They really need to get a new system for carrying these around, Brick thought as he lifted the small glass bottles from Bubbles' purse. The clear of Chemical X and the black of Antidote X glinted as he tilted them in the moonlight. He was standing in Bubbles and Boomer's kitchen. Bubbles was still at the hospital. She'd be getting out in the morning, and Boomer was out looking for Butch. Again.

After Butch had checked on Buttercup he'd disappeared. No one could get a hold of him. Boomer had gone into a fit. He had torn the city half apart looking for Butch in the last two days. Boomer was worried their brother had gotten himself hurt. Butch wasn't hurt though. Everyone realized it, but Brick knew neither Bubbles nor Blossom would have the heart to tell Boomer where Butch had really gone. Butch wasn't gone by accident. He hadn't been taken. The father of three had left by his own accord.

Brick wasn't worried. At least he shouldn't be. Butch had always been easy to figure out. If Buttercup couldn't find him, then Butch had clearly gone back to Him. Brick was a little surprised Butch had gone back so quickly. Butch had always been so angry when they were kids. That rage had usually been aimed toward Buttercup, but during middle school Butch had redirected the emotion toward their father. Brick wasn't sure why. He assumed it had just been the usual teenage rebellion, but Him hadn't been the only one Butch had been enraged at. There was a blur of anger directed at Brick himself. Brick knew Butch had plenty of good reasons to be angry at him now, but why when they were teenagers?

Brick glanced out the kitchen window. For any normal person, it was just a backyard. For Brick, he could see a block away into where Buttercup was standing in her own kitchen. She hadn't tried looking for Butch. Not even on the first day. Brick wondered if she had known where Butch was going. Or if his disappearance was a shock to her as well.

Did you leave them both? Or just Sparks? Brick thought as he looked at her. Buttercup was the part that confused him the most. Butch would have confided in her surely. But then again, would she have ever let Butch go back to Him? Brick remembered fighting Buttercup. She was a tooth and nail woman, when she cared, she fought like hell for that person. There was no way she'd have let Butch return to their father without a fight. So why was she looking like the tragic portrait of a defeated woman? Standing alone in a dark kitchen, head hung low, only dimly illuminated by a stove light. She hadn't known Butch was leaving. She hadn't fucking known.

Brick could see a nightlight in one of the upstairs rooms. He looked at that house with three sleeping children and one tired looking mother. Buttercup wore what must've been Butch's shirt. The bagginess of the shirt made her appear very small. He could see the saddened hitch in her shoulders. Buttercup's hair was limp in the stove light. The mantra from the hospital returned to Brick's mind. Make enough noise, break enough things.

Blossom had been there earlier to help put the kids to bed. Brick had seen her pink streak take off when he'd snuck in ten minutes ago. He watched now as the shape of Buttercup turned her back to the counter and slid down the cabinets. How could Butch leave her behind? Then again, Butch had done it before. Butch hadn't needed much convincing the night they'd chosen to leave Townsville. Brick remembered a very strange look in his brother's eyes that night. He looked back down at the two glass bottles in his hands. He pocketed one and slipped the other back into Bubbles' purse. He didn't need them both. Make enough noise, break enough things.

Buttercup saw the light bounce off the back door of Boomer and Bubbles' house. She was glad Boomer must have finally decided to get some rest. There wasn't much point in going out looking for Butch. He'd clearly gone back to Him. Brick had told them the kids would be safe if Butch and Boomer just went back. And the overly protective moron had listened. That was the only possible reason he'd leave. Buttercup ran a hand through her bobbed hair. The kids were sound asleep. Blossom had put them to bed before heading home herself. The kids were safe, but was Butch? Buttercup blinked to keep the tears away. This is the second time you've left and not told me. Buttercup remembered how heartbroken she'd been the day they'd found out the boys had skipped town. Ms. Bellum had broken the news to the girls. Buttercup remembered it clearly.

Buttercup had followed her sisters into Ms. Bellum's office. She shoved her hair out of her face. Hopefully, this meeting would be quick. She wanted to stop by Mojo's Tower and check on Butch. He hadn't looked great last night. She tried to remind herself that he'd just had Antidote X injected into his veins. He'd lost his powers. He'd lost Brick. She couldn't imagine how he could choose to keep Brick in his life after what had happened.

But he didn't lose me, Buttercup thought. She settled into her chair next to Blossom, who's hair was uncharacteristically uncombed and undone. Buttercup wondered if she should pick up a box of donuts on her way to see Butch. Would that be appropriate? Hey, I know your life is crumbling around you, but I brought Long Johns with Sprinkles!

"What?!" Bubbles shrieked, pulling Buttercup out of her sugar covered thoughts. "Do we have any idea where they went?" Blossom held her hands in her lap.

"Bubbles, the note only said they were leaving," Ms. Bellum explained. "Mojo has already torn up half the city looking for them. He was hoping that perhaps, you girls would know." Buttercup swallowed, the boys were missing? Butch was missing?

"What reason does he have to think we'd know?" Blossom asked, the bandage on her shoulder bearing down on them all. Ms. Bellum gave Blossom a look that suggested there was something Buttercup didn't know.

"Mojo thought, since you had fought so hard to keep them from serving prison time, that perhaps Brick may have confided in you, Blossom." Bubbles and Buttercup stared at their sister. Her hands were clasped tightly together.

"No, Brick Jojo and I aren't friends. We've always been on opposite sides. Now, if Mojo would like, the girls and I can assist in searching the city. However, if the note states they've left town, then I don't think there's much of a point in looking." Blossom stood up swiftly. "I think it's best for the girls and I to go home."

"Bloss, we have to look for them!" Bubbles interjected. "They don't have their powers. They could be hurt!"

