CHAPTER 76: WOLVES WITHOUT TEETH

ME: Ah, this one's kind of an exciting chapter!

BRICK: Why is this one so fast? Don't you usually take months at a time to update?

ME: Usually yes, but school has just started today and I worked real hard to get this done before things get crazy!

BLOSSOM: Be sure to focus on your studies.

ME: I know, I know. But happy late New Year, everyone! Hopefully I'll have another chapter done by April.

BRICK: *narrows eyes* You planned something, didn't you?

ME: *quickly* Anyway, read on and leave a review! It's a rather fun chapter this round. *winks*

Chapter 76: Wolves Without Teeth

"I wonder where Bandit was going," Braker remarked, taking a long sip of his hot chocolate. He made a face, sticking his tongue out in pain. "Ouch. Fucking hot."

Blaster smiled, tired but amused by his brother's antics. "Of course it's hot, silly. We just made it."

"Yeah, but it's like…hot hot," he complained, puffing out air.

"That's how it works," he agreed, blowing on his own hot chocolate before taking a gentle sip. He paused, before sighing and setting his mug down. "Braker…can I ask you something?"

"Ob coursch you cah," he responded.

Blaster stared blankly at him. "What?"

Rolling his eyes, Braker repeated, saying a little more clearly, "Of course you can."

"Okay, thanks." He smiled again in amusement. Braker really was the best at cheering others up. "Do you really think I should forgive Banana?"

His brother paused. "I think so," he said slowly, setting the mug down. "She didn't mean it."

"I know." He stared off into the distance, trying to make sense of the conflicting feelings clashing in his heart. "But it still hurt. Maybe because I was jealous of her and Michael. But as soon as I started moving on, she did…that."

"I know. It was kinda shitty, but you saw how awful she feels about it." Braker tapped his chin thoughtfully. "We all make mistakes, and maybe…maybe it doesn't have to be so bad. I'm scared if you don't forgive her, she won't ever forgive herself."

"I told her. I'll forgive her after she learns to forgive herself."

"I know. And I hope she does." Braker smiled. "No one's blaming you for being upset, Blaster. You have every right to be. But I know you know, deep down inside, you can't hate her. We all know she's not a bad person, and you two…have always been so close."

He stared down into his mug, before nodding with a sigh. "I guess so." He paused, frowning. "Damn. I really hate it when you're right."

Braker grinned, but before he could shoot back a playful retort, the doorbell rang.

"Who the hell could it be now?" Blaster wondered in surprise.

"I'll go see." Braker flew over to the door and opened it, and Blaster waited. After a stretch of silence, he heard Braker cry out, "What are you doing here!?"

The person sniffled, speaking in a weak voice, "Please…can we talk?"

Blaster jumped upwards. That sounds like DJ? But why does he sound so different? So…sad? So unlike DJ? He flew over, joining Braker with a growl. "What do you want? Are you here to pick a fight with us?"

DJ shook his head. "Just want to talk," he said weakly, before glancing at Braker. "I was hoping to do it with you alone."

"No," Blaster said firmly. "Who knows what you're plotting. We stick together. Like brothers."

"Family. How nice," DJ murmured wistfully. He swallowed. "Okay. I'll talk to both of you. But please…just let me in."

Braker and Blaster exchanged glances, and Braker nodded. "Alright. I promised Bliss I'd learn to get along with you." He opened the door wider. "Come on in, DJ."

The other boy staggered inside, quickly collapsing on the couch.

Blaster studied him, just now realizing how awful he looked. His usually olive skin looked drained of all colour, now an unpleasant ashen gray. His eyes were red and puffy, having clearly been crying.

"You okay, buddy?" Braker asked, already preparing another mug of hot chocolate. He started the kettle.

As the water boiled, DJ responded in a quiet voice, "No. I feel awful. Like my whole world has just been turned upside-down."

"You're acting like your dad died or something," Braker said, sitting down beside Blaster. "What's wrong?"

"He might as well be dead. To me, anyway." A hint of bitterness crept into the boy's tone, and he glared at nothing. "He's a fucking liar."

"What's going on?" Braker asked, bewildered. "I know you two don't always get along, but this…"

DJ looked up with his bloodshot eyes, meeting their confused gazes. "He lied to me," he said. "And as it turns out, I'm not pure vampire."

Blaster's eyes widened. "Are you…half-human?"

"No. But now I wish I was." He laughed bitterly. "I wouldn't be so upset if I was. No. I guess I'm…kind of like…" He hesitated, shaking his head. "Like one of you."

Braker couldn't hide his shock, his mouth dropping open. "What!?"

"At least, I'm half." DJ frowned. "My mother… She was Fillip van Hissmant's sister. Apparently."

"He had a sister!?"

"Two, supposedly." He snorted, closing his eyes. "My good ol' Papa decided to hide this from me."

Having recovered from his shock, Braker flew over and reached out. DJ recoiled briefly, before relaxing and letting Braker pat him gently on the shoulder. "I'm sorry your father didn't tell you," he said softly.

He looked away. "It's not your fault."

Blaster observed the half-vampire. "Are you…disgusted by this revelation?" he finally asked. "That you're like one of us?"

DJ was silent for some time, but then he sighed and shook his head. "No. I'm upset, but not disgusted. I've been taught a large majority of my life that you're all lowly animals, but my mama…" His eyes became glazed over, a sad wistfulness taking hold of him. "I really loved her. Or at least…as much as I could, without knowing who she was. I don't think this changes my opinion of her, and over time I've learned that not all of you are so bad. I'm…" He looked down. "I'm mostly just mad at my father for lying."

The kettle finished boiling just then, and Braker poured the hot water into the mug of hot chocolate before passing it to DJ. "Here," he murmured. "Hopefully it helps."

"Thanks." He smiled weakly, but the gratefulness was sincere. He picked up the mug and blew on it softly. After taking a sip, he looked back up. "I'm sorry," he blurted out.

Braker paused, surprised. "Whatever for?"

"I've been a real dick to you, but you're being so nice about everything."

"At least you admit it," replied Blaster, crossing his legs.

"I've been a dick to you too," Braker added, smirking weakly. "I guess I'm just tired of the fighting."

"...Me too," DJ said softly.

Blaster and Braker exchanged looks. They had a feeling he meant it.

"I don't want to go home," the boy admitted, and he suddenly seemed so small and weak, like a starving little bat. "I don't want to go home to that liar."

"I'm sure he was just—"

"Protecting me, I know. But it still hurts. It's still not fair." DJ squeezed the mug but stopped himself before it shattered in his hands. "I'm still mad at him."

"I understand." Braker paused. "Do you…want to stay here?"

"Braker!" hissed Blaster, staring at his brother in disbelief. "Are you insane?"

"What?" he exclaimed defensively. "He's in need of a place to stay, isn't he?"

"Why here!?"

"Because his dad would find him in his friends' houses!"

"Is that so bad? Maybe they should talked !"

"But—"

"It's okay. I won't trouble you." DJ shook his head, now appearing even more exhausted. He looked like he would flutter into the air if someone blew air at him. "I'll sleep outside tonight."

"Are you sure?" Braker asked. "I'd feel like such a jerk for kicking you out."

"I don't want to bother you. The fact that you've welcomed me in and given me this chance to talk is already good enough." DJ smiled weakly. "Thanks, by the way."

"You're welcome…" Braker paused, before sighing. "You know…Bliss was right. You're not so bad."

"You too." DJ finished off his hot chocolate and smiled a little more brightly. "You're…really nice, actually. I guess…everything I know…" He trailed off, suddenly tearing up. "It really is just all a lie…" All of a sudden, he was full-on crying, burying his face in his hands as his shoulders shook violently.

"Oh God," Braker breathed, flying over and placing a blanket around the other boy's shoulders. "DJ…"

"Everything I know is a lie," he stuttered through the tears. "I can't believe I've been living my life with so much hatred, never knowing who my mom really was…"

Blaster felt a pang in his heart. Living my life with so much hatred. He thought back to Banana, and then even Christie. He remembered when he'd thought all vampires were cruel creatures, but she'd certainly proved him wrong. And as for Banana…

Was he really going to spend the rest of his life hating her for one mistake—especially when she herself obviously felt so guilty? When she clearly hated herself so much for it—even more than he hated her for what she'd done?

"Shhh. It's alright, DJ. This is just what we were taught," Braker murmured comfortingly. "We couldn't have known…"

"I hate it all," he whispered. "I hate myself for it. I hate my dad for lying. I hate this war. I hate what it's led to. Mom and Dad got married to cement a treaty and never even loved each other. And now look at where it's gotten us.

"Absolutely nowhere. We've gone straight to war again. All of us act so high-and-mighty, and what's the difference? Just because I'm slightly different from the other vampires doesn't mean anyone's even ever fucking noticed. It's not something we can just detect. We're closer to one another than we could even imagine, and we keep fighting in this endless cycle of pointless hatred."

"He's right," Blaster commented quietly, thinking back to Christie and everything he'd said to her when he first met her. Telling her that they weren't so bad. That they were similar, even.

And now it seemed they were more similar than they could've ever imagined.

"He lied to me about this ever since I was born," DJ growled out. "I wonder how much of my life is a lie."

Braker didn't reply right away, but then he asked very softly, "Do you plan on forgiving your dad?"

"I…don't know." His shoulders slumped and he stared into the mug of hot chocolate, tears pricking at his eyes. "I'm so mad at him, but…he's still family, and I… All I've ever wanted was his attention and his praise. And to know more information about my mother. Now I know why I was never given either."

"But we know he loves you. I'm sure of it," Braker insisted. He patted the other boy's shoulder comfortingly. "Having met your dad, I at least know that. He's a good man, and I'm sure he never meant to hurt you. He probably just wanted—"

"Whatever his intentions were, it still hurts." The tears fell into the hot chocolate now, and DJ covered his eyes, his shoulders shaking. "Everything hurts."

Blaster was quiet, watching the scene before him. The obviously growing friendship between DJ Jr and Braker was almost ideal, even as they were bonding over sad news. But both sides, getting along, helping each other—even forgiving each other—that was what the Ruffs had always wanted. It was what peace looked like.

But in wanting to make that peace, forgiveness was required. And seeing DJ unable to do so in regards to his own father… Blaster thought back to Banana and then Christie, and his heart ached.

Is forgiveness really so easy to give?

Sniffling, DJ wiped his eyes. "Did you know my mother?"

Braker hesitated, glancing at Blaster.

The yellow-eyed Ruff frowned. "We…didn't know much about the van Hissmant family," he admitted, causing DJ to look up. He was overtly aware of the piercing blue eyes now pinned on him, still teary and wet like melting icicles. "We only knew about Fillip through Sampson. And when we did see the man, he was always angry… He never really talked about himself, let alone his family."

"Why would he?" DJ muttered, shaking his head. "My father took his sister. My birth killed her. And yet he had to keep going and keep facing my father even in wartime, because they were rivals. Of course he was angry."

Braker looked at Blaster wistfully, and the yellow Ruff knew he was wishing there was some way for them to contact the dead man.

"Was there ever anyone else?" Braker asked desperately.

DJ stared down into his mug. "I think my father mentioned another sister."

