CHAPTER 41: WOLVES FEAR FOR THEIR SAFETY
ME: *smugly* Oh, you guys will like this chapter.
BUTCH: You said that last time. So what happens now?
ME: No real action—yet, but plenty of concerned characters and some fluff!
BRICK: *narrows eyes* I don't trust you...
ME: Hmm. Anyway, I only own my OC's and the story! Go on ahead and read, guys!
Chapter 41: Wolves Fear for Their Safety
"Fire!"
The sounds of guns exploding penetrated the thick silence that came with the night. A nearly full moon hung in the sky like a silver ornament dangling by a thread. Below, people hidden in the shadows ducked behind bushes and trees, carrying rifles and snipers as they shot at one another. The grass quivered beneath their feet, and animals escaped from the gunfire.
A wolf tumbled out of the canopy of leaves, which brushed against its bloodstained coat. The red liquid that poured from its wound trailed behind it in the grass and dirt, staining its fur and paws. It collapsed onto the ground a little ways into the middle of the field. Pounding footsteps sounded as people ran away from where the wolf had been hiding.
Men emerged from the other side, carrying weapons. One of them stopped in front of the dying wolf, whose flanks were heaving. "What do we do with this fella?" he growled.
"It's just a wolf; we need to keep an eye on the prize," growled another man, who was running after the others. They were chasing the people who had been crouching near the wolf. "We can't let them escape! We are fighting under Danes and for the late Tyrone; letting them escape would be an insult to Tyrone."
"Yeah, you're right." The man who had stopped started running again, hoisting his gun up and aiming. "Get ready to die, suckers." And then he fired.
The sounds of silver bullets piercing the air whistled overhead as men ran for cover below. Their scurrying was desperate, and some people were too slow. One shot down. Two. Three. Four.
One of them, who was hiding behind a tree, glanced back at the approaching men with black guns. "This is a disaster," he hissed. "They're attacking us when we're defenseless!"
There was the sound of gunshots and the girl beside him ducked. "Does this mean the war is starting?"
"Dammit! I should be carrying my gun," the man growled, crouching down. A bullet pierced the tree on the other side, making a splintering sound. The two hidden behind the tree glanced at each other. Both of them knew that they might die.
There was another scream as someone else got shot, and then there was silence as only footsteps pounded on the ground. "Come out, come out, wherever you are~!" a voice would call out eventually, with the familiar sound of a loading gun.
"Hey, I found someone!" a woman shouted, and then there was a blast. A person fell down in the grass, a bullet hole seeping blood into the grass, near the two's hiding place.
They looked at each other. Oh shit.
Just then, another person burst from the bushes, yelling, "What brought on this attack!?"
The woman spun around, her gun raised. "One of you delivered Maggie and Chris to our doors, bloody and battered."
Anyone who was hiding was confused, unsure what she was talking about. "But Maggie and Chris have been gone for ages—"
"It's quite clear that some of you were planning to attack us and that was a warning," the woman exclaimed.
"You can't just shoot all of us who are innocent!"
"We don't know if you're innocent. Danes has decided to start the war anyway."
Growling, there was a whooshing sound and the person who had burst out began running toward them. Then he attacked the woman, but was quickly shot.
Nearby, someone who was kneeling behind a rock took a deep breath and grabbed something from their belt. He popped the lid. More gunshots were fired from behind him, and then he leaped upwards. "For my daughter!" he yelled, throwing the item at the shooters.
They turned to stare at him in shock. "Sampson!" one of them called in a disgusted tone, already aiming to shoot.
Another person glanced down at the item Sampson had thrown. "Shit!" they exclaimed, already turning and running.
A few followed, but plenty stayed behind, accusing the ones running of being cowards.
Sampson took a step back. "Duck!" he screamed at his companions.
When everyone did as they were told, there was a giant explosion of flames in the centre of the field. Sampson had thrown a grenade.
Bandit groaned lowly as he opened the door to his home, thinking back to his argument with Bunny. He was worried about her, but now he'd screwed up and she didn't want to talk to him.