Blossom stopped in the doorway. Her grip on the wooden frame was tight enough that Buttercup thought she might splinter the wood. For a moment, it looked as if the entire world rested on Blossom Utonium's shoulders. And, for that moment, Buttercup hated her sister. What reason did she have to look distressed? Blossom wasn't the one losing the love of her life. If anything, this was probably a relief. Blossom had never liked Brick, and everyone knew it. They were the textbook definition of nemeses. They weren't like Butch and Buttercup. Their rivalry was so strong that Brick refused to even look at Blossom. In turn, Blossom was always spying on him out of the corner of her eye. With Brick gone, Blossom would have peace.

"That is none of our concern. We did what we could for those boys. Now, it's time we went home." Blossom's pink streak lit up the doorway a second later. Wiping tears from her eyes, Bubbles stood up. She looked at Buttercup and Ms. Bellum. Buttercup tried to hide her own hurt as she met her sister's gaze. Bubbles sniffed. Those pigtails seemed to droop like a puppy's ears.

"I'm going to go help Mojo look for them," Bubbles muttered. She looked at Buttercup for a hesitant moment. She opened her mouth to say something, but instead, turned away. Her blue streak echoed her departure. Buttercup stayed in her seat for a moment. He was gone. Where the hell would he go? She stood up, wishing her knees wouldn't shake so badly. She had to help Mojo and Bubbles look for the boys. She wracked her mind for all the places he would go. The skate park? No, that was too public. The library? There was a chance he'd go there if he didn't want to be found. But he was with Boomer. Bubbles would most certainly be checking the library for Boomer. Then it occurred to her. The art room at the high school. He'd be there, trying to make sense of everything. Butch would etch and scratch, cover the world in graphite until it made sense to him. She swallowed hard.

"I'm going to look for them," She said. Ms. Bellum stood.

"I'll go with you," Ms. Bellum spoke in a warm tone. To Buttercup, Bellum's voice had always sounded like a mother's, or at least the closest thing she'd ever had to a mother.

"It'll be faster if I fly." Buttercup half heartedly argued. Bellum's smile was knowing.

"It'll be harder if you're alone." There was the jingle of keys. "Now come. I'll drive us." Buttercup followed without another word. She wasn't sure she could fly straight with all this worry anyways.

The trip was silent. Words were never something Buttercup was good at expressing herself through. Ms. Bellum didn't push her to The car ride, despite Ms. Bellum's lead foot, seemed to take ages. Once they arrived at the school, Buttercup's worry and desperation skyrocketed. The car was still moving when she jumped out of it. She zipped through the hallways, so quickly she slammed into a set of lockers when rounding a corner. She'd have to pay to fix those later. She didn't stop moving until she burst into a dark, empty art room.

"Butch!" She cried. She checked the storage rooms, kiln rooms, photograpghy room, but still, no Butch. He was nowhere. He was gone. Gone.

"Buttercup, I know you and Butch are friends. Are you okay?" Ms. Bellum said as she crept carefully into the room. As the Saturday morning light drifted in through the windows, Buttercup looked over at the face she'd known her whole life. When they were freshman, Butch had snuck Buttercup into the artroom on a Saturday just like this. This was where he'd kissed her for the first time. Now, he was nowhere to be found.

"This," Buttercup swallowed hard. "This was the only place he'd go. I-I thought he'd be here." Ms. Bellum's eyes were filled with love and concern as she watched the teen look around the room. This was where Butch had said he loved her for the first time. He'd said it just before the incident. Buttercup hadn't been ready to hear it. She'd panicked and ran. That was when she'd spotted Brick arguing with Boomer and Bubbles. Her head had been so filled with a teenager's anxieties that she'd lashed out. If she hadn't ran, then maybe none of this would have happened. She'd thought she'd have a chance to say it after she'd calmed down. She thought she'd get the chance one day. Now, he was gone.

No. He'd left.

Ms. Bellum gave her an understanding look, but didn't say a word. Buttercup knew that in a minute she'd be angry with Butch. He'd left her. In a minute, she'd let her anger keep her from drowning without him, but as she looked at the woman before her, for just a second, Buttercup let herself be a teenage girl whose heart was breaking.

"He left me," Buttercup said, the tears starting to fall. One would have thought Ms. Bellum had superpowers with how quickly she broke the distance and pulled the girl into her arms. "I love him and he left me." Buttercup had never said it outloud before. Now she'd never get the chance to tell him. Ms. Bellum held her as they sank to the floor.

"Oh sweetheart," she said, soothing her hair. Buttercup sobbed into her red jacket. "You're going to be okay, babygirl, you're going to be okay." Ms. Bellum was right of course. After a few weeks the sharp pain of losing him would become a dull ache and Buttercup would start to move on. She'd grow up and one day, they'd find each other again. But on that day, crying into Ms. Bellum's arms, Buttercup had thought the pain would kill her. She was drowning and she didn't know how to fucking swim. As she sobbed, her mind went back to Blossom looking like the weight of the world was on her shoulders, but what did that matter? When Buttercup was losing her entire universe?

"Mommy?" Buttercup's eyes darted up. Poppy was standing there hugging a teddy bear. Of all their kids, she looked the most like her father. The resemblance hurt. Buttercup smiled softly.

"Baby, what are you doing up?" Buttercup asked. She pulled Poppy into her and the little girl cuddled in.

"I cwouldn't sweep. Daddy, didn't song," Poppy said. Buttercup kissed her head.

"I know, babygirl, I know."