Blaster tried to think back to Fillip, wondering if they'd ever met any of his family, and if he ever saw anyone else with Sampson and Harry. "Perhaps we could ask," he finally mused aloud. "Mojo asked the Professor to see Sampson for some herbs, but we could go on our own."

"Do you think he knows?" DJ asked.

"I'm not sure." Blaster shook his head. "He was so worried about his daughter these past few months, he hasn't really talked about much else."

"Confronting Sampson, huh… After everything that's happened…" DJ's eyes grew distant. "It was Danes who sent his daughter into a coma, wasn't it?"

"Ah, so you remember," Blaster remarked wryly.

Braker shot him a look, before adding, "I'm sure he'd be willing to provide us with some answers if he does know. Besides, it won't be a confrontation. It'll be a conversation."

DJ hesitated, visibly uncertain whether he agreed or not.

"Braker's right," Blaster said. DJ looked up in surprise, and he continued: "I know we have our issues, but you were wrong about one thing. The treaty has worked—at least, somewhat."

"But the war—"

"Is still happening, yes, but this time, things are different. Just look at yourselves. Two different sides of the war, coming together despite your differences and past grudges. Forgiving one another."

DJ and Braker glanced at one another, before Braker smiled slightly. "Bliss taught us that," he remarked.

DJ nodded. "But this is just small-scale…"

"Think positive, DJ." Blaster smiled. "It's a start."

Braker turned serious again, asking, "Do you think you'll be able to forgive your father?"

He shook his head, before clarifying, "Maybe. But in the future. Right now…I can't stand it. My heart clenches every time I think of him."

"I know how you feel." Blaster knew his ordeal was less big of a deal than DJ's, but he still related to the conflict in the other boy's heart.

"Forgiveness has to start somewhere," Braker replied, giving his brother a pointed look.

"And we can start with talking to Sampson," Blaster added, trying to ignore the obvious message directed to him. "Find some more information before you settle on an opinion."

"Like what you guys want to do with Damon?"

Blinking in surprise, the yellow Ruff nodded. "I guess so. We wanted to believe in him. Believe that there was more to the story."

"I always thought you were delusional, but perhaps it's the rest of us who are delusional, believing in what we want to believe." DJ shook his head. "I certainly did."

"It wasn't your fault." Braker insisted. "And we can learn from our past. Seeking answers from Sampson can aid in that."

"Yes," DJ sighed, leaning back and finally sipping some more of his hot chocolate. Mumbling around the mug, he commented absentmindedly, "That sounds like a good idea."

"It's a start." Blaster nodded.

"And that's all we want to do," Braker agreed soothingly.

"Alright." He downed the rest of his hot chocolate and set the mug down. "Let's get started."

Soon the three were in the air, with DJ in his bat form. Braker flew nearby, covering for him because of his small size.

"Do you think he'll know anything?" DJ asked.

Blaster shrugged. "Do you want him to?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I want answers, but if he knows…"

"That would mean he's been keeping things from you," finished Braker.

"Well, we'll soon see what he does know," Blaster remarked, banking downwards now that he'd spotted Sampson's house.

It looked as serene as it always did, flowers spilling from every corner. Even though Cassandra hadn't been back long, Blaster had the feeling that the flowers now looked a little perkier, shining a little brighter.

Braker and DJ landed beside him, and Braker kept DJ in his overalls pocket. They'd agreed to wait for him to transform back so as not to alarm Sampson. The vampires' bat form was more vulnerable, so when he did poke his head out of Braker's pocket, little nose and big ears wiggling, it'd be a sign of peace.

Blaster pushed the doorbell, shielding Braker and DJ from view. It sounded sharp, and his excellent hearing picked up on hesitant footsteps.

There was a moment of silence where he knew Sampson was checking to see who it was. Finally, he flung the door open and beamed.

"Hi, boys. What brings you here today?" he asked. "No injuries, I hope?"

Blaster took a step back so that Braker could wave, grinning sheepishly. "We're here to ask some questions," he explained. "We figured we should start somewhere."

"Start wh—?" Sampson trailed off when he saw the twitching ears and nose of a bat poke out of Braker's overall pocket. The colour drained from his face. "Boys…"

"It's okay. He comes in peace." Braker scooped DJ out of his pocket and held him up, cupped in his hands.

"Another vampire in my home, and so soon after the first one," he murmured.

"You had another come here?" Blaster asked sharply. "What happened?"

"Nothing. It was fine," Sampson said quickly.

DJ lifted his little wings. "I'll stay in this form as long as it takes, if it makes you feel any better," he squeaked.

Sampson swallowed, stepping back. "So it really is you," he murmured, before saying a little louder, "Come in."

As they followed him inside, the older man continued: "I have an acquaintance I have to meet with in half an hour. His family has often been my patients in the past, and while I'd taken some days off to see to my daughter's needs, I think I need having something to focus on and distract me from the war."

Blaster, Braker, and DJ exchanged glances, all wondering what kind of a person the patient would be.

"We'll try to be quick," DJ squeaked.

"It's alright. Take all the time you need." Sampson glanced back at him. "I have a feeling you'll have a lot of questions."

He was quiet after that.

They soon settled down in the kitchen, with Sampson busying himself preparing some snacks and tea. For DJ he pulled out a small vial of blood, probably from his line of work, and placed a few droplets in a little sauce bowl.

As DJ lapped at the red liquid, Sampson sat down and folded his hands together. "And what is it that you boys wish to discuss that caused you three to gather together?"

"My mom," DJ said, looking up. "Papa told me who she was."

Sampson nodded. "I thought so. So your father must have decided it was finally time you knew the truth." He eaned down. "You know your mother is Lula van Hissmant?"

"And that she and Papa married because of a treaty," he confirmed. "And that…she has a sister."

"Yes…a little sister," the older man sighed. "Her name is Isabella. You…met her recently, actually."

DJ's eyes grew wide. "When I attacked Bliss," he whispered.*

Sampson nodded. "And when Harry attacked you. I'm sorry about his actions, DJ."

"It's…It's okay. We're at war anyway…" He trailed off, looking dizzy. "So that's why she asked me if I remembered who she is?"

"Isabella had taken care of you when you were younger," the man explained. "Even after your families cut ties, I know she hopes you still remember her."

"I…I really don't," DJ whispered, grabbing his head with his little claws. "All I remember is Slicer and a nanny or two." He looked up then, eyes large. "How long ago did she look after me?"

"She and her husband often visited your house to care for you with Slicer, especially when you were much smaller. They didn't have to do so when you were a little older and they had their own things to look after, but they would still visit. They finally stopped all contact after the war restarted. You were around eight…"

"When Damon killed Tyrone."

Sampson cringed, before nodding. "Yes. When that happened."

"But that wasn't so long ago? Why can't I remember them?"

"Your father was very careful in keeping them away. Even though they wanted to see you, they understood," Sampson explained. "Your father probably worked to make you think they were hired help."

"No wonder," DJ muttered. "What is her husband's name? Is he…still alive?"

Sampson nodded, causing DJ's shoulders to relax.

"I was scared of more death," he murmured in a deep breath.

"Isabella is married to Kyle." Sampson smiled slightly as his eyes became distant, clearly remembering something from the past. "Kyle actually almost married Sylvie."

"WHAT?" all three boys cried in unison, with DJ's voice being much higher in pitch.

"The Sylvie?" spluttered Braker. "The one that started this whole mess?"

Sampson nodded. "This was still during wartime, and Sylvie's mother continuously pressured her to find a suitor. Kyle was almost that suitor."

"But…But Tyrone whisked her away?" DJ asked.

"Well, not quite. She actually stood up for herself and said no," he explained. A ghost of a smile passed over his face. "And funnily enough, Kyle agreed because he understood. He had a crush on Lula, after all."

"So…how did he end up with Isabella?"

"Well, Lula had a crush on Danes, so she volunteered herself for the treaty because it was expected that the heir to the Hawthorne household and the vampire army would be the one wedding her."

"She liked Danes?" DJ stammered in shock. "Danes?"

"What a mess," Braker commented. "This could almost be a TV show."

Blaster nudged him with his elbow.

"But for whatever inexplicable reason, your father volunteered himself."

"Now why the hell would he do that?" DJ wondered.

"Everyone has had their own theories." Sampson cleared his throat. "I think your father…well, he understood at the very least that Danes wouldn't be happy in that marriage.

"And in the end, Isabella courted Kyle and they got married instead."

"Did they…" DJ hesitated, almost looking scared. "Did they have children?"

"One." Sampson paused. "Sort of."

"What do you mean?" asked Braker, his eyes wide.

Blaster had a feeling his brother wished he had popcorn. "Adoption?" he asked. "Surrogate mother?"

"Adoption," confirmed Sampson. "Lula and Isabella were the same. Both were too frail to have children, but Lula still wanted to give birth to you. She loved you from the moment you were conceived, DJ. Even if the marriage wasn't one born from love. Kyle and Izzy still wanted at least one child as well, so they adopted a sickly girl named Audrey who had been thrown around the foster care system quite a bit."

"And is…is she still alive? This Audrey?"

"Yes. Kyle is a human like Sylvie, and Audrey is also human. Because of this, Izzy tends to stay far, far away from the war." He sipped his tea, pondering. "Your father has also always made sure that she is comfortable, and often protects her. He even sends her money every year."

"And I never knew." Another tone of bitterness crept in, but DJ shook it off. "So my mother's sister—my aunt—is okay? Th-They're all okay?"

"They're all well and alive." Sampson smiled. "We all do our best to make sure her family is doing alright, especially after Fillip's death. Including your father."

DJ stared off into space, a look of wonder in his eye. "I have an aunt and an uncle and even a cousin somewhere out there… And an uncle who has died…" He refocused, turning back to Sampson. "Please, tell me about my mother and my uncle Fillip. I want to know them better."

He smiled. "Lula was a feisty girl. She was known for her sass and sarcasm, never afraid to back down from a real fight. She always said what was on her mind, and she was known for being rash. Which is probably why she didn't shy away from stating that she found Danes cute, even though a war was going on and they were enemies. The story became infamous, and Fillip raged about it to Harry and I afterwards.

"But soon the war ended and we could all become friends again, and Damon introduced us to your side. Danes' aloofness certainly attracted Lula, and as everyone got closer… I guess she fell harder and harder, but Danes has always been a distant man who has trouble connecting with others. Even as she volunteered herself for the marriage to be with him, it was clear it wouldn't work out.

"And that could be part of the reason your father stepped in. The wedding was such a grand event. It had to be, after all. We were cementing a treaty. Everyone attended, and from both sides. When the wedding was complete, DJ and Lula had to produce an heir. And so…"

"I was born," DJ finished.

Sampson nodded. "It did kill Lula, but she'd refused to have an abortion. It was also her who named you after your father, a thing he'd always joked about in the past, even though in that moment, he wanted to name you after her."

DJ Jr buried his face in his claws, shaking his little head as his bat ears flopped downwards.

"I…I was there, you know," Sampson continued. "I was one of the doctors helping to deliver you.

