CHAPTER 51: THE WOLF AND THE HUNTSMAN
ME: Hey guys, I'm back! Time to find out how everyone reacts to Damon's revelation!
BUTCH: Oh this'll be interesting.
BRICK: Yeah, yeah; whatever.
BLOSSOM: Kuku only owns the story and her own OC's! Please read on and review!
ME: I have summer school this summer so I'm not going back to China, but I will have a lot of classes. Let's hope that doesn't mess up my schedule too badly. *sweat-drop* Wasn't going to update today but haha hey it's a full moon and it's my older brother's birthday and it's practically the end of June so why not?
Chapter 51: The Wolf and the Huntsman
"Damon, come quick!"
Damon glanced up from his journal, quickly snapping it shut, the pen still in his hand. He wheeled his office chair around to face his adopted son, who was running into the room. "What's wrong, Vix?" he asked.
"There's a giant spider on my bed," the boy whimpered, grabbing ahold of Damon's sleeve and tugging. "You have to get it off!"
Damon almost chuckled at his fear, but instead he got up to follow. When they reached Vix's room, he glanced inside and saw what happened to be indeed, a big spider. It wasn't a tarantula, but it certainly wasn't small either. It lounged on the pillow.
"Get it off!" whispered Vix.
He didn't need to be asked twice. He walked into the room and hovered over it, before reaching out and snatching it up. Damon walked over to Vix. "There you go. Nothing to be afraid of; see?" He tried to show him, but the boy jumped back. Shaking his head and smiling, Damon continued on toward the door.
"Where are you taking it?" Vix asked, running after him.
He didn't reply at first, instead opening the door and releasing the spider. It crawled away into the tall grass in the field outside their cabin. "I'm releasing it back into the wild," he explained.
Vix gazed out after it. "What if it comes back?"
"Well, we can't just kill an innocent creature, now can we?"
"...No, I guess not."
Damon closed the door and turned to him with a comforting smile. "Don't worry about it. It's unlikely it'll come back." He started walking away, but Vix stopped him with a tug.
"Damon?" the boy asked, staring at the floor.
"Yes?" He glanced down at him, curious.
"Thank you."
Damon smiled. "You're welcome."
"C-Could you get me some milk, please?" Vix added.
"Sure," he agreed, already making his way toward the cabinet. He pulled out a cup, before opening the fridge and taking out the milk. After pouring the milk in, he then passed Vix the glass.
Vix had gone to his room, and Damon went to give him his drink. When he walked into the room, the boy was staring at the bed with obvious hesitation. Damon raised an eyebrow and asked, "Is something wrong?"
"I don't want to sleep on the bed anymore," Vix confessed.
He felt his lips twitch a little. "Okay, then. How's about we sleep in my room? I'll read you a story."
He brightened at that. "Really? We can do that?"
"Sure. You can have your milk while I read," Damon continued. "And you can have some cookies, but don't forget to brush your teeth again after."
"I won't!" He grinned. "You're the best, Damon!"
Damon smiled for real this time.
The two went into his room and sat down on his bed. The man pulled out a book of fairytales. "What do you want to read?"
"I want to read Little Red Riding Hood! That's my favourite." Vix crossed his legs.
Damon raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that one a little morbid?"
"I think all of them are. I just like Red Riding Hood's simplicity," Vix replied. "I like stories with wolves in them. Or adventures. And"—here he blushed a little—"princess fairytales are cool too, I guess."
He chuckled. "I think so too," he agreed. He sat down beside Vix and opened the book. They started reading, acting the scenes out with lots of emotion and studying each drawing. They laughed and pretended to be the characters, acting scared or happy or ferocious—all the while eating cookies. Damon was the wolf, and Vix was Little Red Riding Hood. Damon did have a bit of a weird feeling being the wolf, but he reminded himself that that particular part of his story was in the past...
"Damon," Vix said, drawing him back to the present after they had finished reading, "could I ask you something?"
"Sure, fire away."
"What are you afraid of?"
Damon paused. "What...?"
"It's like, you're not scared of anything," the boy continued, looking a little embarrassed. "You weren't scared of the spider, and you're not scared of all the wild animals around us, and—well, it's just that! You're not scared of anything!"
"That's not true," he protested. "I'm scared of lots of things."
"Like what?" he pressed, eyes wide.
Damon hesitated. The past, Tyrone, Danes, facing my past... He didn't say that out loud. Instead, he said, "Well, I've never been a fan of bats."
"Bats?" questioned Vix.
He nodded. "They're not my favourite animals. They're dark and sneaky and scary and only fly during the night."
"What else?"
"Hmm...fires." A flash of flames entered his mind's eye, and his brother's screams. "I-I've never liked fires. They destroy everything in their way..." He trailed off, still visualizing the flames that had claimed his family. His parents and his brother, all left to die and burn and rot...
"I don't like fires either." Vix shuddered.
"That's understandable. They took you're parents and your eye away, after all," he murmured, reaching out to stroke the boy's soft red hair.
Vix closed his eyes. "And yet...you still saved me from the fire when I was in that car..."
"I couldn't just let the flames take you." Damon wrapped an arm around the young boy. "I faced my fears and certainly don't regret it. You're here now, after all." He smiled. "Although, that doesn't mean I'm not afraid of fire anymore."
Vix yawned. "You're a hero, Damon."
"Oh no, I'm not—"
"You're also my hero." He smiled up at his adopted father.
Damon felt his heart warm and he managed a light smile. "I guess so."
Vix's eyelashes fluttered and he yawned again.
He nudged the boy. "Don't forget to brush your teeth," he reminded him.
He nodded and climbed out of the bed to do so. Damon waited patiently, and soon Vix came shuffling back inside. He sat down on the armchair and picked up the storybook, flipping through it. "You're just like the huntsman."
He smiled. "Well, I don't know about that..." He had a bad feeling he was more like the wolf in the story, what with the catastrophe that was his past...
"No, you're definitely the huntsman." Vix let out a massive yawn, eyes slowly starting to droop shut. "I want...to be a hero and a huntsman...just like you," he mumbled, before his eyes fully closed and his breathing evened to the point of it seeming like he was sleeping.
