CHAPTER 70: BATS ARE WOLFISH CREATURES

ME: Guess who's back!

BRICK: Oh no.

ME: Oh yes. Sorry about the wait, everyone! I've been busy and tired and sick and all over the place, really, but I am pretty happy with this chapter. *grins*

BRICK: That's an even worse sign.

ME: Oh hush, you. Anyway, this chapter is more lighthearted! I hope you guys enjoy. There's going to be some fun puns in here too.

BRAKER: Did someone say puns?

ME: I did indeed say puns!

BRAKER: Nice!

ME: Yup! Now read on, folks!

BRAKER: And don't forget to review!

Chapter 70: Bats Are Wolfish Creatures

Buttercup's mouth fell open. Her eyes were wide and her head was spinning. It seemed ridiculous, and yet she could see how much his confession would make sense.

"That's not to say I don't like you back at all; even as much as I am a vampire, I would never want to hurt you." Ross looked so depressed and scared; miserable about the truth and terrified by Buttercup's silence. "That time I said I might like someone else; someone other than Sydney... I was talking about you."

Suddenly, the world seemed to fade away as Buttercup froze, hearing those words. Her heart beat faster and her face turned hot as she turned to stare at Ross.

He looked up and met her eyes. "I like you that way too, Buttercup."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"I'm not; I swear!" he exclaimed, his baby-blue eyes wide, seemingly in shock that she was even considering his words as blasphemy. "Why don't you believe me?"

"DJ, I can't take that seriously! How else am I supposed to take it?" she demanded in response, narrowing her eyes. "You just told me you're a fucking vampire!"

"Because I am!" he burst out. "What's so hard to believe?"

"Because oh I don't know, freaking vampires! Listen, this isn't fucking Twilight, okay? What is this, vampires versus werewolves?" she retorted, throwing her hands into the air. She saw him hesitate, looking conflicted, so she sighed and lowered her arms. "I asked you to tell me a secret, but I didn't expect you to be such a dick about it."

His eyes stretched wide at the accusation. "I'm not trying to be a dick about it!"

"Yeah, well, you kind of are," she huffed back. "If you don't want to be one, then don't play some dumb prank on me like I'm some gullible five-year-old, you fucking jerk!"

"Bliss, I'm being serious!" He grabbed her hand and she tried to shake him off, but then he reached out and held her chin with his other hand. Their eyes met, and while she had a look of doubt on her face, his eyes were still too compelling for her to just ignore. "Look, I can prove it, okay? You just... You have to come with me somewhere secluded."

Snapping out of her trance, she yanked her head back and began shaking her head. "Oh no. No, no, no, no, no."

"Why not?" he responded, looking exasperated.

"I'm not going anywhere quiet and secluded with a dick like you," she snapped back. She was genuinely pissed off. She'd wanted this to fix their relationship, but DJ seemed determined on breaking it further by continuously treating her like she was an idiot. "I'm not playing your games anymore."

"God fucking dammit, Bliss, I'm not that type of person! How could you even think that about me? I thought you knew me!"

"I thought I did too, okay! And apparently I don't know you at all," she exclaimed, letting her hurt bubble to the surface. "I didn't realize what a big asshole you are, and even if that part isn't entirely true and somehow this vampire nonsense is, then—well, I didn't know you were a freaking vampire!"

He stared back at her, before dropping his gaze. "Fine. You're right," he admitted. "You don't know me as well as you thought, or as well as I'd like." He looked up again with his puppy-dog eyes and she felt her heart twist. "But I'm trying to change that, Bliss. I just... I just need your cooperation for it to work out."

She gazed into his eyes for what felt like eternity, before finally taking a deep breath and relenting. "Okay, fine. But only because I want to see where the hell this is all going; because if it's an act, it's a damn good one. I would've expected you to have dropped it by now."

"I told you, I'm not acting." He then held his hand out, and she hesitated before taking it. He turned around and nodded in a general direction. "Come on; follow me," he said.

Do I even have much of a choice in the matter anymore? she wondered as she trailed after him uncomfortably. They walked in silence for quite some time, until finally she dared to ask, "DJ... Where the hell are we going?"

"The back of the drama room. Where the next few things that happen might not be questioned if we try hard enough."

She fell silent again after that, and soon they arrived at the drama room. Deth Jackson Jr briefly greeted all the members there, saying hello to his many friends and club-mates before gently guiding Bliss towards the door hiding behind a rack of sparkly, silk-like dresses. They walked inside and he sat her down in a comfortable seat—but she still sat on the edge, feeling the very opposite of comfortable.

"Okay, get ready," he told her. "I'm about to blow your mind."

She raised an eyebrow, almost disbelievingly. Bliss had seen a lot of weird stuff in her life, and she wasn't sure if she was going to be very impressed. "Go ahead," she replied.

First he opened his mouth and she grimaced a bit as memories and possibilities filled her mind's eye briefly, imagery that she knew was inappropriate considering their conversation. Although...we are two teenagers alone in a secluded, dark room... she thought briefly, before flushing in embarrassment at such ideas. But then she noticed something unusual—his teeth were very, very pointy—and she had to admit, more so than what would be considered normal.

"Wait...what?" She tilted her head to the side, trying to examine the sharp teeth. She'd always known DJ and his friends had intense canines, but they'd never been that pointy before.

"Semi-retractable fangs," he explained. He then reached for something on a shelf, which looked like a bottle of red liquid. "And that red thing you keep seeing us chug down? It's not tomato juice or cranberry juice."

She had a bad, sickly sinking feeling of what was coming next.

"It's blood."

Bliss grimaced. The idea of anyone chomping their teeth into her neck to suck her blood was chilling—in fact; the very idea of even drinking blood was very, very odd to her.

"Relax," he said quickly, probably noticing her growing discomfort. "It's not freshly captured human blood or anything. Usually it's donated, or animal, or even synthesized. Sometimes we get blood samples from fellow vampires who have access to blood daily, like doctors and stuff."

Bliss frowned, not sure how she was feeling about his explanation.

"Okay," he sighed. "I can tell you don't completely believe me." He held out his arms. "But I think you will when you see this."

She watched, but then she blinked, and when she opened her eyes, he was gone. She looked around. "DJ? DJ, where the hell did you go?" Grumbling to herself, she folded her arms and leaned back in the chair. "God I knew I shouldn't have counted on him after the 'I'm a vampire' confession. I mean, what did you even expect, girl? He—"

"He's very wounded by that remark!" a high-pitched voice squeaked from above.

Her eyes grew wide and her head snapped upwards as she saw a giant bat-like creature floating in the air, beating its wings as it stared down at him. Her mouth dropped open almost immediately as her eyebrows shot upwards. She scrambled backwards and let out a small shriek. "OH MY FUCKING GOD."

"Wait, wait! Calm down!" he exclaimed in a squeak, before there was a whoosh of cold air and a small poof. He was back in human form, his eyes also wide and almost panicked as he attempted to comfort her. "I-I've never told anyone about this before, so I have no idea how I'm supposed to make you feel better," he admitted awkwardly, holding his hands out in front of him.

She kept back, her eyes still huge and shocked. "Y-You turned into a freaking... a freaking b-bat!" she stammered.

"Yes!" He looked relieved to hear that she was not so in shock as to be incapable of processing his message. "See, doesn't that prove it? I'm a vampire, Bliss, through and through! I'm a real life vampire."

Bliss blinked rapidly, before turning away with a shaky deep breath as she shoved her hand to her brown hair. "OhmyfreakingGodmyboyfriendisafuckingvampire," she stated in a rush. Despite her being able to say so out loud and DJ's relief at her ability to do so, she wasn't sure she was actually processing the information properly. "He's a fucking vampire," she said again, trying to get the fact to stick. "He sucks blood and ohhhhhmyGodIcan'tfuckingbelievethishe'safuckingvampire."

He frowned. "Bliss, are you okay?" he asked, reaching for her.

"Don't touch me!" she exclaimed, jumping back as she smacked his hand away. She stared back at him, eyes wide and breath heavy, as his own face turned into one of pain.

"Bliss..."

"I-I'm sorry; it's just that...i-it's not everyday your boyfriend tells you he's a bloodsucking vampire," she responded weakly, her shoulders sagging as she sighed.

"I may be a 'bloodsucking vampire', but you don't have to be afraid of me," he told her, his eyebrows furrowed. "I would never want to hurt you or put you in danger."

She turned to face him fully, looking into those eyes so blue and trying to dive deep—to see if he was telling the truth. And it looked like he was. She felt herself relax. "Promise?"

"Promise," he said reassuringly. "The last thing I want is to endanger you in any shape, way, or form. And I-I'm in control of my thirst; I really am. You... You don't have to worry, Bliss. You don't have to be scared of me."

She blinked a few times, before a small smile appeared on her lips. "Who said I was?" she asked teasingly in a soft voice. She reached out and he flinched, but he stayed very still as she touched his face. "I...I missed you," she finally admitted.

"I've missed you too," he breathed. "A lot."

The smile didn't leave. "I know," she murmured.

He inclined his head and pressed his lips against hers. She didn't resist. When he pulled away, his blue eyes glowed in the dark room as he broke out into a smile. "God I've missed that. I've missed everything about you."

"Believe me," she repeated, giggling. "I know."

He blushed a bit. "Yeah, okay; I admit I've been a bit clingy—"

"A bit?" she snorted. "More like a whole fuck-ton."

"Okay, so I—"

"Relax, I'm just teasing you." She pulled on his wrist so that he sat down beside her in the same chair. Bliss sighed peacefully, resting her head on his shoulder as she remarked, "I didn't really mind."

He relaxed. "Glad to hear that," he responded, before getting a mischievous grin on his face. He nudged her gently. "Enough about me. What about you? You should've seen the look on your face when I showed you I can turn into a bat."

"What?" Her face reddened a bit in embarrassment. "It really isn't everyday your boyfriend tells you he's a freaking vampire!"

He laughed. "What's so hard to believe? You're a super-powered teenager made from Chemical X and an old nursery rhyme who fights monsters and villains on a daily basis."

"Yeah, but there's some science behind it, at least. I honestly thought vampires were the stuff of myths," she retorted sharply.

"May I need to remind you that you've battled zombies and even the bogeyman on multiple occasions?"

"Have I?" Bliss asked slyly, a smirk playing at her lips.

He chuckled, nudging her again. "Oh, don't play dumb with me. You guys know the infamous Boogie Man* himself! And Blossom, Bubbles, and Buttercup fought Al Lusion the zombie**. Or what about Him? Some say he's the devil."

"Okay, okay, don't rub it in. So I might have gotten locked into my own little bubble where I just got so used to the zaniness and assumed it was normal, without realizing that other creatures outside of us could exist—not just in the world, but here in Townsville." She took a deep breath as she finished the long, run-on sentence. "Next thing you know, you'll be telling me that werewolves are a real thing too," she joked.

He smiled slightly. "Heh, yeah."

It wasn't quite the response she was expecting, so she continued onwards. "Anyway, let's talk more about you and your 'little' secret. What else can you do?"

"Most of the general vampire stuff," he answered.

"So considering the fact this is more like Twilight than I anticipated, do you sparkle in the sun?" she teased.

"Of course I do!" he responded, posing dramatically. "I'm too hot not to."

"DJ!" she laughed.

He smiled. "I mean, it really depends on how you are as a vampire. Some people are less sensitive than others, so the ones who aren't as sensitive only feel a slightly painful tingling sensation when under the sun. Other vampires feel like they're on fire, but probably not as dramatic as some of the movies about us out there show it as. I've never actually seen a vampire burst into flames under our sun before—you'd honestly think we'd evolve traits against that anyway—but I do know that prolonged exposure can kill certain vampires.

"I'm not as sensitive to light as some other people, so I guess yeah, I do 'sparkle harmlessly' a little bit. The sun kind of gives me a faint burning sensation, like a light tingle of electricity that's just above 'stubbed my toe' painful, so I do still wear sunscreen when going out. Other vampires might sparkle as they're being burned, you know?"

"Huh, that's actually really cool," she said. "It started as a joke but yeah, I want to know more about this. About you being a vampire."

"Well, okay." He was frowning a bit, looking hesitant again, but then he brightened and grinned. "But there's going to be a price."

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow. "What sort of price...?"

He pointed at his lips. "The kissing kind."

She smiled. "You're a fucking dork," she said, "but okay, sure—I can do that. Pucker up, big boy." He leaned down and she leaned up, and their lips met once more. I could get used to this, she thought. The whole "my boyfriend is a vampire" thing. It's not as weird as I initially thought. There was a small part of her that whispered, And what about Braker? Is he one too? But she pushed the thought aside for the moment as DJ's hands wrapped around her, now exploring, and she decided to just let herself go and lose herself in the moment for now. Braker can wait, she told herself. I'm right here right now—with DJ.

Blossom felt strange. She sat at the table, staring down at her food, not wanting to eat any of it. She didn't dare look up in case she met eyes with the brooding red gaze of Brick Jojo, the boy she'd been dating before a dispute made all of that fall apart.

She sighed inwardly, reaching out and picking up her fork only to nudge the peas on her plate around a little.

"What's the matter, Bloss?" asked Buttercup, an eyebrow raised. "Not feeling the peas today?"

"Not really feeling anything today," she responded in a murmur, setting the fork down again as she pushed the plate away. "I'm not hungry."

"You should still eat something," Bubbles fretted, her eyebrows furrowed. "You'll get hungry by the end of the day if you don't."

"I'll be fine," she promised in what she hoped was a reassuring tone. "Really."

"Better not push your luck, Pink-eye. You're only going to end up shoving everyone out."

She swallowed at the cold statement, lifting her face so that she finally met those dark red eyes she so feared. "Brick..."

"Jeez, Brick, what's your damage?" demanded Buttercup, quickly coming to her sister's defense. "You can't speak to your girlfriend that way."

He didn't turn to face the green Puff, his glower still trained on Blossom. "Who said she was still my girlfriend?" he replied through gritted teeth.

Blossom's stomach dropped.

She was aware of every head at the long table swivelling toward the two redheaded super-powered teens, every breath baited and every eye stretched wide. The tension in the room was pretty palpable, and Blossom felt it enough to want to be sick.

"What...?" gasped Bubbles, finally breaking the thick silence. "What happened...?"

"Care to explain, Pinkie?" he questioned coolly.

She quickly stood up. "I have to go," she mumbled quickly, before flying out the cafeteria before anyone could object. She didn't stop flying until she was at the other end of the school near the front, where she skidded to a stop before the office. She stood there, placing a hand on the wall to stabilize herself, and the other hand on her mouth, as tears began streaming down her face.

She hadn't really let herself cry in the past few hours since she and Brick had broken up. Except... Except for with Vincent.

She thought back to his confession in the nurse's office, and her stomach flip-flopped. She wanted to go to the washroom and throw up, or at least dry-heave. She wasn't sure what was worse: the fact that they'd broken up, or the horrible reality of having to tell all her friends and family how badly she'd failed. She could hardly imagine facing their restions; they'd be so disappointed in her, and how much would they judge her...?

"Blossom...? Blossom, are you okay?"

She jumped at the voice, spinning around to see Bunny standing over her with clear concern in her gentle, purple gaze. "B-Bunny," she gasped through the tears.

"What's wrong?" her sister pressed. Behind her was the ever-brooding dark presence of Darkai, his gaze unreadable as he stared at Blossom.

"N-Nothing's wrong; I-I'm fine," she stammered, quickly standing up straight as she wiped her tears away. She knew the reply was lame and cliché and all kinds of nonsense, but it had slipped off her tongue before she could even try and think of anything better.

Darkai raised an eyebrow but said nothing to Blossom. Instead, he leaned down and whispered something to Bunny.

Her sister's gaze turned firm and determined as she nodded her agreement. "This is obviously not 'nothing', Blossom. That wasn't even a believable statement. You know that."

Shame swept over her and a new set of tears came, fast and hard. She became a blubbering mess once more, but this time in front of her own sister and her boyfriend.

Bunny's voice softened as she reached out and hugged her. "There, there—it's alright. You don't have to lie about the way you're feeling."

Darkai stepped toward them and Blossom heard him murmur, "I'll leave you two alone. Bye, Bunny; I love you."

Blossom felt a pang at the all-too-familiar words. Who knew three words could hurt so much?

"I love you too," the purple Puff replied, leaning up to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. As she did so, she quietly asked him something and he nodded, before turning around and walking off.