"When Lula died, Fillip was livid. He'd always been a rash man, like his sister, but with a bad temper. And he'd always been jealous of DJ Sr. I know he blamed your father for Lula's death. But Isabella was more understanding—she always was. Compared to her siblings, Isabella is gentle and quite kind, and even a little shy. She and Kyle, who were already a couple at that time, would go visit your house to look after you with your uncle Slicer."

"While my father was away," DJ said in realization. His eyes grew dark. "Because he couldn't stand me."

"Your father and mother weren't in love, but they did their best to connect," Sampson offered reassuringly. "I'm sure he didn't feel that way about you."

"I still wouldn't be surprised if he did," DJ sighed.

"DJ…" Braker glanced at his companion in concern.

"I'm sorry; I'll stop. I know I sound like a self-pitying, probably actually pitiful, pathetic fool," he sighed, shaking his little head. He looked up then, trying to smile despite it being less clear as a bat. "But thank you."

"...I never really thought I'd see the day," Sampson murmured back, his own lips curling upwards. "When you return to us. And when vampires once again step foot inside my house."

"I appreciate the help," he said.

"Of course. You're welcome to come back anytime you have more questions. Although…I believe some answers your father would like me to save for him to tell you."

"I don't know if I'd ask him," DJ muttered. "I don't even know how much I can trust him anymore. But enough of my whining. I'll get out of your hair now, Sampson. And thank you again." He stood up on his little feet, and the older man got up as well.

"At least take some cookies with you," he offered. "I'll even inject them with some blood so that you'll have something nutritious."

"Thank you." The little bat looked almost overwhelmed at the kindness, and tears appeared in his eyes. "I really, really do appreciate it."

"It's no problem whatsoever. The time has simply come for you to find some answers, and we were all expecting—or at least hoping—for it to come soon," Sampson replied, gathering some cookies and placing them inside a small plastic bag.

"My mother's parents… A-Are they still around at all?"

He paused. "Rowryn and Felicity? No…I'm afraid they died years ago. But Isabella and Kyle still live in their old house."

"Could you take me?"

He hesitated. "I think that's somewhere you and your father should go together," he said, turning around with the bag of cookies in his hands. "So I'm afraid not, little one."

DJ's ice-blue eyes flashed, and before anyone knew what was happening, he'd transformed into his human form once more. And then he pounced at Sampson.

"DJ, no!" gasped Braker, leaping upwards.

Blaster jumped up as well, knocking his chair over as his hands flared up in a flaming yellow.

Before anyone could act though, DJ had landed…and instead of an attack, he wrapped his arms around Sampson. Everyone froze as the teenager squeezed the man, mumbling, "Thank you for everything" into his shirt as he closed his teary eyes.

Sampson's gaze softened and he hugged back, and the group stood in silence for a brief period of time.

DJ pulled back, sniffling as he wiped his eyes. "I hope we can continue our discussion some other time."

"Me too, kid. Me too." Sampson smiled, patting the boy's shoulder and passing him the cookies. "Good luck. Talk to your dad soon, and…tell him I say hi—that all of us say hi."

DJ nodded, before turning to go.

Braker and Blaster got up to follow, but the yellow Ruff paused for a moment and stayed back. "Do you think he'll ever be able to forgive his father?" he asked.

"It may take some time, but forgiveness certainly depends on the person and situation. His father meant well, and he is still family, and I know how much he cares about his son. I can only hope that DJ Jr realizes this himself. Part of that will certainly depend on how sorry his father is. But I know he is sorry. And hopefully DJ can see that."

Blaster thought back to Banana. I know he is sorry. And I know she is too, don't I? "Thanks, Sampson," he murmured.

Surprised, he glanced down at the teen. "Whatever for?"

"For helping DJ. And for helping me." Blaster smiled, before giving the man a brief hug. "We'll see you around."

"Of course," he replied, waving and watching the boys leave. When they were gone, he sat down heavily in his chair and glanced at the potted plant on the table.

It was a rosemary plant.

Flashback

Cassandra had become quiet after the death of her mother, especially considering she'd witnessed the entire bloody ordeal, as the attacker had entered her bedroom. Everything had takes place in her room that fatal night, and as a young girl, she'd witnessed a vampire brutally stab her mother again and again…until the floor was drenched in blood. It had certainly scarred her into silence, and it took a long time before she opened up again.

Sampson still held that day dear to his heart. She'd just come back from school, and he was in the kitchen cooking. "Had a good day at school today, dear?" he asked. Cassandra barely ever answered anymore, but he still always asked.

And to his shock, she said in a quiet voice, "Yes, I did, Daddy."

He whirled around and she smiled softly, lifting up a pot. Inside were rosemary plants, their flowers having just unfurled their petals. "My project bloomed today," she said, "and we met a man whose son died in a car crash. He told us to go home and hug our family and call up all our friends and tell them that we love them, because we don't know what's going to happen tomorrow." She smiled a little bigger, almost shy. "So I just wanted to say that I love you, Daddy."

Tears sprang to his eyes and he rushed to scoop her up in his arms. Crying, he told her that he loved her too, as did her mom, and that he was so proud of her and happy to have her in his life. He glanced back at the blooming rosemary plants in the little pot, and he managed to smile.

Even after all this thyme, Rosemary, you know how to spread love and joy in my life…

And I will try to be half the human that you were. I will always love the two of you until the end of thyme.

End Flashback

Rosemary always did love her plant puns. Until the end of thyme…

The memory hurt.

The original plant itself had sadly passed away, but now Sampson and Cassandra always replanted the rosemary from cuttings. They did this as soon as the plant showed signs of dying, and it felt like they were preserving a piece of Rosemary's memory.

Sampson sighed, taking a sip of his tea as he stared at the rosemary. His eyes glazed over, and he asked softly, "Oh, Rosie…what would you do for DJ and his father? Would you have taken DJ to Isabella's house? Or would you insist they talk? How would you handle all of this?

"And do you think forgiveness is possible?" He thought back to Cassandra's unconscious body and the bomb that had sent her into her eighteen-month coma. He remembered Danes' face before he'd locked the group inside the shed with the bomb.

"Do I forgive him?" he wondered aloud. "I suppose that if you were here, you would tell me I should. You always had a soft spot for Danes, didn't you? Calling him Hrothgar, King of the Danes… I knew he never expected a Beowulf reference, least of all from you.

"You told me he visited Lula on her wedding day, didn't he, to privately speak with her? I wonder what he said to her. Perhaps he had finally realized her crush on him and turned her down. Or perhaps there was something else, involving the groom…

"We would never know. But I remember you being so curious. Lula was one of your best friends, after all. And Isabella too. The whole gang…"

He lifted his teacup and peered inside at the faded reflection. "I wonder what you would have thought of us as we all fell apart," he said softly. "Maybe it's a good thing you never saw that destruction. Or maybe you could have kept us together. You always did know how to bring people together." Rosemary's smile flashed in his face, and her laughter filled his ears. A teardrop fell into the cup.

"Oh, Rosie… How I miss you… I know you'd preach forgiveness if you were still here—probably even be telling me to go see Mike again right now. But I think a lot of us have given up on such things a long time ago. After what Damon's done…can forgiveness between the two sides ever be given again?"

Meanwhile, Braker and Blaster were accompanying DJ again outside. When they reached the exit of Sampson's neighbourhood, Blaster turned to the vampiric teen.

"So then this is where we part ways?" he said, wording it more like a question than a statement.

DJ smiled weakly. "At least let me show my gratitude for your kindness before we go."

"Oh, DJ—there's really no need—" Braker tried to process, but he was interrupted.

"Please…I'm sleeping outside tonight, and I don't want to be alone just yet."

Blaster and Braker exchanged glances, before nodding. "Okay," Braker agreed gently.

"What did you have in mind?"

"There's the Crystalline Cave. It's a very popular restaurant, and…a family favourite… Bliss and I even had our first date there…" He trailed off, looking sad.**

Braker rushed to remedy this, despite his obvious jealousy. "Isn't that the super ritzy place with the hot springs? I hear it's designed to look like a cave? But jeez, I really don't think Blaster or I could afford it, unless you were treating." He laughed awkwardly at his own joke.

"Oh…of course," DJ said distractedly. He was silent for awhile, and Blaster and Braker were concerned he'd grown so upset he'd completely withdrawn.

"I mean, if you're willing to treat us, we're certainly not complaining," Blaster offered.

"Blaster!"

"What? He suggested it!"

"Maybe some other time," DJ finally said. "It really is a good place and I'd definitely recommend it, but I've just thought of another restaurant. It's affordable, friendly, cozy…and well, I think it'll be just right—perfect, even. I think you'll like it."

Braker and Blaster shared looks again, both wondering what kind of a place DJ had in mind—what he considered "affordable," considering his rich status.

Their fears soon proved to be unfounded though, because DJ led them to a small restaurant not in the richer areas of Townsville. It was definitely homey, and when they looked through the menu, they realized it was indeed quite affordable.

"How did you know about this place?" Braker asked incredulously.

He smiled. "What, just because I'm rich, I wouldn't know where to hang out for 'normal folk'?"

"No, I just—"

"Relax, I'm just joking around." DJ looked up and smiled a little brighter when he saw someone walking over to them. He turned back to the Ruffs. "A friend introduced it to me."

"Bonjour, mes amies!"

"Elias!" Braker said cheerfully, grinning. "I didn't know you work at a restaurant!"

"Ma famille owns the place, actually." Elias pulled out a notepad. "Your orders for today, gentlemen?"

"Any dish you'd like," DJ added. "It's on me."

"Wow, how generous!" their waiter exclaimed, clearly impressed.

Blaster snorted, but before he could tell Elias that it was repayment for their own kindness, DJ did it for them:

"Actually, I'm just repaying them for their generosity and patience with me."

"Awww, that's really sweet," Elias replied, smiling. "You doing alright though, DJ?"

He looked taken aback. "Whatever do you mean?"

"It's just that…you said they were being generous and patient with you, weren't they? Did something come up?"

"No, I just…" He trailed off, suddenly silent.

"He's having a tough time at home," Braker explained, stepping in to help him.

"Oh…I see." Elias seemed a little disappointed that DJ hadn't chosen to confide in him himself, but then he smiled again. "Well, I hope things will be okay from here on out. You're always welcome to swing by for some food and a talk if you'd like." He paused, before adding with a chuckle, "The food may cost money, but the talking sure doesn't."

Braker snorted, letting out a giggle, and Elias' face turned red.

"Sorry, that was a dumb joke; just ignore—"

"Thank you." DJ smiled gratefully. "I'll keep your promise in mind."

Despite his flushed cheeks, Elias nodded shyly back.

"Well, if we're ever going to get around to ordering, I'd like the bœuf à la bourguignonne, please," announced Blaster.

"And a buttermilk crêpe!" Braker added eagerly.

"All very good choices. I approve!" Elias scribbled the notes down and glanced at Braker. "Did you want something else besides dessert?"

"Oh, okay. How's about a coq au vin? Am I saying that right?"

Elias laughed, shaking his head. "Close enough, I guess. One coq au vin it is, then."

"Wow, that sounded nothing like what I said," Braker mused, causing Blaster to roll his eyes.

"And for you, mec?" Elias asked, turning to DJ.

"Anything you'd recommend for me once again?"

His green eyes brightened. "Maybe the chicken basquaise? It has a light spiciness, and I think it really suits you."

