Call of the Wolves Chapter 47: Wolves at War, a powerpuff girls fanfic

CHAPTER 47: WOLVES AT WAR

ME: So, it might just be time to panic. Well, okay not really. But my entire school's been evacuated and all of my stuff is still in my class. There are police there and the school's gone under lockdown. There's rumours of a bomb threat but I'm guessing those are just that—rumours. I just want some information, my stuff back, and—hopefully good—news.

BLOSSOM: Wow, that sounds serious.

ME: Yeah, it kind of does. But hey at least everyone's safe and accounted. Heck, I'm glad I'm safe and accounted for. That doesn't mean I don't want to know what's going on though. And I still want to go back to grab all of my stuff.

BRICK: I can see why.

ME: You're not going to be insulting?

BRICK: *shrugs* It's not the time for it. Besides, you sound like you've been through a bit.

ME: Oh, alright then. Thanks. Uhh...I only own my OC's and the story; PPG is property of Cartoon Network and Craig McCracken! Read on, folks...

Chapter 47: Wolves at War

"You're just telling us this now?" Blossom's voice rose an octave as she stared at her sister in disbelief.

"I-I'm sorry! I-I forgot for a little because of the shootings—" Bunny flinched, stammering as her face flushed red.

Blossom sighed and leaned back, rolling her eyes upwards to the ceiling in thought. "Okay, let me get this straight. You saw Bandit sneaking into a cabin one night gathering things?"*

The purple Puff nodded, setting down her cup of tea. "Y-Y-Yes. He looked nervous and cautious."

"Now this is important!" exclaimed Blossom, her pink eyes wide.

"Hell yeah," Buttercup agreed, looking the most energetic she had since all the shootings had started. "We need to go and check that place out!"

Banana shuffled her feet. "Are you guys sure that's a good idea? We don't know what this cabin's like."

Bunny let out a squeak of agreement.

Bubbles didn't say anything, eyes glued to her feet.

"Well, Bliss would agree if she weren't out on another date with DJ," Buttercup shot back. "So that's three against..." She paused. "Bubbles? What say you?"

Her sister blinked, jumping. "A-Ah! Sorry, what?"

Buttercup gave her a blank, incredulous stare. "The cabin?" When there was no reaction, she continued: "That Bunny saw Bandit going into? We want to go there? Y'know, check it out?"

"Oh! Oh, I umm...sure. Why not? It'll take my mind off of other things." Bubbles rubbed her eyes, swallowing hard. The stinging memory of Boomer's words never left her, and the sight of his gift made her heart lurch.

"There! That's four against two," Buttercup said triumphantly.

Banana sighed. "Oh alright, fine."

Then everyone turned to stare at Bunny. She felt her face grow hot again. "I-I-I...umm..."

"Come on, Bunny! You want answers like the rest of us, right?" challenged the green Powerpuff Girl.

"Y-Yes, but b-b-breaking into a cabin sounds rather d-dangerous," she stuttered back.

"She has a point," agreed Blossom.

"Well, why was Bandit there then? Last time I checked, they didn't have a cabin," protested BC.

Blossom fell quiet, turning pink eyes on Bunny.

The purple Puff trembled, her throat closing up. "I...umm... O-Okay, I'll go."

"Then it's settled! We go later tonight, after I get back from visiting Ross again with Butch," Buttercup stated.

"Tonight's a bit soon, don't you think?" Banana said.

"It does seem a bit sudden," agreed Blossom, furrowing her brow. "We did just find out about it."

The green Puff rolled her eyes. "Don't be such a bunch of pussies. Bunny's known about this for ages—"

"Only a f-few days..."

"—And we didn't learn about this mysterious cabin till now so we need to hurry and check it out! Where's your sense of curiosity? Your sense of adventure? Your willingness to take risks? We're the Powerpuff Girls, for crying out loud! Doesn't that mean anything?"

"Of course that means something, but it doesn't mean we're reckless!" protested Blossom.

Buttercup glared at her sister. "I still say tonight."

"Why?" exclaimed her sister, exasperated.

"Because we can't put investigating off! The Ruffs hide so many secrets from us, and I want answers," BC shot back.

"Well, I do too, but—"

"Then that's settled too," Buttercup concluded.

"Hey!" Blossom leaped up, nearly knocking over her cup of tea. "Who's the leader, again?"

"You are, but sometimes someone else needs to take charge when their leader's being a pussy. Bliss should be back in around 30 minutes and I won't be out for long, so we can go together. And by then the Professor's curfew will have started, so we'll need to sneak out."

Blossom glared at Buttercup, a competitive spark passing between the two. Then: "Fine," muttered the leader, "we'll listen to you."

A tense quiet passed as the two continued to glower at one another, and all the other Puffs present shared worried looks.

Meanwhile, two people were standing outside of the Puffs' home. It was DJ and Bliss, both of whom were staring at one another at the door, hands locked.

The orange Powerpuff Girl was the first one to tear her gaze away, kicking a stone in front of her down the step in front of the door. "I guess I should go in now."

"Yeah." DJ's grip tightened briefly before loosening as he let his hands slip away. "Your curfew's still in place, huh?"

She nodded. "The Professor is worried we're going to get hurt in the gang wars, even though we might be the only ones who can stop it."

He managed a small, weak smirk. "You guys may be heroes, but even heroes can only do so much. Let someone else handle these insignificant skirmishes."

"I don't know if they can. These are messed-up battles—grenades, so many deaths, explosions, gun after gun, and they're not afraid of teenagers getting caught in the crossfire," she replied, frowning.

He fell quiet for a second before muttering, "They're not exactly caught in the crossfire."

"What?"

"Nothing." He sighed. "Look, all I'm saying is that sometimes you can't overestimate your abilities."

She scoffed, feeling a little hurt by his dismissal of her abilities. "I'm a defender of Townsville!"

"And I know you fight villains on a daily basis. It's just... These fights are bigger than you. And—if you were hurt, I don't know how I'd feel..." He trailed off, reaching for her hand again.

Bliss swallowed hard. "Then what about Braker? I know you don't like him, but he didn't deserve to be shot like that! Ross didn't deserve it either. And Brick—"

He sighed. "I know, I know. They didn't deserve it."

She couldn't keep the tears back anymore. "No, they didn't deserve to be involved in all of this, and yet they were. I can't just sit back and watch this chaos unfold!"

"Bliss, don't—please don't—you'll be hurt." His blue eyes were wide, still filled with the blueness that sucked her in. But this time they weren't entrancing her. No, she had too much on her mind for that. "And I don't want that. I want you safe."

"But I can't just sit here and not do anything! Brick and Ross and—and Braker—" She choked on her sobs.

"Please don't cry," he whispered, tone pleading. He wiped away some of the tears, his own eyes sad. "I don't want to see you cry."

Bliss felt her walls fall as she collapsed into his arms, sobbing. "Braker's been shot and I-I've been such a terrible friend! We fought and I-I just—I regret it so much, and y-yet—at the same time I don't—"

"Shhh," he murmured, his own eyes watering. "I know what it's like to have your friend be shot. Ross is one of my best friends, after all."

Her heart aching, she dug her fingers into his shirt and tried to stop the floodgates—but to no avail. They were both crying now. She felt hurt even more when DJ said "friend", remembering Bandit's words about how Bliss couldn't be so sure that Braker had no feelings for her in the romantic way.

Flashback

"Braker's been shot."

The blank, empty quiet that followed Bandit's harsh words seemed to last forever. Only the titters of animals penetrated the night, strangely loud compared to the rest of the silence.

"Wh-What?" Bliss suddenly felt light-headed, as if Bandit had spoken gibberish.

"You heard me." The purple Ruff's words were now low, maybe even harsh, but there was a brokenness to them that Bliss just barely managed to catch.

"H-How did this happen?" She stumbled backwards, into a tree, and leaned against the rough wood as her mind spun. Images of a perfectly safe and healthy Braker entered her brain, grinning and laughing and smirking and joking and being an all-around idiot—like usual. The way things should be. But then she also remembered his cold, empty stare after they had fought, and her heart suddenly lurched.

Bunny stepped forward, eyes wide with grief and concern. "Oh, Bandit—you must feel awful..."

"I do feel awful. It's my fault he was shot. He was just so distracted—always so distant now and then he was shot before he could even react—"

Bliss felt like he had just slapped her across the face. It's because of me, she realized. A splitting headache had started pounding against her skull like a drum, and the ground was strangely shifting beneath her feet, making her feel unstable. She wobbled.

"How terrible," Bunny whispered. She had finally reached Bandit and was trying to place her hand on his shoulder when—

—She let out a sharp gasp.

He had grabbed her and pulled her close, burying his face into her shoulder and soft brown hair. "Bunny, I'm scared. I'm so, so scared," he whispered sadly.

Meanwhile, Bliss was trying not to throw up the contents of the food she'd eaten at DJ's house, which had seemed so delicious then, but now tasted like bile in her throat.

No, her brain thought, this can't be happening. Deny it. Forget it. Push it away. Forget the sad things. "Th-This isn't real..."

