Call of the Wolves Chapter 67: Little Red and Big Bad Wolf, a powerpuff girls fanfic

CHAPTER 67: LITTLE RED AND BIG BAD WOLF

ME: Ahh, sorry it's taken so long to update!

BLOSSOM: It's been over a month!

ME: Yeah, I had Writer's Block. Or rather, everything was planned out, but I didn't really have time to write.

BRICK: Aka you were too lazy to write.

ME: Okay, fine. Maybe a little bit. But I'm here now, with a long chapter to tide you all over! I've been hurrying to get this out by the last day or two of October.

BUTTERCUP: And why's that?

ME: NaNoWriMo, of course! I plan on writing 50 000 words in one month again during the month of November.

BRICK: *sarcastically* Oh, good for you.

ME: Yeah! I'm gonna continue Damon's story with another prequel to Call of the Wolves and a sequel to Smoke and Mirrors, titled Reflection of a Silhouette/Deception of a Silhouette.

BLOSSOM: Ooh, sounds exciting!

ME: It is! Here's the summary. In the meantime, enjoy this new chapter, and be sure to leave a review at the end!

A good man's biggest fear is that he will have to choose between those he loves.

Damon has come to fear war.

After being rescued to live another day at eight years old, he was accepted into the Patterson household as one of their own - and in turn, he accepted them. However, Damon's people - his friends and family from the past - have come to reclaim him.

Now Damon must decide whether or not he belongs with the family he has grown to care for, or the family he has grown up with.

Lives are at stake as a war breaks out between the two sides, with this young boy in the middle of it all. And his decision will determine the outcome of this battle.

Meanwhile, Damon's feelings for Sylvie, a sickly but sweet girl he befriended after rescuing her from thugs, continue to grow. He's not the only one though. His friend Shamus seems to be falling for her as well, and Tyrone gets thrown into the mixture as well. The possibility that Damon's jealousy may claim him haunts him constantly, and the consequences of giving in to such feelings may be fatal.

With the war looming over their heads, their feelings sitting heavy in their hearts, and a shadowy threat on their tail, Damon and his friends must pull through together - lest they fall apart. In this exciting second installment to Smoke and Mirrors, and much-anticipated prequel to Call of the Wolves, we are introduced to the tragic action-romance story that even rekindled the flames of an old, all-out war. Secrets plague this lost tale, and we will unravel some of these mysteries with the story that led to Damon's downfall. A wild ride of romance, destruction, jealousy, action, and even death awaits.

Face your true reflection,
Or face the mirror's deception.

Are you brave enough to learn the truth?

Chapter 67: Little Red and Big Bad Wolf

"Will she be okay, Doc?" There was a sense of urgency in his voice that sounded like it bordered on desperation—and that's because it did.

The man who'd stepped outside of the hospital room, dressed in a white coat, faced him and blinked calmly. "We aren't sure," he responded briskly, his voice even. "We'll need to run a few more tests and keep her under wraps, but if she lays off of her activities, she should be fine. However, this disease is still relatively unknown and we're not sure what stage she's at, so we can't say for sure yet whether or not she's in the clear."

"What do you mean you're not sure?" he demanded, trying to fight against the sudden frustration igniting in his chest. "Aren't you a doctor? Don't you have fancy credentials that can prove you're capable? What are they worth if you can't even figure out how to save one woman!"

"I am a doctor," he confirmed, "but I'm not a miracle-worker. I'm sorry, Damon."

Hearing his name calmed him down. He hung his head, ashamed of his behaviour. "No, I should be the one apologizing, Sampson. You're a great doctor. I'm sure you know what you're doing, and I trust you."

The other man smiled slightly in appreciation, before nodding at the hunched over shape in the waiting chair. "I understand your frustrations. After all, it's the livelihoods of your best friends at stake here, and I admire you for being so worried about them."

He gulped, not bringing up the fact that his worry wasn't entirely about his best friends' feelings—that his worries stemmed a lot from his own feelings too. "Yes," he murmured back instead. "Tyrone is really worried about her." He glanced at his friend again.

The man was trembling, eyes glued to the floor as he sat with his elbows on his knees. He looked like a wreck, eyes darting back and forth in concern. Every time the door opened and a nurse walked out, he twitched like he was ready to jump up and run in at any moment.

"I can see that," Sampson agreed, referring to Damon's remark about Tyrone. "He's very in love with her." The smile came again, soft and filled with sympathy. "Tyrone's a good man. It's hard to imagine that there were ever days we could've met on the battlefield."

Damon nodded, his mind wandering back to those days, when the war raged and his father was deemed a hero by his people. His mother too was a ferocious soldier, and Damon recalled training hard with his brother to live up to their parents' reputations. He remembered days where he'd hang out with Harry and Fillip and Sampson and Casey, the six of them getting into all sorts of trouble. Sampson had always been the sensible one, although Damon had been more of the leader. The two barely ever clashed and got along quite well, but times changed and their close ties loosened.

They'd still been friends when Damon had witnessed the death of his parents, but that incident only drove them further apart. By being adopted into Tyrone's family, Damon ended up being on the opposing side. He also ended up being a prize for his people to claim back, as they said that Tyrone and Shamus' father, James Patterson, had betrayed the newly established treaty by taking away Damon.

Damon had been glad once the battles ended, as he'd been the cause of it despite his desires to end the feuding. He'd stayed with the Patterson family, even leading to the next treaty—and along the way, rekindling his friendship with old friends. While he'd become an integral part of Tyrone's group, he still saw himself as a member of Sampson's group. The two groups often intermingled, and Damon had never been happier.

That was also the point where he'd become absolutely sure of his feelings for Sylvie.

Sylvie. The girl he loved. The beautiful, frail, yet kind and strong girl he'd come to know well over the last few years. The girl who was Tyrone's wife—and the girl who'd coughed up blood only hours before; the girl in the hospital room right next to him.

"I know you're worried too," Sampson continued, probably noticing his expression, "but I promise we're doing everything we can to save her."

He took a deep breath. "I believe you, Sampson."

The man smiled and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "How's about we go join him? I think he needs the company."

Damon nodded, before turning and leading the way back to the waiting room. He stopped beside Tyrone and sat down. "You okay, old friend?" he questioned tentatively.

Tyrone's head snapped upwards and he whimpered. "She's dying," he whispered.

His best friend exchanged a glance with the man in the white coat, before saying carefully, "You can't be sure of that, Ty. She's sick, but there's still a chance of saving her."

"Oh, what will we say to Ross? The poor baby. My poor babies," he continued to whimper.

"He's in shock," Sampson explained. "It's a lot to take in and can be hard to accept when you love someone so much." He fixed his gaze on the shaking man in front of them. "Tyrone, listen to me." As the man continued to rock back and forth, Sampson raised his voice and repeated firmly, "Listen. To. Me."

He stopped rocking and looked up. "Yes?" he mumbled.

"I know it's hard," the dark-haired man began, "but you have to face it. I can't tell you Sylvie will be okay for sure, but I can tell you that we're all fighting to keep her with us."

"But what if it's not enough?" he croaked, eyes wide. "I can't lose her."

"Tyrone." Sampson narrowed his eyes, voice stern. "You need to be strong. For your friends. For your son. For her."

"Sampson's right," Damon agreed, a little frustrated at his friend.

"I understand you're in shock, but we need you to be clear-headed."

Tyrone paused, staring up at them. "I'm nothing without her."

"Sylvie is not you," Damon retorted. "You are you. And you're a good guy. You're stronger than this—I know you are." His voice had softened now, as his more negative feelings gave way to genuine concern for his best friend. "Please," he begged. "We need you."

"Look, I know what it's like." Sampson coughed, glancing at the door, where a nurse had just come bustling out. "You all know the story of my beautiful wife and my beautiful daughter." He sighed, turning back to his friends. "Not every story has a happy ending. Some of them end in loss, but we can't let them overtake us. When you let grief control you, you become a broken man—a shell of your former self—and the exact opposite of what your lost one would've wanted you to be. You have to stand tall in the face of such a threat, and not let it tear you down. Because there are people out there who need you; like my darling Cassandra—or your precious Ross."

Tyrone paused, before looking up and meeting his friend's gaze. The tears finally began dripping down his face.

Startled, Sampson held up his hands. "Wh-Why are you crying?" he stammered.

"Thank you," sniffed Tyrone, closing his eyes and wiping the tears away. He smiled slightly. "I needed to hear that."

He paused, smiling back. "You're welcome."

Damon glanced between them, amazed at how well Sampson had managed to calm the distraught husband down. He'd always admired people who could give others solid advice; he attempted to do so in his everyday life, and he enjoyed seeing others do the same. "I'm glad you're feeling better," he told his friend.

"Thanks, buddy." Tyrone gave him an unexpected hug. "You're the best."

Eyes wide before he smiled and hugged back, he murmured, "Any time."

Just then, the door opened and a nurse came out. "Doctor, she's ready for visitors now."

Sampson grinned to his friends. "You heard the lady. Go visit Sylvie."

The two jumped up, thanked him profusely, and barged into the hospital room. Tyrone grabbed his wife's hands and sat down beside her.

"Are you okay, baby?" he asked gently.

"I'm fine," she coughed lightly with a weak smile. "They've all been very kind and I feel much better. Sorry for worrying you."

"Don't be. I'm just glad you're alright." He gave her a hug. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Oh, Ty..." She hugged back, her smile and gaze soft and filled with love.

Damon looked away, feeling like he was intruding. He coughed lightly.

"Ah, yes. Sorry to turn you into the third wheel." Tyrone pulled away from his wife, looking up at his friend. "You want to talk to her too, right?"

He flushed red but nodded, making his way to Sylvie's side. "Hey," he said.

"Hey." She smiled up at him.

"I'm really relieved you're alright," he told her. He glanced at Tyrone, who was watching his wife with love. "We all need you."

She giggled. "Oh, don't be silly. You boys are big enough to take care of yourselves by now."

He managed to smirk back weakly in response. "Yeah," he agreed hoarsely, "but we'd rather not have to do so without you."

She paused, before smiling as tears came to her eyes. "...Thank you, Damon," she whispered.

"He's right, you know. We really wouldn't be the same without you. I wouldn't be the same without you." Tyrone sighed a deep sigh of evident relief. "I'm just so glad you're okay."

"I am too," she agreed, beaming. "Sampson says I can go home in a few weeks. I'll be stuck here for awhile, but I'm sure things will be fine."

"They better be, for me and the gang," her husband joked, grinning as he took her hands again. He leaned forward and kissed her gently. "For Ross too. He needs you."

"Right," she giggled.

Damon backed away, feeling his stomach twist in both pain and joy. He still felt like he was treading in on a moment he shouldn't have been, especially because that old spark of envy was igniting inside of him again. He stomped down on it though, determined to be happy for his two best...friends—because that's what he was. Happy. He really did feel joy and love for the both of them.

He smiled. "Come on, Ty. Let's go back and tell the others the good news."

"Alright." His friend stood up, gently letting go of his wife. "Get well soon, darling."

"I will," she promised. "And I love you."

"I love you too," he replied, and his eyes showed that he was telling the truth.

Damon rolled his eyes good-naturedly with a smile, nudging his friend. "Come on, you lovebird."

"Bye, Damon! Take care of Tyrone and Ross for me," Sylvie called softly, before breaking into a light cough.

Damon and Tyrone exchanged concerned glances, but neither of them wanted to make a scene of being fussy or doting—they knew Sylvie wouldn't want them to worry, and smothering her with their concern was the last thing she needed. So instead, Damon responded with, "Don't worry! I will!" before closing the door behind them.

Sampson met them outside. "I trust everything went well?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, although she was coughing when we left," fretted Tyrone. "You don't suppose...?"

"You have every right to be worried. But try not to be. Or rather, try to relax. We're administrating her the best medicine we have and making sure she's well-taken care of. Trust us." Sampson offered a comforting smile.

"I do," Tyrone promised. He smiled slightly. "Well, Damon and I are off them. We gotta tell the others the good news."

"Alright. See you later, boys." He waved.

They waved back, getting into Damon's car. As he shut the door, Tyrone turned to him and asked, "You think she's going to be okay?"

He paused, considering his words carefully. "...Yeah, I think she will be. She's strong, and she's a fighter. I bet she'll be fine." He gave him what he hoped was a warm, comforting smile before starting the car and pulling out of the hospital parking lot.