He smiled. "Alors je voudrais commander du poulet, s'il vous plaît."

"Oui, bien sûr!" Elias answered cheerfully, before walking off with their orders.

"Show off," Blaster said jokingly.

"What? I thought it'd be nice to speak some French to him, since I know a little bit."

Braker laughed. "Never mind. Blaster's just teasing you, DJ."

"But what does 'mec' mean?"

DJ frowned before shrugging. "I'm guessing it's a nickname? Or something like 'dude' or 'guy'? I'm not totally familiar with the casual, street language."

The three chatted about casual things, trying to ignore the looming issues of war and family surrounding them. They found it fairly easy to talk like normal people—like "friends"—despite their differences, albeit a little awkwardly.

When Elias came by with their food, DJ looked up and said, "Why don't you come join us? We'd be happy to welcome the company."

"Oh non, I really shouldn't…"

"Why? Is it because you're still working?" he asked, obviously perplexed. "I'll pay your wage for today if that would help."

"Non, non, there's really no need for that! It's…umm…" Elias glanced back at the kitchen door, where his mother stood, watching with an amused smile on her face.

She made a shooing motion with her hands. "Go, go, mon cheri! It's okay. We can handle it. Bon appetit!"

Elias shot her a look before turning back to the group. "Guess I'm out of excuses. Alright then!" He smiled sheepishly.

Since Blaster and Braker were already sitting together, DJ scooted over so that Elias could slide in. The golden-brown-haired boy sat down, visibly awkward and shy.

Braker immediately jumped in, always wanting to make everyone around him feel comfortable. With a few jokes and some teasing, he very quickly made Elias feel at ease.

The group of unlikely friends spent quite a long time just talking and laughing. Even DJ, who deep down inside, still felt miserable, was distracted enough to smile—because at the very least, he wasn't alone.

Bandit reclined in his seat, trying to ignore the thoughts churning around inside of his head. But all he could recall were Bunny's tears and her voice, telling him to move on from the past.

But my current feelings for you aren't from the past. They're from the here and now.

He hugged the pillow in his arms a little tighter, his throat closing up. He'd been so close to confessing. How had he fucked it up so badly?

Bandit looked outside of his room. The house seemed almost empty. Mojo Jojo and Him were in the kitchen, trying to figure out what to make for dinner, and his brothers were all in their rooms or had gone out. When he'd flown back home, Braker and Blaster had disappeared.

Interestingly enough, they'd left behind three empty mugs on the coffee table instead of two.

He was curious why, but he didn't have the heart to dwell on it. There were so many other things currently on his mind—most of them involving Bunny, and the consequences of his actions. What would she say the next time she sees me? Probably nothing. I wouldn't blame her if she wants to ignore me for the rest of her life.

A part of him also wondered how Darkai would react. The boy wasn't the kind who showed signs of jealousy—or any emotion for that matter—but he was Bunny's boyfriend. That, and a vampire. The enemy.

Bandit would also not be surprised if Darkai would be pissed off, even if he didn't show it. Would he be pissed off enough to try and settle the score?

There was a knock on the door just then, and Bandit frowned. They seemed to keep getting visitors.

"Boys! Could someone get that, please? I'm trying to decide between broccoli or bok choy for dinner and I don't want any distractions!" shouted Him.

Sighing, Bandit flew over and flung open the door. "Excuse me, we—"

"Hello, Bandit. Just the one I was looking for."

His eyes widened when he saw Darkai standing before him, and he immediately shoved the boy away. He slammed the door behind him, joining Darkai outside. "Are you insane!?" he demanded, his hands glowing purple. Even though he'd half-expected the confrontation, he was shocked Darkai would be so thoughtless as to deliver himself to enemy territory and confront Bandit in a place their war could be exposed. "What are you doing at our house?"

"I wish to speak with you." Darkai's voice was as calm as ever.

"Well, you're a lot stupider than you look. You're practically handing yourself over to the enemy—"

"I am seeing you regarding a more personal matter."

Bandit froze, and he had a sinking feeling about Darkai's next few words.

"It's about Bunny."

Immediately his walls flew up. "What about her?"

"She told me what happened."

He swallowed, trying hard not to think back to how hurt she had looked. "I didn't mean anything. Forget it."

"It is hard to forget when you attempted to kiss my girlfriend."

He whirled around, glaring at the other boy even as tears pricked his eyes. "I'm sorry, okay! I didn't mean anything by it, I swear. It was a heat of the moment thing. Just forget it."

Darkai's eyes remained unreadable. Bandit hated how collected he appeared, while he himself was falling apart. "Enough. Stop lying."

"I'm not—I'm not lying to anyone," he tried to say, but the words caught in his throat.

"You are lying to yourself."

"What do you know?" he snapped back. "And what do you want from me? I'm sorry I made a move on your girlfriend, alright? Isn't that enough for you?"

"It's not me who you should be apologizing to."

As if his words were a knife, Bandit felt the tears begin streaming down his face. He covered his eyes with his hands, his shoulders trembling. He hated it because what Darkai was saying was true.

Darkai took a step closer. "Bunny and I currently have hit a roadblock in our relationship. If you had gone through with your confession, you could have stood a chance. A fair chance. If she had chosen you, I would not blame you."

Bandit shook his head, but couldn't reply.

"But you chose to give up halfway through. You chose to be a coward."

"So maybe I am, alright! So what?" he cried, glaring at Darkai. "Aren't you ecstatic? You can have her again."

"She's hurt. I do not like seeing her be hurt. Especially when I know the person who hurt her had other intentions." Darkai stopped before Bandit. "Why do you choose to toy with her?"

The accusation was as placid as a puddle, and yet as powerful as a waterfall. Bandit felt as though he had been dunked in ice water, submerged and drowning, choking for air.

Purple fire exploded from his hands as he let out a roar, and a spiritual bear formed around him as he tackled Darkai. The other boy let out a hiss of pain, and the two crashed to the pavement.

Bandit punched his opponent in the face a few times, until he was thrown off. As he rolled away, gritting his teeth, he could see Darkai pulling himself up from the ground.

Then the boy was upon him, slashing claws and all, and Bandit's fists glowed purple. The fire that exploded from his fingers caused Darkai to reel back as burn marks appeared on his skin, and soon the two were back to tumbling about.

Bandit once again called on the bear made from purple energy, and he used it to claw at Darkai, who did his best to dodge. Then they were both standing and fighting face-to-face rather than wrestling on the ground, fists and legs flying.

Darkai grabbed Bandit's leg mid-kick and swung him away. "You have not yet answered my question."

"It's none of your goddamn fucking business!" he spat back, regaining his balance and turning to glare at his opponent.

"Except it is." His ocean-blue eyes gazed back. "Bunny is my girlfriend."

"Yes, thank you for the reminder," Bandit hissed sarcastically, before charging forward and throwing a punch.

Darkai caught his fist, twisted his arm, and punched him in the stomach. Hard. "You seem to need it."

Growling, Bandit tried again, but again he missed.

"Your anger is clouding your judgement. You're not fighting to your full potential."

"SHUT UP!" he roared, throwing himself at Darkai. The two of them crashed to the pavement once more.

Darkai stared up at him. "Answer my question."

"Since when did you talk so much?" he snapped, his fingers curling around the pale boy's throat. He could see a red mist curling around his vision. "It's getting really fucking annoying."

Unfazed, Darkai repeated, "I know you have an answer, somewhere deep inside your walls."

"No. Don't say it. Don't you dare say it."

"Why do you insist on toying with Bunny?"

"I said, don't you dare say it!" Snarling, Bandit's hands tightened around Darkai's throat and the boy let out a choked gasp.

"Bandit, enough," Darkai hissed, pulling at his hands. "You are not thinking clearly. It is anger that clouds your mind. Think of Bunny!"

Pulled out of his rage, Bandit blinked as the red mist faded from his eyesight. Darkai ripped Bandit's hands away from his throat, immediately pulling away, sitting up, and coughing for air.

Bandit grew limp, his eyes going blank as a million thoughts raced through his head. Why did I let my rage take over why did I let myself hurt him why did I let myself attack him why did I have to do the things that I did why has this whole day been one giant fucking mistake and why—why—was I so angry?

Darkai glanced at him, still breathing heavily. "Your rage runs deep."

"No…" he whispered, the tears filling his eyes again as the answer to his last question filled his head. "It isn't rage." He lowered his head, crying as he curled up, feeling exposed and vulnerable, like all his walls were crashing down. "It's pain."

Darkai watched, something resembling surprise flitting across his face. He soon regained his composure and walked over, kneeling down so that he was eye-level to him and placing a delicate hand on the purple Ruff's shoulder. "Bandit," he said quietly. "Would you be able to answer the question now?"

Bandit shook his head, but both boys knew the answer wasn't an actual no.

Darkai continued, his voice soft, "Why do you keep toying with Bunny?"

Every piece of his walls crumbled then, and Bandit fell apart. In the back of his mind he was overtly aware of how strange it was, collapsing in the arms of his rival for Bunny's love and the enemy he'd just almost killed, but the tears were overpowering.

And when the answer left his throat in a wispy whisper, barely audible, his voice caught on the lump in his throat.

"Because I love her." He swallowed. He felt the remnants of those walls disappear into an abyss, their cracks matching the shattering of his broken heart. "And because I don't deserve her. I never have."

Michael pulled away from Ross, sniffling and wiping his eyes. "Thank you."

Ross grinned. "Anytime."

"Now just don't tell anyone," he warned, punching his friend lightly in an attempt to recover a bit of a playful atmosphere. "I don't need you going around ruining my reputation by telling people I needed you to comfort me while crying."

"I won't, I promise." His friend chuckled. "But of course there's no shame in crying."

"Of course." A small smile flashed across Michael's face, but it left just as quickly. He couldn't stop thinking back to Banana's eyes as she talked to him. So much pain filled her gaze, and he wondered if his had equaled hers in any way.

"Mikey, you okay?"

The question pulled him out of his thoughts, and he tried smiling again. "Huh? Oh yeah, I'm fine. Just distracted. Sorry."

Ross frowned. "It's alright," he said gently, placing a hand on his best friend's shoulder. "You can tell me you're thinking about her. But at the same time, remember that you've tried to confront the problem, and you've done it. You gave her a form of a second chance."

Michael nodded back. "I-I guess so."

"I know so," Ross said firmly. "Now come on! Let's go hang out for a bit. Some fresh air could do you good."

"Alright," he agreed, glad for the distraction. "What did you have in mind?"

Ross grinned back at him. "I know this is going to seem rather unorthodox, but…what about the garden?"

"The garden?" he repeated. "But that's still part of the house!"

"Exactly!" his friend chirped back. "There's something I want to show you. Something memorable."

Michael wasn't sure what Ross had in mind, considering it was highly unlikely there was a part of his mansion he didn't know. This was where he'd grown up, after all. He was familiar with practically every nook and cranny—and he'd recently even discovered his uncle's secret lair. So what else could there be? Still, he let himself be pulled along, enthralled by his companion's enthusiasm.

"We're here!" Ross said cheerfully.

Michael looked around. "Well…this is just the garden. What exactly are you planning on showing me?"