Bandit suddenly lifted his head, startling Bunny. His harsh gaze slashed through Bliss. "This is very, very real. Look, I know how you feel. I want to block it all out too. But denial never helped anything."

Her brain felt heavy, like lead. She couldn't think properly. His words were like mush in her screaming brain. It's his fault, isn't it? Not yours. You did nothing wrong. It's Bandit's fault. It's his fault. It's his fault. Her mind chanted this over and over again as her eyes suddenly flashed and her hands glowed orange light. She lurched forward, staggering toward her sister and her counterpart.

"B-Bliss?" stammered Bunny.

Bliss swallowed hard. Something in the back of her mind was protesting her actions, but it could only fumble for the controls while the rest of her body continued onwards. The back thoughts were swallowed up by a thick, heavy black fog that filled her entire brain. "I-It's his fault. He said so himself, didn't he?" Her voice trembled and she didn't know what she was saying.

Bandit set his jaw and his grip on Bunny tightened. She let out a panicked squeak. "It is my fault," he murmured.

"Bliss, snap out of it! Bandit's not the enemy!" gasped her sister.

But the orange Puff was still heading toward Bandit. He shoved Bunny away and stood, perfectly still, eyeing her like a piece of tantalizing, fascinating new prey. The look sent her nerves tingling, and she reached forward, unaware of Bunny's protests.

Her purple-eyed sister's words were unclear as Bliss ripped Bandit even further away from Bunny, snatching him by the collar and lifting him clear off the ground. He didn't even flinch. Didn't even resist.

Something told her that he should've been fighting back.

"How could you let this happen?" Her voice broke.

He gazed back calmly at her. "I know you're upset, Bliss. And I do blame myself, but I don't think this will solve anything."

"How could you let this happen!?" she repeated, her tone rising.

"Bliss!" cried Bunny.

Bandit sighed. "I can see you're hurting. Alright, fine. Do with me what you will."

Bliss stiffened. Bunny paused. Both of them felt confused. Bliss was still angry, and Bunny was scared.

"Go ahead. Hit me, kick me, throw me, scream at me—I don't care. Just do it. I won't fight back." He closed his eyes.

The orange Puff hesitated for only a second more before throwing him into a tree. Bunny cried out. Then Bliss was stalking over to Bandit, her gaze spinning as she grabbed the brown-haired boy and dragged him back up. She landed a square knee in his stomach, before throwing him aside. Then she stood, panting.

After a few moments, Bandit dragged himself up and stumbled. Bunny rushed to help him. He looked up at Bliss. "There. Feel better now?"

She opened her mouth to reply and say yes, but no words came out. Yes. I feel better.

Instead, different words filtered into her brain. "No," she whispered, shaking her head. "That didn't help. In fact, I feel worse." She touched her cheeks. They were wet. Finally, she collapsed onto her knees and let out a cry, weeping.

Neither purple made a sound or a move as she cried. Bunny tried to, but Bandit held her back with a hand and a shake of his head.

Bliss didn't know how long she stayed like that, crouched there with so many tears crowding her vision that she couldn't see her own hands. When her tears finally dwindled into little more than sniffling, she dragged herself upwards and nearly fell back over. She managed to steady herself though, staring at a beat-up, tired Bandit and a scared-looking Bunny.

"I'm sorry," she finally mumbled.

Bandit relaxed. "That's okay. I forgive you," he said quietly.

Then more tears filled Bliss' eyes but she didn't let them fall. "I-I can't believe I did that, losing control—"

"It happens to the best of us," he answered weakly, leaning against his counterpart for support. He looked almost as wary as he was weary. "And I feel like I deserved it."

She looked away. "What I did was wrong and unjustifiable. You may have played a part in Braker's shooting, but I—I was the one who turned him into an empty shell because I argued with him and I hurt his feelings and he became less like himself—"

"It's fine," he repeated, his voice barely wavering. "It's not your fault."

"And it's not yours either." She finally met his gaze, silent tears streaking down her face. "Yet you're still more noble than I am—I couldn't push away the darkness and I blamed you anyway. I was willing to hurt you."

Bandit shook his head, but no other words came. No one could deny that Bliss had lost control.

A wind swept past them as they all stood in grave silence, minds filled with worry for Braker.

End Flashback

The memory only served to make her cry harder. She had thought that she was all dried out, but apparently not. Bliss hardly ever cried. She hated that she was letting the depression she always tried to avoid get to her. Tears didn't suit her, and she knew that. But they weren't always easy to resist.

It was crazy how strong the Ruffs could be, which only frustrated her even more because they were male and she was a female and she didn't want to fall into that goddamn stereotype—

She paused, realizing that she was letting her frustration control her again.

DJ had been silent the whole time, his own tears wet against his face. Bliss knew that she was a mess, but his tears seemed to illuminate him even further.

"I'm a terrible person," she finally mumbled.

"How so?" he whispered back, his arms tightening around her.

Then she explained her fight with Braker, and how she'd lost control on Bandit. She just left out the detail that her and Braker's fight actually centred around DJ, and he didn't pry.

"You're not terrible in any way," he protested when she was done telling her tale. "I lash out a lot too."

"But I hurt my friend—"

"I have a feeling Bandit deserved it."

"DJ!" she gasped.

He sighed. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I-I'm just a little frustrated right now." He looked away. "Bandit's fine, isn't he? You didn't kill him. He's stronger than that."

"That doesn't make it right!"

"Yes, but you're not horrible, Bliss. You're like the sun—so bright and warm and cheerful. You've probably bottled up all your negative emotions for a long time now. We can't ask too much of anyone, and sometimes all we can do is release that negative energy. If you don't, you'll end up like that soda can that's been bouncing around in the car that ultimately explodes. Bliss, you're already sunny most of the time, and that's all we can ask for."

She was quiet. She knew he had a point, but she couldn't stop herself from being mad at what she'd done.

"A few outbursts doesn't make you a monster or anything. You're still sunny, warm, and...beautiful." He took her silence as a sign to keep going. He leaned forward and brushed away more tears, his sky-blue gaze searching her own eyes. The tears looked like thin, misty clouds floating in his vision. He swallowed, tucking stringy, stray strands of her thick brown hair behind her ear. "Close your eyes," he finally whispered.

Bliss did as she was told, still as a statue as her mind entered a state of panic, wonder, and curiosity. His blue, blue eyes filled her mind's eye even though her closed eyelids meant that all she could see was black.

And then just a moment later, something soft and warm was being pressed against her lips.

Deth Jackson Jr was kissing her.

Two hands were pressed close to a smooth glass surface, concentration pulsing in their every vein as a crack in the glass suddenly disappeared. The glow strengthened.

One of them grunted in acknowledgement of their working attempts, but he said nothing more so as not to break his concentration.

The other one breathed in and out steadily, counting each second that seemed to correspond with his heartbeat. Sweat dripped down his face and even into his eyes, which he blinked out.

The first of them closed their eyes, their hands flashing even more. But then their eyes flew open as part of them trembled, and they staggered in the air.

"Oh no!" his companion gasped.

Then both of their concentrations broke as the mirror stopped glowing and both of them were blasted away. They landed in the water below, rolling further away from the lowering mirror.

Both of them lay panting in the crystal-clear water, minds dizzy and vision blurry. They were gasping for air, sweat breaking on their brow.

"That was a disaster," one of them finally said, smashing his fist into the water in his frustration.

"We're doing the best we can, but it's proving to not be enough so far," agreed the other boy. "How have you recovered?"

"Fine," he grumbled back. "And you?"

"I-I already got better quite awhile back," he admitted. "I may have amnesia, but I haven't been stuck in this brain as long as you have."

"Don't remind me," he grumbled back. He paused. "Glad to see you're okay though... Brick."

Surprised, he raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah, thanks... Brick."

Non-amnesiac Brick dipped his head. "Let's try this again. We're pretty close."

"Yeah, quite a few days have passed since we sent Blossom out of my—our—head. And we've already fixed nearly half of the cracked mirror through mere concentration and willpower."

The other Brick nodded. "We're getting there. Let's try again."

Amnesiac Brick frowned. "Are you sure you don't want to take a break first?"

"Breaks aren't helping us get out any faster. I can rest later, when it's nighttime. That mirror needs to be fixed ASAP. I'm tired of the same old scenery. I want to go home." He paused. "And besides, I...want to see my family and friends again." He coughed.

Amnesiac Brick didn't argue. He knew what the other Brick meant. They both wanted to see the other Ruffs, Mojo, Him, the Puffs—specifically Blossom—and their other friends again... He finally nodded. "Let's do this."

As the other Brick wandered back to the mirror, with his counterpart staring at him from the other side, neither of them said a word as they pushed their hands toward the mirror. The glow happened and they floated into the air, along with the mirror.

Amnesiac Brick did his best to concentrate, not voicing his fears. Fears of never breaking free or seeing those he cared about again. Fears of the possibility that even if they succeeded, only he specifically might never be able to see them again anyway—at least, not fully as himself.

And the idea scared him, almost as much as failure did.

His lashes fluttered as he managed to force open his eyes, although it took a couple of tries. A harsh, bright light cut through his vision and all he could feel was dizziness.

