Call of the Wolves

by kuku88

"I'm not what you think I am," breathed the spiky, black-haired bad boy, leaning in. "Sure you aren't," she muttered, pushing him away. He raised an eyebrow. "That's what you think," he replied evenly. Rated T, R&R!

69. Chapter 69: Of Wolves and Bats

CHAPTER 69: OF WOLVES AND BATS

ME: Happy late Valentines Day!

BUTCH: Blegh.

ME: You're just mad because you and Buttercup don't get any scenes together in this chapter.

BUTCH: So what if I am? You've left me on the back burner for way too long!

ME: Yeah, sorry about that—but hey, you'll get your time to shine!

BUTCH: *grumbles*

BUTTERCUP: *face reddens* So you're going to keep writing about Ross and me?

ME: Sure am! For now, anyway.

MICHAEL: Go Ross!

ME: Meanwhile, you're a mess. *points at Michael*

MICHAEL: *blushes* H-Hey! I resent that remark!

CHRISTIE: And what about me? My current story's a mess too! It's not even just the love story that's a mess anymore, it's my whole story!

ME: True, but that's what makes it so interesting! So keep reading, everyone!

Chapter 69: Of Wolves and Bats

---

Bubbles slipped inside the school, feeling translucent and plastic as she smiled at every single admiring student who walked past her. She waved and chatted with them cheerfully, not letting them see the turmoil that was churning deep within her.

But she knew two people who were seeing straight past her.

Her eyes flickered toward one of them; he was hovering in the crowd, a little ways away, with multiple friends between her and him. Even though the distance was mutually inflicted, Bubbles felt it like an icy, windy canyon had separated the two of them. He was watching her intensely, but when she met his eyes, he looked away.

"Bubbles!" a voice called.

Jerking her head away, she met eyes with Robin. "Oh, sorry! What did you say?" she questioned, embarrassed.

"I was just telling you about the new girl," she explained. "Just met this morning, actually." She paused then, glancing at what Bubbles had been staring at only moments before. She frowned. "So you want to talk about this?"

"About what?" she asked faintly.

"About this. All of it." Robin gestured not-very-vaguely at the boy standing a few feet away.

She blushed. "What about it?"

Her friend raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "You've been ogling Boomer for the past ten minutes—you think I'm not going to notice and have some questions?"

"I'm not ogling him," she protested.

"Sure you are!" Robin folded her arms firmly. "And with the way he's ogling you, I'd think there's something going on."

"What's going on?"

She turned around to see a guy with shaggy light-brown hair and a gray sweater uniform approaching, and her face brightened. "Mike!" she exclaimed as her boyfriend joined her by her side.

"Hey, Robby-poo." Mike Believe grinned at her, before turning to Bubbles. "So what's happening? Is my girlfriend interrogating you?"

"I am not! I just noticed there's totally something going on between her and Boomer."

Bubbles' face flushed an even deeper shade of red. "Robin, please... Not so loud..." She glanced fervently at Boomer, feeling nauseous and embarrassed and terribly afraid that he'd heard.

Robin's face softened as she realized how badly her friend was being affected by the situation. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I didn't realize it was a negative thing. I just thought something embarrassingly cute had happened between you two."

Oh God. If only you knew. She ducked her head, even more mortified. "Not exactly," she mumbled.

"So what's wrong?" Robin asked in concern. "Come on, Bubsy; you can talk to me."

"I-I know, except...except I can't," she finally replied, feeling pained.

Her friend looked a little hurt, but she responded with dignity. "Alright, but if you ever want to talk, you know how to find me."

Bubbles only nodded.

Sensing that the blue Puff wanted to be alone, Mike glanced down at Robin and began gently guiding her away. "Come on, let's get to class..."

She watched them go, feeling an ache in her heart for such an interaction. She missed having someone stand and walk beside her, letting her lean on them and joke and chat so casually—whether as a friend or a boyfriend.

She snuck a glance at Boomer again, finding his intense ocean-blue eyes fixated on her. He turned quickly away, and she whipped around as well, her heart thudding in her chest.

She wondered briefly if she should try to approach him, but the idea terrified her. She squeezed her eyes shut. Come on, Bubbles—it can't be so hard; just go and say hi—maybe apologize—

RIIIIIIING!

The bell interrupted her thoughts. Jumping, she looked up and saw that everyone was suddenly gone...including him. Sighing to herself, she floated into the air and made her way for her first class.

Mr. Fickleson stood at the front of the class, watching with the disapproving eyes of a hawk as he waited for everyone to sit down and shut up. Bubbles quickly flew to her seat, but the breeze stirred up by her blue streak caused the teacher's papers to fly around slightly. He shot her a sharp look, which she cowered away from, before beginning to clean the small mess up.

Buttercup leaned toward her and gave her a comforting nudge. "Don't worry about Mr. Poop-Head," she whispered.

She only nodded in reply before the teacher began speaking.

"Class, we have a new student. Her name is Sophia Carson." He turned to the door. "Sophia, come on in. You may sit beside Bubbles and Buttercup."

The girl that ducked inside had long black hair and wide brown eyes, and she looked around, trying to find her assigned desk partners in the crowd. Bubbles gave her a kind wave and she smiled gratefully, before hurrying toward the free seat close to the two Puffs.

Mr. Fickleson immediately began droning on with his lesson, hardly bothering to let Sophia be welcomed or get prepared, and class dragged onwards.

Soon they were assigned worksheets and were allowed to do their work (silently), but Mr. Fickleson wasn't watching 100% closely that day so Bubbles inched closer toward Sophia. "Hi!" she whispered. "I'm Bubbles."

The girl nodded. "Nice to meet you, Bubbles. You're... You're pretty famous as a Powerpuff Girl here, aren't you?"

She nodded cheerfully. "I guess you could say that," she replied, a little embarrassed by their fame.

"Ugh, I hate that! I hate how you already know stuff about you but you don't know anything about us," Buttercup complained, rolling her apple-green eyes.

"Right." Sophia smiled tightly. "I've heard a bit about you guys."

Bubbles wondered what she'd heard. The girl didn't seem to mind their company, but the look on her face suggested at least one uncomfortable thought. "Well, whatever it is, if it's something mean and nasty, then it's probably not true," she chirped, half-joking. "We're the good guys, after all!"

"I'm sure that's true," she replied, relaxing a bit more. "I admire your guys' work greatly."

"Aww, thanks!" Bubbles smiled at her. I like this girl, she decided. She actually kind of reminded her of her sister Bunny because of how shy they both were—or...or even Sidney. Her heart clenched a bit but she didn't say anything about the boy out loud.

Sophia tilted her head, her long black hair cascading down her shoulder like a waterfall. "I used to live here actually," she told them. "But then we moved. I'm back on visit because Father has a...a business deal going on right now."

"Ooh, where do you live now?" Bubbles inquired.

"Bubbles!" barked a sharp voice. "Is there something you wish to share with the whole class?"

She flinched, slowly turning to see Mr. Fickleson standing and glowering at her. "No," she mumbled out, her face flushed red.

"Then get back to work!" he retorted.

She looked down at her paper as Sophia whispered, "Sorry."

"It's okay," she whispered back. "It's not your fault he's such a meanie."

"Yeah, he's a dick. I promise most of our teachers aren't such assholes," Buttercup added.

"His name sure fits him! He's definitely a fickle old man," agreed Bubbles.

Sophia smiled slightly, but didn't comment.

They returned to their work and only chatted occasionally after that, and the rest of the class wore on rather uneventfully. When the bell rang, signifying the end of class, the three girls parted on friendly terms. Bubbles left the class feeling cheerful and eager to meet and talk with Sophia some more.

She flew quickly to her locker and grabbed some things before getting ready to blast off, but before she could—

"Good morning, my little blue Puff!" a newcomer called, waving eagerly.

"Hey, Princess; hey, Mitch," she responded, waving back as she turned around.

Princess stopped in front of her, her curly red hair tied in two signature pigtails with a small little golden crown tucked into her hair. She looked as stylish and confident as ever, with her short skirt and high heels and many bangles. She and her boyfriend looked like models standing next to each other, even despite Mitch's ragged appearance.

His hair was messy and his smirk was the same as it ever was as he greeted her. "Yo! How's it going? You having a good day so far? Or heck, a good week?" He meant the words jokingly, but they struck a chord with her because in truth, she wasn't having a good week.

Princess seemed to notice her sudden change in disposition. "Is everything okay?" she inquired in concern.

"Fine," she said distantly.

Princess frowned. "Girl, you don't look so good. What's going on?"

"I'm fine," she reassured them, focusing again. "Sorry; just a little distracted. What's got you two so excited?" Her transition was hardly smooth, but she just didn't want to talk about herself any longer than she had to.

Princess and Mitch exchanged concerned looks but didn't force anything. Her red-haired friend turned back to her and grinned. "Have you heard?"

She blinked. "About what?"

"About the new girl, duh!" Princess threw her arms into the air dramatically, looking aghast at the idea that her friend was unaware of what she was talking about. "Bubbles, you're supposed to be totally in the loop about everything!"

"Oh, no, sorry; I did hear—from Robin," she explained, rubbing her temples briefly. "I even met her this morning. She's nice." When Princess shot her a concerned look, she quickly smiled reassuringly. "Just a slight headache; that's all."

"Oh, well...a slight headache hardly sounds like 'that's all' to me, but if you really think you're fine..."

"I am. I promise."

"Then alright." She shrugged. "I'd go home if I were you, but it seems like you're okay. Glad to see you dealing with this with dignified grace like I would."

"Hardly," Mitch laughed. "You'd be more like, 'Mitch! My head huuuuurts! Call my butler! Call my maid! Call all my servants! Call Daddy! Get him to send a limo for me! Oh woe is me; I need to lie down! No, not on that nasty thing! Get me my satin couch! Get me some ice cream too! Like, six tubs of it!'" He imitated her voice with the high-pitched nasally awkwardness of a teenage boy, and Bubbles couldn't help herself—she giggled—while Princess looked on disapprovingly.

"I do not sound or act like that!" she exclaimed, stomping her foot.

He smirked. "Do too!"

She stuck her tongue out at him, before smiling slyly. "I'd be more like... 'Get me ten tubs of ice cream!"

He started laughing even harder. "At least you admit it! I'll give you a point for that."

Bubbles smiled. She missed having a relationship like that too; one where you could joke and have fun with your partner. Mitch and Princess fought a lot, but they were usually small skirmishes. Anyone could tell they really loved each other.

"So, anyway, about the new girl... She's actually like, Sidney's long-lost best friend or something!" Princess exclaimed, turning back to Bubbles. "Thought you deserved to know, considering your ties with him—"

This caught her attention. "What?" she yelped quietly.

"I know right! It's pretty crazy—she shows up outta nowhere, is attending only because of this random exchange program, and has been hanging onto Sidney all day like a shadow!"

"Or a bat," Mitch piped up.

"Yeah, like a bat!" Princess nodded. "There are already rumours about their past together. Senna and Sierra aren't very happy about it! They're saying she's not just his long-lost best friend, but an old girlfriend!"

Bubbles paled. "Oh God," she whispered.

Before her friends could reply, a girl walked over and called out, "Princess, Mitch, Bubbles! Hey!"

It was Sophia.

Bubbles turned toward the voice, paling even more when she saw the soft-haired boy trailing behind the new girl with a faint, soft smile—a smile that had once been reserved for Bubbles. She shook her head to clear her of such embarrassingly jealous thoughts, and when she looked again, she saw that the boy had noticed her.