Damon gazed at him for a few silent moments. Then he sighed, smiling sadly and closing his own eyes with a shake of his head. He got up and picked his adopted son up, gazing at him with pride. "You've got it all wrong, Vix," he whispered as he tucked the boy in, "you're a much better person than I am. You're already on the path of becoming a hero and a huntsman, unlike me, who's probably just a wolf."
He paused and watched Vix sleeping soundly for a few moments. Then he leaned in. "Good night, Vix." He ruffled the boy's hair before climbing into bed beside him. "Don't worry about being like me. You're perfect just the way you are, and I'll always care about you."
Then he turned off the light, and beside him, Vix's lips curled into a small smile.
I'll always care about you too, Damon.
Back then, Vix had been sure Damon was the hero; the huntsman. But now, his adopted father seemed more like the villain... He seemed like the wolf.
Stumbling backwards, he felt dizzy and he almost wanted to throw up. He couldn't really comprehend what was going on. Damon was in front of him. He was in front of him.
Damon smiled, showing off some sharp teeth. "See? The whole family's here."
"D-Damon?" he stammered, eyes wide. "B-But—y-you died in the fire... I-I saw your bleeding legs a-and the flames..."
Vix was barely aware of Brick and the other Ruffs acting equally shocked. "Holy fuck," whispered Butch, staring at the man they'd been trying to defend for so long. "Y-You're alive?"
"Yes," Damon purred.
Christie crashed into the wall, shaking her head. "What...? Oh my God." Her brain was spinning. "You're here. Y-You're...actually here. Oh my fucking God."
Brick was the first one to stop freaking out and get over the fact that a man claimed to be dead was actually alive. "I need to ask you a question," he announced.
"Yes, Brick?" he prompted.
The red Ruff lowered his head, red eyes glowing as he asked, "Are you actually guilty of killing Tyrone?"
There was a long stretch of silence as Damon appeared to be thinking, rubbing his stubbled chin with his fingers. "Hmm..."
"Well, did you?" Christie snapped impatiently.
He sighed, "Such impatience in a young gentlewoman. How imprudent." Then there was more silence until he finally tilted his head to the side, opened his mouth, and...
...Damon laughed. "I'm not actually sure what happened that night," he finally admitted.
Why are you laughing? Butch looked on, eyebrows creased in growing concern. This isn't him. This can't be Damon. Damon wasn't like this.
"You committed a lot of crimes, mister. This is no laughing matter, so let's cut the crap. Did you kill Tyrone?" demanded Christie, glaring at the man with pure hatred.
He paused. "Would you believe me if I said I don't remember?"
"No," she spat, "because how could you forget?"
"Because"—he grinned, reaching for a window—"it was a—"
The door slammed open then and someone stormed in. "What's the meaning of the noise in here? I got reports of—"
Damon's eyes stretched wide before they narrowed and he let out a guttural growl. "Danes."
The large, muscular man was looking around the room, before his eyes fell on Damon. For perhaps the first time in his life, Danes was slack-jawed speechless. "...You," he finally said.
Damon snorted. "Yes, me."
"But how? You died in that fire. I saw you—"
"Saw me what? You never saw me burn." Glaring at him, the possible murderer pointed at his scarred face. Some burn marks stretched across part of his skin. "This is proof of the fire, but this"—here he gestured at all of himself—"this is proof of my survival."
"I-Impossible," muttered Danes.
"That may be so, but do I look any different to you, Danes? No. That's because I am Damon," he snarled.
"Guards," whispered Danes, "attack." The room was suddenly filled with soldiers in uniform jumping into the cabin, guns at the ready. Danes turned to Vix. "Explain yourself, soldier."
"I—" Vix felt panicked inside, which hadn't happened to him since he was a young boy and still with Damon (and after Christie was kidnapped). "I-I—"
"EXPLAIN YOURSELF!" barked Danes.
Christie rushed to Vix's defense, trying to hide her wounds from her overprotective uncle. "Uncle! I'm sorry. I was careless when Vix was on his mission of checking on Brick and I got kidnapped. It was my fault. Vix was just trying to save me."
"So he had no idea Damon was here?"
She shook her head. "He's just as shocked as I am."
"It's true," purred Damon.
Danes didn't look fully convinced, still glaring at Vix. "We're going to talk about this later," he snarled, releasing the safety on his gun, eyes narrowed.
Vix gulped.
Damon seemed to notice his fear, because he stepped forward. "If you hurt a single hair on my son's head, then I will hunt you down and rip your head from your shoulders before shoving it up your ass."
Butch's mouth fell open. Damon never said such things!
Danes looked equally surprised, before he recovered and raised his gun. "Don't move."
Damon moved, smirking as he did a cocky wave.
He pulled the trigger.
His target did a flip, dodging to the side before whipping out his own gun. This caused every other soldier to start firing, and Damon avoided every bullet. He jumped and flipped toward the door, soaring over the men's heads. They could only raise their faces and stare as he jumped over them and disappeared outside. "There's enough property damage as there is!" he called.
"AFTER HIM!" roared Danes. The soldiers started running out to follow him, as per Danes' orders.
Brick turned to Vix when the male took a step forward. "You stay here," he commanded. When Vix's mouth fell open and he looked ready to argue, Brick narrowed his eyes menacingly. "You're already in danger of becoming a shooting target for Danes. Do you really want to risk having to choose sides?" Vix snapped his jaw shut and stepped back after that. Brick nodded and vanished out the door, his brothers not far behind.
Christie paused on her way out, noticing the way he was staring at the floor. "I'm sorry, Vix," she apologized.
He looked up in surprise. "What for?"
"I shouldn't have been kidnapped. I should've been able to protect myself. I—Vix, I'm sorry for everything; the way I treated you, how I'm going to have to fight Damon, who took care of you and—"
He managed to crack a smirk as he placed a finger to her lips. "Shhh. You talk too much." He nodded at the door. "You have an uncle and family to defend."
Her eyes widened before she managed to smile, tears appearing in her eyes. "Thank you for understanding," she finally whispered, before whisking out the door.