He grinned. "Is this mansion really so big that you don't remember where some of the coolest things are located? Come on, look over here!" He pointed upwards and Michael looked up, his eyes widening.

A slight smile spread over his face. "Oh my God… I really had forgotten."

Ross was pointing up at a large plank of wood, nailed to the tree, and it was clearly in deteriorating condition. There was some more wood nailed to the large plank, but it wasn't clear what the thing was meant to be.

"Our old clubhouse," Ross confirmed, still beaming. "Well…I should probably say that in quotations instead. Since it doesn't look like much. We made an attempt to build one," he finished with a laugh.

He shook his head, also chuckle. "My God, we were so ambitious. It was going to be our little hideaway, isolated from everyone else. And we were what, only 8?"

"Yeah, it didn't really work out, did it? When our parents found out, well…" Ross glanced up at the "clubhouse." "Man…those were the days."

"Yeah…" Michael paused, glancing down at his feet. "Ross, I'm sorry."

"Huh?" He glanced at the blond boy, who was now kicking at a rock on the grass. "What are you apologizing for?"

"Everything," he blurted out. "You remember back then, don't you? We tried to keep building even after they found out but I kept blaming you. I was a real jerk. And even when your parents died, I…I wasn't there for you—not the way you need me to be."

Ross stared back at him, his eyes wide. "Michael…"

"I'm just sorry I'm not a better friend," he continued. "I knew what you were going through, and yet I…I made it all about me. Like I always do. Like a jerk." He looked back down, smiling almost bitterly. "I'm so sorry. I've always been so petty and self-centered, haven't I? I don't know how you guys stand it."

"Oh no, don't say that. You're a great friend—"

"You don't have to be nice out of pity. It's fine. I realize I'm not exactly the most easy person to get along with."

Ross shook his head. "Come on, Mikey… This was supposed to make you feel better, not worse…"

"I'm really sorry I'm constantly focusing on my own problems, making them seem like such a big deal even when it's just something small. Even after your father died…"

He closed his eyes as tears came to his eyes. "No, it's okay—you don't…don't need to say any more…"

"No, I need to say this, Ross. About the past…"

Flashback

"Michael! Can you pass me that hammer?" Ross asked, smiling.

"Here you go!" he responded, passing the tool over. He leaned closer toward Ross and asked curiously, "What are you working on now?"

"Well, we're trying to build a treehouse right? So I'm going to try and nail up some walls," he said, before his voice turned very serious. "Or else we'll be stuck out in the cold and that'll be no good. There'd be no point to live in this house then!"

"Trueeeee," Michael agreed, nodding in understanding.

Ross tilted his head toward him. "So what are you working on?"

He grinned cheekily. "I'm going to pick some flowers for decoration! How's about that?"

"Michael! That's not helpful!"

The boy laughed, falling over and rolling around. "Okay, okay! I'll do something actually useful. I was just pulling your leg."

"We can do flowers later," huffed Ross, folding his arms. "But first things first, we need to build the house!"

"Okay, I got it; I'll—whoa!" Michael had accidentally rolled too close to the side and was about to fall off the side.

Someone caught him in their arms just in time, exclaiming, "Whoa there, Nelly! You alright?"

Ross peeked over the edge nervously, before his face lit up. "Damon!"

"Hey, you two!" Damon looked up and smiled, still carrying Michael in his arms, who was trembling a little from the shock of the fall. "What on earth are you doing in a tree?"

"We're working on a top secret project!" Ross jumped just then, and Damon immediately jumped to catch him.

"Oof! Are you two trying to fall out of the tree?"

"I didn't fall!" Ross proclaimed proudly. "I jumped!"

"Like that makes it much better," Damon said, but the little boy wasn't done.

He hugged the older man, beaming. "I jumped because I knew you'd catch me, Uncle Damon."

His chocolate-brown eyes melted as he gazed lovingly down at the boy, and he gave him a gentle kiss on the top of the head. "Of course, sweetie. I'll always be there to catch you when you fall—or when you feel like it's necessary to jump."

Rustling sounded just then as footsteps pounded against the grass and someone brushed against the leaves. "I heard a loud crash in the trees! Is everything alright?"

Damon turned at the newcomer's voice, grinning when he saw Tyrone stumble out of the bushes, looking anxious. "Ty! You're just in time to check out my harvest. Picked these little fruits from the trees. They practically fell into my lap!"

"I'm a watermelon!" Ross exclaimed.

"I-I'm a pineapple," added Michael in a stammer, still a little frazzled.

"Watermelons don't exactly grow on trees, Ross," Damon chuckled.

Ross pointed at Michael. "Pineapples don't grow on trees either!"

"Th-They do! Dad said so," he insisted.

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

"Boys, boys, let's not fight now," Tyrone said, walking over and picking Ross up. "What were you doing in a tree?"

"The two fruits told me they were working on a top-secret project," Damon remarked. "I was just passing by watering some of the plants and this prickly pineapple here just so happened to fall out of the trees."

"Boys," Tyrone began warningly.

Ross rolled his eyes and pushed at his father's chest so that the man would let him go. When he was back on the grass, he faced him proudly and said, "We can't tell you what it is yet!"

"Yeah!" Michael leaped out of Damon's arms and stood by his friend's side. "It's a secret!"

Tyrone and Damon exchanged glances. Tyrone looked exasperated, while Damon appeared amused.

Ross' father took off his glasses and massaged the area between his eyes. "Please be careful, you two."

Damon wrapped an arm around Tyrone. "Come on Ty, where's your sense of humour? You used to have one of those, didn't you?"

He smiled tiredly back, putting his glasses on again. "I think I had one more when I didn't have a son who constantly worries me to death." He said the last few words a little louder, clearly directing them towards Ross, who stuck his tongue out at his father.

"Now, now, let's not all descend into fighting," Damon laughed. He kneeled down and asked, "Are you sure you won't tell us?"

"Yes!" the two boys chimed.

Damon glanced at Tyrone, shrugging with a "what can you do?" expression.

Tyrone sighed. "Damon's right. Ross, I'm sorry if I've been a little pushy lately. You don't have to tell us anything, but at least try and be more careful, alright?"

"Alright!"

As the boys ran off, Damon and Tyrone watched them begin climbing the tree again.

Ross turned to them. "You have to go!" he shouted. "Or else you might see our secret!"

"Okay, we'll go," Tyrone promised. He smiled and hit Damon playfully. "Wanna work on our own secret project?"

Damon nodded, smiling back. "Of course."

As the men walked off, Michael turned to Ross. "What do you think they're working on?"

"Who cares? I bet it's not as cool as our treehouse."

Michael frowned, before plopping down beside Ross and beginning his own hammering. "Ross," he said, after awhile of silent hard work, "you know, you're really lucky you have such caring parents and uncles."

"What?" He looked up. "But your parents love you a lot."

"Yeah, but like…they love me in a lame way. Always expecting me to be perfect. If they knew about this, they'd be soooo mad. It's really dumb." He rolled his eyes. "Besides, they obviously prefer my sister."

"Oh." Ross looked down at his work, where the nails were pretty messy. He then glanced at Michael's work, where the nails were lined up quite nicely.

"You're lucky you're an only child."

Ross grimaced at the offhanded comment, before accidentally slamming the hammer down on his thumb. "OW!" he yelped, tears coming to his eyes as he began sucking his thumb.

"Oh no!" Michael's eyes widened. "Are you okay? I'll go get a band-aid!"

Ross nodded in pain.

Michael disappeared, while he stayed where he was. He waited and waited, but Michael still didn't reappear. It got to the point the pain subsided into a numb throbbing, although it still hurt. Ross frowned and decided to climb down the tree to follow his friend.

Bad idea—the rough wood immediately hurt his thumb even more and soon he slipped and began crashing through the branches.

"Ross!"

Almost immediately after the voices called his name, he felt arms bundle around him. Blinking open his eyes, he saw his father and Damon peering down at him, with Shamus hovering nearby in anxiety.

"Are you okay?" Tyrone breathed.

Crying now, Ross wrapped his arms around Tyrone.

"There, there," his father said softly, patting him gently on the back. He shared a look with Damon, who gave him a reassuring smile.

"Is everything okay?" a female's voice cried out. Footsteps sounded once more, fast and worried, even as the woman broke off into a fit of coughing.

"Sylvie!" Damon leaped upwards. "You should still be resting!"

She waved him off, coughing into her arm. "I'm fine, I'm fine. I just want to know how my baby is. I heard his cry."

"Mommy!" Ross wailed, causing Tyrone to stand up very carefully and walk over to his wife.

"He's alright," he answered gently. "He's just shaken, and—"

"No! I'm hurt!" Ross waved his thumb.

"—And with a few small injuries. Oh, my poor baby." Tyrone kissed him on the forehead.

"Aww, sweetie… What on earth happened?" Sylvie took him in her arms, planting kisses all over Ross' face, which caused him to calm down.

Sniffling, he mumbled, "I fell out of the tree…"

Michael reappeared just then, carrying a band-aid, but seeing the large group of people, he stopped and watched, wide-eyed.

"It's okay now. Mommy and Daddy are here for you," Sylvie promised.

"What happened?" a voice called.

"Ross fell out of a tree," Damon told the newcomers. They were Maggie and Chris, having just returned with Christie from a discussion conference.

"A tree? What the hell was he doing in a tree?" demanded Maggie. "Trying to test out if he can transform into a bat yet?"

"I don't think so…"

"Then what the hell else could it be? That's the only sensible thing," she muttered. She spotted Michael just then, and immediately directed her attention to him. "Were you in the tree as well?"

"I…no…?" he mumbled back hesitatingly.

"Michael, don't lie," Maggie snapped. "Christie, tell Michael why we don't lie."

"It's unbecoming of someone of our stature to lie," Christie recited.

"Exactly." Their mother marched over and snatched the band-aid from Michael's hand. "What is this for?"

"It's for Ross!"

"Look at the poor boy! This isn't enough for his injuries. And what about you? You could've seriously hurt yourself! Michael, promise me you won't clamber up into a tree again."

"But—"

"No but's!" she said firmly. "If I catch you climbing again without my permission, I'm going to claw off your ears."

He touched his ears self-consciously.

"Maggie…" Chris placed a calming hand on his wife's shoulder, and she sighed.

"Just promise me, okay? You won't do that again. Really, Michael. Why can't you be more like your sister?"

He grimaced as if she'd just hit him, and he glanced at Christie, who was watching Ross distractedly.

"Oh, Maggie, let's not be too hard on the poor boy," Damon said, walking over. "They were just playing."

"With their lives, it seems! Tell me, what were you doing in the trees?"

Michael hesitated. "I…can't say. It's a top-secret project."

"Oh, so now you're keeping secrets, huh?" Maggie rubbed her temples before muttering, "This is not what I need after a whole day of dealing with idiots like Coal and Maxim at that discussion conference…"

Chris leaned in and whispered something to her, and she perked up.

Whirling around toward Ross, she demanded, "Ross, what were you and Michael doing in the trees?"

"I won't tell! It's top-secret," the boy cried out.

"Not this again." Maggie rolled her eyes. "Sylvie…"

"Ross," she said gently. "Why don't we tell the truth? You and Michael are entitled to your secrets, but not when it puts the two of you in danger."