His smile had faded, and his eyes had grown wide. He was wearing a beanie and a pale-pink sweater-version of the Pokey Oaks High uniform, and now his shoulders were tense.

The girl running toward them had black hair and was dressed in a purple variation of the uniform, with her hair down. Bubbles saw her in a different light now: she wasn't just a potential friend, she was also pretty. Her hair was beautiful and dark and straight and it shone under the light and no wonder he liked her and—

"Bubbles, this is Sophia," Princess said, introducing her and dragging the blue Puff out of her swirling thoughts. "But you've already met, haven't you?"

She nodded, before stammering, "H-Hi again."

Sophia froze, her eyes growing big as her cheerful face fell a little once she noticed her. "H-Hello. It's good to see you again," she mumbled back shyly. She glanced back at Sidney, looking a little lost. Bubbles wondered if she actually knew about her past with him, and the idea made her stomach churn. She wondered if Sophia had felt that way around her during Mr. Fickleson's class without her even realizing it—she was only now noticing the girl's discomfort.

Bubbles' mind dragged her back to a time when she'd barely known Sidney, and he'd been just as shy as this girl. No wonder they're such a good match—

Sidney stopped beside Sophia. "Hey," he greeted her tightly.

She tried to smile, but her bottom lip quivered. "Hi," she stated.

Princess glanced between the two. She was hardly oblivious in any social situation, so she could clearly sense that something was wrong.

"Umm, Bubbles," Sophia finally began shyly, looking nervous. "Sidney has told me about one of your recent adventures in Townsville as a Powerpuff Girl. It sounded pretty crazy, how you guys had to fight off that giant monster..."

She smiled awkwardly. "It's a daily task," she tried to joke, even though her voice was too dry for it to really work.

"As a Powerpuff Girl, Bubbles has a high reputation here in Townsville," Princess chirped.

She nodded, trying to smile warmly at Sophia. "Right! I'm the blue one." In more ways than one, she thought bitterly.

"You know, there was a time I could have been a Powerpuff Girl too," Princess began joking. "When I was still a villain as a kid—"

"Sidney. It's been awhile."

Mortified, Bubbles turned slightly to see Boomer approaching them, his face deadpan and his voice steely.

"Hey, Boomer." He didn't meet the blond boy's eyes.

The blue Ruff stood beside Bubbles now, and she felt his presence like one would feel a dangerous wolf beside them. He nodded curtly at Sophia. "Long time no see."

Bubbles jerked her head upwards in surprise. Boomer knows her too!? her mind cried out.

"Oh, gosh—hi, Boomer. It's been a few months, hasn't it?" the black-haired girl replied awkwardly, her nose twitching briefly as though she'd smelled something just faintly foul.

Sidney placed a comforting—almost protective—hand on her shoulder that Bubbles didn't miss. "It's...nice to see you," he finally said softly.

"Yeah. Real nice."

A tense silence descended. Bubbles' mind was scrambling for something to grasp onto that could save the mess of a conversation, but she could hardly think of anything.

Finally, Princess said with an awkward chuckle, "Anyway, as I was saying... When I was still a villain, I would constantly—and I mean constantly!—try to join their squad, but they'd never let me. And then they got three new girls anyway!" She giggled, but the silence caused her to stop pretty quickly. She frowned, stomping down lightly—it was more like stepping—and remarked, "Okay, I'm not one to just ignore tension. What the heck is going on?"

"I have no idea," Sophia said quickly.

Bubbles shot her a look, her brain shouting liar! but luckily she said nothing out loud. She quickly threw the thought away and agreed, "Yeah, I got no clue. Probably just some boy drama." She tried to smile. "Your story was funny, Prinny. Promise. Don't you think so, Sophia?"

The other girl nodded. "Yeah, it was great. Sorry I didn't respond. It's hard for me to open up, especially in such tension," she finished shyly.

Bubbles frowned. She's using her shyness as an excuse— She grabbed the thought and threw it out a mental window, pissed off at herself for thinking such things.

Sidney seemed to snap back to attention, smiling awkwardly. "Aww, I'm sorry, Prinny. Boomer and his brothers and me and my friends have never been a great mix. It's nothing unusual."

"You guys should really fix that," she said.

He glanced at the blond boy. "Yeah, I'd like that, but umm..."

"Whatever." Boomer rolled his eyes.

Princess nudged him. "What is wrong with you? At least try and be civilized! What happened to the nice boy I know?"

"Sorry; I'm not trying to be a jerk. Just tired," he replied.

"Just try and be a little nicer!" she admonished, before turning back to Sidney and Sophia. "Don't worry about it, you two. I know it's kind of awkward. Anyway, how could I stay angry at two such cute boys?"

"Hey!" protested Mitch, wrapping a protective arm around his girlfriend. "What about me, huh?"

"Of course, nothing could ever beat you, my prince," she replied, tiptoeing so that she could kiss him on the cheek.

"And don't you forget it!" he replied, smirking.

The four other teenagers standing with them all looked away awkwardly, each of them remembering their own feelings of romance and at least one awkward encounter with one of the others in the group. Bubbles was looking down, her face red as she tried to pretend both Boomer and Sidney weren't standing beside her. Meanwhile, Boomer was looking away from everyone, his hands clenched in fists as he tried not to remember his kiss with his counterpart. Sidney was covering his mouth with his baggy sleeves, his face bright pink as he avoided Bubbles' gaze. Sophia was looking at Princess' expensive-looking shoes, trying not to remember the past and all those encounters with a certain boy...

Bubbles dared to look around the group briefly. Princess and Mitch were still teasing each other, and the others were still looking uncomfortable and awkward while ignoring everyone else. She sighed to herself, covering her face with her hands, thinking, This is not working out at all. It's going to be a disaster...

---

Blossom walked inside her next class of the day and promptly ducked as a pencil flew past her head. A boy burst out laughing, his buddies high-fiving him for his "awesome throw". She frowned at the jocks, and the guy who'd thrown the pencil—Flash—grinned at her. "Yo, Blossom! Sorry 'bout that!" He smirked. "You mind picking that up for me?"

Before she could reply, the teacher walked inside with the pencil already in his hand, his flaming red hair whisking out behind him in a loose ponytail. "Alright, that's enough, you troublemakers. Flash, sit your ass down."

"Mr. Apocally! But you've been gone for the past two weeks!" he exclaimed, looking startled.

"Well, I'm back now! And it's time to do some Math, so sit your ass down."

Flash sat down.

"Perfect." He nodded and tossed the pencil carelessly back onto the boy's desk as Blossom hurried to her own seat, and the teacher began speaking again, this time addressing the whole class: "Alright, you may have heard from a couple of other kids that we currently have a new student! Or rather, a student from an exchange program with an elusive private school that will be staying with us for awhile."

"I swear Pokey Oaks High is a new student magnet," joked Brian, who had once been a new student himself. His flaming red hair and red eyes gleamed in the light as he grinned.

Other whispers spread amongst the crowd and the teacher clapped his hands to get everyone's attention again.

"Please welcome, Sophia Carson!" He stepped back and a girl slowly walked inside of the classroom, looking nervous.

The class was quiet—so quiet that Blossom was willing to bet that if Flash threw the pencil again, everyone would hear it clatter to the ground this time.

"Sophia, why don't you introduce yourself?" asked Mr. Apocally, smiling kindly.

"H-H-Hello, everyone. My name is Sophia Carson and I was born here, but moved to Citiesville when I was really young," she explained quietly.

Blossom had a flashback of the one time the Professor had decided to move there and the family had been forced into a ratty old apartment.*

"Come on, let's give her a proper welcome now," Mr. Apocally exclaimed, gesturing for the kids to start clapping.

Flash made a face, but he didn't say anything this time—unlike the time Ross had been the new student and he'd complained about welcoming new kids being something only kids in grade 1 did.**

Everyone clapped and said loudly, "WELCOME TO POKEY OAKS HIGH, SOPHIA!"

"Th-Thank you," she mumbled, ducking her head. Her face was bright red.

"Perfect! You can sit beside Ross, dear," Mr. Apocally instructed.

She nodded at him before walking toward Ross' desk. She greeted him quietly with the look of someone who already knew him, and then he introduced her to Brick and Butch. They said hello kindly, but both of them looked a little tense. Butch sneezed, as if he had a cold acting up.

But he wasn't the one she was paying attention to. She was watching Brick, and the cautious kindness he treated Sophia with. He seemed to be purposefully avoiding his girlfriend's gaze though, that was for sure.

Blossom turned away, feeling indignant. If he didn't want to look at her, then she didn't have to look at him—perhaps it was petty, but they had barely spoken since their last video chat. The memory of it still sent a stab through her heart.***

She looked up and saw Buttercup gazing at her with concern. She just shook her head quickly before focusing back on Mr. Apocally's lesson, trying to forget that Brick was even in the same class as her.

Still, she couldn't help but look back a few times, only to see him smiling slightly at the new girl or chatting quietly with her. The image made her heart clench, but she always made sure she showed no sign of her pain. Brick's allowed to be friends with other girls, she reminded herself, wishing she wasn't feeling so possessive.

But what if they're more than friends?

She kicked the thought away almost immediately. Don't be a hypocrite, Blossom. This is the same deal with you and Vincent.

Yeah, and what's going on between you and Vincent?

She grabbed her head, trying not to scream. Shut up, shut up, shut up!

"Err... Blossom?"

"Shut up!" she snapped, before freezing. She lifted her face and saw Mr. Apocally standing before her.

He frowned, but the look of concern didn't leave his face. "Are you alright?" he questioned, gesturing at her paper.

Blossom looked down. Small splashes of water stained her paper. She felt her face, swallowing when she felt the wet tears. "I-I'm fine," she stammered awkwardly, feeling exhausted. "I'm just...tired."

"I think you're a little more than that." He met her eyes with an almost intense gaze. "When I look into your head, I see images of pain," he added in a whisper, before pausing. "You should probably go to the nurse's office."

She looked down at her lap, painfully aware of more than twenty gazes resting on her—one of them being Brick's. The realization made her tremble. "Okay," she whispered. If she was going to break down, she'd rather not do it in public. She sniffed and rubbed her eye. "Sorry for disrupting the class," she mumbled out.

"It's alright, dear. There's no need to apologize for it," he replied softly, before standing up. "Will you be okay walking there on your own?"

"I-I'll be fine—"

"I'll walk her there."

Mr. Apocally and Blossom both turned to Brick, who'd raised his hand. His face was placid, and she couldn't read the expression he wore. Their teacher, on the other hand, seemed to be reading him just fine.

He finally gave a curt nod after a few moments of intense inspection. "Very well. I believe you do in fact wish to take her to the nurse's office, so you may go."

"Thank you. I'll be back soon." Brick floated over to Blossom but didn't touch down, instead hovering beside her for only a split second. "Let's go," he murmured.

She floated upwards as he flew off, and she felt a longing for his touch as the familiar scent of cinnamon wrapped around her. She glanced at her classmates only once before flying out the door.

Brick was waiting for her outside. "You okay?" he asked gruffly.

She nodded.

They continued on, saying nothing more. Blossom tried desperately to think of something to say, but her mind couldn't come up with anything. She finally ended up commenting, "I always feel like Mr. Apocally can read minds."

He nodded briefly. "He's a good reader of other people."

And that was the end of that conversation.

Blossom sighed to herself as they flew on, and barely two seconds later, they reached the nurse's office. Brick touched down first and watched as she landed a little more shakily.

"You should get yourself checked out right away," he told her. He turned around. "I'm heading back now."