Vix watched her go with a sad smile. Then it disappeared and he sighed, looking down at his bloody, half-healed hands. His Eye was too tired to do any more. "I do understand. But that doesn't make it hurt any less," he whispered. He took a deep breath and walked toward the window, peeking out to watch the battle that unfolded outside...
Meanwhile, Butch was fighting against some of Danes' men, kicking them in the head and throwing punches. One of them grabbed his arm and demanded, "How can you still be fighting for him?"
"What do you mean?"
"He kidnapped Christie. What else did he do in there? Surely you can see how evil he is," the soldier stated.
Butch frowned, clapping his hands to the ground and spinning his legs into the man's head in a whirling kick. When they flew backwards, Butch turned to look at Damon, who was clashing blades with Danes. He frowned. He has a point. All Damon did was fuck with us before he revealed who he really was. He hurt Vix and especially Christie. What does this mean? He felt his stomach flip.
"Is something the matter, Butch?" a redhead questioned, slamming his fist upwards into someone's chin, hands on fire.
"Brick!" gasped the green Ruff, snapping out of his thoughts. "I...I was just thinking about what Damon's done to us today. Are we still on—?" He cut himself off.
Brick glanced at his brother, raising an eyebrow. "On his side?" he finished. When Butch nodded, he continued: "Well, I'm not really sure myself. How could I be? We've always thought Damon was dead, and all the clues we had revolved around his cabin. Now he's here, and he's done some fucked up shit, but he doesn't even remember if he killed Tyrone. Where can we stand on the issue?"
Butch stared at the ground, before hearing someone approach. He smashed his fist into their face without even looking. "I don't know. That's why I'm asking you."
"I'm not sure if we can stay on a side." Brick threw himself into another opponent. "Then again, most people think Damon killed Tyrone. Even Sampson, and yet he's still not on Danes' side. Does that mean we're with him then?"
Butch hated how cryptic he was being. "I don't know, okay! You're the leader; why don't you figure it out?"
His brother shrugged. "Not even leaders know everything." He blew some enemies away with a powerful blast. "But I'm going to say that if we're not on Damon's side, then we're on our own side. We've always sort of been the exception; the only people who believed Damon was innocent. But we need to alter that side."
"Does that mean you think he really killed Tyrone?"
Brick stopped talking momentarily. "I wouldn't know," he finally admitted. "I want to believe he isn't, but—" He stopped himself and sighed. "We need more information," he finally said. "We can't just jump to conclusions here. Not everything has to be black and white."
Butch nodded, unsure what else to say. He turned to watch Damon fighting with Danes, wondering what they were talking about...
"Are you satisfied?" sneered Damon, brandishing a dagger.
"What are you talking about?" growled Danes, blocking a blow.
"You know what I mean. What you did to me. Did that satisfy you?" He managed to slice through Danes' arm.
Danes kicked Damon aside, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. A dribble of blood dotted his fingers, and more pooled from his new wound. "There was a time I regretted it, Damon. I never meant to burn you alive; yet, I'm starting to think that you should've died that night."
He narrowed his eyes. "You know nothing," he spat.
"I know you shouldn't have killed Tyrone."
"You want to know something? I don't even remember that night!" shouted Damon. "I was pulling out my hair when I found out about their love, but I tried to remain happily calm. Did you ever doubt me?"
Danes hesitated only momentarily, which cost him another slash in the arm. "No," he finally admitted. "I thought you were one of the few uncorrupted people in this world." He narrowed his eyes. "I suppose I was wrong."
Damon punched him. "What? Was I supposed to feel happy that my life was about to change? Did you expect me to just get over losing the love of my life?"
"She did love you. Just not in that way. She didn't choose you, Damon." Danes swung down and managed to get his own blade stuck in Damon's arm.
The man let out an angry screech, ripping the bloody blade from his now bloody arm. "I can't pretend I was fine with it! I wasn't the wolf who got the goddamn rabbit. I lost fucking everything, Danes. My problem is my problem, and I don't give a damn if you don't believe that. Nothing comes for free anymore. Not even love. Even fucking love has a price."
His opponent jumped back, dodging an otherwise dangerous slash. "You have a greed to succeed," he muttered.
"Don't you see? I was never satisfied with an average life. I didn't want to live on without Sylvie and Tyrone, pretending I was a happy man. Are you telling me that I need to lie in order to make my way in life?
"Danes, listen to me. I couldn't do that. Tyrone stole my girl. Sylvie broke my heart. Shamus cast me aside. You destroyed everything I managed to rebuild. I was losing everything; gaining more and more scars instead. My life was spiralling out of control, and fucking people wouldn't stay out of my fucking business. Leave me the hell alone! Why can't you just let me be, living in the shadows?
"It's my fucking problem that I was never happy. It's my problem that I wanted to pack my things and run away. It's my own fucking business what I do now. It's my problem if I don't have any more friends and want to die."
"Sylvie...didn't choose you. Tyrone loved her. And Shamus 'cast you aside' only because you killed his brother. I don't even know if you deserved the second chance you got with Vix," Danes retorted.
Damon stiffened, grabbing his opponent's collar. "Do you dare say that I didn't deserve love? What chance have you given Vix? I was his father. All you've done is use him, Danes. Who is the real monster here? You, or me?
Danes slammed his hand into Damon's arm, causing the man to release him. He staggered backwards, coughing for air. "If this is the true you, then you don't deserve to be hiding in the shadows without paying for your crimes. You don't even deserve Vix, and you never deserved Sylvie."
Screaming, Damon flung his arm at his old friend. "Shut up! I'm going to fucking murder you!" he roared, rage pumping in his veins.
Danes was prepared to die that night.
But he didn't. Someone managed to shield him from the blow, hands gripping the knife as blood dribbled down their palms. The newcomer wore a cloak and had a hood on. His robes were billowing in the wind as he and Damon clashed gazes.
"Raymond," panted Danes.
The man lowered his arms, still holding the knife between his two palms. "Danes," he murmured, "are you okay?"
"I've been better," the large man muttered.