"I sure hope so," Tyrone murmured, gazing out the window. "I really thought she was getting better."

"I guess we all did," he agreed gently.

"She'll be okay. She's a fighter," he continued in a firm tone, repeating what Damon had said just seconds ago. He turned to his friend. "Right?"

Damon accelerated the car until it matched traffic flow—until the hospital was just a speck in the distance. He glanced at it in his rearview mirror, watching as it disappeared from view. He swallowed. "...Right."

Buttercup lay in her bed, staring up at her ceiling. She didn't feel like sleeping; too much was on her mind. She couldn't stop thinking and worrying about Ross—she'd looked for him everywhere she could think of, and yet there'd been no sign of him anywhere.

She scrolled through her phone, where the name "Ross the Boss" stared back at her. She longed to see the bubble that told her she'd gotten a new message from this person, telling her that he was safe and sound and in reach.

The other name there that caught her eye was Butch's. Last time she'd talked to him, they'd argued about whether or not he cared that Ross was gone. They hadn't really spoken since then, and she wondered if he'd looked for Ross at all.

She was scared for Ross. What if he was dead? Pushing the thought away, she thought instead of his smile and his kindness, feeling her heartbeat flutter and her cheeks warm.

Her memories of him were fond—he was a nice boy, and he'd been incredibly kind to her. She always enjoyed his company, and she liked and even wanted to spend time with him. Buttercup wondered what the feeling in her chest was, sighing to herself as she continued to scroll absentmindedly up and down on her phone.

Ross really was a sweet boy, and the last thing he deserved was to be killed. What if I never see him again? She paused, her finger hovering over the keyboard. It seemed so unfair, that this kindhearted boy may be snatched from the Earth so soon—that she could meet and like someone like him, only to have him be snatched away.

There was a big part of her that didn't want that to ever happen. She didn't want to be given an opportunity, only to lose it so soon after, before she could make anything of it.

Before she could make anything of them.

The idea made her blush. She'd resolved to do something about it once, but not a lot had become of her new steadfast will. Instead, time had passed, and things between her and Ross had remained unchanged.

Until now. When he'd gone missing.

Buttercup's grip tightened on her phone. I'll tell him as soon as he comes back, she decided. She didn't dare to use "if he comes back" instead, determined to do everything in her power to make sure he could come back safe—even avoiding words to prevent jinxing his chances of return.

After all, fate was a fickle thing. Buttercup wasn't much of a believer in religion or destiny, but she was willing to pray for the better destiny and safe return of Ross.

She missed him a lot, she realized. She missed his smile and his kind words and mellow yet funny personality. She missed the warmth of having him by her side, and the care that he always provided her when gazing at her with his gorgeous green eyes.

Green eyes.

Butch.

Her finger was hovering over his name now, and she could still see the preview of the last text that had been sent between the two of them. It had been from Butch.

She remembered that last conversation. They'd been talking about their superhero lifestyles, and he'd mentioned how annoying fangirls and boys could be. When Buttercup had responded with, "'You? Fangirls? I didn't know you even had any!'"

He'd replied quickly with, "'Yeah, I didn't either! But I've got at least one!'"

"'Which one?'" she'd asked.

"'You!'"

The text had made her laugh. Butch may have been annoying, but there was one thing Buttercup had to admit: he was funny. And he was kind in his own weird way too. Perhaps it wasn't as obvious as Ross, but her counterpart really wasn't too horrible. Annoying, yes—but horrible, no.

A knock sounded on the door just then, and she tensed.

"It's just me," a very familiar voice called softly.

She relaxed. "Come in then," she responded.

The door was pushed open and Blossom stuck her head inside. "What are you still doing up?" she asked. "It's almost 2:00 am."

"Can't sleep," she responded.

"But we have school tomorrow," Blossom admonished, walking inside.

Buttercup turned to face her. "And what about you, Miss Princess?"

Blossom paused. "I couldn't sleep either," she finally admitted. "I came out for a cup of water and saw you were still awake—or at least that your lamp is still on."

"I needed to be able to see." She glanced at her sister. "So what's bothering you?"

Blossom hesitated. "First off, what's bothering you?"

"Hey, I asked you first."

"Just answer the question."

"Okay." Buttercup sat up. "I'm worried about Ross."

"Oh." Blossom's eyes widened. "Do you like him?"

"I dunno." She shrugged. "I just can't stop thinking about him. I hope he's safe."

"Yeah, me too," she agreed quietly.

"So, now that I'm done that, what's bothering you?" she pushed, eager to learn the truth.

Blossom sat down on the edge of her bed with her. "I for one can't stop thinking about Brick. I'm worried about where our relationship is going. He and I seem to be drifting apart."

"And why's that?" inquired Buttercup.

"Well, it's just that he doesn't approve of me being Vincent's friend," she explained. "I think he thinks I'm starting to develop feelings for Vincent."

"Do you though?" she asked. "I meant I'd be upset too if my girlfriend or boyfriend were choosing another person over me."

"Of course not!" Blossom exclaimed indignantly. "Don't you get started too."

"But do you though?" she persisted.

Finally, Blossom hesitated and said unsurely, "Okay, fine. I actually don't know. But I don't think I do."

"Or you hope you don't." Buttercup flicked her sister on the head, sighing fondly. "Idiot. Look at the mess you've gotten yourself into. You're clearly not very prepared to be a girlfriend, despite how you usually plan everything to the point of obsession. How long have you been planning this conversation?"

"Ouch! Awhile, okay." As Buttercup started laughing, she glowered at her sister and folded her arms. "Hey, you're more socially awkward than me," Blossom protested.

"Okay, sure, I'll humour you on that, but at least I don't plan out conversations in advance," she responded between laughs.

"I don't always plan out conversations," argued her sister, "just the really important ones! I'm the leader of the Powerpuff Girls, after all. I'm very socially adept."

Buttercup snorted, still giggling. "Okay, Bloss. Sure thing. Go get some sleep before you overwork your social interaction quota for the day." She knew Blossom was actually pretty good at public speeches and meeting new people, but there was truth to Buttercup's teasing. Her sister's Type A personality was undeniable.

Blossom finally started giggling too. "Pfft." She nudged her raven-haired companion playfully. "Let's see if you can do any better. Figure this thing out with Ross as soon as he comes back, okay? And I'll get this sorted out with Brick."

"Oh, sure." Buttercup stopped laughing, until she remembered the fact that Ross was missing. Now she frowned, looking down. "I hope we find him, at least."

"BC..." Blossom reached out and gave her an unexpected hug. "I hope he's safe too," she responded gently.

Startled by the hug but now reassured by her words, Buttercup melted into her sister's arms. "Yeah," she whispered quietly.

They let go after awhile, and the pink Puff smiled slightly. "Get some sleep, 'kay?"

She nodded.

"Good night, BC."

"'Night, Bloss."

As Blossom left her room, Buttercup flopped back onto her bed and sighed, glancing at her phone. Nothing new from Butch or Ross, not that she'd been expecting anything.

She was just starting to drift to sleep when her phone sounded beside her.

Sitting up groggily, she squinted against the light of her lamp, which was still on, and fumble for her phone. She turned it on and stared, waiting for her eyes to focus.

The text that greeted her wasn't from Ross or Butch, but from a different boy altogether: it was from Michael.

Did they find anything new on Ross? she wondered. Now eagerly awaiting the text with her heart pounding, Buttercup was wide awake as she ignored the text preview and simply swiped her phone open.

"'Ross is back! Thought you deserved to know. :)'"

She stared at the text for what might've been eternity, and she flopped onto her back again. Sighing with immense relief and joy, she vowed that she would talk to him about everything as soon as she saw him at school. Or maybe...he wouldn't be recovered enough at school. Then I'll visit his house as soon as I can, she promised silently. I'll talk to Michael about it tomorrow.

She took a deep breath. Blossom's right. I should get my feelings sorted out. Now ready for an actually good night's sleep, Buttercup turned off her lamp and pulled the covers over herself. She closed her eyes and drifted into a calm, serene, happy sleep, with dreams about seeing Ross again.

Here goes nothing.

Taking a deep breath and closing his ice-blue eyes, he plunged into the thronging crowd moving through the hallways of Pokey Oaks High School. He pushed his way through and didn't stop until he was in front of a locker he knew was the one he was looking for. He stuck a few cheerful stickers on and attempted to squeeze in a few flat chocolates through the slits in the locker door.

"...What are you doing?"

He froze like a deer caught in headlights. He turned his head slowly and was met with the orange gaze of a boy, whose eyebrow was arched high in suspicion. He slumped, letting go of the chocolates that were halfway shoved through. "Braker."

"DJ." He nodded his acknowledgment as he shouldered his way past the other boy and stopped in front of his locker. He looked it up and down. "What is this? Are you vandalizing my locker?"

"Nooooo... Well, not exactlyyy," DJ responded slowly, twisting his lips and hands awkwardly.

Braker squinted at the stickers. "'Great job!' 'You rock!' 'Do your best!'" he quoted. He looked up. "Okay, seriously—what the hell is this?"

"I'm just trying to brighten your day," he responded hotly, still embarrassed. He grabbed the chocolates and pulled them back out, shrugging. "But if you don't want it..."

"Give me that." He snatched it away and unwrapped the tinfoil. "Wow. Chocolate? For me? From you?"

"Don't act so surprised," he muttered.

"My God, DJ—could it be? Have you fallen for me?" Braker gasped mockingly, clapping his hand to his cheek.

Flushing red, DJ shoved his hand into Braker's face. "You wish."

"What would poor Bliss think?" he continued.

"Oh, shut up! I was just trying to be nice. Stop being such a dick about it," DJ retorted.

Braker's smile faded. "Yeah, because Bliss asked you to."

"Well, I'm doing it, aren't I? Or at least, I'm trying. More than you are, anyway," he huffed.

The orange Ruff's gaze darkened. "Yeah, you're really trying." He crushed the chocolates in his hand, letting the bits and pieces fall to the floor.

Deth Jackson's mouth fell open. "How dare you!" he gasped.

"Oh, I dare alright." Braker glared back, thrusting his index finger up at the other boy. "I don't want your fake friendship. Stop being a two-faced asshole and stop pretending. We all know the last thing you want is to be friends with me."

"And what if I actually wanted to patch things up between us?" DJ snapped.

"Then you wouldn't do it like this. This is half-assed. You'd apologize. Which you are clearly too arrogant to do." Braker snorted. "Besides, if you become friends with me, then Bliss is bound to come running back to you, am I right?"

DJ scowled but didn't respond.

"You're pathetic," growled Braker, turning on his heel and stomping away. "I don't want your fake-ass friendship. So stop trying to be nice to me, because we all know what you're really thinking." He glanced back one last time. "You fucking sneaky little two-faced asshole bat."

DJ watched him go, folding his arms. "Oh, you're on. We're going to be 'friendly' with each other by the end of today if it's the last thing I do," he growled.

Meanwhile, Braker had stopped stomping and had stopped to lean against a wall, sighing.

"That was a little harsh, don't you think?"

He turned, starting, to see Brick emerging from the shadows. "Dude, you scared me."

"Sorry." A ghost of a smile passed over Brick's face. He glanced back at where DJ had been standing only moments before. He nodded at Braker's locker. "Why don't you give him a chance?"

"Ha, and why should I? He's just handing out fake sympathy. I don't need his crappy pretend friendship," Braker snorted.

"You could at least try," Brick admonished.

He looked his brother over. "What are you, Blossom in disguise?"

"No." The ghostly smile was back again, but more sad. "I just feel bad for him. Not everyone gets a second chance."

Braker stood up. "Brick... Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." His brother began floating away. "I'm just sad I missed out on my second chance."

"Brick—"

"You should get to class." Then he was gone, and the bell began to ring.

Braker cursed, looking back one more time at his decorated locker. I hope Brick's okay... He frowned. He's wrong though. DJ doesn't deserve a second chance because he doesn't want to be friends with me. Besides, thanks to him, I didn't get to go to my locker! Growling in frustration, Braker flew to his class.

When he got there, he slid into his seat and watched as the teacher did roll-call, completely ignoring Deth Jackson Jr. When that was over, they were told to open their books. Braker bit back a groan of frustration. Instead, he put his hand up.