"Brick, wait—" She reached out and grabbed his wrist. His head shifted toward her just slightly, but she couldn't see his eyes. "We... We should talk," she managed to force herself to say.

"What is there to talk about?"

"Everything!" she exclaimed. "What is this mess we've gotten ourselves into? Why is it like this now?"

"Ask yourself," he replied coldly.

"I'm serious! I want to figure out why we've become like...like this. I'm trying here; I really am! Why can't you cooperate?" she cried.

He paused, trembling. "It didn't have to be this way," he finally whispered.

"Brick..."

He finally looked at her now, tears appearing in his eyes. "It didn't have to be this way, Bloss! But you made it this way."

The words formed a sword that plunged into her chest, causing her shell to crack. They formed an accusation. "I-I don't understand—"

"And you're supposed to be the smart one," he said, chuckling a pained, weak chuckle. He rubbed his eyes with the sleeve of his red jersey jacket. "Dammit, Bloss—look at this fucking hole you've dug us into. How can you not see it?"

"I just don't understand how it's all my fault!" she protested defensively.

"Of course you don't! Because you really don't get it," he replied, his voice rising. "I'm not saying it's all your fault, just that you need to realize and take responsibility for what is!"

"Don't get what? What did I do?" She shook her head. "If this is about Vincent, then I can promise you that he's just a friend—"

"It doesn't matter!" he retorted. "Because it's not just that anymore. It's so many things, and they're all cultivating into a giant shit-pile of even more shit!"

"Brick, watch your language!"

"Who fucking cares about my fucking language? Why can't you care about my fucking feelings!?" he blurted out, his hands shaking.

"I...what?" Her eyes widened as she was taken aback by the sudden outburst.

"Dammit, Bloss, why are you so fucking dense?" he cried, rubbing his left eye. "You seriously don't get it then, do you?" He laughed bitterly. "Even after all this arguing about it, you just really, actually, seriously don't understand!"

"Understand what? I do consider how you feel! So what do I not get?" she demanded, exasperated. "I'll never get it at this rate if you're going to be so secretive about it and never tell me!"

"You don't get that you hurt me!" he shouted.

She froze. "'Hurt...you'?" she repeated weakly.

"Yes!" He threw his hands into the air, his tears flowing freely now. "Fucking hell, Blossom, yes! You've hurt me so badly these past few days!"

"How?" she cried, grabbing her head. It was beginning to throb. "What did I do?"

"You haven't realized that you have basically been not considering my feelings for the past few weeks?" he retorted. "How you've been continuing on your merry way as if my feelings aren't valid enough to be considered?"

"What do you mean?" she asked tiredly.

"That it's not always about you! I get that Vincent is supposedly 'just a friend'. But it doesn't change the fact it still pains me to see you with him! Have you ever considered that? Have you ever considered taking a step back from him just for awhile? Just for me? Because relationships are a two-way street, Bloss—you can't just always take and never give." He sniffed, shaking his head. "I was the one who confessed to you. I was the one who first fell in love with you! And I remember everything now—it's not like I still have amnesia and don't remember all the bad things.

"I fell in love with you even though we've gone through some really, really rough times, but that didn't stop me. As I said, I don't have amnesia anymore, and I sure as all hell remember now that you sent me a hurtful text; that you were the one who constantly berated me and scolded me for my mistrust of Michael and his friends despite never having heard my side of the story; and you were the one who I would always fight with. We hardly saw eye-to-eye, and yet I still fell in love with you!"

She looked away, not being able to keep his gaze. She felt like he was stabbing a million holes into her heart.

His voice turned exasperated: "I fell in love with you because I also remember how we were such good friends—friends who could fight and make up so easily no matter what happened, with a loyalty and respect for each other that was fierce and strong. I remember how kind and smart you are, and how you showed me that kindness when I had amnesia. I remember how you were truly remorseful for having sent that text, and that you wanted to patch things up between us. I remember you wanting to help me regain my memories even despite our soured relationship because of the text—but that didn't stop you from working so hard to bring me back! I also remember you wanting to help me inside my head. You were the reason I fought so hard to come back! And I sure as all hell remember how badly you wanted me to remember everything back then. Would you still feel that way now, Blossom, or would you rather I forget it all? If I had amnesia now, would you fight as hard as you did then?"

He shook his head again, smiling painfully. "You were so beautiful when I finally woke up, even though I didn't recall anything when I did—but you were the reason my memories came flowing back to me at that time. You sparked that! You brought me back, and I chose to come back because of my developing love for you. And I thought you missing me was enough to confirm your own feelings for me, but I guess...

"I guess I was wrong." He finished with another sniff as he wiped his eyes once more. "God fucking dammit I feel like everything's gone wrong. I thought I'd be happy with you, Bloss. I thought this was what I wanted. I thought...I thought we deserved each other. But ever since we've gotten together, you've been hurting me constantly, even if you don't mean to. You just act so...so dense sometimes, like you expect things to revolve around you. As long as you're happy, it's all okay for you.

"But it's not okay! I have feelings too, Blossom. Just because you're happy with the way our relationship is now and the way your relationship with Vincent is, doesn't mean I am." He swallowed hard. "Sometimes... Sometimes I wonder if it's better to just pull the brakes on this mess of a roller coaster ride altogether."

She looked up then, her eyes widening. "Brick, no! I'm sorry for everything, okay! Please don't end things here—not like this! We don't need to jump to conclusions yet!"

He just shook his head again. "I can't do this," he told her. "I just can't do this anymore! I'm trying, Bloss—I really am—but it's just not working out! I-I don't know what to do anymore."

"But I really do love you," she said desperately.

He was quiet for a long, long time, and the words dangled in the air awkwardly. "Do you really?" he finally asked, not responding with "I love you too".

"I do!" she insisted. "I swear I do. Please believe me."

"But maybe not enough," he responded. "I'm sorry, Blossom. Let's just... Let's just talk about this later. At lunch. I don't want to talk about it anymore." He looked drained, probably having exhausted himself giving her that giant speech. He swallowed, turning away. "I'll see you later."

"Why do this?" she asked, feeling exasperated and frantic. "Why do we have to have a sad ending?"

He met her eyes, tears streaming down his face. "Oh, Blossom, I wish things could have ended differently."

She shook her head desperately. "J-Just wait a second; can't we try to work this out right now?" When he started turning away, she cried, "Brick, wait! Don't you care what happens between us? Why are you running!? BRICK!"

He paused for the briefest of seconds, hesitating. Then he finally said, "Feel better." Without waiting for a response, he blasted into the air and left behind only his blood-red streak.

Blossom stayed standing there for a long, long time, until she remembered that time was still passing. She was also suddenly aware of just how alone she really felt. Why did things have to get so messed up? she wondered, before walking into the nurse's office. "Hello?" she called awkwardly, without any conviction. She sounded as exhausted as she felt.

"Blossom...? What's the matter?"

She looked up and her face drained of all colour at the kind voice and kinder face that greeted her. Warm green eyes and glasses stared back in concern. "You okay?" he asked again, biting his lip.

"I-I'm fine," she stammered. "Just tired. Slight headache." Her knees were starting to shake. It's not like I feel completely sick and broken and want to throw up or cry. It's not like I have a massive, throbbing headache right now. It's not like I just pretty much broke up with my boyfriend.

It's not like it's all your fault.

She sighed. She wasn't being fair. It really wasn't Vincent's fault that all that had happened...was it? She paused, wondering what she should do or say. A good girlfriend would stop talking to him, but to be a good girlfriend, you had to still be a girlfriend period in the first place.

"Aww, I'm sorry to hear that. Come sit by me!" he offered.

Blossom hesitated. A good girlfriend would say no. A good girlfriend would choose somewhere else to sit, somewhere away from him.

But she wasn't exactly a girlfriend anymore.

So she sat down beside him. "What are you in for?" she asked quietly, sitting awkwardly.

"Oh, just had to come in because of this stupid skin condition. My skin's so sensitive," he explained with a chuckle. "It hates the sun. Sometimes I feel like I'll turn into goop if I'm not careful."

"'Goop'?" she repeated absentmindedly.

"Yeah, like the Wicked Witch of the West—except my weakness isn't water." He grinned at her, but the smile fell when he saw that she wasn't smiling back. "Blossom, is something wrong? You seem kind of out of it."

"No, no... Nothing's wrong," she lied. "I think... I think I just need a nap to sleep this off."

"Oh. Well, that would be kind of too bad for me," he replied.

"And why's that?"

"Because then I wouldn't get to talk to you and enjoy your pretty voice." He smiled at her, beaming like the sun, and she felt her heart throb.

She turned her face away just slightly, frustrated that it was flushing pink. "That's very sweet of you."

"I like listening to you talk," he explained. "You're so smart and you have so many ideas—"

She covered her face with her hands. "Vincent..."

"—And I love hearing you share them. It's so cute and sweet—"

"Vincent, please—"

"—I guess what I'm trying to say is that I just really enjoy your company in general," he finished. He paused then, clearly sensing that something wasn't quite right. "Blossom? What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I-I'm fine," she gasped, sniffling.

"What... Oh no! Are you crying?" he cried, hurrying to sit even closer to her. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, causing her to shiver. "Was it something I said?"

"N-No, you were really sweet," she mumbled. "It's just that... I can't..."

"Can't what? What's wrong?" he asked again.

"I can't keep doing this!" She looked up then, tears streaking her face. "Vincent, why are you being so nice to me?"

He looked taken aback, and she regretted her harsh tone.

She turned away again. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have broken down and burst out like that—"

"No, no... It's...It's okay."

"Vincent...?" She glanced at him questioningly, startled to see his suddenly sad expression.

"You deserve to know," he explained.

Her eyes widened. "Wait, no—"

"Blossom... I-I like you."

---

She wondered briefly if she was doing the right thing. Standing at her locker during lunch, instead of being with her sisters and friends in the cafeteria, waiting to meet up with her kind of ex-boyfriend.

Bliss Utonium sighed to herself, thinking back to that kind of ex-boyfriend, with his bright blue eyes and impish grin. He was smart and fun and clever and a gentleman—he had made Bliss feel...well, blissful—because he'd treated her with respect and admiration.

At first, anyway.

Bliss was a social person. She wasn't blind to the atmosphere around her in a conversation. As much as she had crushed hard on her kind of ex-boyfriend, she hadn't been blind to his faults. He was often smug and arrogant and temperamental, picking fights and teasing others. He showed disdain and was rude to those he didn't like, such as Braker, one of Bliss' best friends. And most of all, he was highly secretive. Because of this, she had broken up with him and demanded he give her a secret to patch things up.

And that was why she was standing there, waiting. She'd been waiting for nearly ten minutes, and she was starting to feel antsy. Is he not showing up? She glanced down at her phone as it flashed on, the lock screen displaying the time—but no new messages. Am I being a nosy bitch by prodding into his life like this? Is that why he's not coming?

Before the thoughts could cause her heart to ache painfully, a voice called out in greeting: "Yo, Bliss!"

She looked up and could barely hide her face lighting up. "DJ! There you are!"

"Happy to see me, doll?" he asked teasingly, smiling at her as he stopped before her.

"Hardly!" She punched him lightly. "I've been waiting for almost ten minutes! I was starting to think you wouldn't show," she finished with a pouty huff.

"Ow," he exclaimed, rubbing his arm. "I think you forget your super-strength sometimes, little missy." She flushed red, but before she could retort, he grinned. "Sorry, babe. I got caught up trying to make Mr. Grumpy Asshole Michael feel better, but the ungrateful ass wouldn't have it. Anyway, you're adorable when you pout!"