Raymond glanced at him from the corner of his eye and nodded once. Then he turned to Damon, who looked shocked, but was breathing heavily and hunched over from rage with his eyes narrowed in a glare. "Hello," he said.
Damon closed his eyes and took a deep breath, seemingly calming down. He stood up, slowly pulling the knife back. He smiled slightly when he saw Raymond wince; the blade was slowly slicing through more of Raymond's skin. "Greetings," Damon purred, licking the bloody dagger, "it's so good to see you again, my dear brother."
Danes snapped his gaze upwards, for perhaps the second time in his life with slack-jawed shock.
Raymond stood his ground, trying not to show the pain he felt from his new wounds, and ignoring the disbelief of everyone around him. "I'm afraid the feeling isn't mutual," he muttered. "I never thought this is what you would become."
"That fire was just the first step to changing my entire outlook on life. And"—he pointed the dagger at his own brother—"my opinion of you. Would you like to know what I think of you now?"
"What do you think of me, my brother?"
"I was guilty at first about your little incident for the longest time, of course, but then I realized that it would probably have been for the better after the whole other incident with Tyrone. You were the weaker brother. I survived the fire. I was stronger. Or at least, I thought I was the only one who survived that night." He started circling Raymond. "Tell me, dear brother, how did you revive yourself?"
Raymond stiffened at the first sentence, but he pulled himself together shortly after. "Sheer dumb luck, probably," he retorted, "because if I am the weaker brother, then that's all I can rely on, right?"
Damon twitched, appearing pissed off. He gripped the dagger's hilt so tight that his knuckles turned white. "Right," he spat. "'Sheer. Dumb. Luck'."
Then the two brothers lunged at one another, wielding blades and throwing punches. Damon jumped, but Raymond managed to block so the former grabbed onto the latter's shoulders and flipped upwards. Raymond looked up to meet his smirk in surprise, before Damon ripped his hood from his brother's face.
There was a collective gasp of shock as everyone watched the reveal. Raymond did, in fact, look exactly like Damon. He had the same brown hair and brown eyes, but with less stubble and even less burns. For a moment he just stood there in shock, before he spun around to swing his blade at his brother.
"You look exactly alike!" stammered Christie.
Damon danced out of the way and laughed. "Why, yes! We're two peas in a pod; we're twins!"
"I'm nothing like you, brother," retorted Raymond, narrowly avoiding a slash.
Damon's expression darkened at that. "There is some truth to that," he growled ominously. "You didn't receive the same burns I did, it appears."
"Again, sheer dumb luck." He slammed his fist into his brother's face, sending him flying.
A few seconds passed where he remained at the foot of a tree, before he gripped the tree bark and pulled himself upwards. Just as he did that, the clouds hiding the moon started to disperse, and moonbeams shot down toward the ground. Damon looked up, as did everyone else.
It was a full moon.
"Ahhh, what a beautiful sight," whispered Damon, just as a strong force overtook him and everything turned black.
Buttercup lay on her bed, staring blankly at the wall. Her fingers were wrapped around her phone, where she'd been sending unanswered texts to Butch. Blossom had called home and mentioned how the Ruffs wanted to take Brick to a doctor for double-checking. Bandit had stayed home, too tired to go, because of his own injury, which meant that Blossom was staying with him.
Finding the idea of five Ruffs going out at around midnight fishy, Buttercup had tried to text Butch, but he never replied. Brick's phone was also unanswered, but if he really was with a doctor, that was understandable.
Just as she was beginning to drift off to sleep, too tired to stay awake, her phone vibrated in her hand. Her eyes flashed open and she rolled over to stare at her glowing phone screen. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but when they did, she found that the new text was—
—Not from Butch. She felt somewhat disappointed for some odd reason she wanted to hit herself for, but the name of the person behind the text cheered her up a little. It's from Ross, she thought excitedly.
The text from "Ross the Boss" said:
"'BC, can you meet me in the courtyard at school tomorrow? Some crap happened and I feel like crap right now. If it's okay, I think talking to you would help.'"
Buttercup was surprised. The text seemed so upset; it didn't fit Ross' usual upbeat and cheerful personality. Concern whirled around in her mind as she texted him back, "'Sure, but what's wrong?'"
The answer was almost immediate: "'I'll tell you tomorrow. I'll be okay. Good night, BC.'"
She frowned, wondering if she should press further. Taking a deep breath, she then typed, "'Okay, but...are you sure you don't want to tell me right now? I'm fine with talking.'"
"'It's fine.'"
This time the answer was immediate, and it was so depressing Buttercup wasn't sure what to make of it. She wasn't even sure she was actually talking to Ross. Sighing, she turned her phone off and curled up in her bed.
She could hear noises from Banana's room; the girl was obviously working on some new secret project, and it appeared that she was collaborating with Bunny. Bliss had been upset ever since Braker was revealed to be shot, but she was still cheerful thanks to Deth Jackson Jr. Blossom was at the Ruffs' house with Brick. Bubbles seemed to be in a daze of some kind, thinking a lot about something.
Buttercup wished that she could talk to her sisters and the Professor. The family was as close as ever, and yet she felt as though there were so many things she couldn't just talk about with them around. She desperately wanted a day where they were all together in a room discussing their problems in a united matter instead of dealing with those issues on their own.
Buttercup didn't know about Butch and his brothers, but she was getting tired of dealing with problems alone.
The screen was bright in his darkened room. Ross was in bed, leaning against the bed-frame and staring at his phone. Questioning texts from Buttercup covered the screen, all curious and concerned. Ross sighed and looked up at the ceiling. It was nearly midnight, but Danes had gone out on an urgent report.
Ross remembered when Vix had come back, and Danes had demanded to know where his niece was. Vix had looked pale, but he had managed to say that Christie was possibly sleeping over at a friend's house. "After all," he'd said weakly, "you're the one who made me go on another mission."
Chris had stormed toward the teen and threatened him, claiming that if his daughter was harmed, he'd make sure Vix couldn't even howl in pain once he was through with him. Maggie was a bit more graphic, saying how she'd rip him to shreds and set him on fire if Christie was in danger. Ross had felt sorry for his friend, but when he tried to comfort him, Vix had been distant—so distant, in fact, he avoided everybody else. He disappeared pretty quickly too.