"I hate you!" she'd shouted. Those stinging words rang in his ears.
He had just gotten back from the supermarket, and was carrying an armload of groceries. He looked inside his house and noticed that all was quiet. "Guys?" he called. "Blossom? Bubbles?"
Boomer poked his head out at the mention of Bubbles' name. He jerked his thumb at the door, his gaze shadowed behind his bangs. "She just left."
Bandit frowned but didn't question his brother. Instead he dumped the groceries down on a nearby table. "So where's Blossom?"
"Still down in Mojo's lab for all I know." Boomer shrugged and walked over, grabbing the bags of food. Then he went back into the kitchen.
Bandit raised an eyebrow at the blue Ruff's strange behaviour, but he shoved the concern aside. He flew toward Mojo's lab's doors and wrenched them open, before flying down the stairs, a purple streak behind him. His brown hair flapped around his face, and he pushed his ponytail out of his eyes as he landed. "Guys?" he called loudly.
There was no reply.
Concerned, the purple Ruff did a quick check of the area around him. He couldn't see anything out of the usual. So then he moved elsewhere, slowly circling the room overhead as he floated along. When he spotted Brick's bed, his eyes widened and he landed.
Both Brick and Blossom had their eyes closed. Brick was wearing the fancy helmet that was supposed to get his memories back. "Guys?" Bandit called softly.
They didn't reply, obviously. He checked their breathing and their vital signs. They were alive, although their breathing was—while even—just a little shallow.
"Shit," he muttered.
Buttercup waved at the limo in her driveway, where a window was rolled down and three faces peeked out at her. Butch, Princess, and Mitch were all grinning and laughing as they waved goodbye. Buttercup managed to smile back and wave too, before they pulled out of the driveway. She and Butch had ridden with Mitch and Princess despite them being able to fly.
Fumbling with a bag in her hands that she'd borrowed from Princess to store her various prizes, Buttercup found her key in her pocket and walked up to the door of her house. She unlocked the door and looked inside. The TV was on full blast, but the rest of the house was silent, which was strange.
Buttercup walked in and closed the door. "Hello?" she called.
Bliss appeared in the doorway of the living room, waving her over without saying anything. Buttercup followed and listened closely to the TV. Soon she was standing in the living room, staring at the screen.
A woman on the screen was reporting something. "People reported hearing gunshots in the middle of the night," she was saying, "and when the police got here, they found various dead bodies and a lot of blood. The victims of this uncalled for shooting have not yet been identified, but it is advised that the civilians of Townsville should be careful. It might have been a gang waging war against innocent people. It appears that someone threw a grenade into the mix, which caused a loud explosion and prompted others around the area to call the police."
As she kept talking, the Professor looked up from his seat on the sofa. "You're home late," he said chidingly.
"I was with Princess, Mitch, and Butch at the fair, remember?" Buttercup replied defensively.
"I know," he sighed, "but what if you'd been shot at? It's nearly 9:00 pm, Buttercup. What would I do if you were caught up in that battle?"
Buttercup shrugged. "I'd be fine. Bullets don't affect me that way, remember?"
"They still hurt you!"
"Come on, Professor. You know I wouldn't get involved in that kind of thing," protested Buttercup.
He shook his head. "I don't know, BC. You have a tendency for...well, violence."
She gave him a look.
The Professor held his hands up. "Look, I'm just worried for my little girls, okay? From now on all of you have to be home before 7:30."
"Not cool!" complained Bliss.
"Hey, where's Blossom?" Buttercup asked.
The Professor sagged further into the sofa, sighing. "She's still at the Rowdyruff Boys' place, trying to fix Brick's amnesia, remember?"
"I came home without her," Bubbles piped up. "She told me to leave first." There was a sadder tint to Bubbles' tone, but Buttercup didn't ask about it.
Instead, she stared at them. "So why's she not home yet?"
The Professor swallowed. "Buttercup... When I tell you this, please don't panic."