"DJ!" she scolded, blushing even harder. "Now's hardly the time for flirting."

His face turned serious. "You're right. Now's the time for sharing secrets, is it not?"

"Exactly—"

"But first, let's go eat lunch!" He turned around, his sky-blue gaze bouncing from person to person before it landed on someone they both recognized. He beamed and waved, calling out, "Hey, Robin; Mike!"

"Oh hi, DJ!" Robin responded, pausing in her walking to face and smile at him. "How's it going?"

"Fine, fine. My teachers are insane—you know, the usual," he chatted cheerfully.

Bliss' mouth had dropped open, and she felt a strong desire to march right over and drag him away before demanding he spill his secret or else. But she resisted the urge, reminding herself that this was probably hard for DJ, and he wouldn't want to do it where they could be overheard. She floated over to Robin, DJ, and Mike, ignoring the niggling thought of her reasoning actually being her making up excuses for him.

They began walking again, toward the cafeteria. DJ told them about how much homework he'd recently gotten and how crazy intense about his training his dad was being, while Mike talked about a new painting of his involving a headless man in a business suit in black-and-white with blood-red butterflies shooting out of his neck. Robin chatted about her new book, mentioning how good it was and how much she related to the main character on a spiritual level.

Then she turned and asked, "What about you, Bliss? What's up with you?"

Startled by the sudden question directed towards her. She blinked. "Sorry, what...?"

"I was just asking what's up with you?" Robin frowned.

"Oh, nothing! Nothing's up with me. I'm just peachy keen. I'm fine. Totally nothing to worry about."

"'Peachy keen'?" repeated Mike, almost incredulously.

"I mean, nothing's up or down with me; nothing's wrong and everything's right and I'm totally a-okay." Bliss blushed slightly as she finished trying to readjust her words, but she was pretty sure she'd just made it worse.

"Oh...well, I was just asking if there was anything new going on with you," Robin began slightly.

Bliss' face turned even more red. "Oh, sorry; I thought you were wondering if there was something bothering me—which there isn't, by the w—"

"But now I think my question has in fact been changed to meaning 'is something wrong?' after all, because you do not sound 'perfectly peachy keen' to me."

She groaned quietly, feeling pained as she glanced around her friends. Robin was frowning in concern, Mike was watching her intensely, but the worst one was DJ: he had a knowing look on his face, but it was also filled with pity—and was that...also a bit of...amusement? Bliss felt quite embarrassed as she hid her face behind her hands.

A gentle hand rubbed her on the shoulder before pulling away. When she looked up, DJ had turned away and was beginning to make his way down the hall again.

Robin was also watching him go. She glanced at Bliss. "Well, I guess we should get going then."

She nodded weakly, still hyper-aware of Mike's questioning gaze on her back.

"And just know that if you ever want to talk about it, I'm right here," her friend continued.

"Yeah, okay. Thanks, Robin," she mumbled.

As they kept going, the girl with blue eyes added, "You know, you Puffs sure are distracted today. First Bubbles, now you?"

"We're busy people," she tried to joke, although her voice fell flat.

"Try getting some rest when you get home," Mike suggested. "Feel better, Bliss." He offered a comforting smile. "All of us want to see you being yourself—which is, of course, blissful and happy!"

"That's a terrible pun and you should be ashamed of yourself," his girlfriend admonished.

They were finally entering the cafeteria. Bliss dragged herself through the door, feeling as if they had taken absolutely forever to go from her locker to their destination, even though it was pretty much just across the hall.

"There's our table!" Mike exclaimed, already walking toward it. He and Robin paused, looking back. "You guys coming?"

Bliss opened her mouth to reply, but DJ actually spoke first. With a million-dollar smile full of convincing cheer, he said, "Actually, we'll catch up. I want to chat quickly with Ross."

"Ah, sure! See you guys later then," the brown-haired boy replied, before he and his girlfriend continued on their path.

Bliss immediately spun around to DJ. "Finally!" she hissed. "What were you trying to do? Stall the inevitable?"

"Not at all." He smiled at her, looking confident and reassured. "I was simply avoiding suspicion."

She glowered back at him. "Deth Jackson Jr—"

"Shhh. Not here." He put a finger to his lips, and her mind briefly flashed back to how kissable those lips were. Once she'd shaken such frustrating thoughts from her head, DJ was already tugging her aside and out of the cafeteria.

"Well?" she demanded.

He glanced back at her. "Well what?"

She was starting to wonder if he was trying to mock her. "Well, what's your little secret?"

"Let's not start with that."

Her temper flared at the suggestion and she bristled. "DJ—!"

"No, Bliss. Just wait a second." He put a finger to her lips and looked into her eyes seriously. The unusually solemn look shut her up, if only because it didn't fit on his face. "Just...shhh. Look, this is serious, okay? This could change everything. This isn't just some 'little secret' I'm choosing to share with you; this is a giant revelation. And it isn't just about me. It's about everyone all around me; everyone close to me."

"And yet I've been kept in the dark?" she asked almost bitterly. She regretted the words immediately when she saw his incredulous eyes.

"Bliss, I'm serious!"

So am I, she thought, rubbing her arm uncomfortably.

"This involves Braker as well. It involves all of the Rowdyruff Boys. And it's not because they're close to me as friends, but as enemies. And you know what they say: keep your friends close, but your enemies closer."

"Isn't that a little much—?"

"Don't you see?" he cried, interrupting her with such emotion that she practically jumped, startled. Her eyes widened as he continued on: "They are my enemies! We're not rivals or frenemies or whatever—we are literally on two different sides of a very real battle."

"DJ..."

"Bliss. I'm saying this because I want to prepare you. And I'm telling you this secret not because you asked me to—well, mostly not because of that. I'm telling you this because I trust you. And I think you deserve to know the truth. So please..." His sky-blue eyes were wide and pleading, almost fearful. "Please don't let this change your opinion of me. Please don't hate or fear or judge me after this."

"It won't," she promised, wondering dizzily what kind of giant secret he was about to share.

"Swear it," he insisted.

Bewildered, she crossed her heart and held out her pinkie. He took it. "I swear, okay? Pinkie promise. Now what is this ridiculous secret that's so big it—"

He leaned forward and kissed her.

Her eyes grew as huge as saucers and she let out a muffled cry, before quickly nudging him away. "DJ, what is the meaning of this!? Will you stop playing me and just get on with it?"

"I'm not playing you." When she looked up, she saw sadness in his gaze. "I just wanted to kiss you one last time in case you decided you never want to speak to me again after this."

"You're being ridiculous—"

He sighed. "You'll see why when you hear it." DJ glanced around fervently, before leaning in close and whispering, "Okay, so here's the thing..."

As his whispers continued, his breath warm on the nape of her neck and his sharp canines close to her ear, she listened in disbelief, tingles racing down her spine as her eyes grew large.

"You...what?" she whispered.

---

He was floating down the hallway when he spotted familiar blond hair in two long, low pigtails and a bright yellow gaze. Almost immediately, he swerved to the left and went down a different path, avoiding the person completely.

His stomach felt like it had been tied into impossibly tight knots, and his heart ached. His throat was parched and he swallowed hard as he held his books closer to his chest, hands and face clammy.

He was doing his best to avoid Banana, but it was difficult. He was suddenly overly aware of every single time he saw her wandering through the halls or sitting in a room. He hadn't realized how often they ran into each other regularly until it was too late. The school even felt smaller than he remembered—it was hardly big enough to keep him enough distance away from her.

Blaster Jojo wasn't one to hold grudges, but he couldn't help this one: Banana had made him feel used. It had felt awful—she'd basically chosen him out of desperation, and now he knew that to Banana, all he was was a second choice. A replacement. Barely desirable.

He squeezed the books in his arms, gulping in air as he tried to remember to breathe. The thought was painful. He'd felt used and humiliated and dismissed—nothing a normal person would want to feel. He glanced behind to make sure he'd lost her. When he didn't see any sign of her, he breathed out a small sigh of relief before making another turn.

He was heading toward his Science classroom because he refused to eat lunch anywhere she might be able to find him. So that already ruled out the cafeteria and the textiles room, considering that's where he'd usually be, and she'd know it.

Blaster paused, hovering in front of the Science room door. He'd never eaten lunch in this particular classroom before, and he was suddenly struck with the idea that hey, maybe this is going to suck. But he pushed the thought aside. Anything would be better than dealing with Banana.

He pushed the door open and poked his head inside. To his surprise, Michael Hawthorne was sitting at a desk, looking angry as he munched away at a burger. His friends surrounded him in a protective circle, each of them glancing at one another while clearly wondering why he was upset.

Blaster slipped inside and prayed he wouldn't be noticed, but it was hard to blend into the white walls when he was covered in the bright colour yellow: from his sweater to his hair to his eyes, Blaster was like a walking lightbulb, a fact he was now all-too-aware of.

The group turned their heads almost as one, all meeting eyes with the poor yellow Ruff as he awkwardly shuffled inside. He slowly made his way toward a desk far away from them, but Michael held up a hand. Blaster paused, startled and unsure of what was going to happen next.

The other boy beckoned him to come closer.

He hesitated for a second before floating over. "Yes?" he asked curtly.

"You're in the same boat as me," Michael explained. "And I'm too tired to be rivals. So sit down and eat with me. I think we need to talk."

He hesitated even more, glancing around. "Err...could you call off your goonies first?"

"Hey!" protested Ross. "We're not 'goonies'."

DJ snorted. "What the hell's going on, Michael? First you sulk around all day and yet now you're acting all friendly with the enemy? What's—"

He shot him a sharp look, his nostrils flaring. "Shut up, DJ."

Looking taken aback, the other boy clamped his mouth shut.

"I don't want to talk about it." He turned away, his shoulders hunched. "So can you guys give us some privacy? I need to talk to Blaster."

DJ's eyes hardened and he spun around, already marching off. "I have to talk to Bliss anyway," he muttered, throwing open the door. "Mr. Ungrateful Asshat," he added in a growl under his breath as he stormed out.

Ross was less willing to leave. He glanced between Michael and the door, before hopping off of his seat on one of the desks and hurrying after their dark-haired friend. Sidney was also clearly hesitant, but he scurried off without daring to say anything. Darkai followed only seconds later, as silent as ever. Blaster had no idea what he was thinking.

He turned back to Michael, whose eyes were dark. "That wasn't very nice," he ventured. "You just drove away your own friends."

"They don't need to hear what I have to say." Michael sighed as he leaned back, closing his eyes briefly. Blaster tilted his head, noticing the dark bags beneath his companion's eyes. When Michael's eyes flashed back open, he jerked his head toward the yellow Ruff. "But you do," he finished, his voice rough.

Blaster looked down at his lap, uncomfortable and tense. "Right. So what did you want to say to me, anyway?"

"Well, you know who it's about." He leaned in closer, gaze shadowed. "I just wanted to ask you how you feel about her?"

Now a million times more uncomfortable, he rubbed his arm, his gaze refusing to meet Michael's. "I...I liked her," he finally admitted.

"In what way?"

"I don't know!" he exclaimed, the words bursting out like a soda can left bumping around the back of a car for too long. "I don't know, okay! I don't know if I liked her or not—I just know that it hurt when you two got together, and it hurt even more when she used me like she did!" His eyes finally met Michael's, his shoulders heaving. He blinked a few times as he realized his outburst, and he flushed red, looking away again. "It hurt a lot," he finally mumbled.