"Where is Daddy?" With that little question Buttercup felt her heart tear in half. The kids had been asking the question for two days and she still didn't know how to respond. How was she supposed to explain it to her kids? They were two and five. Did she say Butch had left to keep them safe? She could say that, but the next question would be when he was coming home. That was the part that hurt the most. Buttercup knew where he was, she knew why he'd gone, but when was he coming home? Was he ever coming home? She couldn't raise the kids on her own. He'd promised her nothing would ever take him away from their kids. She couldn't lose him again. It would kill her this time. This is the second time you've left and not told me. Buttercup brushed a hand over her stomach. Would he be there for the birth? Would Butch ever meet their fourth child? Had number four been the tipping point for Butch? Had he gone back so that all four of his kids never had to be afraid of the devil in the shadows? It had to be. It was the only thing that made sense. He had to be doing this to protect them. Heart and soul, that was what he always said. He was selling his life away to protect his heart and soul. All these fears sat jumbled in her brain because she couldn't say them outloud. Poppy just wanted to be sung to by her dad.

"Blossom, she is the commander and leader. Bubbles, she is the joy and the laughter. Buttercup, she is the toughest fighter." Buttercup sang softly to her daughter. Poppy closed her eyes with a small yawn. "Powerpuff save the day." Closing her own eyes, Buttercup wondered if they ever really did. The last terrifying thought entered her mind. Butch, are you okay?

The lacrosse ball rose in the air then fell back into Butch's hand. He laid in his childhood bed. His head rested on a dark green pillow and a pokemon blanket was draped over his legs. The floor was covered in broken things. A lamp, art supplies, a desk, and broken bits of glass that sparkled in the dim moonlight. He'd spent the last two days holed up in his room at Him's since their initial conversation. He tossed the ball up again, as he thought it over.

At the door, Butch had stared up at Him. The devil had gestured toward an old red chair in the living room, peering at Butch menancely. Butch shouldered past Him into his adoptive father's home.

"Won't you sit down, dear?" Him said. Butch looked at the devil before moving and taking a seat. The red fabric was worn on the armrests. Butch had always hated this chair. It was stiff and the fabric had always itched. As kids, Brick had loved it. Butch remembered all the times Brick would scramble into the chair to read a book or escape into his imagination. When they were young Brick used to tell Butch and Boomer stories. They were always about dragons and knights. Brick used to sit in this chair and write for hours. Then, those weekend trips had started and Brick stopped writing. He stopped doing much of anything. Butch had tried to encourage Brick. He'd spent two months working on a series of illustrations for one of Brick's old stories. When he'd shown him, Brick had looked at them for a long minute. Brick hadn't smiled. The redhead had just shrugged.

"They're kind of cool," Brick had said, then he'd thrown some clothes in his backpack. "I'm going on a trip with Dad. Try not to eat nothing but junk food this weekend." On his way out Brick had tossed the drawings onto the red chair. Butch still hated that chair.

Him sauntered to the sofa across the room from Butch. The devil crossed his legs as he settled into the cushions. "What can I do for you Butch?"

Butch stared at Him. Butch hated the creature in front of him. This thing had caused him so much pain. He didn't raise us to lie, though. Butch thought to himself. And he never lied to us. Butch leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"I have questions," Butch said. "And I have a feeling you've got answers." Him smiled.

"I'm perfectly willing to give answers, dear, but I want something in exchange." Butch pursed his lips. He looked away from Him. Looking away only brought his attention to the old bookshelf in the corner. Brick and Boomer had spent hours pouring over those books. Butch spotted a beat up copy of King Arthur, Brick's favorite. This was why he and Boomer hadn't cleaned out Mojo's tower. Him and Mojo's homes were living tombs. Everywhere Butch looked there was a memory. There was a red-eyed smile, laughter, and a brother Butch had loved. A brother that had died. There was a lot of pain and anger when it came to Brick. He'd done so much bad, but Butch still remembered how many nights he'd spent crying after he died. He'd spent so many nights sobbing while Buttercup held him. All those nights, telling him he'd be okay, and Buttercup had known. She'd known what had happened to Brick. She had spent four years lying. She didn't lie, she just withheld the truth, and don't you have your own secrets? Butch looked back at Him. That's different. No one got hurt.

But didn't they?

"I'm here, aren't I? You got Brick, now you got me, isn't that what you wanted? A big, happy, family reunion?" Butch said. Him smiled.

"What I want, Butch, is to know why you left Townsville in the first place." Butch's blood ran cold. Him didn't know, did he? He didn't know the truth, he couldn't. Butch had never told a soul. But you can't lie, you have to tell him. The son cursed himself. He shouldn't have come, this was a mistake. He couldn't lie. He couldn't lie, but he was still the devil's son, and sometimes there were ways around the truth.

"You and I both know I was never going to stay in Townsville."

"Yes, but you always thought you would leave in a bodybag. You never planned to leave Townsville alive." Him's unnervingly casual lilt caused Butch to have to suppress the shudders that wanted to race down his spine. Butch ran a hand over his face.

"I also never planned to be back in this grotesquely tacky apartment, but here we are. Now, it's time for my questions, Pops," Butch snapped. Him stared for a minute, those nuclear green eyes studying Butch. The son forced himself not to squirm under his gaze.

"What were your questions?" Him asked, finally breaking the silence.

"How'd my brother die?" Butch asked. He hoped Him would say it was an accident. He prayed for it to be true. He wanted nothing more than Brick to have died in a shop accident. He wanted nothing more than for Brick to have lied.

"Now dear, why would you ask something like that? Don't you already know?" Him raised an eyebrow. Butch smiled at the devil.

"Don't play that game, Pops, you and I both know Brick was too careful for a shop accident." Please, let that be a load of bull.

"You're smarter than I thought."

"Yeah," Butch said, "not so much if you're about to tell me I've been believing a lie for four years. So tell me, did he really die from a misused lift or was it Blossom?"