Trying to get himself to sit up, he lifted himself by using his elbows. Almost immediately, he crashed back down and black spots danced in his vision.

His breathing became uneven, and he squinted at the clock on the wall. It was late. The window displayed darkness. The blinds were open, but sunshine had long disappeared behind the horizon.

Everything around him was still, except for the small, soft ticking of the clock that penetrated the silence. Even though it was quiet, it was still clear.

Before he could try and get out of bed—although he wasn't sure he could, considering his aching—he heard the door creak open as someone stepped inside. He panicked and flopped back down into the bed, cursing in his mind as his body screamed in protest.

The newcomer stepped softly, and he couldn't tell who it was, what with his eyes shut. He listened as they took a seat beside him. For awhile they said nothing, but after about three minutes a gentle girl's voice filled his ears.

"I hope you're doing okay."

He jolted underneath the sheets, immediately recognizing the voice. It's her, he realized.

"I guess I"—she hesitated—"I guess I miss you. It's really quiet here without you, and well...everyone's so broken right now it's really sad. And I guess I'm broken too, without you here. I haven't forgotten yet, you know—what you said to me. I-I think about it a lot, and even though it was so long ago, I wonder if you ever still think about it. If things were different back then—if I wasn't so foolish with the words I used—then maybe I would've said yes."

He held his breath.

"I guess I just wanted to say that I'm... I'm sorry." Her voice was shaking, gentle and filled with emotion. "I don't know what I'd say now if you told me again, but I do think about it a lot. And it meant a lot to me, even though I said no, said goodbye, and broke your heart. So for that... Thank you."

His own eyes were growing wet, but he lay very still, head turned away as he waited for her to finish.

"I-I don't know what else to say. I'm just—I'm sorry and I wanted to say thank you. You're a good person and I miss you. Please get well soon." Then she was shifting, getting up and moving away.

He listened as her footsteps disappeared out the door. There was a long stretch of nothing again as he lay, brain muddled and thoughts spinning. He couldn't bring himself to drag himself back up.

Four minutes passed, and then someone came in again. He wondered if she was back, but with his head turned and eyes closed, he couldn't tell for sure. A heavy silence followed the person, and they waited awhile before talking too. The new newcomer was another female, but someone different.

"I heard all of that, you know. Did you once confess to her?"

All of a sudden, his cheeks grew hot. He recognized this girl too.

"Well, I know you can't answer me. But I almost wish you could. What was her name again? Sydney? She's Sidney's sister, right?"

He remained quiet, pretending to be asleep.

"She's certainly pretty. I guess I can see why you were interested in her." She coughed. "Anyway, I got you a present. I-I should go. Butch is waiting outside."

He longed to climb out of bed and say "surprise! I'm right here. I'm okay", but he couldn't. He didn't think it was the right time, or a good idea. He also didn't know how to do it. He just couldn't bring himself to jump up and talk to either of them yet...

Even if he did want to hold her.

"Goodbye. I hope you get better soon." She paused, and he couldn't hear her footsteps leaving.

What's she thinking about? The thought crossed his mind, but before he could think more about it, something gentle brushed against his forehead. He went stiff.

"I miss you, Ross. Please wake up soon."

Then her footsteps were retreating, and he heard a gruff, raggedly weary voice say, "Come on—we should go. I miss him too, but Danes will throw a fit if we stay much longer." It was Butch. The boy in the bed wondered if the green Ruff had seen the scene unfold. Guilt gripped him, as well as an elated sense of happiness—even though he wasn't the one who made the move.

She kissed my forehead.

The idea was surreal, and the image in his mind seemed almost fake, like a reflection that would be distorted if touched.

When he opened his eyes and glanced at the nightstand beside him, he was surprised to see the present his second visitor had left him. It was a vase of buttercups.

"I saw what you did, you know."

She blinked. "So?"

"You kissed him on the forehead."

"Well, yeah—"

"Do you like him?"

"—Bubbles said that it'd be good luck if I did it so I just thought what the heck—"

"Do you like him?"

Rolling her eyes, she turned to stare exaggeratedly at the boy beside her. "So what does it matter if I do? Ross has been unconscious for a long time now. He deserves a little care."

"That was a kiss!" he repeated. "If you're talking about care, that Sydney girl seemed to have plenty—"

She bristled. "You heard how she said 'I broke your heart' and all that!"

"Well yeah, but we also heard her say how she might say yes this time or whatever!"

"Just shut up!"

"And besides, what about Brick and Braker? They're both unconscious. Brick's been down twice! And both times for pretty damn long! Why don't you kiss them too, huh?"

"Oh, just. Shut. Up!"

"I'm just saying!"

"Butch Jojo, why do you care so much!?" she exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air. "What, are you jealous? Do you want a kiss too? My God, what is your deal!? So I kissed him! On the forehead! So I might like him! So what?"

He fell quiet. Why do I care so much? Out loud he said, "It's not right. He's my friend but at the same time not—"

She grabbed him by the collar. "First of all, Ross is our friend. There's no getting around that. And I know you know that. You don't hate him. You view him as a friend too! So don't give me some bullshit of an excuse that he's the enemy or something!"

Butch didn't reply immediately. When he finally did, he murmured, "So do you like him that way or not?"

She paused. Then she sighed and released him, averting her gaze. "I don't know," she admitted. "He's so sweet and kind, but"—she glanced at Butch and her face reddened when she met his emerald-green eyes. She looked back down—"but at the same time..." She trailed off. "I honestly don't know. I think I am attracted to him, but I don't know if that's romantic or not. I just...feel really bad that he got shot, kind of thanks to me. And I hate that. I just...kissed him on impulse. To see what it was like. To see if we'd have a-a connection or some bullshit."

"Oh. Well...did you?"

"I-I guess. There was a warmth that filled me up," she mumbled back. "Maybe that was the connection."

Butch swallowed hard. He only managed to say, "...Oh." He felt as though he had swallowed a blade.

She stopped walking in front of a blocky house with three circular windows. "Well, here's my stop. Bye, Butch." She hesitated. "Sorry about our argument."

"I'm sorry too," he murmured. He stared into her eyes, but then she looked away. So he looked away too. "Err, see you around."

"Yeah. Good night, Butch."

"Good night, BC."

Then the door shut in his face.

Bandit didn't understand why he was back on the battlefield. The idea of having to fight again, after his ranks—no, my family's ranks, he corrected silently—had shrank, made him sick. His two remaining active brothers were beside him, as were Him and Mojo. They had decided to help even more actively in the war after Brick and Braker had fallen. Butch was with Buttercup visiting Ross again (and Butch was also acting as a distraction so that Danes would not leave his house).

"We need a plan," Boomer whispered, shivering beside his brother.

Him stood up and moved his arm in a sweeping motion, causing pink mist to surround some of the enemies. They began coughing and choking, falling to the ground. Another sweep and more enemies were suddenly turning against one another, lunging for an ally's throat.

"So what's the plan?" prompted Blaster, fingers twitching as he got ready to leap.

"The plan is not to die. I don't need any more of my—my sons falling, thank you very much." Him's usually steady tone wobbled slightly.

"We'll go with Maneuver F Part 4," muttered Bandit.

"Seems like a reasonable and believably thoughtful choice or decision," Mojo replied, shooting his self-made guns at the enemy ranks. "However, it is a dangerous and risky maneuver aka plan so I would recommend and hope that you carry it out in what is known as caution and care."

"I will," Bandit promised. To tell the truth though, I almost don't give a shit what happens to me, he thought. He heaved himself upwards. "Blaster, Boomer—ready?"

"Ready."

Bandit lifted his hand. "GO!"

And then both of them were running, jumping out from behind the broken wall. Boomer leaped into view, and everyone not affected by Him's mist trained their guns on him. Almost immediately more pink clouds filtered into the battlefield. These were more solid, and they grabbed the guns their enemies were carrying. Thousands of clattering noises sounded as weapons of destruction fell from people's startled hands. The clouds carried them away before anyone could reach for their gun.

Blaster grabbed two guns from the mist and narrowed his eyes, a gun in each hand. His own hands glowed. "Boomer, get in position!"

"In position!" yelled the blue Ruff.

Blaster fired one gun into the sky. It was modified to shoot yellow blasts—a small explosion that surrounded the regular bullets, thanks to his powers. "THEN LET'S DO THIS!"

Boomer nodded once and charged into the battle, easily throwing people left and right, beating them up in seconds. All they could see was a blue flash that careened through the crowd with no clear path.

Then Blaster smirked. Boomer had created a map of sorts. Before his blue streaks faded, the points of just before he made a sharp turn told Blaster to shoot there. So the yellow Ruff fired—and he didn't miss.

Bandit waited until enough people were taken down. Then he rushed in, grabbing Blaster's shoulder. He jumped over it to avoid the swarming mass of enemies crowding around the yellow Ruff, all of whom were shoved aside by Him's powers. Then he was racing toward Boomer, his purple streak cutting through some of his brother's own blue streak as he ran in a straight line. When he caught up to Boomer, his brother was locked in hand-to-hand combat with none other than Coal himself.

