jeans were fraying, and he roamed his turquoise eyes down his legs and to his shoes.Today's the day, he told himself.
The door opened and out she came, long blond hair tied back in a long braid. Her platform shoes glittered white, and she was wearing a yellow sundress that brought out her shining aqua eyes. A cream-coloured dress jacket was slipped over her shoulders.
"Christie," Michael called.
She stopped and turned to look at him, lifting the brim of her big, floppy hat.
He sighed and stepped closer to her. "You're going, huh? Good luck at that private school."
"...Yeah." Christie looked down, eyes hiding behind white-rimmed sunglasses.
"Summer's over and fall's coming. You know what that means."
Christie nodded. "It's the day our parents disappeared."
Michael sighed again. "You're the only part of that family I have left. And you're leaving."
"I didn't think you'd care." Christie walked over to him, taking his hands and giving them a squeeze with a gentle smile. "You still have Ross and your friends, along with Uncle Danes."
Michael managed to crack a smile. "Something tells me Danes won't be such great company."
Christie giggled. "Yeah, I can see why."
"...Look, I'm sorry about constantly ignoring you. It's hard talking to someone so...so...perfect."
"I'm not perfect." Christie shook her head. "If anyone was lucky, it'd be you."
"Why would you even think that?"
"You're happy, aren't you?" Christie smiled almost sadly, reaching up and ruffling Michael's hair; something she used to do a lot when he was younger.
"Not always. You're way more happy than I am."
She chuckled, again with that sad tinge. "Not as much as you'd think. Good grades doesn't always equal happiness. But...I am still satisfied and content with my life. I just wish I had more freedom to do as I please."
"What do you mean?" Michael asked.
Christie shook her head. "There's no need for you to know, Michael. Come on; everyone's waiting outside and I don't want to be late. Let's go." She turned to go, but stopped when she felt something grab her wrist. "Michael?" she questioned, looking back at her little brother.
"Don't push me away. Tell me." Michael stared into her eyes.
She looked away. "...It's our last day together. Let's not do this."
"Christie...!"
"Michael, please." She turned back to him with a begging look, her eyes shining with worry. "It's fine. Forget I said anything."
He stared at her, studying her. Then: "...Fine." He let her go.
"Don't act like this, Mikey."
"Don't act like what? I know I'm pushing you away again, but you're doing the same. It's our last day together for a long time, Christie. Why won't you trust your own brother?"
"I'm doing this for your own good!"
"I'm not weak! Stop treating me like a goddamn baby! Read the signs, Ms. Oblivious and Ignorant as Shit to Other People's Feelings!" shouted Michael. He stopped when he saw her shocked expression.
"...I didn't know you felt that way."
Michael looked away, not meeting her gaze. He could picture her already having tears appear in her eyes. "...Sometimes I do."
"Okay then. I'm sorry for that. I'll try and stop being 'ignorant as shit'." She spun around on her heel and walked away. "Come on; the party's outside."
"Christie..."
"Oh, I'm sorry for being oblivious again. If you're not willing to see me off to private school, then you can go to your room."
"Christie, I'm s—"
"Goodbye, Mikey. I'll miss you, but I don't know if you feel the same." The door shut behind her and Michael never finished his sentence. He'd meant to apologize, but instead he stood there feeling dizzy for awhile. When he finally joined the party, Christie was having fun with other people. He couldn't get close enough to talk to her, and he didn't even know if he wanted to. She left soon, meaning that brother and sister parted on a misunderstanding.
Michael had tried to tell her sorry while she was gone; whether through letter or text, but it never happened. Soon it felt like it was too late, and each piece of contact between them was awkward.
Neither knew what to say...
End Flashback
...Until now.
Michael desperately wanted to apologize now. But Christie was still unconscious. The blood transfusion had already happened. Groaning to himself, Michael rested his head on her bed. It had been five hours since then; his friends had come home from school and were shocked that Christie had actually been not only injured, but also because she'd been on a mission the whole time too.
He could feel tears coming. He hated it; this weakness and this pain.
Another one or two hours passed and Michael must've dozed off. He could feel someone shaking him gently, but he didn't want to wake up.
"Wake up, Sleepyhead."
Michael's eyes snapped open and he looked up, meeting the gaze of shimmering turquoise orbs. "...Christie...!" he gasped.
She chuckled lightly, still lying in the bed. Her head was resting on the fluffy pillow, her hand reached out to tousle her little brother's hair.
Tears started leaking down his face; ones he couldn't prevent. He wiped at his eyes. "Dammit, you made me so worried," he mumbled.
Christie sat up, propping herself up with her elbow. "Are you really crying over me?"
"I'm not crying."
"Sure thing, Mikey."
Michael hesitated only a split second before he flung his arms around her. He was a little boy again, wanting the security of being with his big sister. "I'm sorry! For every piece of shit I put you through. You're an amazing sister, putting up with all my bullshit."
"What are you apologizing for?" Christie stroked his back, smiling. "You're my little bro; of course I'll put up with you—otherwise who will?"
Michael managed to laugh despite his tears. "Oh shut up." He paused. "But really, I'm apologizing for everything. Like what I said before you went to private school."
Christie leaned back and met his eyes, saying, "What? That? I forgave you for that long ago, you silly goose!"
"Then why didn't you write me a lot? Every letter and piece of email was so short!"
"You sent me short stuff too, right? Besides, I was really busy working on my mission." Christie smiled. "Sorry."
"Jeez." Michael shook his head and managed to chuckle. "You're telling me I was worried for this long for no reason?"
Christie smiled brighter. "Hey, I'm happy you apologized."