Sniffling, Ross looked around. Michael shook his head frantically, but Damon, Tyrone, and Shamus were all either nodding or smiling or speaking encouragingly.

Finally, Ross nodded too. "We were building a treehouse," he said softly, before pointing up at the tall tree they'd been playing in, "up there."

Maggie looked up, and sure enough, she could just make out the plank of wood from where she stood. "Boys!" she exclaimed. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? Look at how tall it is! A fall from that height is enough to break all the bones in your body!"

Ross cringed at the sudden raised voice, but Sylvie hugged him tighter in a comforting manner.

Michael was left standing there all by himself, staring at his friend in disbelief at the betrayal.

Maggie ranted on for some time, before Tyrone stepped forward. "Maggie, dear, I'm sure the boys understand now. Of course we won't let them keep working on the treehouse, and yes they can be grounded, but how's about we lay off the yelling for a bit? Ross still has wounds that need to be treated."

She sighed. "Yes, yes, of course." She glanced at Michael. "You're grounded, young man. Go to your room, and think about what you've done."

"You too, Ross. But let's get you fixed up first…" Sylvie began carrying her son away, who glanced at Michael.

The turquoise-eyed boy was ignoring his green-eyed friend. Even as Ross mouthed "I'm sorry," Michael's face shifted from one of betrayal to anger, causing him to turn away.

Ross watched sadly, and when he was gone, Michael ran to his room.

End Flashback

"The whole thing wasn't even your fault! But I still got petty and blamed you for such a stupid thing. I…I didn't like that I was in trouble with Mom and Dad, and that Christie was once again better than me. While she was at a discussion conference with them at the age of like 9 or 10, I was climbing giant trees like a dumbass!"

"That wasn't your fault though…"

"No. The treehouse was my idea. But that isn't the point." Michael sighed. "The point is that I got mad at you for something out of your control. I've…I've always wanted to say sorry, but I've never been able to bring myself to do it."

"I-I accept your apology," Ross murmured.

They were silent for a bit, before Michael smiled slightly.

"Do you remember what happened after?"

Ross glanced at him in surprise and he kept going.

"We tried to keep building but I was kind of a dick about the whole thing and Uncle Danes found out. He was furious."

He smiled a little. "Not any more than your mom."

Michael shuddered. "No one is ever angrier than my mom," he agreed.

"We never did get to finish it." Ross glances up at the tree. "You know, it doesn't look quite as tall as it used to."

He chuckled. "Yeah, I guess it just looked a hell of a lot bigger to two small kids, huh?"

Ross fell silent, before sighing. "I miss being kids."

Michael glanced at him in surprise and his gaze softened. "I miss being a kid too."

The garden suddenly seemed so much bigger, and Ross felt like an ant. He stepped a little closer to Michael. "I miss my parents."

Michael patted him gently on the shoulder, but worried that it meant too little, he added in a murmur, "You've been hurting for so, so long now… And even after you came back, you've been preoccupied by something, haven't you?"

He thought of his father's journal and how often he dug through it in a desperate attempt to find answers. Who killed him? Was it really Damon? If yes, then how? He turned to Michael. "I've just been trying to find some answers."

"You're hiding something again. You can tell me, you know. You can tell your friends." He smiled lopsidedly. "You know we can for sure keep a secret."

"I just…need to do this alone. It's for me, and if it's dangerous, I don't want to put any of you in danger too."

"These sound like the excuses we give people when they get close to us and start noticing our secrecy around being vampires."

"I'm sorry. Being alone is easier than being with others and putting everyone in danger," he sighed. "After my mom and dad died, I always felt alone…"

"Oh Ross…we—we tried to be there for you. Really, we did, but…"

"I shut you out."

Michael looked guilty. He looked away. "Perhaps I didn't try hard enough."

Tears were running down Ross' face now, and he shook his head. "No, I think you did what you could. But I…" He buried his face in his hands and began crying, and Michael rushed over to comfort him. "D-Do you still remember? I could never forget," he stuttered tearfully. "Dad used to get so stressed out because of Mom's illness and my own misadventures. And you could tell because he'd lose his sense of humour and be all stern and his hair would get super messy…"

"Yeah. I remember." Michael thought back to Tyrone's frown as he ran his hands exasperatedly through his hair, before dragging his hands down his face.

"Rooooooooss, Daddy doesn't have time for this," he'd say, looking exhausted. "Mommy's feeling unwell and really needs my help."

He was by no means a bad dad though, and often spent the days playing with his son. Damon and Shamus would often join in, and everyone could tell who was with the boy based on what he was hyperfixed on that day. Shamus read him books and played with him using puzzles, while Damon was much more physically active and often took the boy outside. Tyrone covered the most range with his son, and Ross was always happy to just be with his father.

But then his mother died, and things became bleak after that.

Michael sighed, hugging Ross and staring up at the treehouse. I won't do it again, he thought. I'm not going to be so petty anymore—not so all about me. The people around me deserve better than that.

Meanwhile, a few feet away, hidden behind the leaves and flowers, were a pair of chocolate eyes underneath a furrowed brow. The man gently placed his hand on one of the many flowers, a white gardenia, with areas of its petals growing dark from the tears that hit it.

The man was Raymond, watching the two boys with sad, sad eyes. "Oh, Ross…"

After they had hugged, Bubbles stepped back and smiled. "Sidney, I—"

"Bubbles."

She turned, spotting a familiar black-haired girl, and her happiness subsided a little as she remembered to compose herself. "Hi, Sophia," she greeted cheerfully. "I finally decided to grow a little."

Sophia didn't reply right away, glancing back at the flowers hanging from the eaves of Sidney's house, where pink roses bloomed fresh and sweet. She turned back and smiled somewhat. "So you have," she murmured, nodding at the yellow rose in Sidney's hands.

He smiled and placed it in his hair. "The flower of friendship. Thank you, Bubbles—for respecting my wishes of just being friends. I…really do think it's been better this way."

"You know, I do too," she agreed. "It's made me realize a lot of things, many of which are things I could fix to be a better person." She floated over and readjusted the yellow rose for him. "One of which included teaching myself to let go of someone I love because I hurt them."

He caught her hand and smiled warmly. "Don't say that," he said sincerely. "It wasn't your fault."

"It was, but it's sweet of you to say it wasn't." She smiled back almost shyly. "It's alright, Sidney. I'm willing to admit the truth now. My actions were unhealthy and I was only hurting both of us."

"Bubbles…"

"Ah-hem." Sophia coughed into her curled fist, causing the two to glance at her as she looked up with a vague smile. She tilted her head to the side. "The herbs?"

"Right." Bubbles disentangled herself from Sidney.

Sidney nodded, before disappearing into the house, leaving the two girls to stand outside.

Bubbles looked up. "Sophia…"

"I think it's good what you're doing," she clarified. She paused, before coughing a little awkwardly. "If that wasn't clear."

"It's alright. I get why you'd be worried."

Sophia was silent for a little bit, before murmuring, "I just don't want to see him get hurt. That's all."

Bubbles glanced at her. "Of course."

They remained quiet until Sidney returned, passing Bubbles an armload of herbs that he'd dumped in a little bag. "Here you go," he announced cheerfully. "You can come back anytime for more or to return the bag. You're welcome to stay for tea and cookies if you'd like."

"Right. I'd love to." Bubbles smiled, before pausing. Her eyes darted briefly to Sophia, but she didn't break her stride as she continued, "Although we will be quite busy for the next few days. I'll come if I have time though!"

"Of course," he responded, and Sophia wondered if he was oblivious to the tension in the air at all.

Is he disappointed? she wondered. A part of her added, Well, he shouldn't be.

Bubbles floated up into the air, waving. "I'll see you two in class! And Sidney…thank you and your family for the herbs."

He smiled, waving back. "Of course."

Sophia waved as well, but she found her gaze mostly drawn back to Sidney, even after Bubbles had long since disappeared.

As the two of them made their way back inside, Sidney sighed out of relief as he closed the door behind him, the small smile still light on his face. "I'm so glad that's worked out."

Sophia watched the door close on the pink roses before turning to Sidney, where the yellow rose was still tucked behind his ear. "I guess so."

"Bubbles has been so sad lately, and I'm just glad to see her smiling again."

"What about you?" she blurted out before she could stop herself. When he turned to stare at her in surprise, her cheeks flushed and she asked a little quieter, "But what about you?"

"I-I'm alright."

"I know." Her shoulders loosened, but she still felt agitated. She hoped her face wasn't as red as it felt. Digging her hands through her long black hair, it became bundled in her hand as she murmured, "I can see that you're happy. But Sidney, please…be careful. I don't—I don't want to see you getting hurt again. If you fall for her again…"

"Sophia." His voice was a little stern and filled with some disbelief as he faced her fully, his brow creasing. "I'm fine. I won't fall for her again. I'm just happy that we settled things. That we're friends again." He pointed at the yellow rose. "She even carefully picked out the flower she wanted to give me. The yellow rose. A symbol of friendship."

Sophia couldn't face his gaze, so she could only stare at that bright flower—so yellow it almost hurt her eyes. She didn't voice the thoughts running through her head: A flower can only say so much. Out loud she replied, her tone a little strained, "I know. But I just…don't want you to get hurt again."

He smiled softly. "I'll be alright."

The smile was like a lightning bolt flashing before her eyes, but the torrent of rain that it unleashed on her was almost gentle. Her heart fluttered, causing her to lean against the wall as she wondered what was happening to her.

"Now, let's make some tea!" he suggested, already moving into the kitchen.

Sophia stayed where she was, staring at the floor as she felt a million butterfly wingtips brush against her. They whirled about inside her stomach until they were a tsunami, knocking against her heart. It was as if someone had lifted an ancient rock, finding so many butterflies…all in different shades of pink.

Sophia sighed and closed her eyes, remembering the old feelings that she had long since buried. She remembered their childhood—how scared Sidney was, how his smile was like sunshine peeking out after a long winter, and how it melted all the ice around it. Sophia would always stare, her face warm. She'd shy away from his sunshine, hiding her stare behind her long bangs and hiding herself from his sunny gaze.

She'd known she liked him since she was six. But she thought she'd gotten over it—especially after Ross lost his father and her whole world flurried into war. In a desperate bid to protect her, her father had moved them away, and in her own desperate bid to protect herself, Sophia had forced herself to grow up. To shed her shyness and her attachments to the past like a butterfly shedding its chrysalis.

But now that they were back… To think shedding her protective chrysalis to grow would result in a butterfly's wings being so fragile, so out of her control…

Sophia thought back to her conversation with Bubbles, and she glanced at the vases lining the coffee table. It was the pink roses that stood out now, some of them mixing with red.

What a hypocrite I am, she thought to herself, shaking her head. And to think I feel this way when I am not even an ex-girlfriend…

Who's the jealous one now?

"Meeting adjourned," Danes announced gruffly, his cold gray eyes narrowed.

The soldiers nodded and saluted him, before beginning to get up and leave. Some milled about, as Maxim did, obviously hoping to speak briefly with Danes—but he was ignored.