Coal was grinning, spitting out taunts that sent Boomer bristling with hatred and anger. "You can't defeat us. We will win because we're better than you. You saw what I did to that foolish piece of trash Break-what's-his-name-I-don't-care—and I'll do it to all of you too. I'll shoot each of your brothers before finishing you off as well."

Boomer let out a low, guttural growl that startled Bandit, since he hardly ever heard the blue Ruff get this kind of angry. "You're a piece of shit, you know that, Coal?"

"Well, this piece of shit shot your brother-whose-name-escapes-me-and-I-currently-don't-care-to-r—"

"BRAKER!" screamed Boomer, ripping one hand away from Coal's hand. He threw it back before thrusting it forward, allowing it to make contact with Coal's still bruised face. The force made Coal crumple, but he remained dangling in the air thanks to Boomer's hand that was still holding him up. "Braker. His name was Braker, you fuckface!"

"Boomer, stay with the plan!" shouted Bandit. "I'll attack him. Don't do anything rash just 'cause he shot our brother."

Coal tipped his head back and laughed, already finding his footing even though Boomer was holding him up like a dead rabbit. He dug his feet into the ground, thanks to his long legs. "Look at how angry you are. It's absolutely delicious."

"Shut up," snapped Boomer.

"And mmm, I bet your blood is boiling right now. I can just taste it." He licked his lips to emphasize his words, before throwing his head back and laughing. It was a screeching sound that pierced the night air like a haunting ghost wail. It was different from Coal's usually elegant chuckle.

"SHUT UP! You disgust me!" snarled the blue Ruff, throwing Coal aside.

Bandit immediately screamed in his head, No! Boomer, you idiot! He was irritated that his brother had given into his temper and disregarded their plan.

Coal staggered upwards, dragging his hand across his lips to wipe away the blood. Then he licked his lips again, and his hand, all of which were bloodied. Blood seeped through from a long gash in his side, and his golden eyes were wild with bloodlust at the moment.

"Boomer! Look out!" shouted Bandit. He felt brief frustration before jumping over his brother in a leap-frog fashion, just as Coal lunged.

Bandit felt a sharp blade slash into his skin, ripping his plaid, purple button-up. The wound blossomed from the centre of his chest to his side, and he instantly cried out before toppling over. He lay in the dirt, panting as he curled up on himself and felt Coal's foot meet his stomach. And then his face. His arm. His leg. Coal landed blow after blow on him, and all Bandit could do was remain curled up in fetal position, head spinning as he lost blood and black spots danced in his vision.

Finally something blue smashed into Coal, sending him flying. Bandit couldn't make out the person very well, but he knew from the fuzzy blue clothes and blurry blond hair that it was Boomer.

Boomer bent down and looked at his brother with wide-eyed concern. Bandit gazed back with half-closed eyes. "Are you okay?" he called.

Bandit tried to reply but couldn't.

A flash of silver leaped for Boomer, and the blue Ruff looked up with huge, startled eyes. Then a yellow blast hit Coal and the man fell to the ground, a foot away from Bandit. The purple Ruff wondered blearily if the man was unconscious or maybe even dead.

Blaster came running, still carrying the two guns. He was panting. "What happened?"

"I-I messed up," Boomer said. "Coal pissed me off and I—"

"You idiot!" exclaimed Blaster. "Getting distracted is how Braker got himself shot, remember!" He smacked Boomer.

"Ouch! I'm sorry, I just—Coal was taunting me—us—Braker, and I—"

Blaster sighed. "No, I get it. I probably would've forgotten the plan too." He gazed down at Bandit with concern. "Will he be okay?"

Mojo appeared, letting out a string of colourful curses. "How did this occur or happen and why did it even happen!?"

Him was floating toward them on a pink cloud, still using his powers to keep enemies at bay. Blaster nodded in appreciation before putting up a yellow bubble shield around them.

Boomer explained himself again and got another smack.

"We need to help him," Blaster said, interrupting Mojo's lecture as Boomer cowered before one of his fatherly figures. "We have to carry him somewhere safe."

"Already on it." Him lifted Bandit with some more clouds, allowing the half-conscious Ruff to stay afloat, and remain in soft comfort.

"We need to do something about the blood too." Blaster watched as the pink cloud quickly became red. "He can't lose too much." He pressed his hand to his brother's new gash and it glowed yellow.

"On it!" Boomer floated upwards, glad to escape Mojo's critical, scolding look as he helped ease Bandit's pain.

Mojo sighed. "I suppose we shall have to take him somewhere safe for the moment, at this second, during this time. And I know just the place, as we are already in the area of the place known as this certain person—specifically a man's—house or home."

"Out with it, Mojo dear," warned Him.

Mojo sighed again. "All I am saying is that we should take him to Sampson's house, as we are already within the vicinity."

"Perfect!" Him brightened and used a new burst of power to shove aside all the remaining enemies, despite his obvious fatigue. He started floating away, making the bubble shield follow.

Bandit, Boomer, and Blaster were okay midair, but Mojo started protesting as he bounced around uncontrollably. Him hadn't given him enough time to prepare to keep up with the suddenly moving bubble.

Him sighed and rolled his eyes, placing Mojo on a cloud too. Then they all headed for Sampson's house, an ordinary, everyday-looking house that fit in well with the rest of the neighbourhood. It stood out in the fact that it was more '50's than modern, but it still looked pretty common.

It was painted yellow-gold, and years of survival had turned the paint pale. The roof was a deep shade of brown-gray and shutters were black. Outlines and edges were white. There were black flower boxes filled to the brim with roses and daisies and all kinds of flowers, but a few were wilting. It was fairly spacious, with two garage doors. There was porch that had a white railing and columns that held up a small overhang above the red front door. A white picket fence and lots of flowery bushes surrounded the house.

Him approached and knocked, leaning back to wait. Blaster let his shield down, but he kept an eye out for enemies. Mojo tapped his foot impatiently. Bandit struggled to stay awake. Boomer remained by the purple Ruff's side, trying to ease his brother's pain but having a hard time because his hands shook so much while he was trying to heal him. He apologized profusely under his breath.

There was a cautious unlocking of the door as it opened just a little, but with the chain still in place. A worried but careful eye peeked out at them. "Him," the person greeted.

"Sampson," Him replied airily. "Please let us in. I know you checked the peephole and now you've opened the door, so obviously we're not a threat."

Sampson hesitated.

"Now, please," hissed Him, eyes blazing.

He jumped. Almost immediately, he cautiously unlatched the chain and pulled the door open in order to usher them all in. Pink clouds soon floated into Sampson's medium-sized and well-furnished living room. They stepped in and looked around. It had been a long time since they had visited Sampson. His house wasn't as neat and tidy as it used to be, but the crispness did remain. The kitchen was next door, beside the family room.

An antique white coffee table sat in the centre, surrounded by three white leather sofas and at the very end of the wall, a TV screen beside a fireplace. Two armchairs sat between the three sofas, making a pattern. Four white stools dotted the room. A silver vase of (wilted) sunflowers was placed on the coffee table. Framed photos of Sampson and his daughter and friends were scattered on the walls, along with framed pictures of flowers or portraits.

"Welcome to my home," Sampson greeted them tiredly. He looked in concern at Bandit. "What happened?"

"Coal slashed him with a knife," explained Boomer.

Sampson's gaze immediately darkened. "Ah, I see. A result of the ongoing war." He turned around. "Come with me, please." He led them up the stairs. "I do have a guest room, but it's recently been...overtaken by weapons. I'll take him to my daughter's room."

Mojo was surprised. "Your daughter's room? As in, her bedroom? Where the teenage girl sleeps? Is that not a little...inappropriate?" he asked.

"No, it's fine. You'll see what I mean." Sampson sighed and shook his head.

None of them said anything after that. They remembered hearing that his daughter had been badly hurt thanks to Danes' men, but they hadn't visited Sampson in so long that none of them were really sure what had truly happened to his daughter.

They reached white door that had a few vines wrapped around it. Sampson took a deep breath before pushing it open. The room was dark, so he flicked on a light. At the far end were white lace curtains, and a bed with a yellow bedspread that had red and pink roses stitched on. The blanket was a soft checkered lavender, and the pillows were white, yellow, lavender, red, or a combo. It had a canopy hanging overhead made of lace and dotted with red felt roses. Flowers and leaves covered the room, making it look like a miniature garden. There was a golden desk, a nightstand, two bookshelves, a white sofa, and a large closet. A mirror was beside the closet. It was spacey but not huge.

A girl lay in the bed, with straight, soft light-brown hair pooled out around her. She was dressed in a purple lacy nightgown.

Sampson's daughter.

The man went to the closet and pulled out a heavy purple blanket that was used for the winter. He laid it over the couch. "Lay him on here. Let him rest. If blood seeps through it's okay. I'll wash it later."

Him did as he was told, waving his claw so that Bandit floated above the couch. Then he slowly lowered the boy down onto the blanket. Sampson nodded and went to the desk, where a cluttered mess of medical supplies lay on the top. He reached into a drawer and pulled out some bandages. "We'll try and treat his wounds as best we can. It's only a gash, and while it's deep, it's not life-threatening."