"Accidents happen quite often, Butch, even to careful mechanics." Butch nearly sighed in relief. Buttercup hadn't lied. "But Brick's death wasn't one. He had an awful lot of help from Blossom." Butch sucked in a breath. Him smiled. "Ah, so you really didn't know?" Butch closed his eyes. He wished with all his heart that the devil lied. How could she lie to him for so long? Haven't you lied longer than her?

"Is there anything else?"

"No, Butchie dear, I'm afraid there's not much more to it. It was a very straightforward death." The devil's eyes glinted. "In fact, I would say Blossom got straight to the point. You came to me for the truth, right? You know I don't lie."

Butch stared over at Him. He was right, that was why Butch had come, but now. He couldn't go home, not yet. Buttercup had lied. She had lied for four years. Butch felt the hurt give way to anger. He needed to break something. He looked around the room, ignoring his father's gaze. He could smash that stupid red chair, but Brick was nestled in it, writing a story about heroes and dragons. The bookshelf would make good kindling for a fire, but Brick and Boomer were there, reading through stacks of books. The coffee table would shatter nicely, but Brick was sitting there helping Butch with his homework. The lamp with a dented lightshade was already in rough shape, breaking it wouldn't hurt much, but he remembered falling into it to catch a football Brick had thrown. There were so many memories, so much of Brick still lingering everywhere. He couldn't break any of it. He couldn't break what little remained of his brother. His real brother. There was so little of Brick left, and yet far too much. Butch couldn't take it. She'd lied. He was gone.

He suddenly remembered a room in this miserable place that didn't have Brick everywhere in it. It may have looked childish to others, but to Butch it was the only place he could tear apart. It was the only place that could be broken and destroyed, because that kid was dead. He had been for so long. He'd lost everything and everyone so long ago. He'd died, all those years ago, with a single lightning strike. Butch burst into his childhood bedroom. The star wars lamp he'd saved up months for was the first thing to go, then the art desk and the shelf full of graphic novels and comic books. Butch let out a scream. Brick was in the edges of this room too, but it was invested with the one person Butch missed more. Butch caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. For just a second he didn't see the deeply broken man he was, he just saw a scrawny seventeen year old kid. Those green eyes peered forward with a backpack full of clothes slung over his shoulders. He could hear Brick telling Boomer they were leaving, and to get Butch. The mirror was the next thing to break. You have your own secrets don't you?

Now, Butch was still processing it all. Blossom had killed his brother. Buttercup and Bubbles had lied about it. Bubbles made sense, Boomer couldn't handle it, and Bubbles would do what she thought was best for her husband. Bubbles also knew Butch couldn't lie. She'd never tell him and risk him telling Boomer. But Buttercup had a very different impression of Boomer. They were close friends. Buttercup always said Boomer was tougher than people thought. Buttercup wouldn't have worried about Boomer finding out. So why hadn't she told Butch? She'd have known he was capable of hearing the truth. Then why would she lie to cover up what Blossom had done? Like you haven't been lying since the night you left Townsville, he thought. Butch shook his head, then tossed the lacrosse ball back into the air to catch again. You have your own secrets, don't you?

Blossom looked down at the kitchen floor. It made her smile. Buttercup and the kids were piled up, Poppy snoring softly on her mother's chest. Protea was holding onto Buttercup's arm and Aster was cuddled between his sister and mother. Blossom set her coffee down on the counter before lifting Poppy off Buttercup. The mother blinked awake.

"What?" She looked at the children curled around her, then up at Blossom. "I only remember falling asleep with Poppy." Blossom smiled again.

"Something tells me they were looking for Mom during the night." Blossom looked at the clock on the stove. "I'll help you get them back to bed." Buttercup gave a big sigh, pushing hair from her face.

"Yeah, sounds good. Thanks." Blossom carried the twins up to their room while Buttercup took Protea. Neither Poppy nor Aster stirred when Blossom placed them back into their beds. She heard Protea wake in the next room.

"Mommy, is Daddy home?" Protea asked. Blossom paused from tucking Aster in tightly and listened.

"Not yet, sweetheart," Buttercup responded.

"Is he coming home soon?" The little girl asked. There was a heart wrenching silence as Blossom waited to hear what her sister would say. She couldn't imagine how painful this was for the toughest fighter. Blossom was worried for Butch, but her concern paled in comparison to her outrage. She was pissed as hell that Butch had left without a word and forced Buttercup to pick up all the pieces. He hadn't told anyone where he was going.

Boomer still hadn't accepted it. At three o'clock in the morning, Blossom had been awoken by the shrill ringing of her phone. It was Ms. Bellum, who was calling to inform her that Boomer was spotted lying unconscious on a park bench. He must have finally passed out from exhaustion in his search for his brother. Blossom had landed softly next to him in the park and did her best to reason with him. Butch was gone, but Boomer would not hear it.

"Boomer," she'd said gently, as she nudged him awake. Boomer had snapped alert.

"Did you find him?" He'd asked, shoving his blond hair from his face. "Where's Butch?"

"No, Boom, we didn't find him." She took hold of his arm. "Come on, let's get you home." Boomer shook his head.

"No, I've got to keep looking. Has anyone seen Brick? Maybe he knows where we can find Butch." Blossom sighed. The chilly night air bit into her skin. She couldn't bear to look at that broken look in Boomer's eyes anymore. She didn't like the way Boomer was willing to go to Brick for help. Brick was undeserving of that trust. If Butch got hurt, then Brick would be to blame.