"Why would I panic?" Buttercup stiffened. "She hasn't been shot, has she?"
"Heavens no!" The Professor shook his head. "It seems that she found a frequency for Brick's helmet but both of them became unconscious and haven't woken since then. Mojo reported strange brainwaves from Brick, and Blossom's seems to have matched Brick's. Mojo came to the conclusion that she's inside Brick's head, which I know sounds impossible, but many impossible things have happened before. Bandit was the one who found them, and he promised me that he's taking care of them."
At the mention of Bandit, Bunny stiffened before averting her gaze, looking guilty about something.
But once again, Buttercup didn't pry. She grabbed her jacket, which she had shrugged off when coming in. "I need to go see the Ruffs then!"
"BC, no! It's late. Blossom can stay at the Ruffs' house for tonight. I know she'll be safe there, and you do too. I don't want you being shot at in the middle of the night," the Professor protested. "She's inside Brick's head anyway; she could bring his memories back this way!"
Buttercup hesitated, glancing at her sisters.
"We've all discussed going to see Blossom, but not doing so for now sounds like the best option," explained Banana.
Sighing, Buttercup put her jacket away. "Fine," she grumbled. "But the two redheads better wake up soon."
The others all nodded their agreement, and she sat down with them.
"So what do we do about this?" demanded Blossom, eyeing the other Brick through the mirror. She looked a little panicked.
And Brick was feeling the same way. He sucked in a deep breath. "I don't know," he admitted.
The other Brick touched the mirror but the static shock passed through him. But he didn't fly backwards—no, he dug his feet into the ground and held his stance.
Brick got the message. Taking another deep breath, he forced his hand into the mirror. Electricity crackled along his skin, and he let out a sharp gasp, biting down on a cry of pain. Forcing his hand through, Brick dragged himself all the way through the mirror, except for his other hand. He used that hand to grip onto the side of the mirror that was with Blossom. Looking at his other self, Brick said, "Come on."
"I can't," the other Brick said, his voice ragged—it was more gruff than Brick's. "I can't get through the mirror. I've already tried." He showed his arms to Brick, and they were covered in burn marks.
Brick swallowed. "How am I supposed to help you then?"
"You need to fix the mirror. It's cracked."
"Yeah, I noticed." Brick glanced down at the crack, frowning. "How do you fix a magical mirror?"
The other Brick shook his head. "I don't know. But this is our head, right? Maybe we can fix it by thought. We can control what happens here."
"Yeah." Brick glanced back at where Blossom was. She was watching, eyes wide. "So should I go back to the other side?"
The other Brick nodded. "That would be a good idea," he said tiredly.
Brick gave his other self a squeeze on the shoulder before going back through the mirror. He felt more shocks tingling against his skin. When he finally got out, he fell back on his butt and caused a big splash. "Ow," he muttered.
"How did it go? What happened?" asked Blossom, staring at her counterpart with wide, eager eyes that were hungry for information. "Why isn't the other Brick here too?"
"He can't get through," Brick explained, "but we might be able to get him out if we fix the mirror."
"How?" demanded Blossom, looking the damage over. "It's a magical mirror."
"Well, it's a part of my brain. I can control things here. Whatever I think up—if I think hard enough—will appear or happen." He squinted at the crack. "The other Brick and I can fix this with thought alone."
Blossom bit her lip. "So what do I do?"
Brick was silent for a few moments. It was true that Blossom would be a little less useful in his head than she'd be in real life. "We need to get you out of my head," he finally said.
"What?" she exclaimed.
"You heard me. You'd be of more use outside my head than inside," he answered calmly, accessing the side of him that was Brick from before he got amnesia.
"I can't just leave you here!"
"Well, if I went with you, I'd still be a little amnesiac. Everything's muddled for me right now. It's hard to remember anything." He reached out and took a couple stray strands of her red hair and tucked them behind Blossom's ear. "You'll be more helpful outside my brain and you know it. You could work on the helmet, my brainwaves, and try and figure something out to help us leave. Besides, I can't get out anyway. The mirror's broken—but you should go."