The girl stirred in her bed but did not awaken. Sampson cast her a sad gaze before turning his attention back to Bandit. As he cleaned the wound, causing Bandit to cringe a lot, he noticed the weird looks he was getting. So he sighed and explained as he worked, "My daughter is currently comatose. I didn't want to explain to the local hospital what happened so I kept her here. I also happen to be a certified doctor that works at that local hospital, so I decided I'll treat her as best as I can. She's been like this for a long time now. It's all thanks to that horrible man Danes."

"Her name is Cassandra, correct?" Blaster asked, eyeing the girl. "I recognize her."

Her father nodded. "She's a beauty, isn't she? It's just so awful she's in a coma, and I'm so sad this had to happen to my precious little girl. She didn't deserve this. She shouldn't have been caught up in this war. She's my treasure, but look at how close I am to losing her. I wish I had taken the blow instead of her."

"Will you tell us how this happened?" asked Boomer, feeling curious.

Sampson's throat closed up and he sadly shook his head. "Not today. Maybe tomorrow, when Bandit is hopefully awake and his entire family is present to double-check on him."

Boomer dipped his head respectfully.

"We're really grateful that you're helping us," Him cooed.

"It's no problem. You're not the enemy, after all." Sampson tied a knot in the bandages around Bandit's waist and torso and chest. "You should all go home. It's late and Bandit needs to rest. I'm sorry to say he'll have to stay here tonight. I'll take good care of him, I promise."

Blaster looked ready to protest, but Mojo shook his head. He turned to Sampson and lowered his head. "We are very grateful and thankful for your willingness to give us aid and help in our current situation or predicament. I fully trust you to take good care of my son known as Bandit and help him reach a speedy recovery. We will be going now, my old friend and comrade, and thank you once more."

Then they were leaving, saying their "thank you"'s and "goodbye"'s—to Sampson and Bandit. When they were gone, the man shut the door behind them before climbing back up the stairs to Cassandra's room, his heart feeling like a heavy ball of lead.

He checked in on Bandit, whose eyes were closed. "This is all I can do for him for now. The rest will be up to him," he murmured as he shut the door again.

Meanwhile, Bandit had fallen asleep. His dreams were plagued by Coal's maniacal laughter, a full moon, howling wolves and flitting bats and streaks of violent red. In the blackness, he tried to save Brick, but he failed. Then he tried to save Braker, but he failed that too. Their bodies and the red from their blood was the only thing that coloured the black emptiness of his nightmares.

Bats squealed overhead and wolves rushed past him, their soft pelts brushing against him. He couldn't see them clearly though, as the darkness made it so that he could hardly see his own two hands in front of his face. Howls pierced the air. Hoots from owls and their glowing eyes filled his vision. A fox prowled around Brick's fallen body, one eye white and the other green, eyeing his brother as if he were a tasty morsel. Vix.

Coal was laughing, covered in blood and clutching his sides as he cackled crazily into the crisp night. A full moon hung above him like a glowing ornament. Bandit suddenly spotted a wolf charging at him. This one he could actually see thanks to it being illuminated by the now brilliantly bright moonlight, unlike the other hundreds of howling wolves that were still like shadows pressing against his skin. This wolf was a blazing silver, with eyes as gold and as cold as chips of ice in sunlight, speckled with white. It opened its fearful, gaping maw with a roar, inches from Bandit's body. Then it chomped down and pain spread like wildfire from his stomach to his head to his toes and fingertips to the tips of his hair.

He could see his own blood blasting into the air, looking like a blooming rose beside the black. The wolf jumped back, snarling as its mouth dripped with his blood. It prowled around him, with Coal watching nearby, smirking at Bandit's pain.

"I want to watch you bleed," the man was singing, "I want to drink it all in."

Bandit curled up into a ball, feeling tears flow from his eyes into what seemed to be grass beneath him—which was now stained red. A cabin burned in the distance, causing the fox eyeing Brick to turn away from his prey and look at the burning cabin instead. Damon's cabin.

Bandit tried to drag himself up, but he remained locked in the fetal position. Thousands of screeching bats and owls descended upon him, claws outstretched as they clawed at his vulnerable skin. He cried and cried but the pity of unconsciousness never came. The only place the bats never attacked were his eyes, which seemed to be glued on the bodies of Brick and Braker. That was almost as torturous as being clawed at—or perhaps more.

Guilt and pain flooded his body as he bled and bled and bled, maybe even more than he cried.

Damon materialized before him from his tears. He was divided into two, as if someone had smashed two versions of them together into one body, and they were divided by a line that ripped through the middle. One side looked kindly concerned and was glowing, while the other side had a maniacal grin, holding a dagger dripping with blood. The evil-looking side was shrouded in darkness. The fox Vix bristled when he caught sight of Damon.

"Oh, don't you see?" the kind side of Damon whispered, his voice warm and sweet as he gently stroked Bandit's hair. It sent warmth tingling into every fibre of Bandit's being, reminding him of his childhood with Damon. His pain was briefly forgotten as he melted into the man's soothing touch.

But then the dark side of Damon was reaching forward, grinning wide. "You are a failure, Bandit." He hit Bandit across the face before he grabbed the boy's chin and forced it up. He slashed the boy's face with the dagger, causing the Ruff to see so much red and blood, before he went blind as blackness really did take over his vision.

For awhile all he could see was black.

Then his eyes flashed open and he flew upwards, panting, causing him to wince in pain as he remembered the gash from his chest to his side. He sat there, trembling for awhile, trying to make sense of his surroundings before he clambered out of the bed. He was shirtless but was still wearing his jeans. He staggered to the mirror next to the closet in—who is it again? Cassandra?—the room of his caretaker and looked at his reflection. He was a mess. The bandages were wet and plastered against his skin thanks to the blood. His hair was so messy it had pretty much fallen out of its usual small ponytail.

He stood for awhile longer, staring at his bedraggled reflection until memories of Damon's words in his nightmare returned. The entire nightmare flooded his brain and he felt suddenly overwhelmed, nearly toppling over. He managed to stay upright by grabbing a nearby vine on the wall. Panting, Bandit crouched there, taking a knee as he stared at the floor. It was hard wood, but was covered mostly in a soft yellow-white carpet with fake red roses and green grass. When he finally recovered enough, Bandit staggered back to the couch and plopped down, grateful that no blood stained the warm, heavy blanket beneath him.

The door creaked open and Sampson peered in, now dressed in a dark-red bathrobe and checkered pyjama pants. "Bandit...?" He looked around before his gaze settled on the purple Ruff. He then looked at the floor.

Bandit looked down too and was startled to see a few droplets of blood on the carpet leading to the mirror. "Sorry," he managed to say weakly.

Sampson shook his head. "Never mind. I'll wash that out later. How are you feeling?"

"Like I've just been bitten by a silver wolf and mauled by thousands of bats and owls," Bandit replied. When Sampson gave him a strange, confused look, he coughed. "Umm...never mind. I-I mean I feel like I've just been slashed at and kicked a bunch of times." His wound was throbbing and the forming bruises from Coal's kicking were bursting with their own form of pain.

Sampson nodded. "You took quite a beating. Good thing you're so strong. He could have broken a bone or stabbed a vital area."

"I have a feeling he wanted me to live. Or maybe he wanted to play around with me before I die. I don't care. I failed again anyway," Bandit muttered.

"Don't say that," scolded Sampson, his brow furrowed. "You're quire strong, and you're helping us close in on victory."

Bandit felt awkward around this familiar-yet-not-too-familiar-anymore-thanks-to-such-a-long-time-away man, but he couldn't resist saying what was on his mind again. "I don't feel strong. I feel like a failure," he admitted feebly, drawing his legs close to his chest despite his body's protests to try and keep warm.

The man's eyes softened in understanding. "I know how you feel." He nodded at Cassandra. "I felt that same pain after she became comatose. And I...I still feel it."

"It just really, really hurts. And it scares me," Bandit agreed.

Sampson nodded. "It's an overwhelming, depressing feeling." But then he sighed and shook his head. "Still, you can't let it get to you. This is war. Things happen: both good and bad. We have to take it in stride and move on. If you stay strong, things will be easier and more likely to turn out alright, rather than if you just break."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Bandit asked bitterly. "Because I still feel like shit. What's the point? I've tried so hard and everything's been in vain—I'm so scared right now. It's driving me crazy, and I'm so, so cold. This is war; this is insanity. This dementia is driving me crazy. I'm just—so afraid."

"But giving up has never changed anything," Sampson pointed out. "You can't let things continue this way."

Bandit didn't reply.

Sampson sighed and crossed the room, over to his comatose daughter. "Look, I want to save the story for tomorrow when your whole family is here so I won't have to tell it too many times since I always get choked up, but... You deserve to know at least some of it." He settled down on the edge of Cassandra's bed, near her head. He carefully brushed strands of brown hair away and stroked her head.

"So what happened?" questioned Bandit, swallowing the lump in his throat.