She'd already confronted Brick about it, which had only led to yet another tense argument. Blossom remembered how red Brick's face had turned while they snapped at each other. The heat in her cheeks must have matched his. They'd chased each other around Mojo's tower, each trying to get the other one to break first. All Blossom had wanted was the truth. Something completely foreign to Brick's mouth and something she was speaking less and less. After a while, it had become evident that Brick didn't know anymore about Butch's location than she did. Somehow that had pissed her off more. He was supposed to be the bad guy, and that meant anything bad that happened to her family was his fault. So why didn't he know where Butch was? But they all knew where he was, didn't they? Everyone except Boomer.

"I did. Brick knows just as much as the rest of us." Blossom sat down next to Boomer. "There's no use looking for Butch," Boomer shook his head as Blossom continued speaking. "We know where he went back to Him."

"Butch would never do that, Bloss. He wouldn't leave me like that."

"Yes, he would." Blossom hated herself for saying it, but someone had to. It was unnerving how many times she had to hurt the people she loved recently. Blossom was grateful she did not have the time to stare at herself in the mirror. She was unsure what would look back at her. She wondered what color those eyes would be. "You almost died in that monster fight. Buttercup was almost seriously hurt. Butch must have thought going back would protect you." The man next to her bolted from the bench, pointing at her as he paced.

"That's bull and you know it," he accused. Blossom lightly pushed away the finger that had landed itself in front of her face. Blossom steadied her emotions and tried to remind herself that Boomer was hurting. He'd just lost his only brother. He was in a volatile state. The more she got upset, the more he would too.

In a tone of voice, far more icily calm than she felt, Blossom asked, "And why is that? Boomer, Butch lives for his family."

"Because I'm part of what Him wants! Butch leaving alone doesn't protect anyone. No one in this family is safe until all three of us are back under Him's control." Boomer stared at her for a moment. Their eyes locked. She watched as the wheels turned in those ocean blue eyes, the waves so dark they looked black. These were eyes that could drown a person, but not the one looking into them. No, these were eyes that could drown the person they belonged to. "But if I go back; this family is screwed. If I go back, we all die and our kids. Our kids are His."

"Boomer," but everything died in her throat. What could she possibly say to calm that storm brewing in his eyes? She'd never known how to handle the rain, even if lighting was a familiar friend.

"If I go back, it's the end of the Rowdyruff Boys and the Powerpuff Girls." Boomer ran a hand over his face. "I know how it'll happen too. Him will have Brick do most of the dirty work. He has the tightest grip on him. He'll have Brick kill Bubbles first. It gives me less reason to leave, and it's revenge, because my relationship with Bubbles caused the Incident in high school. It's the reason we lost our powers and why we left Townsville. It's the reason I tore away from Him. Then he'll send Brick after Buttercup. Butch won't be able to fight to protect her. Brick will likely kill her right in front of Butch. Him will want Butch to see it happen. He'll want to remind Butch that he has no power."

"So," Blossom pursed her lips. "You think I won't be able to stop Brick." Boomer smiled at that. It was a cold, broken smile. It terrified her as he met her gaze again, the tide coming in dangerously close.

"You won't be alive to save them."

"I thought you said Him would send Brick after Bubbles first." A laugh escaped Boomer then as he wiped the tears away.

"Him won't send Brick after you."

"Then how-" She started. Boomer's face turned dark in that instant. It was a sight. Those eyes nearly black, the dark circles beneath them, and the grave set of it all. Had his features always been so haunting?

"He'll send me. I'll be the first Rowdyruff to kill. None of this will happen right away. I imagine Him will want to keep us in his Vortex prisons for a little bit first. He'll make a deal with me, and he'll convince me that if I kill you, he'll let Bubbles live." Boomer sat back down next to her. "And I'll do it. If I become desperate enough to protect her, I'll kill you. You won't put much effort into fighting me. I'll be so desperate. When I come for you I'll plead for you to find a way to fight Him, but you're self-sacrificing enough that you'll tell me to do whatever it takes to protect your sister. You'll die for this family, and it'll be demolished before your body's cold. Him will have Brick move quickly. While I'm distracted by you, Brick will take care of Bubbles, and then Buttercup. It'll only take a few hours, I imagine. It'll probably be at night. Nighttime gives Brick the advantage if Bubbles and Buttercup are asleep."

"Boomer—"

"Him wants you all dead. And He's pissed at us. He'll make sure we're punished." Boomer looked out at the dark park. He swallowed hard. "The worst part? He'll give Butch and I a few more years with our kids. Then he'll take care of us too. Quite honestly, Brick might be the only one to make it out alive."

"Boomer, do you really believe that?"

He didn't say a word, he just leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. Blossom closed her eyes, swallowing down her fear. Boomer would never hurt her. They were family. His conviction only settled something dark in her own mind. She had to do whatever it took to stop Brick. Whatever it took to stop Him.

For a brief moment, she was in a New York kitchen, holding onto the love of her life as he bled out. Don't let Him win, Brick had said. She hadn't understood at the time. She didn't know if this was what Brick had warned her about. Had this been it? Had Brick foreseen the same dark and twisted revenge that Boomer was so convinced would unfold? Blossom leaned an inch closer, so that their noses touched. She'd do whatever it took to keep that future from Boomer. Whatever it took. Her lightning scar ached.

"I promise you, Boomer, I'll keep you safe." She remembered promising Brick that, a thousand years ago. 'Who's going to protect him then?'

'I will. I'm the superhero. It is my job to save people.'

Boomer pulled away a second later. Blossom opened her eyes and watched as he started walking away.

"I need to get home. I should shower before I pick Bubbles and Bellum up."

"Boomer," she called after him. He stopped, but didn't look back at her.