"How? You just said so yourself: the mirror's broken!" Blossom waved her hand desperately at the Brick on the other side, who looked like he was ready to keel over—he was already sitting down; too tired to stand. "He can't get out and neither can you, so how am I supposed to?"
"Me."
"Huh?" She stopped to stare at him.
"Me," he repeated. "My brain, my rules. I can get you out if I try hard enough." He turned to the other Brick. "He can help."
Blossom bit her lip. "Are you sure about this?"
"Positive," he promised.
"How positive?"
"...About 90%."
Blossom inhaled sharply. "Okay then. Fine. Do it."
Brick forced himself through the mirror again and told his plan to the other Brick. That Brick nodded and Brick went back to Blossom. "Ouch, I'm starting to know how my other self feels," he said, rubbing his burnt arms.
Blossom touched his arm gently in concern. "Are you sure you can do this?"
"I told you, I'm positive."
"Yeah, 90% positive."
Brick sighed. "We have to try."
Blossom looked around. "So what do I do? Am I supposed to stand here? Or sit down?"
"Sit," suggested Brick, "then I can try and transport you out of here." He closed his eyes, sitting down cross-legged. He knew Blossom followed his example by the splashing noises that followed his own. He took deep breaths. In. Out. It was like he was meditating.
He imagined a portal opening above Blossom, one that would take her away back to the real world. He knew that the other Brick was thinking the same thing, since that's what he had told him to imagine. He thought of this portal and tried to make it as vivid as possible, but nothing happened. He heard a worried sound from Blossom, and tried to concentrate harder.
Come on portal, open up, he pleaded silently. He evened his breaths and focused all of his energy on the image of an opening portal. At first nothing happened, but then there was a whooshing noise coming from where Blossom was sitting.
"Brick, you're glowing!" she exclaimed, but her voice was drowned out by his heavy concentration.
Breathing deeply, Brick straightened his shoulders and felt the glow consume him. He could feel his energy being zapped away, but he forced himself to stay focused on the portal. He thought of Blossom's kindness and her hope. He thought about how she deserved to go home. He thought about how she'd taken care of him. He thought about the text—and her apology. The thoughts gave him strength. Just a little further...
Meanwhile, Blossom was staring up at the forming hole above her head, eyes wide and breathing stalled. She could feel it trying to suck her in, and while she didn't resist, it just didn't have enough power to pull her through. "You can do it, Brick," she whispered, feeling her hair whip around her face from the wind.
His eyes flashed open, glowing white as he turned to Blossom. The portal opened a fraction of an inch. "Blossom," he called, his voice almost drowned out by the portal's loud whirring noise.
"Yes?" She felt her breath escape her throat. The portal shrieked and whistled over her head, swirling and making her hair fly upwards.
He trained his glowing eyes on her, and she wondered if he could actually see her. His next words were quiet and calm, with a hint of endearment to them. Despite how gentle they were, they cut through the whooshing noises like a knife and she heard them perfectly clearly. "It's time for you to go home."
Blossom hesitated before reaching out with her hand and touching his arm gently. "Thank you," she called over the deafening noise that was slowly growing louder, "I promise I'll help you and the other Brick get out of here." When she had finished speaking, the portal's volume was at an all-time high. "I believe in you!" she shouted loudly.
Brick only smiled at her.
And then she was gone, pulled through the portal from his grasp like a puppet.
Brick felt the glowing energy that had enveloped him suddenly evaporate, and his eyes stopped glowing too. He sucked in a deep breath and immediately fell over as the portal closed, causing a splash. He turned to look at the other Brick, who was also on the ground panting. They shared a weak look of acknowledgement of what they'd just accomplished.
Brick glanced back at where the portal—and Blossom—had been. "You've already helped me plenty," he murmured, closing his eyes.