"...I'm sorry about that."

Startled, he looked up to see the other boy's now sad face, where tears had started to form. "Michael...?" he gasped.

"It hurt me too," he responded, wiping his eyes quickly. "I-I kind of always thought you liked her. But I didn't care about how you felt. I didn't want anything to do with you. I just knew I wanted her to be mine, and that I wanted her to be happy. And then... And then that whole mess happened, and I just—now I'm feeling bad for you, and I don't want anything to do with her!"

"Life has a weird way of working out," he replied awkwardly.

"But things aren't worked out. Banana and I have broken up, and my sister's gone missing because of Damon." He rubbed his eyes. "And I can't even be fucking brave about it."

"Hey now, crying isn't a bad thing—"

"I know it isn't!" he snapped back. "I'm talking about being scared. I'm scared, Blaster. And I don't know what to do."

Blaster stared back at this boy—this boy whom he'd only known to hate throughout his life—breaking down in front of him, tears streaking his fearful eyes as he waited for some sort of comforting reply. He was being completely sincere. Blaster stared back at this boy and felt his heart melt.

And that was when he did the unthinkable: he hugged Michael.

The other boy froze, becoming rigid in his arms. "Blaster—"

"I know. I know this is weird." He closed his eyes, trying not to cry as well. "But we're in the same boat right now. I know how you're feeling. So you don't have to try and be 'brave' in front of me. You can be weak if you want to, because I feel just as weak as you."

Michael began trembling, before tears started streaming down his face again and he let out an agonized wail. Blaster squeezed tighter, feeling his own tears start dripping down his cheeks.

When the two parted ways, they didn't speak of the incident, and there was a silent agreement that they wouldn't mention it to anyone either. Blaster waved at Michael before exiting the Science lab and making his way toward his next class. The bell rang, signalling the crowds to start pouring out into the halls.

He entered the textiles room and didn't meet Banana's eyes at all during the entire class. He purposefully and successfully avoided her—and the few times he did look up, she seemed kind of sad and would sometimes be looking at him, but neither of them acknowledged the other's occasional gaze.

The rest of the day carried on without incident, and it was only when Blaster was leaving the school building that he realized how odd it was. He was avoiding Banana and had grown closer to Michael—hell, I feel more sympathetic toward Michael than I do to her! he thought.

"Yo, what's up with you?" questioned Butch, trailing after his brother. The others had already begun the flight home, but the green Ruff had noticed that Blaster was staying grounded.

"Ah, nothing's wrong," he tried to explain. "I was just thinking."

"Well, okay, but it's time to go home. Are you coming?" He cocked his head to the side, frowning.

Blaster paused, before replying, "No, not yet—sorry—there's something I have to do first—"

"Wait, what—?"

"I'll see you later!" Blaster waved, already lifting off into the air.

"Dude, wait! Where are you g—!?"

But he was already flying away. As he flew, he closed his eyes and apologized to his brother mentally before continuing on his way. He knew where he was going: Damon's cabin.

Blaster soon spotted the destination he was aiming for, and he landed softly on the ground and stared up at the cabin. Memories were flashing through his mind like splashes of rain against the ground, one of the most recent ones being when he'd snuck in only to encounter Christie and Vix. He'd given Christie a photo of Damon and the young Ruffs in the hopes that it would show her that Damon hadn't always been as evil as she'd been raised to believe.

He squeezed his eyes shut. The memory now tore a hole in his heart. I didn't know back then, he reminded himself, trying not to let the guilt consume him. I had no idea the man Damon had become, or that he was even alive at all.

He was good to us then.

But then he remembered Christie's face, smiling and happy, now missing because Damon had stolen it away. He imagined the moments when her face would be contorted into rage, usually because of Damon.

His heart ached. He was good to us then, but he's not good any more. I thought I knew him. I guess I didn't. If I hadn't forced her into considering Damon's innocence, would this mess be as bad as it is now? Am I partially responsible for this mess? He found that he couldn't find an answer to that question. I may not have known better, but I do now. He clenched his hands into fists. Damon is anything but good. It's kind of my fault as well, so I need to fix this. Just wait, Christie. I'm going to fix this.

Then he made his way inside, through that familiar broken window that had been used countless times to break inside. He landed with a soft thud, and he quickly glanced around. Everything seemed quiet.

He longed to call out for Christie, but he didn't dare. So he tiptoed forward instead, peeking around corners and looking out from behind walls or boxes. From what he could see, the cabin was currently empty.

He decided to make sure before saying anything out loud. He circled the perimeter, checking the kitchen and the drawing room and the area in between. All clear.

Then he approached the giant bookshelf-door, which he slowly and carefully pushed open. It creaked somewhat, causing him to freeze, but no one came running out. So he continued pushing it open until he could squeeze inside.

"Hello?" he whisper-called. "Christie...? Are you here?" He paused and tried to listen with his super-hearing for any noise that would indicate her presence, keeping his body very, very still as he waited.

But all he could hear was a the slight dropping of water and birds chirping outside. Everything was silent.

He floated onwards, trying not to make any noise as he flew from the bedroom to the study to the washroom. Nothing. No sound whatsoever. At least, none that said "Christie is here".

Blaster huffed, frowning, before stopping to think. He tapped his chin and then paused, only to realize that the tapping noise was continuing. He froze, tilting his head toward the sound slowly.

He could make out barely audible breathing now. A heartbeat.

"Christie?" he whispered hopefully. He knew she wouldn't hear though. She didn't have super-hearing like he did.

So instead, Blaster began following the sound. He traced it to the study, but that was where it stopped. He couldn't make out where it was coming from after that. There was something in the air that didn't seem quite right—it was affecting his senses. He didn't think it was just the stench of rotting wood or old smoke either. No, whatever it was, it was much stronger.

The heartbeat was slowly fading out, and he was starting to feel woozy. He hoped it didn't mean Christie was in any danger, if it was in fact her heart beating—

Blaster swayed on unsteady legs, before collapsing on the bed. "My head," he whisper-groaned, slowly falling over. He slumped against the pillow, suddenly overly aware of the scent of pine.

"Ugh... Damon...? Is that you?" he moaned.

"Shhh, my little patch of sunshine, shhh. It's okay now. It's all okay."

"Damon, where...is she? Where's Christie—?" he mumbled out, his words slowly fizzling into incoherence.

"Hush, little sunshine. Take a break."

"Damon—"

He felt a blanket be draped over his shoulders as the fuzzy image of a cloaked man appeared in his vision. Blaster tried to grab his arm, but his grip wasn't strong enough to hold on and quickly fell away. Sleep was pulling him away, calling for him with a sweet melody.

It was waiting for him.

"Blaster...? Blaster, where are you?"

Her voice was fading in, cutting through the thick darkness. He writhed around, trying to pinpoint the noise, until he saw her. She was running toward him, and he brightened when he saw her. She was calling for him. Christie was waiting for him.

He hurried toward her with open arms. "Jesus Christ, Christie! You're okay! Thank God! Did he hurt you at all? You have no idea how worried sick I've been!" he exclaimed.

"No, no, I'm fine," she reassured him. She grabbed his hands. She felt warm, like a ray of sunlight after a gloomy day. "I'm just shaken."

"It's alright now. I'm here for you." Relieved, he hugged her and squeezed tight, feeling every sense of worry leave as his eyes began to water. "Oh thank God you're alright."

"Shhh, don't cry," she murmured, leaning back enough so that she could cradle his face with her hands. "You don't have to worry anymore."

"I know—I'm just...I'm just so relieved—"

"I know, baby. I know." She leaned forward and kissed him, and warmth filled every part of him. He began kissing back as all the cold numbness and painful memories began to fade away...

He kissed her back until everything just faded away.

---

Red coloured his vision.

He could imagine it colouring his fists too, but right now, they had turned white from how hard he was gripping them. The anger inside of him churned like an angry tide, and the more he sat there and stewed in silence, the more angry he got about it.

His sister was in danger. She was being held captive by Damon, and he had no way of knowing if she was okay.

But that wasn't the only reason he was upset.

Sighing to himself, he leaned back in his chair and thought back to his recent break-up with his girlfriend, and his heart ached. The words had hurt to be spoken out loud, but he felt like they needed to be said.

She tried to kiss another boy. He felt like he had a right to be angry and upset.

"Hey, Michael?"

Blinking, he opened his eyes and turned to the sound of the noise. "Come in," he called.

Raymond entered the room, looking concerned. "Are you alright? You've been stuck up here for quite some time now. I thought I'd check up on you; Ross actually highly encouraged it and requested that I ask you join him for tea. He wishes to tell you something."

"I'm fine," he said sullenly, folding his arms and glowering at the wall, away from the man. "And I'll talk to Ross later."

"I feel like it would do you some good, Michael—"

"I said I'm fine."

His companion sighed as he set down a cup of steaming hot tea on the desk in front of Michael. "Are you sure? You sound pretty upset to me."

"And why wouldn't I be?" he snapped back. "My sister's gone missing—and all thanks to your good-for-nothing, fucking horribly wolfish, pitiful excuse of a brother who deserves to fucking die for all his goddamn crimes!" His voice was rising, and he didn't stop until he saw Raymond flinching at the harsh words.

"I'm sorry," the man tried to say, but his voice sounded strained and choked, breaking even before he finished the second word.

Michael sighed, closing his eyes briefly. "Never mind," he grumbled. He stood up. "I have to go."

"Go where?" questioned Raymond, eyes wide in concern.

"I have to pay a certain someone a visit," he replied.

Raymond's eyes stretched even wider, if possible. "Wait, Michael! No, don't go! You can't go!"

"Who's stopping me?"

The man hurried to block off the door. "I can't have you go," he begged. "There's been enough trouble at my brother's house as it is—"

"Get. Out. Of. My. Way," he snarled through gritted teeth, each word pushed out like a knife being shoved through someone else's heart.

Raymond grimaced, probably feeling the stab of each word. "No, I can't," he insisted. "I can't have each of you risking your lives on my watch. Darkai's already gone in an attempt to save Ross, and Ross and Christie and Vix have all basically been taken there, so I really can't have you go too! It's practically suicidal! What would your parents say?"

"GET. OUT. OF. MY. FUCKING. WAY," he spat again, repeating the order with even more seething hatred and anger. "Move, or else I'll make you move."

Raymond's gaze had hardened as a new resolve seemed to form. "No," he repeated firmly. "I'm not moving for you."

Michael let out a roar and lashed out at the man, trying to force his way through and shove him aside. He kicked out with his legs and punched out with his hands, trying to catch anything in a blind rage.

He dodged and caught the boy's fist before it could smash into his face. "Michael, please! Calm down!"

"NO!" he yelled. "I've been calm for long enough, sitting here on my ass doing fucking nothing to help my sister! I need to be out there, looking for her!"

Raymond forcefully pulled his arm down, causing a cracking noise. As the boy grimaced, he sighed, "I'm sorry, but I really can't have you leave." He rubbed the area between his eyes with his free hand, sounding tired as he added, "I feel like your mother should've made you stay in school today, instead of picking you up after lunch because you didn't feel like going through the rest of the day... At least then you could focus on something other than this—"

"I REFUSE!" he snapped. "How could I ever just ignore Christie's disappearance? That might fly with you—you who probably doesn't even care fuck-all about what your brother does—but it does not with me!"