"I know, you're going to do everything you can. But something tells me, there's one detail we're all missing. One little puzzle piece that we need to stop all of it, but I'm not sure we're going to figure it out." His blue streak lingered in the night sky as Blossom remained on the park bench. She'd stayed there until the sun began to rise, then she'd gone and bought some cheap coffee at the gas station and made her way to Buttercup's house. Where she now stood, waiting for Buttercup to respond to her daughter. When was Butch coming home?

"Go back to sleep, babygirl," Buttercup said.

"I want Daddy," Protea sniffled. The bed squeaked as Buttercup sat down next to her daughter. She kissed her forehead.

"I know, I know." Buttercup said. She started to sing Protea's lullaby. "Blossom, she is the commander and leader…" God, Blossom wished things were as simple as a child's lullaby.

Buttercup stepped into the living room, her hair dripping from her shower. Blossom was sitting on the couch waiting.

"When are you going to tell the kids that he's not coming back?" Blossom asked.

"Never," Buttercup said, taking a seat next to her sister. "Butch will come back."

"How can you be so sure?" Blossom wondered, offering Buttercup some of her coffee. The green-eyed woman shook her head to refuse.

"Because I won't survive if he doesn't." They sat in silence for a second before Buttercup shrugged. "Besides, can you imagine trying to sue him for child support? Oh my ex? Yes, your honor, he does live with the devil. No, I'm not joking. He is very much alive and taking up residence in the devil's house." Buttercup forced a laugh. Blossom looked at her sister. She knew what she was doing. Buttercup needed to shield herself with humor. Blossom gave her a small smile.

"At least it wouldn't be very much of a custody battle. You'd definitely win that one, and all you have to do is not live with the devil," Blossom played along with Buttercup's joke. Her sister tried to laugh, but as she laughed she wiped at her tears. The redheaded sister pulled the other woman into a hug.

"He'll come back. I have to believe he will," Buttercup said into Blossom's shoulder. The living room was quiet as Blossom soothed Buttercup's hair. The silence hung thick until Blossom's phone went off. They recognized the ringtone immediately. Blossom scrambled to answer her phone.

"Where are you? Are you okay?" Blossom asked as she held the phone to her ear.

"I'm at Him's place. I'm okay." Butch's voice came in clear. The relief visibly washed over Buttercup. "Where are you, Bloss?"

"I'm at your house, helping your girlfriend take care of your kids." Blossom heard a sigh on the other end.

"How are they?" Butch asked.

"Come home and find out for yourself," Buttercup said, taking the phone from Blossom.

"Buttercup," Butch said. "Just tell me if the kids are okay." Buttercup frowned.

"They miss you, but other than that, yeah, they're peachy," she said.

"Good, put Blossom back on the phone."

"Excuse me?"

"Look Babe, if I wanted to talk to you, I would have called your phone." Hurt rimmed Buttercup's eyes as she blinked.

"You disappear for two days and you call her and not me?"

"Buttercup, I have to figure something out before I can think of coming home."

"Before you think of coming home? Butch, what are you talking about? How am I supposed to explain this to the kids?" She snapped. Butch sighed heavily.

"I don't know, just figure it out. Now, put Blossom on the phone."

"No, I need a little more than you might come home. The kids need more than that."

"Fine! I don't want to fucking talk to you!" Butch snapped back. "Is that what you want to hear? Now, give the goddamn phone to Blossom." Buttercup blinked faster. Blossom took the phone quickly.

"Listen asshole, you don't get to disappear for two days and talk to the mother of your children like that. You don't get to talk to my sister like that," Blossom seethed.

"You're in no place to lecture me. Didn't you lie about where you were for three months?" Butch fired back. "Meet me at the shop in an hour." There was a pause. "And come by yourself. I can't see Buttercup yet." The line went dead before either sister could protest. They stared at each other.

"Asshole," Buttercup breathed. She glanced at the stairs to where the kids slept the next floor up. "Blossom, bring him home."

"I will, I promise."

Brick sat in the corner of his room. There wasn't anywhere to sit, so he rested on the floor. He watched dust sparkle and dance in the morning light. It was soft. It didn't match the rest of the tarnished room. Brick remembered the night he'd burned his room. He'd begged Blossom to go with him, to leave Townsville behind and run away with him. We don't have to be on opposite sides anymore. She'd refused, of course, Blossom couldn't leave behind her home. She slipped out his bedroom window that night. Brick had watched that pink streak light up the sky more than any star ever could. His chest ached as he watched her go.

It had hurt so fucking bad. He'd left his room to tell Boomer they were leaving that night and tell Butch to pack a bag. Before even getting to his door, Butch had emerged, bag in hand. Brick hadn't questioned it at the time. He'd just turned around and packed his own backpack. Before he and his brothers left, Brick had looked at his room. He'd caught sight of Blossom's ribbon tucked under a textbook. Pulling it out, Brick had tied it around his wrist. He glanced at his bed, wanting nothing more than to call this all off. He'd wanted to wait for morning and when he saw Blossom again, he would hold her close. He would tell her how sorry he wasl Why he'd done what he'd done. That giant heart of hers would forgive him, and she'd promise him they would find a solution. They wouldn't be on opposite sides anymore. He'd wanted nothing more than to wait for morning, and to kiss her in the sunlight. He'd just wanted her. Then, for a reason Brick couldn't quite remember, he'd instead pulled out a matchbook and set his room on fire. There would be nothing left for him to come back to.

Brick sat in the room that held a decade of ash. There was nothing left of the boy he used to be. As he stared at the mounds of debris, he wondered if they may still hold some clues. A glimpse of the secrets he'd destroyed. While he'd gotten his memories back, he was still missing a piece. He knew everything he'd done. Brick knew why everyone hated him so much. He just didn't know why he'd done all those things. He'd always wanted to protect his brothers. So why had he repeatedly caused them pain? What had motivated him?