"Yes, Braker?"

"My book is in my locker," he began, but DJ interrupted.

"You can share with me," he offered.

"Ah, problem solved! That's very nice of you, DJ," the teacher said cheerfully, clapping their hands.

"Yes, very nice," Braker hissed, "if it hadn't been your fault my book's in my locker in the first place."

The teacher paused. "Is there a problem, boys?"

DJ smiled coyly. "None at all, dear teacher," he responded smoothly. "None at all."

Braker sat through the rest of the class attempting to stay calm, trying not to yell at DJ as the other boy gave him "helpful learning tips just in case he didn't understand" and "simplified certain explanations in layman's terms so that he could understand"—his words, not Braker's.

When class ended, Braker nearly stormed out of the classroom in sheer frustration.

"Where are you going, pal?" DJ inquired. "Why don't we walk to your class together?"

"I'm going to just ignore your offer," Braker retorted. He flew off, determined to make it to his next class without dealing with DJ at all.

Skidding into the classroom, he felt immensely relieved to know that he and DJ didn't share this class. He sat down at his desk and set down his backpack. He kept to himself the entire class, and it wasn't until class was nearly ending that someone decided to interact with him.

That someone tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey."

He spun around before relaxing. "Oh, hi, Bliss. Sorry; I'm just feeling a little unsocial today."

"I can guess why." She smiled slightly in amusement. "I saw your locker. Let me guess; DJ was trying to be 'nice'?"

Relieved that she wasn't saying DJ's attempt at being "friendly" was something he needed to give a chance, he smirked back, "You should have heard him trying to make friends with me."

She raised an eyebrow. "And what did he say?" she asked.

"He insisted he was trying to be friends with me for real, but didn't deny that he was just doing it because you asked him to." Braker chuckled. "What a riot. He was incredibly arrogant about it too. I got so pissed off I crushed the chocolates from him."

"You what?" She furrowed her brow.

He paused, now concerned that he'd jinxed himself. "I uhh—"

"Okay, I get that he's an arrogant ass, but really? And I get that it's hard to give him a second chance, but did you have to crush the chocolates? That's just a show of poor sportsmanship! He made those chocolates just for you, Braker."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't you start too, Bliss."

"I need you to be fairer than this. It's not just supposed to be an attempt on his part to be your friend," she continued.

He groaned. "You're acting like I'm in the wrong here."

"That's because you are! Well, sort of. DJ should make a less superficial attempt to be friends with you, but you need to try and be a little friendlier too."

"Hey, even you know that he's just doing this for you," he retorted. "This has literally nothing to do with me—except for me to be a 'friend' for him as a stepping stone so he can get back to you."

Bliss flinched, as if he'd just thrown a rock at her. "Ouch," she muttered.

"What? It's true, isn't it?" he rampaged on.

She drew herself upwards. "Braker Jojo, at least try and be friendly with him!" she yelled.

The entire class froze.

"Bliss, Braker... Is there something the matter?" the teacher inquired.

Bliss slumped in embarrassment. "No," she mumbled.

"No," Braker crowed, louder than his counterpart.

Before the teacher could press further, the bell rang and Bliss made a dash for the door. Braker followed.

"Come on, Bliss—let's be reasonable here—" he tried.

"I'm not talking to you unless you start talking to DJ!" she snapped back. "Because that's the way it is for him, and for me to be fair, I need to treat you the same way. So don't come whining to me!"

He slowed, watching as she flew away. He groaned loudly, thumping his head against someone else's locker. "Why"—thump—"the fuck"—thump—"does this"—thump—"kind of thing"—thump—"have to"—thump—"happen to me!?"—thump.

"Uhh, Braker..."

He jumped back, spinning around to see Princess Morbucks staring at him. He relaxed. "Oh, hey Princess. I've just been having a rough day. Did you know that DJ has been—"

"What about me, hmm, buddy?"

Braker froze, before letting out another groan. "Hi, DJ," he muttered through gritted teeth.

The other boy emerged from the corner behind Princess, smiling.

"What are you doing with him?" demanded Braker, turning accusingly towards Princess.

She grimaced, glancing between the two boys with her. She could sense the tension between them like it was palpable. "Well, unlike you... My father's business means I must be social at all times, and DJ's father is a good colleague of mine. As such, we are rather familiar with each other and interact occasionally."

"Oh come on, Prinny. There's no need to dance around the truth. We're real close!" DJ sang.

"DJ, that's not helping..." she muttered back.

"Ughhh. Look, I don't care who your friends are." Braker rolled his eyes. "Just as long as he doesn't try and come after me."

"And why not? I think I'll join you guys for lunch today," DJ continued.

His eyes widened. "No!" he exclaimed. "If you're eating lunch with us, then I'm not!"

"Jeez, Braker, what's with you?" asked Princess.

"Yeah, what crawled up your ass and died?" DJ added.

"You!" An awkward silence followed his assertion before he flushed red and snapped, "I mean, I'm pissed off at you."

"No surprise there," DJ snorted, rolling his eyes. "But why can't we just let go of the past, hmmm?"

"Because you're as fake as Princess' nails," Braker retorted.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, covering her night-sky glittery nails with her other hand. "Why are you being such a jerk today?"

"Maybe because I'm not in a good mood!" he yelled back, before flying off. He had every intention of ignoring DJ for the rest of the day.

When it came to lunch, Braker was ready to seek out somewhere new to eat. Because DJ had prevented him from going to his locker that morning, he still had his lunch with him so he didn't have to go back and get it. The possibility that DJ would be waiting there for him guaranteed he wouldn't go back to his locker.

Grumbling to himself, he slid into an relatively quiet classroom and plonked himself down in the chair, ready to eat. He was just unwrapping the burger when the door opened and in came DJ's voice: "Hey, Braker! You in here?"

He dove underneath the desk he'd been eating at way in the back, snapping his eyes toward the door.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Princess was saying.

"Of course! I could've sworn I saw his orange streak coming in here—"

"No, I meant, is this a good idea for you to bother him? He wasn't very happy."

"Oh relax. He's just being a jerk. Nothing a little DJ charm can't fix."

As Braker lay there, beginning to grow angry at his snide remarks, DJ then said something surprising:

"Besides, maybe burying the hatchet wouldn't be such a bad idea."

Princess sounded surprised too as she asked, "And why's that?"

"Not just because Bliss asked me to. But because we've been fighting for so long... And it wasn't until Bliss that I realized how much our feud affected other people."

Braker blinked in shock as Princess said slowly, "Wow... That's the most mature thing you've said all day."

DJ's face turned red. "Yeah, well, don't tell Braker I said that, okay? His ego's big enough as it is." He began storming out of the classroom. "Come on, let's go back to the caf. Maybe he's trying to dodge me by going to the place he's expected to go to."

"Maybe," Princess responded absentmindedly. She paused, glancing back at Braker's hiding place just as he was rising. "Or maybe he's closer than you think," she whispered.

Starting, he scrambled back down to his hiding spot and lay there, heart pounding as he breathed heavily. The door clicked shut and he just sat there for awhile, trying to calm down. She knew I was here? he wondered dizzily.

He slowly got back up and finished his lunch, waiting for the bell to ring. As he waited, his mind constantly mulled over the conversation between Deth Jackson Jr and Princess Morbucks. DJ's words in particular stuck out to him, and he wondered if he'd overestimated the boy's arrogance.

When the bell rang, he decided to risk it and flew to his locker. But then he saw that DJ was waiting there and the other boy spotted him too. Perhaps it was because he felt too awkward, or perhaps it was because he still didn't want to deal with the other boy, but Braker's response was ducking behind a bunch of lockers and flying away immediately.

Most of the remaining day passed by rather uneventfully, which was a good thing in his books. Not sharing a class with Bliss and DJ currently gave him an immense relief.

He sighed, finally relaxing as he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He sat through class mostly keeping to himself and focusing on his work, which was rather unlike him—but he desired the distraction the work provided. The last thing he wanted to think about was DJ's "friend request" and Bliss' attitude on the issue.

Despite this, there was still a feeling of dread that lined the bottom of his stomach. His last class of the day was one he shared with both Bliss and DJ. And that sounded like a disaster just waiting to happen.

When the time came, he dragged himself slowly to the last classroom of his school day and prepared for the onslaught of accusations and disputes that may arise. To his surprise, however, DJ nor Bliss approached him when he first came in.

Sensing that something was off, he sat down and glanced backwards at DJ and then at his counterpart, but both of them were looking away from him. He glanced back down and saw that there was a sheet of paper on his desk. He hesitated, frowning, before picking it up and reading it over.

"'I know you don't really want to talk to me so I'm going to keep this brief. I am well aware that my attitude is less than desirable, but please note that I am doing this for all of us. We both want Bliss to start talking to us again, and while I admit I have been rather superficial about the whole ordeal, I did not think that making peace was such a bad idea.

The thing is, the feud between our families has grown increasingly dangerous, and harder and harder to hide from those outside of the war. However, had I not gotten to know you Ruffs better—gotten to know your motivations and your past, and most of all, yourselves—personalities and all—then I would never have even considered that you could be something other than an enemy or rival. But besides all that, there is also the fact that our feud has greatly affected the people around us—an effect I hadn't noticed until I had Bliss. And I know the way you feel about her and me, but I ask wholeheartedly that you do not let it get in the way of our current situation. I know how you feel about her, and I am well-aware that you have every desire to protect her, but I can swear that my affections for her are true and I have no intention of harming her. If anything, we should be able to bond over our mutual respect for Bliss or even Vix, or perhaps we could talk about the war, because we really aren't all that different. You may see me as arrogant and irritating, while I may regard you as blockheaded and annoying, but truth be told, we really are cut from the same cloth.

Now, you may be expecting this letter to turn into an apology with the direction it's headed in, and if I wasn't so bad at saying sorry, then perhaps it would be. So while it may not be directly asking you to forgive me for my actions, you yourself can probably read between the lines and see this request for yourself. Other than that, however, this is a request and an offering of peace—or at least an attempt asking us to make an attempt at making peace.

I know this letter is a little confusing within itself, but there's a lot to talk about and class is about to end so I'll have to cut it off here. A sweet, adorable little birdie has kindly informed me of the fact that my actions today were less than desirable for making friends with you, so I hope this corrects that, or at least helps you see things from my way a little better.

I hope this makes it up to you.

Your "friend",

Deth Jackson Jr

(PS: Please please please check your locker. I swear to God you better go after this class. I won't be waiting there, I promise. Just go and open it—there's some stuff in there I hope makes up for my behaviour today.)'"

Braker didn't know what to make of it. It amused him and angered him all at the same time, if only because it made him feel guilty and he disliked that DJ was being the "better man". He glanced back at the boy, who was now watching him intensely.

DJ offered a small half-smile.

Braker managed to smile back just slightly.

He turned back to the letter, running through the lines again—and then again and again—until he had them memorized and imprinted in his mind. He had no doubt that the "little birdie" who'd spoken to DJ was none other than Bliss, especially by the way DJ described her as adorable and sweet.

Perhaps he and DJ really could be friends.

That was the thought that stuck with him throughout class, and that was the thought that he left the classroom with. He left before Bliss and DJ when the bell rang, because he wanted to go see his locker without having to confront either of them first.

He flew over to it and landed with a slight stumble in his haste to get to his locker. He quickly entered his combination and threw the door open. Inside was another letter and two boxes of chocolate.

He smiled slightly in amusement, picking up the first box. It was a dark greenish-blue and had a little golden engraving on it that Braker recognized from DJ's father's business. The other box was black and white.

He opened the last note and began reading.

"'Hello, Braker.

If you are reading this, then I assume you have opened your locker door and thus received the chocolates I have prepared for you. The teal box contains milk chocolates, and the black and white one contains dark chocolates. I'm not quite sure which one you prefer, so I made both. I tried to make them exotic and uncommon, so I based them off of chocolates my padre gets me from Italy. They're really good, and I totally recommend them.

But there's one other thing: I'm going to also assume it was pretty difficult getting you to open this door. And you're probably going to assume that I'm calling you out on your temper, which is going to be true to an extent. In all fairness, you're not the only one who's stubborn and unwilling to look the other way. I'm just as stubborn and unwilling, but Bliss has asked me to do this—and I'll do almost anything for her.