"Yo, see you guys later!" Butch saluted his friends goodbye as he hopped off of Princess' limo and made his way onto his porch. The car sped away after they finished calling their goodbyes, and Butch unlocked the door.
He'd given most of the prizes he'd won to Buttercup, but he himself carried a few prizes—and a lot of food. "Hey, guys! You won't believe what I won," he called, but no one answered him.
He could hear the TV on. Turning his head to look into the living room, he was surprised to see all of his brothers gathered around the television. Mojo and Him sat on sofas, watching the screen as well.
"Guys...?" he called awkwardly, stepping closer toward the room.
Braker looked up and hissed, "Shhh!" Then he motioned for Butch to join them.
Butch sat down and stared at the screen, curious as to what had caught his entire family's attention.
A reporter was speaking. She was standing outside somewhere. "Now back to you, Brian."
"Thanks, Sally," a man said. "The police are already investigating the gunshots that people heard tonight," he said, "and who the bodies left behind in this shooting are. As this might be a turf war among gangs, it is greatly advised that you shut your doors and be careful outside! Every man for himself! Now here are a couple of pictures of the disaster."
Butch stared at the footage of the wreckage left behind from this recent shooting. Bodies, carnage, burnt grass. People clamouring around police tape as the cops tried to hold them off. Butch felt his heart stop beating. I recognize some of those faces on the bodies, he realized. They're one of us; on our side.
Bandit's face remained solemn. "It's started," he finally said.
Butch thought back to Buttercup, Mitch, and Princess. "Shit," he whispered. What if they had gotten caught in the shooting? Then what? I'd never forgive myself if they got hurt. Butch closed his eyes and pushed the thoughts away. He opened them a few moments later and looked around. "Where's Brick?" he asked, finally noticing that his eldest brother wasn't around. "I mean, I know his amnesiac self probably won't like blood but I thought Blossom was helping with that..."
All of a sudden, Bandit looked nervous. He glanced at the other Ruffs, Mojo, and Him. All of them turned away. Him gestured for Bandit to explain. The purple Rowdyruff Boy took a deep breath. "Fuck," he said, "I don't know how to break this to you."
Butch had been suspicious, but now he was fully attentive. "What? What happened?" he demanded.
"Well...both of them are kind of unconscious right now."
There was a long moment of silence. Then Butch shouted, "WHAT!?"
"I'm sorry! I came home and they were unconscious. Blossom and Brick were both unawake. We tried to wake them up but nothing worked!" Bandit said defensively.
Butch felt his breathing quicken. "They're not dead, are they?"
"No, they're alive." Butch sagged with relief, but Bandit's next words made him shout again: "It's just that their breathing is a little shallow..."
"We need to help them!" Butch yelled.
"How!?" demanded Bandit, smashing his fist into the coffee table. "I already told you, we tried to wake them up! We tried everything!"
"Dammit." Butch rolled his eyes upwards to the ceiling. "Dammit, dammit, dammit."
"The war's started. I lead this team now." Bandit averted his gaze. "But it's not like I want to. I want him back too, Butch, but we can't do anything."
Butch didn't say anything, keeping his eyes glued to the ceiling.
"The Powerpuff Girls are suffering too. Blossom's also still unconscious—" Bandit continued, but he didn't get to finish.
Someone burst into the living room, panting, long hair billowing from the breeze they had caused. The person was a girl, and her familiar pink eyes were wide. "Guys, we have a situation on our hands."
Butch had averted his gaze from the ceiling to look at the newcomer. He felt startled, but he recovered quickly. Now he turned to Bandit, whose eyes had widened in shock. "You were saying?" the green Ruff finally said, breaking the stunned silence.
One, two; one, two. Ross counted his steps as he jogged, listening to music and trying to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach—trying to ignore the image of blood.
As he rounded a corner, he was surprised to see that he'd found his way into the Powerpuff Girls' neighbourhood. Their house stood out among the others, with it's square build and the three iconic circular windows that lined its upper front wall. Ross slowed down, breathing evenly as he gazed up at the house. He spotted something and squinted his green eyes to try and make the shape out, which was...climbing out of a window!? Ross' eyes widened.