There was one memory that confused him the most. He must have been around fourteen in it. Blossom was there. There was a confession that they kind of didn't hate each other. There was an innocent kiss. He recalled her lip gloss was watermelon flavored. The memory ended abruptly. Light flooding in from the opening of a door, then he'd pushed Blossom away. There was pain. Brick couldn't place what caused it, but it hurt. It hurt so fucking much. Why had he pushed Blossom away? Why had he been so scared? And where had the pain come from?

Brick's hands drifted to the scars on his biceps. Blossom had mentioned a kiss that had led to pain. She'd said Him had caused them. Had his father really hurt him so badly? But could Blossom be trusted? Brick touched the knife mark in the middle of his bare chest. She'd been the one to kill him. Maybe she was lying. Maybe she was trying to shift the blame of his death onto his father.

Brick looked at the glass bottle sitting on the floor in front of him. It was the bottle he'd stolen from Bubbles' purse. I should get rid of it, he thought, I should flush it down the toilet. The bottle remained where it was. Brick knew he'd made a thousand mistakes, but that little bottle was going to help him fix one of them. He stood up, stuffing the bottle in his pocket. He was going to fix one of his greatest regrets.

Blossom stepped gingerly into Butch and Boomer's shop, the bell at the door chiming. It was the only sound in the building. There was a silence that the shop had never known. All the hours she'd spent here with the boys and it had never been so quiet. The lack of life made Blossom assume she'd gotten there before Butch, then she walked through the front of the building that served as the tattoo parlor. This part was spotless. It damn near sparkled. Butch was very concerned about the cleanliness. She looked up at the wall of art he had displayed. Buttercup's eyes stared back at her from numerous pieces. When Blossom got to the back she opened the door to the bike garage and found Butch silently working on a motorcycle. It was nearly totalled, but he'd insisted it was fixable. He didn't turn as the door made a soft thud when it closed behind her.

"You alone?" He asked. Blossom folded her arms.

"Yes," she said. She straightened her shoulders, getting ready to yell at him. Who did he think he was?

"Save it," Butch said, eyes never leaving the task he was doing. She couldn't see his reflection in the scuffed red fuel tank. "I don't need a lecture about how I'm treating Buttercup, or how this is affecting my kids. I know I'm being a dick."

"Then why are you even here and not with your family?" She snipped. He paused with his work, but still didn't look at her.

"Because I'm trying to figure out why the love of my life would lie about you killing my brother." The world went still.

"What?" She gasped. Finally, he looked at her. She wished he hadn't. That look was smoldering.

"You heard me, you killed him didn't you?" Blossom blinked, trying to avoid looking into those rage filled eyes. What color were they?

"Who told you that?" She asked him. How did he know what she'd done? Who had told him? Had they told Boomer?

"Does it matter?" Butch asked, standing up. "It should have been you. You should have told me that you drove a knife into my brother's chest. You should have told me yourself. Instead you lied to me. Buttercup lied to me. Bubbles lied to me. Not only that, the three of you have been lying to Boomer. This will destroy him. Look me in the fucking eye." Blossom didn't want to. She couldn't bear it, but she still did. She met his gaze. His chest heaved up and down as he got angrier. "How could you do it? How could you do that?"

"I- I didn't have a choice," She stammered. "I didn't have a choice."

"Bullshit. There's always a fucking choice." Butch said. "So why did you do it?"

"Because how could I come home after lying for months and I tell you I'd murdered your brother? How could I look at you and admit what I'd done to you and Boomer. I was no better than Brick." Blossom threw her hands up. Butch stared at her. Their eyes met for a long moment. Butch moved forward. She tried to stumble back, but he'd swept her up into a hug. He'd rocked her side to side. She buried her head in his chest. She could feel one of his hands cradle the back of her head. Maybe everything would be okay.

"No," he whispered. She almost sighed in relief, but he kept talking. "You're worse." She stiffened in his grip. "Brick never lied about what kind of person he was. Never once did he lie to me." Blossom pushed away from him. His gaze was dark and unreadable. What color were those eyes?

"I never lied about who I was," She said. "I didn't."

"Lying about killing my brother is lying about who you are." Butch stepped toward the door. He was leaving? She'd promised Buttercup she'd bring him home.

"Butch, wait!" She reached out to catch his wrist. Butch moved out of reach.

"I said my piece, Blossom. Now let me figure out what my next move is."

"No, please," She begged. She grabbed his shoulder. "I need to tell you-" Butch's motion was a blur, but a second later Blossom found herself slammed against the wall. His forearm pinned her in place.

"I don't care what you have to say. There's no justification for what you did. You lied. You think your motives make up for what you did? You're still the only murderer I know." He hissed, his voice never rising, eyes so dangerous they could have been red. At that moment she remembered, Brick wasn't the only son of the devil. Butch was still the Baron of Berserk and he looked venomous. "How does it feel, knowing you're worse than the bastard you murdered? No wonder the two of you were so infatuated with each other as kids, you're both monsters." He let her go and stalked out of the shop, leaving Blossom to slide to the floor as her mind tried desperately to determine if she was there, or in a dark, bloodied kitchen in New York.

"Protea, baby, wake up." The little girl blinked as she was gently nudged awake. Protea looked up at the figure sitting on her bed.

"Daddy?" she asked as she rubbed her eyes. He smiled. She darted up, throwing her small arms around his neck. "Daddy!" He laughed as he hugged her back.

"Oh, baby girl, I missed you," Daddy said. Protea held tight to her father. She didn't know what it meant to miss someone, but she suspected the weight off her chest just from the sound of his voice, meant she'd missed him. She buried her little face into his neck. If she let go, would he leave again?