Danes was more interested in the sly smile on Coal's face, something he'd worn throughout most of the meeting. He seemed distracted and very smug—seemingly very happy with himself. Now he was slinking away very quickly, mostly unnoticed by everyone around him except for Danes.

He wondered what his loose cannon of a soldier was up to, before Maxim's voice cut through his thoughts.

"Sir, about these bats—these…mutants—it's not that I don't trust your judgement, because of course I do, but—"

Danes' phone rang, and he was glad for the distraction. "You are dismissed," he simply responded, already pulling out his phone. He left Maxim standing there in dumbfounded shock.

"Hello?" Danes asked almost softly. The caller ID was DJ's, which made his migraine and frustration subside a little.

The voice on the other end of the phone was urgent but almost garbled in its desperation, pain spiking through every word as the person tried to speak through his tears. "Danes, Danesy…please, please help me…"

"DJ, what's wrong?" he asked urgently, immediately alert.

"Everything's gone horribly wrong," the person was saying, obviously sobbing. "I've fucked up. My own son hates me…"

Danes' gray eyes widened somewhat. "You…told him?"

"Yes! And now everything is horrible," he cried.

"Stay right there," he directed. "I'll be there soon, DJ. I promise." He hung up and threw on a coat, rushing toward the doors and ignoring the confused maids and butlers stepping back to give him space.

"Sir? Where are you going—sir! Do you need a ride?" Smithers, the driver, was calling.

"I'll be fine," Danes responded, already transforming into a bat and soaring into the sky. He flew as quickly as he could, transforming back into his human form before he'd even touched the ground. He hit the lawn running, and he grabbed the door and opened it without a second thought.

"DJ?" he called.

Immediately the man appeared, his face streaked with tears as he threw himself at Danes.

Danes stiffened at the sudden hug, but he softened and patted DJ on the back gently. It broke his heart to see his companion like this. Even stone-cold Danes had cracks in his walls, and DJ had always been one of those cracks. "Tell me what happened."

"I-I tried to explain everything to him, b-b-but he took it as though I hated Lula and thus I must hate everything that came out of that marriage, i-including h-h-him," the crying man blubbered.

Danes sighed quietly. He remembered DJ's attempts to hold it together while preparing for his marriage to Lula. The fake smiles he showed everyone and the fake affection he displayed for her… It wasn't hard for the people who knew DJ to imagine him despising the whole arrangement, but all of his friends knew he wasn't that kind of a man. He did his best to fulfill his responsibilities but also find some joy in doing them, and to Danes' amazement, he'd even managed to befriend Lula despite everything.

But of course DJ Jr didn't know that. He couldn't have—it was all before his time, and he'd never been close to his father.

"We know you didn't hate Lula, and that you don't hate DJ," Danes murmured.

"B-But he thinks—"

"It's only natural that he thinks that."

The two looked up to see DJ's brother standing in the doorway, drenched in shadow.

"Slicer?" DJ asked, sniffling. "Wh-What do you mean?"

"How could he not?" Slicer responded. He was already speaking more words than he'd perhaps said for the last month—even more than perhaps almost the last year—but he kept going. "You have hidden this information from him for years. His heritage—hidden as if you were disgusted with it. His mother's true identity—hidden as if you hated her for it. His other family—hidden as if you don't want them to contaminate him. And you yourself have been gone for so much of his life—gone as if you cannot stand to look at him."

Slicer's eyes were scorching, appearing almost white in the darkness. "And that isn't false either, is it not? You cannot stand to look at him. Because he reminds you of yourself. Of your failures. Of your shortcomings."

"Slicer," Danes growled out lowly in warning.

Slicer met Danes' eyes. "Of your own lost future." Then he swiveled his piercing white gaze back to his older brother. "But most of all, he reminds you of Lula."

DJ stared back at him as if he feared his own brother, and now he began trembling like a leaf barely rooted to the branch it clung to for dear life. "Slicer…"

"It reminds you of her death. And how it should've been you. As if somehow, this is all your fault."

As if his words were a dagger stabbed through his heart, DJ let out a wail and buried his face in Danes' chest once more.

"Slicer, enough!" Danes roared, but the intensity of the fire in the other man's eyes had already subsided.

"I have said what I needed to say," he replied quietly.

Danes let out a growl, taking a dangerous step forward, but the tightening grip on his sleeve stopped him.

"Danesy," DJ mumbled out, "he's right."

He stopped, his shoulders loosening, even though the tenseness continued to pulse through his veins. He looked down at the black hair of the person in his arms. "DJ…"

"Everything he just said…is true. This is all my fault."

It hurt Danes seeing one of the people closest to him be so meek, but he let himself relax. Rather than attack Slicer and leave DJ's side, he chose to be there for DJ. It was certainly true—even Danes, despite his desire to protect DJ from pain—knew that Slicer's words were undeniable.

DJ's attempts at keeping his son safe had also resulted in a black hole of pain, festering from ancient secrets and old wounds. And part of the reason this had happened was because he'd chosen to flee from his son, all because he couldn't bring himself to be with the boy all the time.

All because besides protecting his son, DJ had also been trying to keep himself safe—and by trying to protect them both by staying away, he'd instead only hurt both of them more.

The trio was silent for awhile, with Danes holding DJ and letting the man cry his heart out—years of pent up pain, all while Slicer watched from nearby, his eyes still white and blank.

Finally, DJ managed to pull himself away. He rubbed his eyes harshly as he managed to choke out, "Thank you, sunshine. Thank you for everything."

Danes gazed back at him, wishing he hadn't said the words. He felt like he'd done nothing to make things better—he'd done nothing to deserve the title of sunshine. DJ's eyes were bloodshot and he looked sickly, his usually olive skin now as pale as snow. He looked so ashen he almost looked like a stereotypical vampire, the kind that were fully vampiric. But this was DJ—usually so lively and human—now reduced to sadness.

It reminded Danes of his own father, Don Hawthorne, when he'd grown weak because of the coup they'd suffered, and he hated it. He wanted to bring the old DJ back, with his smile and shining blue eyes, just as he'd wanted to bring back the old Don, the old Tyrone, the old Damon.

But this time, it felt like so much more was at stake…

"We'll fix this," he said fiercely. "We'll talk to him and fix everything. We'll all go back to normal, and win this war."

DJ's grip on his clothes tightened.

Slicer's eyes remained impassive as he rumbled, "I hope that will be the case."

Danes met DJ's teary eyes, and the man gave him a tentative, weak smile. "I hope so too," he said distantly, "but I believe you, Danes."

It was the words he needed to hear. "We will," he promised. "And then we can go back to being one big family. We can go back to being happy."

Boomer woke up to darkness and silence, and he lay very still in his bed, wondering why no one was making a sound outside. The Jojo household was usually quite wild, but for the past few days, they'd been almost silent.

He'd been almost silent.

Boomer sat up and rubbed his eyes. He knew his brothers were worried about him, probably thinking he was depressed over something, but feeling too apprehensive to disturb him and ask. He'd been avoiding them for the past few days—even when Blossom had come to stay, he hadn't wanted to comment anything about his feelings.

He just wished he didn't have them. He wished these emotions could be sucked into a black hole.

Sighing, Boomer got up and shuffled to his door, but he briefly paused. Am I depressed? he asked himself. He knew he was sad, but he wondered if it ran any deeper than that.

All because of one girl—all because of Bubbles.

He felt his heart clench and he sighed, resting his head against the door. He didn't want to leave the safety and comfort of his room. He didn't want to venture out and feel vulnerable ever again.

But there was no world that would let him do so. So Boomer stepped outside.

He squinted against the light, almost feeling like drawing back and hissing like his vampiric enemies would, but he knew he was just being dramatic.

Pink mist began gathering before him, and very soon Him appeared, grinning deviously. "So you're finally willing to come out of your shell!" he cooed, tapping Boomer's chin with a red claw.

Boomer drew back, squinting at Him. "Yes," he finally answered very slowly.

"Well," sighed Him, "you can join us downstairs for a meal, if you'd like. But I think most of your brothers are out and about doing their own thing. I asked Brick to fetch Blaster and Braker after he'd accompanied Blossom home because those two simply disappeared."

"Hm." Boomer blinked, still waiting for his eyes to readjust to the light. He was suddenly aware of how empty the house really seemed, with him just making out Mojo standing in the kitchen and cursing loudly at the stove.

"Oh dear, oh dear," Him tittered, already flying off. "I should probably check on him."

He watched his adopted fathers chatter about the thing they were cooking, with Mojo clearly losing patience. As he launched into a long speech of curses, Him blew up and bellowed out, "Mojo, ENOUGH! It is simply the way it is because of the recipe. The recipe is not wrong. That is how the food works. So will you please shut up before I feel as though I must MAKE YOU?"

They quieted down after that, and Boomer leaned against the railing as a small smile tickled his lips. They haven't changed.

The smile disappeared as quickly as it had come as his thoughts ventured a little further, asking, But have I?

Before he could answer that, he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket with notifications. When he pulled his phone out, he found piles and piles of messages from Butch demanding help.

The most recent one was in all caps, reading "'SEND HELP! THIS IS URGENT. I'M IN THE FOREST NEAR THE CAFÉ. AM AMBUSHED. HURT. SOMEONE COME HELP ME!'"

The most recent one had no grammar and simply read "'it's coming'".

The messages sent chills down Boomer's spine, and he jumped over the railing of the stairs, already flying out the door. He was vaguely aware of shouts behind him, with some of his brothers following.

They soon landed in the forest close to the café Butch was referring to—the one Bat and his brothers worked in—and all looked around. Very soon their ears perked up as they picked up on Butch's angry shouting, causing them to fly over a hill to where he was.

Boomer arrived first, pushing apart some weeds so that he could get a clearer view.

Butch spotted him and staggered over, a blade visible out of his shoulder. He grabbed Boomer, panting, "I…don't even know what the hell it is—"

He looked up, his eye catching something glinting in the distance. Eyes widening, he yelled, "Get down!" and shoved Butch into the grass, causing his brother to grunt in pain.

A giant silver bullet whizzed through the air and hit the grass nearby. Boomer glanced at it, his heart pounding, still crouched downwards.

"Fuck," Butch muttered, peeking out over the grass.

A monstrous, almost otherworldly shriek sounded, so high-pitched that it rang in Boomer's sensitive ears. All of the Ruffs present let out a cry of pain as they bent down, covering their ears, with Butch howling more colourful curses. Boomer could hear dogs barking in the distance, all while the shrieking cut through the air above them.

Something large swooped down on them, beating giant wings, and Boomer heard more bullets being fired.

Bandit, who was hiding behind them, let out a cry of pain before he began rolling down the hill.

"Bandit!" Boomer gasped, jumping upwards—before he had to jump right back down because of more bullets.

Butch let out a growl, ripping the blade from his skin. He took aim at whatever was screaming in the sky and threw the blade.

The thing's consistent shrieking broke off before it rose louder, now obviously in pain and very, very angry.

"Go get him to safety!" Butch yelled.

Boomer was still holding onto him, and he looked down. "I'm not leaving you!"

"Idiot! You don't have a fucking choice!"

Before he could comprehend Butch's words, he felt a heavy shove and was suddenly aware of his body tumbling away. He stared up at Butch, who gazed down at him.