"Where's he going?" Blossom questioned, wanting to shift the focus away from her. At least it's Bunny with me right now. She's so soft-spoken I can probably convince her not to pry. And with Darkai gone, it won't be so hard.

"Shhh, it's okay," her sister replied, not answering her question directly. "You'll see in a moment."

The door to the office opened and out stepped a very concerned lady who asked, "Are you quite alright, dear?"

"I-I'm fine," she replied quickly, brushing her tears away. She sniffled and nodded thankfully. The last thing I need is my breakdown to become a spectacle, she thought.

"Okay, but if you need to talk—"

"Don't worry," Bunny said quickly. "I'm here to help her. If we need your help, we'll come right back."

The lady looked hesitant, so Bunny sent Blossom a look that said "help me out here, please!", so Blossom decided to focus on one possible aspect of being as upset as she was, which involved feeling sick. "I-I don't feel too well," she murmured, trying her best to look as dizzy as she felt.

"Oh Gosh, let's call the Professor," her sister said loudly, already hurrying to pull out her phone. She dialled something in and spoke quickly: "Hey, Professor? Yes, something came up. Blossom doesn't feel too well"—pause—"right. Okay. We'll wait here for you." She turned to Blossom. "You okay?"

"I think I need to use the washroom," she replied.

"Of course," her sister agreed, already ushering her away. The secretary lady looked on with a frown, but didn't get a chance to comment. The two sisters floated onwards until they lost sight of the office, where Bunny finally relaxed her shoulders and sighed. "Wow," she whispered. "I was really scared there for a second."

"Did you actually call the Professor?" Blossom whispered back.

She nodded. "Anything for my sister."

Blossom managed a small smile despite her gloomy mood, but then it faded as she remembered why she was feeling so down. "Bunny, I...I've made a terrible mistake."

"Come on, Bloss—there's no need to be so dramatic. You're just going to miss the last few blocks of school—that's okay; it's just going to be this one time—"

"No, no! I mean... I mean I made a terrible mistake in how I treat people," she explained.

Bunny paused. "Oh..."

She averted her gaze, suddenly feeling small at the idea that someone could judge her for what she'd done. "Never mind," she mumbled.

"Blossom... What's going on?"

"Nothing—"

"That didn't sound like 'nothing'."

"No, really—I'm okay—"

"Blossom—"

"Look, let's just go—

"—can you just stop—"

"We have to wait for the Professor—"

"Stop lying to me! Blossom, just stop!" her sister cried.

She froze, turning to stare at her shy, gentle sister, who was now fiery and frustrated. "Bunny...?"

The purple Puff sighed, closing her eyes. "I'm sorry. I just...I can't keep listening to you trying to lie." She met her gaze. "I'm your sister, Bloss. And I'm worried about you. I want to help, but I can't if you're only going to shut me out like this."

Blossom looked down at the ground. "I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"How's about we try this again?" Bunny offered. "Start again from the beginning."

She stared back at her, before her gaze turned sad. "You've changed," she finally said, her voice soft.

"What...?" Bunny blinked, a blush creeping up her cheeks. "Wh-What do you mean?"

"Just that...well, you've changed. You're more confident now," she explained. "I'll admit I was relieved when I saw you, because out of all of us, I thought you would be the most easy to convince that I'm okay—or rather, to convince you not to pry. Because you're not oblivious, but you're shy and I thought maybe you wouldn't be confident enough to seek answers." She paused, suddenly self-conscious. "But that was wrong of me, Bunny. I'm sorry. I underestimated you."

She stared back at her sister, before looking away quickly. "I-I don't know what to say..."

"You don't have to say anything." She sighed, slowly sinking down against the wall. "I'm just messing everything up. I'm so, so sorry."

"Blossom..." She knelt down as well so that she was eye-level with her sister, reaching out to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I may not have to speak, but I can listen."

Her head shot upwards in surprise, tears pooling in her eyes.

"Bloss, what happened?" she asked quietly.

And that was when the dam burst again, and she buried her face in her sister's shoulder, who comforted her for the long few minutes where she let herself cry. When those tears finally began to recede again, she sat there, sniffling and shaking against her. She pulled away a moment later, looking up at her companion's gentle purple gaze. "I'll tell you," she finally managed to say.

"And I'll listen," she promised.

So Blossom spilled the tale about her argument with Brick after how far they'd fallen apart. How much it had hurt her when he chose to cut things off, but even more so how much it hurt knowing that he was hurting...and that she was the cause of his pain. She also told her about Vincent and his confession, and how jumbled all her thoughts and feelings were at the moment. How confused she now was.

When she finished, Bunny was quiet for a few moments. Then she murmured, "Oh Blossom... I didn't see how bad the situation you were in was."

"It's been hard," she admitted. "I haven't been the best girlfriend, and we've been on a rocky road for awhile now."

"I will admit that it was unfair to Brick to keep him tied down when your own knots were loosening"—Blossom grimaced at the honest assessment—"but feelings are feelings. They're irrational."

"I'm glad you understand," she mumbled.

Bunny smiled, before pausing. "I think you should talk to him."

Her eyes widened. "No, I can't—"

"Of course you can—"

"—you heard how it went last time!" she cried.

"That was last time. What about now, when you've both had time to calm down?" she ventured.

She shook her head wildly. "No, no, no. I really can't..."

"Well, that's too bad then. So I went through this trouble for nothing?"

The two jumped at the voice, spinning around to see a boy standing over them, his dark hair and dark eyes blending in with the shadows.

Bunny brightened. "Darkai!" she exclaimed, jumping up to hug him quickly. "You're back!"

"Hey, Bunny." He planted a soft, gentle kiss on her cheek, before turning around. "Come out of the shadows," he called, his voice going from warm and affectionate to cold and commanding.

Blossom froze, fearing the worst and then feeling the worst when her fears were proven to be true: Brick Jojo stepped out of the shadows, a glare and a snarl fixed on his face.

"What did you drag me here for?" he demanded, his glare pinned on Darkai. "I don't need to witness you making moves on Bunny when Bandit—"

Darkai stepped aside to reveal Blossom, still sitting on the floor with her pink eyes wide. The tall, dark-haired boy gazed back at Brick, eyebrow raised. "What about Bandit?" he asked coolly.

Brick had gone rigid, his eyes round, but now they narrowed. "Blossom."

"Brick..." she breathed, her stomach twisting into a thousand knots.

"I'm leaving," he announced, spinning around.

"Brick, wait!" cried Bunny, jumping up suddenly. When he hesitated, she pounced on the moment's pause. "You and Blossom need to talk."

"...No, we don't."

"Brick, please!" She floated over so that she was in front of him. "You're not being fair—"

"Fair...? Fair?" he repeated, scoffing. "Don't tell me what is and isn't fair! I have given this girl so many chances—so many more than she deserves—only to have my heart be broken again and again and again! And I'm the one who's not being fair?"

Blossom flinched at the harsh words as Bunny tried to save her argument: "I'm sorry; I didn't mean it that way... I-I do think it was unfair of Blossom to cast you aside, but she really didn't mean to—"

"I didn't mean to fall for her as hard as I did," he retorted, his voice sharp yet hoarse and filled with pain. He turned to look at his counterpart, his eyes teary and hollow. "But I did. And it hurt me in the end."

Blossom swallowed hard. "Brick, I—"

"So maybe you didn't mean to hurt me. But you still did it," he interrupted, staring right at her. "And even if you can't make up your mind, I can at least see who you really want, at least in your heart." Her eyes widened, but he kept going: "You want him, Bloss. He makes you happy. He makes you smile. He makes you feel important and special and loved—all things I thought I was capable of doing, but...apparently not."

She hung her head, ashamed of the assessment. He wasn't entirely wrong. "He does make me smile," she admitted. "He's so sweet. He's a real gentleman—"

"I don't have to hear this," he said, looking disgusted and distraught as he started turning away again. Blossom quickly forged on ahead. She wasn't going to lose him. Not a second time.

"—but he doesn't know me."

Brick paused, swallowing as his fingers curled into tight fists.

"He doesn't know me like you do, Brick. And I...don't know him. I don't know his story or how he may act behind closed doors... All I know is what he chooses to show me, and everything he's shown thus far has pointed to him being...'perfect'. Almost...too perfect."

He stood still, not saying anything at first.

Blossom felt her heart thud against her chest as she continued speaking. "I-I got swept up by an ideal, Brick. I couldn't handle the idea that couples can have drama happen between them and ended up being a jerk. I've been jealous and controlling to you and yet I've acted so much more unfaithful than you have—I-I've just been terrible to you in general."

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes.

She tapered off, now nervous by his lack of a reaction. But she wasn't about to back down. "I've taken you for granted, and for that, I'm truly sorry." She paused. "At least... At least now you know that you were always in the right and that I'm just a hypocrite."

Brick was quiet for awhile longer, before he finally turned around and smiling slightly with tired eyes. "I was waiting for those words."

Her eyes widened. "Does...that mean...?"

He sighed softly. "I'm just...so tired of us fighting, Bloss. I just...I just want us to be happy again, and I think we can do it together. Is that okay with you?" he asked.

Tears sprang to her eyes and she grinned. "Yes! God, yes!" She leaped at him and hugged him, burying her face in his shirt. "I'm so sorry, Brick. I'm so sorry!"

"There, there," he murmured, stroking her hair. "It's okay now. Gosh, Blossom—you sure are sentimental."

She smiled and wiped her eyes before looking up at him. "Oh, don't act like you aren't tearing up either, you big goofball."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he chuckled, wiping his own eyes.

Blossom grinned. "I'm just happy we got that worked out."

He smiled back at her. "Me too," he whispered, before leaning down to kiss her.

Meanwhile, off to the side, Bunny and Darkai shared a look. She smiled at him, and despite his clear disinterest in anything relating to the Ruffs, he couldn't help but smile back just a bit.

"Let's go and leave them alone now," she whispered to him.

He nodded, glad to leave the two reds to themselves, and took her hand. He let her guide him down the hallways until they were at her locker.

As she unlocked it and reached inside for the things she needed for next block, she said, "I'm so happy we were able to help them get their issues worked out. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I'm happy when you're happy," he stated simply. It was true. He could care less what other people did with their lives, but he did care a lot about Bunny.

"Well, at least you're sort of happy about them being together again," she remarked jokingly, turning to give him that bright smile he loved so much. "Because you kind of have to be and all, since it makes me happy."

"I don't mind," he said truthfully, gathering her up in his arms and planting a soft kiss on her forehead.

"That's good," she giggled. "So would you do anything for me? Buy a big diamond ring for me?"

He raised an eyebrow, amused. "Are you referencing a Marina and the Diamonds song?"

Her cheeks turned a little pink, but she was still smiling. "Yup! Good catch. It was 'Primadonna Girl'. I'm surprised you knew who it was from."

"I'm surprised you listen to Marina and the Diamonds," he teased back. "Didn't take you for the type."

"Hey!" She made a pouty face. "I have a very wide range of taste in music, I'll have you know."

"Good to know," he responded. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind." He leaned in closer and kissed her gently on the lips. "Also, for the record, I'd do anything for you. Even buy a big diamond ring if you wanted me to."

"Aww, that's so sweet of you. But don't worry; you won't have to," she said, feeling warm and fuzzy on the inside. "I'm not much of a primadonna girl, despite me liking the song."

"Well, at least not for now. And perhaps not for a long, long time. But we'll have to see about the future," he replied.

Her eyes widened as her cheeks turned a deep scarlet. I-Is he teasing me? Did he just hint at us getting married? Oh my God!

Darkai didn't dwell on the subject though. He was already pulling away from her and glancing at his wristwatch. "It's almost time for class to start," he murmured, before turning back to her. "I have to go, my little Bunny. But I'll see you at the end of the day. I love you."

She couldn't quite meet his eyes. "I-I love you too," she stammered.

He paused, before reaching out and resting a hand on her forehead. She jumped, her eyes darting upwards. He was gazing at her with concern. "You okay? Your face is heating up."

"I-I-I'm fine!" she managed to splutter. When he furrowed his brow, she swallowed and tried to calm down. "Sorry; I'm just a little tired."

"Get some rest," he suggested. "I can cover for you if your teacher asks if you want."

"No, no! There's no need. I'm okay—seriously!" She tucked a few stray strands of her brown hair behind her ear and smiled. "Blossom's already getting picked up by the Professor. We can't have two Powerpuff sisters going home in the span of one day!"

"And why not? If you're not feeling well—"

"I'm fine, Darkai. Don't worry about it," she stated reassuringly. "I was just caught off-guard for a moment back there."

He tilted his head to the side, causing her heart to skip a beat. "By what?"

"Nothing you need to worry about," she promised him.

"The only thing I ever need to worry about is you," he responded.

"Aww, that's so romantic! But really, I'm okay." She gave him a hug. "Look, I have to go now, but I'll see you at the end of the day, okay? I'll be fine; promise."

"Okay," he said hesitantly, still frowning. "As long as that's what you want."

"It is," she reassured him, giving him a quick kiss. "Bye, Darkai!"

"Goodbye, Bunny."

She waved before blasting off, a lavender streak stretching out behind her. As she flew, she thought back to Darkai's implication about the ring and her heart skipped a beat. She hugged her books closer to her chest, face warm. Is that what I want? I haven't really thought about it, but...with the way things are between us, would I marry Darkai? she wondered.

A few feet away, a darker purple streak was also blasting through the hallways, but the person leaving it behind paused when he saw her. He hesitated for a split second before calling out, "Hey, Bunny—"

The other streak didn't stop, however, and when it disappeared around a corner, he frowned. "...Never mind then," he muttered under his breath, dark-purple eyes now even darker, before he flew off.

Meanwhile, Bunny was still contemplating about the potential future hinted at through Darkai's words. He is sweet and cool, if also just a little broody. I know he loves me and I love him, and we love each other a lot—at least as of right now, so maybe I would— Bunny froze then, suddenly realizing something. Hey, wait a second. Did someone just call out to me?

She skidded to a stop and glanced around, before floating back a few steps and peeking around a corner just to check, but the only thing she saw was a fading plum-coloured streak. Her eyes widened at the implication of the dark purple colour. The sight made her heart clench as she hugged her books tighter.

Oops.

Michael's last memory was of warm arms wrapped around him.

He blinked open his eyes, still feeling warm, but was surprised to see that he was sitting in a dark, currently unfamiliar room with a green blanket wrapped around his body. He blinked a few times, feeling disorientated, before realization struck.

Damon had beaten him unconscious.

His hands curled into fists underneath the blankets, their grip on the fabric tightening until it became a wrinkled mess. He let out a low growl of anger.

"Oh thank God you're awake," a voice called out, and for a second Michael thought it was Damon's.

He spun around and hissed out loudly, "You!" before pouncing, despite the pain he was in. A sharp jolt of that pain shot through his side and he landed on the man clumsily, causing the both of them to roll across the floor until they hit the wall.

"Ow," his opponent muttered, rubbing the back of his head. "Michael, what's going on?"

He curled his lip back in a snarl, his grip on the man's shirt tightening. "Don't play dumb with me, Damon."

The man blinked his warm chocolate-brown eyes, which had turned wide. "But...I'm not Damon," he said quickly. "It's me—I'm Raymond!"

Michael's eyes widened as he blinked rapidly a few times. Sure enough, he could now make out the differences. This man's face wasn't as marred as Damon's was, and his eyes seemed less like cold, golden orbs and more like melted caramel, and he was wearing a blue cloak instead of a green one. He quickly scrambled upwards and helped his companion to his feet. "I'm so sorry," he apologized quickly. "I'm a little out of it right now."

"I can imagine," he replied. "You were wounded pretty badly. We found you in front of the door in the back, wrapped in that green blanket."

Michael looked back to see the crumpled blanket now thrown carelessly on the bed. He walked slowly toward it, feeling it as a thousand questions raced through his head.

Raymond watched him for a few quiet moments, his head tilted to the side, but now he asked quietly, "What happened to you, Michael?" He had a feeling he already knew.

He glanced back at the man. All he could see was a horrible, golden gaze of a man he wished he could just erase from the world. He swallowed hard. "Damon happened."

The other man sighed. "I knew it. I knew letting you go was a mistake. Chris and Maggie are furious right now."

"I'll tell them it was all my idea," he said quickly. He didn't want Raymond to be punished for his actions.