Raymond's head snapped up then, his eyes transforming from warm chocolate to an old, old fire. "You think I don't care what my brother does?" he snarled back, baring his teeth at the younger boy. "You think I don't think about what he does 24/7, constantly worrying for everyone around me—for all of you, but for him as well!—or how I feel the pressure of having to choose sides and also show my loyalty to the right side? You think I never felt so much regret when my brother fucking disappeared and I thought he was dead? Because of course! Why on Earth would I ever fucking blame myself for my brother's supposed death, am I right? I would just brush it off, and then brush off the reveal that he's alive, and finally brush off every single crime he's ever done—because guess what? According to you, a spoiled, ignorant bat who doesn't know jack-shit, I completely don't give two shits about what my brother does despite having grown up with him and loved him!" His voice had risen considerably during his rant, but now it dropped off. He narrowed his eyes, growling out, "Is that what you think?"

Michael's turquoise eyes were stretched wide. He'd been frozen in shock by the sudden change in attitude, especially since he'd never even considered Raymond capable of anger like that. "I-I'm sorry," he stammered. "I was being insensitive. I didn't realize—"

"Damn right you didn't realize you were being a fucking ass!" Raymond snapped, before his shoulders slumped and he sighed, hanging his head. His eyes were closed now, and he suddenly looked so, so tired—even the tense grip he'd been holding onto Michael was now loosened. "Never mind. I'm sorry; I shouldn't have snapped at you like that."

"No...i-it was well-deserved," he replied awkwardly. "But Raymond, please...please let me go. You of all people should understand the need to constantly look after your sibling."

The man's arms had tensed again, but the hold didn't last long. With one last sigh, he let go of the boy's wrist. When Michael stared at him in surprise, he simply looked up and smiled weakly. "Go get 'em, tiger."

Michael's surprise faded as a grin spread over his face. "Don't you mean 'wolf'?" he asked jokingly.

"Or bat, you batty, kooky cuckoo bird," he replied, a hint of affection in his voice as he reached out and ruffled the teen's hair slightly. His smile was still small, but it seemed stronger as he added, "Be careful, alright? Because if anything happens to you, it's going to be on my head—and not just because your mom is going to kill me. I don't need Danes' people blaming me for any more of my brother's crimes."

"Got it!" he chirped, already hurrying past the man. He glanced back once to wave goodbye. "Thanks, Raymond! You won't regret it," he promised, before turning around and disappearing.

As soon as the boy was gone, Raymond's smile vanished. He stood there for a long, long time, before slowly sliding downwards until he was crouched down against the wall. What have I done? he wondered, almost mystified as he stared at his hands. What if I've just sent the boy to his death?

The thought pained him greatly, and he let out a low moan as he buried his face in his hands.

Meanwhile, Michael was flying through the treetops, winging his way past thick branches and other obstacles. He was traveling as quickly as he could, his heartbeat racing with as much fear and anticipation as it was throbbing with anger and pain.

I hope Christie's okay, he thought as he ducked beneath an old, twisted, gnarled tree branch that was hanging overhead. And hopefully Damon hasn't done anything to her. The images that suddenly raced through his head were anything but pleasant, so he quickly shoved them aside before he would feel too sick. Even then, his stomach was already churning and he could feel the bile rising.

I'll kill him, he thought as he swallowed down the lump in his throat. I'll kill him if he lays a single hand on her. I'll flay him alive and skin him and hang his mangy old pelt over our fireplace to be cooked and to be fed to his own kind.

The thoughts were a little comforting, but only by so much. Michael found that he didn't find gruesome death threats nearly as soothing as his mother did. Sighing to himself, he roosted in a spot near the back of Damon's cabin, keeping to the shadows of the large oak tree he was resting in. He watched the cabin for what seemed to be forever, but was probably only ten minutes at most.

His eyes flickered back and forth. The faint smell of rotten, old wood touched his nostrils, making his nose twitch. It was amazing how the cabin still smelled of smoke even after all these years. He could hardly imagine a time when Damon's home hadn't smelled of burnt wood. Michael wondered briefly if it wasn't even really the scent itself anymore, but the memory of it. Like a ghost lingering inside the wood.

A sudden flash of a pretty girl entered his mind's eye, along with the memory of her getting him to promise her that he wouldn't go after Damon. He slammed his eyes shut, trying to get the image out before it overtook him completely and—

—Too late. She was in his head full-force now, with her wide, pleading gaze and pursed lips and lilted voice, filled to the brim with concern—aaaaaand here comes the guilt, he thought, hanging his head with a sigh. I'm sorry, Cassandra...but I need to do this.

Trying to ignore the now guilty feeling swirling around inside of him, he refocused on the task at hand of monitoring the area. There was no movement outside or inside, minus the occasional woodland creature. They seemed to be gathering around Damon's cabin a little more than usual—or at least, more than usual from Michael's memory. He wondered if he was imagining it, but if not, then why?

He was about to just take the dive and go inside when suddenly the door opened just slightly and a head poked out.

It was Damon.

Michael felt the very, very strong desire to suddenly come flying out of the tree at the man, screeching, with claws scratching at his face in an angry frenzy. It was a very strong urge, but he did his best to resist.

"Hello?" the man called softly, causing Michael to stiffen. Damon was looking around, squinting into every shadow. After a few agonizingly long moments of him surveying the area, he straightened his back. "Hmm...looks like most of the woodland creatures have all run off."

Phew. Michael breathed out a silent sigh of relief. He wasn't talking about me. He hasn't sensed—

"All except for one."

Michael froze again, turning slowly so that he could see Damon looking back directly at him with a grin on his face.

"I must say, I admire your patience. You've been sitting out here for more than ten minutes," he cooed. "What an amazing feat! Do your little feet not hurt?"

He bristled in mistrust and hatred, before jumping down into the grass. "Stop playing games, Damon. You know why I'm here."

"Indeed I do," he confirmed, beaming. "I know why you're here, and I also know how you're here."

Michael's eyebrows shot upwards. "And how's that?"

"That's my own little secret." Damon winked. "But let's just say...I have eyes in very unexpected places."

He took a step back, feeling utterly disgusted. "You're fucking creepy," he remarked.

"I am," chuckled the man. "Thanks for noticing."

"These eyes you have...they don't have anything to do with Raymond, do they?" he questioned with suspicion, although he was praying deep inside that Raymond wasn't involved in any way.

Damon burst out laughing, as if Michael had told one of the funniest jokes he'd ever heard. "My brother!" he gasped, clutching his sides. "Oh, that's rich! My wolfish, backstabbing brother, helping me keep an eye on the Hawthorne household? Oh, how I wish!" He stopped laughing to grin, but it was devoid of humour this time—in fact, Michael thought he saw anger and hatred in the smile. "But no, my fucking good-for-nothing brother is in no way helping me. I could lie about it to make him look bad, but why would I? I hate his fucking guts too much to even bother! You heard all those nasty little things he said to you about me! I have a right to hate him for it, and you really shouldn't be surprised. I'd totally kill him first chance I get, and make sure it's a slow, painful death too!" He was cackling again, but now even the laughter sounded angry and bitter.

Michael shuddered. He could never imagine speaking that way about his own sister, no matter how hard they fell apart. Even Raymond seemed to still consider Damon as a brother, despite his own twin not returning the feelings and harbouring more than just murderous intentions. "You're disgusting," he finally said.

Damon's smile vanished. "You're one to talk, little bat. Hovering around like an annoying fly, wanting to kill me even though you'd never be even close to capable of landing a scratch on me."

He bristled. "And how do you know that?"

"Because you're weak, Michael." Damon met his eyes, and the boy found himself staring into two empty black holes. "And I'm not."

The way he said the words caused him to shiver slightly, although he refused to show his fear. "That's not true," he protested. "I'm not that weak."

"No...you're not." He tilted his head to the side, gazing at him with that empty gaze of his, before smiling eerily. "I'm just that strong."

He narrowed his eyes, refusing to break eye contact with the man because that would be a sign of weakness and defeat; like a sign of him stepping down. Still, it was unnerving staring into such soulless pits—he could imagine everything being sucked in and never coming out, or things coming out in an endless wave like a countless number of creepy bugs.

Damon broke eye contact first, turning back to his cabin. "So what is it that you wanted from me, little pawn?"

"Don't pretend you don't fucking know," he snapped, stepping forward and glaring at the man. He tried to muster as much hatred into the look as possible.

He glanced back from the corner of his eye, an amused smile gracing his scarred face. "You don't want to take the chance to lecture me on how awful I am?" he asked almost teasingly.

"No. I want my sister." Michael folded his arms. "And there's no point wasting my time lecturing you. You're beyond saving, Damon—you're beyond sick."

The man laughed. "You're right. I wouldn't listen. But I always like letting you guys fulfill your little fantasies of talking me down. As if you have a chance." His smile was a sick slash of pointy white teeth. "It's amusing."

Michael felt an anger flare deep within him, searing with the heat of years of hatred. "Go fuck yourself," he spat. "None of this is funny, Damon. What you're committing are war crimes."

"Oh, but you'd never risk reporting me to the police, would you? That would expose our little secret! If you did, the whole town—no, the whole world—would know! And you wouldn't want that, would you?" His grin stretched wider, making Michael feel ill. "I could do anything, almost anything, and I'd never have to face the consequences! You're all too weak to defeat me anyway; otherwise why else would I hide out in the open like this?" He laughed, and it sounded like nails on a chalkboard to the boy. He hated that laugh. "What if I killed your sister, boy? What if I did away with her and threw her body ten feet underground—who would ever know? Who would ever be able to stop and punish me? If she disappeared, would knowing the fact that I did it bring comfort in the sense of even having that knowledge? Not that you could do anything about it, anyway!"

"Stop it," Michael growled, his anger growing. He was reaching his boiling point. "Stop laughing, you psycho. It's not fucking funny."

"Oh, but don't worry. I wouldn't do that to her. Perhaps I'd have someone else kill her for me—"

Michael let out a roar, leaping forward and slamming his fist into the man's face. Damon was sent stumbling backwards, and the teenage boy stood before him, seething and snarling. He wished he was strong enough to have sent the man spiralling into the air and crashing into the walls of his filthy, rotting home—a home almost as disgusting as he was—almost.

Damon stood against the wall for a few long seconds, his hand resting on his cheek. When he finally looked up, his eyes were flaring with sheer hatred—and rage. "You dare?" he demanded. "You dare hit me!?"

"Oh, I dare alright." He glowered back defiantly, his fists raised. "I dare."

He let out a long hiss, like an aggravated wolf, before rushing forward. Michael wasn't ready for the sudden hit—it smashed into him like a concrete wall, knocking the air out of his lungs as he was sent flying across the grass. He crashed into a tree, and as he slid downwards, his gaze spinning blearily, he was vaguely aware of the golden glare pinned on him. Damon's dark golden eyes were glowering down at him, a malevolent shadow across the man's face.

And then the silhouette and those glowing golden orbs were gone as suddenly all he could feel was hit after hit on his body. He could hear his bones cracking and feel his skin bruising. His head was throbbing painfully and he was barely able to comprehend anything happening around him.

With his ears ringing, he heard the muffled words of "down already? What a disappointment. You're even weaker than I thought", before he fell to the ground. As he lay there, eyes unfocused and mind spinning painfully, he was acutely aware of every single aching, pulsating part of his body. His face felt wet and he could taste something metallic in his mouth—blood? he wondered briefly.

He lifted his gaze slowly, the images still moving hazily back and forth as he tried to turn the image of Damon into one instead of two. His gaze seemed to be filled to the brim with hatred, despite the cruel, soulless white slash of a smile across his face. Then he turned around, and Michael could see him walking away from him.