Ross also remembered Sydney's words. I know she's sorry. He gripped the phone tighter. But it doesn't change anything. Tears pricked his eyes. He gripped his shirt tightly, where his heart would be as he squeezed his eyes shut. I was still hurt.
Besides that, he couldn't forget about what had happened to Michael. Everything was falling apart and it was so scary. Ross was terrified and hurt and not sure how he was holding on. As he set down his phone and got ready to have a good cry, the door opened.
His head shot upwards. In strode Jamel, who was covered in bandages. "Greetings, partner."
"You could knock," muttered Ross, wiping his eyes in the darkness.
"You sound like you're crying."
"I'm not."
"...I smell salt."
Ross turned away. "What do you want?"
"Sorry I haven't been the most active partner since I got assigned those research missions," Jamel said. "Have you missed me? Were you lonely at all?"
"Is this all you came here for? To tease me?" Narrowing his eyes, Ross frowned at him, unimpressed.
His older partner sighed. "No, that's not the only reason I came in here. I know Shamus is coming to comfort you, and while I'm not the comforting type—"
"That's for sure." The teenager snorted. "You always mention how annoying I am."
Jamel's eye twitched. "Yes, well I've always noticed how cocky you are. However, you seem to be growing less and less arrogant. I thought your shy, sweet boy act was just that—an act for school?"
"I am still cocky and whatnot, but what is there to be cocky about? Everything is so depressing; thanks to the war. And...there's a girl helping me grow more and more into that sensitive type of guy."
"Well, don't say goodbye to your cockiness too much. I'd desperately miss that side of you," chuckled Jamel.
"So, why are you here?" questioned Ross.
Jamel's smile vanished. "Ah, yes. I have something I figured you'd want. I'll leave cheering you up to an expert like Shamus, but I can provide you with the information you want."
"What are you talking about?"
Jamel smirked, waving some papers. "In honour of us being reunited partners, I have decided to adhere to your desires in order to satisfy your questions. I don't know if this'll cheer you up, but it'll answer some questions." He passed Ross the papers. "Here you go, boy. Finish them up before Shamus gets here; I have to leave soon too."
Ross took them and scanned the first page. His eyes widened. "This is—!" He turned to his partner in shock. Jamel only nodded, so he turned back to the papers to really start reading.
Butch's eyes snapped open as he lay, sprawled out on the ground. He felt heat prickling along his skin, and when he looked around, all he could see were small flames in the field outside Damon's cabin. Damon's cabin! Memories suddenly flooded his mind at the man's name. He recalled talking and a big reveal and fighting and the moon... He coughed, quickly gulping down as much oxygen as he could before spinning around to look for his brothers. It hurt to move. Butch looked down at his hands and cringed. Bruises and scrapes decorated his arms.
"Butch...?" someone rasped.
He hurried over towards the noise, recognizing it as Brick's voice. "Are you okay?"
"I-I think so, but...what happened?" he asked. "The sun's already rising."
"I... I don't remember." Butch gripped his head and tried to think. "Everything is blank after Raymond's fight with Damon—"
"Raymond!" they gasped. They'd forgotten about the man who'd turned out to be Damon's brother. They'd even forgotten Damon's reveal that he was actually alive.
A blue streak lit up the fading purple sky as orange sunlight filled the world. "Guys! Are you okay?"
"Boomer!" Brick scrambled upwards, trying not to stumble. "Where is everyone?"
Blaster emerged from within the tall grass, also covered in cuts. "I'm here," he called.
"Well, the whole family's here... But where's—?"
"Damon!" someone yelled.
The Rowdyruff Boys spun around to see the man who was once their mentor. He was facing Christie, whose eyes were fixated in a hateful glare. She was pointing a knife at him. Their hair and clothes billowed in the wind, small flames surrounding them.
"Tell me the truth about the night with Tyrone!"
"I really don't remember," he replied, rolling his eyes as he plopped down on a rock.
Raymond appeared, shooting his brother a look. "How sad," he murmured, shaking his head.
"The only sad thing here is you; a pitiful brother who relies on sheer dumb luck to survive," snarled Damon.
Christie raised her voice. "I don't have time for this! Either remember what happened that night, or I'm going to stab y—"
"Christie, wait."
The newcomer was a wide-eyed Vix, who was staring at Damon.
"Ah! My son," he said, spreading his arms out wide as he got up from the rock. "Come give your father a hug."
Vix took a step forward.
"Don't you dare, soldier," growled Danes, dragging himself from the grass.
"Uncle!" gasped Christie, hurrying to help him up. She looked at Vix, eyes stretched wide and filled with fear. "Vix, don't do it—please," she begged.
He paused, hesitating.
"Don't listen to her." Damon's gaze remained fixated on his adopted son as he grinned. "All she's ever done is hurt you. All I've ever done is protect you. Raise you. Care for you. Teach you. I loved you."
"I... I loved you too," Vix finally whispered.
"So come to me, Vix," Damon said.
He shook his head. When Damon raised an eyebrow, he said, "No. You say you loved me, but it's clear that you loved me with an 'ed'. It's not about me anymore. It's about you now, isn't it, Damon? There's no reason for you to continue to think of me as your son. If you want to still protect, care for, love, and cherish me as a son, then you wouldn't have threatened me and endangered me. But you did all of that today."
"Oh, Vix. It's all for your own good," he began.
"No, it's not," whispered Vix, before his voice rose to a scream. "JUST SHUT UP! It's not for me. You're just making excuses. Don't even try lying to me, Damon. I loved you as a father but you betrayed everyone—even me! YOU BETRAYED MY TRUST AND YOU EXPECT ME TO BELIEVE SOME BULLSHIT ABOUT IT BEING ALL FOR MY SAKE!? I'm not that naïve anymore! Just... Just shut up, Damon! I don't care about you anymore. In fact, I HATE YOU!" He stopped screaming, shoulders heaving as tears poured down his bruised face, mixing with the blood. His overworked Eye turned white to try and heal everything, but there was one thing he couldn't fix.
His heart.