The reply didn't come immediately, but it did come. "Cassie was helping me prepare to oppose Danes. Because even though the war has only just recently begun officially, this battle has been going on for far longer than that. When we got there, we had a large battle. Then Cassie got thrown back into a wall and onto the floor because of a blast. I checked and she was breathing so I tossed in a smoke bomb. During the midst of the confusion, what with the smoke and all, I escaped. I waited for her to wake up, but it has never happened to this day. The head trauma from when she hit the floor from the blast was what caused her coma."

"That's awful," Bandit mumbled.

"Yes. I was terrified of what would happen and the possibility that she may die or stay like this for far too long. I cut my relationships off with my friends to obsess over helping my daughter recover. For a long time, that's how I lived. And I nearly gave up. I wanted to join her." He paused. "But I held on, and soon Harry and Fillip"—here he got choked up a little—"helped me realize that I should get back on both feet and keep trying to help Cassandra, but let other people back into my life too. Blocking people out is hardly ever a good idea."

Bandit was silent.

"What I'm saying is that I nearly lost my daughter in war. And I'm sure you've heard what happened to Fillip. And even Damon—he was a friend I lost, even if he could have been a crazy murderer." Sampson sighed softly. "But despite these failures, I've bounced back stronger. I'm not going to let them drag me down. Bandit, I know what's happens to Brick. You're second-in-command now, aren't you? Your brothers need you right now. Leaders have to stay strong and be supportive."

"But it's so hard," he whispered.

"Brick managed it, didn't he? And I'm sure you can too." Then he made move to leave the room.

"Wait," Bandit called out.

Sampson turned to look at the Ruff, eyebrow raised.

"C-Could you...stay for awhile?" Bandit coughed awkwardly. "It's kind of lonely."

He smiled. "Sure. We can read some bedtime stories." He crossed the room to the bookshelf, chose a book, and settled into an armchair.

Bandit got comfy too, feeling grateful for Sampson's patience and understanding. The man truly was a good father. Too bad he can't currently be a proper father though, he thought. Well, at least he can act as my "father" for now, while I recover. I have a feeling we'll both need the company.

"Will you be giving up then?" Sampson asked as he flipped the picture book open.

Bandit hesitated. "I-I don't know."

"Come on; don't just give up yet. I'm going through the same stuff as you but I'm not giving up. Don't make the same mistake that I made when Cassandra fell into her coma."

Bandit was quiet for awhile, feeling tears prick at his eyes. Then he took a deep, shaky breath and nodded. "You're right. Thank you, Sampson. I won't give up—at least, not yet."

His companion smiled. "There, see? That's a start. It's all I'm asking of you right now. To not give up. I know you can do it, Bandit."

The purple Ruff managed to smile back, nodding weakly. He didn't voice the inner doubts that still plagued him, but he had to admit that Sampson's words of wisdom had definitely helped boost his morale.

Vincent smiled. "It worked!" he exclaimed, scribbling something down before holding up the piece of paper.

"I-It did?" stuttered Blossom. Her face was flushed red, memories of his quick kiss lingering on her skin. The heat it brought her made her skin tingle, as if she'd just showered with scorching hot water.

"Yes! Blossom, you're a genius!" He looked so bright, proudly grinning at her. Blossom was still used to his coolness at school, but it was always great to see his other side—the side she hadn't expected him to have. He was surprisingly kind, even though he appeared so distant at school. And when he was with her, he always dressed in loose, comfy clothing; nothing like the tighter clothes he'd wear in public when not wearing his school uniform. Today he was wearing another sweater, this one so loose it practically hung off his shoulders. It was patterned in dull orange and green. He had on glasses and his long red hair was tied back in a ponytail.

Her face was heating up again, so she managed to force a smile. It was forced but sincere at the same time. "I just took your advice and used it to help me solve the equation..."

"That may be so, but you displayed such genius while solving it," he replied, suddenly calm again. The cool distance didn't follow though. He still radiated warmth.

She managed a real smile this time. "We're getting closer," she remarked.

He nodded. Then he paused, glancing down at the paper. "We're rapidly progressing. Our skills greatly complement the other."

Blossom nodded her own agreement as she picked up her cup and sipped some water. Her throat felt dry. She swallowed.

He said nothing for a few moments, and then he sighed softly. He set the paper down and ran his hand through his hair. The sight made Blossom stiffen awkwardly, her eyes unable to look away. Then he removed his glasses and cleaned them. When he put them back on, he looked at her and opened his mouth...

...Then he closed it again. He coughed. It took another moment before he said anything. "I... Could I ask you a question, Blossom?"

"Yes, of course," she replied almost automatically, wondering what he was curious about. She decided that it probably only had to do with their work.

Vincent frowned and wiped his glasses again. He let out a deep breath and tried to talk, but no words came out. When he finally spoke, he sounded unsure and almost a little nervous. "How... How do you feel about Brick?"

"Pfft!" Blossom's eyes widened as she spat out her drink. The question had totally caught her off-guard. She quickly wiped the spill up and turned to stare at him. "Wh-What...?"

He cleared his throat. "I mean... I just happened to notice that you seem very—worried about him, and you were always pretty close—"

"I just miss him, but not in that way. We're not like that. Not at all; he and I are just friends—"

"—So I started wondering if you two were dating or anything—"

"—After all, it's not like we're dating or anything—"

"—But I wasn't sure so I wanted to ask..." He trailed off.

By that point, they had just been talking over each other, faces red and tones awkward. Blossom dared to sneak a glance at him even though she was still completely flustered. Strangely enough, Vincent looked just as embarrassed.

"Sorry I asked. I know that was a—really weird thing to say. I was just wondering," he commented awkwardly.

"Oh no! I-It's fine." She averted her gaze again. "Actually, Brick and I—w-we're not dating. We're just friends. I just want him back because he's been gone so long... I-If that makes sense."

Vincent blinked at her. Then he smiled. "Oh, I see." He almost looked relieved.

Blossom mentally hit herself for being so self-minded. Why would he be relieved? Whatever he's thinking, it can't be what I think it is, she scolded herself.

"It makes plenty of sense," he added. "Thanks for telling me."

"I-It's fine. But...m-may I ask why you asked? O-Only because I'm curious!" she stammered, quickly amending her comment. She waved her hands to emphasize her point. "I'm just w-wondering, that's all!"

"Oh, no problem." Once again, Vincent looked just as flustered as she was, even though he wasn't stumbling over his words. His embarrassed look was strangely attractive. When his voice did tremble, it was hardly noticeable. "I asked because...I-I guess you could say I was curious too..."

She held her breath, watching him as he pulled back to meet her gaze. Vincent smiled nervously at her.

"And I guess you could also say I was worried that...Brick was a rival for your affections." He chuckled lightly. "Guess that's not the case, huh...?"

Blossom didn't reply, frozen in startled shock, pink eyes wide. "A rival for your affections"? Her mind repeated the words over and over again in disbelief.

Before she could ask though, Vincent was already focused again on his work. But this time, his face seemed slightly red.

"Give it up, Christie. You're not losing me," he called adamantly, folding his arms and glaring up the branches of the tall tree before him.

"What are you playing at, anyway?" a voice shouted back from inside the leaves. "Leave me alone!"

He sighed and rolled his eyes, leaning against another tree nearby. "Isn't it better this way? You're still listening to your uncle, but with me I won't take the job too seriously and you still get some freedom—more freedom than with any other bodyguard, anyway."

She didn't reply.

He tilted his head to the side and looked up at the tree. "Christie?" he called.

There was rustling, and then the leaves parted as she stuck her head out. "You're sure you'll let me do my own thing?"

"Well, duh. I don't take this shit seriously." He didn't comment on her red, black-rimmed eyes, flushed cheeks, and messy hair. He didn't mention the twigs and leaves in her golden locks or on her clothing.

Christie paused for awhile. Then she shifted her position a little. "Okay. Thanks, Vix."

"Don't thank me. It's just what I do." He shrugged.

She didn't answer, trying to get more comfortable and still keep him in view. "It's just, I don't really want a—" She let out an alarmed squeak as she slipped and began to fall. Christie managed to grab onto the branch above her, wincing as the wood cut into her flesh.

Vix jumped into action, diving beneath her. He didn't comment on how he could see her panties even though she was wearing tights. He had a feeling she wouldn't like that. "Hang on!"

"What do you think I'm trying to do!?" she yelled back. Her hand started to slip and she panicked, her feet scrabbling at the branch beneath her. But as she had on high heels, she couldn't get a good grip. "I'm slipping!" she gasped, her hand tightening on the tree branch until her knuckles turned white.

Vix noticed this. "Christie, you have to let go!"

"What!? Are you crazy!?"

He held back an impatient retort. "Look, just trust me! If not as a friend, then as your bodyguard! Listen: you have to let go! I'll catch you, I promise!"

Christie stopped trying to get a footing and glanced down at him, her eyes wide and filled with what almost resembled fear. He didn't comment on it, instead gesturing with his arms to let go.

"Trust me," he called, his voice soft and patient.

She swallowed and closed her eyes. "I do trust you," she finally called back, "but not as my bodyguard." Then she let go.

Vix had been surprised by her words, and almost didn't catch her. He managed to snap to attention and jumped forward about a few inches and swept her up in his arms just as she was about to hit the ground. He heard her gasp sharply as she landed, the impact taking the air from both of their lungs.