"Buttercup," he whispered. He quickly ran toward the house, crossing the driveway and stopped right below her. "Buttercup?" he called in a stage-whisper.
She glanced down and noticed him. "Ross?" she said, losing grip of the windowsill in her surprise.
"Whoa!" he exclaimed as she fell down.
"I've got this," she said, getting ready to fly. But she was already close to the ground.
Ross quickly moved and caught her in his arms, bridal-style. They were silent for a long time, and then Ross smiled at her. "You okay, Juliet?"
Buttercup blushed and shoved him. "Oh shut up...Romeo." She paused. "You can let me go now, you know."
"Right. Sorry," he said, letting her go.
"It's fine." She climbed out of his arms and began dusting herself off. Buttercup raised her gaze a little. "...Thanks."
"No problem." He looked up at the open window. "What are you doing, anyway?"
"Sneaking out." Buttercup started walking and motioned for him to follow her. "The Professor's all worried because of the recent shooting so we have to go home early and stay home."
"Oh...right—the shooting." Ross thought back to after he'd broken down about Tyrone's murder, and not two minutes later the door had burst open. Someone reported the shooting to Shamus, which had been the first move made by Danes in the war.
Stunned, Shamus went to Danes and demanded why he was starting it so soon, and Danes had only answered that they couldn't waste time. They had held the war off enough. Hadn't Shamus seen with his own eyes what they'd done to Maggie and Chris, after all? Besides, Danes had stated, Christie had agreed.
Ross remembered Michael's amazed stare at his sister, but she had remained silent and dark.
"Yo, Ross? Anyone home?" Buttercup called, drawing him back to the present. She had stopped at a nearby hill, and was now sitting. She patted the spot beside her.
"Ah, sorry," he apologized, sitting down too. He frowned, looking down at the grass, where a buttercup was growing.
"What's bothering you, man?" Buttercup asked. "Why are you out so late anyway?"
He was silent for a long moment. Then: "You know how my father died?"
Buttercup blinked in surprise, thinking about what he'd said. She'd heard about his father's death, but that was it. She didn't know the details. Still, judging by Ross' saddened gaze, Buttercup decided it wasn't the best time to ask. "Yes?" she finally said.
"Well, I came out to do some running. I had remembered the night he died in a dream. Years of suppressed memories rained down upon me. I couldn't take it." He pressed his hands to his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. "It was just too much, so many memories crashing down on me. I wanted to run to distract myself. I...I wanted to run away from the memories."
"Ross..." Buttercup hesitated and reached out to take his hand, pulling it away from his ear. She gave it a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry."
He opened his green eyes and stared down at the grass, squeezing back. "It's not your fault," heir murmured back.
"I wish I could help."
"You already have." Ross leaned in closer and whispered, his voice gentle and soft as he added, "Thank you."
Buttercup shivered, but not from the cold.
Ross stood up and adjusted his black belt. "You should go home, BC. The Professor's right to be worried about the shooting. I don't want you to get hurt."
"I can take care of myself!" she exclaimed, jumping up indignantly.
He met her gaze. "I know," he said softly. "But I can't bear to lose you too. Please, BC."
Buttercup blinked and backed down. "Fine," she muttered, "but only because it's for you."
He smiled.
She blushed. "Not in that way! I mean, since you lost your father and all..."
"I know." Ross closed his eyes. Then he opened them and walked over to her. "Buttercup...?"
"Yeah?" She kept her eyes trained on his, forcing herself not to look away.
He reached down and plucked the buttercup from the grass, before tucking it behind her ear, brushing away a few strands of black hair. "You look really pretty tonight."
Buttercup felt her face flame up. She was only wearing a simple lime-green t-shirt with a white jacket and black shorts. "Wh-What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means I think you look pretty," he chuckled, smiling warmly. "I mean it."
"Yeah, sure. Whatever." She turned away and rubbed her arm. Then she glanced back at him from the corner of he eye. "...Thanks."