"Maggie wouldn't care. She'd still 'chop off my limbs and stuff those in a pot and cook them before feeding them to me and then boil me alive', as she so kindly told me a few minutes ago," he sighed.

"I snuck out. You had nothing to do with it. You weren't even in the room at the time." Michael was rubbing his chin, trying to think of an excuse, before snapping his fingers. "Hell, I'll tell them that it was Coal guarding the door or something. Now there's a guy who deserves to be taught a lesson."

"I appreciate the sentiment, especially considering the fact I have plenty of bones to pick with that asshole, but no, I can't let him be punished for something that's my fault."

"Fine then! We'll just stick with the story about you not being in the room. In fact, when you came in to invite me to tea with Ross, I was already gone! How about that?"

"Well...I guess that could work, but—"

"Good! Then that's what we're going with," he interrupted. He paused for a brief moment, before turning to frown at the older man. "Wait...you said you have plenty of bones to pick with Coal. Do you guys have a history together or something?"

"Barely," he said quickly. "He's just been a jerk to me since I got here, is all."

"Ahh." He glanced at the clock on the wall. "How long have I been out?"

"Three hours since you got back," he replied. "But probably longer. You've been missing for six hours, Michael."

"What...?" He stared at his companion, eyes wide. "I've been gone for how long?"

"Six hours—"

"No, no, I heard you the first time. It was rhetorical. I'm just shocked at the number." He waved his hand, not wanting him to repeat it. "Jesus Christ. That's pretty long. What the hell happened after...?" He trailed off, not wanting to say anything about his encounter with Damon.

"After what, Michael?" the other man questioned. "What did he do to you?"

He was silent for awhile, staring out into the garden through the window. When he finally decided to say something, he sighed and turned to face Raymond. "He knew."

Raymond's face was unreadable. "Knew what?"

"He knew I wanted my sister back." Now angry at the memory, Michael slammed his hand into a container of pills on the counter beside him and watched as it bounced onto the ground. It rolled across the floor and stopped when it bumped into Raymond's foot. The man didn't move. "He mocked me for it. Said that even if he was committing war crimes, he'd never have to face the consequences for doing so because none of us would dare report him to the police. None of us would dare expose ourselves." He curled his lip back. "And the worst part is, he was right."

Raymond was still silent.

"He laughed at the situation. He found it funny." Michael shook his head, filled to the brim with rage. "He threatened to get someone else to kill her."

"I'm sorry—"

"I'm not done." He faced the man again, tears in his eyes. "When I hit him, he defeated me so easily—it made me so angry, knowing I couldn't beat him, and even angrier because he knew it too—and when I forced myself up enough to tell him not to walk away, you know what I saw in those eyes? You know what I saw that made everything ten times worse?"

He shook his head.

"I saw pity in those brown eyes, Raymond." He swallowed hard, sitting against the windowsill as he lifted his head to the ceiling and tried to blink back his tears. "And it made me reminisce about the old days. I asked him about it. I asked him if he remembered those days, when we were still together like a family."

A flicker of an emotion passed over his companion's face, before they turned away, eyes shadowed.

"He remembered. He called me a loveable brat, as if he has any right to treat me like an old friend." He wiped his eye, sniffling. "He didn't care though. He wasn't sorry about the whole ordeal. He smiled when he confirmed my accusation that he wasn't sorry. Then he knocked me out."

"I'm really sorry," Raymond finally said, looking pained. "I'm sorry about everything my brother has done to hurt you and your friends and family."

"It's not your fault," he sighed. "Damon is Damon and you're Raymond." He gulped, trying to get air in his lungs. "You're not him."

"No...I'm not. But—"

"RAYMOND, YOU MANGY OLD WOLF!" a voice shouted as the door was thrown open.

Both people jumped, looking up to see a mass of frizzy red hair whisk in, the fiery colour a big contrast to the gloomy gray room. The hair belonged to a woman with sharp green eyes who stormed inside like lightning and thunder. She was followed by a serene-looking man with blue eyes and blond hair—a very familiar dynamic duo.

"Mom! Dad!" gasped Michael, looking up. He wiped his eyes quickly because he knew how much his parents hated seeing their kids cry, and jumped off the ledge to run over to them.

Maggie's emerald-green eyes widened. "Oh my God!" she screamed. "Honey bear, you're awake!" She threw her arms around her son. "Oh thank the stars you're okay! I've been so worried! Do you have any idea how worried I've been?"

"We're happy you're back and that you're okay," Chris added.

"I'm sorry, Mom—"

"When I saw your bruised and battered body lying out there in that stupid green blanket I knew right away who did this to you and I was just so angry and worried and relieved to at least see you were back and oh my God Michael don't ever scare me like that ever again you just—you put me on this whirlwind of an emotional journey and I've been a wreck for the past few hours—"

"Mom, I'm okay! It's okay now," he interrupted.

She grinned. "I'm so freaking glad you're alright," she told him. "I'm just so happy my baby boy is safe now." She hugged him again, squeezing tight, before glaring at Raymond. "No thanks to you, you filthy animal."

"No, Mom! It wasn't his fault. I left without anyone knowing," he said quickly.

"That's not the story he told us!" she cried. "He told me he let you go."

Michael turned to stare helplessly at Raymond, who was looking up at them with his head bowed slightly. "With all due respect, Madame," he said slowly, "I only said that I was the last person who entered his room and saw him in the house before he disappeared."

"He told me what happened," Michael added quickly. "He came in and I was already gone. He saw me coming into my room and was coming after me to invite me to tea with Ross. I left through the window." Maggie frowned, glowering at Raymond, but Michael wasn't about ready to give up. "Just ask Ross!"

"I will," she confirmed, before getting up. She stomped over to the man in the blue cloak, eyes narrowed. "My son better be telling the truth, or else I really am going to cook you alive." She smiled coolly. "How does fried wolf sound to you?"

He shuddered involuntarily, but didn't let himself flinch visibly. He just stared back at her, and when she finally whirled around and left the room, he let himself relax.

"I must apologize for my wife," Chris stated. He had his arm around Michael's shoulder. "She's just been very worried about our son, as have I."

"I can see th—"

"That being said," he continued calmly, "if it turns out you're lying about this, I will wholeheartedly support my wife's decision in boiling you alive."

Raymond gulped while Michael nudged him. "Dad! You're going to scare him."

"I'm not the one he should be afraid of," Chris said simply.

As if on cue, Maggie came back inside with her arms folded. "Alright, fine. You win this round, Raymond. But if this ever happens again, I'm blaming you anyway."

"Mom, you can't do that! That's not fair," Michael cried.

"Not now, sweetie." She smiled at him, before spinning back around to Raymond. "The grown-ups are talking," she responded, the last sentence being ground out between her clenched teeth. "Or rather, the grown-ups are trying to talk to a wild and feral wolf."

"He's on our side though," he protested. "We have to be able to trust him."

"That's just it. I don't trust him." She sniffed in disdain. "And I don't want to trust him."

"Come on, dear. At least we now know Michael is okay," Chris murmured softly. "Let's calm down and get focused on now finding Christie. We don't need to pay him any mind right now—it'd be like focusing our attention on the wrong target."

Maggie sighed. "You're right, Chris." She leaned in and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "Thanks, sweetie. I'm glad you're there for me as the voice of reason in troubling times like this."

He simply nodded as she left the room. Before he followed her out the door, he glanced back at his son and the brother of a man he used to know.

"Thanks," Raymond mouthed.

Chris gave a slight inclination of his head before he disappeared out the door.

He turned back to the teenage boy by his side. "You might have saved me, but I'm pretty sure you've still set your mother off on a rampage."

"Well, maybe that's what we need right now," Michael replied. "The war's been going on long enough. Mom and Dad are just as worried about Christie as I am. And they're strong. They can take Damon."

Raymond glanced away, but Michael didn't notice. His face was pained. I'm afraid you might be overestimating your parents' abilities...or underestimating my brother.

"Don't worry about it, Raymond," the boy continued. "When Mom goes on a 'rampage', she's unstoppable—especially with Dad on her side. They'll get this all sorted out."

He remained silent, but a few rooms away in Danes' office, voices were nothing but silent:

"You will let us go this instance!" Maggie was demanding, glaring at the man seated before her.

Danes stared back, face empty as he said simply, "I'm afraid I can't do that, Maggie dear."

"Don't you dare call me 'dear'," she hissed, flashing her fangs at him.

"We have to go save her, Danes," Chris added softly from where he was standing beside the door, across the room from the two quarrellers before him.

He sighed, closing his eyes and unlocking his hands as he rubbed his temples. "Maggie, d"—he paused to look up, saw her expression, and probably thought better of his word choice by cutting himself off—"I'm afraid I can't send two of the most important members of this household out on a suicide mission."

"You keep saying that," she snarled back, "as if my children don't matter at all."

"Of course they do!" he retorted. "But what would I do if I lost another Hawthorne?"

"What do I care!? I want my daughter back, Danes! Will you stop thinking about reputation for once in your life and start thinking about family!? You're her uncle, for God's fucking sake! Can't you care about that!?"

"Of course I care!" He bolted upwards, slamming both hands into his desk—his voice rose several octaves as he lost his composure. "Don't you dare implicate that I do not!"

"Then start acting like it, you fucking jackass! I can't stand back and wait for my daughter to die!"

"He wouldn't... He wouldn't kill her," Danes choked out.

Maggie glared back at him, green eyes flaring with accusation. "And how do you know that?" she hissed icily.

"Because...I know Damon."

"No, you don't." She leaned in closer, fangs bared and eyes flashing red. "You think you do, but this isn't the same Damon you knew from all those years ago—the one you got along with all buddy-buddy. No. This is a monster. A feral, voracious wolf whose appetite will never be satisfied. A wolf who is currently holding my daughter captive. He's a fucking monster, Danes. And don't you fucking dare try to ever defend him ever again."

"No...I'm not trying to." He faced her, looking pained. "But I do know Damon. Even this cruel, twisted, corrupted version of him. He won't kill her—because he needs her. He wants to use her, Maggie—for information; as a hostage—Christie is just too valuable for him to simply kill off."

"How can you be so sure?"

"She's a Hawthorne, after all." He sighed, closing his eyes. "Damon wants to lure us in. Trap us. Wipe us out. This isn't his war. It's ours. To him, it's all just a game—and Christie will help him win it." He opened his eyes. "I can't have you guys go after him. It's what he'd want."

"I don't care what he wants," she replied quietly. "I want you to respect what I want. I want my daughter back."

"I know—"

"She's a Hawthorne, Danes. She's one of us."

"I know—I would never want her to be in danger of any kind. She's my niece, and I care so much about her, but Maggie, think about the consequences—"

"To hell with that!" she shouted. "If you deny me this, there'll be more than just consequences. I'll still head out anyway, but without protection and without telling anyone. It'll be even more risky and dangerous. And you know assigning guards to keep an eye on me would never work. I'd get rid of them all in the blink of an eye. They could even end up dead." Maggie stared him dead in the eye, her voice firm and unchanging. "But if you were to give me a battalion—let us go in there with guns blazing—as a force, as a family, as a team—then maybe we'd stand a chance. We could lessen the number of casualties. We could do it. We could win."

Danes was silent for awhile, but when he spoke again, his voice was small. "If any of us die in that fight, it would spell the end."

"If my daughter dies because you were too cowardly to act, then there'd be more than just one Hawthorne dying, which would spell the end anyway." Maggie cracked her knuckles, her gaze pinned on his. "I'd make sure of that."

He stared down at his hands. "I just can't risk it—"

"Danes. Listen to me. We could stand a chance if we go in together. The ending isn't set in stone yet. But if we don't do anything, then it's guaranteed that more than one Hawthorne is dying. And more than just one of us."

"...You're threatening the entire household." He placed his head in his hands, feeling a headache coming on. "What you're threatening is treason, Maggie."

She was quiet for a few seconds, but when she spoke again, her voice was quiet and so unlike her that it sent a chill down his spine. "Anything for my daughter."

He swallowed, trying to think but being unable to catch any idea by the tail enough to dwell on a thought. Finally, he caved in and sighed, "Fine. You're allowed to go."

Maggie released a breath. "Thank you, Danes. You won't regret this."

"And Maggie?"

She paused, before glancing back. "Yes?"

"Be careful. And bring her back for me. She is my niece, after all—and I love her and I want her home."

"...Of course." Then she and Chris were gone, having disappeared out the door.

Danes sat in silence for a very, very long time, simply listening to the ticking of the grandfather clock in his office. As he sat there, a headache pounding inside his skull, he felt something wet drip down his face.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Great.

A knock sounded on the door, and he jolted his head upwards just as a flash of lightning illuminated the room behind him. He glanced at the window. It was pouring rain outside. He wondered how much time had passed, and when the storm had started.

The door slowly opened, creaking lightly, and in stepped a familiar face, currently filled with concern.

Danes relaxed his shoulders. "Oh, it's you."

"Is that any way to greet an old friend?" The man entering shook himself off, dripping water all over the floor.

"Please don't shake yourself like some mangy dog," he said tiredly. "You're getting my carpet wet."

"I think your carpet will live to see another day." He looked up, rain sliding down his nose. His black raincoat glistened underneath the dim lights. "But will you, Danes?"

"What on Earth are you blabbing about?"

There was another flash of lightning and a look of surprise came across the other man's face. "Are you...crying?"

"That's none of your concern." He turned his face away.

"Either you've been out in the rain, or you're crying. And I don't know which one's harder to believe, as they're both pretty unlikely." He was walking towards him now—he could hear his companion's footsteps. "But probably the crying one. Because if I remember correctly—Danes doesn't cry."

"...Why the hell are you here?" he asked quietly, after long moments of silence.

"Because I'm worried about you, Danesy." The other man sighed, sitting down on the desk. "DJ was asking about the boys, so I thought we'd pay you a visit." He glanced out the window. "I didn't expect it to start raining so heavily though."

"You should've stayed home." He stared at the window, refusing to look at the other man.

"...This is rather cold, even for you," he finally remarked.

"As I said, you should've just stayed home."

His friend sighed again. "Can you not...?"

He didn't reply.

"Will you stop acting like some asshat who's wallowing in an ocean of self-pity? This isn't you, Danes."

"And how would you know who I am?"

"I know you aren't some pathetic little whiny asshat."

"You don't understand what it's like—"

"What? 'What it's like to be me'? Is that what you were going to say—like some pathetic whiny little asshat?"

"Shut the hell up—"

"No, I'm not shutting up! I'm serious about this, Danes. You're acting ridiculous. You're supposed to be a commander, not this mess."

He could feel the anger boiling inside of him. "You shouldn't comment on things you know nothing about—"

"I know you, Danes!" His voice grew quieter then after his outburst. "I know you," he repeated, more sincerely in a gentle manner this time.

Lightning flashed and thunder clapped from behind them, lighting up the two arguing silhouettes.

"You don't know me!" He spun around, glaring at the other man. "You don't know anything! You're always so happy-go-lucky, assuming everything will work out in the long-run—you always pay other people to deal with your problems, when I'm sitting here trying to solve everything by myself. Everything falls upon my shoulders! You have no idea what it's like to carry this burden—to try so hard to carry on the legacy of my father, Don Hawthorne—during moments like these—moments of war, of conflict, of trouble and pain—when everything is in ruin. You don't know anything, Deth Jackson!"

Deth Jackson Sr stared back at him, looking stunned. "Danes..."

He turned away. "Can you just go?"

He frowned, eyes narrowing, before he grabbed the man's chin and yanked his face towards him. "Just listen to yourself! You sound like you're fifteen again—as if you're some emotionally unstable, whiny little teen! No one ever said you have to do everything by yourself, you jackass! I'm here, aren't I? And so are Maggie and Chris and about every single vampire in Townsville. Why are you acting like none of us are good enough for you? That we simply don't exist? As if we can't contribute anything of our own? We're not helpless, you know! And when you're feeling helpless like you are right now, Danes, you're more than allowed to ask for help! No one is saying that in order to live up to your father, you have to do everything alone! He never did everything by himself—he had James and Amanda Patterson, Tyrone and Shamus' parents; and Dahlia, his wife! He was a leader who knew how to interact with his people and for God's fucking sake, Danes—that's the kind of leader we need right now, during these times of 'trouble and pain'!" When he finished, his shoulders were heaving. "You need to start trusting us!"