I know it sounds like a superficial reason to try and be nicer to you, and you probably expect me to return to hating you by the time Bliss forgives me. And maybe that's true, but as of this moment, I've come to the point where I now genuinely want to get to know you better. See if you're really as terrible as you seem, you know?

I worked hard on those chocolates, so no matter how superficial my motives were, I might as well make the most of it. I hope you'll see things from this way as well: while neither of us really want to be friends, we do want to do what's best for Bliss. And in a way, maybe doing this will intrigue us enough to learn more about the other person, just to confirm that they suck—am I right? ;)

Anyway, thanks for reading.

Your "friend",

-DJ'"

Braker stared at the note. He didn't know what to make of it. Or rather, he knew it was an effort to extend an apology and an invitation for them to try and not be so much like enemies, but he didn't know how to react to it.

"Do you like my little gift?"

Spinning around, he met eyes with Deth Jackson Jr himself, and Braker froze in time. He blinked rapidly, trying to comb his mind for the words he needed to reply.

DJ was staring at him expectantly, eyebrows arched and blue eyes wide. "Well...?" he prompted quietly.

"I..." He glanced back at his open locker, where from the corner of his eye he could just make out the decorated cover. He swallowed. "Yeah. I liked it. Thanks."

He dipped his head. "You're welcome." He paused, before looking up and saying, "Soooo..."

"So," he continued awkwardly.

"Am I as terrible as you expected?" he finally asked.

Braker blinked some more, before a small smile stretched across his face. "Almost," he replied truthfully, a little amused. "I was pretty pissed at you this morning."

"Yeah. I noticed." DJ smiled back. "But hey, are you less mad now?"

"Yeah, I am. I forgive you more because of these chocolates." He held the boxes up. "I love both milk and dark chocolates, so thanks."

"You're welcome. I feel like this is kind of like bribery, but it did the trick," he joked, shrugging playfully. "Would you have even wanted to get to know me better if I hadn't made those chocolates?"

Braker's smile faded as he turned serious, lowering the box. He stared down at it, tracing his hand over the light patterns on the teal box. "...Probably not," he whispered truthfully. "I probably wouldn't have given you a chance."

DJ paused, lowering his raised shoulders and arms. "Wow, you're not pulling any punches."

"Not really my style. Sorry." Braker shrugged jokingly and punched him lightly. "But you can have that one."

DJ looked down at the floor. "Ouch," he mumbled.

"Sorry. Did I hit you too hard?" he teased. He was still trying to keep the tone light and easygoing, but there was something about the look in DJ's eyes that made his stomach twist.

"No. You know it's not that. That's not what hurt." A slight smile appeared on the other boy's face, but it didn't hold any sign of joy. "Then again, the same goes for me, so...I give you points for your honesty." He glanced at the decorated locker again, before taking a deep breath. "At least I'm making an attempt now. So what do you say? You willing to try and get to know each other?"

"Yeah, I'm willing." He didn't know how to address the other stuff DJ had brought up, so he decided to leave it untouched for now. He offered a small smile. "Gotta learn if you're really so bad, am I right?"

"Right." DJ smiled back tightly. "Of course."

An awkward silence passed, where the orange Ruff tried to think of something to fill the space. Finally, he held his hand out. "I know we're not starting from the very beginning, but let's just pretend for now that we just met each other to officiate our decision." He smiled bigger this time. "Nice to meet you," he stated. "I'm Braker Jojo."

DJ stared at his hand, before he took it, grinning back. "Nice to meet you too, Braker. My name is Deth Jackson Jr."

"Cool." Braker kept his gaze locked with DJ's as they shook hands. "Alright, DJ. Let's try and be friends."

"Are you okay?" Bunny asked her sister, creasing her eyebrows in concern.

"I'm fine." Banana took a few books from her locker and sighed, adjusting the fuzzy white jacket she was wearing on top of her yellow uniform. "I'm just tired."

Glancing over her shoulder, the purple Puff spotted Blaster Jojo floating through the crowd. He was talking to Robin, but it looked like his eye was wandering the hall as well. Bunny turned back to her sister. "I'm sorry things didn't go the way you planned."

"Don't be. It's not your fault." She slammed the locker door shut, maybe a little too hard. She began stalking down the hallway, walking so fast that Bunny had to fly after her to catch up.

When she'd reached Banana's side, she slowed down and began walking as well. She wasn't entirely sure what had happened that night; Banana had texted and called Blaster, he hadn't shown... But what else was there? Banana had gone on a date with Michael and yet returned even more upset than before, but she refused to tell Bunny why. She turned to the yellow Puff. "What do we do now?"

"Toss the project. Forget it." Banana flipped her long, low blond pigtails over her shoulder, letting them trail out behind her in wavy curls. "It's over. Done."

Bunny skidded to a halt. "But we worked so hard on that project!" she exclaimed.

"It's okay." Banana wasn't slowing down. She gritted her teeth as she gripped her books tighter. "It's all pointless now. Anyway, if you want to find me, I'll be in the textiles room cleaning up all our junk."

"What happened?" Bunny finally blurted out.

Her sister froze, turning around slowly.

"What happened?" she repeated in a slower, more calm tone.

Banana swallowed. "Nothing happened. I just came to realize that there wasn't any reason to work on this project anymore."

"So why are you so upset?"

"I'm not upset."

"You're definitely upset."

She paused, frowning, before glancing away. A few seconds passed and she turned back, a smile plastered on her face. "I'm not upset. See? I'm not upset at all."

The smile was the million-dollar smile of a model, but Bunny wasn't fooled. Instead of continuing their disagreement though, she remarked carefully, "Too bad all our work's gone to waste, then."

"Yeah." Banana turned away and continued walking. She squeezed the books to her chest. "At least it was good practice, I guess."

She didn't try and catch up with her sister. She stayed behind, watching the yellow Puff disappear from view—too engulfed in her own sorrows to even notice that she was now alone.

"Bunny..."

She looked in the direction of the voice, and felt her cheeks immediately turn pink. "H-Hi, Bandit," she stammered.

"You seem worried, love," he commented. She blinked in surprise at the pet name "love", but he'd already moved on. "What's bothering you?"

"It's Bansy. She's upset about aaaa"—she cut herself off and quickly changed her sentence so that she didn't reveal anything too much—"aaaaa project of hers not going the way she planned."

Bandit glanced at where her sister had been walking just moments before. "It must've been pretty bad, if you're this worried about it."

"How can you tell?" She smoothed down her brown hair.

"The way your eyebrows are furrowed, and the way you were watching her—the way your eyes glow when you're thinking about this in concern..." He looked up, meeting her gaze. "It's...sweet."

She shivered. "Th-Thank you."

"You seem to be in a better mood though," he remarked gently, floating over to her side. He was standing pretty close now.

She nodded, carefully taking a step back to ensure personal boundaries—because she was pretty sure if he got any closer, his warm breath on her neck and his glittering violet eyes would not help her heart beat any slower. "I-I am happier. I'm happier because Darkai's talking to me again."

He paused, becoming rigid like he'd been frozen by the far northern ice caps. His eyes darkened, if only a little bit. "Oh... Darkai. Right."

"Is something wrong?" she questioned.

He sighed, pulling away. "No, I'm sorry. There's nothing wrong. I just..." He pushed a hand up his long, spiky brown hair. He turned and met her eyes, and he seemed to loosen a little bit, his gaze melting. "...Never mind."

"Bandit, what's wrong?" She furrowed her brow, reaching out. "If there's something bothering you—"

"No, I'm fine," he cut her off, looking away as if he couldn't meet her gaze. "Don't worry about me."

"But I—"

"Bunny, please. Just don't worry about me." He turned his eyes on her, and they were wide and almost pleading. "I can't... I can't take that look when it's about me. I'm okay, I promise."

She blinked, frowning. "Umm...okay. I-I'm sorry for...upsetting you?"

"No, no, please don't apologize." He groaned. "That just makes it worse."

"O-Oh...s-sor—"

He grabbed her hands, causing her to jump. "Bunny." He met her eyes. "Don't. Worry. About. It. It's okay."

She gazed back at him, before blushing and looking away. "Okay, Bandit. Y-You can let go now."

He blinked, and then quickly let go, also blushing as he realized what he was doing. "S-Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize either," she told him awkwardly.

"Ugh, I am sorry though. I've made this ridiculously awkward." He stepped away from her and held his hands up. "I just couldn't take watching you be so worried about me."

"But I thought you said it was sweet when I worry about someone," she responded almost teasingly, a small and slightly amused smile tickling her lips.

"Yes, but it makes me feel guilty if you're concerned about me," he clarified. "And I don't want you to waste time worrying about me."

"It's not wasting time!" she exclaimed, before blushing and backing down. "I-I mean, you're one of my best friends. Of course I'm going to worry over you sometimes."

He flinched but didn't try to argue. "Right. I'm your...friend, so of course. You're allowed to worry about me." He smoothed down his hair and sighed. "Just...forget it. Forget everything; including your concern over me. Because I swear; I'm okay."

Bunny swallowed. "Okay, Bandit. If that's what you want."

"It is. Don't let it get to you." He turned away. "I'll talk to you later. I... I need to go."

"Okay." She watched him fly away, before slowly raising her hand a bit and whispering, "Bye."

After he was gone, she turned away and flew off. There's someone I need to talk to, she concluded. Because even though Bandit doesn't want to tell me what's bothering him, communication is key for everyone else.

She knew where to find him. She'd seen him just minutes ago. Pausing among the crowd, she located the boy she was looking for because he was also floating in the air. He was still talking to Robin, but they'd stopped walking and Robin was getting something from her locker.

"Hey!" Bunny called softly, flying to a stop at the locker, brushing the hair from her eyes.

Blaster looked up, starting, before relaxing and smiling. "Oh, hi, Bunny! How are you doing?"

"Pretty good." She smiled. "And what about you, Robby?"

"Heyo!" Robin responded, pulling out a textbook. "I'm just about ready to kill myself over Math; that's what's up." She turned to her friend. "And what's up with you?"

"I wanted to talk to you about something," Bunny explained to Blaster, raising her eyes so that they met.

He blinked, clearly surprised. "Oh, really? Is there something wrong?"

"Maybe." She held up her phone. "Haven't you checked your phone at all recently?"

He furrowed his brow as he frowned. "Not really... I...had a lot of...stuff going on yesterday." He seemed to blush a bit, glancing down at his feet.

"But what about today?" she exclaimed. "School's over and you've had a whole day to check your phone!"

Seemingly startled by her sudden outburst, he leaned back a little. "I-I've uhh...just been busy with class today. And I've just been in a mood where I don't want to look at my phone all that much."

"Where is it?" asked Bunny.

"I-In my locker..." He glanced back at where his locker would be somewhere. "You seem pretty passionate about this... Did you message me about something important that I missed? Because if you did, then I'm really sorry I—"

"I didn't, but someone else did!" She noticed the confused looks on Blaster and Robin's faces, and she relaxed. "I-I'm sorry... It's just that you missed a pretty important text."

"O-Oh, well then; then I better go get it..." He turned around, before glancing back. "You coming?"

She nodded and began floating after him. "We should hurry. School's over and the person who texted you might not stick around," she fretted quietly.

"You coming too, Robin?" questioned Blaster.

"Nah, you guys go ahead! Sounds kind of private." Robin smiled. "Have fun though! I've gotta go home and study Math."

"Good luck!" Bunny called, watching as her friend waved and nodded, smiling, before walking off. Then the purple Puff hurried after Blaster.

"So what's going on?" he asked as she caught up. "What had you so worked up?"

"I-I don't know if I should say... I-I mean, you'll see soon enough."

"Oh... Okay." He looked away, and an awkward air settled down around them as they flew—but only another minute or so passed before he exclaimed, "Welp, there's my locker!"

"Oh, good," she murmured, mostly to herself.

He frowned a little in concern, but said nothing as he entered his combination into his lock. When it popped open, he pulled the door open and they both immediately saw the yellow phone on the top shelf of the locker. He picked it up and was about to unlock it, before looking up at her. "So...here goes," he said.

She nodded, her heart beating faster. She was making a difference. She could turn their project back around on its head and fix things before it was too late.

