Buttercup threw herself on top of her bed as soon as she made it to her bedroom. She slammed the door shut behind her but didn't bother to lock it, her emotions far too out of control for her to think about the finer details like that. As soon as she found her face crushed deep inside her pillow, she let out a huge sob, angered at being played for such a fool.

The moment Blossom revealed everything to be an act, Buttercup's world came crashing down around her.

The blood covering her sister's body had been fake this entire time. The same blood that made tears spring to her eyes and nausea churn her insides as she saw it spurting out of what she presumed to be Blossom's actual eye. Instead, she had been looking at nothing more than mere trickery; something you could probably find on a movie set, or if Blossom had made this concoction on her own, a fake blood recipe you could concoct yourself at home.

And then there was Blossom herself, pretending to be hurt. Those weak, gasping words, those pained moans of confusion; all of it a performance meant to evoke the intended reaction.

Never in a million years did she think that Blossom would do something like to this to her. This may not have been the first time Blossom did something to deceive her (though at least with the fake blanket, it was mostly meant to help her), but it was without a doubt the worst instance of it. Buttercup had done some pretty mean things to her sister too, things like giving her a bad haircut, partially on purpose, and then not telling her about it until she became the laughingstock of the entire town and even the monster they had all been called to stop. But that had been nothing compared to this. There was no way she would ever put Blossom through any of the distress she had been forced to feel in maiming her own sister. That trumped a bad haircut.

The fact that Blossom didn't have these same reservations about hurting Buttercup that way broke the Puff into pieces.

In the middle of her crying, she heard an incessant knocking on her door. Not in the mood for any of her sister's inadequate apologies, Buttercup screamed at the offender through her pillow, "Go away!"

But then the person on the other side replied, "It's me, Buttercup! Not Blossom."

Bubbles then. This did make her soften but it still did not make her want to invite her sister inside.

"Go away, Bubbles," she sniffled instead, not keen on showing her the extent of her tears.

"It's okay if you're crying, Buttercup," Bubbles said, as if reading her own thoughts. "We were all upset by what Blossom did."

Bringing up Blossom again only made her blood hot again. So, she lashed out and snapped, "Were you in on it too?!"

She didn't actually believe that, but her anger made her say it. Bubbles however took this blind accusation very seriously.

"Of course not!" she cried. "I would never do that to you, Buttercup! Ever!"

When Buttercup wouldn't respond to her, Bubbles grew more emphatic. "Please Buttercup, you have to believe me!"

She did, and she said so, "I believe you, Bubbles." She was simply making her sister the target of her anger. But Bubbles didn't deserve it - Blossom did.

For a while, that was all the two of them said to each other, a long pause smothering the two before Bubbles piped in again. "Can I at least come in there and cry with you?"

This prompted a laugh which sounded strange mixed with a sob. Buttercup wasn't sure if that was meant to be funny but it gave her a faint sense of amusement regardless. She guessed the old adage about misery loving company was true in her case then. The laughter petered out not too long after it started though before dissolving entirely into wretched sobs again.

Hearing these pained sounds from her sister, Bubbles finally decided to turn the doorknob and gently let herself inside. She saw Buttercup on the bed, crying into her pillow and her face melted with sympathy. She flew over the rest of the way to her side, the air shifting slightly with her trip. She then sat herself down on the edge of the bed and consoled Buttercup physically.

"I know, Buttercup," Bubbles said, tears welling up in her own face. She rubbed her sister's back as she continued to cry. "That was really, really mean. I still can't believe she did that."

Blossom's stomach churned with anxiety as the Professor led her sternly up the stairs into the bathroom. He was gripping her hand tightly and looking doggedly ahead, never once turning back to spare her even a passing glance.

She wondered if he hated her as much as she hated herself, and surely as much her sisters did right now. The more time Blossom had to think about her own actions, the more foolish she seemed for even going through them. The fake blood over her body seemed cruel and sadistic and she wanted it off as much as the Professor did. Taking another glimpse at it made her feel ashamed for concocting it, proud at the time for how realistic she got it to look. She also hated herself for putting on such a convincing act, another thing she'd worked hard to get absolutely right.

But how terrifying must that have been for someone like Buttercup, not having the luxury of being in on the joke? She thought Blossom was hurt and badly at that. She thought she was responsible and it tore her up inside.

Once they reached their destination, Professor stood right in front of her, his expression gravely unhappy as he folded both his arms.