Danes stared back at him, gray eyes large and wide in startled, pained shock as he lost his usual stony exterior, tears dripping down his face—and in that instant, Deth Jackson Sr saw someone vulnerable and exposed—someone more human than batty—someone he recognized.

Someone he hadn't seen in quite some time.

An image of a younger, more relaxed and happy Danes flashed inside his mind's eye as his shoulders fell and his gaze softened. "I'm sorry—I shouldn't have snapped at you like that," he apologized, sighing as he let go. "You're going through a tough time right now and I know that, but—goddammit you can be so hard to work with sometimes, you know th—"

"DJ."

He paused, glancing back at his old friend, startled to hear his old nickname being used—the one that now usually meant people were addressing his son and not him. It was even weirder and more jarring because it was Danes saying it. "Yeah? You haven't called me that in ages—"

"Shut up." A small smile was now on Danes' face. It almost resembled a look of gratitude. "But thank you. I needed that."

"Oh...n-no problem." Now awkward and flustered, the man's face was flushed slightly red as he cleared his throat. "A-Anyway, I think it's time you step up as a leader, don't you?"

"Yes, I agree." Danes stood up so that he was at eye-level with Deth Jackson Sr, who was still sitting on his desk. "But first...how am I supposed to repay you for that favour?"

His face brightened, breaking out into a sly smirk. "I think I know how, my dear Danesy."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"It's certainly raining pretty heavily outside," he remarked. "And we're dealing with such dark times—I really do need some sunshine in my life." DJ Sr smiled. "And you owe me this, sunshine."

More lightning flashed, illuminating the now one singular silhouette in the dark, quiet room.

It was raining hard outside.

Damon stared out the window, long shadows stretching out across the objects strewn all around him. He blinked a few times before glancing back at the still shape beside him on his couch. A small amused, tired smirk played at his lips.

Another day, another boy on my couch, I guess, he thought, before getting up to grab something to snack on. He'd managed to defeat Michael, but he wouldn't deny that the boy had left some pretty terrible marks on his skin. As much as he hated to admit it, Damon was still far from invincible.

As he prepared himself some bread, he remembered that he would need to feed Christie eventually too. It would be hard to get her to the kitchen when her brother was literally lying in the room next to her unconscious (Damon had a feeling she would feel like snooping and would not like seeing her brother in such a condition), so he needed to get rid of the body before that.

I wonder what would happen if I had killed him, he wondered briefly.

The curious look into another possibility brought on the memory of that poor, defeated boy asking him if he remembered their past together—when they were both still innocent. When Damon had no blood on his hands except for perhaps his brother's, and when Michael was but a small, wee little lad.

I wonder if the old Damon would be able to recall it vividly, he mused. I certainly don't remember it as well as I wish I could.

Sometimes he wondered about things like this a lot. He'd already told Christie when she first discovered that he was still alive that he didn't remember whether or not he killed Tyrone***, but sometimes he really did wonder whether or not that was the whole truth.

Then again, memories are pretty fleeting.

The thought slipped in like an old friend, and he settled on it as he sat down and listened to the rain patter against his windows. His mind wandered down memory lane as he searched for a happy day in his thoughts.

Flashback

"The stars looked like specks of white glitter against dark-blue fabric from here," a young boy said, his brown eyes wide. The white lights were reflected in his eyes, shimmering and sparkling.

The woman beside him smiled. "That sounds most poetic," she commented, stroking his hair.

He looked back at her and smiled too. "Thanks, Mother. Speaking of poetry, I've been working on a new one recently. Do you want to hear it?"

"I'd love to," she began, before she was interrupted.

"Come on inside, you two—before you catch a cold," a man's voice called.

The woman looked up and smiled somewhat. "You're home!" She jumped from the ledge and ran towards him, reaching out to hug him and plant a kiss on his cheek.

He chuckled. "Of course. I wasn't planning on leaving my favourite people behind in the real world!"

"Oh, you goofball. Don't sound so casual. I was really worried, you know. What if I lost you?" she exclaimed, tears appearing in her eyes despite her still smiling. She sounded choked up. "I wish I could've been there to fight with you, but someone had to take care of our babies."

He swung her around. "Don't worry, Debbie; I wouldn't dare disappear before I felt it was my time to go."

The boy followed at a slower pace, smiling as his mother and father spun around in circles. "Father, it's so nice to see you again," he said when they'd finished.

"Ahh, Damon; my son! One of my two favourite boys in the universe. How's it been?" He let go of his wife to kneel down and scuffle his son's hair.

Damon laughed, "I'm great, Father."

"Speaking of my favourite boys, where's the other rascal?" He looked up.

"He's gone to sleep," Debbie explained, coming to stand beside them. She placed her hand on her husband's shoulder. "He was really excited to see you again, Nathan. He threw a fit when he heard that you couldn't get back on time."

"Oh dear." Nathan stood up. "I didn't mean to upset him."

"We know, and it's not your fault." Debbie reached over and straightened a pin on his shirt. "You've been very busy, being away fighting and all. Raymond was just excited to get to spend time with you again. He was awake just a few hours ago talking—"

"I still am, you know."

Everyone started, turning to look up at where at the top of the staircase stood a young boy. He was yawning, rubbing one eye and carrying a blanket around him. He looked exactly like Damon. "Hi, Father," he said, his voice cold.

"Ray! Come down here and give your old man a hug," Nathan called, reaching out and stepping toward Raymond.

The boy recoiled, his eyes narrowing. "Why would I do that?" His tone turned icy immediately. "You come back late and expect me to forgive you just like that? Don't think I'll forgive you for forgetting what day it was two days ago!"

"But Ray, I've been—"

"Off fighting in the war. I know that. But you can't just forget your own sons' birthday! No card, no showing up—not even a call to wish us a happy birthday!" Raymond spat, his eyes blazing. "I hate you, Father!" Then he spun around and stomped off, slamming the door to his room shut.

Nathan flinched. "Oh, dear," he commented, sitting down and burying his face in his hands. "I even brought presents—I would never just forget..." Debbie rubbed his shoulder reassuringly, looking sad.

Damon glanced at his parents in unease, before bolting up the stairs and knocking on the door.

"What do you want?" Raymond snapped.

"It's just me, Ray." He stood patiently as he waited for the door to open.

"Go away."

"This is my room too, you know."

Another heartbeat passed before the door opened a crack and Raymond peeked out. When all he saw was Damon, he opened the door all the way and stomped back to his bed on the other side of the room. "I can't believe Father!" he exclaimed, flopping down on his green bed and crossing his arms angrily.

Damon walked in at a slower, calmer pace, shutting the door and sitting down on his own blue bed. "He remembered our birthday, Ray. He even got us gifts."

"He's still late. Our birthday was two days ago—almost three days ago now," his brother huffed.

"He can't control what time he gets back," Damon explained patiently, glancing up at the ceiling. There was a ceiling window there, showing off the night sky and the stars. In the middle of the room between their beds stood a window with decorative stained glass of a wolf howling at the moon. The entire room was rather wooden, with a large carpet between them.

"...I know, but I wish he could spend more time with us." Raymond sighed and uncrossed his arms, becoming less rigid and deflating in the process.

He glanced at his brother and managed a smile. "He's a war hero, Ray. He has a duty to our people."

"I know," Raymond muttered. "But that doesn't mean I have to like it."

"Then don't take your anger out on him," Damon said mildly. "He's still our father and he loves us and we love him. At least...I think we still love him. I know I do. Do you?"

He sighed in defeat. "Yes."

Damon smiled and crossed the room to where Raymond sat, joining his brother on his green bed. He placed an arm around him. "He's not just a war hero. He's a father too. He's both; and he's an idol for us to look up to. Father is an amazing man."

"I know all that, Day. And it's not like I disagree." His brother shrugged away his shoulder. "It doesn't mean I like any of it. I hate it; the constant goodbyes and the little hellos."

He blinked sympathetically at his twin. "I know; I feel the same way, but that's the way things are. Our enemies won't stop attacking just because war legend Nathan's sons want him to come home. In fact, they'd attack even more if that were the case."

"But why did Dad have to be a war hero? Why not something more regular? A soldier, an engineer, a businessman...not a wolfish war hero who's too busy for his own sons." Raymond sighed loudly, flopping down so that he was lying on his back. "Why can't he just be our father?"

"His destiny lies elsewhere, I guess." Damon patted his brother's stomach. "Sorry God had to disappoint."

"Never mind. This is all stupid anyway."

"So are you going to forgive him?"

"...I guess," Raymond muttered begrudgingly.

"Great! Then we can celebrate our birthdays tomorrow with Dad here," he said cheerfully.

"I guess."

"Oh come on, Raymond. Don't be like that."

"Like what? Unhappy with the fact that my father the war hero is going to leave us again soon?" he shot back. "I think it's fair of me to be kind of upset."

"Hey, when duty calls, duty calls."

He groaned.

Damon smiled sympathetically. "You know he's my father too, right? I have to put up with the same things you do."

His brother just grunted in response.

"He's not just a war hero, Ray."

"I know. He's our father too." He paused, before adding in a mutter, "I just wish he'd show it more."

Damon ignored his last remark. "You're right, he is our father. And no matter what happens, he'll always love us."

"Alright, alright. I get it." Raymond rolled his eyes. "Stop it."

"Okay. Just know that he's trying. We need to make do with what we can and honour him as he marches off into battle. You don't want him to leave and possibly die with your last words being 'I hate you', do you?"

Raymond paused to consider this. "I guess not."

"So just don't forget that he's our father the war hero with responsibilities of his own minus us"—here he paused to ruffle Raymond's hair. He got up to walk to the door—"but that he does love us very much."

He sat up and threw a pillow at his brother. "Shut up and go before I change my mind. You're not helping your cause by spouting all that cheesy nonsense, you big goofball."

"Alright, alright." Damon laughed as he closed the door behind him. "Good night, Ray."

"Good night, Day."

End Flashback

Memories were fleeting. The thought lingered in his head long after the memory had ended, and Damon felt a tear slide down his cheek.

The bundle behind him stirred and he turned back to stare at it, a long moment's pause stretching out as he simply gazed at the boy slumbering on his sofa as rain beat against the window. He heard a quiet cracking sound that resembled broken glass, perhaps coming from inside of him, before he got up and picked the boy up in his arms with the blanket still wrapped around him.

"Time to get you home, little one," he murmured softly to the unconscious teen. Soon he was out the door with umbrella in hand, listening to the sound of the rain.

He dropped Michael off at Danes' mansion before rushing back to his own house. He arrived practically soaking wet, and he shook himself out like a wet dog before heading inside. Rain still dripped all over the floor despite his best efforts, and he sighed as he removed his raincoat before heading toward a familiar door.

He climbed down and called out, "Christie! Are you here?"

"Where else would I be?" a young female's voice answered. A girl with long blond hair popped up from before a bookshelf, her hands on her hips. "You're keeping me trapped down here, aren't you?"

"Someone's feeling sassy tonight," he remarked, walking over with the blindfold. "Put this on."

She did as she was told rather begrudgingly, and let herself be led up the steps toward the kitchen. Damon removed her blindfold when she was seated at the table.

"What would you like for lunch?" he asked.

"I don't know." She shrugged. "I'll take whatever. I'm not very hungry."

"A growing girl needs to eat, you know."

"A growing girl doesn't really have the stomach to eat when you're holding her hostage," she retorted.

"I'm not 'holding you hostage'," he replied calmly as he prepared some lasagna. "I'm keeping you prisoner. There's a big difference, you know. I'm not holding you for ransom."

Her face flushed pink in embarrassment at being corrected by her captor. "Well, you might as well be."

"Your parents are going to come after me no matter what I say. Not a lot of your kidnapping is beneficial to me," he continued.

"Then why do it?"

He was silent for a few seconds, but then he focused again on the food. He changed the subject by asking, "Do you like your lasagna extra cheesy?"

"I guess so, but not super cheesy—wait a second there though—dammit, Damon; don't change the subject! Why the hell are you keeping me here if it doesn't benefit you?"

"Well, I like mine very cheesy." He turned to the fridge and got two cans of soda. "Do you prefer Pepsi or Coca-Cola—?"

"DAMMIT, DAMON!" A hand slammed onto the fridge door, forcing it shut, and he turned to see a smaller, younger girl having cornered him with her arm. Her turquoise eyes were narrowed and blazing. "Answer. The. Goddamn. Question."

He stared back at her long and hard, and his chocolate gaze turned stony. "Coca-Cola it is, then."

"Damon—"

"Ah, ah, ah. Let's not lose our tempers, now."

"You're going to lose more than that if you don't answer me," she snarled back.

"A snarl like that is hardly befitting of a girl such as yourself," he responded calmly, his voice cool.

Christie narrowed her eyes. "I'm being 'held captive'," she spat, emphasizing the "captive" part, probably to reference Damon's correction of her usage of the word "hostage" from earlier. "I think I'm allowed a few liberties on my behaviour."

"Threatening me isn't a good idea." He stood up straighter and easily nudged her aside, making his way to the table and setting the soda cans down. He turned to look at her, and she was staring at him in disbelief and an exasperated anger that he knew all too well. It was the look of someone who desperately wanted answers—something he wasn't willing to give. "Come. Sit down and enjoy your food."

"It wasn't a very hard or intrusive question," she muttered. "Why can't you just answer it?"

"...Some things are better left unanswered." He returned to the stove as she sat back down, and he continued to prepare the lasagna. When it was finally done, he set it down. "Enjoy."

"I'm not hungry." She pushed her plate away.

"You need to eat something, or else you might starve," he replied warningly. "And we can't have that happening."

"What do you care? You already said that having me here with you isn't benefitting you." She folded her arms and curled up in her chair, tucking her knees in front of her chest and raising her shoulders to her ears as she looked away.

"Having you die would prove even more troublesome," he answered simply, placing some lasagna in his mouth and beginning to chew.

"So you'll tell me that but you won't tell me why you have me here?" She looked up, appearing distraught. "Why am I here, Damon?"

"Because I need you for my plans." He calmly went and picked up more lasagna.

"Okay, but you said—"

"I know what I said. You're not exactly a beneficial addition to my life, but I still need you for all of this to work. You're just not as important as you may have expected," he interrupted.

"...What do you mean?"

"Well, let's just say that my next plan involves weakening the resolve of the Hawthorne household, okay?"

"Gee, that wasn't obvious at all. And yet, you weren't ever actually holding me hostage?"

He stopped eating and set down his fork, blinking at her incredulously. "Christie...are you telling me that you want me to hold you for ransom?"

She blushed. "For God's sake, hell fucking no! I just...I just thought that there was a reason I was here, is all. Why did you go through all that trouble if capturing me only inconveniences you in the end?"

"Ahh." He nodded in understanding. "You want to be useful. Or rather, you thought you were valuable."

She turned red but didn't deny it.

"So you thought this entire time that I had threatened the Hawthorne household with your life."

She sighed, unfolding her arms. "Look, it was silly of me, okay? But...calling me here and trapping me with this elaborate plan... You can't blame me for thinking that I was of more use than whatever it was you captured me for."

He was silent for awhile, returning to his food, but the hyper-awareness he had of Christie's eyes pinned on him caused him to pause again. "Is there anything else, dear?"

"Why are you like this?" she finally asked.

"Like what?"

"Like this. So calm and casual. It's like...you don't even realize what you really are," she continued, scrunching up her nose.

"I know what I am." He took another bite of his food. "I am a villain. I am a monster." He looked her square in the eyes as he said chillingly, "I am a wolf."

"...So you do know." She tucked a few stray strands of her long blond hair behind her ear, before sighing. "Well...can you answer my question now? Now that I know I'm not invaluable?"

He didn't respond for the longest time, silently finishing up his lasagna. "You should eat," he finally commented, setting his fork down. "Or else you'll go hungry."

She picked up her fork and began digging at her food. "Damon...will you please tell me why? I don't see how it's such a secret."

"Eat first," he murmured. He waited patiently as she hurriedly finished her lunch, leaving nothing behind on the plate.

"Will you tell me now?" she asked once she was done.

He nodded slowly. "Very well." He leaned back in his chair and glanced up at the ceiling. "Kidnapping you was kind of a spur of the moment decision. I wanted to weaken the forces, and I saw no better way than by capturing Danes' prized niece and Maggie and Chris' precious daughter—the 'princess' of the Hawthorne household. I knew you held an interest in Vix and Vix held an interest in you—"

—Christie's stomach twisted at the mention of the redheaded boy—

"—and I figured it was the perfect opportunity. You also happen to be less annoying than your brother, which is a nice added bonus." He turned to look at her. "So there. There's why."