Michael smiled back. "Me too. It's a load off my chest."
His sister looked around the room. "So what happened while I was out?"
"I gave you some of my blood," Michael explained.
"What...?" Christie spun around to stare at Michael.
He nodded. "You lost a lot of blood. What kind of mission were you even doing? You don't have healing powers like Vix!"
Christie stiffened at the mention of Vix, but recovered herself. "I was just doing some special jobs for Danes. That's what I meant by me not having a lot of freedom."
"That asshole of an uncle; he's always getting other people to his work; even his own precious niece—"
"Shhh, it's okay." She tousled his hair again. "I did it because I care about my people."
Michael frowned. "Let me guess; you can't tell me the specific missions yet?"
"...No; sorry." Christie shook her head.
Michael sighed, "I figured. Anyway, you know there's a war looming ahead, right?"
She nodded. "Times are changing."
"Again," he agreed.
"If it'll avenge people who were wrongly killed like Tyrone, or people who were wrongly taken from others like our parents being taken from us... Then I think this change is necessary," Christie said firmly.
Just as she said that, the door opened and a tall male walked in, bleeding. His long red hair was swept up into a ponytail, but clumps of it had fallen out of the hairstyle. Blood streaked his face and cuts adorned his arms. One of his eyes were glowing white, while the other shone green. "You...sure about that?" the newcomer wheezed.
Michael stood up. "Vix, you're back," he managed to say.
The tall teen shook his head. "Can't...speak," he heaved. His healing powers took over, but he looked exhausted. He managed to stumble toward a bed and collapse in it, still bleeding. The sheets were stained red quickly, but luckily it wasn't for long.
Michael felt something animalistic tugging at him when he saw Vix's bleeding wounds, like what usually happened when he saw enough quantity of blood. He shook his head. Ugh, this animalistic feeling is driving me batty, he complained inwardly.
Vix finally healed, but the wounds weren't completely gone. He was clearly too tired for a full session, and his magical eye had started watering from being overworked. "I see...that Christie's...back," he struggled to say.
Michael nodded. "Where have you been all day?"
"Mission." Vix winced as he sat up, taking off his torn jacket, which was also stained with red by now. He then added after he managed to catch his breath enough, "It wasn't a pretty one. I think I got called 'traitor' at least 20 times."
Michael opened his mouth to say something, but Christie spoke first: "Congrats on surviving." Her tone was clearly guarded—even a little hostile.
Vix looked up, meeting her eyes. She promptly turned away. "Heh. Glad to see you're still as friendly to me as ever." He cracked his neck and rubbed his sore arms. "Missed you too."
"Glad to see you're still as serious as ever," she shot back.
"Yeah, well thanks. I try." Vix shot her a charming smirk.
Christie narrowed her eyes. Vix was the only person she ever visibly had a hard time tolerating on Danes' side. She'd never really trusted him, and apparently even now Vix was still not completely welcome in her eyes. Her hostility was evident, although Christie's compassion was clear as well—she'd put up with Vix and would never choose to fight him (unless he attacked first). But she still always had a hard time trusting him, and his personality didn't seem to help.
"Umm... Let's move on," Michael suggested, playing peacemaker. He usually didn't have to make peace for anything when his sister was around (usually he was the one who needed his sister as the peacemaker), but when it came to Vix and Christie... Yeah, that's a different story—they won't fight each other, but they sure as heck won't be friendly either. He shook his head.
"Fine by me," Christie said, obviously struggling to stay calm.
Vix, on the other hand, didn't even bother to make peace with her. He ignored Michael's comment; instead he got up and grabbed the red-stained jacket and bed-sheets, tossing them into the laundry bin. "Let the maids know they got some cleaning to do," he grunted. He went and started wrapping bandages around himself. Christie watched him for awhile, but turned away when Vix asked sarcastically, "What are you staring for? Think I'm sexy or something?"
"No," she answered promptly, turning back to Michael. "Mikey, can we go? I don't want to be stuck here with Vix; I'm fine now. I can walk on my own. We should see Danes and let him know I'm awake now or s—"
"There's no need."
The trio turned as they took in the turning doorknob. When the door was open completely, Danes stepped inside.
"Uncle," Christie murmured.
He dipped his head. "Welcome back, Christie. It's nice to see you again in person."
*(A/N: Reference to chapter 16!)
**(A/N: Reference to my fic "Hung Up on You"!)
***(A/N: Reference to chapter 31!)
ME: Done! There, Michael got some character development. And holy crap, this chapter is 9000+ words. Umm...well now; I did the long chapter thing again.
BANDIT: ...And there was more Darkai and Bunny.
ME: Oh, I'm sure you don't mind.
BANDIT: *mutters* ...Right.
ME: Anyway, I hope you guys all liked it! So apparently Michael's sis is Christie—I named her in 2013 and forgot about her till recently. *laughs awkwardly*
BRICK: *sighs and rolls eyes* Of course.
ME: Anyway, we got to see some flashbacks into his life. What happened to Michael's disappeared parents...? Whatever it is, it means more reasons to hate Damon, apparently.
BUTTERCUP: Danes must hate the guy a lot by now.
ME: *shrugs* He already does.
BUBBLES: Vix and Christie don't like each other...
ME: Yup.
BRICK: Can we not ignore the fact that I just fucking collapsed on the ground?
ME: Of course not.
BRICK: ...Well?
ME: ...Well, we'll ignore it till next chapter. *smiles sheepishly*
BRICK: *face-palm* I can't trust you with my life, or my anything.
ME: Oops.
BUTCH: Just review, guys. And maybe Brick won't be out for too long...again.