"I trust you as my friend," she whispered, bundled in his arms.

Then they were silent for awhile, just calming their heartbeats and finding their breaths, blinking.

Vix glanced at the girl in his arms as he tried to catch his breath. She looked somehow prettier than usual, her hair wind-swept and blowing in a night breeze. It wasn't as messy as he had thought earlier when she'd been up in the tree. Her turquoise eyes glittered in the night, and the moon lit up her pale skin and her white dress, making her look translucent. He felt his cheeks warm. This isn't some stupid, dramatic romance movie, he reminded himself.

"Vix, you can let go of me now." Christie was staring at the ground, her cheeks pink (or was that just the lighting?). He quickly stood up, having been crouching with one knee in the grass and the other raised. Then he set her down and she coughed, dusting herself off. "Well, that was embarrassing."

"Ehh." He didn't meet her eyes, scratching the back of his neck. He cleared his throat. "You uhh...feeling better yet?"

"I-I guess so..." She dug at the ground with the toe of her shoe. "I'm not completely over my own brother getting shot, but... I guess I feel a little better. My head's clearer, at least."

Vix dared to look at her. She didn't look or sound better. She didn't look as messy as before, sure; but her eyes were still bloodshot. Her voice broke and cracked despite her struggle to sound strong and even, which only made her transparent act all the more transparent. At first Vix didn't say anything, simply watching as she stared at the ground.

Then she sniffled and wiped her eye. "Wh-What are you looking at?"

He blinked, instantly drawn from his state of captivity. He felt his face grow hot from the awkwardness. "Nothing. You just still look a little upset, that's all. I was just thinking that you don't look too much better. Your eyes and face are red."

"Gee, thanks." Christie shot him a glare and he could've sworn he saw tears, almost 90% sure that it wasn't the moonlight.

"No, I'm serious. Are you sure you're okay? As your bodyguard—"

"I thought you didn't care about this stuff."

Feeling surprised at her cold remark, Vix coiled back. He almost felt hurt. "Well, this is different—"

"No it's not."

"Yes it is." He narrowed his eyes. "We can't have Danes' niece feeling down, now can we? In some cases I'll leave you alone, but I still have to worry about your feelings. Maybe not as your bodyguard, but as your friend." He paused. "And I thought you trusted me as a friend?"

Christie was silent for awhile, rubbing her arm.

"So...what's troubling you?"

"Isn't it obvious?" She rounded on him, hissing as this time clear tears dripped down her face. She marched toward him and pointed her finger at him. "Can't you tell?"

He blinked, stunned as he leaned back.

"My brother's just been shot and my parents are nearly dead. A friend of mine was shot too. And I feel so fucking alone right now!" she yelled.

"You have Danes, and Michael's friends—"

"But who's close enough to me? That's right; no one! My best friends don't know my whole backstory. Michael's friends are still his friends. My uncle's not the comforting type. My parents happen to be the ones who are practically dead so I can't go to them for help! And Michael—even he isn't here to help me feel comforted!" She shivered, rubbing her arms. "I just feel so fucking alone."

Vix paused. "What about me...?" he finally asked quietly.

"You don't care about this stuff," she muttered, turning away. "Look, I don't know why I'm telling you all this. I'm leaving."

"Wait." He grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer, ignoring her struggling. He looked down his nose at her glare. "Don't give me that shit."

"What shit? It's the truth," she spat back, stopping her struggling briefly.

He leaned down even closer, closing the already small gap between them even more. His minty breath puffed out onto her nose. "I'm not that awful of a person."

"But why would you care about my feelings?"

"Do I have to keep reminding you?" His grip tightened. "You're my friend! You think I don't ever feel lonely as all fuck? Of course I fucking do! I lost my goddamn parents. I lost Damon. I lost the Rowdyruff Boys. I've lost everything I once had. You and Michael and your guys' friends are all I have left. And if you're my friend, then isn't this what friends do? Care about each other?"

Christie bit her lip, eyes watering.

He paused, just realizing exactly how close they were and how tight his hold on her was. He let go just a little, leaning back and looking away. "I wish you'd trust me more. You said you trust me as your friend, but you obviously didn't mean it."

She hesitated. "I did mean it. I just...don't know how to show it. We don't always feel very close, okay?"

"So prove it. Show me you trust me." Vix met her eyes.

"How?" she whispered.

"By showing me your true feelings." He loosened his grip completely, watching as she took a step back, eyes wide. "Cry. In front of me. Let it all out."

Her lip trembled, and a single tear slid down her cheek. Then she cried out as she finally let the floodgates open. She collapsed onto the grass, sobbing and crying out.

Vix immediately walked over to her, standing over her and watching as tears poured from her eyes. Then he sighed quietly and bent down, staring her in the face. "You actually did it."

Christie didn't answer, too busy releasing way too many pent-up emotions—not just from recently. She was also releasing some of the tears she'd wanted to cry years ago; tears she couldn't cry in front of Danes or Blaster or even Michael and her parents. And yet...somehow Vix had managed to make her release those emotions. Gulping in air, she wished that she had a better control of herself at the moment. She felt like a wreck, unable to stop weeping.

Then Vix surprised her for the umpteenth time that night. He bundled her up in his arms, squeezing tight. "It's okay," he finally whispered. "I know what it's like to be afraid."

When Christie realized that what Vix had said was true, and how he'd figured out how scared she was, the tears came faster and harder. It wasn't until a minute later that she realized Vix's voice had been shaking. Christie managed to calm down, sniffling as she began to pull away from him.

He stiffened, his grip tightening briefly as he wouldn't let her go. But then he relaxed and released her, leaning back so that he could stare her in the eye. Christie was shocked to see that just as many tears streaked his face as it streaked hers. She'd been so busy crying her own heart out that she hadn't realized Vix might be doing the same.

"Surprised?" He managed a weak smirk that didn't hold enough arrogance to truly be one of his smirks. "I may be trained to be an empty shell in battle, but that doesn't mean I've let go of my emotions completely. I'm not that much of a monster yet." His voice held sarcasm but also a large amount of pain.

"I never said you were," she murmured, reaching out and wiping his tears away. He stiffened again and she froze, just realizing what she'd done. She quickly pulled her hand away and rubbed away her own tears.

Vix stared at her for awhile, looking a little dazed and stunned, before coming out of it. He scuffed the ground with the toe of his shoe. "I've lost almost everything," he finally said.

"That's not true—"

"Yes, it is. I did lose my everything. I'm just lucky I had you people to replace those things, although I find myself missing the past so many times. It was so much easier back then, living in an isolated cabin with a sweet and kind Damon. Playing and training with the Rowdyruff Boys. Still being innocent."

His words really caught Christie's attention. Vix hardly ever talked about his past in front of her.

"But then Damon died and I was taken away and it turned out he was a crazed murderer this whole time." He shook his head and laughed—a weak, hollow sound that chilled Christie to the bones. "Who would've thought? My 'father', so caring and kind, was a fucking psychopath."

She watched him. He had an almost crazed look in his eye, hungering for a love he was so often deprived of as a child. First when his parents died, and then when he was taken from Damon, and becoming Danes' top soldier while being so young and originally being Damon's ward made him hard to accept. She realized with a jolt that she pitied him. No, not just pity... I feel for him.

Vix was gazing at the ground now, eyes blank. "So don't tell me I don't know how you feel. I know perfectly well how you feel. Of course I feel lonely. I've always felt lonely."

And I've never even realized it. Christie reached out and hugged him from behind, leaning her head against his back. "I'm sorry," she whispered, closing her eyes, "for not realizing the pain earlier."

He froze, becoming like solid, rigid rock. But then a heartbeat passed and he melted into her hold, feeling a heavy curtain of years of darkness lift, at least just a little. A single tear slipped down his cheek—from the eye that he'd lost as a child but gotten replaced—the one that could turn white and had amazing powers. And it did become a little misty, a hint of white swirling in the green. His face felt dry and sticky from the tears, and he felt awkward in Christie's hug, but it brought such a sense of warmth and comfort to him that he couldn't bring himself to pull away. He closed his eyes. "Thank you," he murmured.

They stayed like that for awhile, before the bushes rustled and someone appeared. They almost immediately sprang apart as if someone had pulled a switch, hearts pounding and pulses fluttering as their faces grew hot. The scene that had just occurred seemed almost too surreal to have actually happened.

The newcomer was Shamus, eyes wide. "Oh my," he said, surprised. "Did I interrupt a moment?" He managed a weak smile, eyes still red-rimmed. "I always did kind of think you two are cute to—"

"No! N-Not with him!" exclaimed Christie, her face redder than a tomato. "We were just...comforting each other."

Vix held his hand out in front of her to silence her, which worked—for the most part. He ignored her indignant protest, keeping his eyes trained on Shamus. "This is the most lively you've been such Ross' shooting," he commented. "Please tell me you have good news."

Shamus brightened, causing Vix and Christie to share a look. It certainly seemed like good news. Then Shamus confirmed it by saying, "It is good news!"

"That's a relief." Vix lowered his arm from barring Christie, and realized silently just how protective it'd been.