Damon stood, chin raised with eyes looking down at Vix, almost in a sharp way—but not yet a glare. "...I see," he finally said, voice low and ominous. "It would appear that you gave up on me a long time ago."
Vix glared up at him, face and eyes wet. "I did," he murmured in confirmation. Memories of the past filtered into his brain, when he'd thought: I'll always care about you, Damon. Out loud he whispered instead, "...I don't care about you anymore."
"...Fine," Damon rumbled.
Butch was watching the entire scene unfold with wide eyes. He wasn't sure how to feel. Is Damon really the enemy? Raymond seemed sad by the display of Vix rejecting his father, as was Christie and the other Ruffs.
"Let's go," grunted Danes. "The sun is rising; we're running out of time."
As everyone started to move away, even the Rowdyruff Boys, Vix looked back at the man he once called a father. He looked so different, with burns and an angry, hateful look to him that felt incredibly unfamiliar and unnatural.
A hand clamped down on Vix's shoulder and he looked up to see a very similar face, but a much more comforting one. It was Raymond, giving his sounder a squeeze and offering a small, encouraging smile.
Vix glanced back at Damon one last time. The man's eyes were dark and staring straight at the retreating group.
Then, the fire billowed upwards because of a sudden breeze and dancing flames blocked Damon from Vix's view.
The distance between him and the one he thought he'd care about forever was growing. He intended to leave every sentimental attachment he had to Damon behind along with the man himself. Vix was going to say goodbye to the huntsman turned wolf forever.
A single tear rolled down Vix's cheek before he closed his eyes, turned around, and kept walking.
The memory of his birthday still sent tingles of excitement down Damon's arms. It had come and went like every year, with him growing a year older. And yet somehow, his courage didn't grow with his age. He still lingered behind walls, trying to prepare himself whenever he saw Sylvie, but always too nervous to go out and say more than just hi. When she would come visit him and his friends, Damon would feel the words become stuck in his throat like glue.
He was currently sitting at his desk, admiring the way the pendant would shimmer underneath the light. He'd memorized every aspect of it, from the scratches to the small, carefully carved details. He wore it everyday. The one thing he often forgot about was the fact that the pendant was in fact a gift from two people: Sylvie and Tyrone.
He preferred to think that it was only from Sylvie. As not just a birthday present, but also a sign or a hint at something more. Maybe she does feel that way about me too, he thought, his heart swelling. Too bad I'm too cowardly to make any advances, even with Tyrone's help...
He sighed. The pendant could easily symbolize his love for her, and even her love for him—if only he wasn't too scared to go and find out. Tyrone tried to help him get Sylvie's attention when he could, and Damon was grateful for the help, but it seemed as though any kind of confession would never happen.
As he continued to watch it glimmer and sparkle in his hand, there was a knock on his door. Starting, Damon spun around. The knocking came again, so he hurried downstairs and went to the door, peeking outside.
It was Sylvie.
His heart started pounding and he unlocked the door, quickly thrusting it open. "H-Hi," he stammered, before mentally hitting himself.
She smiled kindly at him, looking as stunning as ever in a white dress that faded into pale and hot pink. It looked like a flower petal, just like she did. "Hi, Damon! Tyrone and I are going to the new café that recently opened. Do you want to come?"
He nodded eagerly—almost too eagerly, so he tried to force himself to seem less excited. "Sure thing. Just let me grab my things." He hurried inside and gathered his bag and money. When he stepped back out and followed Sylvie toward his driveway, his heart sank.
The fact that Tyrone was going too hadn't fully sunken into his brain. But now that he could see his best friend in the black car he always drove, Damon couldn't help but feel disappointment. He clutched his pendant. It's okay. I'll still be with Sylvie, as well as my best friend. I'll have fun. It didn't stop the bitter feeling, but it did ease the pain.
They boarded the car and Tyrone said hi to Damon, before starting the vehicle. He drove them to the new café, which was pretty close. It was stationed close to a forest, and there was already a long line of customers.
Tyrone sighed, fingers clutching the wheel. "Look at that line."
"What, are you too impatient to wait all the way through?" giggled Sylvie, her voice sounding like a trickling stream.
Damon laughed along with her. "Come on, Tyrone. Let's go before it gets any longer and you chicken out."
"Nah, you guys go on ahead without me. I'm already 'chickening out'." Tyrone grinned, winking at Damon. "I have a ton of work to do and can't spend this much time in some line."
A sudden rush of gratitude filled Damon's body, making him feel lightheaded. Thanks, he mouthed. Tyrone had planned this since the beginning; setting up a date by pretending it was just them hanging out and backing out at the last minute. His grip on the pendant tightened. Tyrone really is the best friend a guy could ask for, he mused.
"Aww, that sucks." Sylvie pouted a little, before smiling. "Well, good luck with your work. See you later."
They got off the car and waved. He waved back, and then Tyrone was gone, speeding away.
"He sure works hard, huh?" Damon said.
"Yeah, he does," agreed Sylvie, sighing softly. He frowned in concern, but soon she had brightened up again. "Come on! Let's get in line."
He followed her to the back of the long line-up, wondering why he'd seen a seemingly disappointed look in her eyes. He swallowed back panic. Sylvie couldn't possibly have feelings for Tyrone. They're like siblings to each other.
He thought about this throughout the entire line, fiddling around with his pendant. When they finally were at the front of the line, Sylvie ordered a vanilla cappuccino. Damon had the same. When they got their orders, they went back outside. The sun was shining brightly, and the world seemed to be in a good mood.
"It's so nice out today," remarked Sylvie. "Too bad everyone's working. First Danes, then Shamus, and now Tyrone." There it was again—that seemingly lonely feeling.
"Well, I'm here," he said, hesitating slightly.
She turned around and smiled at him. "I know. And I'm really glad you are. Otherwise I'd be all lonely."
"That's funny," he replied quietly.
"What is?" She titled her head to the side.
Damon coughed awkwardly. "I was under the impression that you were...already lonely and not satisfied with my companionship. You seem kind of disappointed." He glanced at his feet.
She gasped. "Oh no, it's not like that at all! I just wish we were all together right now as a gang, that's all."