Blaster pressed down on the power button and saw the small box on the screen that phones showcase when a text is received. His eyes widened. "It's from Banana...?"

As he looked up to meet her eyes, she nodded in confirmation.

"Oh God." He groaned, squeezing his own eyes shut as he rubbed the area between them. "I'm sorry I didn't see this until now."

"Go talk to her. She'll be in the textiles room. Catch her before she leaves," Bunny urged.

"I-I don't know... What if she doesn't want to see me?" He glanced back down at his phone, and Bunny assumed that there was something else bugging him that he wasn't letting on.

"Blaster, you have to go talk to her." She clasped her hands together, meeting his gaze. "Please."

He stared back, before taking a deep breath and opening his mouth to reply.

"Dad, it's now or never! I'm not going to keep sitting on the sidelines, especially after so long," she cried, throwing her arms into the air.

"Sorry, Cassie, but it's too dangerous! You can't just go back into the war after being unconscious," he responded, sounding a little exasperated.

"But that's the point!" she exclaimed. "I've been inactive for far too long, and from what I've heard, things are spinning out of control. I want to help!"

He made a face, biting his index finger slightly as he lifted his hand to his face, obviously on the fence about his daughter's demand.

She calmed down, holding her hands out. "Dad, please," she pleaded. "I want to do this. I have to do this. For our people, for my friends and family, but for myself as well."

He sighed, finally caving in as he closed his eyes and nodded. "Alright, fine. You may join us in this battle, but if it's too much for you, then I'm pulling you back out until you are fully recovered."

She breathed out a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank you, Dad. I really, really appreciate this." She smiled thankfully. "You're the best, and I love you."

"I love you too, darling." He smiled a loving smile. "Best of luck, and I hope you're able to prove whatever it is you wish to prove to yourself and others. Stay safe, Cassandra!"

"I hope so too," she agreed. "And I will."

A few minutes later, Cassandra was standing by Harry and her father's side, surrounding by their friends and allies. They were in an open field, facing off against Lin and the soldiers he was leading under Danes.

Her heart was beating fast, but there was an excitement to her anticipation. Adrenaline was already growing inside of her, but she stayed very, very still and waited for the sign.

"So here are the wolves with dirty paws," sneered Lin, looking down at the group with glittering malice in his eyes.

"And here are the bloodthirsty, nocturnal freaks," Harry snapped back.

Lin's eye twitched and he raised his sword. "Come at me then, you dirty wolf! We'll see who the real freak is," he snarled.

Harry made to leap forward, but Sampson grabbed his friend by the arm. "Calm down!" he hissed. "We can't rush in without thinking."

"I don't care about that," he growled. "I'm going to fucking kill him."

Sampson glanced back at his fellow soldiers, knowing that he couldn't hold Harry back for long. He met eyes with many of them, and he nodded subliminally.

Cassandra noticed the slight gesture, as did the others. They all let out battle cries, racing forward as they swung their weapons. Harry dove toward Lin, teeth gnashed and claws at the ready.

She raced off from that chaos and ran toward another girl around the size of herself, knowing that because of her time unconscious, she needed to be careful about whom she was fighting and how.

The girl spotted her and her eyes widened as she pulled away from the young man she was fighting, facing Cassandra as she attempted to prepare herself for the attack. Cassandra dove for her and tackled her to the ground, causing them to roll through the dirt.

Her dark hair flew into the air, covering her eyes. When the strands fell away, Cassandra was briefly captivated by the girl's equally dark eyes, filled with anger and determination, but also what Cassandra could make out to be even the smallest hint of fear.

But then the moment was broken when the girl let out a snarl and threw her arm forward, slashing a blade through the skin of her shoulder. Cassandra let out a cry of pain, rearing back as she squeezed her eyes shut and grabbed her shoulder.

The girl struggled upwards onto her elbows, glaring at her opponent as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Cassandra!" gasped her father, rushing over and helping her up. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she responded, swaying against his body as she tried to stand up. "It's just a—ow—slash..."

Sampson turned to watch as the girl with the dark hair and darker eyes stood up and escaped. Deciding it wasn't worth it to chase after her and get payback for hurting his daughter, he returned his attention to Cassandra. "It is not just a slash, dear. And I'm going to treat it right now lest it gets infected. I can't have you in danger."

She didn't argue, deciding to let her father do his thing. As he began treating her wound, she searched the battlefield for the girl whom she'd just been fighting. She couldn't find her anymore, but she did manage to make out the shape of Lin trying to stab someone. She shuddered, looking away because she couldn't stomach the idea of watching someone try and kill another. She was willing to fight, but that didn't mean she wanted the war to continue.

Sampson finished putting the poultice on and adjusted the bandage. "Alright, all done. Now go on; once this fight is over, I want us to go home immediately, you hear?"

"Got it, Daddy." She smiled vaguely, giving him a hug. "Thanks."

He relaxed his tense shoulders and petted her hair, smiling back fondly. "You're welcome, sweetie. I love you; now go kick some butt."

Cassandra let go and waved, before diving into the crowd. It was like a dance, with her weaving between the writhing bodies, trying not to get wounded fatally by the enemy. Dodging another person, Cassandra slid away and watched them topple to the ground. She glanced up as a new opponent dove toward her.

Standing her ground, Cassandra dug her feet in as she attempted to push back against the man. He was trying to knock her over with his back and shoulders, body bent over a blade that he could stab through her side as soon as he managed to overpower her.

However, Cassandra had no intention whatsoever of letting him beat her. She grabbed her own weapon and gave a strong push forward, surprising him and giving her a clear shot of his side. Taking a deep breath, she plunged the knife in.

The man let out a bloodcurdling shriek, and Cassandra squeezed her eyes shut as she pulled the blade back out. There was the squelch of blood, and she tried to block all the noises out. She didn't want to hear the blood or his screams of pain.

When she opened her eyes, the man was writhing on the grass in agony, clutching his side. Blood splattered the green, covering petals of small and colourful flowers.

Cassandra pulled away, not wanting to watch for another second. She felt sick to her stomach, and her hands were beginning to shake. Calm down, she told herself fiercely. This is for yourself and your people. Fight back; you're stronger than this. You can do this.

She looked up then, her hair whipping around her face. Tucking a few strands behind her ear, she blinked as she was finally able to see.

And what she saw shocked her.

Of all the people who could have been standing there, a certain boy with shining blond hair and stunning turquoise eyes. A boy she knew all too well. A boy she'd just made friends with a few days ago. A boy she was starting to care about.

It was Michael.

He was looking around, holding a weapon in his hand. There was blood on his face and on his side, but despite the dark appearance, his eyes were as bright as ever, even when they were dull and blank.

Cassandra took a step back, trembling. She couldn't have him see her—not here, not now, especially.

With her hair flying around her, she got ready to hurry away. But then they met eyes for the briefest of a millisecond, and everything seemed to slow down, and begin to freeze. She breathed in deeply, slowly turning...

...And then she ran.

Attempting to escape the ice and his gaze, hoping to dear God that he didn't realize who she was, and that his gaze wouldn't turn to ice as well.

She saw her father fighting with Harry against a large woman with brass knuckles, and she ran toward him. "Dad!" she gasped, skidding to a stop beside him.

"Cassie!" He looked up, eyes wide.

"Watch out!" grunted Harry, slamming into the woman as she was just about to hit Sampson.

"Sorry!" she exclaimed, her heart leaping to her throat. She was relieved that he was safe though. "Dad, I need to talk to you."

His face darkened and he immediately pulled away from his fight. "Sorry, Harry. You're gonna have to do this one alone."

"Yeah, I know. Daughter first above all else. But that's just fine with me." He smirked almost wickedly, throwing a hard kick into the woman's stomach.

Sampson gently tugged his daughter away, sheltering her from the fight scene. "What did you want to talk to me about?" he asked quietly.

She shivered against him, glancing around. Somehow her eyes managed to pick Michael right out of the thronging crowd, even though there were so many people. "He's here," she whispered.

"Who?" He met her eyes, and she could see in his gaze that it looked like he already knew who she was talking about, but was double-checking just to be sure.

"Michael," she whispered back, ducking out of view. "I can't be here if he's here! I thought it would be fine because Lin's army is made up of smaller, lower-rank soldiers, so I wasn't expecting him to be here! Why is he here?"

He shook his head. "I don't know, but we better get you out of here."

She nodded. "I can't be his friend and enemy at the same time! I need him to maintain a positive relationship with me!"

He nodded back. "Alright, let's go," he murmured. The two of them hurried away, and Cassandra felt better. She felt as though her worries about fighting, and not fighting, and the girl with dark hair and darker eyes, and Michael, were all being left behind with the writhing, fighting bodies behind them—which meant she was leaving behind the ice as well.

Feeling relieved that she'd managed to avoid a nearly dangerous situation, Cassandra slowed down. Her father slowed as well, turning to her.

"You good?" he asked.

She nodded shakily. The war was just as easy and just as difficult as she remembered it being. It wasn't so much that she couldn't take people on—no, the hard part was bringing herself to do the act of harm.

"Let's go home. I'll brew you a nice hot cup of tea," Sampson offered. "And we can contact the Rowdyruff Boys."

She nodded, and they trekked on.

Soon they were sitting at their dining room table, with cups laid out in front of them. Her father was busy tending to the teapot, while she sat staring at the phone in front of her.

"You're going to have to talk to them sooner or later, dear," Sampson called airily. "At least let them know you plan on avoiding them before avoiding them."

She sent her father a good-natured but kind of peeved look just as the kettle began shrieking. As he picked the pot up, she took that as her signal to press the "call" button.

The wait was not even two seconds before someone picked up, their face filling the screen. "Yes? Cassandra?" The person's expression was a wide-eyed, anxious one, with them leaning in close.

"Hey, Brick." She smiled weakly. "Have you been waiting long?"

"No, just like...a couple hours." He pulled back and put his arms behind his head, now looking relieved. "Thank God you're safe. How did your first battle go?"

"It went alright," she replied. "But there was at least one hiccup."

"What's that?" questioned Brick.

She paused, before finally saying with a deep breath, "I ran into Michael."

There was a blank, long silence, before the boy's red eyes grew wide and his mouth fell open. "What? What?"

"I was just as shocked!" Cassandra stated, cupping her face with her hand. "Lin is hardly a high-enough-ranking soldier for Danes to let Michael fight under him!"

"What!?" Brick was still trying to get over the idea that she'd run into Michael at all. "I made sure to choose a site where you'd be safe from being recognized by any of Michael's friends and family, let alone by himself!"

"I'm just glad we were able to get out of there on time. If he'd recognized me, then everything would have gone downhill."

"Not even downhill; it would've gone straight down to hell," Brick responded.

She nodded absentmindedly, still thinking back to that moment on the battlefield, when all time had slowed down and she had seen him standing there, her hair blowing around her face. Everything really had seemed like it was slowly freezing and fading until there was only the two of them left on the field, and it wasn't until she almost met his eyes that made her finally realize that the freezing feeling of ice surrounding her could be dangerous.

"Cassandra...? You okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she responded, snapping out of it. "Don't worry about me."

He frowned, leaning closer to the screen as he squinted his eyes. "Are those...bandages wrapped around your shoulder? What happened?"

Cassandra quickly ducked her head, letting her tan hair shower over her shoulder. "I just got caught by a knife. It wasn't anything too bad—they cut skin, but not too deeply."

He made a face, clearly not believing her. "Who was it?"

"I don't know, actually." She tugged up her baggy white shirt, trying to cover the wound with cloth as she continued speaking, "She was young, with dark hair and really, really dark eyes. And not just literally dark. They were an angry dark as well." Tracing her finger in the air, she said, "I could probably give you more details later."

He nodded. "Will do. Once I get those details, I'll use them to try and find this girl in the database," he offered.

"Okay." She glanced at the clock as a beeping noise started, and then at her father, who was now sitting beside her with tea already poured in their cups. He had been busy with baking a few treats as well, but now they were finished too.

"Are those cookies in the oven?" Brick asked, changing the subject.

"Yeah." She managed to smile, glad that they weren't focusing on Michael anymore.

"Alright, well—I'll leave you to them then! Enjoy your treats." Brick offered a smile. "Be sure to get me one next time we meet up!"

"Don't forget about me," added Sampson, having finished swallowing a cookie.