She frowned. "That's it?"

"I never said it was very exciting."

"I know. It's everything I was expecting. But..." She rubbed her arm.

"But what?" he questioned, feeling curious by her sudden, fidgety awkwardness.

"I can't help but feel like there's more to the story," she finally blurted out. "Something you're still not telling me. And I know I'm not very valuable or useful to you, but for some reason—you went to a pretty great length to get me here under your wing. Why, Damon?"

"As I said, Vix held an interest in you. I just so happened to notice, and I needed someone captured that could break the spirit of all the other vampires. Besides, his interest in you may prove further useful later on. I'm not sure yet, considering the fact that things are still in progress and currently imperfect, but if everything goes according to plan, then perhaps you will be more useful—like how you want."

"But I'm not right now?"

"Not any more, unless you were somehow able to motivate an entire army to fight for me this instant," he replied, and Christie wasn't quite sure if he was being sarcastic or not.

She sighed. "Never mind then. Forget it. It was arrogant of me to assume there was anything else." She pulled her blindfold over her eyes and stood up, holding out her hand. "I believe it's time to take me back down now."

He stared at her hand for a few seconds, and when she lifted her blindfold to raise an incredulous eyebrow at him, he finally said, "Maybe not just yet. It's raining really heavily outside."

"I noticed. You were dripping wet when you came down too." She frowned. "But what does that have to do with anything?"

"Let's just talk for awhile. Enjoy a game. I have Monopoly." He stood up abruptly, already heading out of the room to pick up the dusty box. "I found it while cleaning out the living room awhile back. It's amazing what you can discover after so many years."

She stared at him in stunned disbelief, watching as he set the game down and lifted the lid. "Err, okay, but...this sure is a surprise," she commented. "I thought you were going to treat me very much so like a prisoner, but this..." She trailed off.

"I'm feeling generous. At least for tonight, you'll be my guest." He headed out the door one last time to fetch some other supplies for a quiet day inside. He paused in the doorway, his voice dropping several octaves as he added quietly, "And perhaps the other reason I trapped you that I do not wish to openly admit is because I need someone to take care of."

Her head jolted upwards as she stared at the back of his head at the sudden statement.

"Because without someone to look after..." He slowly curled his claws into a fist, his gaze shadowed. "I'm afraid I'll truly become a monster."

A clap of thunder responded and he left the room. Christie watched him go and come back in stunned silence, her eyes stretched wide. Did I just hear what I think I heard, or did I only imagine it? she wondered, her heart racing. It was hard to imagine that Damon could still have any heart at all, and that he may have the mindset to not only recognize this, but to want to nurture that part of him as well.

As he set the game up, Christie felt her heartbeat. Did I just...feel a twinge of pity for this man? she thought in disbelief.

Danes walked out of the room feeling a bit better. DJ Sr stayed by his side, and the two trekked downstairs in silent understanding.

"Maggie," Danes called out once he spotted the familiar fiery-red hair.

The woman froze, turning toward him slowly. "You better not have changed your mind—"

"I haven't." He held his hand up to stop her because she looked about ready to rampage once more. "But I do want to request that you at least wait until this storm has passed."

She snorted. "I can handle a little storm."

"I'm sure you can, but I don't want to risk it. I'm already putting you in danger as it is, but traveling during a rainstorm is hardly the best idea," he replied calmly, determined not to lose his composure again.

Maggie frowned, but Chris approached and placed a calming hand on her shoulder. "Let's not be too hasty now," he murmured softly. "We do need the time to strategize."

"Fine," she stated. "But if I wait this storm out, then you're not allowed to change your mind about this whole ordeal."

"I won't," Danes promised. "You have my word."

As the couple walked away, DJ turned to Danes. "See? That went pretty well."

"Yeah, it did." He rubbed his arms, glancing out the window. "Guess now it's all just a matter of time."

"Feeling cold?" he asked. "You can have my raincoat if you want."

A small smile played at his lips. "That wet old thing? No thanks."

"Suit yourself." DJ shrugged it back on. "I guess my son and I should wait the storm out as well. I'll be troubling you a bit more, old friend."

"Was this your whole plan all along? To travel during the beginning of the rain to inconvenience me by trapping yourselves in my house with me?" he questioned teasingly.

DJ's eyebrows shot upwards in surprise. "Why, I'd never!" he exclaimed, before nudging his companion. "And is it just me, or was that a joke?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he responded. "A Hawthorne doesn't joke."

He snorted. "Sure, and I'm not a Jackson."

Danes shook his head, reaching a closed off area of the mansion. "For all we know, you could've been adopted."

"Not at all! I'm my father's son through and through."

He smiled slightly as he allowed the small device in front of the large steel doors to analyze his fingerprint. "Anyway, it's time I showed you something that I've been working on for quite some time now."

"Oh? Something no one else knows about?" he questioned.

"Well, somewhat."

"Identification, recognized. Hawthorne, Danes." The device clicked and the door slowly opened.

Danes squeezed in before the door was open all the way. As DJ followed him inside and the door slammed shut, he gestured all around him. "Welcome to the lab."

His friend looked around, his eyes widening. "Holy shit... Since when did you have all of this?"

"Since my father," he explained, already walking down the stairs. "He and James Patterson had this project under the works since the beginning; when they first adopted Damon."

"So your father and Tyrone's father had some sort of mass-project going on that no one else knew about, huh?"

"Yes. Although, besides my current team of scientists, Jamel is also in the know."

"Jamel? You're trusting that creep with all this?"

"Well, he is a better alternative than Maxim or Coal. I trust him." Danes stopped in front of a giant test tube. "He's been collecting research for me."

"So that's why I hardly see him around anymore," DJ Sr mused.

He nodded. "This project has required a lot of careful planning and researching. The execution must be perfect, or else they may fizzle and die out."

"They?" his old friend questioned.

Danes stepped aside. "See for yourself."

He leaned in toward the tube and a loud hissing sounded, before a large being slammed into the glass. Their eyes were wide and feral, blazing like black orbs with stars held inside, and a large mouth filled with teeth greeted him. He jumped back, startled by the upturned snout pressed against the glass and the long pink tongue that swirled around the liquid. "Oh my God, Danes," he said.

"I know." When he turned to stare at his friend, the man's gaze was shadowed and unreadable. "They're monsters."

DJ frowned, closing his mouth. "But...I suppose they could be marvellous creatures as well," he coughed awkwardly. He walked over to where his friend was and placed a protective arm around him. "Come on...let's get out of here. We can deal with all of this...later."

Danes nodded, allowing himself to be led away. As DJ guided him up the steps, he glanced back one last time where beady black eyes watched him leave. He shivered slightly.

Oh, Danes...how long have you been working on these creatures?

They walked out and the steel door closed behind them, before being covered by a plain door. "No wonder I never knew about this place," he remarked. "You guys hid it pretty well."

"Wouldn't want our research to fall into the wrong hands," his friend replied absently.

"You look rather tired, Danes," he added, catching onto the new, distant look on the man's face.

"I feel tired," he admitted.

"Come on." He nudged him ahead. "Let's go see your nephew. Heard he got shaken up pretty badly, right?"

"Right..."

They traveled in silence for awhile, with DJ remaining focused on Danes and letting him lean against him as the other man's mind appeared to wander further and further. When they finally reached the infirmary, Danes was having trouble walking without support.

"Michael? Are you in here?" called Deth Jackson Sr.

"Ah, hello, Mr. Jackson, sir!" he greeted, popping up from behind the door. "How are you—oh. Uncle? Are you okay?"

"Your uncle's fine, son. He's just tired," Deth replied for him.

Michael turned to stare at him. "I hope that's all. He does look really exhausted—this is so weird; I usually think of Uncle Danes like someone who's invincible. Like...he's invulnerable to this sort of 'human weakness'."

"Yeah, sometimes I think that too." He let his tone turn gentle as he said this, slowly releasing Danes to let him sit down on a bed. "But I guess all he needs is some—"

"Michael, I'm back with the food you requested! They were almost out of—"

Danes' head shot upwards like someone had lit a match within him, and he dove towards the newcomer who had just walked in. "You!" he hissed, tackling the other man, who let out a startled gasp at the impact. They both rolled into the door as the tray of food went flying. "You will stay away from my nephew!"

"Uncle, no!" Micheal hurried over to try and drag Danes off of the other man.

"I'm trying to protect you, Michael!" he shouted, baring his fangs. "Trying to protect you from him!" He turned back to glare at his opponent. "You may have taken Tyrone from this family, Damon," he spat, "but you will not take Maggie and Chris' child!"

Deth Sr rushed to his friend's side and dragged him upwards. "Goddammit, Danes; you're more exhausted than I thought!"

"Let me go! I'll shred him!" Danes protested, struggling against the hold.

"That's not Damon! It's Raymond!" Michael yelled.

Danes froze, and Deth Sr carefully dragged him back to the bed. "Now, now—let's all calm down," he murmured, reaching out to brush away stray strands of gray hair. "He's not the enemy, Danes—he's our ally. He's Damon's twin brother, Raymond. Remember that? He's currently living with us."

"I...I know that," he mumbled back, his face flushed. "I'm sorry, Raymond."

"That's okay. It's not the only time that's happened to me," he responded cheerfully, struggling to stand up. He raised an eyebrow at Michael, and the boy smiled sheepishly.

Deth Sr leaned forward and gently tapped his friend's forehead with his own to see if he had a fever. "You're burning up," he murmured in concern. "Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

"At this rate, not really," he admitted weakly.

Deth's eyes widened in surprise. It wasn't everyday that Danes was willing to show weakness in any way. He turned to Raymond. "You're the medic now, aren't you? Is there anything you can do for him?"

"Of course," he said hurriedly, already rushing to gather medicine.

Michael looked concerned but determined to stay out of Raymond's way as he began picking up the food that had fallen off of the tray. Most of them were luckily wrapped in plastic wrap, as he'd asked for things like cinnamon rolls and muffins that were from the bakery and still in their packages.

Danes sighed, leaning against the wall beside the bed. "This is the worst possible time to get a fever," he muttered.

"I'm sure it'll pass soon," he replied. "It can't be that bad."

"My guess is that he's overexerted himself," added Raymond, joining the duo with a bottle of pills. "It'll probably come to pass though. If the fever lasts for more than 48 hours, then we should get him to the hospital, especially since he's shown signs of delirium."

"I guess we should let you two get to work then," Deth Sr murmured.

"That would be ideal, yes," he confirmed.

He hesitated. He didn't want to leave Danes alone, but he was well-aware that he could end up just being a nuisance if he stayed behind. "Alright," he finally stated. "I'll take Michael and DJ and get them to eat lunch while you guys are here."

Raymond nodded, and the man left with Danes' nephew.

"Do you think Uncle will be okay?" asked Michael.

"I'm sure he'll be fine. Your uncle is a strong man," he replied. He led the way down the hall. "Now...where is DJ?"

"I think he said he was going to look for Ross," he answered promptly. His eyes widened then. "Oh no! I totally forgot about the tea party!"

"Tea party?" he echoed.

"Ross invited me to tea," Michael explained. "I happened to forget."

"Well, I guess now's a good time to join them," he said. "Better late than never!" The boy nodded and led the way to their destination. As Deth Sr followed him, he mused at the fact that the children were now having tea parties when back in his day, it had mostly been partying and hanging out at ice cream parlours.

He finished reminiscing when they walked inside Ross' room. It was warm and well-lit, a first since he'd entered the mansion. Danes' office had been dark, and the infirmary had been dim. It was nice seeing such bright lights during a storm. Deth Sr looked down to see his son and their friend gathered around a small round table with teacups and biscuits in front of them.

"Dad?" DJ said, looking startled. "I thought you were discussing war plans with Danes."

"That's Mr. Hawthorne to you," he reprimanded jokingly, slipping easily into the fun father role. "We finished talking and went to check on Michael but Danes ended up getting a fever."

"Oh no! Is he okay?" asked Ross, his green eyes wide.

"Raymond says he'll be fine." Deth Sr sidled up to his son, nudging him. "Now make room for me!"

"Sorry I forgot about tea, Ross," Michael added, also sitting down. He held up the tray of bread. "I brought food though!"

"Good. I'm starving," DJ exclaimed, already snatching up a muffin.

His father laughed. "Oh good lord, DJ—where are your manners?"

"I'm with friends, Dad," he replied around a mouthful of muffin. "Manners are currently irrelevant."

"I suppose you're right." He smiled, remembering the way he used to swoop in and take his friends' ice cream without asking—Danes had always been his favourite victim.

"DJ and I were just discussing school," Ross explained, looking slightly apprehensive.

"Ooh, speaking of school, how are your grades?" Deth Sr questioned.

DJ groaned. "They're fine, Dad. You know that."

"I don't recall getting up to speed with your current grades." He raised an eyebrow.

"You don't have to. You know I'll bring home the A no matter what." He stuck his tongue at his father. "Besides, we were actually talking about girls. Come on, Ross—it's cool. My dad doesn't care about this sort of thing."

"...Indeed," he added, feeling amused. "So that's why you looked so nervous."

"Well, I kind of told a girl that we're—"

"Not that part," DJ cut in. "The other part."

Deth Sr frowned and arched an eyebrow in curiosity, but didn't pry. He understood all too well the need to hide things from one's parents.

Ross blushed. "I...I just wanted to tell Michael and have just now told DJ that Buttercup confessed to me."

A loud "PFFFFFFT" sounded from Michael as he spat out his tea, before beginning to choke. As he coughed and DJ whacked him on the back, he looked up to stare at Ross. "WHAT?"

His friend's face turned even more red as he fidgeted uncomfortably. "Yeah...she k-kissed me and I ended up kissing back."

"Nice!" Michael slapped him on the back. "I always knew she was into you!"

"Yeah, see! That's what I said!" DJ agreed. "You don't have to worry about bothering her and Butch anymore either—she's not even into him!"

"Butch?" his father repeated. "You mean...Butch Jojo?"

"Yeah, that jerk. Ross has been worrying since day one that Butch and Buttercup belong together or something." DJ rolled his eyes.

"Don't worry about him," Deth Sr said. "If anyone deserves the girl, it's someone of your caliber—not some wolfish ally of Damon's."

"But they're not allies of Damon—at least, not anymore." Ross looked uncomfortable now. "And I just thought he and BC had a lot in common, considering their superpowers..."

Deth Sr nodded. "If they were still allies of his, I might actually view them as enemies. But really, they're just children."

"How could anyone be an ally of Damon's?" his son snorted.

"He's very charming, I'll have you know."

"How? Every story I hear of him makes him sound like a creep," DJ retorted.

"He wasn't always a creep. He was once a good friend and an accepted member of this family. Almost like...a stray wolf pup that we adopted. I was always one of his bigger supporters when he got picked on by Coal or Maxim, despite the fact that I took quite some time to get warmed up to him."

"Now this is interesting," Michael chimed in. "What were you guys like back then? I don't hear a lot of stories about you guys in your youth; especially not any about you, sir."

"You don't?" he responded incredulously. "Your uncle never talks about me?"

"Hardly. He doesn't really like reminiscing." Michael made a face. "He's called young you an annoyance a few times, but then again, he says that about current you sometimes too."

He shook his head. "We're going to need to remedy that. I'll have a word with him later. But first...let me tell you what it was like being a teen and a friend of Damon's:

"Working at an ice cream parlour isn't nearly as much fun as you might think, but there were certain privileges..."

Flashback

Deth Jackson was wiping down the counter and grumbling to himself under his breath. He'd just dealt with a particularly annoying, screamy toddler who had practically screeched like a pterodactyl for more ice cream than his mom was willing to buy. She'd stood her ground, making his tantrum even worse. While DJ was all for disciplining children, it got to the point where he wished he could just throw free mint ice cream at the tomato-faced child and get it all over with.

When the mother finally caved and bought the extra ice cream with a deep sigh, he handed it to them without hesitation, eager to get them out the door. He would've pitied her more if it wasn't for the fact that her refusal was what had essentially caused the tantrum in the first place. He knew he shouldn't blame her, and he really didn't, but there was a small part of him that said "you better raise that kid to be better."

"I'd say that went pretty well," his coworker said, cleaning the area beneath the soda and slushie dispensers.