Brick heard him coming before the front door to Mojo's Tower opened. Brick always knew when his brothers were close. Brick didn't move from his seat at the kitchen island. He watched as his brother calmly walked into the kitchen. Butch looked like shit. His hair was ruffled and his clothes wrinkled, but his face was the worst of it. His green eyes were surrounded with dark circles.

"What happened to you?" Brick asked, lifting his coffee mug. Butch stared at him before collecting a mug from the cabinet and pouring himself some coffee.

"Found out my family's been lying to me for years," Butch said. "Got any secrets you want to get out?"

"When I figure out what the secrets are I'll let you know," Brick said, watching his brother carefully. Butch made no sudden gestures, his movements were quiet and intentional. Butch was a very different man that Brick had thought he'd be. When had the violence left him?

"You find Blossom?" Brick asked. "She was looking for you. Came here and harassed me about it for forty minutes." They had gone back and forth, all around the apartment, red-faced and yelling. If he didn't hate her so much, Brick would have admitted that arguing with her was almost fun. They were certainly well matched. When one of them seemed to be winning, the other would quickly offer a rebuttal. There was something about the heat of the fight with Blossom. When she was on the attack she'd close in. Literally. She'd get so close that he'd feel his chest heat up, absent of fire. The light would catch on her lip gloss and he'd wonder very briefly, what flavor it was. That was how he'd lost this last argument. He'd seen that lip gloss and forgotten his counterargument. Brick was furious with himself. He'd considered breaking into her apartment to find her makeup and answer the question, but there was no way he'd ever win an argument again if she caught him.

Butch let out a gruff sound. "Yeah." It was silent as the green-eyed man took a sip of coffee. "What did you do to her in New York?" Butch asked. Brick went still. He knew exactly what he'd done. He'd gotten his hands on Antidote X and tried to kill her. The glass bottle currently in his pocket weighed heavy. Brick had tried to kill Blossom and she'd fought back. Brick was well aware that his death hadn't been unprovoked. What puzzled him though, was the moment in the memory of that night, that he hadn't wanted to kill her. He hadn't wanted her dead. He'd wiped the tears from her eyes and kissed her temples. He'd let her take his hands and begin to lead him. There had been a brief moment where he would have followed her back to Townsville. So why hadn't he? What had stopped him? Why had he decided she needed to die that day? That motto from the hospital returned. Make enough noise, break enough things.

"I tried to kill her," Brick said finally, he didn't find much reason to lie to Butch. He'd been very good at lying before he died, and that hadn't done him much good. We've both lied to each other enough, haven't we? Brick watched as Butch pursed his lips and set his mug down on the counter. Butch didn't look up but continued to stare at the dark brown of his coffee.

"Shit, Brick." There was something odd in his expression that confused Brick.

"Are you surprised?" Brick asked. Butch ran a hand through his hair.

"I shouldn't be. I've always known you'd cross that line one day."

"You just didn't think it'd be Blossom," Brick realized. Butch finally stopped staring at his drink and looked at his brother.

"No, I figured it'd be me." Brick stared in silence. Butch had always been the most honest of the three brothers. Brick remembered that much. Boomer had told little lies when he needed to get out of a tight squeeze. Brick had lied so much that he could no longer separate the lies from the truth. There was the image of a young Butch bloodied and crying that made Brick's head hurt. Had he really hurt Butch so young? He hoped not. But then here was Butch, who had always been as honest as possible, staring over at him with the declaration that he'd thought Brick would kill him. Perhaps that bloodied child in his memory was real.

"Why?" Brick asked. Butch looked at him for a long minute before shaking his head and looking back down at his coffee.

"Doesn't matter," Butch said.

"What the fuck do you mean doesn't matter, of course it matters," Brick started, pushing to his feet.

"Why are you back?" Butch asked. "Cause Him sure as Hell doesn't give a shit about his sons, so why? Why?" Brick went still.

"I've told you already. Dad wants us back," Brick said, that headache worsening. "That's all I know." He was about to ask Butch why. Why was wanting to help their father so awful? Why was them all being a family again the worst thing in the world? Brick just wanted them to be a family, but then they heard it. Someone screamed. The voice was familiar. Butch had bolted from the room before Brick had placed the voice. In that second, everything that was swirling in his brain, all the images and questions and confusion, vanished. He knew that voice. Protea. Brick rushed after his brother. What had happened? How had she gotten to the tower? Where was she? Why was she screaming?

"Protea!" The shout came from both brothers. "Protea!"

"Daddy!" Protea cried. "Daddy, help!" Despite a lack of Chemical-X, Butch was keeping up with Brick as they searched the rooms. Butch's old room was empty. Boomer's had nothing. Mojo's empty. Brick opened the door to his old room in a frantic daze.

"Protea!" He stopped dead in his tracks. His room was spotless, not a trace of ash anywhere. His bed stood there with blankets bunched up. His desk was neatly disheveled. His room looked exactly how it had looked before he'd set it on fire. The worst part was that his closet suddenly had a door. Even before the fire he hadn't had a closet door. Mojo had taken it down when Brick had been scared that there were monsters inside. Now, a little girl's cries were coming from inside.

"Daddy!" the voice cried. Brick crept toward the closet door. "Daddy help!" His hand was just on the handle when Butch burst into the room. The father didn't notice the very wrong state of the room. He took one look at Brick with his hand on the door and his face flashed with anger.

"What are you doing? Let her out,"

"Butch, something isn't right."

"Of course, it's not, you've got my daughter locked in a closet."

"No!" Brick said as Butch came tumbling forward. "It's not her." The brothers struggled, but Butch opened the door and they both went crashing in. The air swallowed them up and Brick's room went still. The closet door creaked shut. The room was empty, as if no one had been there at all.