"No... Don't you dare...walk away from me," he mumbled out, his words barely intelligible. They slurred into utter gibberish, and while Damon glanced back at him due to his exceptional hearing, he said nothing. Michael did his best to slam his fingers down on the grass, but they were shaky and numb and barely had any grip. He tried to push himself up on his elbows even though they were trembling too hard and were so weak he wasn't sure he would even be able to lift himself.

"Just stay down," Damon said. His words sounded faint and far away, but Michael could almost detect a sense of pity within them—and that only made him more angry.

He shoved himself upwards, almost falling backwards. The tree was luckily there to prevent this from happening, and he lay against it briefly, panting heavily. Blood spurted from his lips when he coughed, and every body part felt loose and numb and not his own. He had no control—his vision was still blurred and unfocused, and his head throbbed violently.

"Stay down—"

"Give. Me. My"—he coughed out some blood—"sister," he spat out, his teeth clenched tightly.

Damon gazed down at him with a hardened expression, and Michael watched his face as the man drifted in and out of focus. His face was expressionless—almost as dark as the black spots forming in the boy's vision.

He walked over slowly, before stopping in front of the weakened boy, who glared back defiantly. The man was quiet for some time, before he crouched down so that he was at eye-level. "Stay. Down," he said firmly, his voice emotionless. His golden-brown gaze seemed dark as he added quietly, "If you don't, I could snap every one of your ribs and break every bone in your body instead. And I don't think you'd want that."

"I want...my sister," he forced out.

"I know." Damon's face was unreadable. "But you can't have her. I won't give her back to you."

Michael tried to reach out and grab the man's neck, but his arms were shaking too much, and they felt like lead. He dropped them, trembling violently in both pain and rage. "I'll kill you," he whispered. "I'll fucking kill you for this."

He met his eyes. "You wouldn't be able to even if you could try," he replied calmly, almost reasonably, as if he were speaking to a demanding six-year-old that didn't know any better.

Michael flashed back to another time, when he'd been around that age of six, and Damon had still been with them almost everyday. He remembered the man making everyone breakfast, turning to smile at the children waiting eagerly before them. "What would you kids like?" he asked. "I'll make you anything you want for today." And when they called out various foods, he actually made those specific dishes for them. Michael had always liked Damon for his kindness.

That felt like a lifetime ago.

"Do you remember..." he began slowly, trying to suppress his rage, "all those years ago...when you were still a part...of our household? A part of our family...?"

Damon's gaze seemed to blanch briefly and Michael wondered if he really was so deranged that he couldn't even remember the past. Finally, he said slowly, "Yes...of...of course."

Michael met his eyes even though the black spots and fuzziness weren't going away. "Then do you remember the day I had fallen out of a tree and came in bleeding and cut up?"

Damon said nothing, simply staring back at him with his head tilted to the side, looking almost curious and studious.

He waited for a response, but when none came, he continued: "I came in for breakfast and demanded waffles with whipped cream and strawberries and yet refused medical care from you"—he paused for a second—"admittedly like a bit of a spoiled brat, but I was only six-ish at the time—and you refused to serve me because of it." Damon still didn't reply, so he smiled a little, almost bitterly and yet nostalgically at the same time. "I was so pissed off at you"—cough cough—"and demanded those waffles, but you said you wouldn't give me anything unless I let you treat me. You were adamant, and I was stubborn. I complained to my parents and Mom looked about ready to claw your face off for defying me, but they—especially Dad—realized the need for me to get treatment. So they told me to listen to you and I'd get my waffles, and I finally relented."

Damon's silence was starting to get on his nerves, but he finished his story: "What I'm trying to say is"—cough—"you were once a good guy, Damon, as hard as it is now to believe. I appreciated everything you did for our family after that—except for killing Tyrone." He met his eyes. "How could you?"

The man still said nothing.

Michael rolled his eyes and growled out, "Goddammit, Damon—why won't you fucking reply? Do you remember or not?"

"...I remember," he finally said, his voice quiet. He smiled faintly as he called upon the old memory. "Of course I remember. You always were a bit of a brat."

"Gee, thanks," he muttered, a vein popping as his irritation swirled around inside him.

Damon's smile grew slightly. "But you were a loveable brat." He reached out and ruffled the boy's hair, causing Michael to cringe slightly even though he refused to show it. The man's eyes were soft now, and he seemed to be reminiscing as he used the back of his hand to stroke the teenager's hair and cheek.

Michael stared back at him almost in disbelief. It was mind-boggling to think that a man could change his attitude so quickly. He shivered faintly, wondering what he was going to do now. Before he could ask, however, Damon's gaze hardened into stones.

"But it's no use dwelling on the past." He pulled his hand away. "It won't help you now."

"Just give me my sister," he croaked, red blood dribbling down his chin. "Please..."

"I'm sorry. But I'll have to say no."

He stared back at him. "You're not sorry," he finally said quietly—accusingly.

Damon smiled faintly. "You're right," he replied in a whisper. "I'm not."

And that was when Michael felt a hard blast hit his face, causing his head to crash into the tree bark behind him. Letting out a loud gasp as an explosion of pain burst inside his skull, he felt himself crumple like a sack of potatoes.

As he faded into darkness, he could briefly see those cold golden eyes and white, sharp-toothed grin gleaming down at him. "It was nice talking to you though, little bat," the dismembered, distorted voice remarked gently.

Michael toppled forward, and he felt warm arms enclose around him before everything disappeared into black numbness.

---

Christie awoke to dark numbness. She struggled to sit up, feeling as if every bone in her body was aching. Groaning to herself, she rubbed her head and looked around. It was dark and she could hardly make anything out.

She turned her body just slightly, feeling her limbs protest the movement. Her legs were now dangling off the edge of whatever she was lying on, so she figured it was some sort of bed. She felt incredibly disconcerted. She was obviously not in her own room.

Christie gently hopped down from the ledge and looked around again, squinting against the shadows. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she was able to see glints of something shiny all around her. It almost seemed like she was in a room filled with metal. She shuddered. The idea creeped her out.

She began exploring, feeling her way around. Her hands grazed across cold surfaces that reinforced the idea that she was surrounded by metal. She even bumped into a small tray near her "bed" which caused the items on it to jump, before scraping the tray with that familiar sound of metal on metal—a sound Christie did not enjoy. She froze, before reaching out tentatively to feel the items on the tray.

The feel of them caused her to freeze again, but this time for a different reason. This time, she was frozen in fear.

The tools were all sharp and pointy and felt very dangerous. There seemed to be a pair of scissors, pliers, knives, and even a needle.

Her breathing was coming fast and hard now, but there was something else that caught her attention. She hadn't been paying attention at first, but her ear had just picked up on distant, muffled noises. They caused her to shiver; they were eerie, like quiet cries and murmurs and soft breathing. There was also a bubbling noise coming from something that glowed a few feet away.

"What the hell is this?" she whispered to herself. "Some kind of mad scientist's laboratory?"

"You aren't too far off the mark, you know."

Jumping, she spun around to see the light pour in from a door across the room. "Damon!" she gasped, feeling a surge of anger wash over her. The memories of her capture were coming back now: Vix's text, Vix's confession, Vix's betrayal. Vix, Vix, Vix—goddamn Vix always confusing my heart.

Damon smiled almost too kindly. "I'm glad to see you awake, my dear. I was starting to think that you would be knocked out for quite some time."

"What did you do to me!?" she demanded. It was still hard to see; the light from the door barely offered any enlightenment (she mentally hit herself for the quick pun), and it made Damon into an eerie, hard-to-see shadow.

"Nothing!" he replied innocently, raising his hands. "I haven't touched you since you fell unconscious! I swear on my life."

She snorted. "Yeah, well, much comfort that's going to be, considering the fact that your life is worthless."

"Why, you wound me, Christie!" he exclaimed, looking exaggeratedly hurt.

She folded her arms. "Look, both of us know you don't like me and I don't like you. So can we cut the goddamn games, Damon? Stop pretending you're a good guy. Because you're anything but. You're a completely and utterly heartless ass-faced wolf-man."

Damon raised an eyebrow. "Alright, little lady," he said, his voice turning chillingly low. "I can stop 'pretending', as you say. Instead, I'll show a little of my so-called 'true self' to you if you want."

She tried to hide how much the idea of such a thing scared her. "Yeah? And what's that?"

"This." He pulled a lever and she frowned.

A whooshing noise sounded from behind her, causing her to whirl around. Her eyes widened as her arms unfolded and her hands fell to her sides. Her mouth dropped open—her entire face spelled out her shock.

There, right in front of her, was none other than Vix.

And he was seemingly unconscious, tied up to some sort of machine through metal binds and wires. He was shirtless and she could see that he had faint burn marks across his body. Sweat dripped from his skin and he seemed to be breathing heavily, face flushed. A glass barrier separated them, and at the moment, Vix was up to his chin in water.

"What have you done to him!?" she cried, her head jerking back toward Damon. "What the hell is all of this?"

To her horror, he was grinning. "Why, Christie! I thought you didn't care about him anymore? Don't you think he's an 'insensitive asshole' by now?"

She hesitated, her heart fluttering. She wasn't sure what she felt anymore. She was still mad at Vix, but they'd spent too much time together for her not to feel bad seeing him in such an awful condition.

Damon pounced on her moment of weakness. "Oh my! Are you telling me that you actually feel bad for this poor, miserable beast?"

She was still struggling with her emotions as she whirled around to face him and glared at him. "How I am feeling is currently unimportant! How could you say such a thing when you are practically his father?"

His face turned serious for a moment and he walked toward her, causing her to take a few steps back until she bumped into Vix's tank. She glanced back and when she turned around, Damon's face was in front of hers. "Do not," he hissed, "question our relationship ever again."

She tried to glare back defiantly, but her heart was racing a mile a minute. "But you are his father figure, aren't you? How could you just—?"

His hand shot out and wrapped tightly around her throat, causing her to gasp sharply in an attempt to get air into her lungs. She flailed against his grip, but he wouldn't let go. Her wide turquoise eyes met his dark brown ones as he hissed out, "Didn't I say not to question me again?"

She tried to speak but couldn't. His grip was tightening fast, and the pain jabbed at her throat. "L-Let...g-g-go," she tried to force out.

He beamed at her, before his grip released and she collapsed to the floor, gently gripping her throats and coughing for air. He gazed down at her, looking almost amused. "Any more questions?" he asked, his voice dripping with false kindness.

She glowered up at him. "No," she choked out.

He smiled back. "Good." Then he turned around. "Come, I'll fix you supper."

Christie tried to stand, but her legs were so shaky she almost collapsed again. She managed to force herself upwards though, and when she looked up, Damon was staring at her with an unreadable expression.

"I would leave you down here, but sadly you would starve and I wouldn't want that—at least, not yet." His smile returned, still cold and empty of any feeling of warmth. "Vix would hate me for eternity if I disposed of you right here and now. He'll want to know that you're safe and well."

Her heart skipped a beat at the mention of Vix and his desire for her to be okay. She glanced back at him—he was still just dangling there, his eyes closed and his head hanging. "Really?" she questioned almost in disbelief.

A snort sounded, and she looked back to see Damon snickering. "Really," he confirmed, looking amused again. "Because in case you've forgotten, he has a 'major crush' on you."

Her face turned bright red and she angrily stormed over to her captor, trying to resist kicking him in the shin. Instead, she tried to retain her composure as she replied coldly, "Sarcasm doesn't become you, Damon."

His smirk turned into a simple smile. "Who said I was being sarcastic?"