"Speak for yourself," he shot back. "I was the one dealing with the brat."

She raised an eyebrow. "Let's not be mean now."

"Oh come on, Natasha—you can't deny that kid was a freaking brat," he whined.

She smiled slightly. "You might break the poor kid's heart if he hears you say that."

"Well, he won't. And besides, I'm a heartbreaker. You know that." He picked up his own slushie (free of charge—a benefit of working at the parlour), swirling the straw inside. "I just turned down Kathy's confession last week."

"I heard about that. Poor girl's been upset the whole week." She glanced at him. "Why'd you turn her down, anyway? She's attractive and pretty smart."

"Ehh, I just don't feel it. I hardly knew she existed until a month ago," he said. "It sounds terrible but it's true. She didn't really go out of her way to get to know me and let me get to know her. Sometimes these confessions just feel so random. I could never really get behind them."

"You sound like you're looking for a soul mate. You're in high school, DJ—those things don't exactly exist yet for teenagers."

"Oh come on! Says who? I'm pretty sure my soul mate's around here somewhere. Sometimes I feel like I know who they are."

"Really? Could it be?"

"Could it be what?" He gave her a look.

She pretended to gasp. "Could it be that you're actually in love? Of all people, you? Having a crush? What an outrageous idea!"

"Haha, very funny." He rolled his eyes. "We haven't worked together in weeks. How would you know what my love life is like?"

"We still go to the same school." She smirked. "Besides, whose fault do you think that is? You keep asking for the goddamn alone shifts—I don't get that. Why wouldn't you want to work with someone else?"

"I like being by myself. It's less weird when my friends come in, and I don't have to care as much."

"Don't let the manager hear you say that."

"He wouldn't mind. He loves me!" he exclaimed.

"Honestly, I don't get why he's so nice to you." She stuck her tongue out at him. "It's not like you're the best employee."

"I'm just the most charming. My ice cream brings all the single ladies and men to the parlour," he joked.

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. You're Mr. Charmer; Mr. Heartbreaker."

"It's not even just that anymore." He flicked a small piece of slushie at her, purposefully missing. It landed on the counter. She shot him a look before wiping it up. "I just kind of really do have my sights set on someone else right now."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Really? So you weren't joking?"

He rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Nat—it's like you have no faith in me. I wasn't joking when I said that, alright?"

"And who's this new girl you're crushing on?" she asked.

He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, the door slammed open and the bell hanging above it jingled. The sound was followed by an excited voice yelling out: "ICE CREAMMMM!"

He looked up and grinned. "Hey, kiddos!" he called, brightening immediately.

Beside him, Natasha frowned, looking a little annoyed—but he didn't think much of it.

A boy with brown hair bounced inside, looking excited. "Give me the usual, DJ!"

"Of course." He was already scooping mint ice cream into a cone for his friend. "So how's it been, Tyrone?"

"Great!" The perky teen was beaming as his other friends walked inside the parlour, all settling around him.

"Hey, DJ—could I get an ice cream sandwich?" asked a boy with warm, chocolatey eyes.

"Sure thing, Damon." He glanced at Natasha and she reached into the freezer for the frozen treat. As Damon fished around for a couple of coins, DJ thought about how awkward he'd initially felt around the other boy. He hadn't been very open to his presence at first, but the two had definitely grown closer over time. He seemed like such a nice, poor kid—just his backstory alone was enough to invoke pity.

Damon paid for the treat and Shamus popped up next, dark curly hair bouncing. "I'd like strawberry and vanilla, please," he requested.

DJ nodded and prepared the snack, before turning to Sylvie. "And you, my sweet?"

She made a face at him before asking for strawberry gelato. After paying, the last person in line was a boy with stormy gray eyes and dark hair.

DJ immediately brightened, his warm smile turning into a playful smirk. "Helloooooo, my sunflower~" he sang.

"Shut the hell up, DJ," the other boy said, rolling his eyes. "Or I'll kick you in the face."

"If you kick me in the face I'm not giving you any ice cream!"

"You're already not giving me any ice cream. I still have to pay for it, moron."

DJ smiled. He loved the dryness of his friend's tone—it made him all the more fun to tease. "Oh come on, Danes—you know you love me."

"Do I? No, I don't think I do," he replied as he paid for his treat.

He began preparing the vanilla-mint-chocolate combo. "You're so mean," he whined as he scooped it all into a cone.

"And you're an idiot." Danes rolled his eyes.

"Oh, give him a break, Danes." Tyrone nudged him playfully. "He's the one preparing your ice cream. You don't want to piss him off or he might spit in it or something."

"Do something like that and I'll claw your face off," he warned.

"Honestly though; I could never stay mad at Danesy for long," DJ laughed. He handed his friend the cone.

"Alright, enough flirting from you two," Tyrone said, leaning into the counter. "When are you off?"

"Break's in about four minutes." DJ glanced at the clock for perhaps the hundredth time that day. "Can't get here fast enough."

"Hey, we'll wait." Tyrone was already walking back to their table. "We won't wait with the ice cream though; they'd probably melt if we did."

He shrugged. "Fair enough," he sighed dramatically. "But if you really loved me, you'd wait without touching those cones."

"Guess we don't love you then," Danes replied, licking his ice cream.

"Ouch," DJ laughed. "You aren't pulling any punches, are you?"

"Not my style." He shrugged in response. "Besides, I have no reason to be nice to you. Your ego's big enough as it is."

"Hey! It's not that big," he protested.

"Any man planning to name his kid after himself has a big ego," he replied. "Deth Jackson 'Sr'."

He stuck his tongue out at the other boy as he walked away.

Natasha joined his side then, frowning. "Man, your friend's a jerk sometimes. Why's he always so grumpy?"

"Eh, you don't know him like I do." DJ smiled. "He's not so bad once you get to know him."

"He just seems like a giant brick wall, honestly. Every time I work with you and he comes in, he always reacts so negatively to everything."

"It's kind of my fault for teasing and provoking him so much anyway," he responded. "But I like it that way. I honestly don't mind—it's kind of just nice having someone who isn't always kissing up to you all the time. And I mean, he still hangs out with me despite everything, so something must be working," he finished with a chuckle.

"He's probably the only person in the whole world you can't charm," she joked.

"Hey, that doesn't mean I can't try!" he responded cheerfully.

"People want what they can't have, huh?" she laughed. "You have so many girls and even guys chasing after you, and yet here you are trying to tease this guy of all guys, when he's the least likely to put up with it. Honestly, sometimes it looks like to me you two are just flirting with one another."

"I flirt with everyone," he responded promptly.

"True." She rolled her eyes good-naturedly as she picked up the mop. "You're Mr. Pining Heart and Mr. Flirty just as much as you are Mr. Charmer and Mr. Heartbreaker."

He laughed, but as she walked off, he glanced at his table of friends and smiled to myself. You have no idea, he thought.

End Flashback

"Is Natasha one of the girls who ended up confessing to you?" DJ asked when he was done recounting the tale.

"How'd you guess?" his father chuckled in response. "She confessed to me at the end of that year. I honestly didn't even know she was crushing on me."

"It just sounds like it, considering how you said she seemed annoyed when your friends walked in. That sounded like jealousy to me," DJ replied. "But honestly, Dad—from the way you describe it, anyone would think you have a crush on Danes or something."

He just laughed in response.

"It's kind of amazing how similar you were to DJ when you were younger," Michael added.

"Hey, I'm a born charmer," his black-haired friend declared.

Deth Sr smiled. "What? Are you implying that I'm not a born charmer similar to my son now that I'm older?"

"You still flirt a lot, sure, but it's true that you hardly seem like you have any real interest in anybody now," DJ responded. "At least, not anything long-term that I know of. Not since Mom."

He reached out and ruffled his son's hair. "I'm the kind who'll play around, but when I'm serious about a relationship, I'm serious about it. And I'll hold onto that feeling for a long, long time."

"So I guess you're still holding onto those memories of Mom, huh?" he asked.

"Yeah, I guess that's part of it," he confirmed with a slight smile.

"Well, I think it's great that we get to listen to stories like these," Ross stated. "I love listening to stories about my dad when he was younger. When all of you were younger."

"We definitely have a lot of good ones," he agreed. "Damon spiced our lives up quite a lot."

"Damon's an asshole," DJ declared, flicking a biscuit crumb from one end of his plate to the other. "I can't believe he acted so 'nice' back then."

"I hate him just as much as you do, but I really did see him as a friend back then," he responded. "It's hard to believe that they're still the same guy."

"Everyone has changed so much," Ross said, shaking his head. "Things are really different now."

Deth Sr nodded, before glancing out the window, where the storm had eased up somewhat. Everything's changed, he thought with a small sigh. He glanced back at the three teens all joking and laughing with one another, briefly feeling a pang of nostalgia and wistfulness. He missed being young and carefree again, when all his friends had still been alive and well and were—well, still his friends. Except me. I'm still the same-old-same-old.

He thought back to his conversation with Danes. Even the stony man had changed a lot—from closing himself off to once again opening himself up. Danes had sacrificed a lot over the years to be a strong and capable leader that could live up to his father's legacy. And yet, here I am, still wanting the same things as ever.

He shook his head to clear it. I wonder if that's ever going to change.

Sarah watched as her brother and Sophia chatted, sitting together while preparing dinner. Sophia had insisted when she caught the boy making the food, and while he'd tried to protest, her brother really was too shy to handle it really well.

Sarah didn't mind though. She waited as she sat at the table, tapping her spoon against the surface absently. Beside her, her twin sister Sally had her head turned and was watching the TV.

Sidney walked over, smiling as he set a plate of food down. "Dinner's almost done, you guys," he promised. "It'll just be a second longer."

"Sidneyyyyyyy," Sarah whined. "I'm hungryyyyy."

He patted her head sympathetically. "I know," he said. "It'll be done in just a moment."

She let out a huff, leaning back in her chair. She turned to the TV but wasn't interested in what was airing.

Sarah was bored. There was no denying it. And she hated being bored.

So she thought about the things that she liked:

She liked being HAPPY.

As she traced a shape onto the table with her spoon's handle, she continued to dig through things she liked.

She liked hot chocolate and marshmallows. Her favourite meal was anything with dessert, so usually dinner. She liked candy, but she especially loved chocolate and fuzzy peaches, along with those little soda gummies.

She usually liked anything her family made for food, but Sidney was definitely one of the best cooks. She especially loved his cookies. They were always the perfect blend between crisp and soft and crunchy and warm and crumbly and yummy.

Sidney was also the best babysitter. He let them usually do whatever they wanted, like watch TV or read books. But Sarah thought her brother was a big pushover. She preferred to idolize and aspired to be more like Sydney, who was confident, sporty, and popular.

Sarah leaned forward, making a face as she kept waiting.

Her favourite Powerpuff Girl was Buttercup, or maybe Bliss—one because she was tough and cool, the other because she was fun and cool.

She liked the colours pink and green, and her favourite fruits included watermelon (didn't hurt that it is in fact a pink and green fruit), pears, and strawberries. She also liked apples, but she preferred sour green ones.

Sarah wasn't as big a fan of veggies, but she actually didn't mind broccoli, unlike most kids her age that she knew. She figured it was just because her big brother and mom knew how to make it taste good.

She hated asparagus though. She didn't really like fish either. Or tofu. Tofu tasted bland to her.

Some foods weirded her out, like sushi—but Sidney promised it was good. Sarah hadn't tried it yet though. The idea of eating raw fish and seaweed was just strange to her.

She liked most meats, and potatoes—especially mashed potatoes.

Sarah liked hanging out with friends and people knowing who she was. Some people would say she was a bit loud and obnoxious, but she saw herself as confident. And she was proud of that fact.

Her favourite time of the year was spring, and she didn't even mind APRIL showers, as she actually liked the rain. She preferred spring over any other season because it was warm and not too cold, and there was life and greenery all around you during spring—she saw it as the best season to go outside and play with your friends or your sisters and brother.

Sarah's least favourite season was winter, but she did like December for Christmas. Snow was fun too, but she didn't like how cold it got.

She was a vampire though, so too much sun would harm her. Summer was her second-least favourite for that fact.

She ran her tongue over her fangs. They were still growing out, but Sidney said they'd be big and strong one day. She was impatiently waiting for that day.

Her favourite drink was blood of course, but they only drank donated or animal blood. This also made her like blood oranges, if only for their name (although she did like oranges).

She didn't like, however, most boys. Sidney was okay in her eyes, but she saw most of the other boys in her class as poop-heads.

There was a lot of things Sarah didn't like, but her least favourite was being embarrassed or wrong—she didn't want people to not take her seriously or see her as silly. So she especially hated being made fun of for making a FOOL'S mistake.

And her least favourite person was this boy named Waldo in her class (even his name was dumb), who'd recently done just that. She'd confidently raised her hand and answered a question of the teacher's, only for him to call out loudly and correct her. And all she'd done wrong was say the answer t was 23 and not 24. So she'd been off by one number—she couldn't help it. She'd counted it off on her fingers and miscounted (Math wasn't her strong suit—she was having trouble getting the hang of multiplication, and the number 8 was the hardest one to remember).

People had laughed and left her seething, her face red and shoulders scrunched up to her ears. And to add insult to injury, he'd thrown a paper airplane at her head and when she'd opened it up, it read: "gotcha".

Just the very memory of that made her mad. She was tempted to bite his neck and suck his blood like how she wished she could deal with all the people she hated, but she knew she wouldn't. She wasn't allowed to, and despite imagining or considering it, she didn't think she could bring herself to do it.

She huffed, pouting, just as Sidney set the last dish down on the table. "Dinner is served!" he announced. "Enjoy!"

Sophia smiled and sat down at the table while Sidney went off to call for their parents and his own twin sister. Sarah decided not to wait though, digging into the chicken her brother had prepared.

"How do you like it?" Sophia questioned, smiling as she watched the two younger girls eat.

"Mmm~" she responded. "It tastes good!"

"Glad to hear it!" She giggled. "Especially because I helped make it."

Sarah didn't mind Sophia. She found her rather nice, albeit also a doormat like her brother.

"Hope it makes you happy," Sophia told them. "Food has the power to do that, you know!"

She believed it. After all, Sidney's cooking always brightened up her DAY! Even when she was having a bad one. "I agree!" she chirped, smiling at the older girl and continuing to eat.

Ross felt like he was walking on air. He was happy—despite everything. He sighed, his shoulders rising and falling in time with the release of air. She'd confessed to him. And she hadn't cared that he was a vampire.

He hadn't scared her away.

He paused then, frowning as he suddenly became aware of the small inkling of doubt and guilt still residing in his heart. He swallowed. Ross still felt as if he didn't deserve this. He still didn't think he was Mr. Right for Buttercup.

At least, he thought he still thought he wasn't right.

So why did it feel so right?

Ross squeezed his eyes shut. He'd been avoiding the question all day, but he knew what was niggling at him: he was being selfish. He didn't deserve Buttercup at all, but he'd accepted her confession anyway. He'd been even too selfish to give her a proper response.

I know I like her. But I don't know if I... He trailed off, not wanting to finish the thought.

I don't know.

Those three words were going to drive him crazy. Ross was never someone who tried to be in the loop 24/7, but he was becoming sick and tired of being kept in the dark. There was so much he didn't know—about himself, about his father, and about Damon.

He stared down at the worn journal in his hands. I don't know, but perhaps I'll find some answers tonight.

So with that in mind, he reentered the secret library of his father's that he'd found by accident before. This time he didn't fall down, instead carefully watching his step every step of the way.

When he found himself back down in the library after DNA identification, he couldn't help but marvel at its beauty once more. It was filled to the brim with books—all for supposedly one person too—and yet it was large and spacious and warm and inviting. Ross turned his head slightly to the left, thinking of the altar his father had made his mother when she'd died.

He decided to sit there and read.

He made his way over, staring at the various paintings. Ross didn't really remember his mother. He vaguely recalled smiled and laughter, sweetness and sugar, hugs and kisses, love and warmth—but that was it. His mind had trouble remembering the details of her face, except for her smile and that long blond hair of hers.

His mom had always been smiling.

Ross sat down. He opened the journal and began reading, letting the silence around him envelop him like a protective, comforting cocoon. He thumbed through various pages, thirsty for new knowledge. He wanted to learn more. He wanted to know everything.

He needed to know everything, and he was going to dive down deep to find that everything.