Brick looked around, but of course couldn't see the man behind the device. "Is your dad here? Man, you could've told me! Has he been listening in on us the whole time?"

"Yes, but don't worry. As long as you don't hit on my daughter, I won't hit you," he called.

Brick buried his face in his hands perhaps out of embarrassment or out of exasperation—or both—as Cassandra bolted upright and exclaimed, "Dad!"

As Sampson laughed, Brick and Cassandra exchanged goodbyes. Then Brick said farewell to her father as well, and after he'd gone, she turned the device off. She turned to her father, her cheeks still burning. "Please don't do that ever again," she groaned.

He smiled. "Oh come on. You know you love it."

"Sure," she responded, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. They continued on in their conversation, drinking tea and eating treats, although her thoughts hadn't quite moved on. She kept thinking back to Michael, and she wondered if he were to hit on her, whether or not her dad really would hit him...

And that thought scared her, either because the idea of that happening actually scared her (whether Michael hit on her or Sampson hit him for hitting on her)...

...Or maybe it was the fact that she had the thought at all that scared her the most.

He was sitting on his bed, cross-legged, elbows on the sides of his knees, and hands pushed up through his shaggy blond hair. The room was dark, and the only light came from his phone. It was lying between his feet, staring back at him. The message it displayed was a rather frustrating one:

"No new messages".

He sighed, closing his eyes as his grip tightened on his hair. He didn't want to keep staring at the screen. His eyes felt dry, and his legs were growing numb.

A knock sounded on his door and he spun around, jerking upwards. "Yes?" he asked. His voice was hoarse. It had been awhile since he'd used it.

The door opened and Brick stuck his head in. "Jesus Christ," he remarked, blinking hard in an attempt to adjust to the dim light, "it's fucking dark in here."

"Yeah." He didn't say anything else.

Brick frowned. "Well, can I turn the light on...?"

"I guess." He closed his eyes and heard the light-switch; saw the light press against his eyelids.

"Are you okay, man? I wanted to check on you. You've been hanging out in your room for quite awhile now," his brother stated.

"I'm fine." He shifted so that he wasn't sitting on the sides of his feet anymore, instead raising his knees to his chest.

"Jeez, Boomer, you have to at least speak to me," he said, his voice growing louder as he moved closer to him and sat down.

"There's not a lot I want to talk about," he murmured breathily, lowering his face until his nose was between his knees.

"Boomer..." Now there was clear, genuine concern in his brother's voice. "What's wrong?"

He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could shut off his ears as well. Nothing's wrong. The words wouldn't come out, sticky and jumbled in his throat, and he swallowed hard to try and rid himself of the taste.

"I won't understand if you don't talk to me."

Boomer lifted his head and met his brother's eyes. They stared back, glowing red in the darkness. "I don't know if you would understand," he whispered. "At least you have everything you want."

Brick looked away, looking guilty and sad suddenly all at once, as he picked at a loose thread on his jacket. "And what is that?" he inquired quietly.

"You have all of your relationships intact. Hell, you even have a girlfriend in Blossom." Brick flinched at that statement.

"It's not as good as you think it is," he murmured back.

"I doubt it." The blue Ruff fixed his gaze on the wall opposite of Brick, beginning to tremble. "What do I have? A broken relationship with Bubbles—a relationship I'm not even sure what to classify as."

"What happened between you and Bubbles?"

Boomer looked back at him. "What happened between you and Blossom?"

There was a beat of silence where Brick simply gazed back, now rigid, letting his brother assess him. Finally, he said, "I asked you first."

"I...I fucked up."

"That doesn't answer my question."

Boomer lowered his head again, pushing both hands into his hair. "You don't need to know the details," he choked out. The memories were scalding.

"Boomer. Tell me what happened—please."

He swallowed again, remembering the swings and them and her beauty and the desire to—he froze, not wanting to remember the rest. But as the rest of the scene played through his head, he said, "I tried to kiss her."

There was silence.

He looked at Brick. His brother was staring at him, but not really at him, looking like he was trying to process this news. After a few seconds, he responded with, "You tried to kiss her."

"Yes."

"And do you like her? In that way?"

Boomer shrank into himself. "I don't know," he squeaked quietly.

"And what about her? Does she feel that way about you? Did you two actually kiss?"

"No! You heard me; our relationship has completely fallen apart. She hung up on me after calling me to ask about the kiss. I-I don't even know what I said wrong; I just said I might want to do it again and that I don't know if I like her that way or not..."

"She's probably scared," Brick said reasonably.

"I can get that, but I don't want us to stop being friends because of it," Boomer mumbled.

Brick placed a hand on his shoulder. "Things will work out, I'm sure of it," he promised. "She's scared of this new development because it requires you two to venture into the unknown together, and she's probably not too keen on the awkwardness that will follow. But you'll get through this."

Brick's touch was warm, and his words were even warmer. Boomer felt some of the pain from his heart melt away, and he finally managed a small smile. "Thanks, Brick."

"No problem. I'm happy to help."

"Now you have to tell me about Blossom. What happened between you two?"

The red Ruff went rigid again, back as stiff as a board. His eyes blanched, and he stared into a world Boomer couldn't access. He waited patiently for his brother to speak, and when he did, his voice was barely above a whisper. Boomer had to lean in to hear what he was saying: "I think we're drifting apart."

Shocked, he drew back. "What? But you two got so close!"

Brick's voice trembled, wavering as he continued, "I thought so too, but I'd bet almost everything that she's starting to have doubts. I know she's been hanging out with Vincent, and we just can't agree on an opinion on him. It's tearing us apart. And I—I don't want that, but...what am I supposed to do?" He rounded wide eyes on his brother. "I can feel it happening. I can feel us drifting away from the other."

"Oh, man..." Boomer placed a hand on Brick's back. "It's okay. It's going to be okay. I'm here for you." He hesitated. "And I'm sure... I'm sure Blossom's here for you too. She'll come around."

"I hope so," Brick whispered. "And I hope things work out between you and Bubbles."

"Yeah." He thought back to her, wondering what she was doing now, as his heart simultaneously froze in pain and melted in an odd sense of relief. "Me too."

The two sat in silence together for a long time, enjoying the other's presence and using their company as comfort, thinking about their own personal dilemmas with their respective relationships.

Boomer may have been wondering what Bubbles was up to, but that wasn't what was on Sidney's mind as he busied himself with cleaning the house. He was busy carrying boxes out of the room and dusting the furniture, wearing a headband with an apron tied around his waist.

His mother poked his head in and called, "Sidney, dearie, are you finished clearing out those old things yet?"

"Almost, Mom." He lifted the boxes up higher to show it to her. "I was just about to take them down to the basement."

"Well done!" She beamed, walking inside and across the room to him so she could give her a brief hug. "Thank you, darling!"

"You're welcome." He smiled back, and began his trek out of the room and down the hallway. Once he'd made it to the basement and put the books away, he came back upstairs and walked into the kitchen. His dad was on the stepladder, trying to adjust a cupboard door.

"How's it going?" he asked.

"Fine, fine! This darn door is unwilling to stay put though," his father replied in mild frustration.

Sidney smiled, wiping his hands on a towel. "I'm almost done cleaning the living room," he said.

"Ah, great job!" His father turned around and smiled. "Do you know where your sister has gone?"

He shrugged. "She's probably at cheer practice," he offered.

"Could you go to school and check? I know you've been real busy, but we need her help. Her practices should usually be over by now, anyway."

He nodded. "The fresh air would probably do me some good," he agreed. "I'll see you later then!"

"Bye, son!"

Sidney pulled down the headband to have it be around his neck like a scarf. He took his apron off and set it down on the couch in the living room before he walked out the door. Deciding to make the most of his walk to school, he walked slower and just enjoyed the weather.

By the time he'd gotten to the school, around fifteen minutes had passed. He walked into the building and made his way to the gym, wondering whether or not his sister would be there. He wasn't sure if there was a practice session today; but even if there wasn't, it was still possible Sydney was in a different club or team of hers. She played enough sports to keep her constantly busy, and Sidney often wished he had her social skills.

He peeked inside the gymnasium, trying to figure out if he should call out for her or go inside and check. He didn't really like either of his options, so he decided to just look around first.

He spotted her almost right away, because she was standing in front of a group of girls with a commanding stance of arms on her hips and legs spread apart. The cluster of girls outnumbered her, so his attention went to his sister—especially because she was being pretty loud.

"Come on you guys! Practice isn't over it yet," she exclaimed.

"Actually, Sydney, it kind of is." Before he knew what he was doing, Sidney was coming in toward the group.

A couple of them began squealing quietly or pointing him out. Sydney spun around and frowned. "Hey, brother," she said, making a face.

He smiled. "Dad sent me to look for you."

"Oh God, what time is it?" She turned to look at the clock on the gym wall. "Why didn't anyone tell me it was this late?"

"We tried to," Sierra piped up, inching closer to Sidney.

Sydney gave her a look. "Well, thanks for not trying harder."

He shifted away, still smiling uncomfortably. Now that he'd done his outgoing thing of the day, he was feeling shy again. "Hey, Sierra. And hey, Jake." He greeted a few more of the cheerleaders, and finally got to one he didn't really want to talk to.

The girl was standing there, staring at him, blond hair in pigtails, with pompoms in her hands.

"H-Hi, Bubbles..." he greeted awkwardly.

"Hey," she mumbled back, before leaning in to whisper, "Umm... Are we able to talk now...?"

"Uhh..." He glanced at his sister, who shrugged. "Okay, sure. W-We can talk. Umm, sorry we couldn't earlier."

"It's okay," she said, even though her look said it wasn't really that okay.

He let himself be led away toward a corner of the gym as his sister continued talking to her fellow cheerleaders (and kept them from mauling either Bubbles or Sidney). He faced her, wondering what to make of the expression on her face. It seemed to be pained—a mixture of sadness and uncomfortableness. "So...where did you want to start?"

She hesitated. "Do you have anything you want to share first?"

He glanced down at his shoes, his mind running through perhaps a thousand things at once. "I—not really," he replied, trying not to be overwhelmed by the thoughts in his head. They fluttered around like butterflies, and he reminded himself that they were still just thoughts.

Now she looked even more pained. "Oh."

"I-I mean, not that I don't care," he corrected himself quickly. "I just figure what you want to say is probably more important."

Her pained expression increased tenfold, so Sidney just shut up and let her speak. "I don't...I don't think my topic has to be the more important one..." She took a deep breath. "I just...wanted to talk to you about Boomer."

"Ah." A sharp pang rang through his heart, and he clamped down on the negative feeling. "Wh-What about him?"

"He..." Her face tightened, brow furrowed and lips pursed, as that pained look continued to grow. He wondered if there was a limit to how pained you could look. "Hetriedtokissme," she finally stated.

He blinked, not quite hearing what she'd said. "Wait, what...?"

So apparently someone could look even more pained. "Sidney..." She sucked in a breath, looking at him before looking away. "He...He tried to kiss me."

"Oh." He blinked faster as the words sank in. "Oh." The gym seemed like it was tipping over now, and he felt like he was going to fall and fall and fall forever.

She was studying his face, and he wondered if he looked as pained as she had just moments ago. "Does that...bother you at all?" she questioned tentatively.

He considered the question and his options for answers—neither of which seemed very appealing—before plastering on a small smile that he hoped was believable. "Nah, it's cool."

"Oh. I see." She lowered her head, now looking not so much pained, but rather disappointed.

He wasn't sure what he'd done wrong again, so he backtracked in an attempt to fix his mistake. "I mean, if you two—"

"I'm sorry. I have to go," she blurted out. "I-I'll see you later." She turned around and flew off, quickly saying goodbye to her fellow cheerleaders.

"—Really like each other..." Sidney stopped, sighing to himself. "Then I can be okay with it."

Sydney joined her brother and leaned against the wall. "So how did that go?"

"Err...not well," he admitted.

She glanced at the gym door, where Bubbles had just gone through. "I can kind of see that. She looked—"

He closed his eyes. "Pained?" he guessed.

"Yeah. How'd you know?" She sounded surprised.

"Lucky guess." He began making his way toward the door. "Come on—let's go home. Mom and Dad still need help cleaning."

Sydney followed after him. "How's the cleaning been going?"

"It's been going fine enough, but it'll probably go faster if you join in," he replied, smiling a little despite himself. He knew how much his sister disliked chores.