"So what is it?" questioned Christie. She had noticed too, but chosen not to comment.

Shamus appeared breathless from his running, and from his sudden jolt of newfound excitement. "Ross is awake!"

Christie and Vix didn't react immediately. It took a moment, but soon their eyes stretched wide and their jaws fell open. "He...what!?"

Ross...is now awake!?

"So...how are they?" Danes appeared in the doorway, marching in and nearly knocking over a poor, startled butler.

"Their pulses are at the very least more stable now," the stranger murmured, gently brushing his fingertips against the wrists of Maggie and Chris. His face was still hidden beneath the blue hood, and his tone didn't suggest he was hiding anything.

Danes breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank goodness."

The man didn't answer, going back to his strange healing process. When Danes had agreed to let him stay, the man had almost immediately moved in, settling down quickly. He had only brought one suitcase, and it had had some medical supplies inside. Danes had directed him to an empty guest room while he wheeled Maggie and Chris' tubes out of his secret, private study. Then he'd provided the man with more advanced medical supplies and obeyed his request to give him space and not to distract him. But Danes had to know—his patience had ran to its end—whether or not Maggie and Chris were any better.

Their tubes were currently open, releasing cold air. thanks to their frozen state The man didn't seemed bothered by it, despite wearing little to protect himself against the cold.

Danes watched for a few moments, but then he coughed. "Thank you for doing this."

"It's no problem. I want them to survive too," he murmured back.

"Will you be able to take a look at Michael as well?" asked Danes.

"Perhaps—if I have the time. His case isn't as urgent as Maggie and Chris', but his wound does seem pretty life-threatening. If he gets any worse and these two get any better, I promise I'll be there."

"Ah, I suppose that's all I can ask of you." He paused. "What should I call you? I just realized that I do not even know your name."

The man faltered. Then he started moving again, rearranging supplies filled with something red. "You may call me Raymond."

The name was vaguely familiar, but Danes didn't mention it. Instead, he nodded and began backing out of the room. "Thank you once again... Raymond."

The door clicked shut behind him and he walked toward Michael's room, ready to see if his nephew was feeling any better. Before he could reach the door, there were thumping noises that made it sound like someone was running. Worried that there had been another emergency, Danes whipped around and was nearly bowled over.

Vix tripped over his own feet, trying to stop himself. He crashed into Danes but the man managed to stand his ground, catching the younger and smaller teen. "What is the meaning of this?" demanded Danes, narrowing his eyes.

Vix only managed to mutter in a groan, "Ow..."

Breathless, Christie caught up to him. She looked pale, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were red, and her face seemed wet. The look startled Danes, but she didn't seem upset when she clapped her hands into Vix's back, causing her friend and new bodyguard to wince from the second dose of pain. "I told you not to run too fast!" she said.

"Sorry," he muttered back, rubbing his sides. "I need to see if he's really awake though."

"Who?" asked Danes, snapping to attention. Is Michael awake already?

Shamus appeared, eyes brighter than they had ever been. Besides the fact that he was no longer like a lifeless corpse thanks to Ross' shooting, his eyes looked even brighter than they had when he was a young teenager. "Danes, you won't believe it!" he exclaimed, losing his usual cool composure.

"Believe what?"

"Ross is awake!" they all crowed.

Danes furrowed his brow, blinking. Then he let himself feel surprised as the confusion faded. "What...? He's awake?"

"Yes!" exclaimed Christie, still breathless. "We're going to go see him."

"How long has he been awake?" asked Danes, whirling around as the trio began running again. He hurried to catch up.

"Possibly for almost an hour now. I've already seen him, but I can't believe it," replied Shamus excitedly, reaching the door that marked Ross' room. He snatched at the doorknob and yanked it open.

"Ross!" called Christie, stumbling inside in her haste to get in. She spotted a startled Ross in his bed and grinned.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed, falling over on his back as she threw her arms around him. "Ow..." he mumbled, rubbing his head.

"Yo, kiddo. You've been out like a light for days now!" Vix added, ignoring the weird flash of an irritated feeling he felt when he saw the scene.

"Oops, sorry!" She pulled back and managed a sheepish but relieved smile. "We were so worried about you, you idiot!"

"Welcome back," Danes added calmly—although a hint of a smile still managed to show on his face.

Ross looked around. The whole gang is here, he realized, feeling touched and happy that they cared so much. There's Danes, Uncle Shamus, Christie, Vix, and... Wait. That can't be right. He started looking up and down and all around.

"What's wrong, Ross?" asked Shamus, concerned.

The boy stopped looking around. "Is he hiding somewhere? Trying to surprise me? I would've thought he'd be one of the first ones to greet me."

"Who?" questioned Vix, having a bad feeling that he already knew who. He shared a concerned look with Christie.

Ross blinked, furrowing his brow. "Michael, of course. Who else would I be talking about?" He had a sinking suspicion in the back of his mind that he tried to block out. "So...where is the big galoot anyway? Why isn't Michael here?"

Danes' throat closed up as he and Shamus exchanged a knowing, worried look. Then Danes turned back to Ross and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. "Well, Michael's...not well right now."

"Why? What happened?" the teen questioned apprehensively.

"He's... He's been shot, like you were, and is now also recuperating."

The only answer Ross gave was silence.

Danes frowned. "Ross?" he tested carefully.

Then Ross let out a strangled noise, shaking his head violently as he leaned against the bed-frame for support, feeling shocked and dizzy. "Th-That can't be true. Michael's stronger than that. How could this happen?"

"Ross..." Shamus' gaze was gentle as he walked over and hugged his nephew. "It's okay. Michael will be okay, I promise. You're right, he is strong. But this is real—and I'm sorry to tell you that, but denying anything bad that happens has never helped anyone."

Ross was quiet for a long time, but then he buried his face in his uncle's shoulder and started to cry.

Danes watched the scene unfold, his own heart hurting—which hadn't happened in a long, long time—at least not like this; since Tyrone had died. A newfound determination wiggled into his mind. I will find a way to save them all, he vowed silently, I can't let anyone else on our side die.

"Oh, this can't be happening," growled Damon, glaring at one of the screens that graced his wall.

A man was bustling around on the screen—in Danes' own home, no less—helping to heal the people he'd harmed. A burst of hatred blossomed within Damon as he narrowed his eyes at the person on screen. I can't let anyone destroy my work, he thought, disgusted. The person was also oddly familiar, and that only served to piss him off further. He'd wanted Danes to squirm, not find such an easy, simple solution so soon.

Danes was on screen as well, talking to the man. "What should I call you? I just realized that I do not even know your name."

The man faltered, hesitating. Then he started moving again, shuffling his supplies. "You may call me Raymond."

Danes nodded and began backing out of the room before closing the door. "Thank you once again... Raymond."

Damon stiffened, eyes widening as the name sank in. Raymond... Raymond...? How is that possible? He leaned in closer to the screen, remembering a burning house, flames, clouds of smoke, and a young, eight-year-old Damon in the midst of it all...

Sweat dripped down his face as if he could still feel the heat of the flames from all those years ago. That fire terrified him—perhaps even more than his own "death" did. The fire in his current home set by Danes when Vix was taken away was scary, but it mostly just made him feel rage and hatred for Danes. The fire when he was eight was different. It had been terrifying because someone he knew had died. Someone close to him.

And it had been all his fault.

Damon blinked, almost unaware of the tears that graced his face. He could feel himself choking on invisible smoke...

Or maybe it was just the shock. Because the man on screen couldn't be "Raymond". Or at least, not the Raymond he remembered. Although he did seem a lot like it. Damon shook his head. That can't be the Raymond I know, he reminded himself. He feels like it, but he can't be the one in Danes' home healing Maggie and Chris. He just can't be. That's impossible.

Because that Raymond is dead.

(A/N: Reference to chapter 44!)

ME: Ooooh, big reveal?

BUTCH: Who's this Raymond guy?

ME: Sorry another new OC was introduced, as well as Cassandra. *laughs weakly* It's part of the plot though, so don't worry. Oh, and the school just called. The school's open again, everything's fine, I can go back and grab my things. Wonder if the bomb threat was legit; as in, did someone seriously claim there was a bomb in the school? I already figured there wasn't a bomb, but I was worried about the other possibilities, like a gas leak—or I guess the threat was real, not the "bomb". But apparently it's safe now. Hey, at least I missed my last block.

BLOSSOM: Sounds like a lot has happened.

BUTTERCUP: Yeah, just like a lot of stuff happened in this chapter too.

ME: Exactly! From Ross waking up and getting some sugar—

BUTTERCUP & ROSS: *red-faced* H-Hey!

ME: —To Bliss x DJ, to Vix and Christie bonding, to the Puffs planning to sneak into Damon's cabin, to the reveal of Raymond.

BANANA: I have a bad feeling about the cabin thing...

ME: Ohohoho, I can promise that'll go so smoothly.

BANANA: ...Now I'm even more worried.

ME: Well, besides your feelings, let's see what the reviewers have to say! Leave a review with theories or ideas or hopes or worries. I can promise that the stakes are rising, guys! *smirks*