Flashback

"I'm going to need to buy new sunscreen real soon," Tyrone whined, rubbing at his arms. His tube of sunscreen lay pretty crumpled beside him, already halfway used up despite it only being one month into summer. "Honestly, the sun's probably going to kill me one of these days."

"Good," Danes grunted from his luxurious lawn-chair, where he had a giant umbrella erected from the ground to protect him from the sun's powerful rays, and a cool glass of blood-red liquid in hand.

Underneath the same dark purple umbrella next to him was a taller, intricately designed metal chair that DJ was perched on, with his feet resting on the bars of the chair legs and hands placed in front of him. "That's cold, Dansey—even for you," he remarked, glancing down at his friend.

The other boy lifted his sunglasses, rolling his eyes. "Like I care."

Tyrone stuck his tongue out. "DJ has a point, you know. You're pretty mean."

"No, I don't know," he replied flatly.

He walked over with a sigh. "So hostile." He then poked the gray-eyed boy's face.

"Hey! Stop that, you twat." Danes swatted his hand away, looking irritated. His brow was furrowed, and despite his sunglasses, Tyrone was 90% sure he was glaring at him behind the lens.

"You're like a cute little hostile vampire bat," he teased, poking him again.

Danes lifted his sunglasses, eyes narrowed. "Stop that," he repeated.

"Don't bother the vampire bat!" Damon called out just as teasingly. "He might just bite!"

The so-called "vampire bat" made a snapping motion with his jaws at their other friend, his fangs bared.

"Ooh, feisty," Damon chuckled.

"Do not prod at me again," Danes warned Tyrone.

"I'm just saying you could be a little nicer to people, especially because you're with friends." He raised an incredulous eyebrow, making big puppy-dog eyes. "Or have you forgotten that?"

"I haven't forgotten anything. I just don't care." He pulled his shades back down and laid against the chair, folding his arms crossly as he let out a low huff under his breath.

"But what about me? Aren't you going to be a bit nicer to me?" DJ asked, batting his eyes.

"You are one of the last people I would think to be nice to," he grunted back.

"Ouch, that hurts!" he cried dramatically. "You're certainly cruel today, Danes!"

"See? He is honestly so mean," Tyrone piped up, nodding his agreement.

"Not cruel, just very very annoyed."

"I see what the problem is." DJ smiled. "Someone's cranky. Are you a little cranky-wanky, my cutie patootie? Seems like you are!" He poked the other boy with his toe. "But are you big and strong and so cute? Oh yes you are, yes you are!" His voice was exactly like the one pet-owners or parents would use to communicate with their pet or child—one of baby talk.

Tyrone snorted, trying not to giggle. DJ was even better at pestering Danes than he was—and he knew just exactly how to get under the grumpy boy's skin.

"Oh my God shut up." Danes glared at the other boy through his sunglasses. "That's really annoying, you blip."

"What kind of insult is that?" he laughed in response. "That's like me calling you a pineapple—or how's about a sunflower? Doesn't it feel more like a cute pet name than an insult?"

"I'm not dignifying that with a response."

"All I'm saying is, what if you offended Tyrone?" He gestured at their third friend, who was watching the exchange in amusement. "You were quite rude back there, you know."

"You know he's not. He just likes to seek out attention," Danes responded. "You really shouldn't give it to him, DJ."

His face broke out into a grin as he was no longer able to hold onto his charade of being upset. "Can't deny that! Because honestly, despite what I say, you know I don't mind—mostly." He plopped down on Danes' lawn-chair, who hissed lowly and shifted his legs over. "This is just the type of thing I need on a hot summer's day—some nice, cold ice when everything else is so warm."

"So you're all cooled down now and no longer upset with Danes?" asked DJ, wiggling his eyebrows. "You're having an ice day after all?"

Danes let out a loud, low groan, pulling his sunhat down to cover his eyes as Tyrone burst out laughing. "That was terrible, you idiot."

"That was terrible!" Tyrone agreed—but he was grinning, and his tone was much more bright than his gray-eyed friend's.

"Hey, I saw an opportunity, and I took it. It was practically handed to me all wrapped up with a big red bow," he responded, smirking.

"I'm cringing from all the way over here," Tyrone's brother added, lifting his curly-haired head from his book.

Beside him Damon was giggling, despite his attempts to muffle the sound with his hand.

"Are you laughing at that shit pun?" Danes called in disbelief.

Damon just shook his head, unable to reply through his snorting.

"Hey, he can laugh at whatever he wants," Tyrone piped up. "I thought it was terrible but still funny."

"It's... It's not the joke that's funny"—snort—"it's the reaction to it," Damon explained.

"That's no excuse. I am now officially judging you for your poor taste in jokes," Danes proclaimed. "His puns are shit and that's that."

The brown-eyed boy could only shake his head in response, still smiling despite Danes' claim.

"You guys are mean." DJ stuck his tongue out. "Is no one going to support me against this dictator?" he added, gesturing dramatically at Danes.

"I'm not anything of the kind," he retorted. "You're more than welcome to make bad puns if you want."

Tyrone smirked. "Glad that's been confirmed."

DJ's smile was wide and sly, his blue eyes glittering. "You have no idea what you've just done, Danes. You have officially opened up the gates to Pun Hell."

He groaned, leaning forward and burying his face in his hands. "Shit."

Laughing, the other boy jumped down from his high seat and flopped onto Danes' chair, swinging an arm around him. "Aww, am I driving you batty, Danes?"

"Terrible," he muttered. "Get off of my seat."

"I couldn't chair less what you think," he continued breezily, patting the lawn-chair, "but really, Danes—the hue-manatee of you."

"Ughhhhhhhhh." He shoved against his friend, but not hard enough to push him off the seat, and thus he remained sitting on there.

"See, this is what I have to deal with," DJ announced, looking around at all his friends and motioning at Danes. Damon was giggling uncontrollably again, Tyrone was also in stitches, and Shamus was just shaking his head. "Like, I'd tell you a chemistry joke right now, but I know I wouldn't get a reaction."

Danes' groan became a rumbling sound that resembled the low growl of a bear, and Damon was now officially laughing out loud.

"So let's have an intellectual conversation instead," he offered. "I'm reading this book on anti-gravity, and it's impossible to put down!"

"I'm going to kill you," Danes muttered through his hands.

"You know you love it~"

Damon's laughter was now almost at the same volume as Tyrone's.

"It's not even that funny, you guys," Shamus said, frowning at the two of them. "Those weren't very original puns."

"It's okay. Anything that involves teasing Danes is funny in my books," his brother responded, grinning. He and Damon shared a look of mutual agreement.

"Hey, you said 'book' and my last pun was about a book!" DJ exclaimed, pointing finger guns at his friend.

Tyrone returned the gesture, winking back.

Shamus let out a loud, audible sigh as he rolled his eyes. "You're both honestly so immature."

"Oh, please, Shammy—it's the situation that's funny, if not the pun," DJ replied, grinning. He loved making his friends laugh.

Shamus snorted. "Yeah, okay—and don't call me 'Shammy'. What is wrong with you, anyway?"

"Funny you should ask! I ate some food-colouring awhile back, and the doctor says I'll be fine, but I honestly think I dyed a little on the inside," he chirped back.

"You are horrible," Danes said flatly.

DJ shrugged. "I mean, I would say you're my butter half. We really are such a nice pear—some people think all you knead is love instead of dough, and I have to admit I am tortellini a hopeless romantic. So let's taco about this, because you might just steal a pizza my heart if you keep this up." He grinned, wrapping his arms around his friend, whose face indicated that he was quite done with the whole situation. "What say you?"

"That sounds like a confession," he said flatly. "And it's a gross one."

"That's definitely a confession if I've ever heard one," Tyrone agreed, still laughing.

"I think I've figured the problem out. You're hungry. Why don't you go stuff your face in the kitchen?" Shamus piped up in a grumble, looking annoyed.

"That's so cold of you," DJ whined.

"Hey, there's warm food in the kitchen." He frowned unsympathetically. "I'm trying to read, and you're disrupting the mood. This is a very serious story, I'll have you know—"

"What is it?"

"I'm rereading Macbeth. He's just about to kill the king—"

"Shakespeare, eh? At least he's not Fakespeare."

Shamus' head jerked toward him as he scrunched his face up. "That's it," he said crossly, slapping his book down. "You've ruined it for me."

"I remember meeting Shakespeare once," DJ continued.

The other boy furrowed his brow, tilting his head in suspicious, cautious curiosity.

"I asked him, 'who's the guy who wrote all that poetry with a rhythm that alternates between stressed and unstressed syllables 5 times in a line?' And you know what he said?"

"What?"

"Iamb."****

There was a brief moment of silence, before Shamus picked his book up and let out a muffled scream into it, while DJ burst out laughing.

"You're the worst!" Shamus cried. "The absolute worst!"

"I think you need a new brain," Danes added, nudging him aside with his elbow while peeking out from between the fingers spread across his face.

DJ looked down and smiled warmly, not budging an inch—he didn't even remove his arm from the other boy's shoulders. "You think so? 'Cause I wasn't going to get a brain transplant, but now I've changed my mind!"

Tyrone and Damon were still enjoying the show, their laughter now having turned into howling noises resembling a wolf's.

"But you need to be careful with doctors and orthodontists. They often make accidental mistakes, so I'm probably going to need to brace myself."

Danes let out an exasperated sigh, rolling his eyes.

"So what do you think, 'sunshine'?" asked DJ, his tone affectionately teasing. "How are you handling Pun Hell?"

Shamus snorted. "You're getting a little full of yourself there, crowing about your jokes like that. You're like some proud bird, preening yourself and fluffing yourself up."

"Hey, I may be a proud peacock, but you can't deny skill when you see it," he exclaimed.

"You're a cock of some sort, alright. Or maybe an ass," Danes retorted.

"That sounds like a pun," DJ laughed.

"It's not, you peacock-y ass."

"Yeah, I thought so. Probably just an insult. But a creative one for sure; I'll give you that." DJ smiled before nudging him. "So? How's it going? You think you can handle me, the King of Puns? Just know that, no matter what, I'll still love you a latte, my sweet little cutie pie," he added in a chirp.

He looked up, gray eyes grave as he removed his hands from his face. He simply stared at DJ for a few seconds, before opening his mouth and saying in a low, very serious voice, "It may feel like a reign-y day with you being king of anything, but...toucan play at this game."

DJ stared blankly at him for a few seconds, before his cheeks turned pink. "Oh my GOD—"

"DANES MADE AN ACTUAL PUN!" Damon blurted out before the other boy could say anything.

"OOOOOH!" Tyrone added, grinning excitedly. "This is a momentous time in history to mark down and remember! DANES OFFICIALLY MAKING A REAL PUN!"

"What the hell...?" Shamus was gobsmacked. "Am I the only sane one left?"

The so-called self-proclaimed "King of Puns" was left officially speechless, eyes wide as he tried to process this new turn of events. Meanwhile, his other friends were going crazy—except for Shamus, who was still looking at Danes incredulously like he'd also gone insane—and maybe he had, all things considered.

Danes himself was still staring intensely at DJ, and now he leaned in to whisper, "To answer your hungry little 'confession' back there, maybe olive you just a little bitter."

DJ's cheeks flushed red, maybe from embarrassment or from frustration, but whatever it was, he was the one who now had his face hidden behind his hands as his friends laughed all around him.

And Danes? Well, Danes smiled coolly under that purple umbrella beneath the bright yellow sun, finding the whole situation and its end result rather refreshing on that hot summer's day.

End Flashback

Ross was surprised at the passage. He was so used to talk of war now that he'd forgotten how his father and his friends had been capable of having fun at all, and getting along with one another so well.

He smiled to himself. They do remind me a bit of my friends, although our dynamic is still kind of different, he thought.

He continuously flipped through the many pages, trying to find more information, but most of the stories were still pretty happy. He did manage to scrape together some things, but Ross was growing frustrated by the lack of serious intel.

My father was such a happy man, he thought to himself with a sigh. There's so much whimsy and joy contained in this journal, and yet in the end... Everything fell apart. It's a shame what happened to him... To have that smile wiped off of this Earth...

"Give me answers, please," he murmured quietly, flipping another page.

He paused then, spotting a page with something stapled to the top of it—it was a parchment of paper that had been folded up. A pressed flower was attached to the page as well. Ross unfolded the sheet of paper and began reading, noticing that the writing was different here.

"'The Queen of Hearts asked for red roses,

But her servants had planted white.

Out of fear they painted them the desired colour,

For for a queen of red hearts,

Her heart was as black as night.

The heart is fickle, like the Queen,

We make demands that cannot be met—

We ask for things beyond us—

I have asked for love and received none in return...

I have received white roses instead,

When I clearly asked for red.

The heart is truly fickle.

And now mine will fade to gray

Now that it has been handed back to me, bruised and battered,

Loveless and worn—

Fading,

Without the light.

But I will try—I will try to stay happy,

Because even if my roses are white,

And even if my heart was handed back to me,

I can see the red roses lying there on your windowsill,

Where your hearts are entwined by red string.

So despite my envy and my pain,

I will try—I will try to be happy for you,

You who has the red roses,

Because I still love both of you,

Even if I do not receive that love back.'"

Ross stopped reading, frowning. The only person in his father's group of friends who had written poetry consistently was Damon—and it made sense if he applied it to the whole situation with Sylvie and Tyrone, but why would his father have something of Damon's—especially something so personal as a poem about his broken heart?

He could also see that two words had been slightly bolder than the rest: black and light had for some reason been singled out. He stared at them for a few seconds, piecing the words together. They formed the word "blacklight". He wondered why on Earth that word could be important at all, and also where on Earth he could even find a blacklight.

He looked around. There didn't seem to be anything he could use in the library.

Maybe Uncle Shamus will know, he thought, standing up. He paused to stretch his legs. Oh boy, he thought. His foot had began to grow numb, so he tried to shake it off before beginning to walk—because when his feet were numb, it felt weird placing them down when he wasn't quite sure where it met the floor, as he couldn't really feel it. And it would be heavy to lift it, and then weird to put it down again.

Ross knew his mind was wandering. He was trying to distract himself from the building excitement inside of him, as he didn't want to be disappointed by what may come next.

His father's entries had started happy and remained happy for many years, but would show signs of sadness here and there, or rage—of course—but his own life wasn't anything truly depressing. After the war to win back Damon had been resolved in a treaty, everything had been fine for many years—Damon had continued to live with the Patterson family, becoming like a son to Ross' grandparents, and a brother to the boys.

Tyrone's life did grow sad when Sylvie had died, even becoming somewhat incoherent, but Ross couldn't piece anything from the grief-stricken pages that led up to his father's death. The last few pages hadn't been filled out at all—words were scattered across it in a strange, seemingly random way, and the last word written was "goodbye" in red ink.

It made Ross wonder if his father had known about his own upcoming death.

The idea gave him the shivers.

Ross emerged from the library and looked around. The halls seemed empty and abandoned, but as he walked down them, he quickly soon heard voices. They sounded like they were arguing.

"I'm telling you, that's a stupid idea," Maxim was saying heatedly.

"What do you know, anyway? I will do as I wish," Coal's voice snapped back. "I will do what's best for this household."

"Best? Best?" repeated Maxim, spluttering in disbelief. "You think you know what's best?"

"Yes, I do! I've been out of action for far too long—I've had a lot of time to think about this and—"

"You are not Danes! Stop acting as if you are anything like him—"

"I AM NOT ACTING LIKE I AM ANYTHING OF THE SORT!"

"You are still young and foolish. This plan of yours is going to be a failure—"

"I've thought a lot about it, you old shit—"

"Thought a lot about what, Coal?" Ross finally intervened, stepping into their line of sight. He kept his father's journal hidden behind him.

Coal froze, his eyes widening as he whirled around towards the boy, and Maxim jerked his head back, standing straight as he cleared his throat. "Master Ross!" the silver-haired man exclaimed. "My sincerest apologies—I didn't see you there—"

"Coal." His voice was firm. "What have you been thinking about for so long?"

He paused. "Err...I just wanted to go back out into battle, is all. Find the Rowdyruff Boys and fight them like the rest of our brilliant army is doing—you know, general soldier desires of loyalty and devotion to our cause, as I've been down for the count for so long."

"You were ordered to rest up."

"By Raymond—and I do not trust that man one second. He's one of them—"

"You were given the order by Danes."

Coal hesitated now. "Perhaps, but I feel so much better, really..."