She made a face. "Okay, but only because it's for Sophia."

They went the rest of the way in silence, and Sidney couldn't help but think about Bubbles' sudden exit. A small part of him wondered if she had just been super relieved to learn that she could be with Boomer in peace, but he felt like that was just his feelings being quite silly.

When they got home, they were greeted by their dad. "Sydney, there you are! My goodness, we've been waiting for ages," he exclaimed.

"Sorry, Dad. Cheer practice." She smiled slightly, folding her arms.

"I need your help cleaning up the kitchen," he instructed. "We can get everything inside organized so when they get here, the first room they see will be clean."

"I'm almost finished with the living room," Sidney told them, waving as he began walking inside.

"Alright, once you're done with that, we'll be pretty much done! You two have finished cleaning your rooms already, right?" their dad asked.

Sidney and his sister nodded, although Sydney's face was a little less sure. He figured that she'd just shoved most of her things in her closet and under her bed—besides her trophy shelf, which she kept polished and clean at all times.

Sidney parted ways with them and returned to his tasks in the living room. His good mood had pretty much dissipated, and now his mind wouldn't stop focusing on Bubbles.

Sydney stuck her head inside after a few more minutes. "You finished yet? Dad and I just got done reorganizing the fridge."

"Yeah, I'm about done." He set down the cleaning bottle and cloth he'd been using.

"Have you been thinking about Sophia at all? I can't believe it's almost time to meet up with her," Sydney continued. "It's been years since we've seen each other."

"We saw each other at parties, right? A few of them, at least," he responded absentmindedly.

"No, I mean...properly. Up close. It's been awhile." Sydney smiled. "She used to stay all the time. She wasn't much for sports though."

"That's true. I wonder if she's still into photography?" Sidney agreed.

"Wasn't there another Sophia or Sophie at our school who takes pretty good photos? She's dating like, Trent, or something?*" added his sister.

He nodded again. Deciding to leave his thoughts about Bubbles behind for now, he began focusing on Sophia. After all, she was coming to their house soon and they needed to get ready.

Maybe thinking of her would hurt less than thinking of Bubbles.

Just a day or so ago, a girl with long, dark hair got out of a red car. She was wearing a sunhat and a loose, flowy, silk-like purple dress. She lifted her sunglasses and looked out over the plain, squinting against the sunlight. She was carrying the suitcase behind her.

"What do you think? It's been awhile, hmm?"

She glanced back, where a man was just climbing out of the car. He was dressed in a dark-red jacket and gray t-shirt with dark-blue jeans. He pulled out a suitcase and joined the girl.

"Well?" he prompted, smiling.

"It's pretty," she replied softly. Her grip tightened on the suitcase handle. "And I'm excited to see my friends again."

"Not all of them though," he reminded her.

"Dad, I know. I told you, it's okay. We're not on the same side of the war anyway."

He paused, frowning, as he rested a hand on her shoulder. "I don't want you sacrificing your feelings for the sake of this war," he replied.

"I know, Dad," she said, smiling a small smile. "Look, don't worry about it."

"Okay. Come on; let's get inside the hotel. We showed up early so they're probably not ready for us yet." He led the way inside the tall building that stood before them.

As her father checked into the hotel, she looked around. Her father had definitely chosen a fancier hotel, and it showed in the decorations—from the chandeliers to the carpets. She especially liked that it had a little model of the large hotel and area surrounding it. The little buildings and trees and toy cars were really interesting.

"Come on! Let's go to our room. It's in 205," he called.

"Okay." She trailed after her father, not meeting the eyes of the person behind the desk at the hotel. She wasn't a fan of interactions with people she didn't know.

They entered the elevator and waited as they went upstairs...before making their way down the hallway and to room 205.

"201, 202, 203, 204... Oh, there we are! 205," her father exclaimed. He tapped the card against the electronic lock, and it clicked free. "Ta-dah!" he called, throwing the door open.

She peeked her head inside and saw a large room with two big beds and lots of aesthetically fancy decorations. "Wow," she murmured, setting down her suitcase. She spun around, checking the place out. When she looked up, she could see really pretty carvings on the ceiling. It was like a fusion of modern and classical, and it was amazing.

Her father watched, looking pretty amused. "I figured you'd like it," he said.

"It is really cool," she agreed, flopping down on a bed.

Her father went to check out the washroom. "It's huge!" he remarked. He stuck his head back outside. "Do you want to go out for lunch now, or would you rather wait?"

She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was a bit late for lunch, but definitely too early for dinner—so too early for a shower and a good night's sleep, either. "Can we rest for a bit?"

"Of course. We can go out for lunch after a couple minutes of a good rest," he agreed.

She pulled out her phone and joined the free wifi, before scrolling through Instagram. Her phone vibrated just then, signalling a new text. She opened it up and was surprised to see who it was from. "Daddy, we've gotten a request," she called.

"Hmmm?" he responded drowsily, flopping over to face her. He looked like he was falling asleep.

"Michael just texted me," she explained quickly.

Her father sat up, suddenly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. "And what did he say?"

She glanced down at the screen, before looking up. "That we're required on the field with him soon, and he's terribly sorry to inconvenience us."

"What a smart, talented kid," her father commented. "I've always wondered if you had any interest in him..."

Mortified, she flopped back down and covered her face with her hands. "No, please no," she groaned.

"Or what about that Sidney boy? You—"

"Daddy!" Her face flushed red. "Let's not."

He laughed, "Okay, okay," before pausing and smiling in amusement. "Well, my little girl's all grown up, isn't she? I still remember when you were a kid hanging out with Cassandra on some days and Michael and his gang on the others. You used to be such good friends with Cassie..."

"Yes, but sometimes friends fall apart." She picked at a loose strand of lace on her purple dress. "That was before I knew what she was."

Her father was quiet for awhile. Then he said quietly, "She was still a human being. I mean, if you want to call her a wolf, then what would that make you, my darling little Sophia?" He turned to look at her.

She shrugged helplessly because she kind of knew the answer and yet she kind of didn't. "Another monster, maybe," she whispered to herself, closing her eyes.

Christie was overjoyed. The excitement that filled her heart was undeniable, and she felt like she were floating on cloud nine. She hadn't felt this way for the longest time, and the giddiness that took over her mind was welcome among the rest of the darkness that clouded her thoughts.

The sunshine inside of her was thanks to Blaster, whom was in every corner of her head. She was grateful for this though, because the shady memory of Vix was still plaguing her. She hadn't forgotten their bitter last encounter, nor had she forgiven him for it. Her heart clenched in both anger and pain when she thought of it, and she wondered which one she felt more strongly. There was a part of her that knew deep down, she missed him, but it was overpowered by the rage she felt towards him.

"Sis, are you in here?"

The knock on her door startled her out of her thoughts. She wondered if she wanted to reply. She and Michael hadn't really spoken to each other since he'd seen her with Blaster. Hesitating, Christie finally answered simply, "Yes. Come in."

The door opened and Michael stepped inside, looking awkward as he slowly shut the door behind him. "Hey."

"Hey." She blinked back, setting down the brush she'd been using on her hair before he'd come in.

"I wanted to talk to you," he began.

"I don't know if I really want to talk to you," she replied simply, facing her mirror.

"Christie, this is serious."

"I know. I am serious."

"...I just can't believe you're in love with Blaster, is all."

She turned to face him, her eyes flashing. "And I can't believe that you won't support me!" she snapped. He looked taken aback as she turned away again. "I don't want to talk about him."

"Fine. Then let's at least talk about Vix. Why do you suddenly hate him so? You were one of the most willing to believe he'd been stolen away against his will. So what's gotten into you?"

"I just happened to realize that I was wrong—that's all." Her brush snagged on a knot, and she glared at her reflection as she tore her brush through it.

"No, that's not all. You don't just suddenly change your mind out of the blue and realize 'you were wrong'." He crossed her room and stood behind her, taking the brush from her hands. "Tell me what's going on."

She sighed, lowering her hands. "Vix is a jerk," she said quietly. "I just realized that he didn't deserve my worry, okay?"

"And how's that?" he inquired, beginning to brush her hair for her.

She closed her eyes. "I don't want to talk about it."

"...Okay." He'd managed to untangle the tangle in her hair that she'd been trying to rip through, and now he put the brush down. "I'll see you later then." He walked out the door.

Christie wondered what he was thinking as he left in such a hurry, but she told herself that it had nothing to do with her. She just wanted to forget about Vix. Forever.

Her phone vibrated.

She turned it on and stared at the screen, where a bubble informed her that someone had just texted her. Her whole self filled with disgust at the text.

It was from Vix.

She dropped her phone safely onto her bed and began picking through her closet, trying to find something to wear outdoors. Rage coursed through her veins as she thought about the red-haired boy, rage that only increased as she continued to look for clothes.

The text was asking for her to meet up with him.

She remembered him telling her that he never wanted to see her again, and yet here he was, crawling back to her with a text asking for them to meet up. And yet, there was no apology. No begging for forgiveness. No sense of remorse.

Christie finally settled on Blaster's jacket, deciding that she was going to need it to bring her good luck and warmth as she dealt with Vix. The burning anger she felt towards him was not warm at all—it was searing hot, nearly blinding.

She stormed outside and made her way toward the front doors, ignoring every single maid and butler along the way. No one dared question her until she got to the doors.

"M-Mistress Christie, you m-may not leave the premises without a permit," the guard stammered.

She sent him her best death glare. "I will leave as I wish," she growled. "And if you tell my uncle, I will personally make sure that you won't live to see another sunset."

The man squeaked and immediately stepped aside, letting her through. She flew past him, not giving him a second glance. Christie had learned enough from her mother to know how to intimidate someone.

She stopped when she reached the field outside of Damon's cabin, as Vix had requested. She glanced around. It was empty, and there was no one around her. The idea that this may be a trap crossed her mind, as she'd been too angry to consider this properly before—but before she could truly consider her options, a familiar boy's voice sounded from behind her.

"You came."

Spinning around, Christie attempted to throw a punch at the boy's face, but he dodged easily.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed. "Calm down, little girl." He was dressed in a red jacket and black pants, with his hair still pulled into a neat ponytail. He still didn't look completely like the Vix she'd grown to know, but he still looked like Vix.

"How dare you ask to meet me! First you yell at me for coming to find you, then you tell me you hate me and call me a bitch, and you slap me in the face, and now you're just going to ask me to join you on some dumb fucking rendezvous as if I forgive you!?"

"Well, you're here, aren't you?" he countered, meeting her gaze calmly. "You came when I asked you to."

"Only because I wanted to give you a piece of my mind!" she yelled back.

"Shhh," he hissed, hurrying over to her side. Before she could stop him, he clamped a hand over her mouth and was looking around. His other arm was wrapped around her side, making her heartbeat speed up as she struggled against his hold. She glared up at him, before biting down on his finger. "Ow!" he exclaimed, releasing her.

"What the hell is your problem!?" she demanded, pulling away. Her face was still flushed and hot, and she felt her body burning where he'd touched her. I knew this was a bad idea. "I'm leaving," she announced, spinning around.

"Christie, please... Don't go," he begged.

"Too late," she retorted, already storming away. "I'm going to go see Blaster. At least he's twice the man you'll ever be."

"You can't see him," he growled, grabbing her wrist.

She spun around. "And why not? I thought you hated me."

"You're not allowed to leave."

She struggled against his hold. "What the fuck is wrong with you? You can't tell me you hate me and then hold me hostage." Finally tearing her hand from his, she glared at him. "I'm done playing your games, Vix. I'm going."

"You were going to wake him!" he hissed back. "I had to stop you somehow."

"Wake who?" she responded, exasperated.

"Damon, of course! Who the hell else would I be hiding from?" he responded without missing a beat. He intercepted her leave by appearing in front of her.

She felt herself give in just slightly as she stopped to face him. "You're hiding from him?"

Still looking around, he nodded. "Ever since he captured me, he's been watching over me nonstop. He was even watching the last time you found me. I had to save you somehow." His gaze slid toward her. "I'm just sorry I had to do it in that way."

She stared at him, wondering what the new flitting feeling in her stomach was. It was like she had butterflies, even though she couldn't believe that she could still feel anything for Vix besides contempt. "So you don't hate me?"