"You're welcome. Now you should go home. It's getting late."
"What about you?" she replied. "You should go home too."
"I will," Ross promised. He pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her. "Thanks again, Buttercup. I really appreciate your comfort and the fact that you're going to be careful about this whole shooting thing."
"J-Jeez, anyone would think that you liked me or something," she said, half-joking as her cheeks burned.
He pulled away. "Who says I don't?"
Buttercup stared at him for a few long moments and decided that he was joking. Or at least he only meant it in a friendly way. "Yeah well don't get any ideas, mister."
"I won't," Ross promised in a chuckle.
She gently brushed her fingers against the buttercup in her hair and had to turn away to hide her smile. Buttercup began marching home, doing a casual wave over her shoulder. "See ya," she called.
When she glanced back at him, he was smiling and waving. She waved back one last time before floating up to her window and into her room. When she disappeared, Ross stopped waving and he stopped smiling.
The war's started and I can't put anyone I care about in danger. Especially when they're not involved in the war. He watched the glow that Buttercup's window emitted one last time before turning and jogging away. Especially not her.
Noises from Buttercup's room caught Banana's attention, and the yellow Puff went to check on her sister. Knocking on the door, she called out.
No one answered, so Banana shrugged and floated back into her own room. She figured that Buttercup was just still upset about the fact that Blossom and Brick were both unconscious, and was probably blowing off some steam.
Banana sat down at her desk, taking some tracing paper and taping it above another drawing she'd done. It was a dress, with white ruffles on the chest, a yellow bodice with polka-dots, and a ruffled white skirt. She was tracing it to create a similarly shaped outfit but with a different pattern. And maybe less ruffles, she thought. Maybe I'll try something new. Like pleather.
She was about to sketch these ideas out onto the tracing paper when someone rapped on her window. Blinking in surprise and confusion, she went and peeked out of her window. What she saw made her drop her pencil in surprise.
"Michael!?" she hissed, opening the window. As he clambered into her room, Banana demanded, "Are you crazy? How'd you get up here? This is the second floor!"
Panting, he flopped down on her bed. "I climbed." His voice sounded shaky.
When he didn't give a further explanation, she frowned and sat down, raising an eyebrow. "So what's up?"
"I need your help," he said, turning to look at her.
To Banana's surprise, his eyes were brimming with tears. "Oh no," she murmured gently, "what's wrong? Why are you crying?"
Michael closed his eyes, rubbing at the tears. "My parents disappeared awhile back. Tonight they were found, but nearly dead." His voice broke. "I don't know when they'll wake up, or if they'll even wake up."
"Oh my God, that's awful!" Banana exclaimed, quickly walking over to him and sitting down next to him. She held her hand out but hesitated, instead grabbing an embroidered handkerchief she'd gotten from Blaster on her birthday.
He wiped his eyes. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do," he explained shakily.
Banana took his hands. "I'm sure it's all going to be okay," she murmured. "I'm here for you."
"Thank you." Michael turned his wet turquoise gaze on her. "For everything. It means a lot to me."
"It's fine." She felt herself flush red.
"No, I mean it. It really does help me feel better. You have no idea how scared I feel right now. It's not just my parents. There's my sister's behaviour now, and..." He trailed off.
"And?" she prompted.
Michael shook his head. "Nothing. I don't want to think about it right now."
Banana bit her lip. "There you go again, not telling me something."
He spun to face her. "What? No! It's not like that!"
"So what's it like then? You want to 'keep me safe'? I've heard it all before, mister." Banana knew she was being unfair, considering what he was going through, but she felt that it wasn't fair that he said he appreciated her, and yet wouldn't tell her what was going on in his own life.
Michael bit his lip. "You're really not going to let this go, are you?"
"No." She folded her arms and looked away stubbornly.
He reached out and caged her with his arm, his hand on her bed-frame. "Banana, please..."
"It's not fair. First the Ruffs, now you. If any of you really care about me, then why won't you trust me enough to tell me what's going on?"