Ross shook his head. "Listen to Maxim. Stand down."

Maxim sent his companion a smug look, one that Coal returned with a glare of seething hatred and silent rage, his fangs bared. "Yes, Master Ross," he growled out, his voice a low rumble.

The boy nodded. "Now I wish to ask you both about my uncle's location. I must find him for something of the utmost importance."

"Of course, Master Ross." Maxim spoke up now, clearly more confident because the young boy had agreed with his opinion. "He's currently in Danes' study. The two of them were discussing something."

"Thank you." Ross gave a slight inclination of his head before hurrying on his way.

As he passed, Coal spotted the thing in the boy's hand, but his curiosity slipped away as Maxim exclaimed, "See, I told you it was foolish—"

"He didn't even hear the whole story," Coal snapped back, spinning around, his nose flaring. "See here, you old kook—"

"It's no use arguing with me about it—"

Their voices rose again as their bickering continued, but Ross didn't hear any of the actual words they exchanged. He wasn't complaining though. While concerning, he wasn't very interested in listening to two of the most arrogant soldiers in the Hawthorne household arguing with one another.

He walked towards Danes' office, knocking once he'd reached it.

"Come in," Danes called out.

He opened the door and looked inside, spotting his uncle's frizzy black hair almost immediately. Danes was also there (of course), as was Deth Jackson Sr. "Hey Uncle!" he called out.

Shamus looked up, as he'd been facing the other way to Danes' desk. "Ross!" His face brightened as he sat up. "Hey!"

Ross walked over and gave him a hug before turning to Danes. "Are you feeling better, sir?" he asked.

"I'm fine," the man responded.

"You're still feverish," Deth Sr fretted. "Are you sure you should be out and about? Shouldn't you—"

"I'm fine," he repeated, more firmly this time. He looked up and saw the other man's worried expression, and his stony gaze softened. "I'll rest up once we're done talking this over, okay?" he promised, his tone surprisingly mild.

"Okay." Deth Sr relaxed. "I can live with that."

"What did you need?" Shamus asked his nephew.

"I was wondering if you had a blacklight?" Ross questioned.

"A blacklight...? Whatever for?"

"Oh, I'm reading this book that has these cool hidden features that gets revealed when you use one," he explained.

"I think we do." Shamus rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I know Tyrone used to."

Ross perked up at the mention of his father owning one. "D-Do you know where it might be...?"

"Probably in my room right now." His uncle's face darkened. "Or his own room."

"Thanks, Uncle." He paused then. "Do you know why Dad would even have a blacklight in the first place?"

He shrugged. "Same reason as you, maybe?" He paused then, sighing. "Although...it was Damon who gave it to him once he asked for it—for whatever reason."

Ross frowned, wondering what the connection was. "Thanks, Uncle," he said.

He smiled. "No problem. Have fun, kid."

He glanced at Danes and Deth Sr, who were murmuring things to one another. A large piece of paper was laid out on the desk, so he thought they might be discussing war plans—although the two men were acting a little too casual for that—but the other thing he noticed was a Shakespeare book on the desk in front of Shamus.

"Are you rereading Macbeth again?" he asked abruptly.

His uncle looked up in surprise. "Why yes, yes I am. That, and Hamlet."

"Nice! We're studying it at school as well."

"Well, if you have any questions, you can always ask me. I'm quite the expert on Shakespeare."

"Nerd," Deth Sr stage-whispered, causing Shamus to shoot him a look.

Ross nodded. As he turned to leave, he paused and glanced back at the three gathered in Danes' office. He cleared his throat and the three men looked up. "I do have a question about his plays, actually." Ross smiled. "So if I were to ask Shakespeare himself who wrote all those poems with a rhythm that alternates between stressed and unstressed syllables 5 times in a line, then he would say...?"

It took a moment—there was a brief silence as both Shamus and Deth Sr's eyes widened—and Ross' uncle turned slowly to face his friend, whose mouth had slowly stretched into a large grin. When Shamus spotted the beaming man, his spell of shock was broken and he punched his friend.

"Don't you dare—" he began warning.

"IAMB!" Deth Sr exclaimed happily, clapping his hands together.

Even Danes smiled slightly in amusement as he gazed at his excited friend, his cheek resting on his hand. He said nothing, but Ross knew he was thinking back to that punny summer day as well.

Shamus let out a loud groan, rolling his eyes. "Ross, you have no idea what you've just done," he told his nephew.

"You've opened up the gates to Pun Hell!" DJ Sr piped up, chirping happily.

Danes shook his head, smirking slightly. "You're like a child," he said affectionately.

"And you're the Pun King. Point is?" Deth Sr grinned back.

"Point is, you're a dork," he stated.

"An obnoxious dork!" Shamus agreed.

"And yet I'm not the one who happens to be the King of Puns," he replied, smirking as he leaned in toward Danes and winked playfully.

The other man rolled his gray eyes and just flicked him on the forehead. "And I will defend and maintain my title if you try to challenge me," he promised.

"Good." Deth nodded approvingly, still beaming. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

Shamus just groaned louder at his friends' playful exchange.

Ross laughed. "Enjoy Pun Hell," he said to his uncle, waving before leaving the room.

He smiled to himself as he walked down the halls toward his uncle's room, having enjoyed that conversation. He slowed when he was almost there though, his heart starting to beat faster as he began feeling kind of nervous for whatever reason. Ross really hoped his uncle had the blacklight. He had no interest in visiting his father's room after so long of leaving it untouched.

He walked into Shamus' room and began searching. It was very tidy so he was careful to keep it that way, but he did still have to do a lot of digging. And despite being organized, there were small areas where a lot of things would be accumulated a little messily. Ross had to sort through all of that. He looked through the desk first, picking through all the drawers. The second place he planned to look were the shelves, as those two seemed the most likely—but luckily for him, he opened the second-last drawer and brightened.

There inside was an obvious blacklight.

Relieved and thankful, he smiled and grabbed it before hurrying out. He closed the door to his uncle's room and made his way to his own, quickly flopping down on his bed and eagerly opening up his father's journal.

He picked up the blacklight and shone it on the journal's pages. And what he found both astonished and didn't astonish him.

As he'd suspected, the blacklight revealed hidden things his father had written and drawn on the pages. Despite that not surprising him as he'd already had his suspicions, he did still find it cool and interesting that his father had done this in the first place.

What did he have to hide...?

And with that exciting and yet scary thought, Ross quickly got to reading, as he had a lot of ground to cover...

Blaster and Michael were still mad at her. And while Banana wasn't one to let a boy dictate her life and how she lived it, the guilt that came with what she'd done was haunting her. She hated thinking back to that day, but all her mind seemed to come back to was the very memory that she hated so much.

She remembered faces of hurt, anger, and disbelief. They couldn't believe what she'd done—that Banana—perfect, always perfect Banana—could have stooped so low and hurt them the way she had.

She buried her face in her hands. Banana hated crying. But nowadays, it seemed to be all she wanted to do—all that she could do.

Just earlier during the day, she'd witnessed Blaster duck out of view as soon as he spotted her—but not soon enough for her to miss it—and saw Michael pointedly turn away when she entered the room. She could feel his glare on her back during the entire class.

Every time she heard students muttering and murmuring, she stiffened as if they were talking about her. Maybe she was just imagining it, but she felt isolated, as if everyone was avoiding her. She thought they would cast nasty looks over their shoulders, muttering about her under their breaths.

She dug her fingers into her hair, trying not to live through the day again. She didn't want to go back—she didn't want to go to school again.

Banana sniffled, wiping her tears. I wonder if there's something I can do to make this better, she thought.

She remembered then how Christie was currently missing, and how hushed up the entire matter had become. It was as if it had been swept under the rug—or rather, she was sure Michael and his friends and family were still trying to find her, but Banana had been thrown out of the loop once Michael had broken up with her.

He was certainly never speaking to her again if he could help it, and he clearly didn't want anyone else to know about Christie's disappearance.

Maybe I can help look for her, she thought, feeling desperate. If I find her and bring her back to her family... She knew her motives were selfish, but she was worried about Christie. So she convinced herself that she didn't have to get back together with Michael—if he would just forgive her for what she'd done, she'd be happy.

Happy.

It sounded so foreign now, as if the last time she'd experienced joy, it had been so long ago that the very sound of it was now unheard of to her.

Banana stood up and glanced at the clock on her wall. 6:15. Nearing curfew. The Professor probably wouldn't let her out during this time, considering how close it was to 7:00.

So she decided to sneak out through her window. She thanked the stars that she had superpowers before pushing the window open and floating outside. She made sure to close it, keeping it unlocked.

Banana flew into the sunset and travelled throughout the city, only doing quick scans. In some areas she slowed down a little to double-check, especially places that made her kind of suspicious, but for the most part, Townsville was quiet.

There was nothing to peak her suspicions enough for a thorough investigation. She knew that if Christie was being held in someone's house, she wouldn't exactly be able to see them, but she was hoping that by some off-chance she could spot Christie walking in a crowd. It was a silly hope, but still a possible one.

Banana didn't have a lot of time, after all. She convinced herself that if she had more time and she didn't have to be so inconspicuous, she would do a much more detailed search.

She paused, hovering over a very familiar café that she recognized because she had a friend working there, and she and her friends had gone so many times. Michael had taken her on dates there—it was the place she'd once seen Blaster come in bruised and battered, when he'd lost control, and the place she'd been with Michael when he'd learned about his sister's relationship with the yellow Ruff. She swallowed, wondering if she should dive down and take a closer look.

As if by fate, the door opened and a very familiar blond head bobbed into view. It was Blaster, and he was floating outside with a drink in his hand.

Banana froze as her counterpart slowly rose up into the air. While he was facing away from her, she caught sight of his face—he looked tired, and very distracted. There were bags under his eyes, and the coffee he was holding indicated that he was trying to use caffeine to stay awake.

She wondered if she should follow him. He hadn't noticed her yet.

Blaster was flying toward the forest, so she decided to fly after him just to see where he was headed. He stopped in front of the woods, glancing down, seemingly contemplating his next action. She flew a little closer and used her super-hearing to listen in: he was murmuring to himself.

"Should I see if Damon has..." He paused, trailing off as he looked down. "I could..."

His phone rang before he could finish his thought, and he let out a loud sigh before picking up. "Yes?" he mumbled.

There was a moment of silence before he said, "Oh. Okay." He sounded disappointed. "Sure. I'll help out with the new laser. Okay. I'll get it at the store. For the X850, right? Alright, alright. Let Mojo know I've got it. Sure. I'll be home real soon. Yeah, okay. Bye, Brick."

He hung up and Banana quickly dove down into the trees. She lifted her head and watched as he blasted off. He'd mentioned Damon—she remembered Damon. He was the creepy, crazy guy whom the Puffs had encountered once, only for him to threaten them despite still acting cheerful and friendly.

If he had Christie, she wouldn't be surprised. So taking a deep breath, Banana then plunged deeper into the forest. She flew close to the ground until she reached the clearing where Damon's cabin was located. She wondered if she should try and get closer higher up in the air, or if she should just stick to the ground.

Deciding to just wing it, she got ready to fly off, but stopped when she heard a boy's voice.

"This isn't exactly the kind of place I'd expect to find a little lady such as yourself."

She froze, turning slowly. The voice was too young and too different to be Damon's, but she still felt wary. The boy speaking was around her age, maybe a little older—definitely taller, at least—and dressed in a button-up. He had spring-green eyes and fiery-red hair, and was smiling casually. A big dog—probably a husky—was hanging around by his feet, tongue lolling out of its mouth.

"H-Hi," she stammered nervously. "I wasn't expecting to find anyone else here." A bit of a lie, but it was true that she hadn't been expecting anyone like him being here.

"I'd say the same," he replied. He sounded friendly enough, but Banana still felt cautious. "I was just walking my dog here when we happened to spot you."

She glanced down. It made her feel a little better—she could trust people more easily when they had a cute dog with them. It was faulty logic, but the presence of the husky put her more at ease. "What's its name?" she questioned.

"I named her Vixen," he explained.

"A female fox, huh?" Banana bent down and reached out, letting the dog sniff her hand. Once Vixen licked it, she took it as a sign of welcome and reached out to stroke the silky gray fur. "She's a little more on the adorable side than the seductive side."

He laughed. "I suppose she is." He smiled at her. "So what are you doing out here all by yourself?"

"I was looking for a friend," she responded carefully, standing up. She'd let her guard down a little bit, but she still felt on edge. So she'd chosen to go with a half-lie. "He..." She paused, trying to think of a reason as to why her so-called "friend" would be out in the forest. That's when the memory of Blaster popped back into her mind. "He often likes buying a coffee or some other drink and coming out to the forest to take a walk."

"Ahhh, I get that. It's a great place to think and get some ideas," he agreed. He glanced down at Vixen, who was sniffing the ground. "In fact, I'd just come out to get some ideas myself."

"Really? What for?" she asked.

"I was just trying to come up with a plan for this assignment I had received. You know how it is—lacking inspiration and all that junk." He smiled easily at her. "Did you find your friend?"

"Not yet." She smiled back. "Guess he's not here. I was just about to head back."

"Your eyes..." He furrowed his brow and paused, causing her to stiffen. "You're a Powerpuff Girl, aren't you? The yellow one...? Banana...?"

"Yes," she confirmed warily. It was one of the drawbacks of being a superhero and a celebrity—having so many people know who you are, and yet having no idea who other people were.

"I know one of your sisters," he said quickly, seemingly sensing her unease. "Sorry if I came off as creepy. I was just wondering, since yellow is quite a unique colour."

"Oh." She relaxed. "Which one of my sisters do you know?"

"I know Blossom." He smiled. "She's a nice girl. I also know all the Ruffs."

Banana blinked. "What were the chances I'd run into one of my classmates in the woods?" she joked, giggling.

"It's a small world after all," he agreed with a chuckle.

"It was nice getting to know you," she told him, meaning it this time. "What's your name, by the way? You know me, and yet I don't know you."

"I'm Vincent." He smiled. "And yeah, it was nice getting to know you too."

"Well, I better get going." Banana glanced at her phone's lock screen. "It's nearing my curfew."

He nodded. "I understand. I'm just about to head home myself. I guess I'll see you around, Banana."

She nodded. "See you around, Vincent." She floated up into the air, turning to wave.

"I'd be careful if I were you," he called after her.

"Whatever for?"

"There are wolves in these woods," he responded.

She frowned. She didn't remember there being wolves around Townsville, but she nodded anyway. "Okay; thanks for the warning! I'll be careful. Bye, Vincent!"

"Bye!" He waved, and she flew off.

He's a bit of an odd kid, but he seems nice enough, she thought to herself.

Meanwhile, down below, Vincent glanced down at Vixen. "Shall we?" he asked. When she let out a bark, he smiled. "My thoughts exactly," he agreed, before continuing down the path leading to home.

*(A/N: Reference to the PPG episode "Boogie Frights"!)

**(A/N: Reference to the PPG episode "Abracadaver"!)

***(A/N: Reference to chapter 51!)

****(A/N: This joke was taken from Tumblr and I love it)

ME: That's it for today! But wow this chapter is a long one! Around 28 000 words!

BRICK: What was that?

ME: What was what?

BRICK: That middle part! You're just going to randomly dedicate an entire segment to a side character and not explain yourself?

ME: Ooh, you mean Sarah's scene! Yeah, that was just for fun...because you know what day it is!

BRICK: *face-palms* April Fools, huh...

BANDIT: That wasn't much of a prank.

ME: Sorry, but I've already got all my chapters planned out till 100 and I refuse to ruin that perfect number, so you guys got this instead.

BANDIT: Nice.

DJ: Aren't you going to explain the excessive amounts of scenes with my dad?

MICHAEL: And my uncle?

ME: Nah, I just felt like giving some more screen-time to some other characters and see things from their point of view for once.

DJ: They had a lot of scenes together...

MICHAEL: I'm not sure what to take away from this, considering what day it is...

ME: They do have good chemistry.

BUTCH: I can't believe you and your puns. Or you and all this nonsense with Ross and Buttercup.

ME: *smirks* You're just jealous.

BUTCH: *blushes* Am not!

ME: Are too! And anyway, this chapter was pretty light. It's like the calm before the storm.

BANANA: ...What do you have in mind...?

ME: Can't say! But you'll find out soon enough! *winks* Don't forget to leave a review, everyone!

BANANA: ...Okay.