But don't you want to be alone with me on a date? Damon's face turned hot. Oh God. This really is like a date. I hadn't really thought about that until now! What do you do on first dates!? He took a deep breath to calm himself, trying to hide his internal panicking. Come on, calm down. This is your chance to show Sylvie how you really feel. On your first date.
"I realize that you're busy too and I'm probably just distracting you from work. Sorry." Sylvie sighed. "Still, I'm really happy you're here." She managed a small smile.
He blinked at her. The smile wasn't like her. He pushed aside his own worries. "Sylvie... There's more bothering you. Tell me," he said quietly, concern gripping his heart and making him forget his nervousness.
She scuffed the dirt with the toe of her shoe, a sigh escaping her lips. "It's just...you guys are always so busy with work or training or something. And I just have so much free time but I barely get to hang out with you guys. Did you notice that in the past two weeks, the last time we were all together was on your birthday?"
Damon felt a twinge of pity or her. Sylvie lived a closed life with her protective, rich mother. She wasn't like Damon and his friends, all of whom had plenty of freedom but lots of work. Despite Sylvie's restricted freedom, she had a lot of time to play. She just didn't have anyone to play with.
Damon mentally hit himself for not noticing earlier. The pendant sparkled around his neck. She was so good to him; he had to start paying more attention to her needs too. He wanted Sylvie to be happy. "You have me," he promised, "I'll drop whatever I'm working on if you call me—when I can."
"Thanks, Damon." She managed a giggle. "I guess I'm just being silly. At least I have friends, right? It's just that besides my lady friends who I hardly get to see either, you guys are really my only friends. I just wish we could hang out more."
"I would grant any wish of yours," Damon automatically replied. "I'll get us to host a meeting where we try to clear out schedules and find ways to balance it out so we're all free on the same day."
Sylvie brightened, and her smile lit up his heart. "Wow, thanks, Damon! You don't have to do that, but if you do..."
"I know. You're welcome." He smiled at her. She was just so precious. "I'd fly to the moon and back if you asked me too."
Now Sylvie blushed. That was a good sign. "Y-You don't have to go through such lengths for me... When Tyrone told me that, I thought he was just joking—"
"He was, but I would. I would fly to the moon for you." He leaned in closer, heart thumping. His pulse drowned out everything else, their cappuccinos sitting on the steps, currently forgotten. Damon swallowed hard and reached for her hand. She flinched, her face red, but she didn't pull away. His pendant glittered, feeling cool against his warm skin.
"Not to be condescending, but wh-what are you trying to say?" Her face was flushed red.
"I care about you. That's what I'm trying to say. I'm here for you, if you ever need someone to talk to—someone you can be yourself around."
"Y-You are a really good friend, Damon. And I really appreciate it. Thank you." Her eyes were wide and her voice trembled. She bit her lower lip. "But..."
"But what?" He paused, his grip on her hand loosening a little. She gently let her hand fall away and reached for his arm instead, her touch sending electrifying tingles down his spine.
"I know you feel lonely too, sometimes; ever since your brother and your parents died—"
He shook his head. "Don't bring them up." He met her eyes. "I'm not confused, Sylvie. I'm not lonely." He grasped her hand again. Her alarmed expression returned again.
Sylvie's eyes widened, but she didn't pull away. Mostly, she just looked befuddled. "Wha—?"
"I'm in love with you, Sylvie."
The concern and confusion deepened, a hundredfold. "Damon—no, that's not—" She was blushing madly now.
"I know. I know. This is really sudden. You probably just see me as a friend. I get it. But I can also sense it, Sylvie. This is right. I'm here, don't you see? I'm sure that you have some sort of feelings for me. We might just be meant to be," he whispered quietly.
Her mouth was hanging open now, staring at him as if she didn't recognize him. As if she hadn't been smiling so sweetly at him a moment before, saying all those endearing things she'd said. As if she hadn't already confessed the truth.
Friendship. Friendship.
No. The pendant, the words she had just said, her being here all alone with him on a "date".
This could happen. This could be fate.
"I love you, Sylvie."
She looked so flustered, just like the girls did in the romantic movies. The moment felt so right. It was a scene right out of a movie. Desire latched onto him and Damon couldn't resist.
He pulled her close and kissed her.
She gasped against his mouth, and he said her name, breathing the word into her.
Sylvie...
Then he was drowning. Drowning in sensation and heat and the rush of his own blood and yearning and want and he loved her...
He loved her.
...He oh so loved her...
"No!" She pushed him away, her head lowered and face flushed.
His arms remained around her waist, and the drowning sensation began to fade away as he became rooted back down on Earth again. His pendant dulled in colour. "Sylvie...?" he whispered hoarsely. His lips were still tingling with the kiss, longing for her lips, filled with desire.
"No..." she whispered, her head still ducked down.
"Sylvie, look at me—please." He was starting to panic.
She looked up, her face red and her eyes wet. "Damon... Oh, Damon, I'm so sorry..."
"What do you mean?" he mumbled, feeling dizzy.
She brushed strands of his hair out of his eyes gently. "Damon, this isn't right. I-I don't feel that way about you... I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry—I didn't even realize how you felt..."
"Don't do this to me," he whispered.
Sylvie shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I love you, Damon—but only as a friend. You're a wonderful person, but—"
"No, don't say any more." He clutched at her hands. The pendant had really dimmed by this point as desperation clawed at his chest. "You have to love me, Sylvie. Please—I love you. I love you so; I can't live without you—"
"I'll always be here, but not in that way." Her eyes were so full of pity and sorrowful, apologetic tears that Damon hated himself for how pathetic he must've appeared at the moment. "All I can say is I'm sorry, Damon."
"Tell me why. There must be a reason... I-I can change. I can become whatever you want me to be—" His mind was scrabbling for ideas to keep Sylvie by his side as his.
She shook her head. "No, don't—you're perfect just the way you are! It's not you. I-I just...I have my eyes set on someone else."
Damon froze, feeling as if she'd just shot a silver bullet straight through his heart. The air seemed to be sucked out of his lungs, and suddenly he felt oh so icy cold... "What?" he murmured, throat scratchy and dry.