"I'm not saying anything because I care about you! I don't want to put you in danger," protested Michael.
Banana turned to him. "How bad can it be? What, is there an all-out war going on that I don't know about?"
Michael hesitated.
"I knew it. You don't really care about me." Banana gently pushed his chest, feeling hurt. "Let me go."
"Banana..."
"You should go. It's getting late. I'm sorry about your parents, but all I can do is comfort you. Even then you won't trust me! You don't care about me enough to even tell me what's going on—"
"I do care about you! I swear! It's just...if you ever got hurt, I'm never going to forgive myself..."
"I can handle myself!"
"That's what they all say," he replied. "I don't doubt you, but I'm not telling you anything because I'm worried for your sake."
"That's what they all say too," she shot back.
"Well, my parents said they could handle anything. And look what happened to them!" Tears appeared in Michael's eyes, and he wiped them with the embroidered handkerchief again. "This isn't easy for me, you know!"
"I'm sorry about that! But I don't know how to help if I don't know the details. Besides, it's not like you care about me enough to actually want my help..."
"I told you, you've helped me a lot and I really appreciate it! I mean, there's another way you can comfort me, but you've already done plenty!" he exclaimed exasperatedly. "I also do happen to care about you!"
"Fine, then prove it!" she shot back. "Tell me how I can comfort you more."
Michael fell silent.
"Michael...?" pressed Banana.
"I don't know if I should..." he murmured, still blinking back tears about his parents. His grip tightened on the handkerchief.
Banana swallowed. "I knew it," she whispered, turning her head away as she took the handkerchief.
Michael snapped to attention at those words. He leaned in and gently jerked her chin upwards with his index finger and kissed her.
Banana's eyes widened. The embroidered handkerchief from Blaster fell to the floor, forgotten.
"It's all over the news," he muttered mostly to himself, and partly to no one in particular. He shook his head, sighing gently. "Danes really never has been a patient man."
He spread the newspapers he was carrying out on the wooden table. Four different newspapers; one same story. It was news about the shooting. He read out loud the names of the ones who died. He knew all of the names. Some of them were Danes' people—some of them were not.
"Danes really should've been more discreet. Look at this, everyone knows about it! If this got out into the open, then what are we going to do?" He shook his head, sipping at his coffee. "Oh well, Danes has always been a hothead. I guess it can't be helped."
He stared at the papers again. "None of the Ruffs or Vix was involved. I guess that's a good thing." Juggling his coffee cup as he flipped a page in the newspaper, he scanned the text. "Still, maybe I need to do a little more. Mix it up a little more, right? Make it more exciting." He smiled. "But what can I do?"
There were a few seconds of silence as he thought the idea over. "Maybe something involving the kids. Yes, that sounds like a good idea. I can do something about the kids, like Michael and Ross. I'll have to wait a little while as the war reaches closer to a climax, but I don't mind. I've been doing a lot of waiting recently. Ooh, this'll be fun though."
Reaching for a pen on the table, he started writing in a new journal. He hummed to himself as he wrote out his plans. "Yes," he said, his smile growing broader. "This'll be really fun."
When he was done, he signed the entry "Damon" with a flourish.
ME: Well, there we have it. Another chapter.
BLASTER: You made Banana and Michael kiss?
ME: What, problem? *smirks*
BUTCH: And what was that whole thing between Ross and Buttercup!?
ME: Jealous Ruffs; my favourite kind of Ruffs!
BLASTER & BUTCH: *glares at me* We're not jealous!
ME: Sure, and I have superpowers too. So...school will be starting for me on Monday and yeah I'm not looking forward to it. *makes face*
BLOSSOM: What are you saying? School is a valuable place of education!
ME: ...Riiight. Anyway, later!
BLOSSOM: *snaps to attention* Hey wait! About this new chapter—
ME: Leave a review, guys! *slams door shut*
BLOSSOM: ...Darn it.
BRICK: You can say that again.