"Alright Blossom," he said, "start by taking off your dress."

"Yes sir," Blossom replied, and quietly followed his instructions.

He watched her the entire time and caught her doing something else; taking out a syringe with a hose attached to it too. After she placed it on top of the sink, the Professor picked it up for himself.

"And what is this?" He asked critically, noticing the red fluid in both.

Blossom swallowed before answering. "The blood squirting device, sir."

And all over again, the Professor was shocked. "You mean to tell me you went as far as to make a whole blood squirting device?"

Blossom dropped her head and whimpered, then hovered a few paces away from him. "P-Please don't yell at me again, sir," she whimpered quite pitifully.

Professor Utonium sighed, then made himself understanding. "I'm not gonna yell, Blossom. I just wanna know why you did it."

She pointed to her eye and said, "I wanted to make things more realistic. If it was constantly oozing out, it'd look more... realistic."

"Well, you certainly succeeded when it came to that."

Blossom hung her head in reply, too ashamed to find any pride in it.

As he gathered up her clothes and pitched the syringe and the tube into the waste bin at his feet, he commented on whether this stuff would be able to wash out on its own.

"It can." Blossom said. "It's washable. I checked."

After folding her clothes, he made her wash her mouth out in the sink. It had gotten into her teeth and the effect was even grislier.

"So, what did you use?" He asked, watching her spit pink-tinged saliva into the sink. "Did you buy movie blood or did you make it yourself at home?"

"I made it myself," Blossom replied, again without pride.

He sighed when she was finished rinsing and took a quick leave to wash her clothes, placing them all into the washing machine downstairs. Then he came back up with a wet rag and a full bar of soap, keen on scrubbing all that fake blood concoction off of her face.

Before he did however, he took another look at her face. The blood had dried by now and he used his fingernail to scratch a bit of it off.

"God, it even dries like real blood. How in the world did you get it to do something like this?"

"I used a corn syrup base. And some cocoa powder too."

Her father raised an eyebrow at this, placing one hand on his hip. "So that's where all those ingredients went too, huh?" He sighed. "We could've used that corn syrup for something good like baking cookies instead."

"Well, I didn't use all of it." Blossom replied, not getting the small touch of humor to his voice.

For the first time since this transpired, he smiled at her, making his first wipe of her cheek. "That was a joke, Blossom."

"Oh." She replied.

None of them really started laughing at anything though, not with the rawness of everything still so fresh in their minds.

"So I'm guessing you hate me too now?" She asked him quietly after a pause.

"Blossom, I'm your father. I can never hate you no matter what you do. Though I have to admit, this is pushing it quite a bit."

As the soap on his rag turned pink from her "blood", he posed the obvious question, "So I'm guessing this whole stunt came about from my suggestion that the two of you could do serious damage to each other one day?"

"Yes sir." Blossom answered, not surprising him in the least.

"Figures." He replied, sighing deeply again. "Me and my big mouth, I suppose. But Blossom, this is NOT what I wanted to come from this, ever. All this did was create an even bigger mess for EVERYONE to clean up in the end, and not just in the literal sense."

Again, his attempt at dry humor fell flat and neither one of them were laughing.

"I know, Professor." Blossom said, hanging her head. "I was just—"

"Taking after your old man, right?" Professor finished bleakly for her. Regret for his past actions took a hold of him then. "I should've never tried to pull a stunt like that on you girls back then. If I had known it would lead to something as catastrophic as this..."

"It was stupid, Professor. I went too far from the beginning. Even you didn't have yourself lying face down in a pool of blood after the cops finished "shooting" you."

"Yeah, that was too much. Do you have any idea all the things that were running through my head?"

Blossom shook her head in reply.

"Blossom, my heart just about fell into my stomach! And if it was that bad for me, just imagine how much worse it was for your sister!" His mind flashed back to how he'd raised his voice at her when she first came to the bottom of the stairs ("BUTTERCUP UTONIUM! WHAT DID YOU DO?!") It caused an even greater amount of regret to grip his heart. "And to think I did all that yelling at her earlier..."

"That was my fault." Blossom said quickly, boldly taking all of the blame. "I made you think she hurt me. And when you said all those things, you didn't mean it. You were just scared."

"We all were. This is pretty serious, Blossom. After what you did to Buttercup, and really to all of us, I expect you to make it up to her. To make things right."

"I will, Professor. I promise."