"I'm in love with someone else."
Damon let the words sink in. He lowered his head and stared at their hands, still entwined. The way it should be. His grip tightened. "No, no... That can't be possible—"
"Oh, Damon. I'm so sorry. I never wanted to break your heart l-like this, but I didn't even know...—I love you too, Damon. But as a friend. You're one of the best friends I've ever had."
A best friend. But nothing more. Something bitter writhed inside of him. Something that had been festering inside since he'd fallen for her. Jealousy. He pushed it aside, his breaths coming fast. Who? "Who...?" he mumbled. He raised his voice. "Who!?"
She flinched, and the fear in his eyes caused him to slump. He didn't want to scare her. He wanted her to love him.
"Please tell me who," he pleaded.
Sylvie looked down at the ground. "T-Tyrone..." she stammered.
Damon felt like he'd just been slapped. "What?" he forced out, voice hoarse.
"I-I'm in love with Tyrone."
There it was again. That mental slap. Damon swallowed the bile in his throat. His best friend. The man who hadn't even been trying to win Sylvie over. His pendant suddenly seemed completely dark. He grabbed the chain and yanked, causing it to come free. It luckily didn't break though, but something else did. It was inside of him.
His heart.
Damon took a step back. "I-I have to go."
"Yeah, y-you should probably go..." Sylvie wiped at her eyes. "I-I'll walk home."
"Me too." He turned around.
"I'm sorry, Damon."
He squeezed his eyes shut, keeping the tears inside. Apologies mean nothing. I want your love. He felt sick. He felt like he was in a bad nightmare. Any minute now, he'd wake up and collapse with relief that he hadn't so foolishly confessed and found out the absurd "truth" that Sylvie loved Tyrone...
But even as he neared his house and he never woke up, Damon knew deep down he was feeding himself lies. Sylvie had never loved him in that way. She loved Tyrone.
When Damon finally got home, he screamed and threw the pendant against the wall. Then he let tears fall from his eyes as he picked the pendant back up and gently smoothed it out, even though it wasn't paper. There was small dent in the side, but other than that, the strong pendant was mostly safe. He held it close to his heart, letting the tears drip down his cheeks.
His heart was broken. He was hurting. Why is life so unfair?
He wasn't sure how long he sat there, crying silently as his heart hardened and clumsily patched itself back up. When he recovered enough, he stood up and walked toward a mirror. Taking a deep breath, he vowed silently not to let jealousy overtake him. He vowed to stay strong and support Sylvie and Tyrone, whether they ended up together or not. If they did, great. He'd cheer them on like the best friend Sylvie had said he was. If not, then that was great too. He would win Sylvie over.
Damon took a deep, trembling breath. "I promise," he whispered. "But no matter what, I will always love you, Sylvie." Then he fastened the pendant back around his neck.
It was supposed to be a sign of our love. He felt the moonstone and the metallic wolf. But now it's just a sign of my heartbreak.
The world was dark and black. He glanced around. It was like he was in his mind, but his mind had never seemed so dark and lonely before.
Balloons and streamers decorated his mind, but everything felt sad and dejected. It made him feel the same way. He'd been stuck in his brain for a long, long time, but he was starting to get tired of it.
"I'm okay," he told himself. "I'm okay."
The thought of his family waiting for him on the other side brightened his spirit, and he double-checked his condition. He was certainly recovering, and was probably well enough to try and wake up.
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and concentrated. An orange flame slowly engulfed him. Then his eyes flashed open, glowing white.
"I'm coming home," he whispered.
The world turned white, and then it was black again. But this time he felt a lot less light; like he had a real body. He tested this out by trying to lift his fingers.
It worked!
He grinned and opened his eyes, looking down at his hands. His fingers were twitching and flexing; just as he wanted them to. Plus, he was finally awake!
Before he could let out a joyful cheer, soft snoring filled his ears. He turned to see two people. One had brown hair and the other had red hair. Both of them were asleep. He looked at the clock. It was 6:22 am.
He looked down at the two, wondering where his other family members were. Also, why is Blossom here? It was too early for visitors, and none of her other family members were here.
He wasn't sure if he should move. They were sitting in chairs, heads resting on his bed. If he did get up, he might disturb them from their slumber. As he continued to contemplate moving, the doorbell suddenly rang, loud and clear.
The sleeping brown-haired boy stirred. The boy in bed stiffened, glancing down at his brother. He quickly flopped back down under his blankets in a panic attack. He did so just as the other boy woke up.
Blinking purple eyes, the boy floated out the door.
The one pretending to still be asleep breathed out a sigh of relief. He gently slipped out of the orange bed, careful not to disturb Blossom, making his way to the window.
When he pushed aside the curtains and looked outside, his eyes widened. The person ringing their doorbell at 6:26 am was Bliss Utonium.
Just as he was about to hurry back into bed, he heard a yawn. He stiffened, frozen to the spot.
Blossom had woken up, probably sensing a lack of body warmth around her. There was two seconds of silence where all he could hear was his beating heart.
Then the pink Powerpuff Girl said, tone just as shocked as one would expect, "Braker...?"
ME: Whooooo! Braker woke up and Damon and Vix talked and we got to see Damon confess to Sylvie!
DAMON: "Talked"? He completely rejected me!
ME: That's kind of the point... And oh, you don't usually pop up here, Damon!
DAMON: *tears* Why are you painting me in such a negative light now...
ME: *sweat-drop, smiles awkwardly* There, there... *pats him on back*
BRAKER: Don't sweat it Damon; we still have reason to celebrate! I'm finally baaaack~
MICHAEL: Hey, what about me?
BRAKER: *waves him away* Yeah, yeah; we'll get to you later. Right now it's all about me.
MICHAEL: Kuku—
ME: Sorry, man. He's got a point. *awkward shrug and smile*
MICHAEL: *sighs* Well, leave a review, everyone. I guess...
ME: Again, hopefully y'all like that I updated right now; although it's late at the time I'm posting this. It's a full moon and it's my older brother's birthday and it's practically the end of June so why not?