She stared back at him, wondering whether or not she should believe him. She hesitated. There was a part of her that still believed—or wanted to believe?—that Vix had a crush on her, but at the same time, he'd done so much to screw her over she was having a hard time convincing herself that the whole crush thing was true anymore.

Damon turned away before she could decide on what to say. "Put this on," he told her, handing her a strip of cloth.

She looked down at it. It was a simple black piece of cloth. She looked back up at him. He was gazing at her expectantly. She raised an eyebrow. "Put this on as in...?" she prompted.

"On your eyes, you pervert," he responded, looking half-amused and half-annoyed.

"I mean, that's still pretty weird and kinky," she said.

"Just put it on."

Sighing, she did as she was told. She didn't want to, but she couldn't see how any other option would help her in this sort of situation. So she slipped it on and let him take her hand (despite her being completely disgusted by the touch and her mind having to resist the strong urge to try and flip him over her shoulder), and he led the way.

They walked up a couple of stairs, and she wondered briefly which floor this was. She was feeling a little disconcerted, and even then, she wasn't as familiar with Damon's cabin as the Ruffs or Vix were. She didn't know how many floors it had or even how many rooms it contained exactly.

He guided her onwards for a few minutes before stopping. "Here we are," he announced. "You may take your blindfold off now." As she did so, he added in warningly, "But don't lose it. You're going to need it a lot."

She tried to ignore how terrible such an order really was, considering her situation as a captive, and kept the blindfold knotted, simply keeping it around her neck. They were standing in the kitchen of his cabin.

"Sit down," Damon commanded. She hesitated, before remembering his grip around her neck, and sat down at the table somewhat sullenly. She wasn't weak, but she didn't know how strong she was at the moment—and Damon was as strong as ever.

The man left the kitchen, and she wondered if she dared get up and take a peek. She juggled the ideas briefly, before deciding, Screw it, and stood up. She tiptoed to the door of the kitchen and looked out, having heard creaking noises. Damon had his back turned to her, and he seemed to be putting something onto the shelf of a bookcase. She tried to remember if that shelf had any significance, but her mind blanched—mostly because Damon was beginning to turn around.

Heart thudding, she dived back into the kitchen and sat down quickly, placing her hands on her lap and doing her best to look bored.

He came back into the kitchen and glanced at her. She didn't look at him. Damon continued on towards the stove, beginning to cook something.

She finally relaxed her shoulders, her straight back now leaning against her chair. "What are you making?" she asked.

He glanced back at her from the corner of his eye, his dark brown gaze unreadable.

She raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore her terror. "What, is questioning you about my supper not allowed either?"

"No, no, it's fine," he replied, sounding strangely friendly. "I'm making you some rice." He turned to look at her. "Do you like rice?"

"I like it," she replied awkwardly.

He simply nodded and returned his attention to his cooking. Meanwhile, she surveyed the room, trying to find anything useful: something informational, or useable as a weapon—or hell, even a souvenir would be nice at this point, she thought sullenly.

Some time passed and he finished cooking the rice and dishes going with the rice. He set them down on the table and sat down in a chair. "Eat," he commanded.

She resisted the urge to disobey just because it was Damon ordering her to eat. Her stomach rumbled. She was very hungry. So Christie reached for the pair of chopsticks and the bowl she'd been given and began eating. She ate the shrimp and the fish and the bok choy he'd made for her. He simply watched her eat.

When she'd eaten a good amount and was starting to feel full, she glanced over at him. He was still staring at her. She raised an eyebrow. "So...are you going to eat too, or...?"

"I will," he said simply. "Later."

"...Okay then." She continued eating until she was full, leaving some for Damon. "I'm finished."

He smiled. "You sure ate a lot."

"Uhh...I guess so," she responded awkwardly.

"It's not a bad thing." He stood up and took her bowl and chopsticks, carrying them to the sink. "I need you to survive for at least a few more days."

Christie's stomach sank. She was glad she'd already eaten, or she would've lost her appetite. Now she just had to worry about keeping her food in her stomach. "Thanks, I guess," she said in response. Yeah, thanks for kidnapping me and holding me hostage and blindfolding me, creep.

"You're welcome," he replied graciously. He washed the bowl and chopsticks quickly before putting them down and turning back to her. "Come on, let's get you back to your...room. Put the blindfold back on."

Her stomach churned as she slipped the black cloth over her eyes again, and allowed him to lead the way. This time they had to stop and she listened to the creaking noises she'd heard before. Then he pulled her along and took her back down the steps and into the room once again.

"You can take them off now," he stated.

She pulled them down and blinked, her eyes trying to adjust to the darkness.

"I'll leave the lights on for you," he told her. "You can turn them off when you get tired. There are books and things in here to entertain you. No phone or Internet though; sorry," he continued, not sounding very sorry. "Your bed is over there." He pointed at the metallic table-like thing she'd been sleeping on before. "I left some blankets so you can make it more comfy if you want. There's a stereo if the silence drives you nuts and you want to listen to some music or a drama or an audiobook or something. Just don't touch my tools or go nosing around. I have cameras set up and I'm going to be keeping an eye on you. If you disobey and I catch you digging around where your nose doesn't belong, I will come down here and penalize you."

She tried to avoid thinking about how some people would take this into a sexual way. While she thought Damon was scum and a murderer and she hated him intensely, she knew he wasn't a sexual predator. "Alright, fair enough," she finally responded. "I'll keep my nose where it belongs."

He nodded. "Good. I may come and visit you now and then, or check up on Vix and my other...projects. If you need company, just let me know with the camera."

"Uhh, okay."

"And if you're hungry, let me know. Or if you're bored. We'll find something for you to do." He nodded at a black door. "That room is forbidden. And it's also locked, so I'm not going to worry too much about you trying to access it, because it's probably not going to happen.

"I do sleep, but I think I'll stay up late tonight just in case. We'll see about later nights. Oh, and if Vix wakes up, please let me know. And please don't start anything with him—whether it's romantic or violent."

She tried not to think about the implications of what he'd said—either about staying for even more days with him or about Vix waking up. "Okay, okay, I got it. Is there anything else I need to know about my prison?"

"No, that's all—for now, at least. We'll see if I find anything else of importance to mention later."

"Alright." She started making her way toward her new bed.

"And Christie?"

"Yeah?" She turned back to stare at him.

"Good night," he offered.

She pursed her lips, furrowing her brow as she glanced awkwardly to the side and then back at him. Finally, she managed to say, "Good night, Damon."

"Sweet dreams," he called as he left. She heard the turn of the lock and his shoes as he walked away up the stairs until they faded into nothingness.

Then she sat in complete silence, staring at the floor. "Thanks," she finally murmured. "I guess."

Guess I'm a captive now, she thought. Looks like I'm the damsel in distress...again. Although this time, one of my knights in shining armour is captured here with me. She turned to look at Vix, and her heart ached.

With this upset thought, she sighed and closed her eyes, deciding to get some shut-eye first. Let's see if my dreams are any better than real life, she mused.

---

Buttercup leaned back, her lips falling away from Ross'. When she opened her emerald-green eyes, she was startled to see his red face. She suddenly realized what she'd just done, and her own cheeks flushed a bright red.

"B-Buttercup," he stammered.

"I...I think I like you, Ross. That kiss proved it. Now you know," she managed to choke out, suddenly wanting to disappear into a black hole.

He looked almost dizzy, as if her kiss had drained all of his energy. Her grip tightened on his clothes as she pushed on the wall to keep himself steady. "This is...so much; too much—I-I didn't know..."

"I wasn't sure either," she admitted, looking up at him, "until now."

"But you and Butch—"

Buttercup sighed, remembering her and her counterpart's most recent fight. She shook her head. "He and I are just friends, Ross. Nothing more, nothing less."

"No, this isn't right..." He shook his own head.

"What do you mean it isn't right? Why don't you want me to like you?" she cried.

He grabbed her gently, pulling her closer until he could bury his face in her hair. She gasped, wet eyes widening. "It's not like that," he murmured, "I do like you."

She pulled back just a little, not wanting to leave his embrace. "So what's so wrong about it?" she questioned.

He sighed quietly. "Oh, Buttercup... How am I supposed to tell you the truth? I don't want to keep secrets from you, but I don't want you to know either. I don't want to hurt you. Do you remember when I asked you how you'd feel if I were a monster?" He opened his eyes and gazed into hers.

"Yes," she whispered. "But you're not."

"You don't know that." Ross ran a hand through her hair, gently brushing aside stray strands.

"Well, I know you're my friend, and I trust you. And"—she hesitated—"I'm willing to be more than friends. Aren't you?"

"It's not that I'm not, but..." He trailed off and sighed, closing his eyes. Then he started leaning in. Buttercup wondered if she had finally gotten to him and he was going to kiss her again, but then he went for the nape of her neck, before pausing. She could feel his breath on her skin, which sent shivers down her arms. Then he pressed his lips against her neck. "You don't know how hard it is for me," he murmured, his head nestled on her shoulder.

"Hard for what?" she asked, heart thumping loudly in her ears.

"It's so hard for me when I'm around you. I'm just so attracted to you. It's hard to control myself sometimes."

"Does that mean—you...think I'm pretty?"

"It's not just that. You're beautiful, Buttercup. Don't you see it?" His emerald-green gaze bored into hers. "Your looks, your personality, even your smell—"

"M-My smell?" she stammered, dazed.

"Your smell," he confirmed, taking a deep breath. He paused, leaving her confused, before parting his lips just slightly. She watched in amazement as his teeth suddenly sharpened into jagged points. "Your blood just smells oh-so-good."

"Ross...?" she whispered, eyes wide.

He pulled her closer, sniffing. His eyes were so vibrantly green, but they looked hungry as he took all of her in. He was pressing soft, butterfly kisses on her neck, when he suddenly looked up and met her scared eyes. Then he suddenly froze, shrivelling back; forcefully shoving her away from him.

She let out a cry as she stumbled backwards.

Ross grabbed her before she could fall and stared into her eyes, his own eyes wide and fearful—no, terrified. He looked like he desperately regretted what he'd just done. "Buttercup, I'm so sorry. I am a monster." He sighed. "I told you it's hard for me to control myself around you sometimes. But it's also time I tell you the truth. I don't want to hurt you before it's too late."

She didn't dare speak, her eyes glued to his shimmering orbs. She saw his lips part and a glint of sharp, white teeth winked back at her. His eyebrows curved downward, making him seem sad, as if he didn't want to say what he was about to say... But he did anyway:

"I'm a vampire."

---

*(A/N: Reference to the episode "Town and Out"!)

**(A/N: Reference to chapter 18!)

***(A/N: Reference to chapter 64!)

ROSS: Wow. Almost can't believe you finally revealed it.

ME: Hey! What's that supposed to mean?

ROSS: I mean, nearly 70 chapters and you're just now revealing it?

ME: Plot reasons, okay! And for your information, that's not a bad thing. This story's going to be 100 chapters, after all!

ROSS: We know, we know.

BRICK: Looks like most of us are going through messy relationships at the moment. *raises an eyebrow at me*

ME: What? It makes life interesting!

BLOSSOM: You mean the story.

ME: Yeah, but you know...it's your lives.

BRICK: *groans* Don't remind me.

ME: You say that now, but you'll thank me later!

BRICK: As if.

BLASTER: We'll thank you now if you leave a review! We'll also love and appreciate you for it. Happy late Valentines Day once again, everyone!

ME: *whispers* Don't be like them! Be sure to have a happy, healthy relationship!

EVERYONE: H-Hey! Kuku!