Reading his lips, Boomer could just make out the words "take care of each other" before he fell to the bottom of the hill.

Grunting in pain, Boomer stared up at the bright blue sky, causing him to squint once more. It's way too bright, he thought, before pushing himself up.

As if his words were a summon, dark shadows fell on him and he jerked his head upwards. But whatever the thing was, it had once again flown into hiding.

With his heart now pounding, Boomer rushed over to Bandit's side. The boy was groaning, lying on the grass with his hand pressed to his side, where the bullet seemed to have grazed.

Boomer's hands lit up and he applied pressure to the wound, trying to heal it.

Bandit's eyes fluttered open. "This fight came at a bad time," he gasped.

That was when Boomer noticed the bruises on his brother's arms and legs, as well as Bandit's bloodshot eyes. "What the hell were you doing before this?" he demanded.

"Fighting…Darkai," he managed to reply, before wincing.

"Wait, wait—never mind—don't speak," he urged, trying to heal faster.

Another shriek sounded, along with another line of curses from Butch, before two red lasers flew into the air.

"Butch's laser vision," breathed Boomer, staring.

Butch finally seemed to catch something, because it let out another roar. Boomer grimaced again, his ears feeling as if they were bleeding.

Bandit let out a pained whine.

"Stay with me," Boomer said, closing his eyes. Just a little longer…

A gush of wind blew down on him and he looked up, once again spotting the shadow. This time it seemed to be moving at inhuman speeds.

"STAY AWAY FROM MY BROTHERS!" Butch screamed, flying down toward them. He stood in front of the two, as if he could somehow protect them from the sky that way.

Bandit lifted his hand weakly and it glowed purple, and a barrier formed around them. "I can't—keep this up—for long," he panted.

"I told you not to talk!" Boomer cried, tears in his eyes now. "Dammit…" He pushed himself even harder, finally getting more healing energy out of his hands.

Bandit's wound stopped bleeding and closed up a little, so Boomer finally let go and whirled around. His hands glowed blue and the barrier was reinforced with his own addition—which was just in time, because another shriek and Bandit's shield shattered.

"What do we do!?" Boomer shouted at Butch.

"I don't fucking know! Our best strategist here is currently barely conscious!" he yelled back.

"I thought you didn't need a strategy to fight!"

"Usually, yeah! But that doesn't work very well for an enemy you can't fucking see!"

Hearing that, Boomer made a decision. "We need to get out of here!"

"Good idea!"

The two of them turned around, and since Butch's hands were free, he lifted Bandit and they began to run. They ran into the trees and ran far, far away—running until their legs were sore and they could no longer hear the shrieking so clearly.

Finally, Boomer collapsed in the grass and let go of the shield. "Jesus Christ," he breathed.

Butch fell as well, with Bandit landing with a thump before he let out a cry of pain.

"Sorry, sorry," Butch panted.

Boomer dragged himself over to them. "We need to get him to a hospital…or a healer—maybe Sampson…or the Professor?"

"The Professor is closest," agreed Butch, still trying to catch his breath. "We can—" There was a new gust of wind just then, and Butch's eyes widened. "Get down!"

But it was too late.

Before anyone could do anything, Boomer felt a blade pierce through his back. As the tip came out of his chest, his eyes widened and he let out a gasp as his ears began to ring.

"BOOMER!" Butch screamed, just as a rain of bullets pelleted down upon them.

Boomer felt two graze his skin, but everything had gone numb. He was only aware of the throbbing pain from the blade as he collapsed forward.

Butch let out a roar and jumped up, shooting out a large energy beam into the sky, and the shrieking began to sound farther away. Whatever it was, it seemed to have been chased off by Butch's sudden burst of power.

Now clearly also exhausted, Butch fell to his knees. He quickly turned around to check on Boomer, whose eyes had begun glazing over. Even Bandit had recovered enough to sit upwards and cry out his name, but Boomer could no longer hear anything over the din in his own head.

"The Professor," he managed to gasp, although he didn't know how audible or clear his words had come out.

Butch grabbed him and may have ripped the blade out of his body, but Boomer was already letting himself go to the cacophony in his ears.

"I did it!" Bubbles cried happily, bouncing onto the couch with herbs in her hands. "Guys, I talked to Sidney and established that I'm okay with just being friends!"

"Bubbles, congratulations!" Banana said, smiling.

Blossom appeared a little more confused, but happily cheered her sister on.

The Professor walked by with a smile, taking the herbs from Bubbles. "What's this I hear about talking to a boy? I thought you were just going to get herbs?"

Blushing, the blue Puff smiled back sheepishly. "Sorry, Prof; I did go get the herbs, but it also gave me a chance to talk to someone I should've talked to for some time now."

"I'm glad to hear things have worked out, at least," he replied, now turning to take the herbs to his lab. "Get some rest, sweetie. You've done well."

Bubbles smiled, before looking down. "Although…there is one more person I still have to talk to."

"You can do that later," Banana replied, patting her sister on the head. "The Professor's right. You've done well, and you deserve some rest."

"Besides, it's going to be curfew soon," Blossom added. "We're all done with visits and—"

As if it were trying to prove Blossom wrong out of spite, the doorbell rang loudly.

"—visitors?" she finished, furrowing her brow in confusion. "What is going on now?"

"I think you spoke a bit too soon," Banana offered back, already off of her seat to peek out the peephole.

"Who is it?" asked Blossom.

Banana was already opening the door. "It's the boys!"

Bubbles' eyes widened as her thoughts began racing. How many of them are here? Who's here? Did Boomer come? Is he alone? Oh God, I'm not ready!

But the biggest shock of all was what Banana hadn't said. The Rowdyruff Boys who had showed up stumbled inside, all visibly exhausted and injured, and they fell to the floor. Boomer, who was in Butch's arms, also collapsed, before letting out a low moan of pain—although he was visibly unconscious.

"Oh my goodness, what on earth happened? I-Is everyone okay?" cried Bubbles, rushing to their sides.

Boomer, Bandit, and Butch were all bleeding.

"We were ambushed," Butch panted, without offering much more information, while Blossom and Banana flew over.

They helped carry Boomer to the Professor's lab while Bubbles hovered about anxiously.

"Don't worry about us—you should focus on Boomer—he needs healing—we'll be okay," Butch said, struggling despite having a hard time breathing.

Finally, Bubbles nodded and flew down the stairs of the lab, nearly stumbling by the time she reached the bottom. "How is he?" she cried.

"He's in bad shape, but he's alive," the Professor replied, already getting to work on tending to Boomer's wounds. "It looks like he was stabbed through the back and it came out of his chest—he also has a bullet lodged in his arm, while it seems another grazed his back."

"Oh, Boomie…" She reached out and brushed his hair from his face with a soft sigh—a sigh of worry but at the same time relief, now that she knew he was alive. She reached out and pressed her hands to his back so she could heal the smallest injury first.

"Professor, how long do you think it'll be until he wakes up?" asked Blossom.

"Hopefully soon," he responded. "There's been enough unconscious Rowdyruff Boys."

Bubbles glanced up and noticed that when the Professor had turned away, Blossom's face had briefly looked guilty, sad, and dark all at the same time. It was a conflicting set of emotions, and Bubbles briefly wondered why, before attributing it to the fact that Blossom was remembering when Brick himself had gone unconscious and gotten amnesia.

Bubbles herself thought back to another time Boomer had come to them seeking medical help. He'd been alone back then, but his wounds had clearly been from some sort of ambush, and a sniper had even followed him to the Powerpuff Girls' house. He had once again collapsed at their feet, falling unconscious.***

She'd felt worry then, as she did now, but she wondered if there was something more now. She knew it wasn't the time to think of such things, but as everyone around her raced about while she sat still and applied healing energy to his wounds, she couldn't help but wonder if things were somehow different now—for the both of them.

She had so much she wanted to say to him…

Now even more determined, Bubbles applied more energy. Please wake up, Boomie, she begged silently. We're all so worried for you… We want you to be alive—I want you to be alive… There's still so much to say, and if you don't pull through, I'm afraid…

I'm afraid we'll never be able to say the words we have to say, and then I'll never see you again, and I can't…I can't let that happen.

You have to survive. For me, Boomie. For them. For all of us.

The world was cold.

Grunting, he tied the knot of his bandages tighter around his wrist, glaring down at the red blossoming through its cracks. It reminded him of blood-red roses blooming, stretching out into the blue, blue skies, even when rain would fall from the clouds.

And when you hit those roses, their petals would shatter into the air like bloodied glass shards. He wanted to smash his wrist down so that he could splinter as well.

He wanted to splinter apart.

He had never asked to be a part of this reality. He had never asked to blossom—but those who tended gardens never thought of the feelings of their flowers.

Often enough, he felt like he was being raised so that he may be used. Perhaps as a decorative piece, or in memory of a loved one, as a thing to take care of, or as something to be harvested to grow more poor roses like him.

Pausing, he looked up to stare into the glass in front of him. Behind the glass was liquid, where bubbles floated to the surface and a face like his own was resting.

His reflection.

Just another thing I want to splinter apart. He let out a frustrated growl and took hold of the glass where the neck of the person staring back at him would be, a twisted smile forming on his face from anger. The temptation to smash the glass into a million broken pieces was strong, but he knew his father would never forgive him if he did.

No. He was the obedient son. He'd always been the obedient son, and he always would be—even when he received no love for it in return.

I'll never be good enough. Never enough to measure up to him.

He thought back to wide turquoise eyes and sleepy murmurs, a hand that gripped his wrist. A voice that told him she would not abandon him.

But it wasn't him she had been talking to.

No one ever talked to him. They talked to or about the person he wished he was. The person he wished he could shatter.

He whirled back around to his reflection, his red hair flying out behind him. He drew his injured arm back and threw it forward, causing the glass to crack and his hand to bleed. He lifted his tingling wrist and watched as the rose on his bandages was soon ruined, turning into a runny, wet mess. As some of the liquid began pouring out, running down his fingers to mix with his actual blood, he smiled.

Thumping his hands against the glass and resting his forehead on it, he stared down at the floor as tears ran down his face. "I want to destroy you," he whispered, narrowing his thorny green eyes. "I want you to feel how I feel. Never good enough. Never my own person. Always a wolf without teeth, only capable of smiling despite the pain."

I want you to feel weakness, like a rose choked down by the ice and frost. He lifted his face to look at the rose held in the liquid, whose face was distorted by the splintered glass. The world is cold, Vix. And its claws are reaching out for you.

*(A/N: Reference to chapter 72!)

**(A/N: Reference to chapter 45!)

***(A/N: Reference to chapter 58!)

ME: So what did everyone think?

BLOSSOM: Well, that last scene is rather curious. But I believe it's obviously—

ME: Ah, ah! Let the readers try and deduce what's going on.

BLOSSOM: Hmmm, right.

BRICK: This is dumb.

ME: Who is it that's constantly demanding I update more quickly?

BRICK: I-I do not!

BUTCH: If you do want Kuku to update faster, go ahead and leave a review. Apparently it's a good motivator.

ME: It's a great motivator! I plan to focus on my studies for the next few months, but I'll try and get some writing done so I can update by April-ish.

BUBBLES: So don't forget to review!