"Hate you? How could I hate you?" He was staring at her head-on now, and she had to look away from his vibrant green gaze. It was filled with the hunger of a wolf. He stepped toward her. "No, I could never hate you."

"Vix..." She took a step back, feeling hot and uncomfortable. Yet there was a part of her that couldn't turn away now, even though the whole thing felt wrong, and dangerous and strange. The image of a smiling Blaster reappeared in her head, and she wondered if she could still leave Vix behind and see the sweet yellow Ruff instead, or if it was too late to escape...

As if sensing that the one step back was a sign of her attempting to leave, he rushed forward and snatched her up in his arms, squeezing tight. His breath felt warm on her neck as he said, "I love you, Christie."

She slammed her eyes shut, feeling like a ball of fire, shivering against his hold. She could feel the intensity of his gaze on her own. She'd been suspecting this for awhile now, but the reveal didn't bring any feeling I closure. Something still felt off.

"Christie, talk to me," he pleaded. "Damon knew how I felt about you. He wanted me to cut all ties with those I loved, or else he'd hurt you. And I can't have that happen." He didn't let go, but he pulled away just slightly. When she still didn't respond, his hand slid down her side as he whispered, "Please look at me..." Finally, she opened her eyes and met his own. His gaze never left her face as he slowly reached out with one hand and touched her face, the cheek where he'd slapped her only days before. She flinched, but this time the touch was gentle. He caressed her cheek. "Christie..."

Her heartbeat was jumping out of control, and he was leaning oh so close now—almost too close, his lips inches from her own.

And then he kissed her.

It was like another explosion, searing flames tearing at her lips as he kissed her hungrily. His hands were everywhere—reaching, feeling, searching... Every part he touched felt like it was on fire, and she was being burned. She shuddered, knowing she should pull away, and yet she was as limp as a dying girl in his arms. And that's what she felt like—she felt like she was dancing with death, playing with fire—she could feel the strength and resistance draining out of her as he kissed her and kissed her and kissed her.

When he finally stopped and let go, she felt dizzy. She was barely able to stand on her own—was it from the shock?—which was just as well, since Vix wouldn't let go of her. He was still close to her face, but now his eyes were no longer as intense.

"Vix..." she gasped, surprised at how hard it was to speak.

"Christie..." His voice was as soft as his eyes, where the intensity had faded somewhat. But then his gaze hardened and so did his voice. "You really are a fool."

She froze. "What?"

"Sorry, my little cherry blossom." He suddenly released her, and she swayed on unsteady legs. "But this is the end of the road for you."

Her vision blurred as she stared at him, shock coursing through her. There was rage too, but the icy surprise that took ahold of her encased any hot or warm feeling she had left. She felt numb, and she could feel herself starting to go. "How...could you?" she whispered.

He simply stared back at her, not answering. While the rest of her sight remained fuzzy and unclear, she could still see his vibrant green eyes perfectly clearly. And yet...there was definitely something wrong with him... Something off...

He finally looked away and that was when she toppled over, head and hair hitting the flowers of the field as her consciousness began slipping away. She could see a large shadow manifesting behind him, with a wicked grin and wickeder eyes.

It was Damon, and he looked quite pleased.

The man's smile scared him.

Heart thumping, he leaped awake, crouching over himself. A blanket covered his legs. He felt his face. It was slick with sweat. His side hurt most of all, and he could tell it was bandaged.

He glanced around, trying to find sense in the darkness of the room. Beside him, a man was sleeping.

Relaxing, he smiled at the sight of such a familiar man, and he reached forward to prod the person with his hand. "Uncle," he whispered. "Uncle Shamus."

Almost immediately, the man's eyes flew open and he bolted upwards. "Ross!" he gasped, quivering with excitement and joy. "You're awake!"

"How long has it been now?" he asked, feeling a little dizzy.

"It's been two days," Shamus replied. "Oh, I'm just so happy you're okay." Tears sprang to his eyes as he reached out and hugged the boy. "I would've gone crazy had you not been found."

"I'm okay, Uncle." He hugged back. "Damon didn't hurt me while I was staying there." He thought back to the wicked smile that had graced his dreams and he shuddered. "At least, not until I was taken away."

"Sorry about that, by the way."

Turning, he saw Raymond entering the room, carrying a tray of tea. "Hey!" he called out, happy to see the man. "Thanks for rescuing me."

"You're welcome." He set down the tray and began pouring tea. "I'll have to get another cup. I wasn't expecting you to wake up so soon, though I'm happy to see that you're okay."

"You brought Earl Gray," Ross commented.**

"One of Tyrone's favourites." Raymond smiled almost wistfully, pausing as his gaze misted over.

Shamus and Ross exchanged glances. "How'd you know?" the older man finally inquired, his voice slow.

Raymond froze, before quickly handing the teacups to them. "I read Damon's journal," he explained, face flushed. "My brother noted down every little detail about his life."

"The journal!" gasped Ross, forgetting about Raymond's knowledge on his father for a brief moment. He checked his pockets searchingly. "Where is it...?"

"Right here." Raymond passed it to him. "It's been on your nightstand."

"Thank you," breathed Ross, hugging the journal to his chest in relief.

"I'll go get that other cup then," the brown-haired man continued, pointing at the door before he left.

When he was gone, Shamus turned back to his nephew and sighed softly. "Ross... There's been so much I've been meaning to talk to you about..."

"What's wrong?" He tilted his head to the side.

"I'm so sorry," he blurted out, grabbing the boy's hands.

"Whatever for?" he asked, confused.

"I'm sorry I was so pushy," he continued, "constantly asking you if you were okay, demanding an answer when you weren't ready to answer before the party that celebrated Michael's return***. I'm so sorry, Ross. I almost lost you, and I couldn't stop thinking about how our last interaction was so sour."

"He has been very, very distraught about your disappearance," Raymond stated, reappearing with another teacup. He winked at the boy, and Ross remembered the conversation he'd had with the man after his argument with Shamus—about moving past roadblocks in one's life***.

He turned back to his uncle, who was watching him with wide, hopeful eyes. He felt his heart soften and he reached out to hug him. "Oh, Uncle," he exclaimed breathlessly, "I forgave you for that ages ago!"

"Oh, Ross..." Shamus squeezed back, curling around him protectively as he began to tremble. Sobbing, the man said, "I love you."

"I love you too, Uncle." Ross didn't let go, allowing Shamus to cry. He met gazes with Raymond, who smiled back.

It feels like things are finally starting to work out, he thought, relief filling his heart and making it warm.

There was a knock on the door just then, and once he'd told them to come in, a girl with soft brownish-almost-pink hair poked her head inside. "You have a visitor, Master Ross," she announced.

He brightened. "Mindy! I remember you." He grinned. "Told you I'd know you by the next time I saw you."

She blushed, curtsying as she smiled. "Thank you for remembering me, Master Ross." Then she stepped aside and let the person behind her walk in.

"Hey, Ross." The girl who came in had short, cropped raven-black hair and beautiful lime-green eyes. She was smiling mildly. "Remember me?"

"Buttercup," he breathed. He smiled back playfully. "Of course I remember you. How could I forget one of my favourite girls?"

"I've been waiting to see you since forever," she explained. "Michael told me about you being missing, and I've been worried sick since then. He texted me about you being back, but you weren't ready to see anyone yet."

"You...You've been waiting just to see me?" Ross blushed, now flustered as butterflies soared through his system.

Shamus and Raymond exchanged knowing looks. "I'll go wash out our cups," Raymond declared, already picking up the tray and making his way towards the door.

"I'll help out," Shamus agreed, following the other man. He glanced back. "Have fun, Ross." He called for Mindy to join them, and the three retreated.

Ross was tempted to call after them, asking them not to go, but he knew they wanted to leave him and Buttercup alone. The memory of his conversation with Raymond before the party and after his argument with Shamus returned again***, reminding him to get past the roadblocks and move on with his life. Facing Buttercup definitely seemed like one of those roadblocks.

"I've been really concerned," she informed him, sitting down in the seat that had originally seated Shamus. "Michael told me about it because he thought I deserved to know. And I think I deserved to know too." She paused. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you," she added quietly.

He was surprised to see her admit this—as well as very happily embarrassed. She was definitely blushing. Buttercup didn't seem like the type to think about someone constantly, and he felt very touched to hear that he'd been occupying her thoughts. "I missed you too," he promised. "And please don't worry; I'm fine now."

She looked him over, before reaching out to gently touch his face. She stroked the part of his head where it had been bandaged. "And yet, look at what's happened to you..."

He grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze while it still rested on her temple. He offered a small smile. "I'm okay."

"It's been so long," she sighed, blushing as she glanced away.

He nodded his agreement. "It has been quite awhile." His face was still warm, and he wondered if she could feel it. His heart was roaring in his ears, so loud he was having trouble hearing anything else.

An awkward silence descended, where he clung to her hand and her hand remained on his face. Finally, he let go and she pulled away as he said quietly, "I've been really stressed out the last few days."

"I can tell. You have been missing for awhile. What exactly happened to you, anyway?" She faced him, eyes sparking.

He hesitated. "It was nothing. I just...got kidnapped..." He trailed off.

"Just got kidnapped," Buttercup repeated with a snort. "Right."

He looked down.

"Are you hiding something from me again? I already knew about your disappearance. Who kidnapped you, Ross?" she demanded. When he didn't reply, she folded her arms and looked away, glowering at the wall. "You and Butch are always carrying secrets," she complained crossly. "It's not fair."

"I'm sorry, BC," he apologized pleadingly. "But we can't have you hurt. I know Butch and I both feel this way. He's a good person, with good reasons for his actions. Please don't be angry with him."

"And what about you? Do you want me to be angry at you?" she asked, staring at him.

He looked down. No. I don't want you to be mad at me. The words dried on his tongue, so he simply shook his head.

"I can protect myself," Buttercup insisted, unfolding her arms. "When is that message going to get through your thick skulls?"

"But what if what happened to me happened to you? I'd never forgive myself," he continued. "I'd be devastated. If you were ever hurt because of me, even by the slightest chance, I'd be so worried."

She blushed. "You would?"

He blushed too, before nodding.

As if his feelings gave her fuel, she forged on. "And what about you? It happened to you, and I spent my days since that discovery freaking out over you," she responded, meeting his eyes. "It's not fair either way, is it?"

"No." He shook his head. "But at the very least, I can feel happy knowing it wasn't you or any of my other friends who'd gotten kidnapped."

She paused, seemingly losing the steam she'd gained during their conversation. "Is that what I am to you? Just a friend?" Her voice was quiet as she turned so that she faced him fully now, the distance between them closing.

He flinched, unsure how to respond. "I-I don't know," he stammered. "I just—"

"Because I-I think I see you as more than just a friend," she continued slowly. "I realized it while I was worrying about your disappearance, Ross. I...I had a lot of time to think about this."

"Realized what?" He swallowed hard. Things were moving faster than his mind could comprehend, and he was scared of what she was going to say next. None of this had been planned or expected. It wasn't supposed to—!

"That I like you," she replied quietly. And before he knew what was happening next, before he could even fully absorb his words, before he could even recover from this new development...

She was kissing him.

*(A/N: Reference to my other fic Hung Up on You!)

**(A/N: Reference to chapter 65!)

***(A/N: Reference to chapter 61!)

****(A/N: Reference to chapters 60 & 63!)

ME: *laughs* How much might you all hate me for this mess?

BUTCH: Okay, this is spinning out of control! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT ENDING!?

ME: Buttercup's confession!

BUTTERCUP: *blushes*

ME: Or are you just upset the confession wasn't with you, hmm, Butch? *nudges him playfully*

BUTCH: *face reddens* Shut up! I just think the ending's dumb, is all.

CHRISTIE: Dammit, I got captured again.

ME: Hey, hey. It's for the sake of the plot. You're a strong girl; you'll see.

CASSANDRA: There was a lot of romance this time around.

ME: Thus the title rings true! Hopefully this keeps all of you busy for the month of November. I don't think I'll get to work on this story a lot, since I need to type at least 1667 words per day for my NaNoWriMo novel.

BLISS: Darn it!

ME: Yeah, I know. I'm sad too. But it was a doozy again, so that's good! Now, please leave a review!

BLASTER: And see you all next time! *waves*